Fic: A Slight Misunderstanding (Stargate:Atlantis, Michael/Carson)
Title: A Slight Misunderstanding
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: One-sided Michael/Carson
Rating: PG for slash and bad language
Word count 1089
Summary: Instinct isn't always as accurate as it's made out to be.
Carson knew he should have said something, said anything that could clear up the mess and safeguard against a repeat of last time - the realisation, the betrayal, the unnecessary death of a soldier that still weighed heavy on his conscience regardless of Elizabeth's attempt to take the blame.
Michael looked up at him with confused, frightened eyes from the operating table, and Carson hated himself for giving him the same bull he'd been told to feed all these poor buggers.
All of them seemed to know on an instinctive level that something more than the memory loss was wrong. It was hard not to flinch whenever he noticed any of them itching their palms, and it was a little bizarre to see how they were all more inclined to eat food cupped in their hands rather than held by their fingertips.
Of course, that wasn't the only cultural difference; personal space was almost non-existent, but at the same time they weren't fond of touch at all. And, yes, there was a lack of women - but they barely questioned it. Telling them women were immune to the plague certainly wasn't far from the truth, after all, and the heavily male military presence lent some normality to the situation even if it didn't help to shift the overall atmosphere of unease.
Later, Carson would suppose it was his own fault for being too trusting, too eager to make up for his mistakes with the retrovirus last time, too naïve in thinking he could allow himself to be alone with any of the wraith he'd scheduled injections for.
There'd been no warning, a little tension in their stances but nothing unusual for people about to receive injections, just the sudden shock of the taller wraith wrestling him to the floor and tying his hands behind his back while Michael clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Keep watch," Michael ordered his co-conspirator once Carson's ankles had been bound, waiting for him to leave the tent before rolling Carson onto his back.
Oh God, he was going to die. At least Michael had the good manners to look penitent about the forthcoming murder, and given the hand over his mouth was still very much human, at least he wasn't about to get sucked dry by space vampires. Didn't change the fact just knowing where that hand had been before was disturbing enough to make him sweat.
"Sorry," Michael said, and Carson wondered how effectively 'Oh really?' sounded when communicated mostly through eyebrows. "I have to know. You don't look at me like the others, you avoid eye contact -"
"Arse," Carson swore, even if the sound was mostly muffled by Michael's hand, infuriated by his own stupidity. He thought he'd been doing alright in terms of treating Michael the same as the other wraith, hadn't paid much attention to body language.
"Were we - did we know each other?" There was something in Michael's voice that bordered on pleading and Carson figured it would be best to stick with yes or no answers for the moment; nodded as much as possible given the current situation. Michael's stare intensified. "Were we enemies?"
No no no no no. Last thing he needed was for Michael to work out what had happened, and he shook his head with enthusiasm, hoping any blind terror he might be feeling right now wasn't showing on his face too noticeably.
It was odd watching Michael relax in response to the head-shaking, but not in the same league of peculiarity as hearing him announce, "That's the best news I've had to date," before pulling his hand away and - oh.
Oh for God's sake, not that he was especially complaining, but why was he always the one on the receiving end of unexpected kisses from men?
The second there was a break for air he scrambled for words and anything that might separate him from further violation by formerly-wraith tongue; "We can't, we're - you're - we're guys."
Michael stared for a moment before some sort of painful realisation seemed to dawn. Had to be said, the darker eyebrows while human made reading Michael's expressions a hell of a lot easier. "You were avoiding me because this is not allowed," Michael said, and Carson wondered for a second if he'd found a get-out clause or a death sentence. "I can't stop looking at you and my heart races when you're around. I knew it would be hate or -" Oh. Shite. "It's okay," Michael soothed before making a valiant effort to push Carson's lips open with his own - he'd had surprise tongue first time around but that wasn't happening again anytime soon if he could help it. After a few moments' struggle, Michael pulled away and frowned. "Why do you resist?"
Carson took as deep a breath as he could, prayed he sounded as convincing out loud as he did in his head. He'd never been much of an actor. "I hate to break this to you, Michael, but we're not exactly together." Never had been. Never, ever would be.
Michael looked hurt and the daftest thing of all was that Carson actually felt guilty for it. "This is why you would not look at me," he concluded.
"I didn't want you to get the wrong idea," Carson replied with a nod and okay, that might have rivalled even Teyla for skilfully talking a way out of a bad situation. "Do you think you could, you know?" he asked, tensing his bound arms and feeling a little gratified when Michael flushed before undoing the knot.
"You - won't tell anyone of this, will you?" Michael asked, and Carson flexed his newly freed wrists before releasing a low whistle. "Doctor Beckett?"
"No, no. It's your secret, lad. Sorry." Michael nodded, seeming satisfied, before his eyes widened as his co-conspirator called his name from outside.
"I've got to go," Michael said. "Is it okay if I take my injection tomorrow?"
"You'll bloody well take it now!" Carson snapped, finishing untying his ankles before standing up and grabbing two of the prepared syringes from the side table. "You and your friend. Go on, before you get in any more trouble."
Michael nodded, taking the syringes and muttering "Thanks," before leaving the tent in a hurry.
Carson let out a breath he hadn't noticed holding, straightened his clothes, and wiped his hands down on his pants.
Figured that the most human emotion he'd ever see in a wraith would have to be embarrassment.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: One-sided Michael/Carson
Rating: PG for slash and bad language
Word count 1089
Summary: Instinct isn't always as accurate as it's made out to be.
Carson knew he should have said something, said anything that could clear up the mess and safeguard against a repeat of last time - the realisation, the betrayal, the unnecessary death of a soldier that still weighed heavy on his conscience regardless of Elizabeth's attempt to take the blame.
Michael looked up at him with confused, frightened eyes from the operating table, and Carson hated himself for giving him the same bull he'd been told to feed all these poor buggers.
All of them seemed to know on an instinctive level that something more than the memory loss was wrong. It was hard not to flinch whenever he noticed any of them itching their palms, and it was a little bizarre to see how they were all more inclined to eat food cupped in their hands rather than held by their fingertips.
Of course, that wasn't the only cultural difference; personal space was almost non-existent, but at the same time they weren't fond of touch at all. And, yes, there was a lack of women - but they barely questioned it. Telling them women were immune to the plague certainly wasn't far from the truth, after all, and the heavily male military presence lent some normality to the situation even if it didn't help to shift the overall atmosphere of unease.
Later, Carson would suppose it was his own fault for being too trusting, too eager to make up for his mistakes with the retrovirus last time, too naïve in thinking he could allow himself to be alone with any of the wraith he'd scheduled injections for.
There'd been no warning, a little tension in their stances but nothing unusual for people about to receive injections, just the sudden shock of the taller wraith wrestling him to the floor and tying his hands behind his back while Michael clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Keep watch," Michael ordered his co-conspirator once Carson's ankles had been bound, waiting for him to leave the tent before rolling Carson onto his back.
Oh God, he was going to die. At least Michael had the good manners to look penitent about the forthcoming murder, and given the hand over his mouth was still very much human, at least he wasn't about to get sucked dry by space vampires. Didn't change the fact just knowing where that hand had been before was disturbing enough to make him sweat.
"Sorry," Michael said, and Carson wondered how effectively 'Oh really?' sounded when communicated mostly through eyebrows. "I have to know. You don't look at me like the others, you avoid eye contact -"
"Arse," Carson swore, even if the sound was mostly muffled by Michael's hand, infuriated by his own stupidity. He thought he'd been doing alright in terms of treating Michael the same as the other wraith, hadn't paid much attention to body language.
"Were we - did we know each other?" There was something in Michael's voice that bordered on pleading and Carson figured it would be best to stick with yes or no answers for the moment; nodded as much as possible given the current situation. Michael's stare intensified. "Were we enemies?"
No no no no no. Last thing he needed was for Michael to work out what had happened, and he shook his head with enthusiasm, hoping any blind terror he might be feeling right now wasn't showing on his face too noticeably.
It was odd watching Michael relax in response to the head-shaking, but not in the same league of peculiarity as hearing him announce, "That's the best news I've had to date," before pulling his hand away and - oh.
Oh for God's sake, not that he was especially complaining, but why was he always the one on the receiving end of unexpected kisses from men?
The second there was a break for air he scrambled for words and anything that might separate him from further violation by formerly-wraith tongue; "We can't, we're - you're - we're guys."
Michael stared for a moment before some sort of painful realisation seemed to dawn. Had to be said, the darker eyebrows while human made reading Michael's expressions a hell of a lot easier. "You were avoiding me because this is not allowed," Michael said, and Carson wondered for a second if he'd found a get-out clause or a death sentence. "I can't stop looking at you and my heart races when you're around. I knew it would be hate or -" Oh. Shite. "It's okay," Michael soothed before making a valiant effort to push Carson's lips open with his own - he'd had surprise tongue first time around but that wasn't happening again anytime soon if he could help it. After a few moments' struggle, Michael pulled away and frowned. "Why do you resist?"
Carson took as deep a breath as he could, prayed he sounded as convincing out loud as he did in his head. He'd never been much of an actor. "I hate to break this to you, Michael, but we're not exactly together." Never had been. Never, ever would be.
Michael looked hurt and the daftest thing of all was that Carson actually felt guilty for it. "This is why you would not look at me," he concluded.
"I didn't want you to get the wrong idea," Carson replied with a nod and okay, that might have rivalled even Teyla for skilfully talking a way out of a bad situation. "Do you think you could, you know?" he asked, tensing his bound arms and feeling a little gratified when Michael flushed before undoing the knot.
"You - won't tell anyone of this, will you?" Michael asked, and Carson flexed his newly freed wrists before releasing a low whistle. "Doctor Beckett?"
"No, no. It's your secret, lad. Sorry." Michael nodded, seeming satisfied, before his eyes widened as his co-conspirator called his name from outside.
"I've got to go," Michael said. "Is it okay if I take my injection tomorrow?"
"You'll bloody well take it now!" Carson snapped, finishing untying his ankles before standing up and grabbing two of the prepared syringes from the side table. "You and your friend. Go on, before you get in any more trouble."
Michael nodded, taking the syringes and muttering "Thanks," before leaving the tent in a hurry.
Carson let out a breath he hadn't noticed holding, straightened his clothes, and wiped his hands down on his pants.
Figured that the most human emotion he'd ever see in a wraith would have to be embarrassment.