.ficsnippet 1: where aesc tries genderfuck!
I really have no idea where this came from, but it approached me somewhere between my car and the library, and after I finished the Project Du Jour (woo hoo woo hoo woo hoo! Eight pages of narrative bibliography! I rule!) I found I had time to listen to it and so took it out to coffee and wrote it down.
Note: Um, it's not complete? And I have no idea if it'll be anything beyond a really weird idea, though it did make a wet, snowy walk more entertaining. It is also another fandom first for me, I think... for it is genderfuck. Of a sort. :>
McKay stalked through the corridors, propelled by increasing anti-Sheppard sentiment and fury at the conspiracy of morons bent on persecuting exhausted geniuses who (let us not forget) have finally, finally found the time to work on their own projects and possibly contribute to the world in ways other than thwarting certain distaster, death, destruction, and other things beginning with d (damnation! Another one!), and it’s too much - too too much, and really all McKay wants from the world is a quiet lab equipped with coffee and chocolate and orgasm-inducing technology, and at this point these three things aren’t nearly enough to make up for being made to step away from the edge of a breakthrough to deal with Keller’s anxious, radio-filtered voice saying Colonel Sheppard’s touched something.
Again.
“You might want to come up and take a look,” Keller had added, and after a polite (maybe polite) request that she send the device or mysterious entity or whatever down to the lab so very busy people could take time out of their very busy schedules to look at it, she asked, “Um, don’t you want to know what it did first?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Just get up here,” Keller had said, and signed off.
“I’m up here!” McKay shouted, barrelling into the infirmary. Its only occupant, a dark-haired guy in a bed halfway down, winced and tried to look inconspicuous, as well he should given how murderously pissed certain people were feeling at the moment, and how so not in the mood they were to deal with other certain people who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, and Keller probably had Sheppard in quarantine, which probably meant gross mutation at the very least.
Speculation on gross mutation turned into a rant tangential to that on Sheppard and touchy-feely people who did not seem to get the message some things shouldn’t be touched (like box jellyfish or pieces of Ancient metal) and was about to be dispensed when Keller materialized in her office door.
“You’re here,” she said, sounding honestly surprised, as though she hadn’t expected her order to be obeyed.
“Please tell me it isn’t gross mutation. I honestly don’t think I can handle that today.” Really, really couldn’t handle it, and Keller must have seen something, or heard it, because she needed a moment before answering.
“It is gross mutation, isn’t it?”
“Well, not mutation, exactly.” Keller wobbled one hand back and forth, as though the distinction between “normal” and “hideously mutated” was an exceptionally fine one.
“Okay, so it’s not exactly mutation.” Patience. Restraint. Murder in the infirmary is bad, though, it must be said, convenient to the morgue. “If you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, other than not exactly mutation, can I at least see the damage?” And speaking of which... “Where is Sheppard, anyway?”
“Right there.” Keller pointed back into the infirmary proper and its lone occupant, who was watching them.
“Excuse me?”
“The damage? You walked past it,” Keller said slowly, and pointed at the guy in the bed again.
“Did I mention I was not in the mood to deal with this? That I was busy with actual work? Did she put you up to it?” Not waiting for Keller to deny it, McKay stomped up to the dark-haired guy and glowered fiercely down at him.
He looked back up, and there was something. The eyes a weird muddy green, and the hair dark and spiky-messy (most like Sheppard’s hair, which looked like Sheppard poked fingers in light sockets for fun and would so explain the random touching of things), and then - oh God, oh God - the slow stretch of the insolent, infuriating smirk that could absolutely belong to no one else, male or female or otherwise, in the world.
“That’s Colonel Sheppard?”
Keller, who was standing on the other side of the bed, nodded.
“Jane?” The name, rarely used, hung a moment in the air, then dropped like a stone.
“Hey, Meredith.”
And Rodney Meredith McKay dropped like a stone, too.
* * *
“You’re... you’re remarkably hairy, aren’t you?” Meredith asked once she was fairly sure she wasn’t either dying or insane.
“Thank you, Meredith,” Sheppard said, looking and sounding remarkably Sheppard-like despite the fact she was a man. Which - Meredith had to close her eyes for a moment. “You okay?”
“No, Sheppard,” Meredith said automatically, and swiped at the nurse trying to check the bruise on her elbow. “Ow! Do you mind?” The nurse cowered back and retreated to the safety of the supply cabinet.
“Not exactly gross mutation,” Keller said into the silence that was Meredith trying to have an aneurysm quietly. “All her DNA is essentially the same, except - ”
“Except for the tiny matter of the X chromosome,” Meredith snapped. “Oh my God.”
“There is that,” Keller admitted. Her fingers tapped anxiously on her data tablet. “Do I need to run you through the MRI?”
“Wouldn’t want to lose a brain cell,” Sheppard said, and while the voice was deeper, with a rough edge and something like a rumble deeper in the throat, it was... Jane Sheppard.
“Amusing.” Meredith turned on Sheppard, who shrugged and smirked, and oh that did it. That did it. “And you! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to work on those equations? You do, don’t you? And what, is this part of your diabolical plan to shorten my life so I don’t get my Nobel? And what were you thinking that it seemed like a good idea to touch whatever... whatever the hell it was that you touched?”
“I’m doing fine, thanks... Rodney.”
“Don’t call me that.” Meredith sighed and slumped against the back of her chair. “But, um, at least you’re okay. Relatively. Considering you’re a...” She waved at Sheppard’s body, encompassing stubble and broad shoulders and really amazingly hairy arms that Sheppard seemed a bit obsessed with looking at.
“That’s seriously disturbing,” Meredith said, watching Sheppard inspect the back of her arm as though examining an alien growth.
“You’re telling me.” Sheppard shivered a little and straightened. “You should see my chest.”
Yes. Maybe. I dunno.
Note: Um, it's not complete? And I have no idea if it'll be anything beyond a really weird idea, though it did make a wet, snowy walk more entertaining. It is also another fandom first for me, I think... for it is genderfuck. Of a sort. :>
McKay stalked through the corridors, propelled by increasing anti-Sheppard sentiment and fury at the conspiracy of morons bent on persecuting exhausted geniuses who (let us not forget) have finally, finally found the time to work on their own projects and possibly contribute to the world in ways other than thwarting certain distaster, death, destruction, and other things beginning with d (damnation! Another one!), and it’s too much - too too much, and really all McKay wants from the world is a quiet lab equipped with coffee and chocolate and orgasm-inducing technology, and at this point these three things aren’t nearly enough to make up for being made to step away from the edge of a breakthrough to deal with Keller’s anxious, radio-filtered voice saying Colonel Sheppard’s touched something.
Again.
“You might want to come up and take a look,” Keller had added, and after a polite (maybe polite) request that she send the device or mysterious entity or whatever down to the lab so very busy people could take time out of their very busy schedules to look at it, she asked, “Um, don’t you want to know what it did first?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Just get up here,” Keller had said, and signed off.
“I’m up here!” McKay shouted, barrelling into the infirmary. Its only occupant, a dark-haired guy in a bed halfway down, winced and tried to look inconspicuous, as well he should given how murderously pissed certain people were feeling at the moment, and how so not in the mood they were to deal with other certain people who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, and Keller probably had Sheppard in quarantine, which probably meant gross mutation at the very least.
Speculation on gross mutation turned into a rant tangential to that on Sheppard and touchy-feely people who did not seem to get the message some things shouldn’t be touched (like box jellyfish or pieces of Ancient metal) and was about to be dispensed when Keller materialized in her office door.
“You’re here,” she said, sounding honestly surprised, as though she hadn’t expected her order to be obeyed.
“Please tell me it isn’t gross mutation. I honestly don’t think I can handle that today.” Really, really couldn’t handle it, and Keller must have seen something, or heard it, because she needed a moment before answering.
“It is gross mutation, isn’t it?”
“Well, not mutation, exactly.” Keller wobbled one hand back and forth, as though the distinction between “normal” and “hideously mutated” was an exceptionally fine one.
“Okay, so it’s not exactly mutation.” Patience. Restraint. Murder in the infirmary is bad, though, it must be said, convenient to the morgue. “If you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, other than not exactly mutation, can I at least see the damage?” And speaking of which... “Where is Sheppard, anyway?”
“Right there.” Keller pointed back into the infirmary proper and its lone occupant, who was watching them.
“Excuse me?”
“The damage? You walked past it,” Keller said slowly, and pointed at the guy in the bed again.
“Did I mention I was not in the mood to deal with this? That I was busy with actual work? Did she put you up to it?” Not waiting for Keller to deny it, McKay stomped up to the dark-haired guy and glowered fiercely down at him.
He looked back up, and there was something. The eyes a weird muddy green, and the hair dark and spiky-messy (most like Sheppard’s hair, which looked like Sheppard poked fingers in light sockets for fun and would so explain the random touching of things), and then - oh God, oh God - the slow stretch of the insolent, infuriating smirk that could absolutely belong to no one else, male or female or otherwise, in the world.
“That’s Colonel Sheppard?”
Keller, who was standing on the other side of the bed, nodded.
“Jane?” The name, rarely used, hung a moment in the air, then dropped like a stone.
“Hey, Meredith.”
And Rodney Meredith McKay dropped like a stone, too.
* * *
“You’re... you’re remarkably hairy, aren’t you?” Meredith asked once she was fairly sure she wasn’t either dying or insane.
“Thank you, Meredith,” Sheppard said, looking and sounding remarkably Sheppard-like despite the fact she was a man. Which - Meredith had to close her eyes for a moment. “You okay?”
“No, Sheppard,” Meredith said automatically, and swiped at the nurse trying to check the bruise on her elbow. “Ow! Do you mind?” The nurse cowered back and retreated to the safety of the supply cabinet.
“Not exactly gross mutation,” Keller said into the silence that was Meredith trying to have an aneurysm quietly. “All her DNA is essentially the same, except - ”
“Except for the tiny matter of the X chromosome,” Meredith snapped. “Oh my God.”
“There is that,” Keller admitted. Her fingers tapped anxiously on her data tablet. “Do I need to run you through the MRI?”
“Wouldn’t want to lose a brain cell,” Sheppard said, and while the voice was deeper, with a rough edge and something like a rumble deeper in the throat, it was... Jane Sheppard.
“Amusing.” Meredith turned on Sheppard, who shrugged and smirked, and oh that did it. That did it. “And you! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to work on those equations? You do, don’t you? And what, is this part of your diabolical plan to shorten my life so I don’t get my Nobel? And what were you thinking that it seemed like a good idea to touch whatever... whatever the hell it was that you touched?”
“I’m doing fine, thanks... Rodney.”
“Don’t call me that.” Meredith sighed and slumped against the back of her chair. “But, um, at least you’re okay. Relatively. Considering you’re a...” She waved at Sheppard’s body, encompassing stubble and broad shoulders and really amazingly hairy arms that Sheppard seemed a bit obsessed with looking at.
“That’s seriously disturbing,” Meredith said, watching Sheppard inspect the back of her arm as though examining an alien growth.
“You’re telling me.” Sheppard shivered a little and straightened. “You should see my chest.”
Yes. Maybe. I dunno.