Choice by Miriel
Title: Choice
Author: miriel
Rating: PG?
Spoilers: Rising.
Author's Notes: Written for the Dopplegangers challenge over on sga_flashfic. A concept I've wanted to play with, and have never gotten around to really fulfilling. This isn't what I'd been planning for this, but I think it works passably. YMMV. 1800 Words. Written about John Sheppard for beaniesheppard's birthday, because she asked for John Gen.
Summary: It might not have been much, but John liked the freedoms of working on the ice...
Like many things in his adult life, John Sheppard had decided whether or not to go on the Atlantis Expedition based on the flip of a coin. The method had gotten him through 17 years of military service without getting him killed, after all. The coin, a silver Australian 50 cent piece, said "no"; John listened. When he returned to base from leave, he informed Doctor Weir politely but firmly that he would not be joining her on her expedition.
The week after the expedition was scheduled to leave - he had no idea if they'd gotten wherever it was they were going - he received transfer orders, and was subsequently shipped to Nevada. John fought the transfer; while it might not be much, he liked the freedoms that working the ice allowed. He liked being able to grow his hair long and never filing a piece of paper outside of his flight logs. Last time John had checked, the so-called "Area 51" didn't have anything worth flying, and certainly not for a prop-jockey.
John lost the fight, surprise surprise. It wasn't like he had friends who could help him out; there were maybe two classmates who even spoke to him anymore, and both of them were pushing papers at NORAD - potentially useful, but neither was high enough in the ranks to do him any good at present. Especially after he'd pissed off General O'Neill by turning down the Atlantis assignment. Sitting on a plane to Ass-End-of-Nowhere, Nevada, John admitted that might have been a mistake. In fact, he was pretty sure that turning down a personal invitation from a general was always a mistake, but really! Aliens and space monsters? It was a bit beyond belief, and sounded like far more of an investment than the 2.5 years he had left on his twenty warranted.
Except turning down the offer apparently didn't exclude him from a life of aliens and space monsters and inter-galactic travel, it just settled him firmly in the location of 'one step removed.' Area 51, it turned out, fell under the supervision of the "Stargate" program, which translated to John turning into a glorified on-switch. It was regular, 9-5 work - well, it was when there wasn't an intergalactic assault fleet en route, but that had only happened twice - and according to the engineers he worked with, it was even important.
It was also boring as hell, and there weren't even any good bars within easy driving distance. For lack of anything better to do, and because no one had told him expressly that he couldn't, John took to exploring the vast storage facilities under the wasp-nest of higher-clearance-required hangers and research buildings. That was how he found the mirror.
He hadn't realized it was a mirror at first; it was just another piece of alien junk in a massive underground warehouse that could well have held the Ark of the Covenant for all John knew. It wasn't actually a mirror; that was the revelation of the second visit. Sure, it reflected his surroundings, but whenever he looked into it head-on it showed other people, another place; it was more like a television that was stuck on one channel. Or at least one station; if John concentrated hard enough he could get the view to change to another room, but the people were always in the same clothing, with the same gray and bronze background. He'd tried thinking about sound, but apparently the thing was stuck on mute. Eventually, he dragged one of the other guys down to take a look, but no one else ever saw anything interesting. Sometimes, the people vanished for days at a time; once, the 'camera' looked out on what had to be a flooded room, complete with dead body in a copper-and-gray uniform and clutching an oddly shaped gun. John hadn't been able to go back down for a week and a half; when he did, everything was back to 'normal', and he wondered what was supposed to have happened. Slowly, the Mirror Room became his place; if a few of the people in the images were vaguely familiar, it couldn't possibly be more than chance.
When his one-year-left mark came around, John retreated to the Mirror Room with a bottle of good whiskey and a comfortable pillow. Not the most festive of celebrations, but they didn't get cable in the base-housing, and it had been a few days since he'd checked in on the strange people in the mirror. There had been something big going on the last time he'd had a chance to spend any real time watching, and he wondered if had resolved itself. That was the thing with the mirror; he never knew what he was going to find. Once, he'd even wandered in to find what amounted to free alien porn; that had been a good day, even if he had been ten minutes late getting back from 'lunch'.
Two shots of whiskey, and the cute alien in the really high-cut skirt had popped up; that told him right there that it was going to be a good night. He'd only seen her a handful of times before, but she was always worth watching; she said more with her body language than most people said with their entire vocabularies. Not to mention she was hot; that always helped.
Five shots in, and the mirror was starting to grow distinctly fuzzy. Not that John minded; there were degrees of pathetic-ness involved in spending your nineteen-year-anniversary with the Air Force with the alien version of "Big Brother" that John just really didn't want to examine too closely. He was just debating curling up on the floor with the pillow he'd brought along for just that purpose when it happened. There was a flash of light, and the scene flickered for a moment before resolving again into a familiar hallway that fell fourth in the rotation of 'camera' locations. He closed his eyes, preparing to do the concentration thing again to shift back to the earlier view, when a voice came from the mirror. "John?"
John's eyes snapped open, but there was no one in the room. "John, come on. I need to find out where these readings are coming from before we have a serious problem."
Before John could say anything, his own voice answered the comment. "Rodney, relax. Zelenka said it was just a minor flicker; we're just down here because you want to skip your session with Ronon." John frowned, because he definitely hadn't been the one talking.
There was a disgruntled harumph, and a figure came into sight of the 'camera'. "That is entirely beside the point. There's still no reason to...Hey. I wonder what...? Come here, I need your gene."
John gaped at the image, because he knew that man - had been insulted by that man in Antarctica. That doctor was supposed to be on the Atlantis Expedition. In another galaxy. He barely registered 'his' teasing response. "Aw, are you telling me you only love me for my gene?" A figure that looked far too familiar walked into the visible area, and John's heart nearly stopped. He'd heard about these kinds of things; you didn't work in Area 51 and not hear the rumors. He just hadn't believed them. Unable to take his eyes from the image in the mirror, John groped blindly for the whiskey and took a swig directly from the bottle.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to sit here and stroke your ridiculously over-sized ego. Touch this." The 'John' in the image obliged, and the surface of the image flickered again. "Now this." The doctor pointed, and again the 'other John' did as instructed. "Huh."
"Good 'huh', or bad 'huh'?"
"I need to get back to the main lab." The doctor waved a hand dismissively. "Go and do whatever it is good majors do when they're ignoring their paperwork."
"I resent that. And it's lieutenant colonel, Rodney; that joke's way past old." John took another gulp of whiskey, because he knew that annoyed slouch. Knew the way the 'other' John's hands had slid into his pockets. It was downright disturbing. The only thing wrong was the rank, and that was another place he just didn't want to go right now.
The scientist waved his hand again. "Right, right. Busy now. I'll call you when I know something."
"Rod-"
"Or dinner. Whatever's first, I know. I know. Shoo!" 'Other' John seemed to think about it, but then turned and ambled back out of sight the way he'd come without further complaint. The doctor - Rodney - followed a moment later, and John was left all alone with his thoughts. A moment later, the image flickered again, but John turned away. He'd seen enough, no, more than enough.
It was one thing to watch anonymous strangers and make up stories about their lives; that was a good time-waster, but it was also safe. It meant he didn't have to bother making real friends, getting to know the airmen who whispered behind his back about how he'd turned down "the expedition". It was quite another to have your decisions thrown back in your face by another version of you, and that was really the only way he could think to explain the images he'd seen, the words that he'd heard. Drunk or not, he just wasn't creative enough to pull that kind of thing out of thin air. Not even close.
After a few tries, John managed to grab his pillow and the now-mostly-empty bottle of whiskey before standing and making his way to the door of the warehouse. As he climbed the stairs to ground-level, he shook his head harshly, attempting to dislodge the recent memories. He would go home, he would go to bed, and he would never, ever, think about what he'd seen that night. One more year to go; he could do that. He could get through that with his head held high; at this point there was no choice.
After all, John had always done better when there was no choice. It made things ever so much easier.
~ Finis ~
Author: miriel
Rating: PG?
Spoilers: Rising.
Author's Notes: Written for the Dopplegangers challenge over on sga_flashfic. A concept I've wanted to play with, and have never gotten around to really fulfilling. This isn't what I'd been planning for this, but I think it works passably. YMMV. 1800 Words. Written about John Sheppard for beaniesheppard's birthday, because she asked for John Gen.
Summary: It might not have been much, but John liked the freedoms of working on the ice...
Like many things in his adult life, John Sheppard had decided whether or not to go on the Atlantis Expedition based on the flip of a coin. The method had gotten him through 17 years of military service without getting him killed, after all. The coin, a silver Australian 50 cent piece, said "no"; John listened. When he returned to base from leave, he informed Doctor Weir politely but firmly that he would not be joining her on her expedition.
The week after the expedition was scheduled to leave - he had no idea if they'd gotten wherever it was they were going - he received transfer orders, and was subsequently shipped to Nevada. John fought the transfer; while it might not be much, he liked the freedoms that working the ice allowed. He liked being able to grow his hair long and never filing a piece of paper outside of his flight logs. Last time John had checked, the so-called "Area 51" didn't have anything worth flying, and certainly not for a prop-jockey.
John lost the fight, surprise surprise. It wasn't like he had friends who could help him out; there were maybe two classmates who even spoke to him anymore, and both of them were pushing papers at NORAD - potentially useful, but neither was high enough in the ranks to do him any good at present. Especially after he'd pissed off General O'Neill by turning down the Atlantis assignment. Sitting on a plane to Ass-End-of-Nowhere, Nevada, John admitted that might have been a mistake. In fact, he was pretty sure that turning down a personal invitation from a general was always a mistake, but really! Aliens and space monsters? It was a bit beyond belief, and sounded like far more of an investment than the 2.5 years he had left on his twenty warranted.
Except turning down the offer apparently didn't exclude him from a life of aliens and space monsters and inter-galactic travel, it just settled him firmly in the location of 'one step removed.' Area 51, it turned out, fell under the supervision of the "Stargate" program, which translated to John turning into a glorified on-switch. It was regular, 9-5 work - well, it was when there wasn't an intergalactic assault fleet en route, but that had only happened twice - and according to the engineers he worked with, it was even important.
It was also boring as hell, and there weren't even any good bars within easy driving distance. For lack of anything better to do, and because no one had told him expressly that he couldn't, John took to exploring the vast storage facilities under the wasp-nest of higher-clearance-required hangers and research buildings. That was how he found the mirror.
He hadn't realized it was a mirror at first; it was just another piece of alien junk in a massive underground warehouse that could well have held the Ark of the Covenant for all John knew. It wasn't actually a mirror; that was the revelation of the second visit. Sure, it reflected his surroundings, but whenever he looked into it head-on it showed other people, another place; it was more like a television that was stuck on one channel. Or at least one station; if John concentrated hard enough he could get the view to change to another room, but the people were always in the same clothing, with the same gray and bronze background. He'd tried thinking about sound, but apparently the thing was stuck on mute. Eventually, he dragged one of the other guys down to take a look, but no one else ever saw anything interesting. Sometimes, the people vanished for days at a time; once, the 'camera' looked out on what had to be a flooded room, complete with dead body in a copper-and-gray uniform and clutching an oddly shaped gun. John hadn't been able to go back down for a week and a half; when he did, everything was back to 'normal', and he wondered what was supposed to have happened. Slowly, the Mirror Room became his place; if a few of the people in the images were vaguely familiar, it couldn't possibly be more than chance.
When his one-year-left mark came around, John retreated to the Mirror Room with a bottle of good whiskey and a comfortable pillow. Not the most festive of celebrations, but they didn't get cable in the base-housing, and it had been a few days since he'd checked in on the strange people in the mirror. There had been something big going on the last time he'd had a chance to spend any real time watching, and he wondered if had resolved itself. That was the thing with the mirror; he never knew what he was going to find. Once, he'd even wandered in to find what amounted to free alien porn; that had been a good day, even if he had been ten minutes late getting back from 'lunch'.
Two shots of whiskey, and the cute alien in the really high-cut skirt had popped up; that told him right there that it was going to be a good night. He'd only seen her a handful of times before, but she was always worth watching; she said more with her body language than most people said with their entire vocabularies. Not to mention she was hot; that always helped.
Five shots in, and the mirror was starting to grow distinctly fuzzy. Not that John minded; there were degrees of pathetic-ness involved in spending your nineteen-year-anniversary with the Air Force with the alien version of "Big Brother" that John just really didn't want to examine too closely. He was just debating curling up on the floor with the pillow he'd brought along for just that purpose when it happened. There was a flash of light, and the scene flickered for a moment before resolving again into a familiar hallway that fell fourth in the rotation of 'camera' locations. He closed his eyes, preparing to do the concentration thing again to shift back to the earlier view, when a voice came from the mirror. "John?"
John's eyes snapped open, but there was no one in the room. "John, come on. I need to find out where these readings are coming from before we have a serious problem."
Before John could say anything, his own voice answered the comment. "Rodney, relax. Zelenka said it was just a minor flicker; we're just down here because you want to skip your session with Ronon." John frowned, because he definitely hadn't been the one talking.
There was a disgruntled harumph, and a figure came into sight of the 'camera'. "That is entirely beside the point. There's still no reason to...Hey. I wonder what...? Come here, I need your gene."
John gaped at the image, because he knew that man - had been insulted by that man in Antarctica. That doctor was supposed to be on the Atlantis Expedition. In another galaxy. He barely registered 'his' teasing response. "Aw, are you telling me you only love me for my gene?" A figure that looked far too familiar walked into the visible area, and John's heart nearly stopped. He'd heard about these kinds of things; you didn't work in Area 51 and not hear the rumors. He just hadn't believed them. Unable to take his eyes from the image in the mirror, John groped blindly for the whiskey and took a swig directly from the bottle.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to sit here and stroke your ridiculously over-sized ego. Touch this." The 'John' in the image obliged, and the surface of the image flickered again. "Now this." The doctor pointed, and again the 'other John' did as instructed. "Huh."
"Good 'huh', or bad 'huh'?"
"I need to get back to the main lab." The doctor waved a hand dismissively. "Go and do whatever it is good majors do when they're ignoring their paperwork."
"I resent that. And it's lieutenant colonel, Rodney; that joke's way past old." John took another gulp of whiskey, because he knew that annoyed slouch. Knew the way the 'other' John's hands had slid into his pockets. It was downright disturbing. The only thing wrong was the rank, and that was another place he just didn't want to go right now.
The scientist waved his hand again. "Right, right. Busy now. I'll call you when I know something."
"Rod-"
"Or dinner. Whatever's first, I know. I know. Shoo!" 'Other' John seemed to think about it, but then turned and ambled back out of sight the way he'd come without further complaint. The doctor - Rodney - followed a moment later, and John was left all alone with his thoughts. A moment later, the image flickered again, but John turned away. He'd seen enough, no, more than enough.
It was one thing to watch anonymous strangers and make up stories about their lives; that was a good time-waster, but it was also safe. It meant he didn't have to bother making real friends, getting to know the airmen who whispered behind his back about how he'd turned down "the expedition". It was quite another to have your decisions thrown back in your face by another version of you, and that was really the only way he could think to explain the images he'd seen, the words that he'd heard. Drunk or not, he just wasn't creative enough to pull that kind of thing out of thin air. Not even close.
After a few tries, John managed to grab his pillow and the now-mostly-empty bottle of whiskey before standing and making his way to the door of the warehouse. As he climbed the stairs to ground-level, he shook his head harshly, attempting to dislodge the recent memories. He would go home, he would go to bed, and he would never, ever, think about what he'd seen that night. One more year to go; he could do that. He could get through that with his head held high; at this point there was no choice.
After all, John had always done better when there was no choice. It made things ever so much easier.
~ Finis ~