snippet: oh, crap, I did it again. (original) (raw)

This lab is a week late. I need to finish it. Not write directionless SGA/Highlander snippets. Also, since Adam Pierson is probably forty-something now and Methos is obviously not, I coughed up a new alias.

Two dead marines, a third with a bullet through the thigh, and at least a dozen Genii looming out of the morning mist. Rodney had his sidearm, but unfortunately linguists and death-defying ascendants weren’t two for one in this galaxy, so he figured they were pretty much dead unless Whealdon stabbed somebody in the eye with a cheekbone.

The Genii with the greatest number of shiny pins on his shoulder stepped forward purposefully, eyes half-lidded with an attempt at mocking unconcern. The tremble of excitement in his hands and his voice gave the lie to that. He waved the hand with his bulky pistol in a general way at the two Lanteans backed up against the crumbling rampart. “You’re Dr. McKay?”

Rodney lifted his chin defiantly.

“Yes, yes, fine!” Whealdon snapped. “I’m Dr. Rodney McKay. Would you like a prize? Or shall I pull a ZedPM out of my ass?”

Rodney staggered. “I--what? Who?” Whealdon favored him with a withering glare and Rodney recovered with: “Uh--No! Bad! Don’t tell!”

It wasn’t so much the selfless sacrifice that shocked him--hello, whose team had he been on all this time--as that Whealdon, who wore a Polish flag on his arm and spoke with the sing-song tones of Wales except for words like pierogi and miód pitny, had opened his mouth and let loose a stream of faultless Canadian English without so much as skipping a beat.

“--trade my cooperation for their safe travel back to Atlantis,” Whealdon continued, lip curling derisively, which really, was a little over the top. “I assure you, you’re never going to get this pile of bones working with that Vaudeville routine you call science.”

“What? You’re going back with them?” Rodney gaped at him and completely forgot to be terrified. “Hello, Genii! Where nobody bothers with Career Day at school because everyone grows up to be a tumor. You--you’re--" He turned to the Genii. "Dr. McKay is too invaluable. Trade him back for--medical supplies, a puddlejumper-- I can do it. I’ll stay--”

“Shut the fuck up, Nimoy!” Whealdon snarled.

Rodney snapped his mouth shut around, Wait, is that supposed to be me?

“You can fix the Ancestor’s generator?” the Genii officer asked skeptically.

“Are you kidding?” Whealdon snorted. “He’s an anthropologist. Do you care about the socioeconomic importance of geothermal power to the indigenous peoples or did you want it to actually work?”

“Agreed,” said the Genii soldier happily. He gestured at the men behind him. “Squad two! Take the Lanteans to the gate. Dr. McKay will remain here with me.”

The hauled the wounded Marine to his feet, let him sling an arm about Rodney's neck. At the gate, as the guards fell back into the forest, the Marine let out a shaky breath. “That was--intense. Shit.”

“A monumental understatement, actually,” Rodney agreed, standing with his back to the DHD, watching the Genii back away across the clearing. “Elizabeth,” he said when the gate was dialed. “There are Genii here. Put the shield up immediately after we go through.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was back with Sheppard’s team in a cloaked jumper, coming in low at the edge of the trees.

“There were thirteen? And one officer?” Sheppard asked, not for the first time, eyes on the tree line.

“Yes, yes,” Rodney said and gave him the whole story all over again. He added petulantly, "He told them I was Spock."

Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Wow, sorry Rodney, I have no idea what that feels like. Alright, Lt. Miller--” he stiffened. “What the hell?” and leaned forward, peering out the front of the jumper where a single lean figure was loping easily along the edge of the trees towards the gate.

“Oh, hello,” Whealdon said with a guileless smile and a Welsh accent again when the jumper uncloaked in front of him. He clambered readily up the ramp, starting a little at the fully armed Marines in the back of the jumper. Rodney glared at him and got a raised hand in greeting as Whealdon shuffled awkwardly past the marines, dropping with audible relief into one of the bucket seats at the front.

“What the hell was that?” Rodney asked flatly.

“What was what?” Whealdon asked, wide-eyed. His breathing was quick but not gasping, and Rodney could see a light sheen of sweat on his face. He looked bright eyed, invigorated from a morning run, not from a flight for his life.

“Oh, please," Rodney sneered, "I’ll have so many opportunities to insult your intelligence once we’re back, let’s not waste time now.”

“Rodney,” Sheppard said mildly, leaning over to dial Atlantis, “don't be mean to the nice man who just escaped from certain tumorousness. We can debrief on Atlantis.”

“No,” Rodney said, “seriously--what the hell was that?”

“Ah,” Whealdon said, rubbing his palms together sheepishly. “I was sort of on the spot.”

“Which equals impersonating me? What were you thinking? Obviously, they were going to notice you were lying the first time you mistook an Ancient outhouse for a generator station.”

Whealdon’s eyes widened comically. “I’m sorry, Dr. McKay, it’s just that I thought we needed to escape as soon as possible--” here Rodney narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “--and I’ve heard you’re pretty slow.”

"Well," Sheppard said, no, not smirking at all, "he's got you there."

Rodney was so focused on plotting revenge, he forgot to ask Whealdon how he'd had gotten away from the Genii.

Seriously, this needs some tweaks or something so Rodney and Sheppard aren't just the audience. Wasn't there something I was supposed to be doing...?