Tsunami fic again (XF/FK/SG-1verse, 1804 words, for Misbegotten)
Misbe, here it is, you horrible, horrible wench. *sigh* She wanted Natalie-Doggett. This is my best attempt.
Post-all-three-series; no SG-1 regulars were drafted for this, but you'll recognize the world pretty easily. If you don't know it, you won't miss anything.
End of the World (as we know it)
by Christina K
copyright 2005
After the Apocalypse got rolling, John Doggett actually found it kinda interesting, how fast people could adapt. When the Goa'uld mothership first showed up, all he could think was "game over" and wonder if Mulder was laughing his ass off somewhere. Scully was probably pissed, in that quiet way she had, laying in supplies and keeping her head down while making sure Mulder did too. John couldn't really find bombings or invading parasites funny, but he could see the irony. That snake they'd dug out of the back of Scully's neck, five years back, was kissing cousins with the one flying the space ships.
Weird how that one had claimed to be Jesus, though. He had to wonder how that would've worked out, if it'd really taken over her mind.
John spread out his fingers in front of the fire, and rubbed them a little harder to get warm again. 4AM by his still-functional Casio, and not a soul awake in the camp besides him and the outer perimeter guards. Nights in Michigan got damn cold in February, and he couldn't blame everyone for bundling up and sacking out. Moving HQ on two hours' notice had been a bitch, but worth it. Lucky those rebel Jaffa hadn't been lying. Though what the hell they were going to do with those guys now was beyond him. He was gonna be glad to hand that headache over to Skinner when he got back from Nevada next month.
"Hey."
He looked up, and felt a smile spread across his face without having planned it. "Hey, Doc. Pull up a bucket."
The Doc dragged a big paint bucket from over by the wall, and settled in next to him in front of the circular stone fireplace that was the center of the hunting lodge. "Can't sleep?" she asked, huddling down into her parka and taking a sip of what was supposed to be coffee. Although Monica would've had some choice words to say about that definition.
"Too wired. I figured I might as well stay awake 'til dawn, when Fogerty's back on his feet and able to deal with the latest crap." John slewed a look over at her. "What's your excuse?"
"Watching Harry Nunez." She took another sip, then shivered, her face bleak. "I don't think he's going to make it, John."
Doggett closed his eyes and resisted the urge to swear. One more down. He sighed and opened his eyes to the crumpled shadows around Natalie Lambert's eyes. "Hey, you did all you could. The guy was gut-shot, we had to roll in the middle of the operation-- you know all this, right?" She nodded, and he nudged her shoulder. "Right?"
"I guess." Doc shrugged, the pushed some of her ever-escaping hair out of her face, and shook her head violently, green eyes filling with tears. "No, damnit. No, I don't know that!" She threw her paper coffee cup down and started pacing around, waving her arms wildly and raising her voice to the point where John was getting worried. "I'm not a doctor, John! I'm a pathologist! A Medical freaking Examiner, not a surgeon, not a physician, most of my patients have been dead--" she laughed, hysterical, high and sharp, and John stood up and blocked her from pacing any farther. Natalie stuttered to a stop, then let her arms drop, staring at her feet. "I'm not qualified, I can't keep them all alive, I can't--" And John managed to get his arms around her just as she started crying, her whole body shaking with tears.
"C'mon, c'mon... Natalie, no one expects more from you than what you're doing," he said, smoothing her hair, rocking her gently. "We know this isn't your thing, but you're still one of the best we've got. Look at Jamieson. He's a surgeon, and he fell to pieces the first time one of those frigging snakes got to someone. You didn't. You're doing fine." She didn't seem to hear him, but he tightened his hold on her and just kept up the reassurance, repeating himself when he had to. He pulled her back over to their makeshift seats, and got her seated while he hunted up some paper napkins they'd been using for coffee filters. Wiping her tears, he sighed. He'd seen this coming for a while, but it was still hard to take. Doc had been the rock for everyone during the forming of their cell for the Resistance, but even someone as unflappable as she was had a breaking point. He rubbed her hands to get the heat back into them, not meeting her eyes, hoping she wouldn't see how this was getting to him.
"I just... I'm in so far over my head," Natalie said, scrubbing at her face with the napkin. "I feel like I should know what to do by now, I should've figured out a way to stop the Goa'uld, a toxin, a virus, anything...." Her voice trailed off and she looked embarrassed. "I guess that's a bit arrogant." She gave him a ragged smile, and he smirked back at her. "I just keep wishing I'd done more surgery rotations. Or emergency medicine. Anything, except pathology."
"Gimme a break. Seriously. One of the other best doctors I ever knew was an M.E. just like you. Sharp, cool, calm." He brushed her hair back, and shook his head. "You don't freak. You don't fall. You're having the shakes 'cause you're tired and because Harry's in bad shape. But you're not making mistakes, you're keeping it together when it counts. People still get treated. No one's been infected. You're doing good." John put an arm around her shoulders, and gave her a little shake. "I mean, Jesus, Doc. You're the one that kept me from losing it back in Wisconsin when we got ambushed. You're overdue for this, but don't start thinking you're no good to us. That's unacceptable."
Doc gave an embarrassed half-laugh, and he thought he saw her cheeks turn red in the firelight. Giving her another minute to pull herself to gether, he gently withdrew his arm and smiled. "You know, you keep wasting coffee like that, the non-coms are gonna stop letting you win at poker."
She snorted. "As if. To coin a phrase. Those infants couldn't bluff their way out of a paper bag." Natalie smiled ruefully at the mess on the floor, shaking her head. "I miss real coffee. I miss my cat. I miss, God, I miss my friends, John." She slumped forward. "I keep wondering how they are, if they got out of Toronto in time, if they think I'm dead...."
"Don't go there. When this mess is over--" and it would be over, if he had to walk onto that damn mothership with a thermonuclear grenade in his mouth-- "We'll find out what happened to our people. Until then, you just gotta think of them as fine, just far away. It's the only way to cope."
"Learn that in the FBI?"
"Marines. Gulf War."
"Ah." She put her chin on her hands. "Do you have people you miss?"
"Yeah, a few." He couldn't actually miss Skinner, since his ex-boss was still around, but he could've wished that the former A.D. was the one in charge here, and not him. And Scully and Mulder had taken off long before the writing appeared on the wall. "My ex-partner. She went down to Mexico to get her family, right at the beginning. I got word she was okay six months ago, but since then.... Who knows." He went quiet for a moment. "My ex-wife was still in New York."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah."
They were silent now, probably both thinking about the big cities and what was left of them. Then Natalie abruptly straightened. "I'll tell you something weird, though. It's-- actually, it's one of the things that gets me through this. If you promise you won't laugh." She cocked a teasing eyebrow at him, one of his favorite expressions. "You said you saw some weird stuff at the Bureau, right?"
"Right...." he responded, wary of her sense of humor.
"I used to know a guy... Well, I used to know a lot of guys. In Toronto. Who weren't..." She looked thoughtful, then grinned wickedly. "Weren't what we'd call human."
"Uh-hunh." If she was expecting him to call her on it, she was gonna be disappointed. He still had the occasional speculation abut what happened to that black oil and the freakin' shapeshifters.
"Really. And they were-- not exactly people you'd want to piss off." Natalie hugged herself, her smile growing more evil. "I'm not saying I was friends with them, or that I even liked most of them, but I seriously doubt they were any happier about this invasion than we were." She giggled. "And when I'm in a really, really bad mood, and we've just come off another battle, I start to think about what those guys could do to a squadron of Jaffa. Just for starters. I wonder if those enemy patrols that went missing in South Dakota, that we put down to the blizzard, weren't something else. Plus that encampment of Goa'uld Skinner said was killed in Mississippi. And I wonder how many more there are. I especially remember this one guy-- who frankly scared the hell out of me a few times-- and I keep thinking about how he was military, in a past life. The scorched-earth, poison-the-wells kind of military." Natalie closed her eyes. "And I find I can sleep better, those nights. Thinking about them out there."
John considered that, and then thought about the shapeshifters again. And the green-blooded clones. And the weirdos he still didn't have explanations for. The one thing they all did have in common: Earth was their home too.
"Ya know, you might be on to something there."
"You think?"
"I've made the odd attempt, a time or two." Natalie giggled at this, and John found himself relaxing again. She was gonna be okay. They all were. Freak-outs and losses aside. They were gonna survive this, just like always. Of course, afterwards the local Russian mafia and the inner-city gangbangers could always end up running for Congress on the strength of the defeats they'd been handing the bad guys. Reconstruction was going to be a bitch. "Get some rest, will you? You've got Sharon watching Harry?" At her nod, he pointed toward the bunk room. "So go. Sleep. Dream of electric sheep."
"Okay, okay...." She was in his blind spot when she swooped down and gave him a warm kiss on the cheek, right on the edge of his mouth. "Thanks, John."
He waited until she was out of the room before shaking his head, unable to restrain that stupid smile again. "You're welcome, Doc."
~*~*
I should state up front that the concept for this probably owes a great deal to Last Scorpion's Like a Shepherd, which you should all go read right now.
Post-all-three-series; no SG-1 regulars were drafted for this, but you'll recognize the world pretty easily. If you don't know it, you won't miss anything.
End of the World (as we know it)
by Christina K
copyright 2005
After the Apocalypse got rolling, John Doggett actually found it kinda interesting, how fast people could adapt. When the Goa'uld mothership first showed up, all he could think was "game over" and wonder if Mulder was laughing his ass off somewhere. Scully was probably pissed, in that quiet way she had, laying in supplies and keeping her head down while making sure Mulder did too. John couldn't really find bombings or invading parasites funny, but he could see the irony. That snake they'd dug out of the back of Scully's neck, five years back, was kissing cousins with the one flying the space ships.
Weird how that one had claimed to be Jesus, though. He had to wonder how that would've worked out, if it'd really taken over her mind.
John spread out his fingers in front of the fire, and rubbed them a little harder to get warm again. 4AM by his still-functional Casio, and not a soul awake in the camp besides him and the outer perimeter guards. Nights in Michigan got damn cold in February, and he couldn't blame everyone for bundling up and sacking out. Moving HQ on two hours' notice had been a bitch, but worth it. Lucky those rebel Jaffa hadn't been lying. Though what the hell they were going to do with those guys now was beyond him. He was gonna be glad to hand that headache over to Skinner when he got back from Nevada next month.
"Hey."
He looked up, and felt a smile spread across his face without having planned it. "Hey, Doc. Pull up a bucket."
The Doc dragged a big paint bucket from over by the wall, and settled in next to him in front of the circular stone fireplace that was the center of the hunting lodge. "Can't sleep?" she asked, huddling down into her parka and taking a sip of what was supposed to be coffee. Although Monica would've had some choice words to say about that definition.
"Too wired. I figured I might as well stay awake 'til dawn, when Fogerty's back on his feet and able to deal with the latest crap." John slewed a look over at her. "What's your excuse?"
"Watching Harry Nunez." She took another sip, then shivered, her face bleak. "I don't think he's going to make it, John."
Doggett closed his eyes and resisted the urge to swear. One more down. He sighed and opened his eyes to the crumpled shadows around Natalie Lambert's eyes. "Hey, you did all you could. The guy was gut-shot, we had to roll in the middle of the operation-- you know all this, right?" She nodded, and he nudged her shoulder. "Right?"
"I guess." Doc shrugged, the pushed some of her ever-escaping hair out of her face, and shook her head violently, green eyes filling with tears. "No, damnit. No, I don't know that!" She threw her paper coffee cup down and started pacing around, waving her arms wildly and raising her voice to the point where John was getting worried. "I'm not a doctor, John! I'm a pathologist! A Medical freaking Examiner, not a surgeon, not a physician, most of my patients have been dead--" she laughed, hysterical, high and sharp, and John stood up and blocked her from pacing any farther. Natalie stuttered to a stop, then let her arms drop, staring at her feet. "I'm not qualified, I can't keep them all alive, I can't--" And John managed to get his arms around her just as she started crying, her whole body shaking with tears.
"C'mon, c'mon... Natalie, no one expects more from you than what you're doing," he said, smoothing her hair, rocking her gently. "We know this isn't your thing, but you're still one of the best we've got. Look at Jamieson. He's a surgeon, and he fell to pieces the first time one of those frigging snakes got to someone. You didn't. You're doing fine." She didn't seem to hear him, but he tightened his hold on her and just kept up the reassurance, repeating himself when he had to. He pulled her back over to their makeshift seats, and got her seated while he hunted up some paper napkins they'd been using for coffee filters. Wiping her tears, he sighed. He'd seen this coming for a while, but it was still hard to take. Doc had been the rock for everyone during the forming of their cell for the Resistance, but even someone as unflappable as she was had a breaking point. He rubbed her hands to get the heat back into them, not meeting her eyes, hoping she wouldn't see how this was getting to him.
"I just... I'm in so far over my head," Natalie said, scrubbing at her face with the napkin. "I feel like I should know what to do by now, I should've figured out a way to stop the Goa'uld, a toxin, a virus, anything...." Her voice trailed off and she looked embarrassed. "I guess that's a bit arrogant." She gave him a ragged smile, and he smirked back at her. "I just keep wishing I'd done more surgery rotations. Or emergency medicine. Anything, except pathology."
"Gimme a break. Seriously. One of the other best doctors I ever knew was an M.E. just like you. Sharp, cool, calm." He brushed her hair back, and shook his head. "You don't freak. You don't fall. You're having the shakes 'cause you're tired and because Harry's in bad shape. But you're not making mistakes, you're keeping it together when it counts. People still get treated. No one's been infected. You're doing good." John put an arm around her shoulders, and gave her a little shake. "I mean, Jesus, Doc. You're the one that kept me from losing it back in Wisconsin when we got ambushed. You're overdue for this, but don't start thinking you're no good to us. That's unacceptable."
Doc gave an embarrassed half-laugh, and he thought he saw her cheeks turn red in the firelight. Giving her another minute to pull herself to gether, he gently withdrew his arm and smiled. "You know, you keep wasting coffee like that, the non-coms are gonna stop letting you win at poker."
She snorted. "As if. To coin a phrase. Those infants couldn't bluff their way out of a paper bag." Natalie smiled ruefully at the mess on the floor, shaking her head. "I miss real coffee. I miss my cat. I miss, God, I miss my friends, John." She slumped forward. "I keep wondering how they are, if they got out of Toronto in time, if they think I'm dead...."
"Don't go there. When this mess is over--" and it would be over, if he had to walk onto that damn mothership with a thermonuclear grenade in his mouth-- "We'll find out what happened to our people. Until then, you just gotta think of them as fine, just far away. It's the only way to cope."
"Learn that in the FBI?"
"Marines. Gulf War."
"Ah." She put her chin on her hands. "Do you have people you miss?"
"Yeah, a few." He couldn't actually miss Skinner, since his ex-boss was still around, but he could've wished that the former A.D. was the one in charge here, and not him. And Scully and Mulder had taken off long before the writing appeared on the wall. "My ex-partner. She went down to Mexico to get her family, right at the beginning. I got word she was okay six months ago, but since then.... Who knows." He went quiet for a moment. "My ex-wife was still in New York."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah."
They were silent now, probably both thinking about the big cities and what was left of them. Then Natalie abruptly straightened. "I'll tell you something weird, though. It's-- actually, it's one of the things that gets me through this. If you promise you won't laugh." She cocked a teasing eyebrow at him, one of his favorite expressions. "You said you saw some weird stuff at the Bureau, right?"
"Right...." he responded, wary of her sense of humor.
"I used to know a guy... Well, I used to know a lot of guys. In Toronto. Who weren't..." She looked thoughtful, then grinned wickedly. "Weren't what we'd call human."
"Uh-hunh." If she was expecting him to call her on it, she was gonna be disappointed. He still had the occasional speculation abut what happened to that black oil and the freakin' shapeshifters.
"Really. And they were-- not exactly people you'd want to piss off." Natalie hugged herself, her smile growing more evil. "I'm not saying I was friends with them, or that I even liked most of them, but I seriously doubt they were any happier about this invasion than we were." She giggled. "And when I'm in a really, really bad mood, and we've just come off another battle, I start to think about what those guys could do to a squadron of Jaffa. Just for starters. I wonder if those enemy patrols that went missing in South Dakota, that we put down to the blizzard, weren't something else. Plus that encampment of Goa'uld Skinner said was killed in Mississippi. And I wonder how many more there are. I especially remember this one guy-- who frankly scared the hell out of me a few times-- and I keep thinking about how he was military, in a past life. The scorched-earth, poison-the-wells kind of military." Natalie closed her eyes. "And I find I can sleep better, those nights. Thinking about them out there."
John considered that, and then thought about the shapeshifters again. And the green-blooded clones. And the weirdos he still didn't have explanations for. The one thing they all did have in common: Earth was their home too.
"Ya know, you might be on to something there."
"You think?"
"I've made the odd attempt, a time or two." Natalie giggled at this, and John found himself relaxing again. She was gonna be okay. They all were. Freak-outs and losses aside. They were gonna survive this, just like always. Of course, afterwards the local Russian mafia and the inner-city gangbangers could always end up running for Congress on the strength of the defeats they'd been handing the bad guys. Reconstruction was going to be a bitch. "Get some rest, will you? You've got Sharon watching Harry?" At her nod, he pointed toward the bunk room. "So go. Sleep. Dream of electric sheep."
"Okay, okay...." She was in his blind spot when she swooped down and gave him a warm kiss on the cheek, right on the edge of his mouth. "Thanks, John."
He waited until she was out of the room before shaking his head, unable to restrain that stupid smile again. "You're welcome, Doc."
~*~*
I should state up front that the concept for this probably owes a great deal to Last Scorpion's Like a Shepherd, which you should all go read right now.