I'll Take the Frakking Wraith Any Day by liketheriver (crossing challenge)
Title: I'll Take the Frakking Wraith Any Day
Genre: Pure parody and crack
Rating: T.
Word count: ~1400
Warning: None
Spoilers: Anything through Season 5 of both BSG and SGA.
Author Notes: Thanks as always to Koschka for the beta and a ridiculous discussion that resulted in this fic.
Summary: "These people are fucking nuts," Sheppard hissed.
I’ll Take the Frakking Wraith Any Day
by liketheriver
"These people are fucking nuts," Sheppard hissed in a frantic whisper across the table to McKay.
John did his best to avoid eye contact with the people who manned the large combat vessel that had rescued them. It was the largest of the mismatched fleet of spacecraft he and Rodney had found themselves among when the Jumper had slipped through that odd interdimensional rift that had formed when a star near them went supernova. At least that was the best explanation Rodney could come up with.
"You mean frakking nuts," McKay corrected, taking a bite of the odd pellet-like meal on his plate.
"And what the hell is up with that? They speak English except for the cursing?" With a sniff at a spoonful of food, if you could call it that, Sheppard crinkled his nose. "What is this stuff anyway?"
"Oh, it’s algae," Rodney explained. "Apparently they ran out of food and ended up harvesting a massive amount of it on a planet to feed the fleet."
John’s grimace just grew. "They can’t grow food, but somehow they have more booze than a Vegas night club?"
McKay ate another bite. "It’s actually not so bad once you muscle past the initial fetid, swampy flavor…and drink enough of the alcohol."
Sheppard pushed his plate away in disgust and leaned back in his seat to glance around the room, then slumped down to try to hide himself when he saw that really butch blond man who went by the call-sign Starbuck laughing drunkenly at the bar with a bunch of other members of the military contingent. He had actually hit on John the night before, and even though some of the others had swore the guy was actually a chick, Sheppard just wasn’t buying it.
"So have you had any luck finding us a way out of here?"
Rodney looked up from his meal in a bit of surprise at the question. "Oh, well, I was in the lab working on it but I got…distracted."
"Distracted?" John demanded.
"Yes, distracted." McKay wouldn’t meet Sheppard’s eyes, and John knew the man was hiding something from him.
"McKay…"
With a sigh, Rodney admitted, "If you must know, there’s a woman."
"A woman?" Sheppard parroted in growing annoyance.
"A really sexy platinum blond in a skimpy red dress, and she gives hand jobs like you wouldn’t believe." Rodney bobbled his head. "The only down side is that she goes on and on about God and God’s love and God’s purpose for me. Blah, blah, blah. It would really be distracting if she didn’t have her hand on my dick."
John just glared. This place really was fucked up. Rodney was having sex with a smoking hot bimbo in the lab and all John was getting was a come on by a slightly androgynous dude dressed in a wife-beater with tattoos that would make Ronon weep in envy.
"I’m starting to get the impression you aren’t interested in finding a way home for us, McKay," Sheppard accused.
"Helloooo? I’m getting laid here. Sure she’s some sort of nymphomaniac cosmic Jehovah’s Witness, but who cares? I mean Prince was probably getting more action than anyone in the music industry and it didn’t stop him from converting," Rodney justified. "Not to mention that the last scientist they had on this ship ran off and started some bizarre sex cult, so they could really use someone of my level of genius to help out around here."
Seriously, was everyone getting some nookie on this stupid ship besides Sheppard? It was like a damn Penthouse forum in space. Battlestar Galactica, his ass. More like Battlestar Prophylactica.
"And the first thing I plan to do is fix the muzak system they have on this ship," McKay informed him. "The stupid music they play all the time is starting to get on my nerves. I mean, I like Jimi Hendrix as much as the next person, but how many times can you loop The Watch Tower and not lose your frakking mind?"
Sheppard wasn’t too sure about the music, maybe he just hadn’t noticed it thanks to the close call he had as soon as he left Rodney in the mess hall and ran into an old guy who reeked of booze and who accused John of being something called a siphon or Cyclops or some shit like that. John actually thought it ironic the man had called him a Cyclops seeing as the old drunk was the one with the eye patch. But he evidently carried some weight around here since the guards came running when the man had stared yelling, "Look at him, godsdamn you! That’s not human hair!"
That’s when Sheppard was taken to see the admiral of the ship, a.k.a. ‘The Old Man’, who actually looked younger than the old drunk who brought John to see the ship’s commander. The commander had to have the largest head of any human being John had met. In fact, John hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything the two men were discussing as he stood there wondering absently how the admiral’s neck could support something that enormous. It was like being interrogated by a life-sized bobble head.
Lack of food, Sheppard had decided. Starvation from having nothing to eat but pond scum balls or maybe alcohol poisoning was setting in from the swill he’d washed them down with; because that’s the only way he could explain how one minute the two men had been discussing jettisoning John out an airlock and the next they were making out.
Sheppard nearly lost his algae at the sight of them. Great. Yet two more people who were getting laid who were not Sheppard. That Starbuck dude was starting to sound better and better. But John wasn’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth, and he quickly slipped out the door to the unnerving sounds of Saul and Bill moaning each other’s names. He needed to find McKay and they needed to get off of this crazy ship before they both went as insane as the nutjobs around them.
Making his way toward the lab where Rodney was working, Sheppard passed a guy preaching about how if you have one gun, God will make it unto ten. Yeah, whether they could get back to Atlantis or not, John was leaving this ship as soon as humanly possible, even if he had to hogtie Rodney and carry him over his shoulder to the Jumper to do it.
But as it ended up, it didn’t come to that.
Rodney was moving at a half jog down the hallway and sighed in relief when he saw Sheppard. "Oh, thank God, there you are. The blond in the lab just told me I could be the savior of my people. I took a religious studies class in college and I know things don’t usually end well for people who are saviors. As spectacular as it may be, no blow job is worth being crucified."
The two of them bolted for the Jumper and launched from the ship with several smaller craft in pursuit. John was pretty sure he saw Starbuck in one of them, and Jesus Christ, couldn’t the guy take no for answer?
"So, how do we get out of this one?’ John asked.
"Oh, easy enough. Head for that swirling planetary storm. That blond guy with the crush on you says it leads to Earth."
Much to Sheppard’s surprise, it actually did lead to Earth, and it wasn’t long before they were safely in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain. After a quick debrief, meal, and psych evaluation, John had retreated to one of the SGC’s visitor’s quarters. Sheppard laid exhausted on his bed, thinking that after a quick trip on the Daedalus they’d be back in Atlantis, and things would finally be back to normal.
"I’ll take the frakking Wraith any day," John mumbled to the empty room in general as he settled back comfortably against his pillow.
That was until he looked up and saw Todd standing at the foot of his bed, white hair flowing around bare shoulders that poked out of the skin-tight red dress he wore along with a pair of stiletto heels.
"The Wraith God has a purpose in mind for you, John Sheppard."
Well, hell, was all John could think. He was so frakking screwed.
The End.