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I AM STILL NOT WRITING THIS. I REFUSE TO BE WRITING THIS.
As they round the fifth or the twenty-sixth corner, he’s asking her whether or not it will turn anyone “green? Blue? Red-orange? Any other color they aren’t, normally?” She shakes her head to each one, though, and they continue on. When, after a moment’s thought, he starts asking about the possibility of explosion, she sighs, and thinks that, just maybe, this was not the best idea she’s ever had.
Well, not the idea itself. The basic idea — the objective, here — was and is excellent. She knew, right from the moment she saw it, that this was it: this was Rodney McKay’s Christmas present. She’d seen it, and she’d known, and she’d sworn to do whatever she needed to make it happen, no matter how awkward, embarrassing, or downright illegal. McKay deserves this: partly for being his completely intolerable self, sure, but partly — a small part, of course — because, from what she’s been reading and hearing, things haven’t been entirely easy for them, out there, and for him maybe more than for the rest of him.
He’s out of his depth — who wouldn’t be? — and he’s too smart not to know it. She knows he’s freaking out, because, despite what some people have been saying about him since they re-established contact, not that many people have died. If he weren’t nervous, the entire expedition would have died long before now. He’s in one of those situations where a carefully controlled state of panic is an entirely reasonable response, the only response that keeps people alive and working. Still, that doesn’t make it a warm fuzzy feeling. You can read it in his reports, the way he’s clearly taking a list of several hundred things that need to be done absolutely right now and worrying about them all, in order of importance. She knows how that feels, having to choose your crisis, having things really actually depend on you. If anyone in the world can deal with that feeling, it’s McKay, but she can’t help feeling a little bad for him.
Only a very little, though. Mostly, when she thinks about the gift, she thinks about the look on his face when he opens it. She stops then, cuts Sheppard off before he can finish asking if it will explode or not.
“No, it won’t explode, turn anyone strange colors, influence their brain chemistry in unfortunate ways, cause the downfall of the Western World — am I missing anything?”
“I actually didn’t ask about the downfall of the West — kind of figured it wouldn’t, what with being in the wrong galaxy and all.” Sheppard grins at her, and she rolls her eyes. Charming, sure, whatever, but she has a plan here. She is a woman on a mission.
“Listen, I promise it won’t damage anything, except possibly McKay’s ego. Can you just give it to him without knowing what it is? And take a picture of his face when he opens it?” She’s smiling up at him — hell, if he gets to try to charm her, she’s not going to play fair either — but he’s paused, thinking.
“Only possibly?” She blinks. “His ego — we’re only maybe going to damage it?”
“Oh, no,” she smiles, knowing that she’s got him now, “I only said that so you’d go along with me. His ego will be,” and god, it’s a delicious thought, and she shivers a little, “destroyed. Thanks for your help—” but no, he’s pulling back again, his face freezing in that charming mask. She gets a brief flash of what it must be like to work with this man, who sees so much and shows so very, very little, who thinks of everything and just smiles, right up until he rips someone’s throat out. Samantha Carter has read the reports.
He must drive McKay insane. For that alone, she’s willing to let him waffle a little. She just cocks her head, waits for him to spit out his objection.
“How destroyed are we talking, here? I mean, I know McKay’s obnoxious, and I get that you want to take him down a peg or two, sure, but,” and he looks up and down the hall, so fast she nearly doesn’t catch it, and leans close, says “he’s a good guy, you know? And the ego — well, after a guy saves your ass a couple hundred times, you kind of just go with what works. If ego works, you deal with it.” He’s as serious as she’s ever seen him, and her respect for Sheppard increases accordingly.
“Don’t worry, Sheppard. It’s just going to shake him up, deflate him enough to be bearable again. Here.” She didn’t want to do this, wanted to keep the surprise, but John Sheppard understands Rodney McKay nearly as well as she does, and so she undoes the top flap of the box, pulls it open, hands it over. He looks in, looks again, then breaks into the most genuine smile she’s ever seen on the man. He’s been smiling at her since she caught up to him, and this is the first time she can believe it.
“So,” he says, folding the flaps back down, “a picture when he opens it, and I bet you want me to wrap it, too? Of course you do. What about a picture of him wearing it?”
“Sure, if you can get one, but I really don’t expect it—“
“You’d be surprised what I can manage, Carter. Be seeing you.” With that, he turns on his heel and is gone.
Maybe, Sam thinks, he knows Rodney McKay even better than she does. The idea makes her smile.
The next bit is maybe the one with the actual gift in, and will come tomorrow night, same bat time, same bat channel, if at all possible.
As they round the fifth or the twenty-sixth corner, he’s asking her whether or not it will turn anyone “green? Blue? Red-orange? Any other color they aren’t, normally?” She shakes her head to each one, though, and they continue on. When, after a moment’s thought, he starts asking about the possibility of explosion, she sighs, and thinks that, just maybe, this was not the best idea she’s ever had.
Well, not the idea itself. The basic idea — the objective, here — was and is excellent. She knew, right from the moment she saw it, that this was it: this was Rodney McKay’s Christmas present. She’d seen it, and she’d known, and she’d sworn to do whatever she needed to make it happen, no matter how awkward, embarrassing, or downright illegal. McKay deserves this: partly for being his completely intolerable self, sure, but partly — a small part, of course — because, from what she’s been reading and hearing, things haven’t been entirely easy for them, out there, and for him maybe more than for the rest of him.
He’s out of his depth — who wouldn’t be? — and he’s too smart not to know it. She knows he’s freaking out, because, despite what some people have been saying about him since they re-established contact, not that many people have died. If he weren’t nervous, the entire expedition would have died long before now. He’s in one of those situations where a carefully controlled state of panic is an entirely reasonable response, the only response that keeps people alive and working. Still, that doesn’t make it a warm fuzzy feeling. You can read it in his reports, the way he’s clearly taking a list of several hundred things that need to be done absolutely right now and worrying about them all, in order of importance. She knows how that feels, having to choose your crisis, having things really actually depend on you. If anyone in the world can deal with that feeling, it’s McKay, but she can’t help feeling a little bad for him.
Only a very little, though. Mostly, when she thinks about the gift, she thinks about the look on his face when he opens it. She stops then, cuts Sheppard off before he can finish asking if it will explode or not.
“No, it won’t explode, turn anyone strange colors, influence their brain chemistry in unfortunate ways, cause the downfall of the Western World — am I missing anything?”
“I actually didn’t ask about the downfall of the West — kind of figured it wouldn’t, what with being in the wrong galaxy and all.” Sheppard grins at her, and she rolls her eyes. Charming, sure, whatever, but she has a plan here. She is a woman on a mission.
“Listen, I promise it won’t damage anything, except possibly McKay’s ego. Can you just give it to him without knowing what it is? And take a picture of his face when he opens it?” She’s smiling up at him — hell, if he gets to try to charm her, she’s not going to play fair either — but he’s paused, thinking.
“Only possibly?” She blinks. “His ego — we’re only maybe going to damage it?”
“Oh, no,” she smiles, knowing that she’s got him now, “I only said that so you’d go along with me. His ego will be,” and god, it’s a delicious thought, and she shivers a little, “destroyed. Thanks for your help—” but no, he’s pulling back again, his face freezing in that charming mask. She gets a brief flash of what it must be like to work with this man, who sees so much and shows so very, very little, who thinks of everything and just smiles, right up until he rips someone’s throat out. Samantha Carter has read the reports.
He must drive McKay insane. For that alone, she’s willing to let him waffle a little. She just cocks her head, waits for him to spit out his objection.
“How destroyed are we talking, here? I mean, I know McKay’s obnoxious, and I get that you want to take him down a peg or two, sure, but,” and he looks up and down the hall, so fast she nearly doesn’t catch it, and leans close, says “he’s a good guy, you know? And the ego — well, after a guy saves your ass a couple hundred times, you kind of just go with what works. If ego works, you deal with it.” He’s as serious as she’s ever seen him, and her respect for Sheppard increases accordingly.
“Don’t worry, Sheppard. It’s just going to shake him up, deflate him enough to be bearable again. Here.” She didn’t want to do this, wanted to keep the surprise, but John Sheppard understands Rodney McKay nearly as well as she does, and so she undoes the top flap of the box, pulls it open, hands it over. He looks in, looks again, then breaks into the most genuine smile she’s ever seen on the man. He’s been smiling at her since she caught up to him, and this is the first time she can believe it.
“So,” he says, folding the flaps back down, “a picture when he opens it, and I bet you want me to wrap it, too? Of course you do. What about a picture of him wearing it?”
“Sure, if you can get one, but I really don’t expect it—“
“You’d be surprised what I can manage, Carter. Be seeing you.” With that, he turns on his heel and is gone.
Maybe, Sam thinks, he knows Rodney McKay even better than she does. The idea makes her smile.
The next bit is maybe the one with the actual gift in, and will come tomorrow night, same bat time, same bat channel, if at all possible.