Transmission, by canadian_snoopy (ESP challenge)
Title: Transmission
Author: canadian_snoopy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1599
Spoilers: Redemption II
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: He needed this like he needed a hole in the head.
Notes: Un-beta'ed and my response to the telepathy challenge. Again with the non-porn (sorry julad!) and seriously, I'm beginning to wonder if there's an ointment in the market that will take care of that. Feedback, as always, is most appreciated.
*****
"Okay, that is really cool."
Rodney glared in John's general direction, vision still reduced to darkness by the helmet that had dropped from the ceiling and engulfed his head with no warning. "You just can't grasp the urgency of the situation, can you?" he snapped, annoyed that the true extent of his frustration couldn't be expressed because of the huge thing that dropped from the ceiling and stolen his head -- the head which he needed for *thinking* and *seeing* and expressing his *annoyance*, goddamnit. "I can't get this damned thing off so show a little concern, would you *please*?!"
This wasn't fair -- it wasn't like he didn't have enough to worry about without having to start dreading things dropping from the ceiling and clamping tightly around his head and *not* *letting* *go*. His lab was supposed to be devoid of things that could steal his head, it was supposed to be safe -- or, at least, as safe as it was possible to be when you were in a floating Ancient city filled with things that they didn't know how to operate.
He needed more aggravation in his day like he needed a hole in his head, goddamnit.
"You really ought to see this, McKay. This screen dropped down and it's projecting-- have you ever been to a laser show? Pink Floyd and the lights--"
Rodney longed for his eyes if only to be able to see in which direction he should throw his stool because Sheppard, the bastard, wasn't nearly worried enough for his tastes. "Major--"
"Oh wow, look at that."
The quiet amazement in Sheppard's voice made Rodney's homicidal impulses decline from murderous intent to a vague desire to maim. Whatever it was that John was seeing must have been pretty incredible to put that note in his voice and Rodney felt vaguely jealous that this stupid helmet wasn't letting him see it.
It wasn't letting him see anything *else* either but Rodney was beginning to be kind of curious about the helmet, which had only dropped down and stolen his *head* (he was still annoyed about that, curiosity notwithstanding) after he'd--
"Major, do you see a remote control-looking thing on my desk?"
It seemed to take Sheppard a few seconds to respond but before Rodney could snap and beat Sheppard's head in with his helmet (he was pretty sure he knew where Sheppard was standing in relation to him and he was equally sure that the helmet was padded for his protection), the device was being pressed into his hands. "Is this what you were looking for?"
"Looking, funny," he muttered darkly, turning the device so that he was mentally oriented to where everything was. He remembered a green button, on the bottom left corner, and pressed it.
"Oh *wow*," and this time, Sheppard sounded amazed enough to give Rodney actual pause.
"What is it?"
He turned to where he thought Sheppard was standing and shivered when he felt Sheppard's breath on the nape of his neck. "You can't hear that?"
Rodney frowned. "I can't hear anything except you... why? What are you hearing?"
"You really can't hear that?"
The undercurrent of sadness in John's voice made Rodney swallow hard. "I wouldn't say that I couldn't if I could," he said, faking greater annoyance than he felt.
"It's... music, I think, but I can't make out any actual instruments," Sheppard said after a moment, pressing a warm hand against Rodney's arm. "It's a sound rather than music, I guess, but it's beautiful--"
Rodney pressed another button, blue on the top right corner, and heard a soft buzz rattle around the helmet before it pulled up and disappeared into the hidden recess in the ceiling. Rodney blinked, momentarily blinded by the light.
"Hey, you're back," Sheppard said, smiling and dropping his hand from Rodney's arm. "How do you feel?"
Rodney breathed deeply, relishing the fresh air and the fact that his head hadn't been either shrunk or exploded in a grisly manner, and ran a hand through his hair. "Sweaty," he grimaced. "But alright. Where's the--"
John shook his head. "Everything stopped when the helmet went up."
"Oh," he said, disappointed despite the relief at owning his head once again. He looked at the remote. "Hey, would you mind--"
"You know, I just remembered that I promised Elizabeth an update on the status of the North pier." Sheppard smiled at Rodney scowl but didn't stop his movements towards the door. "You might want to get checked up by Beckett before you start dismantling the thing."
"I feel *fine*," he said.
"I know -- but how long will that last?"
Rodney hated it when Sheppard made sense -- it screwed with his sense of harmony in the universe.
Thankfully, Carson didn't find anything wrong with him, giving him an MRI just in case and pronouncing him healthy as a horse. By the time he was done and had escaped from Carson's blood-thirsty clutches, it was late and the usual mass of people walking the hallways was reduced to military personnel walking their security perimeters and the late night owls who took advantage of the quiet to get more work done. He swung by the cafeteria and ate alone, tuna surprise with a side of purple potatoes from the Martes and goat milk that made him long for Hershey's syrup in the worst way.
Pleasantly full and stumbling a little from lack of sleep, he still very nearly had a heart attack when he stepped into his room and heard a voice say, "I have a theory."
"Jesus!" he yelped, stumbling back and hitting the light switch by accident. Sheppard was sitting on his bed, elbows resting on his knees and a curious smile on his face. "Are you trying to kill me?" he demanded, pressing a hand to his chest. "And how did you get in here?" he asked with a glower.
John smiled the smile that made Rodney want to hit him in the head. "Head military officer," Sheppard replied with an entirely too-satisfied air and Rodney made note to have Sheppard fall head-first into a hole at the earliest possible moment.
"Didn't realize that made you leader of the Gestapo," he said with a scowl, shrugging off his jacket and glaring at Sheppard. "And what do you have a theory on? The fact that only crazy people break into people's rooms and sit in the dark and give hard working scientists *heart* attacks?"
"The helmet," Sheppard said, calmly ignoring Rodney's words.
Rodney hung up his jacket and turned to face Sheppard with a curious frown despite himself. John sometimes could see things that Rodney didn't and while Rodney would rather have his leg chewed off by hungry rodents before admitting it to anyone, he figured it was his responsibility to encourage Sheppard's intelligence when possible. "Yeah?"
"I think it was reading your mind."
Rodney stared. This was... different. "A *telepathic* helmet?"
John frowned a little at Rodney's bemused question but nodded. "I wouldn't call it that but... yeah."
"And you came up with this theory how, exactly?"
John's head cocked to the side. "You don't buy it?"
Rodney shrugged. "The idea of the Ancients building a telepathic helmet of the sort that would make Darth Vader jealous--" John snorted at that, "--offends my sense of the aesthetic, Major." He sat down on his desk chair, groaning a little at the creaking sounds his body made. "Besides, what would be the use of a telepathic helmet that projects lights and sounds to everyone *except* the person whose head is being held hostage?"
Sheppard shrugged. "I don't know... but don't you think that maybe it was getting the lights and sounds from your head?"
Rodney rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Right, because I always go around thinking in pinks and blues."
"And music, apparently." Rodney opened his mouth to comment how he hadn't touched an instrument since the summer job at the Skylark Hotel when Sheppard said, "It was... beautiful."
Rodney laughed a little bitterly at that, sternly telling himself that the idea of him creating beautiful art shouldn't bother him nearly as much as it did because, seriously, what kind of grown man was still hung up on stuff that had happened when he was twelve? "Obviously *not* a telepathic helmet, then."
"Oh, I don't know," Sheppard said, smiling that secret smile of his again and making Rodney itch with the desire to figure out what the hell it meant. "I think you're capable of art in your own unique, Rodney McKay way."
Rodney blinked again, thrown by John's words and his expression and that *smile*, the smile that was saying things that made Rodney uncomfortably aware of the fact that John was entirely too good-looking and charming and *interesting* for Rodney's comfort.
He had been wrong -- he needed *this* like he needed a hole in the head. Forget having his head stolen by an Ancient light show -- discovering that Sheppard's smile could do disturbing things to his insides was way more troubling.
"Anyway," John said, smile changing back to the more common one as he rose to his feet. "I just thought I'd see what you thought."
"Right," Rodney said, tenaciously pretending that he wasn't hugely relieved that Sheppard was leaving before he could embarrass himself. "Thank you."
John waved away the thanks and let himself out, leaving Rodney to stare at the closed door with some preoccupation.
Seriously, he thought to himself as he fell onto his bed, like a *hole* in the *head*.
*****
THE END
Author: canadian_snoopy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1599
Spoilers: Redemption II
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: He needed this like he needed a hole in the head.
Notes: Un-beta'ed and my response to the telepathy challenge. Again with the non-porn (sorry julad!) and seriously, I'm beginning to wonder if there's an ointment in the market that will take care of that. Feedback, as always, is most appreciated.
*****
"Okay, that is really cool."
Rodney glared in John's general direction, vision still reduced to darkness by the helmet that had dropped from the ceiling and engulfed his head with no warning. "You just can't grasp the urgency of the situation, can you?" he snapped, annoyed that the true extent of his frustration couldn't be expressed because of the huge thing that dropped from the ceiling and stolen his head -- the head which he needed for *thinking* and *seeing* and expressing his *annoyance*, goddamnit. "I can't get this damned thing off so show a little concern, would you *please*?!"
This wasn't fair -- it wasn't like he didn't have enough to worry about without having to start dreading things dropping from the ceiling and clamping tightly around his head and *not* *letting* *go*. His lab was supposed to be devoid of things that could steal his head, it was supposed to be safe -- or, at least, as safe as it was possible to be when you were in a floating Ancient city filled with things that they didn't know how to operate.
He needed more aggravation in his day like he needed a hole in his head, goddamnit.
"You really ought to see this, McKay. This screen dropped down and it's projecting-- have you ever been to a laser show? Pink Floyd and the lights--"
Rodney longed for his eyes if only to be able to see in which direction he should throw his stool because Sheppard, the bastard, wasn't nearly worried enough for his tastes. "Major--"
"Oh wow, look at that."
The quiet amazement in Sheppard's voice made Rodney's homicidal impulses decline from murderous intent to a vague desire to maim. Whatever it was that John was seeing must have been pretty incredible to put that note in his voice and Rodney felt vaguely jealous that this stupid helmet wasn't letting him see it.
It wasn't letting him see anything *else* either but Rodney was beginning to be kind of curious about the helmet, which had only dropped down and stolen his *head* (he was still annoyed about that, curiosity notwithstanding) after he'd--
"Major, do you see a remote control-looking thing on my desk?"
It seemed to take Sheppard a few seconds to respond but before Rodney could snap and beat Sheppard's head in with his helmet (he was pretty sure he knew where Sheppard was standing in relation to him and he was equally sure that the helmet was padded for his protection), the device was being pressed into his hands. "Is this what you were looking for?"
"Looking, funny," he muttered darkly, turning the device so that he was mentally oriented to where everything was. He remembered a green button, on the bottom left corner, and pressed it.
"Oh *wow*," and this time, Sheppard sounded amazed enough to give Rodney actual pause.
"What is it?"
He turned to where he thought Sheppard was standing and shivered when he felt Sheppard's breath on the nape of his neck. "You can't hear that?"
Rodney frowned. "I can't hear anything except you... why? What are you hearing?"
"You really can't hear that?"
The undercurrent of sadness in John's voice made Rodney swallow hard. "I wouldn't say that I couldn't if I could," he said, faking greater annoyance than he felt.
"It's... music, I think, but I can't make out any actual instruments," Sheppard said after a moment, pressing a warm hand against Rodney's arm. "It's a sound rather than music, I guess, but it's beautiful--"
Rodney pressed another button, blue on the top right corner, and heard a soft buzz rattle around the helmet before it pulled up and disappeared into the hidden recess in the ceiling. Rodney blinked, momentarily blinded by the light.
"Hey, you're back," Sheppard said, smiling and dropping his hand from Rodney's arm. "How do you feel?"
Rodney breathed deeply, relishing the fresh air and the fact that his head hadn't been either shrunk or exploded in a grisly manner, and ran a hand through his hair. "Sweaty," he grimaced. "But alright. Where's the--"
John shook his head. "Everything stopped when the helmet went up."
"Oh," he said, disappointed despite the relief at owning his head once again. He looked at the remote. "Hey, would you mind--"
"You know, I just remembered that I promised Elizabeth an update on the status of the North pier." Sheppard smiled at Rodney scowl but didn't stop his movements towards the door. "You might want to get checked up by Beckett before you start dismantling the thing."
"I feel *fine*," he said.
"I know -- but how long will that last?"
Rodney hated it when Sheppard made sense -- it screwed with his sense of harmony in the universe.
Thankfully, Carson didn't find anything wrong with him, giving him an MRI just in case and pronouncing him healthy as a horse. By the time he was done and had escaped from Carson's blood-thirsty clutches, it was late and the usual mass of people walking the hallways was reduced to military personnel walking their security perimeters and the late night owls who took advantage of the quiet to get more work done. He swung by the cafeteria and ate alone, tuna surprise with a side of purple potatoes from the Martes and goat milk that made him long for Hershey's syrup in the worst way.
Pleasantly full and stumbling a little from lack of sleep, he still very nearly had a heart attack when he stepped into his room and heard a voice say, "I have a theory."
"Jesus!" he yelped, stumbling back and hitting the light switch by accident. Sheppard was sitting on his bed, elbows resting on his knees and a curious smile on his face. "Are you trying to kill me?" he demanded, pressing a hand to his chest. "And how did you get in here?" he asked with a glower.
John smiled the smile that made Rodney want to hit him in the head. "Head military officer," Sheppard replied with an entirely too-satisfied air and Rodney made note to have Sheppard fall head-first into a hole at the earliest possible moment.
"Didn't realize that made you leader of the Gestapo," he said with a scowl, shrugging off his jacket and glaring at Sheppard. "And what do you have a theory on? The fact that only crazy people break into people's rooms and sit in the dark and give hard working scientists *heart* attacks?"
"The helmet," Sheppard said, calmly ignoring Rodney's words.
Rodney hung up his jacket and turned to face Sheppard with a curious frown despite himself. John sometimes could see things that Rodney didn't and while Rodney would rather have his leg chewed off by hungry rodents before admitting it to anyone, he figured it was his responsibility to encourage Sheppard's intelligence when possible. "Yeah?"
"I think it was reading your mind."
Rodney stared. This was... different. "A *telepathic* helmet?"
John frowned a little at Rodney's bemused question but nodded. "I wouldn't call it that but... yeah."
"And you came up with this theory how, exactly?"
John's head cocked to the side. "You don't buy it?"
Rodney shrugged. "The idea of the Ancients building a telepathic helmet of the sort that would make Darth Vader jealous--" John snorted at that, "--offends my sense of the aesthetic, Major." He sat down on his desk chair, groaning a little at the creaking sounds his body made. "Besides, what would be the use of a telepathic helmet that projects lights and sounds to everyone *except* the person whose head is being held hostage?"
Sheppard shrugged. "I don't know... but don't you think that maybe it was getting the lights and sounds from your head?"
Rodney rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Right, because I always go around thinking in pinks and blues."
"And music, apparently." Rodney opened his mouth to comment how he hadn't touched an instrument since the summer job at the Skylark Hotel when Sheppard said, "It was... beautiful."
Rodney laughed a little bitterly at that, sternly telling himself that the idea of him creating beautiful art shouldn't bother him nearly as much as it did because, seriously, what kind of grown man was still hung up on stuff that had happened when he was twelve? "Obviously *not* a telepathic helmet, then."
"Oh, I don't know," Sheppard said, smiling that secret smile of his again and making Rodney itch with the desire to figure out what the hell it meant. "I think you're capable of art in your own unique, Rodney McKay way."
Rodney blinked again, thrown by John's words and his expression and that *smile*, the smile that was saying things that made Rodney uncomfortably aware of the fact that John was entirely too good-looking and charming and *interesting* for Rodney's comfort.
He had been wrong -- he needed *this* like he needed a hole in the head. Forget having his head stolen by an Ancient light show -- discovering that Sheppard's smile could do disturbing things to his insides was way more troubling.
"Anyway," John said, smile changing back to the more common one as he rose to his feet. "I just thought I'd see what you thought."
"Right," Rodney said, tenaciously pretending that he wasn't hugely relieved that Sheppard was leaving before he could embarrass himself. "Thank you."
John waved away the thanks and let himself out, leaving Rodney to stare at the closed door with some preoccupation.
Seriously, he thought to himself as he fell onto his bed, like a *hole* in the *head*.
*****
THE END