Interlude: A Changed Man
Interlude Title: A Changed Man
Canon: PPC
Rating: T, for swears
Agents: Trevelyan, A.
Time Period: May 2010 HST
Word Count: 1012
Summary: Three years away from HQ on one hell of a mission can turn a man into something different. Even if he doesn’t notice.
When Alec Trevelyan stepped into the response center he apparently hadn’t seen for three years, he almost wanted to collapse. It had only been six months for him. How had so much time passed?
He knew, of course; the canon had been righting itself into something individual, something new, something that incorporated everything that had been wrong with the old one. And it had incorporated himself and Callahan as well. There were two of them now: the versions that were canon characters in Valcentica, and the versions that were PPC agents. And the canon characters knew about the PPC. They were guarding their own canon.
He was pretty sure that even for the PPC, that was a first.
His console had messages from just about every Flower telling him to report in immediately - he flipped it off and ignored them. Then he went to go lie down in the room that had been built off of Callahan’s response center for him. She was in Medical getting seen to and then doubtless whisked off to FicPsych for analysis on what the barrier had done to her mind (and upon reflection, some of those angry messages on the console probably had to be from them. A mission that long would do things to people; Alec knew that about deep cover, from the bad old days).
Going off to see anyone else in the Team was a lower priority than lying down in his own bed for a few minutes, he decided, and went to stare up at the ceiling.
That mission had been a special kind of hell for a variety of reasons - some of which had not made their way into his reports. There were some things, he’d decided, that the Flowers just did not need to know.
The fact that he’d spent about half the mission interacting with someone who he was still painfully in love with - a canonical, no less - was one of them.
For the nth time, he cursed the fact that he’d come from a Stargate: SG-1 crossover fic, and for the nth time, he cursed the author for dooming his relationship with Samantha Carter in favor of the canon one. Sure, he knew it was canon now, and canon trumped all, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it.
And again, for the nth time, he cursed the fact that once he had served his purpose as the hypotenuse in the damn love triangle, he’d been sent to die again. As you do.
Sometimes, he really wished that Callahan hadn’t saved his life.
The crossover in question was more Stargate than Bond, so the extraction had treated him as a Stargate OC and let him leave. The truly canonical version of him hadn’t been cloned by Loki, memories intact, and had been killed as canon intended. In his fanfic of origin, Loki, not knowing what to do with the clone now that the original had been killed, had dropped him off at Cheyenne Mountain, figuring him to be Stargate Command’s problem now.
And then everything went even more to shit than it already had.
He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He didn’t envy his Valcentica-self, who had to stay there with Sam and Jack O’Neill, her husband. She knew about their origin - she knew! - which may or may not have been the worst part of it all. Her memories of that had been unlocked, somehow, which should have been impossible. But then again, ‘six impossible things before breakfast’ should really have been Valcentica’s tagline.
After a moment, he sighed and got out of bed. He really ought to say hello to the rest of the Team.
*
The door across the hall was closed, but he could hear the sounds of chaos. The Team had been charged with the care of Kitty’s minis while the agent pair had been away, and it seemed like they were completely unused to the care and keeping of minis, even after three years. (Christ. Three years.)
“Boriumier! Put him down!”
There was the sound of a mini-Balrog screeching, and a three-year-old child laughing. Right. He’d forgotten about Ocean’s twins, who had been confiscated under the grounds that she was a completely unfit parent. He wasn’t entirely sure a bunch of PPC agents were much better.
“Koster! Why the hell do you leave your guns out?!”
“I was cleaning them! Sod off!”
Ah, yes…the familiar sounds of chaos. Alec actually felt nostalgic. He knocked on the door. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said sarcastically.
He could hear a sudden scramble to get to the door. Toombs won. “Alec! We heard you were ba-”
The rest of the Team crowded around the door, most of them in various states of surprise.
Alec crossed his arms, irritated. “This is a fine welcome. What, do I have something on my face?” Aside from the usual, but they were used to the burn scar by now. It was by far not the most upsetting thing they’d seen.
“Oh…my God,” Toombs said carefully. “Do you really not know?”
“Uncle Alec!” the little albino boy in the back said as he rode piggyback on the mini-Balrog. “You look cool!”
“…we have a mirror,” Boromir said, and grabbed Alec’s arm. “You need to see this.”
Alec stumbled after him until he was shoved in front of the bathroom mirror. And he stared.
On the right side of his face, superimposed over his burn scar, was a simple, stylized black tattoo of a phoenix, the beak pointed towards his eye. He touched it, trying to smear it, hoping it was just theatrical makeup and Callahan had somehow pulled a dumb prank on him.
It wasn’t.
Valcentica had done this to him, somehow, when it had become a new canon and he’d returned to the PPC. The new canon’s stupid version of him and the PPC had tried to assert themselves at the same time, and both versions had somehow combined together.
He took a deep breath.
“Motherf-!”
Canon: PPC
Rating: T, for swears
Agents: Trevelyan, A.
Time Period: May 2010 HST
Word Count: 1012
Summary: Three years away from HQ on one hell of a mission can turn a man into something different. Even if he doesn’t notice.
When Alec Trevelyan stepped into the response center he apparently hadn’t seen for three years, he almost wanted to collapse. It had only been six months for him. How had so much time passed?
He knew, of course; the canon had been righting itself into something individual, something new, something that incorporated everything that had been wrong with the old one. And it had incorporated himself and Callahan as well. There were two of them now: the versions that were canon characters in Valcentica, and the versions that were PPC agents. And the canon characters knew about the PPC. They were guarding their own canon.
He was pretty sure that even for the PPC, that was a first.
His console had messages from just about every Flower telling him to report in immediately - he flipped it off and ignored them. Then he went to go lie down in the room that had been built off of Callahan’s response center for him. She was in Medical getting seen to and then doubtless whisked off to FicPsych for analysis on what the barrier had done to her mind (and upon reflection, some of those angry messages on the console probably had to be from them. A mission that long would do things to people; Alec knew that about deep cover, from the bad old days).
Going off to see anyone else in the Team was a lower priority than lying down in his own bed for a few minutes, he decided, and went to stare up at the ceiling.
That mission had been a special kind of hell for a variety of reasons - some of which had not made their way into his reports. There were some things, he’d decided, that the Flowers just did not need to know.
The fact that he’d spent about half the mission interacting with someone who he was still painfully in love with - a canonical, no less - was one of them.
For the nth time, he cursed the fact that he’d come from a Stargate: SG-1 crossover fic, and for the nth time, he cursed the author for dooming his relationship with Samantha Carter in favor of the canon one. Sure, he knew it was canon now, and canon trumped all, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it.
And again, for the nth time, he cursed the fact that once he had served his purpose as the hypotenuse in the damn love triangle, he’d been sent to die again. As you do.
Sometimes, he really wished that Callahan hadn’t saved his life.
The crossover in question was more Stargate than Bond, so the extraction had treated him as a Stargate OC and let him leave. The truly canonical version of him hadn’t been cloned by Loki, memories intact, and had been killed as canon intended. In his fanfic of origin, Loki, not knowing what to do with the clone now that the original had been killed, had dropped him off at Cheyenne Mountain, figuring him to be Stargate Command’s problem now.
And then everything went even more to shit than it already had.
He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He didn’t envy his Valcentica-self, who had to stay there with Sam and Jack O’Neill, her husband. She knew about their origin - she knew! - which may or may not have been the worst part of it all. Her memories of that had been unlocked, somehow, which should have been impossible. But then again, ‘six impossible things before breakfast’ should really have been Valcentica’s tagline.
After a moment, he sighed and got out of bed. He really ought to say hello to the rest of the Team.
*
The door across the hall was closed, but he could hear the sounds of chaos. The Team had been charged with the care of Kitty’s minis while the agent pair had been away, and it seemed like they were completely unused to the care and keeping of minis, even after three years. (Christ. Three years.)
“Boriumier! Put him down!”
There was the sound of a mini-Balrog screeching, and a three-year-old child laughing. Right. He’d forgotten about Ocean’s twins, who had been confiscated under the grounds that she was a completely unfit parent. He wasn’t entirely sure a bunch of PPC agents were much better.
“Koster! Why the hell do you leave your guns out?!”
“I was cleaning them! Sod off!”
Ah, yes…the familiar sounds of chaos. Alec actually felt nostalgic. He knocked on the door. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said sarcastically.
He could hear a sudden scramble to get to the door. Toombs won. “Alec! We heard you were ba-”
The rest of the Team crowded around the door, most of them in various states of surprise.
Alec crossed his arms, irritated. “This is a fine welcome. What, do I have something on my face?” Aside from the usual, but they were used to the burn scar by now. It was by far not the most upsetting thing they’d seen.
“Oh…my God,” Toombs said carefully. “Do you really not know?”
“Uncle Alec!” the little albino boy in the back said as he rode piggyback on the mini-Balrog. “You look cool!”
“…we have a mirror,” Boromir said, and grabbed Alec’s arm. “You need to see this.”
Alec stumbled after him until he was shoved in front of the bathroom mirror. And he stared.
On the right side of his face, superimposed over his burn scar, was a simple, stylized black tattoo of a phoenix, the beak pointed towards his eye. He touched it, trying to smear it, hoping it was just theatrical makeup and Callahan had somehow pulled a dumb prank on him.
It wasn’t.
Valcentica had done this to him, somehow, when it had become a new canon and he’d returned to the PPC. The new canon’s stupid version of him and the PPC had tried to assert themselves at the same time, and both versions had somehow combined together.
He took a deep breath.
“Motherf-!”