Apples, Churches, and Very Small Rocks by ReySolo (burning up challenge)
Title: Apples, Churches, and Very Small Rocks
Author: ReySolo aka ezazahaz
Pairing: McShep
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1000
Summary: "I am not going to stand here listening to you recite Monty Python while we're about to be BURNED ALIVE."
Thanks as always to my beta epicycles!
"This is all your fault, you know," Rodney pointed out, eying the flames that were slowly licking closer to the stake to which he was currently tied.
"You have the gene, too, you know," John replied from his own stake, a few feet away.
"Yes, but I'd bet an entire shipment of coffee that *you're* the reason everything in that 'sacred temple' lit up the instant we walked inside. Ancient technology is as whorishly hot for you as most of the women of the Pegasus Galaxy."
John grimaced. "Right now, I'm a little more concerned about the *fire* being hot for me..."
"Well, why couldn't you use your damn Captain Kirk charm to get them *not* to set the fire? That floozy daughter of the chief's was so totally your type. Well, aside from not being Ascended, that is."
"Maybe I was leaving the persuasion up to you this time. You know, instead of just insulting their 'backwards religion,' you could've talked them through logically about how we clearly aren't witches, don't have warts, don't weigh the same as a duck..."
Of course, there was no chance for persuasion of any kind now, since the whole crowd had gone off and left them to die--apparently in P54-13M's ritualistic witch-burning, it was considered bad luck to watch the "Purification." Which would be a little more helpful if they could find some way to escape, or if Teyla and Ronon knew where they were...
"Oh, no," Rodney warned, "I am not going to stand here listening to you recite Monty Python while we're about to be BURNED ALIVE. Which, by the way, is said to be one of the most painful ways to go. Though, admittedly, that was most likely declared by someone who'd never experienced the joys and horrors of the Pegasus Galaxy..."
"Rodney."
"Hm?"
"How much oxygen do you think is in here?" Their enclosure--made of fireproof materials, presumably to keep the fire from spreading and Purifying the entire village to the ground--was fairly open, with a high ceiling, but still felt uncomfortably small. Though perhaps that was due to the growing flames creeping steadily closer, and the smoke starting to blur their vision and breathing.
"...Oh, god, we're going to suffocate, aren't we?"
"If you keep talking, probably. But, hey, you can go ahead and save us from the agony of burning to death, right?"
"Oh, hardee har har. Why don't you focus on getting us *out* of here before we die one painful death or another?"
"Yes, Rodney, even those of us with IQs below six thousand can figure out that escape would be a good idea at the moment. Unfortunately, I can't reach my knife with my arms *tied behind my back*." He'd been struggling to try anyway, but the effort--or the smoke, or the lack of oxygen, was leaving him winded.
"So, what, Ronon taught you to conceal more weapons our inevitable captors wouldn't find, but not to keep them anywhere you could actually reach? Ronon would have had us out of here by now."
"Fine, next time you're left to burn at the stake as a witch, you can have Ronon as your partner in dying. I'll be back in Atlantis stroking some balls."
Rodney coughed, and it wasn't just because of the smoke entering his lungs. "Okay, while I'm not surprised in the least, that was definitely more information than I--"
"It's a golf term, Rodney," John smirked. A term he probably enjoyed a little too much for a man well past the age of fourteen.
"Oh." Rodney was silent a moment, blinking rapidly to try to stop the burning in his eyes from the increasing smoke. "So you're telling me you weren't planning on masturbating and/or participating in gay sex."
John gave Rodney a Look. "In the next five minutes? No, I doubt it."
"But if, hypothetically, you had more than five minutes to live..." Rodney's shoulders wiggled, suggesting he'd be gesturing with his hands if they weren't tied behind his back.
"Are you asking an American military officer if he's gay? Do you know the meaning of Don't Ask, Don't Tell?"
"Yes," Rodney retorted sarcastically, "Because you're definitely going to be court-martialled and dishonorably discharged in the next *five minutes*."
John said nothing; instead, he started waving his foot toward the flames now less than a foot from his feet, as though the meager breeze could put them out.
"Oh, like that's going to do any good," derided Rodney, even as he started attempting the same tactic himself. "And--you are, aren't you?"
John was feeling uncomfortably warm now. Entirely because of the fire, of course.
"Because, you know, if you are, you really should have told me sooner, so we could have gotten something out of it."
John inhaled sharply, which was definitely a bad idea, and he spent the next thirty seconds coughing and trying to breathe.
Eventually he recovered enough to hear Rodney's frantic stream of "...sorry, sorry, forget I said anything, just breathe, come on, Sheppard, we're not at the five minute mark yet..." punctuated by a few gasping coughs of his own.
"You said..." John wheezed finally, "You said 'we.'"
"Um..." Rodney coughed again. "Yes?"
"As in you and--*cough*--me."
"For all the good it'll do--*cough*--yes. Consider it a--*cough*--deathbed confession..." Rodney sounded like he'd go on, but with the smoke, it was all he could do just to keep breathing.
"Well, this sucks," John stated.
"Dying? Yes--*cough*--yes it does. Or were you refer--" Now Rodney broke into a coughing fit.
"Breathe, Rodney," John coaxed, "Breathe."
When Rodney recovered--as much as possible, anyway--he asked, "So, are you really..."
"Wishing we were both back in At--*cough*--Atlantis, stroking some balls--*cough*--not in the golf sense? Oh, yeah."
For the first time since they stepped into the 'sacred' Ancient facility, Rodney grinned.
Then he screamed as his pant leg caught fire.
"RODNEY!" John watched in horror, wishing he could tear his eyes away.
Rodney frantically beat his leg against his other leg, and the pole, trying desperately to put the fire out and increase his lifespan by minutes or even seconds.
And at that moment, the door burst open, admitting a furious Ronon Dex, a determined Teyla Emmagen, and several glorious buckets of water.
***
Later that night, back on Atlantis, John and Rodney were again in a small room that was rapidly heating up. This time, though, it was probably a good thing that none of the the slightly perturbed passersby investigated the screams.
End
Note: Any resemblance of this fic to a few sentences from rhymer23's great fic Forged in Flames posted earlier today is merely a result of the fact that, well, everyone loves Monty Python. :)
Author: ReySolo aka ezazahaz
Pairing: McShep
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1000
Summary: "I am not going to stand here listening to you recite Monty Python while we're about to be BURNED ALIVE."
Thanks as always to my beta epicycles!
"This is all your fault, you know," Rodney pointed out, eying the flames that were slowly licking closer to the stake to which he was currently tied.
"You have the gene, too, you know," John replied from his own stake, a few feet away.
"Yes, but I'd bet an entire shipment of coffee that *you're* the reason everything in that 'sacred temple' lit up the instant we walked inside. Ancient technology is as whorishly hot for you as most of the women of the Pegasus Galaxy."
John grimaced. "Right now, I'm a little more concerned about the *fire* being hot for me..."
"Well, why couldn't you use your damn Captain Kirk charm to get them *not* to set the fire? That floozy daughter of the chief's was so totally your type. Well, aside from not being Ascended, that is."
"Maybe I was leaving the persuasion up to you this time. You know, instead of just insulting their 'backwards religion,' you could've talked them through logically about how we clearly aren't witches, don't have warts, don't weigh the same as a duck..."
Of course, there was no chance for persuasion of any kind now, since the whole crowd had gone off and left them to die--apparently in P54-13M's ritualistic witch-burning, it was considered bad luck to watch the "Purification." Which would be a little more helpful if they could find some way to escape, or if Teyla and Ronon knew where they were...
"Oh, no," Rodney warned, "I am not going to stand here listening to you recite Monty Python while we're about to be BURNED ALIVE. Which, by the way, is said to be one of the most painful ways to go. Though, admittedly, that was most likely declared by someone who'd never experienced the joys and horrors of the Pegasus Galaxy..."
"Rodney."
"Hm?"
"How much oxygen do you think is in here?" Their enclosure--made of fireproof materials, presumably to keep the fire from spreading and Purifying the entire village to the ground--was fairly open, with a high ceiling, but still felt uncomfortably small. Though perhaps that was due to the growing flames creeping steadily closer, and the smoke starting to blur their vision and breathing.
"...Oh, god, we're going to suffocate, aren't we?"
"If you keep talking, probably. But, hey, you can go ahead and save us from the agony of burning to death, right?"
"Oh, hardee har har. Why don't you focus on getting us *out* of here before we die one painful death or another?"
"Yes, Rodney, even those of us with IQs below six thousand can figure out that escape would be a good idea at the moment. Unfortunately, I can't reach my knife with my arms *tied behind my back*." He'd been struggling to try anyway, but the effort--or the smoke, or the lack of oxygen, was leaving him winded.
"So, what, Ronon taught you to conceal more weapons our inevitable captors wouldn't find, but not to keep them anywhere you could actually reach? Ronon would have had us out of here by now."
"Fine, next time you're left to burn at the stake as a witch, you can have Ronon as your partner in dying. I'll be back in Atlantis stroking some balls."
Rodney coughed, and it wasn't just because of the smoke entering his lungs. "Okay, while I'm not surprised in the least, that was definitely more information than I--"
"It's a golf term, Rodney," John smirked. A term he probably enjoyed a little too much for a man well past the age of fourteen.
"Oh." Rodney was silent a moment, blinking rapidly to try to stop the burning in his eyes from the increasing smoke. "So you're telling me you weren't planning on masturbating and/or participating in gay sex."
John gave Rodney a Look. "In the next five minutes? No, I doubt it."
"But if, hypothetically, you had more than five minutes to live..." Rodney's shoulders wiggled, suggesting he'd be gesturing with his hands if they weren't tied behind his back.
"Are you asking an American military officer if he's gay? Do you know the meaning of Don't Ask, Don't Tell?"
"Yes," Rodney retorted sarcastically, "Because you're definitely going to be court-martialled and dishonorably discharged in the next *five minutes*."
John said nothing; instead, he started waving his foot toward the flames now less than a foot from his feet, as though the meager breeze could put them out.
"Oh, like that's going to do any good," derided Rodney, even as he started attempting the same tactic himself. "And--you are, aren't you?"
John was feeling uncomfortably warm now. Entirely because of the fire, of course.
"Because, you know, if you are, you really should have told me sooner, so we could have gotten something out of it."
John inhaled sharply, which was definitely a bad idea, and he spent the next thirty seconds coughing and trying to breathe.
Eventually he recovered enough to hear Rodney's frantic stream of "...sorry, sorry, forget I said anything, just breathe, come on, Sheppard, we're not at the five minute mark yet..." punctuated by a few gasping coughs of his own.
"You said..." John wheezed finally, "You said 'we.'"
"Um..." Rodney coughed again. "Yes?"
"As in you and--*cough*--me."
"For all the good it'll do--*cough*--yes. Consider it a--*cough*--deathbed confession..." Rodney sounded like he'd go on, but with the smoke, it was all he could do just to keep breathing.
"Well, this sucks," John stated.
"Dying? Yes--*cough*--yes it does. Or were you refer--" Now Rodney broke into a coughing fit.
"Breathe, Rodney," John coaxed, "Breathe."
When Rodney recovered--as much as possible, anyway--he asked, "So, are you really..."
"Wishing we were both back in At--*cough*--Atlantis, stroking some balls--*cough*--not in the golf sense? Oh, yeah."
For the first time since they stepped into the 'sacred' Ancient facility, Rodney grinned.
Then he screamed as his pant leg caught fire.
"RODNEY!" John watched in horror, wishing he could tear his eyes away.
Rodney frantically beat his leg against his other leg, and the pole, trying desperately to put the fire out and increase his lifespan by minutes or even seconds.
And at that moment, the door burst open, admitting a furious Ronon Dex, a determined Teyla Emmagen, and several glorious buckets of water.
***
Later that night, back on Atlantis, John and Rodney were again in a small room that was rapidly heating up. This time, though, it was probably a good thing that none of the the slightly perturbed passersby investigated the screams.
End
Note: Any resemblance of this fic to a few sentences from rhymer23's great fic Forged in Flames posted earlier today is merely a result of the fact that, well, everyone loves Monty Python. :)