.fic: Rodney McKay, Godhead (McKay/Sheppard PG13) 1.3
Title: Rodney McKay, Godhead
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating/Warning: PG13ish? Very bizarre, possibly crackfic-like.
Disclaimer: Not mine, which disappoints me profoundly.
Advertisements: um... ummm... sanctified!Rodney? For wordclaim50 challenge #11 (Humor).
Notes: Although this fic takes place some time during S1 (I like to think somewhere after "The Brotherhood" and before "The Seige"), it was inspired by a comment John makes in "Allies." And also, bizarrely, a totally random thought concerning Return of the Jedi. This will probably tell you everything you need to know :/
Caveat: I have an inordinate love for Rodney's S1 ZPM obsession, which is so one-track and obsessive it's not even funny. Except, of course, that it is.
CHAPTER ONE
“You’re sure we can’t take one of the puddlejumpers?”
“From what I remember, the Stargate to this planet is in a place where you would be unable to maneuver a puddlejumper,” Teyla said, as though this weren’t the tenth time John had asked her. “And even if there were, the Imdari do not like technology, and it was difficult enough for me to arrange this meeting as it was.” Slight hint of impatience at that, and John scowled when he heard Rodney snickering quietly behind him.
Well, it was Rodney’s turn anyway, and so John wheeled around to face him. The smirk slid off Rodney’s face in record time, replaced by a suspicious glare.
“What?”
“Now, Rodney, before the good technician up there dials the Gate, I want you to promise me what you said you would.” John wondered why he hadn’t come up with this idea before - it would, he reflected, have saved a hell of a lot of trouble. And a lot of fighting with Rodney over things like how leaving defenseless natives to fend for themselves against the Wraith was not good, but he didn’t mind that so much, the fighting. “What will you not do if we come across a functional piece of Ancient technology?”
“Not to destabilize any societies, global, local or otherwise,” Rodney mumbled.
John looked at him meaningfully and Rodney sighed.
“Or anger the natives.”
“And what about not exposing the locals to Wraith attacks by stealing their functional Ancient technology for our own personal use?”
“I promise not to do that either.” Rodney eyed John sulkily and hitched at the collar of his vest. “Can we go now?”
“Yes. Yes we can,” John said. Gave the order and moments later the Stargate flickered into life, blue light and shadow playing across the control room. Teyla glanced over her shoulder, offered John a sympathetic smile as she stepped through.
“It’s for your own good, you know,” John told Rodney.
“Shut up.”
* * *
The planets really were starting to blend together, John realized; he wondered if maybe they had actually been here before, because like almost every other place it was foresty and primitive, and God, he was starting to sound like Rodney. That was what he got for spending so much time with the man, he supposed.
But still. Was it too much to ask that they find some place that had, like, football? Or air conditioning?
He could definitely have gone for the second, at the very least. The Stargate for this planet - Imde, according to Teyla, which probably meant ‘hot as fuck’ in the local dialect - sat deep in the heart of an equatorial rainforest, almost swallowed up by creeping vines and draped extravagantly in the most miserable, humid heat John had ever encountered anywhere, inescapable and refusing to be ignored. When they’d stepped through the gate the first breath of air had been like trying to inhale a warm, damp towel. The Kevlar vest over his chest was about as well-ventilated as a suit of armor, and John had to suppress the very insistent desire to take it off before he suffocated.
Ulu, their guide, came fully equipped in rough hand-spun cloth and necklaces that looked to be made from the teeth of something large and carnivorous, a decent collection of spears strapped to his back. He greeted them with a formal bow, which Teyla returned, and refused her attempts to introduce John and Rodney. Something about how only the Elders were allowed to hear the names of strangers, so that they might introduce them to the tribe. More formal bowing, through which Rodney rolled his eyes and muttered discontentedly, and then finally Ulu turned and headed off down the path. John gestured for Teyla to follow him and she did, weapon still holstered but ready for her to draw it - Ulu had made it clear no one was permitted have weapons in hand when they entered the settlement - with Rodney going after.
John fell in behind, keeping back enough so he could have his P90 out without Ulu knowing about it. The tree canopy was a smothering quilt, and whatever light came through it was fitful and uncertain. Too good a place for an ambush - for a whole fuckingseries of ambushes - with no way to hear or see anything through the tangle of undergrowth and the rain.
And, God in heaven, it was raining, a steady rain that looked like it had been going on for some time and would keep going on long after John, Rodney, and Teyla managed to get back to Atlantis.
Sort of like Rodney’s complaining, actually, which had started just after Ulu’s introduction and showed no signs of stopping.
“Whoever designed these things was obviously never forced to wear one,” Rodney commented for the tenth time in - John checked his watch - five minutes. Synthetic rrrip as Rodney adjusted the Velcro again. “Seriously. Who comes up with this stuff? Haven’t they heard of breathable fabric? Did it ever occur to them that people might need to wear these in climates other than sub-arctic ones? That people might actually go exploring in, oh, say, murderously hot and humid rainforests?”
“It is a very nice day,” Ulu said in a wounded tone.
“Yes, Ulu, it is.” Teyla glared over her shoulder at Rodney and then at John, who mouthed what? - as in ‘What do you expect me to do about it?’ - back at her. Though it did not help that Rodney was completely right about the vests - but still, John and Teyla weren’t complaining, were they? At least, not out loud.
“Rodney, I hope having to take actual readings of our environment isn’t getting in the way of your bitching.” It was a very good thing he liked Rodney so much, John reflected. A very good thing.
And the sex, you know, helped a lot, too.
“Of course it’s not preventing me,” Rodney said. He slowed down a bit until John was walking alongside him, head bent close to prevent Ulu from overhearing “There’s too much vegetation to get a confirmation, but I’m pretty sure I’m picking up a power signature that could - and I stress could - be from a ZPM.” His voice rose, as it tended to do whenever Rodney got excited or agitated (which was often), lingering caressingly over the three syllables of ZPM. “If it is, and these people aren’t worshipping it as a god or whatever it is their benighted culture does with it, we’ll be in business.”
“And if they are worshipping it as a god?” John asked, very quietly.
“I won’t try to steal it,” Rodney grumbled. “I already told you I wouldn’t, Sheppard. Geez.”
“Just checking. Now, would you please shut up?”
Rodney’s mouth worked, obviously - and, fortunately, unsuccessfully - searching for a comeback. And, for the rest of the time they trailed Ulu through the unending jungle, he didn’t say anything, only stayed bent over his scanner, muttering fervently to himself and occasionally tripping over a root.
They arrived, soaked and miserable - except for Ulu, who seemed to like being wet - at the walls of the main city, which looked more like a collection of huts and mud than an actual outpost of civilization. Ulu led them past several ranks of guards and through a set of gates adorned with the bones of unnaturally large animals and what looked like... John squinted. Yes. Yes, those were human skulls stuck on pikes.
Headhunters? Cannibals? Did it make a difference?
Either way, not good.
He was suddenly, acutely, aware of the gates closing behind them and the rows of Imdari men, women, and children, watching them in silence. No one spoke, not even Rodney, and that was saying something. They squelched down something that John supposed was like a main street, past collections of huts - all raised up on poles, Ulu explained, to keep them out of the mud (“Pointless if you ask me,” Rodney snorted) - and more thickets of spears.
“For the record, I don’t like this,” Rodney said very, very quietly.
“Just smile and nod,” John muttered.
“I’ll do that.”
At length, Ulu brought them to the heart of the town, where a woman and two men stood in front of a hut that was, as far as John could tell, somewhat more impressive than the others clustered around it. A temple or city hall or something, he supposed, and the woman - dressed much like Ulu, except in brighter colors and with tattoos curving down both her cheeks - seemed to be a sort of priestess.
“I am Cahula, Elder of the Haualu tribe of the Imdari,” the woman told them, and then immediately launched into a string of formalities bewildering in its complexity, involving many repetitions of ritual phrases and the naming of almost every person in the tribe, each of whom stepped forward and bowed. Nice and as civilized as you please, like they weren't mentally cutting up John, Rodney, and Teyla into steaks. “You are welcome among us,” Cahula said, winding down at last, “and we ask in turn the favor of your names.”
“Finally,” Rodney muttered, barely under his breath. “Sheppard, these power readings are off the charts - we’ve got to be close. When do you think we can get out of here?”
“Keep your pants on,” John said through gritted teeth. The pants would come off later, after they got back to Atlantis. If they got back. The memory of those skulls intruded uncomfortably.
Teyla introduced herself with the same bow she had given Ulu, and then John - along with a significant look that had him bowing as well - and then Rodney.
“Macay?” Cahula asked, swiveling to stare at Rodney, dark eyes wide and disbelieving. “Did you say Macay?”
“Yes. McKay.” Rodney spoke as one might speak to an exceptionally dull child. “Rod-ney Mc-Kay.”
Cahula did not smack Rodney upside the head - which was John’s first impulse, and he would have done it for her, too, because this ranked right up there with ZPM theft in the “angering the locals” category and you do not anger people whose idea of lawn decoration includes human skulls - but instead...
John had to stare, because this was not... not what he was expecting at all. And Teyla was staring too, and for once being completely obvious and undiplomatic about it.
Cahula had fallen to her knees, right there in the mud in front of Rodney, with her colorful skirts pooling around her and arms reaching up in supplication.
“Hail Macay!” she cried. “Hail Macay!”
The two men behind her collapsed in unison, as Ulu did a heartbeat later, and as cries of “McKay!” spread throughout the settlement, people dropped left and right.
“Well,” Rodney said after a moment, “it’s nice being appreciated for once.”
-tbc-
Post-fic notes: Hm. Nothing to ramble about.
In other news: WaT!porn is almost ready to go. Just need to meditate over it a bit... Will probably put it up tomorrow or Monday.
Also, the weather says it's -16 degrees with windchill. Brrr.
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating/Warning: PG13ish? Very bizarre, possibly crackfic-like.
Disclaimer: Not mine, which disappoints me profoundly.
Advertisements: um... ummm... sanctified!Rodney? For wordclaim50 challenge #11 (Humor).
Notes: Although this fic takes place some time during S1 (I like to think somewhere after "The Brotherhood" and before "The Seige"), it was inspired by a comment John makes in "Allies." And also, bizarrely, a totally random thought concerning Return of the Jedi. This will probably tell you everything you need to know :/
Caveat: I have an inordinate love for Rodney's S1 ZPM obsession, which is so one-track and obsessive it's not even funny. Except, of course, that it is.
CHAPTER ONE
“You’re sure we can’t take one of the puddlejumpers?”
“From what I remember, the Stargate to this planet is in a place where you would be unable to maneuver a puddlejumper,” Teyla said, as though this weren’t the tenth time John had asked her. “And even if there were, the Imdari do not like technology, and it was difficult enough for me to arrange this meeting as it was.” Slight hint of impatience at that, and John scowled when he heard Rodney snickering quietly behind him.
Well, it was Rodney’s turn anyway, and so John wheeled around to face him. The smirk slid off Rodney’s face in record time, replaced by a suspicious glare.
“What?”
“Now, Rodney, before the good technician up there dials the Gate, I want you to promise me what you said you would.” John wondered why he hadn’t come up with this idea before - it would, he reflected, have saved a hell of a lot of trouble. And a lot of fighting with Rodney over things like how leaving defenseless natives to fend for themselves against the Wraith was not good, but he didn’t mind that so much, the fighting. “What will you not do if we come across a functional piece of Ancient technology?”
“Not to destabilize any societies, global, local or otherwise,” Rodney mumbled.
John looked at him meaningfully and Rodney sighed.
“Or anger the natives.”
“And what about not exposing the locals to Wraith attacks by stealing their functional Ancient technology for our own personal use?”
“I promise not to do that either.” Rodney eyed John sulkily and hitched at the collar of his vest. “Can we go now?”
“Yes. Yes we can,” John said. Gave the order and moments later the Stargate flickered into life, blue light and shadow playing across the control room. Teyla glanced over her shoulder, offered John a sympathetic smile as she stepped through.
“It’s for your own good, you know,” John told Rodney.
“Shut up.”
* * *
The planets really were starting to blend together, John realized; he wondered if maybe they had actually been here before, because like almost every other place it was foresty and primitive, and God, he was starting to sound like Rodney. That was what he got for spending so much time with the man, he supposed.
But still. Was it too much to ask that they find some place that had, like, football? Or air conditioning?
He could definitely have gone for the second, at the very least. The Stargate for this planet - Imde, according to Teyla, which probably meant ‘hot as fuck’ in the local dialect - sat deep in the heart of an equatorial rainforest, almost swallowed up by creeping vines and draped extravagantly in the most miserable, humid heat John had ever encountered anywhere, inescapable and refusing to be ignored. When they’d stepped through the gate the first breath of air had been like trying to inhale a warm, damp towel. The Kevlar vest over his chest was about as well-ventilated as a suit of armor, and John had to suppress the very insistent desire to take it off before he suffocated.
Ulu, their guide, came fully equipped in rough hand-spun cloth and necklaces that looked to be made from the teeth of something large and carnivorous, a decent collection of spears strapped to his back. He greeted them with a formal bow, which Teyla returned, and refused her attempts to introduce John and Rodney. Something about how only the Elders were allowed to hear the names of strangers, so that they might introduce them to the tribe. More formal bowing, through which Rodney rolled his eyes and muttered discontentedly, and then finally Ulu turned and headed off down the path. John gestured for Teyla to follow him and she did, weapon still holstered but ready for her to draw it - Ulu had made it clear no one was permitted have weapons in hand when they entered the settlement - with Rodney going after.
John fell in behind, keeping back enough so he could have his P90 out without Ulu knowing about it. The tree canopy was a smothering quilt, and whatever light came through it was fitful and uncertain. Too good a place for an ambush - for a whole fuckingseries of ambushes - with no way to hear or see anything through the tangle of undergrowth and the rain.
And, God in heaven, it was raining, a steady rain that looked like it had been going on for some time and would keep going on long after John, Rodney, and Teyla managed to get back to Atlantis.
Sort of like Rodney’s complaining, actually, which had started just after Ulu’s introduction and showed no signs of stopping.
“Whoever designed these things was obviously never forced to wear one,” Rodney commented for the tenth time in - John checked his watch - five minutes. Synthetic rrrip as Rodney adjusted the Velcro again. “Seriously. Who comes up with this stuff? Haven’t they heard of breathable fabric? Did it ever occur to them that people might need to wear these in climates other than sub-arctic ones? That people might actually go exploring in, oh, say, murderously hot and humid rainforests?”
“It is a very nice day,” Ulu said in a wounded tone.
“Yes, Ulu, it is.” Teyla glared over her shoulder at Rodney and then at John, who mouthed what? - as in ‘What do you expect me to do about it?’ - back at her. Though it did not help that Rodney was completely right about the vests - but still, John and Teyla weren’t complaining, were they? At least, not out loud.
“Rodney, I hope having to take actual readings of our environment isn’t getting in the way of your bitching.” It was a very good thing he liked Rodney so much, John reflected. A very good thing.
And the sex, you know, helped a lot, too.
“Of course it’s not preventing me,” Rodney said. He slowed down a bit until John was walking alongside him, head bent close to prevent Ulu from overhearing “There’s too much vegetation to get a confirmation, but I’m pretty sure I’m picking up a power signature that could - and I stress could - be from a ZPM.” His voice rose, as it tended to do whenever Rodney got excited or agitated (which was often), lingering caressingly over the three syllables of ZPM. “If it is, and these people aren’t worshipping it as a god or whatever it is their benighted culture does with it, we’ll be in business.”
“And if they are worshipping it as a god?” John asked, very quietly.
“I won’t try to steal it,” Rodney grumbled. “I already told you I wouldn’t, Sheppard. Geez.”
“Just checking. Now, would you please shut up?”
Rodney’s mouth worked, obviously - and, fortunately, unsuccessfully - searching for a comeback. And, for the rest of the time they trailed Ulu through the unending jungle, he didn’t say anything, only stayed bent over his scanner, muttering fervently to himself and occasionally tripping over a root.
They arrived, soaked and miserable - except for Ulu, who seemed to like being wet - at the walls of the main city, which looked more like a collection of huts and mud than an actual outpost of civilization. Ulu led them past several ranks of guards and through a set of gates adorned with the bones of unnaturally large animals and what looked like... John squinted. Yes. Yes, those were human skulls stuck on pikes.
Headhunters? Cannibals? Did it make a difference?
Either way, not good.
He was suddenly, acutely, aware of the gates closing behind them and the rows of Imdari men, women, and children, watching them in silence. No one spoke, not even Rodney, and that was saying something. They squelched down something that John supposed was like a main street, past collections of huts - all raised up on poles, Ulu explained, to keep them out of the mud (“Pointless if you ask me,” Rodney snorted) - and more thickets of spears.
“For the record, I don’t like this,” Rodney said very, very quietly.
“Just smile and nod,” John muttered.
“I’ll do that.”
At length, Ulu brought them to the heart of the town, where a woman and two men stood in front of a hut that was, as far as John could tell, somewhat more impressive than the others clustered around it. A temple or city hall or something, he supposed, and the woman - dressed much like Ulu, except in brighter colors and with tattoos curving down both her cheeks - seemed to be a sort of priestess.
“I am Cahula, Elder of the Haualu tribe of the Imdari,” the woman told them, and then immediately launched into a string of formalities bewildering in its complexity, involving many repetitions of ritual phrases and the naming of almost every person in the tribe, each of whom stepped forward and bowed. Nice and as civilized as you please, like they weren't mentally cutting up John, Rodney, and Teyla into steaks. “You are welcome among us,” Cahula said, winding down at last, “and we ask in turn the favor of your names.”
“Finally,” Rodney muttered, barely under his breath. “Sheppard, these power readings are off the charts - we’ve got to be close. When do you think we can get out of here?”
“Keep your pants on,” John said through gritted teeth. The pants would come off later, after they got back to Atlantis. If they got back. The memory of those skulls intruded uncomfortably.
Teyla introduced herself with the same bow she had given Ulu, and then John - along with a significant look that had him bowing as well - and then Rodney.
“Macay?” Cahula asked, swiveling to stare at Rodney, dark eyes wide and disbelieving. “Did you say Macay?”
“Yes. McKay.” Rodney spoke as one might speak to an exceptionally dull child. “Rod-ney Mc-Kay.”
Cahula did not smack Rodney upside the head - which was John’s first impulse, and he would have done it for her, too, because this ranked right up there with ZPM theft in the “angering the locals” category and you do not anger people whose idea of lawn decoration includes human skulls - but instead...
John had to stare, because this was not... not what he was expecting at all. And Teyla was staring too, and for once being completely obvious and undiplomatic about it.
Cahula had fallen to her knees, right there in the mud in front of Rodney, with her colorful skirts pooling around her and arms reaching up in supplication.
“Hail Macay!” she cried. “Hail Macay!”
The two men behind her collapsed in unison, as Ulu did a heartbeat later, and as cries of “McKay!” spread throughout the settlement, people dropped left and right.
“Well,” Rodney said after a moment, “it’s nice being appreciated for once.”
-tbc-
Post-fic notes: Hm. Nothing to ramble about.
In other news: WaT!porn is almost ready to go. Just need to meditate over it a bit... Will probably put it up tomorrow or Monday.
Also, the weather says it's -16 degrees with windchill. Brrr.