Farscape/SG-1 Fic: Sweet Ride
Author's Note: Once upon a time (earlier today) 
synecdochic posted a little challenge: 101 Times JD Nielson Hitched A Ride ..., and fangirls and boys around the globe *cough* (maybe just a few folks) answered the call. This is my response to the challenge. (cross-posted on that thread)
Characters: John Crichton and JD Nielson (clone-Jack O'Neill)
Setting: (Farscape) Terra Firma, (SG-1) Post-Fragile Balance
Sweet Ride
John would have ignored the kid squatting beside the rest stop wall, soaking his head to probably cut down some of the heat that felt like it was about to cook him from the inside out. Then he saw him spit out a mouthful of blood.
He pauses in his step a moment and starts to walk on. Not his problem. Then the guy glances his way and there's something in his eyes that John recognizes.
"What are you looking at?" the kid asks, giving him glare that'd make most people with common sense flinch.
But who said he had common sense anymore?
He looks at the battered pack beside the kid, guesses he's hitching. This is going to bite me in the ass, John thinks before asking, "Need a ride? Or a doctor --"
"Don't need either --"
"Look, my name is John. John Crichton. You want… I can at least get you a few miles down the road. This heat ain't anything to mess with when you're --"
"I don't mean to be discourteous but fuck off, okay. I don't need a damn ride. What I need is some damn Tylenol."
He nods, knows just how fun a headache stemming from a punch to the head can be. "Got the Tylenol in my car. Don't go anywhere."
"Yeah. Whatever," the kid says and this time puts his mouth under the spigot.
John continues back to his car. It only took a minute to dig out the bottle and some napkins left over from his last stop at a Mickey D's. He's been pretty much mainlining every bit of fast food and bad coffee that his stomach can handle since he started this little road trip. When John gets back to the other guy he's sitting in the puddle of water and leaning his head back against the wall, seeming to not care that the nearest spot of shade was only a few feet away.
"Here," John says, holding out bottle and paper napkins. He stands off to the side, blocking the sun.
The boy opens one eye and squints up at him a moment before taking them. "Thanks."
"So…about that ride. Offer is still good. Either that or we can go find the guys that did this and kick their asses. It's been at least a month since I've had a good asswhoopin'."
John gets a blank stare in response for about thirty seconds and he knows now when his measure is being taken. Finally the kid gives him a shrug in response.
"Pretty sure the latter would happen. Not even I could take half the local football team on my best day," kid looks down at his hand, opening and closing it a few times, "And I'm not sure I could count myself has having too many of those these days. Name's JD."
John steps back as the boy stands. "If I'm riding with you, might as well give you my name. Not quite sure where I'm heading myself but I can do to get away from here a little faster than my feet can take me right now."
JD picks up his pack and follows John back to the car. Throwing a couple bags in the back, John considers putting the top up on the T-Bird because the sun is beating down harder than he's used to. Living on Moya's gotten him accustomed to things being a lot cooler than what Indian Summer in Georgia can offer.
"Sweet ride," JD says, setting the pack on the passenger floorboard and closing the door.
"Thanks, she's been in storage the last few years. Wanted to get away from the noise and enjoy her while I can. Mind if I put the top up? I'm roastin'."
JD shrugs. "Your car, your choice. But you're right about the heat being a bitch, I could use some AC about now."
John hands him a bottle of water and quickly gets the top up. Once he's sitting back behind the wheel, he gets the air conditioning going full blast, enjoying the ice cold air for a few minutes as it dries the sweat on his face.
JD's turned one of the vents toward himself before they set out on the road. They're both silent for a few miles before the younger man points to the wings pinned to the little strap of Velcro around the arm of the rearview mirror. "Those yours?"
"No, my dad's. I'm not military. Just a dumb civilian test pilot, crazy since birth." John gets a laugh out of JD at his statement.
"I know the type."
"Here," John says and reaches back for the extra cheeseburger he'd been intending to eat while stopped at the rest stop.
"Thanks. Get you back at the next town." JD practically inhales the burger and John wishes he'd had a few more in there.
"So where to, JD? I have nowhere I want to be for a week. I'm going North for now," John says, figuring JD should know before they hit the next exit.
"Works for me," JD looks at him for a few seconds, as if he's debating on whether or not to say something else. "I know you, don't I, Crichton?"
"No, you don't know me at all," John answers and turns on the radio.
Originally posted at http://kazbaby.dreamwidth.org/760497.html. You can comment there using OpenID.|
comments
synecdochic posted a little challenge: 101 Times JD Nielson Hitched A Ride ..., and fangirls and boys around the globe *cough* (maybe just a few folks) answered the call. This is my response to the challenge. (cross-posted on that thread)
Characters: John Crichton and JD Nielson (clone-Jack O'Neill)
Setting: (Farscape) Terra Firma, (SG-1) Post-Fragile Balance
Sweet Ride
John would have ignored the kid squatting beside the rest stop wall, soaking his head to probably cut down some of the heat that felt like it was about to cook him from the inside out. Then he saw him spit out a mouthful of blood.
He pauses in his step a moment and starts to walk on. Not his problem. Then the guy glances his way and there's something in his eyes that John recognizes.
"What are you looking at?" the kid asks, giving him glare that'd make most people with common sense flinch.
But who said he had common sense anymore?
He looks at the battered pack beside the kid, guesses he's hitching. This is going to bite me in the ass, John thinks before asking, "Need a ride? Or a doctor --"
"Don't need either --"
"Look, my name is John. John Crichton. You want… I can at least get you a few miles down the road. This heat ain't anything to mess with when you're --"
"I don't mean to be discourteous but fuck off, okay. I don't need a damn ride. What I need is some damn Tylenol."
He nods, knows just how fun a headache stemming from a punch to the head can be. "Got the Tylenol in my car. Don't go anywhere."
"Yeah. Whatever," the kid says and this time puts his mouth under the spigot.
John continues back to his car. It only took a minute to dig out the bottle and some napkins left over from his last stop at a Mickey D's. He's been pretty much mainlining every bit of fast food and bad coffee that his stomach can handle since he started this little road trip. When John gets back to the other guy he's sitting in the puddle of water and leaning his head back against the wall, seeming to not care that the nearest spot of shade was only a few feet away.
"Here," John says, holding out bottle and paper napkins. He stands off to the side, blocking the sun.
The boy opens one eye and squints up at him a moment before taking them. "Thanks."
"So…about that ride. Offer is still good. Either that or we can go find the guys that did this and kick their asses. It's been at least a month since I've had a good asswhoopin'."
John gets a blank stare in response for about thirty seconds and he knows now when his measure is being taken. Finally the kid gives him a shrug in response.
"Pretty sure the latter would happen. Not even I could take half the local football team on my best day," kid looks down at his hand, opening and closing it a few times, "And I'm not sure I could count myself has having too many of those these days. Name's JD."
John steps back as the boy stands. "If I'm riding with you, might as well give you my name. Not quite sure where I'm heading myself but I can do to get away from here a little faster than my feet can take me right now."
JD picks up his pack and follows John back to the car. Throwing a couple bags in the back, John considers putting the top up on the T-Bird because the sun is beating down harder than he's used to. Living on Moya's gotten him accustomed to things being a lot cooler than what Indian Summer in Georgia can offer.
"Sweet ride," JD says, setting the pack on the passenger floorboard and closing the door.
"Thanks, she's been in storage the last few years. Wanted to get away from the noise and enjoy her while I can. Mind if I put the top up? I'm roastin'."
JD shrugs. "Your car, your choice. But you're right about the heat being a bitch, I could use some AC about now."
John hands him a bottle of water and quickly gets the top up. Once he's sitting back behind the wheel, he gets the air conditioning going full blast, enjoying the ice cold air for a few minutes as it dries the sweat on his face.
JD's turned one of the vents toward himself before they set out on the road. They're both silent for a few miles before the younger man points to the wings pinned to the little strap of Velcro around the arm of the rearview mirror. "Those yours?"
"No, my dad's. I'm not military. Just a dumb civilian test pilot, crazy since birth." John gets a laugh out of JD at his statement.
"I know the type."
"Here," John says and reaches back for the extra cheeseburger he'd been intending to eat while stopped at the rest stop.
"Thanks. Get you back at the next town." JD practically inhales the burger and John wishes he'd had a few more in there.
"So where to, JD? I have nowhere I want to be for a week. I'm going North for now," John says, figuring JD should know before they hit the next exit.
"Works for me," JD looks at him for a few seconds, as if he's debating on whether or not to say something else. "I know you, don't I, Crichton?"
"No, you don't know me at all," John answers and turns on the radio.
Originally posted at http://kazbaby.dreamwidth.org/760497.html. You can comment there using OpenID.|
comments