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WIP Amnesty: SGA
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wip_amnesty! I'm a fan.
1) the one about the cat. I really don't know what this was actually going to be about - I wrote this much, and then I took a nap, and when I woke up, I couldn't remember where the ending was supposed to be. Still, I like the history of Rodney's cat, so I saved it...but, honestly, it's never going to be finished.
Rodney McKay's cat was completely insane.
It didn't bother him to admit it, either; despite what Pierce had insinuated, the cat's temperament was neither a reflection nor a result of Rodney's own behavior. It wasn't even his cat, really—or, well, technically it was, since it was his name on the papers, but he hadn't picked it out or anything.
The cat came to Rodney via Katrina Wilde, Rodney's lone attempt at dating someone in the social sciences. She'd moved in, bringing the cat with her, and then left it with Rodney while she went off to study some language spoken only in a specific rainforest in a specific tiny island in the Pacific. Three months later, Rodney had received a letter saying that she'd found her life's work, that she was staying with the savages, that she was breaking up with him, that he should sell her books and take good care of the cat.
The cat, in some bizarre show of compassion, had jumped up on Rodney's lap, purring ferociously. Rodney, still holding the letter with one hand, had dropped the other one down to pet the cat, carding his fingers gently through the thick, fluffy fur.
The cat purred louder for three and a half minutes, and then it bit him, defining the parameters of their relationship. It would let him pet it for a while, and then attack, with no warning of any kind. It would stretch out on his bed, belly exposed to the air; when Rodney rubbed its belly, it would curl around his hand, claws out, still purring the entire time. It went out of its way to put itself under Rodney's hands, only to bite those hands at every opportunity. It attacked Rodney's feet under the covers, or under the table, or on the floor just outside the shower.
It was annoying, to be sure, but Rodney was something of an expert on that subject.
He was also becoming something of an expert on John Sheppard, but it still took him most of three years (two years, seven months, and nineteen days) to realize that Sheppard was exactly like the cat.
True, Sheppard didn't flatten his ears and hiss when Rodney stepped in his sunlight, and he didn't chase dust motes down the hall, and he hardly ever lashed his tail (there had been that incident with the temple on P8F-554, but Rodney was willing to call that a fluke). He never bit Rodney's fingers, and he never purred, and his night vision was pretty lousy.
All the same, the resemblance was undeniable. John had limits and boundaries, just like the cat; he let people go so far, and then lashed out if they went further. He was impossible and contradictory, and the warm, friendly smile could turn into bared teeth in a heartbeat.
All of which led to only one conclusion: like Rodney's cat, John Sheppard was completely insane. Fortunately, once Rodney had recognized the resemblance, he knew how to deal with it.
2) Rejoice Greatly Because, yes: I am a cheap whore for singing. Abandoned because, really, who else would have wanted to read this?
So John's on Atlantis — sprained wrist, again, and it's getting really annoying, but the good thing is that he's not stuck in the infirmary, this time. He's in the gate-room, when the team comes back — Ronon,Teyla, Rodney, and one of the linguists, a diminutive woman with the unlikely name of Tyrone Whittaker. She wanted to check out the library, Rodney wanted to look at some of their labs, and Teyla had said that these people were simple farmers, so Elizabeth had given the OK.
John had pointed out that the Pegasus version of 'simple farmer' was rarely either of those things, but Teyla'd sworn that these people really were harmless. He kind of thinks she's got an ex there — something about her hair, when they left. Still, there's no good reason not to let them go — Ronon and Teyla are tough as nails, and Rodney's been getting better all the time.
Generally speaking, he's inclined to trust Teyla, but when they first come back through, he's not so sure. Whittaker is hunched over, curled in on herself and staggering forward, and Ronon and Teyla are leaning heavily on each other, holding each other up. For a long moment, there's no Rodney, and John's pulse kicks into overdrive. Sprained wrist or not, they're not leaving Rodney behind.
He's halfway down the stairs to the main floor of the gateroom when the gate shimmers again, and Rodney stalks through, head high. John relaxes, suddenly, turning his hurry down into a casual stroll, because Rodney's clearly more annoyed than anything else. Still, there's the rest of the team to consider, and John looks at them with concern. Whittaker's on her knees, gasping for breath, but when she lifts her head, John can see that she's laughing, tears pouring down her face, her breath coming in gasps and sobs. Ronon and Teyla are the same, he sees — they're leaning on each other because they're laughing too hard to stand up straight.
"What's up, guys?" he asks, leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs. Whittaker opens her mouth, but Rodney's there before she can so much as take a breath, one finger waving under her nose.
"Oh no you don't, Miss Descriptive Grammar—one word of this, one single word, to anyone at all, and I will—I'll—" he trails off, staring over Whittaker's shoulder at where John's standing. John's guessing that he's just realized how many people are in the gateroom—about twenty, right now—and that publicly threatening someone is maybe not the best way to make this go away. In a way, it's kind of reassuring to see that Rodney's finally learned a little bit of discretion—maybe this way, the next time they're on a planet where they've discovered high explosives, nobody will threaten to blow them up for being annoying.
Maybe.
Whittaker's not looking particularly cowed, anyway. "McKay, I don't know what you're talking about," she says, standing up and wiping her eyes. "You've got a lovely singing voice, really."
3) Earthside Genderfuck I'm still writing this story! But, really, I realized that this wasn't the way to tell it.
Really, the fact that Rodney McKay is now a woman isn't the problem. It's a problem, obviously—in fact, John would probably even say that it’s several different problems, each one slightly more brain-breaking and awkward than the one before—but it's not the problem.
No, the real problem is that Rodney turned into a woman on Earth, not on Atlantis or on P2X-whatever.
See, on Atlantis, they're used to weird stuff happening, and they do whatever's needed to fix the situation. Sometimes that means explosions, and sometimes that means drinking lots of strong tea and nodding cheerfully at everything an elderly woman says, and sometimes that just means agreeing never to speak of something ever, ever again.
John's not sure what sort of solution this situation calls for, but that's not the point. The point is that on Atlantis, they'd be fixing things. Whatever they needed to do, they'd do it, and then they'd move the hell on. Nobody would waste any time staring at McKay's chest, or trying to get in his pants, or anything like that; they'd just fix it.
And John is not just speculating, here, because, sadly enough, this is not the first time he's had to deal with his team members suddenly changing genders. Their first year on Atlantis, they hadn't asked the right questions about the ceremonial tea on P7G-439, and Ford had spent a week and a half trying as a very pretty—if very uncomfortable—woman.
It makes him wonder, really: what is up with the Pegasus Galaxy, that it has two completely separate—and, according to Beckett, medically distinct—ways to turn men into women?
But, see, as uncomfortable as Ford had been with the whole thing, it hadn't been because of anyone on Atlantis. He was still Lieutenant Ford, and nobody had tried to treat him any differently just because he suddenly had breasts. One of the female Marines loaned him a few bras, Teyla taught him some breathing exercises, he showered in his quarters, and then one morning Beckett came into the morning briefing with another cup of tea, and everything was back to normal. No fuss, no muss.
And, see, if they were in Atlantis, it'd be like that. Even if people thought McKay was attractive, as a woman, they'd never say it. They probably wouldn't even look at him funny, because they'd remember that he was, oh, yeah: Rodney fucking McKay, who maybe can't kill you with his brain, but can definitely engineer some sort of accident with the same end result.
Unfortunately, they're not on Atlantis, or even at the SGC, where at least people would have heard of Rodney McKay, temporarily female physicist.
4) Advances At one point, this summer, I woke up in the middle of the night with an idea for a long, plotty story about Rodney and Elizabeth, and spent several hours sitting in the bathroom, typing like a fiend, outlining stuff.
Then I realized that I didn't actually want to write the story. Ooops?
"Rodney. I've just spent an hour and a half talking with Teyla—"
"Congratulations, Sheppard; Teyla's a very attractive women, and I'm glad you're making some headway on that front."
"—talking with Teyla about your sex life." This is bizarre and frightening, and Rodney says as much.
"You have no idea. She's of the opinion that you're being a pissy bastard because you aren't getting laid enough."
"Teyla said that?"
"No, she said that your current difficult state was a result of insufficient companionship, and was there anyone in particular who had spurned your advances?"
"Oh."
"Yes, oh." Sheppard puts both hands flat on the desk and leans into Rodney's space. "McKay, you're a good friend and a good team member, but I never want to have to discuss your advances with Teyla again. Whatever your problem is, you need to fix it, and fast."
Fly free, little stories! I'll be over here, reading about OT and HATING MY LIFE.
Also, I posted a thing over atmjcountdown! Because ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shoemaster told me to, and I'm...pretty much her flunky. Ma-Agbor's House Of Fine Garments, outtake from the ballet-fic*.
*Which is becoming the fic of DOOM, oh God, and even now that I've worked out that issue in the middle and done the name-changes I needed to, it's still going to eat my FACE, I know it for sure...
wip_amnesty! I'm a fan.1) the one about the cat. I really don't know what this was actually going to be about - I wrote this much, and then I took a nap, and when I woke up, I couldn't remember where the ending was supposed to be. Still, I like the history of Rodney's cat, so I saved it...but, honestly, it's never going to be finished.
Rodney McKay's cat was completely insane.
It didn't bother him to admit it, either; despite what Pierce had insinuated, the cat's temperament was neither a reflection nor a result of Rodney's own behavior. It wasn't even his cat, really—or, well, technically it was, since it was his name on the papers, but he hadn't picked it out or anything.
The cat came to Rodney via Katrina Wilde, Rodney's lone attempt at dating someone in the social sciences. She'd moved in, bringing the cat with her, and then left it with Rodney while she went off to study some language spoken only in a specific rainforest in a specific tiny island in the Pacific. Three months later, Rodney had received a letter saying that she'd found her life's work, that she was staying with the savages, that she was breaking up with him, that he should sell her books and take good care of the cat.
The cat, in some bizarre show of compassion, had jumped up on Rodney's lap, purring ferociously. Rodney, still holding the letter with one hand, had dropped the other one down to pet the cat, carding his fingers gently through the thick, fluffy fur.
The cat purred louder for three and a half minutes, and then it bit him, defining the parameters of their relationship. It would let him pet it for a while, and then attack, with no warning of any kind. It would stretch out on his bed, belly exposed to the air; when Rodney rubbed its belly, it would curl around his hand, claws out, still purring the entire time. It went out of its way to put itself under Rodney's hands, only to bite those hands at every opportunity. It attacked Rodney's feet under the covers, or under the table, or on the floor just outside the shower.
It was annoying, to be sure, but Rodney was something of an expert on that subject.
He was also becoming something of an expert on John Sheppard, but it still took him most of three years (two years, seven months, and nineteen days) to realize that Sheppard was exactly like the cat.
True, Sheppard didn't flatten his ears and hiss when Rodney stepped in his sunlight, and he didn't chase dust motes down the hall, and he hardly ever lashed his tail (there had been that incident with the temple on P8F-554, but Rodney was willing to call that a fluke). He never bit Rodney's fingers, and he never purred, and his night vision was pretty lousy.
All the same, the resemblance was undeniable. John had limits and boundaries, just like the cat; he let people go so far, and then lashed out if they went further. He was impossible and contradictory, and the warm, friendly smile could turn into bared teeth in a heartbeat.
All of which led to only one conclusion: like Rodney's cat, John Sheppard was completely insane. Fortunately, once Rodney had recognized the resemblance, he knew how to deal with it.
2) Rejoice Greatly Because, yes: I am a cheap whore for singing. Abandoned because, really, who else would have wanted to read this?
So John's on Atlantis — sprained wrist, again, and it's getting really annoying, but the good thing is that he's not stuck in the infirmary, this time. He's in the gate-room, when the team comes back — Ronon,Teyla, Rodney, and one of the linguists, a diminutive woman with the unlikely name of Tyrone Whittaker. She wanted to check out the library, Rodney wanted to look at some of their labs, and Teyla had said that these people were simple farmers, so Elizabeth had given the OK.
John had pointed out that the Pegasus version of 'simple farmer' was rarely either of those things, but Teyla'd sworn that these people really were harmless. He kind of thinks she's got an ex there — something about her hair, when they left. Still, there's no good reason not to let them go — Ronon and Teyla are tough as nails, and Rodney's been getting better all the time.
Generally speaking, he's inclined to trust Teyla, but when they first come back through, he's not so sure. Whittaker is hunched over, curled in on herself and staggering forward, and Ronon and Teyla are leaning heavily on each other, holding each other up. For a long moment, there's no Rodney, and John's pulse kicks into overdrive. Sprained wrist or not, they're not leaving Rodney behind.
He's halfway down the stairs to the main floor of the gateroom when the gate shimmers again, and Rodney stalks through, head high. John relaxes, suddenly, turning his hurry down into a casual stroll, because Rodney's clearly more annoyed than anything else. Still, there's the rest of the team to consider, and John looks at them with concern. Whittaker's on her knees, gasping for breath, but when she lifts her head, John can see that she's laughing, tears pouring down her face, her breath coming in gasps and sobs. Ronon and Teyla are the same, he sees — they're leaning on each other because they're laughing too hard to stand up straight.
"What's up, guys?" he asks, leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs. Whittaker opens her mouth, but Rodney's there before she can so much as take a breath, one finger waving under her nose.
"Oh no you don't, Miss Descriptive Grammar—one word of this, one single word, to anyone at all, and I will—I'll—" he trails off, staring over Whittaker's shoulder at where John's standing. John's guessing that he's just realized how many people are in the gateroom—about twenty, right now—and that publicly threatening someone is maybe not the best way to make this go away. In a way, it's kind of reassuring to see that Rodney's finally learned a little bit of discretion—maybe this way, the next time they're on a planet where they've discovered high explosives, nobody will threaten to blow them up for being annoying.
Maybe.
Whittaker's not looking particularly cowed, anyway. "McKay, I don't know what you're talking about," she says, standing up and wiping her eyes. "You've got a lovely singing voice, really."
3) Earthside Genderfuck I'm still writing this story! But, really, I realized that this wasn't the way to tell it.
Really, the fact that Rodney McKay is now a woman isn't the problem. It's a problem, obviously—in fact, John would probably even say that it’s several different problems, each one slightly more brain-breaking and awkward than the one before—but it's not the problem.
No, the real problem is that Rodney turned into a woman on Earth, not on Atlantis or on P2X-whatever.
See, on Atlantis, they're used to weird stuff happening, and they do whatever's needed to fix the situation. Sometimes that means explosions, and sometimes that means drinking lots of strong tea and nodding cheerfully at everything an elderly woman says, and sometimes that just means agreeing never to speak of something ever, ever again.
John's not sure what sort of solution this situation calls for, but that's not the point. The point is that on Atlantis, they'd be fixing things. Whatever they needed to do, they'd do it, and then they'd move the hell on. Nobody would waste any time staring at McKay's chest, or trying to get in his pants, or anything like that; they'd just fix it.
And John is not just speculating, here, because, sadly enough, this is not the first time he's had to deal with his team members suddenly changing genders. Their first year on Atlantis, they hadn't asked the right questions about the ceremonial tea on P7G-439, and Ford had spent a week and a half trying as a very pretty—if very uncomfortable—woman.
It makes him wonder, really: what is up with the Pegasus Galaxy, that it has two completely separate—and, according to Beckett, medically distinct—ways to turn men into women?
But, see, as uncomfortable as Ford had been with the whole thing, it hadn't been because of anyone on Atlantis. He was still Lieutenant Ford, and nobody had tried to treat him any differently just because he suddenly had breasts. One of the female Marines loaned him a few bras, Teyla taught him some breathing exercises, he showered in his quarters, and then one morning Beckett came into the morning briefing with another cup of tea, and everything was back to normal. No fuss, no muss.
And, see, if they were in Atlantis, it'd be like that. Even if people thought McKay was attractive, as a woman, they'd never say it. They probably wouldn't even look at him funny, because they'd remember that he was, oh, yeah: Rodney fucking McKay, who maybe can't kill you with his brain, but can definitely engineer some sort of accident with the same end result.
Unfortunately, they're not on Atlantis, or even at the SGC, where at least people would have heard of Rodney McKay, temporarily female physicist.
4) Advances At one point, this summer, I woke up in the middle of the night with an idea for a long, plotty story about Rodney and Elizabeth, and spent several hours sitting in the bathroom, typing like a fiend, outlining stuff.
Then I realized that I didn't actually want to write the story. Ooops?
"Rodney. I've just spent an hour and a half talking with Teyla—"
"Congratulations, Sheppard; Teyla's a very attractive women, and I'm glad you're making some headway on that front."
"—talking with Teyla about your sex life." This is bizarre and frightening, and Rodney says as much.
"You have no idea. She's of the opinion that you're being a pissy bastard because you aren't getting laid enough."
"Teyla said that?"
"No, she said that your current difficult state was a result of insufficient companionship, and was there anyone in particular who had spurned your advances?"
"Oh."
"Yes, oh." Sheppard puts both hands flat on the desk and leans into Rodney's space. "McKay, you're a good friend and a good team member, but I never want to have to discuss your advances with Teyla again. Whatever your problem is, you need to fix it, and fast."
Fly free, little stories! I'll be over here, reading about OT and HATING MY LIFE.
Also, I posted a thing over at
mjcountdown! Because shoemaster told me to, and I'm...pretty much her flunky. Ma-Agbor's House Of Fine Garments, outtake from the ballet-fic*.*Which is becoming the fic of DOOM, oh God, and even now that I've worked out that issue in the middle and done the name-changes I needed to, it's still going to eat my FACE, I know it for sure...