Snippet: Highlander: AU NOS

More of an AU that’s been going slowly, but is fun to work on.

Kronos is a warning in himself, but. His views on the world aren’t mine, and aren’t particularly kind or good for others.

AU: offshoot of Sea and Wolf
Characters: Kronos, Darius, mentions of others

“It is good to see you awake, Aurelius.” Darius watches Kronos with a wary expression as he unshoulders his pack to set it next to the ones the woman – greeted as Xanthia by Alysse, and as Rebecca by Fitzcairn – and the other man, who must be Sean, had shed.

“It is good to be alive.” Kronos shrugs, adding another piece of wood to the embers to keep the fire from dying and needing kindled once more. “And to see you once more.”

He had heard of Darius’s death, the loss of his Quickening because it was mortals who killed him – had to be mortals, for none of them would have killed on Holy Ground. If he had known who to hunt, he would have torn the fools who had killed Darius to pieces, and perhaps been satisfied for a time.

A small smile curls the corner of Darius’s mouth as he settles across the fire, pulling the packs closer to him. “You seem more settled in your own skin than the last time I saw you.” He pulls neat bundles of greenery out of the pack, some which look vaguely familiar, some which look fascinatingly strange – and not all of which are entirely green.

Kronos snorts, leaning back against the section of log which has become his seat. “I was dead.”

It is good to be alive again, and to be beyond the reach of anything any mortal might do. The stars last night had been strange indeed, even to his eyes, no familiar patterns in them at all.

That the moon which shone a broad crescent had held nothing familiar, either, and was larger than he’d ever seen, spoke even more of them being well beyond the reach of mortals, wherever they are.

“As have we all been.” Darius passes him one of the bundles of stranger greenery. “Strip the scales from that.”

It’s a task of a sort which had been left to the women when Kronos had thought himself mortal, and to slaves when the Horsemen had rode. That he’d had to do for himself between one and the other, and after he’d crawled out of the well Methos had left him in. He unties the string binding the mass of neatly aligned stems, and begins to do as Darius had instructed.

Better than being idle, when there are only the seven of them.

“All of us?” He glances to where Alysse is helping to separate other bundles into smaller ones, sitting companiably with Rebecca, the two women leaning close to each other to talk without being overheard.

Darius looks over to follow his gaze, and the small smile makes a brief return. “Even she, though she has not spoken of how or when. I thought it might have been soon after you had met your end, as you arrived together.”

Kronos doubts it had occurred as closely as Darius believes, but he had spent the time dead and crammed into the back of an irritating child’s head, with no sense of the passage of time. No way to know how long he’d been trapped there before waking here.

“She wasn’t there.” Kronos doesn’t want to speak of his death, the pain of Methos’s betrayal welling up unexpectedly, and making him want to destroy things. To have his once-brother in front of him so he could kill him over and over again. “She was safe.”

Snippet: Highlander

A bit from a story that’s probably never going anywhere, but was fun to write anyway, even unfinished.

AU: NOS
Characters: Methos, Duncan MacLeod, Zoya Selivestrova (OFC)

Zoya stays out of easy reach of either man while they talk, and Duncan introduces her. The sudden blankness of Methos’ face makes her tense and frown a little, wary and worried until he relaxes. She’s still not sure what to make of him, since all she has to go on is stories of a time thousands of years past. She glances at Duncan, curious herself what he wants, and willing to wait until the conversation has an opening she’s willing to use.

“The truth,” MacLeod says. “And I want to know *why*.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Methos can see the pain in his eyes. It stabs at him, and he has to look away.

“Things were different then, MacLeod. The whole bloody world was different. And so was I.” He glances at Zoya. If she was Silas’ student, she’s probably heard the worst of it already, so he takes a deep breath and continues. “I was so *angry*. I was already old, and so tired of losing everything I cared about over and over again; tired of disease and starvation and slaughter. And then I met Kronos. By the time I left the Horsemen, I could barely tell where he left off and where I began.”

It tells her a little about who he was, but Zoya isn’t as interested in that as Duncan is. Then, she’s heard a lot about the Horsemen from Silas, and she’s more curious about why someone her teacher respected so much never tried to contact him again. Why he’d walked off, and abandoned all of them – though she’s fairly certain it’s just as well in the case of Caspian and Kronos, from the stories Silas told her. “Did you have to leave them all behind to just get away from Kronos?” she asks quietly, though she’s more asking if he had to cut off contact with Silas than anything else.

“No. I had to do that to get away from myself,” Methos answers. “It was a long time before I could live with people again, instead of on the most isolated bit of Holy Ground I could find. I had to make a clean break of it.”

“Like an alcoholic, or a drug addict,” MacLeod murmurs. It’s startling, coming from him, and Methos can’t help the faint rush of hope that rises up in his chest.

“Exactly like,” he says, nodding at MacLeod. “The power – ” He closes his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before reopening them. “The power is addictive. A clean break was the only way to go.” Glancing over at Zoya, he adds, “I do keep an eye on Silas, though. I have almost the entire time.”

She smiles at that, making a mental note to mention that the next time she went home. Zoya thinks it’s something Silas might appreciate knowing, if he thinks much about it. Glancing at the car behind Methos, she tilts her head. “You’re leaving to avoid losing yourself in it again, aren’t you?” A thought is brewing in the back of her mind, and she hesitates a moment before making the offer. “Perhaps, if you need to hide, you can come back home with me? Silas would probably like to see you again.”

The desire to accept Zoya’s offer is very nearly overwhelming. Methos would like nothing better than to be able to hide for a while, to have the pleasure of Silas’ uncomplicated companionship again.

Snippet: Stargate SG-1/Atlantis

Have a snippet from about six and a half years ago, that I don’t know where the fuck I was going, or, at this point, any intention of attempting to figure it out beyond the title I gave the document.

It made me cackle while rereading it, so.

Outrunning the Apocalypse

Word Count: 1489
Characters: Jack O’Neill, John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, others whose names I’ve actually forgotten it’s been so long

Jack took point over the objections of about half his senior officers, though from Sam’s expression, he’s certain she’ll have other words for him later about putting himself at risk. Which he would have to remind her is his prerogative as the commanding officer of the military forces in Atlantis. He glances to his left, at the watchful expression of his newly-promoted XO. Sheppard hadn’t voiced an objection earlier, but he isn’t entirely certain the younger man didn’t have any. Then again, his record spoke for itself.

Movement at the edge of his vision catches his attention, and he brings his hand up in a fist as he stops, watching the trees that surround the clearing with the Stargate. Waiting for who or what ever was out there to come where he can see it. Relaxing slightly when two boys come tearing out of the woods, one chasing the other, both laughing until they look up from their game. Jack gives them a cheerful smile as they stare, lowering his P90 so it points at the ground.

“Hey kids. Your parents around?”

Christ. If O’Neill doesn’t get killed by the natives – not the most politically correct term, but then, the US military has never worried about being PC – then John just might have to do it himself, if only to put an end to the tension that springs into existence on Atlantis every time the man decides to go through the ‘gate. For now, though, he’s got nothing to do but guard the man’s six – and to try and soothe McKay, whose presence has been deemed necessary, though John has yet to determine the reason why. The physicist’s loud complaints have turned six Force Recon sergeants into twitchy, trigger-happy bundles of nerves; of them all, only O’Neill seems untroubled. John sets his jaw, elbows McKay, and turns his attention to the kids staring wide-eyed at O’Neill.

Jack doesn’t have to look back to know Sheppard has, thankfully, shut McKay up. If Sam hadn’t reminded him that the little irritant was the best bet they had for finding another ZPM with enough power to keep up that shield, he’d have left him behind. As it is, he’s not entirely certain McKay will make it back quite in one piece, if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut.

He’s about to repeat his question to the kids, who are still staring, when a man comes up behind the kids, eyeing the weaponry of the team warily. Jack frowns a moment, and looks over his shoulder a moment before ordering the men to lower their weapons. “Sorry about that,” he says as he turns back to the man. “They’re just a little jumpy.”

“And you are…?” There’s an edge in the man’s voice, one that has John checking the trees for concealed fighters. Something about the guy’s expression reminds him of tribal leaders in the sandbox, the ones who would cooperate under the right circumstances, and – under the wrong ones – would be able to raise a village full of armed insurgents on less than a minute’s notice. The kids, melting back into the surrounding trees, merely add to the impression. John elbows McKay again – just to be on the safe side – and keeps his P-90 centered on the guy’s chest. If he does try to signal anyone, he’ll be so much dead meat before he can get it out.

“Jack O’Neill.” Jack keeps his smile on his face, and his P90 pointing at the ground, though his hands itch to have it properly in his hands, ready to defend himself. At least there are people here, and the ground hasn’t shown a disturbing tendency to try to slide out from under anyone.

“We’re not going to hurt you, just looking for someone in charge, so we can talk.” Talk, make friends, get them some basic supplies like food along with looking for a ZPM.

O’Neill gets a long, hard look – John is reminded even more vividly of the sandbox – and then the guy nods. John doesn’t see anything in the shadows under the trees, but the sense of weapons aimed at himself and those around him eases back a notch.

“If you truly mean no harm, then you are welcome,” the man says. One or two of the kids filter back out of the trees, and the tension eases a little more – enough that McKay draws a deep breath. John steps hard on his foot without changing expression. He wants to look at O’Neill, but he knows where his eyes belong, and keeps them moving, looking from shadow to shadow.

“This way,” the man says, and turns his back on the guns without a second’s hesitation. In the sandbox, that would have meant that there were rifles trained on John’s party; here, he can’t help wondering if maybe the guy doesn’t know what he’s looking at.

Jack’s smile widens a bit, and he heads after the man with a cheerful, “Come on, kids, let’s go meet the neighbors!”

He’s deliberately ignoring any sounds out of McKay, though if he hears a word out of the man, he doesn’t care if Sam objects, he’s going to leave McKay behind, and she can leave the paperwork behind for a few hours. It’s not like she doesn’t have an assistant for that sort of thing – he distinctly remembers assigning someone in that capacity. He suspects she’s using it as an excuse to get McKay away from the city while she explores instead, anyway.

John follows after his CO, torn between strangling O’Neill and strangling McKay, who is practically boiling over with suppressed irritation. There’s something off here, despite the apparent friendliness of the natives, and the P-90 is a comforting weight in his hands.

“Sir,” he ventures, because the SGC paperwork that made it to Atlantis gives O’Neill a maverick’s reputation that would be as black as his own if O’Neill hadn’t always managed to somehow pull a miracle out of his ass, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Nope.” Jack’s voice is low, to keep from carrying, and his cheerful smile fades. He does it as much to annoy McKay as anything else, though he’s not going to subject his XO to it too much. Unless he needs to. “Just watch our six, and don’t let McKay wander off alone.” The last thing he needs is to have to rescue the physicist.

But even though he’s itching to keep his weapon in hand, he’s got to play the trusting leader, and talk with these people. Whatever it is that’s bothering both of them will show up sooner or later. And they did bring enough firepower to blow up at least a small ship.

“Gee. Thanks, sir,” John says. He’s been keeping McKay in line on the off-chance that the man’s as brilliant as he says he is, but he really hadn’t wanted to be assigned as the man’s official keeper. He has the distressing feeling that said assignment won’t end with this mission. He doubts McKay will wander off – he seems far too aware of his own value to risk himself like that on an alien planet – but then, he went to MIT, and knows how distracted theorists can get in the heat of the moment, so he drops back, the better to keep both McKay and their six in plain sight.

Jack doesn’t miss the sarcasm in Sheppard’s voice, and he quirks up the corner of his mouth in a sardonic little grin a moment. He knows no one wants to be the one to keep an eye on McKay, but better Sheppard than one of the sergeants. At least he hasn’t shown an inclination to ignore the man in favor of shooting him.

“Hey, how far to… wherever you’re taking us?” he calls ahead to the man leading the way, trying to engage him in conversation. There’s always something to be learned – he’s sure he picked that up from Jackson – and it’s easier to find out if there’s something going on if he can get the guy to talk to him.

“Not far. The Ring is near to our village, though not too near, of course.” And that, along with the natives’ behaviour, is enough to make John’s nasty, suspicious mind wonder just what might come out of the ‘gate if a group of Marines is considered safe enough to bring home. This guy might not know what the P90s are capable of, but he can certainly recognize weapons when he sees them held.

“Is this standard protocol?” He addresses his question to the only gunny they’ve brought with them, because at that rank, they’re used to officers asking stupid questions. The gunny’s long-suffering expression and raised eyebrow say that yes, it is – at least when Jack O’Neill is involved. John’s gotten very good at reading NCOs’ body language since the incident in Afghanistan.

Crossover: Masters of Light and Darkness

Tashi, when she starts to surface from being immersed in the Dark Side. With bonus appearance by Cirton.

AU: Masters of Light and Darkness
Characters: Natasha Romanov (Tashi), Clint Barton (Cirton)

She can watch her hands as they move, feel her body shift in familiar forms, fighting for survival. The blade in front of her is a brilliant crimson, not her familiar deep violet, and she cannot stop herself from leaping from one adversary to another, a whirling dance of death for the Jedi who surround her.

There’s someone else there, she can feel him in the Force, an intimacy that is familiar and strange at the same time. An arrow flies silent through the air to bury itself deeply into a Jedi who isn’t paying enough attention to the world around them, thinking she is the only threat.

She throws up a shield of the Force as if it’s second nature, redirecting the pressure wave and debris and gore around her as the explosive charge that had felled the Jedi took out their companions as well. A friend, an ally, she can’t remember which, and she should.

They are the last of the Jedi, and she waits a long moment before she thumbs the activation switch of her saber, and returns it to her belt. Looking down at her hands, gloved in black, and almost her own again. Arms clad in the same black, black everywhere she can see. Not the muddied wine and deep brown she has always worn.

A quiet thump makes her whip her head around to stare at the man who’d landed nearby, dressed in black that hugs him close, and looks like leather, though something niggles at the back of her mind. Armor, enhanced by the Force, a gift from her, to make it harder to kill him.

“You good, Tashi?” The man is studying her with a small frown, as if searching for wounds. Someone she trusts, that whoever she’s been that carries a red blade and wears black trusts. Who watches her back, and keeps her safe while she…. while she what?

“I don’t know where I am.” She looks at her hands again, trying to remember when she’d begun to wear gloves, at least.

Stargate: Supreme System Lord: Can’t Take the Sky From Me

Part 4/4 (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

Can’t Take the Sky From Me

AU: Supreme System Lord
Characters: Baal, John Sheppard, Rodney McKay

“Engines this way,” John murmurs, a grin on his face as he waves for Rodney to precede him. He’s familiar enough with the ship that he knows the way, but he doesn’t want Rodney to get lost his first time on board.

“Sheppard, this is -” Rodney stops, speechless for one of the few times in his life. He shakes his head in amazement. “Thank you. I mean that – and I’m not really that big on gratitude. Ask anyone who knows me.”

John reaches up to rub the back of his neck, giving Rodney an awkward grin. “Yeah. Not a problem, really.” He’s not sure what to do with gratitude, anyway, and he shrugs, shoving his hands back into his pockets after a moment, sauntering after Rodney as Baal leads them to the engine room. There are a couple j’affa in the corridors along the way, but no one actually in the engine room.

“Sheppard can provide the practical demonstration when you’ve had a chance to look over the engines.” Baal waves a hand at the banks of crystals hidden by casing and other elements that make up the hyperdrive engine. “Any further information you might require can be accessed through the console there, or one in the pel’tak.”

“I’ll need a translator for the first week or so, unless it comes equipped with one.” Rodney wants to start pulling the engine apart about as badly as he’s ever wanted anything, but not without a chance to read the manual first, not while they’re actually in orbit.

“I’ll send my lo’taur to do that.” Baal doesn’t usually allow his slaves near anything important, not after one betrayed him to the tok’ra, but he trusts this one more than the last. He’s proven quite willing to do whatever he’s asked. “He will provide anything you require.”

Rodney throws a questioning glance at Sheppard, not sure if he wants to know what that is. There’s a ruthlessness about Baal that makes Rodney glad that he’s not only useful, but practically irreplacable.

John gives Rodney a half-smile and a shrug. He doesn’t exactly like some of what he knows about Baal, but right now, the man’s given him a job, doing something he loves. And it’s not like Baal’s not trying to change, so there’s that, at least. Otherwise, even the dream job aspect of things might not be enough.

After a moment, Baal leaves them to themselves, no doubt going to tell his assistant to make sure that all the paperwork needed to hire Rodney happens. Regardless of what the US military might want.

As soon as Baal is gone, Rodney reaches out and puts a reverent hand on the ship. He’s not surprised – or even embarrassed to be shaking slightly. Then he takes a deep breath and nods.

“All right. If I’m going to upgrade this thing – or build a better one – I need to know what it can do.” He looks over at Sheppard. “Can we take it out and put it through its paces?”

John shrugs, pushing away from the wall. Baal will be back in his office by the time they get to the control room, and he had said John could give Rodney a practical demonstration of the ship. “Yeah. Come on.” He grins, heading back toward the control room with a bounce in his step. The controls are incredibly easy to use, at least since the round of injections that had preceeded the lessons in flying the larger craft. Something about protein markers and a heavy metal isotope that had been needed to control it. Whatever it was, the ship almost flew itself, rather like it was half-way into his head.

Rodney follows him, trying at first not to stare too obviously, then giving up on that and looking as closely as he can at everything. If he’s going to build one of these, then he needs to know every detail. Besides, it keeps him from getting caught staring at Sheppard.

Watching Rodney out of the corner of his eye, John smiles briefly with amusement at his barely contained curiosity about the ship. There’s more to it than that, but he shies away from thoughts of what else it could be. He hasn’t ever had a long-term relationship that went well, other than friends, and he’s never believed the bullshit about just not having found the right person. Not when pretty much everyone looking for a relationship is expecting two things he’s not often interested in.

“It’s a pretty typical al’kesh-class ship. A few modifications for the beaming stuff, and an upgrade on the stealth capability so we’re not caught in orbit.” He likes this ship, though he knows it’s not the ultimate ship to go on Baal’s expedition. The larger ha’tak is a bit more difficult to control though, and Baal isn’t ready to let him fly one of those solo yet.

“I hope you don’t have anything scheduled for your off time for the foreseeable future,” Rodney tells him. “I need to know everything you do – about this, anyway,” he adds, waving a hand to indicate the ship and the circumstances surrounding its existence. “Even the mechanics of flying them, if you want the controls to be user friendly.” He wants more information on Baal, too, though that’s not something he’s going to ask about until they’ve left the premises. *He* would have installed auditory and visual surveillance, and he doubts that the Goa’uld has neglected to do the same.

Shrugging again, John waves Rodney ahead of him into the pel’tak. “Not really.” He spends his off time between watching for interesting people, and a few more solitary hobbies. John prefers to spend most of his time on one of the ships, though, flying. He’s moved the stuff he cares about into the cargo ship that had been one of his bonuses, in fact.

“Good,” Rodney says, satisfied. “Even for me, it’s going to take a while to catch up. This is so far beyond anything I’d thought of as more than theory.” He shakes his head again. “Why aren’t they ruling our planet?”

John grimaces, setting his hands on the controls, and taking the al’kesh out of orbit. “They fight a lot between each other.” He knows a little about the System Lords, and the rest of the political situation Baal’s dealing with, but he prefers to mostly focus on his flying. He also knows that he has to pay attention to who’s out and about in the galaxy, or he risks getting caught by the SGC, and who knows what will happen then. If he’s lucky, they might kill him in a fire-fight. More likely, he thinks, they’ll lock him in Levenworth, or someplace more secure and less publically known. “And there’s a military project going that’ll have our asses in Levenworth if they find out we’re out here working for Baal.”

“Well, then we should do something about them,” Rodney suggests. “This company does government contracts, right? Even if we can’t deal directly with them, if we can find out where they’re located, I think I might be able to throw a spanner in their works. I really do have filing cabinets full of weapons systems, and most of them are directed at technology.” He grins. “With the right equipment, I’m fairly sure that I can put the government off line for up to six hours – all of the government. And that’s just one of my projects.”

“I’m not entirely sure about that.” John gives Rodney a slightly sickly half-grin. “Still not up for the whole treason thing yet, unless I have to.” On the other hand, having a contingency plan wouldn’t be a bad idea, particularly if there’s any sign they’re going to beat Baal to Atlantis. John really, really wants to see the city, not the least because every Ancient toy that Baal’s let him near has lit up – called to him, really. “But we could bring them up here, if we need them later.”

“Canadian,” Rodney points out, “so it’s not technically treason if I do it, just an international incident. If I get caught, which I won’t. I am good at this kind of thing.” And he’d rather bring the government crashing down than risk doing time in a military prison – or see Sheppard locked up. "If it looks like we’re about to get arrested -well. I’d much rather see outer space, or even total chaos, than the inside of a jail cell.“

John waits until they’ve gotten past the asteroid belt before he even thinks about powering up the hyperdrive. "It’s still treason for me, unless I give up US citizenship.” Which he’s not ready to do yet. Not that he can’t see the advantages, just that there’s a bone-deep reluctance to do so. “But I’m not going to tell you not to do something. Especially if I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

“I wouldn’t do it just for the hell of it.” Rodney shrugs. "But if we’re going to be leaving the galaxy in force, I’d rather have the government’s focus on the ground instead of the skies. If we can blind them for six hours…“ He shrugs. "Anyway. First things first. Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing, and how?”

“Right now, I’m using the sublight drives to take us far enough out to jump to hyperspace without attracting too much attention on Earth.” They’re past the orbit of Jupiter now, and approaching the orbit of Saturn. “Another few minutes, and I’ll make the hyperspace window, and we’ll head for Baal’s main headquarters. Um. I’m not sure how the controls work, but they don’t work if you don’t have some kind of heavy-metal isotope in your blood, and a certain kind of protein marker.”

“How do you get that?” Rodney demands. He doesn’t really want to fly the ships himself, but he does want to be able to, just in case of emergencies. Besides, if that’s a requirement to fly the ship, it’s almost certainly a requirement to do any serious work on it – at least, it would be if Rodney had designed the thing.

“Injections, and waiting.” John shrugs. “Baal’ll probably set you up for that once he’s ready to.” Hopefully not too long, though John is pretty sure they’ll have to go back to Earth to pick him up before it’s even a possibility.

Rodney doesn’t even make a face at the thought of getting shots. He’s too excited by the possibilities that those shots will provide. Settling into the chair next to Sheppard, he leans over so that he can look at the readouts over the man’s shoulder and forces himself to ignore their physical proximity. Sheppard’s not only ex-military, but also one of the most self contained people Rodney has ever encountered. He’s also so far out of Rodney’s league that the very idea of doing anything more than wanting as discreetly as possible and hoping that Sheppard doesn’t figure it out is laughable. Which won’t stop Rodney from wanting – but will hopefully keep him from making a fool out of himself.

“Tell me what these say?” he asks, not quite tapping the screen.

John glances over at the screen, to double-check which one Rodney’s looking at. “Power levels on the sublight engines, tolerances. Screen above it is hyperdrive, same thing.” Life support and environmentals are on the far side, communications, weapons, and shields closer to the center.

“And the rest of the displays?” Rodney asks. "And how far out into the galaxy do we have to be concerned about the government tracking us? How did they even get this far out? I refuse to believe that they managed it on their own – did they get their hands on Goa’uld tech? Or – was it the Ancients Baal mentioned earlier?“

Reaching up with his free hand to rub the back of his neck, John grimaces. Pointing out which display is which is easy enough, and gives him a few minutes to evade Rodney’s other questions. He doesn’t have all the answers, but he has a few, at least. And he’s not sure he really likes them. "There’s this thing called a stargate, lets you go from world to world pretty much instantly.” He shrugs, shifting power from the sublight to the hyperdrive to open up a window. “There’s one on Earth. The US military has it.”

“They’re opening wormholes stable enough to use for transport?” Rodney demands, sitting back in his seat. His eyes never leave the display screens, except to glance briefly at Sheppard. "How are they powering it, and how much information do we have on the device? If it can be replicated…“ He trails off, letting what had until now only been theory solidify into reality inside his head. "We might be able to get to Atlantis that way.”

“It powers itself?” John shrugs, not really sure about how the stargate works. “Ask Baal. He’s an expert on the things. Flying’s really more my thing.” He sends them through the window with a thought and a shift of his fingers on the control pad. “It should only be a few hours to get to Canaan.” He pulls his hand away as soon as they’re safely in hyperspace, shoving both hands in his pockets. “Nothing else to do here until we’re ready to drop out of hyperspace.”

Rodney swallows hard, and keeps his eyes on the screens until he’s sure he won’t embarrass himself if he meets John’s gaze.

“Up for showing me the rest of the ship?” He wants a look at the engines while they’re running, but his main concern is getting some space between himself and John before he gives himself away after all.

“Sure.” John grins, relaxing a little. “What did you want to see first?” Engines, he’s privately betting, and any other technical part of the al’kesh rather than anything else.

“The engines,” Rodney says firmly. "At least to start with. I want to see them while they’re running.“

John stuffs his hands in his pockets again, his grin widening a bit for a moment before he leads the way back to the engine room, which now hums with more life than it did while they were in orbit. Thrumming that he can feel in his bones as they slide through hyperspace toward Canaan.

Rodney follows after him, taking a brief moment to enjoy the view before his fascination with the ship redirects his attention elsewhere. He has to make a determined effort to put his awe aside. Once he becomes familiar with the technology now on offer before him, that awe will fade, but right now it threatens to get in the way of what he needs to be doing. He needs to be as familiar with this technology as he is with the inner workings of nuclear missiles. Otherwise, he’ll be reluctant to experiment, and that could become a problem that would interfere with his work.

"The control crystals are over here.” John waves a hand at the banks of closed drawers that keep the crystals safe from accidental damage as well as in place, even if they can be pulled out to check. “You can pull the sections out, even in flight, but not the crystals themselves. Once we’re in orbit of Canaan, we’ll be able to pull some of them.”

Rodney promptly pulls one of the sections out, looking with interest at the crystals.

“And this is what powers and programs the ship?” It’s not really a question. Rodney examines the crystals as closely as he can without taking them out.

“I think I can figure out why these work the way they do,” he says, not looking up. "When we get back to Earth, I’ll need a working ship that no one cares much about. Something I can experiment on.“

"There’s a cargo ship we can use, but not on Earth.” John knows Baal will probably want Rodney to do most of the work while off-world, to keep him from being snatched up by the US military if they figure out what he’s doing. “We can work from here, really.”

It won’t be like they can’t go back to Earth fairly quickly if they want to. And they can park the al’kesh on one of the moons of Jupiter or Saturn, or something, to conserve energy by not having to use the cloak to keep the US military from seeing them.

“I don’t really care where we work,” Rodney admits, “so long as we do.” He pushes the section of crystals back in and pulls out the next one, giving the same careful examination as the first.

“Where is Canaan, anyway?” he asks. "Does anyone live there?“

"A few dozen light years away, and yeah.” John leans against the wall, watching Rodney work. “Baal’s chief of staff, you could call her, Athena. A bunch of j’affa, and a small city of humans.” He grimaces, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, thinking about the humans there, and their lack of what he’d think of as freedom.

“What are j’affa?” Rodney asks, sliding the second section of crystals back in. There’s no real point in looking at the others until they land, and even then he wants a chance to sit down and work out some calculations first. He supposes that he doesn’t need to know why the crystals work, just that they do and how, but that’s not the way he does things. He wants to know the ‘why’ just as much as he does the ‘how’.

“Aliens.” John shrugs. “Mostly soldiers, and sorta incubators for baby goa’uld.” He knows they get something out of it, but they generally make him a little wary anyway. “Stronger, longer-lived, weird immune system, don’t sleep,” he lists off what he thinks of as relevant facts, though not in terribly much detail. If Rodney wants that, there’s a whole database to explore.

“What about the Goa’uld?” Rodney asks. He’d thought Baal looked human enough, but if baby Goa’uld can incubate inside a human body, he’d clearly been wrong.

“Sorta snakey, mostly not very friendly, need a human host if they’re going to actually do anything.” John shifts on his feet a little, uncomfortable. “Can’t always tell the host from the symbiote, and I’m not sure they’re really much difference for most of them.”

Rodney shudders. The thought of being turned into a puppet for an alien parasite is appalling.

“I knew this whole thing was too good to be true,” he says, wincing. "Is being turned into a host something we have to worry about?“

"Not really. The heavy-metal isotope makes most of the rest of them think I already am, and so long as they think that, they just seem to want to kill me.” Which, really, doesn’t bother John. He’s used to people wanting to kill him. Some of the other bits do, but he hadn’t been entirely comfortable with everything the US government was doing when he was in the Air Force, either. “Baal isn’t going to do anything like that – he doesn’t seem to like having a lot of other goa’uld working for him.”

“Good to know,” Rodney says, relieved. The entire thing makes him uneasy. He’s no longer entirely certain that he wants to work for Baal. On the other hand, he’ll never have another chance like this again. It’s the only chance he’s ever had of doing what he’s meant to do with his life. He’s not willing to give it up – even if he could. Somehow, he doubts that Baal would react well should he decide to quit.

“How much longer to Canaan?” he asks, changing the subject.

“It takes an hour and a half or so from Earth.” John shrugs again. “It’s not really far, as places go. Takes about three months to travel across the galaxy the long way.”

He doesn’t remember what it’s called on Earth, though he thinks it’s one without a name, just a designation. He does know that it should be one that the SGC can theoretically reach with the stargate, though there’s been no evidence they’ve tried to send anything there, not yet.

“Are we going to have to interact with people when we land?” Rodney asks. He’d much rather just land the ship and get to work. Hopefully, Sheppard can do the interacting for both of them. "I want to know what to expect.“

"Not really. Just need to let Athena know we’re there.” John quirks one side of his mouth up in a grin. “Mostly so she doesn’t shoot us down before we land.”

And that he’ll do as soon as they’re out of hyperspace, since the defenses aren’t limited to the orbit of the planet itself. Even if he does have the codes to pass through without being destroyed, it’s polite to let Baal’s right-hand know that he’s incoming, and planning to land. It’ll also help to keep them from being boarded by j’affa, at least in theory. Sometimes John isn’t entirely sure Athena is playing by the same rule book.

“Good.” Rodney starts to pull out the next section of crystals, then stops. He doesn’t want to let himself get distracted by the first thing he’s been shown and miss out on the rest of it thereby.

“Okay,” he says, and smiles. "Show me the rest of the engine?“ He manages – barely – to make it sound like a question instead of an order.

John gestures over his shoulder, at a bulkhead with a locked door. "Through there, but you can’t really access it while we’re in hyperspace. It’s not exactly safe to step into the hyperdrive engines while they’re in use.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Rodney says. The humming of the engine is louder the closer he gets to the door.

“Is there any way to look at them without stepping inside?” he asks. He’d love to see them in action.

“Not directly, but there are sensors that keep track of them. We can watch the reports from the sensors.” John would like to see the engines at work himself, but unless they do a complete redesign for the ships Baal wants to go hunting Atlantis, that’s not really an option. And for the first journey, they’ll have to refit an older ship, anyway. There’s just not enough time to build a new ship from scratch if they want to beat the SGC to Atlantis.

“The report from the sensors – that shows up in the cockpit?” Rodney asks. Going back up front is probably a good idea anyway. There’s more to look at there – and the more there is to look at, the less he’s going to want to look at Sheppard. He knows it’s a stupid thing to do. He’ll be working with the man for the foreseeable future, and he can’t jeopardize that relationship over some ridiculous crush.

“Yeah.” John pushes away from the wall, a small smirk on his face as he waves a hand for Rodney to fall in with him. He hasn’t missed Rodney’s appreciation of his ass, and while he’s not offended, he’s not terribly interested, either. Never has been, which had been both a boon and a handicap while in the Air Force. “Want to go watch ’em, then?”

“Yes.” He’d also like to fly the ship for a little bit, but that probably won’t be possible until he’s had the heavy metal injections Sheppard had mentioned earlier. He’s suddenly impatient for them. It’s frustrating to only be able to do part of what he wants to do, even if the situation is temporary.

“Will you show me how to fly it?” he asks. He might not be able to do anything hands-on, but he can at least learn what to do once he’s had the injections.

“Sure.” John knows that it’ll make it easier for Rodney to design a ship that is more intuitive for humans to use – and probably one that won’t require extra help to work the controls – if he knows what the controls he’s working from are.

when you see this, share 3 lines from a WIP

poplitealqueen:

lynati:

dogmatix:

“Do you think I should do it?” Obi-Wan asked, still looking
at Rex. “Cody’s idea, I mean.”

“I think Cody is right about war being unpredictable,” Rex
said, weighing his words carefully. “I know that you have been in situations
before where regular ‘meals’ would not have been an option. If this works, it would provide you with a
larger margin of safety, which I consider a good thing.” Rex looked down at his
hands, then back up to Obi-Wan. “But ultimately, you are the commanding
officer. If you choose not to pursue this, I will support that decision.”

“When Authors Get It Wrong” Harry Potter fans in the States were ecstatic over the the announcement that JKR was writing about the wizarding world in America…until they saw what she’d come up with. Culturally ignorant at best, and blithely disrespectful of Native American religions at worst, fandom was quick to launch much more nuanced headcanons about what magical schooling here SHOULD look like. What do situations like this mean for the long-held belief that a creator’s word is infallible, inviolable law when it comes to the worlds they’ve built?

(…my current work-in-progress is creating panel suggestions for a convention.)

(The above two things sound exciting as hell, man.)

Sidious lowered his hands into the bassinet and lifted the infant out. The boy twitched in his sleep, his budding Force abilities automatically reacting to the Sith Lord’s presence. Sidious could have easily blocked his signature from the child if he so wished, but he was curious to see how the baby would react.

He gave a mental nudge back to the innocent searching that was more than a little forceful, though would not leave any lasting marks. The boy’s eyes flew open.

And Vader’s son began to wail. Loudly.

(Am looking forward to more complete bits of the above fic things!)

“What are you thinking about?” Dan’yel is kind enough to speak goa’uld with her, though he is the only one to do so even now. He’s also taught her other languages, a tactic of diplomacy she has come to appreciate.

“That I will not return to Earth again as hostage.” Lilith tilts her chin up as the wormhole flares before stabilizing in the center of the chappa’ai, a blue welcome that beckons on to home. “If I return, it will be as a Queen treating with allies.”

Stargate: Supreme System Lord: Can’t Take the Sky From Me

Part ¾ (Part 1, Part 2)

Can’t Take the Sky From Me

AU: Supreme System Lord
Characters: Baal, Rodney McKay, John Sheppard

Baal’s watching the man John had recommended he interview after one meeting. That the tau’ri had been able to figure out the equations for hyperspace without any input from outside sources is a credit to him, though it made Baal wonder why he hadn’t been snapped up by the SGC or the Trust yet, and put to work elsewhere. Of course, they *were* merely failable tau’ri, and not gods.

“Doctor McKay.” He stands, putting on his most charming smile to greet the tau’ri. “Mr. Sheppard has told me about your work.”

“He doesn’t know my work,” Rodney says. “He got a glimpse at a fraction of the most theoretical part of it, but I’ve never published and I can’t get grants, so actually, no one does. I know that’s probably not the best way to go about asking for a job,” he blurts, “but I started building weapons when I was eight, and I have filing cabinets full of plans for systems I *know* will work. I’ve just never gotten to test any of them. And -” He stops, not knowing whether or not Sheppard could get in trouble for using hyperspace as part of his recruitment arsenal. “Sorry.” He doesn’t mean it, but he’s found that apologies smooth things over fairly well.

Chuckling indulgently, Baal waves a hand at the comfortable chair in front of his desk. “No need to be modest here, Doctor McKay.” He settles back into his own chair, leaning back as he watches Rodney. “What Mr. Sheppard has told me was impressive. Your record and the dislike of your government and the US government for your skills, more so. I wouldn’t have bothered otherwise.”

“I don’t like any government,” Rodney says, sitting down. “The US military has a special place in my heart, though.” He frowns. “That’s usually part of why prospective employers *aren’t* interested. And one of the reasons the military’s stopped me from being hired.”

“I only hire the best.” Baal shrugs, a smirk creeping across his lips, before he lets his eyes flare gold, and his voice drop into the cadence that’s as familiar to him as the unchanged voice of his host body. “Your government’s foolishness is my gain.”

Testing him, watching to see how he’ll react. It would be a pity to have to implant one of his clones into his head if he panics, but Baal has no intention of letting that much talent walk out the door, and no doubt, straight into the arms of the tau’ri who are watching him.

Rodney sucks in a sharp breath, truly shocked for the first time in years.

“It’s all true,” he says softly. “Of course – that explains everything. I *knew* no one on Earth was anywhere close to me on faster than light travel or wormhole physics.” By the time he’s finished his sentence, he’s grinning wildly, possibilities opening up endlessly in front of him. “I need repair manuals, for everything that’s not of Earthly origin, no matter how simple. Can you do that? I want to know the basic principles behind the technology, and sometimes the most everyday items can answer the most difficult questions.”

The reaction is gratifying, and Baal can see John relaxing in his seat by the door, sprawling a little more convincingly. John had known Baal wouldn’t really let Rodney walk away, though he’d remains unaware of exactly how Baal would do so. It would, he thinks, damage the trust the tau’ri has in him. And that carries risks he’d prefer not to chance, which makes Rodney’s reaction as much a relief as gratifying.

“I can provide those, although the computers on which they are stored are not designed to provide information in any Earth-born language.” Like the code they run on, they’re written in goa’uld, a language Rodney will have to learn to work with the technology Baal intends for him to have access to. As well as Ancient, since with another mind to apply to the problem of intergalactic travel, he should be more than capable of finding a way to get to Atlantis.

Rodney waves a dismissive hand. “Mathematics, languages and music are closely connected enough that I’m more than capable in all three fields.” Now that he knows he hasn’t been horribly outstripped by another human, he’s feeling much better about the world in general. “I’ll never be good at speaking it, but I’ll be able to understand it soon enough.” After glancing momentarily back over his shoulder at Sheppard, he asks Baal, “Where are you from? What kind of alien are you – and how many more sentient species are out there? How long have you been on Earth?” He’s overflowing with questions, just as he had been when higher-level mathematics first opened up to him.

Baal chuckles, grinning at Rodney’s curiosity, and basking in the attention it provides him. “I am a goa’uld. To the primitive tau’ri of many planets, I am a god.” He shrugs, dismissing that as unimportant. After all, he’s had to pursue other avenues of keeping the loyalty of his j’affa and the tau’ri who serve him directly, and forcing them to worship him isn’t as effective. “We’ve known of Earth and the tau’ri for thousands of years. Some have been here for that long, though I am not one of that number. I’ve only been here for a few years.”

Long enough to take over Farrow-Marshall for his ambitions, and to start hand-picking the best tau’ri he can get his hands on that the SGC hasn’t already snapped up and sequestered where he can’t tempt them. He’s gleeful that he has another now, that the SGC should never have passed over.

“And the government? Do they know about you, or about what Farrow-Marshall is capable of?” Rodney’s guess is that they don’t, which is worth a slightly malicious smile. There’s no way they’d permit the existence of an enterprise like this, overtly hostile and run by an extraterrestrial.

“Not… precisely.” Not yet, anyway, though Baal doubts he can keep his presence a secret from the SGC for much longer. “I don’t intend to give them a chance to do anything about it. Once I have what I want from Earth, there is a far more valuable place waiting for someone to take it.” He leans forward, catching John’s eye a moment before he gives Rodney a sharp, predatory smile. “The Ancients left a city behind, with much of their technology. I intend to get to it before the tau’ri of Earth can even locate it. To do that, I need someone else to dedicate more time than I have to spare on upgrading the hyperspace drives on my ships.”

“What sorts of upgrades?” Rodney asks, putting the Ancients, and the thought of leaving Earth behind aside for the moment. “Power, of course, based on what I could guess you already have. Protection, if they’re going to be traveling that much faster-” The ideas are almost taking actual shape inside his head. “I need to see the ships you do have, and a practical demonstration of their capabilities.”

“Power and protection, yes, but speed, also. They’re not capable yet of traveling between galaxies in a sufficiently short time span to reach the city I wish to take.” Baal stands from behind his desk, nodding toward an empty space to one side of his office. “I can show you one of the ships now, though it is not as large as the ships I wish to take into the other galaxy. Those I cannot bring so close to Earth without greater risk than I care to take.”

John pushes out of his chair to join them as Baal moves toward the empty space, a familiar light in his eyes that still amuses Baal. They never should have taken this man from his flying, but their loss is his gain. And if he has John work with Rodney, he won’t have to bother to learn himself, or teach others.

“More power should give them more speed, though we might want to consider redesigning – ” Rodney gives up on trying to remain professional, and goes for his PDA so that he can write down the possibilities tumbling through his head. It’s encrypted six ways from Sunday, so he’s not worried about anyone else getting into it.

Baal waits for Rodney to look up from his PDA a moment before he activates the Asgard beam he’s stolen and installed on the al’kesh he uses to come and go from Earth. They’re deposited in the control room, and he immediately starts for the door leading to the rest of the ship. Expecting them to follow without the need for command or explanation.

Part 4

Stargate: Supreme System Lord: Can’t Take the Sky From Me

Part 2/4, part 1 here.

Can’t Take the Sky From Me

AU: Supreme System Lord
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay

Rodney can’t help being fifteen minutes early for his interview, though he’s beyond irritated with himself for doing so. Part of him is still expecting to have the proverbial chair pulled out from under him, either by having this be some kind of joke or by finding out that the government will refuse to allow his employment even if he *does* get a job offer. The rest of him is wildly, almost irrationally hopeful – and ridiculously nervous. He hasn’t been able to get Sheppard out of his head, and not just because of the chance of employment. He’d looked the man up, and been angry on his behalf at the Air Force, and he keeps seeing the warmth in Sheppard’s eyes right at the end of their meeting. Which should make him feel like an idiot, and does. So does the fact that he’s been sitting in the car arguing with himself for five minutes. Taking a deep breath, he opens the door and gets out, hurrying the short distance to the building before he can change his mind. He can’t help thinking that they’ll probably stop him at the door.

John’s been lounging against the reception desk for the last twenty minutes, to the amusement of the two women behind it, and the guard on the far side of the lobby. He’s not sure how early Rodney will show up, but he figures he’d probably wasted at least the first ten minutes. Then again, he doesn’t have anything else to do, and pacing Baal’s office would be really tacky as well as annoy Baal. Not something he wants to do right now.

When Rodney gets out of the car he’s been sitting in, John grins, and pushes away from the desk, going to open the door to let Rodney in. And to make sure he doesn’t bolt when he’s not immediately turned away, because then John’s going to have to do something stupid and dangerous, and Baal is going to laugh at him. Not exactly how John wants the day to go.

“Hey.” John grins easily at Rodney, waving him inside, and toward the elevators across from the doors. “I’ll take you up.”

Seeing Sheppard undoes one of the knots in Rodney’s stomach, and makes it twist again all at the same time. He smiles nervously, glancing at the receptionists and then looking back at Sheppard.

“Thanks,” he says, then adds, a little awkwardly, “Glad to see you.” And not only because it probably means that this really isn’t a joke.

“I’m glad you didn’t bolt.” John swipes his access card to get them in the elevator, and then again inside in order to punch the button for the top floor where Baal has his office. The interview is really more an assessment of Rodney’s ability to cope with all the weird things that are part of being Baal’s personal employees, regardless of what things say on paper, than it is to see if Rodney has the skills to work at Farrow-Marshall. That much had been obvious from the research into his life.

“I thought about it.” Rodney shrugs. “Then I realized that if equations like the one I was working on really are coming out of this place, maybe your boss is smart enough to realize that I belong in this line of work. And I want to know who’s writing those equations – to know who I’ve been so wrong about. I’ve never met anyone capable of equaling my work, much less surpassing it.”

John grins, and slides his hands in his pockets as he slouches against the wall. “He’s not exactly what you’d expect.” Not that Baal actually wrote the equations for the engines – they were already long established – but he’s done quite a bit of work on wormholes, from what John’s noticed. He prefers the ships for traveling over the gates, when he’s given a choice.

Rodney can feel himself blushing – he hates being so fair-skinned – and he scowls. “It doesn’t mean he’s better than I am,” he says, tipping his chin up. “After all, I presume he’s had a chance to experiment? To use existing technology as a base for his new work? Don’t forget, Sheppard, I got within fifteen percent based on theory and calculation alone.”

“You can say that.” John shrugs, though the similarity in the arrogance of Baal and Rodney’s own is amusing. They both have skill and knowledge to back those egos up, too, and that’s going to make this interesting. He just hopes he doesn’t get caught too much in the middle – he already likes Rodney, and he’s liked Baal since he gave John a chance to fly something the US government never would have, even if they knew it existed.

“It’s the truth,” Rodney says, then stops, looking at Sheppard searchingly, and to hell with worrying about what he’s giving away himself. “What about you, Sheppard? Have you people really managed to reach hyperspace? To make wormholes?”

“I told you what I’ve done.” John shrugs, nodding to the door of the elevator as they reach their floor, and it slides open. “Office is through there.” And unless Rodney completely freaks out and has a nervous breakdown, John has no doubt this is all just a formality before Baal hires Rodney.

Rodney takes a deep breath, trying to settle himself a little. He catches Sheppard’s eye. “Thank you,” he says quietly. He’s never been good at this kind of thing, especially when he means it.

John nods a little awkwardly before waving Rodney ahead of him into the office. “Thank me later, McKay,” he murmurs, closing the door, and sprawling on the chair next to it. There if Rodney wants to bolt, but otherwise leaving Rodney to face the man behind the desk in front of the windows alone.

Part 3

Snippet: Stargate: Supreme System Lord

An older piece, which currently needs a rewrite before it’s suitable to put up on AO3.

Can’t Take the Sky From Me

AU: Supreme System Lord
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay

Part 1

John hadn’t been sure what he was going to do when he was dishonorably discharged after Afghanistan. The job offer from Farrow-Marshall, therefor, had been no little surprise – and when six months in, his new employer had offered to let him fly a new prototype high-altitude aircraft, he’d nearly declined because he was afraid it was too good to be true.

Now, he’s not sure there’s any such thing, with everything he’s learned in the last year and a half since that offer. Space travel and aliens and interstellar warfare and Baal’s hope to travel to another galaxy if he can find a scientist who has the skill and knowledge to modify the engines on his ships properly. It’s better than John’s dream job, and he thinks maybe that dishonorable discharge from the Air Force had been the best thing to happen to him, since it landed him this.

He grins to himself as he ducks into one of his favorite bars, grabbing a beer before heading for the pool tables. He doesn’t play much, but the more interesting people who come here tend to gravitate toward the pool tables, and he likes to keep an eye out for anyone interesting – sometimes for himself, more often for Baal. It’s not in his job description, but it has earned him a couple bonuses in the form of aircraft that are all his own. Even if he can’t fly a couple of them on Earth without getting in more than a little bit of trouble.

There are the usual players, who he ignores; a couple new players who are losing, also ignored; and someone watching them from one of the tables against the wall, with a notebook in front of him that he’s scribbling on from time to time. That’s enough to get John’s attention, and he takes a pull at his beer before starting to amble around the tables, ostensibly watching the players and the games. A predatory prowl, as if he’s planning to play, and wants to know the competition.

Eventually it brings him around near the table with the notebook, and he glances down to look at what the man’s working on. It takes him a moment to recognize the equations as similar to what he’s seen with the calculations for a hyperspace window. Something that no one on Earth outside Farrow-Marshall should know about, as far as John’s aware, and he’s pretty sure he’d recognize the man if he worked on the engine designs for that.

Leaning against the wall nearest the table, he continues to look at the notebook, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Huh. Your energy requirements there are a bit high for creating a stable window, you know.”

Rodney gives the interloper a withering stare. “Oh? And how many doctorates do you hold?” he asks rudely, despite being impressed that anyone in this bar has even the vaguest idea as to what he’s working on.

“None.” John shrugs, taking another sip of his beer. “Don’t need one to know your calculations are off.” He doesn’t outright say it’s because he’s flown ships into hyperspace, but mostly only because he doesn’t know how the guy will react to that statement. John doesn’t want to scare him off, after all, and then have to go track him down, because someone with talent like that is seriously attractive. Baal will certainly want to get his hands on the guy, and see if he can’t do what no one else has managed, though John thinks Baal probably could do it, if he had the spare time to work on it.

“Go away,” Rodney says flatly. “And if that’s supposed to be a pick up line, I suggest you go find someone else to use it on. You’re very pretty, but I really don’t care.” Which isn’t entirely true, but Rodney’s only too familiar with the way the world works to think that the man is doing anything more than yanking his chain.

John rolls his eyes, and settles a little more firmly against the wall. He’s not going anywhere while the calculations are sitting right there. “You need about fifteen percent less energy than you’re calculating to open a stable hyperspace window, give or take a couple tenths of a percent.” He meets the man’s gaze with a slow smirk on his face, daring him to say John was wrong.

Rodney scowls, then blinks, and stares up at the intruder. “How the hell did you know that?” he demands.

Grinning, John takes another sip of his beer. “I don’t like flying blind.” It’s an oblique answer, and implies more than it outright says, but he’s still not entirely certain how the man will react, and isn’t willing to have him label John as out of his mind in public. This is, after all, one of John’s favorite bars, and he’d hate to have to find another place to get a drink while people-watching.

Rodney stares at him for a long minute, then shoves the other chair out from the table with his foot. If the man’s calculations had been off, he’d have dismissed the idiot, but they weren’t, and the flyboy attitude is unmistakable.

“Sit,” he orders, “and don’t make me regret wasting my time on you. I want details, now.” He hesitates, then adds, “I’m Rodney McKay.”

John takes the offered seat, setting his beer on the table. Watching Rodney with a faint grin a moment before nodding. “John Sheppard.” He still feels a faint twinge at not including his rank, but it’s less than it might have been. “I’m a test pilot for Farrow-Marshall.”

At least, that’s what he is on paper. He’s not sure what to actually call his job, though mostly it involves flying whatever Baal tells him to fly. He pauses, glancing at Rodney’s calculations for a long moment.

“Not just of aircraft. I’m not really supposed to talk about it in public.” Too much risk of some sort of espionage. John, though, thinks this is worth the risk. “I’ve flown a ship larger than any aircraft in space, and through hyperspace.” At least, once Baal had trusted him to be able to handle the controls.

“Very funny,” Rodney says bitterly, starting to gather up his papers. “I don’t know who put you up to this, but you can tell them that when I do find out, I’ll make a point of thanking them personally. I’ve been trying to get my foot in the door *anywhere* in the military industrial complex for as long as I can remember, and no one has even given me an interview, despite the fact that I’m more qualified than anyone since Fermi.” He finishes the rest of his drink and slams the glass down on the table, almost shaking with rage. “I’m not stupid enough to think that you just wandered in here by accident. I hope you got a kick out of that, Sheppard. Remind whoever sent you that there are only a handful of people with the brains to make these calculations, so I *will* figure out who it was.”

“Hey!” John’s smile fades quickly, and he reaches out a hand to slap Rodney’s papers back to the table, holding them there. He gives Rodney a sharper smile, the sort he’s used before when he’s trying not to yell back, because it’s a bad idea. “Of course I didn’t wander in here by accident. I come here every time I’m in town for a beer. You want to run away from this, fine. But you don’t get to tell me when I’m playing a joke.”

The worst part is that Rodney *wants* to believe it – wants to believe *Sheppard*. “Let me guess. This is the part where I’m supposed to apologize, or maybe demand proof? Sorry. I’m really not in the mood to be laughed at right now. Next time you do a favor for someone, you might want to do some research first. I’ve been on every governmental black list since I built a nuclear bomb in sixth grade. It would take a lot more than your admittedly charming smile for me to fall for something this obvious.”

He tries to tug his papers away, and fails. Suddenly, he’s too tired to argue any more. He slumps back into his chair and lets out a breath that’s part defeated sigh, part bitter laugh. “God. I don’t know why I even considered believing it.” Except that he *does*, which makes it even worse. It’s been months since he’s been interested in anyone, and longer since he wanted to be. Falling for something like this, even momentarily, because of *attraction* – what an idiot. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to get drunk. You can go tell whoever put you up to this that they win. Again.”

John holds the papers down for a long moment more, watching Rodney with narrowed eyes. He knows if he relays this conversation to Baal, he’ll take it as an invitation to scoop up Rodney as soon as he locates him. Which might not be a bad thing, but John isn’t sure it’s quite the right approach to take with him.

“Mind if I get your number?” he asks quietly, a vague plan coming together in the back of his mind. “And trust me, my boss isn’t going to care about you being black-listed.” A small smile quirks up the corner of his mouth. “Look me up sometime.”

Since he certainly shouldn’t have been able to get a job at Farrow-Marshall with his dishonorable discharge. But he has it, and he’s kinda looking forward to getting Rodney in on this, too, for all that he hasn’t known him very long. Someone who built a nuclear bomb in sixth grade has got to be awesome.

Rodney studies him for a long moment, torn between weariness and anger and something that he’s trying to deny is hope. Finally, he nods, reclaiming his notebook and scrawling his number on a blank piece of paper.

“Here. Or you can reach me at work.” This time, he does laugh, not caring how bitter he sounds. “I’m the science editor at [some small magazine].”

John smiles again, this time genuine and warm. “They don’t pay you what you’re worth.” He pushes away from the table, tucking Rodney’s number in his pocket, and grabbing his beer. “Don’t get too drunk,” he adds as he walks away.

Rodney watches him go. When the waitress comes back, he orders a Coke instead.

Part 2

MCU: One Night In Moscow: Playing the Long Game

An older snippet that is not quite a complete piece to go with this AU. I need to rewatch part of The Avengers to finish it off, because I need to figure out how the end game changes with the addition of Ivan Vanko.

Playing the Long Game

AU: One Night In Moscow
Word Count: 1469
Characters: Ivan Vanko, Loki, Tony Stark

Pepper is safely away from New York – safe, or there isn’t anything in this world that will stop Ivan from indulging in his penchant for revenge – and Stark is off dealing with SHIELD – who are better off dealing with Iron Man than with Ivan himself. Not that SHIELD would have let him on board their precious carrier, even if Tony had insisted. Just as well Ivan’s been content to meddle in the R&D labs, and watch this from a distance.

A distance that’s vanished with the arrival of a godling with an interesting little toy, that no doubt will be followed in short order by Tony and whatever agents of SHIELD will go along with his lead. Ivan watches the too-pale, too-skinny boy from his perch, a bottle of vodka dangling from one hand.

“You play a strange game.” Ivan lifts the bottle to his lips, taking a long drink. It helps to keep his enemies off-balance, one of many little things that make for a facade that has fooled more than one individual, no matter how intelligent or stupid.

“No stranger than your game, mortal.” The blue eyes glitter with a madness that makes Ivan return his gaze with a flat expression. “Revenge is always a strange game.”

“Not revenge,” Ivan says after a silent moment. “Fight all at once? Stupid.” And whatever the boy is, Ivan doubts he’s stupid. There’s a calculation to the actions he’s seen, a glorious madness that the so-called heroes miss seeing. They don’t think the same. “Deeper game.”

A faint smirk crosses the thin face, and the boy takes a step toward Ivan, lifting the staff in his hand. “And just what game do you think I’m playing, mortal?”

Ivan smirks in return, taking another swallow of vodka. “Not revenge, or you lose.” He meets the blue gaze without hesitation, leaving himself deceptively open. There’s little to be taken from him that he’s not willing to lose, and his life has never been important enough to worry about. “Kill me, kill them, you lose. Steal from me, you lose.”

“I am a god; what need do I have of stealing anything from a mortal like you?” There’s a flicker of genuine curiosity fast hidden behind calculation and an opaque expression that Ivan knows from the mirror. A mask born of pain and grief unspoken, though to what depth it went, Ivan neither knew nor intended to ask.

“Stole Barton. Stole Selvig.” Just because Fury doesn’t want Ivan to be informed of what’s going on doesn’t mean that Ivan isn’t going to find out what’s happening. “Don’t care, not mine. Steal from me, you lose.” Even if Ivan dies, if Loki tries to take what Ivan calls his, what little Ivan isn’t willing to lose, then Ivan will take the Asgardian with him.

Loki laughs, grinning at Ivan in a demented fashion that only reminds Ivan of Tony at his most foolish. “And what are you going to do to a god?”

“Destroy you.” Ivan doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t change his inflection, the words a simple statement of fact. He takes another drink of vodka, watching Loki’s expression as it goes through amusement and contempt before Loki settles on narrow-eyed speculation. It makes a good look on him.

“And how do I lose if I kill you?”

“Not stupid.” It’s all that Ivan intends to tell him, and Loki takes another step toward him, bringing the pointed tip of the staff toward Ivan’s chest.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Tony is walking in from the landing platform, watching Loki with an almost careless expression. “The last person who thought he controlled Ivan is still aereosols in the upper atmosphere. What hasn’t fallen back to Earth, anyway.”

Loki laughs, looking up at him, settling the staff back to rest the butt end on the floor. “And I suppose you’re planning to appeal to my humanity while he threatens me?”

“No.” Tony leans his hands on the railing of the balcony above them, a smile on his face that’s as sharp as any of Loki’s. “I’m going to threaten you myself.”

The smile on Loki’s face just widens, and Ivan lifts the bottle of vodka for another sip, watching with hooded eyes. He’s willing to let Tony work his play, and wait. Ivan’s very good at waiting, and watching until the moment is right for action.

“You should have left your armor on for that.” Loki tilts his head, something a shade more calculation than madness in his eyes. Ivan wonders if Tony even notices, if anyone has noticed.

“Yeah. It’s seen a bit of milage, and you’ve got the glowstick of destiny.” Tony walks down the stairs behind Ivan, but Ivan doesn’t need to look to know where Tony’s going. He’d rather keep his attention on Loki, anyway, since the would-be god is the danger here. “Which is a little closer to the only other psychotic bastard I know, and trust me when I say I’m much happier when he’s not trying to kill me. The suit needs fewer repairs that way. Want a drink?”

A soft chuckle escapes Loki, and the smile now is more genuine amusement. Whatever his plans are, whatever he thinks Tony’s doing doesn’t change anything. That he says as much – implies that Tony’s merely stalling – only confirms what Ivan already thinks. There’s something already in play, and Ivan has little doubt it involves whatever is going on up on the roof, that he couldn’t stop because Tony still doesn’t trust him with JARVIS without the supervision of himself or Pepper.

“Threatening.” Tony’s voice is flat as he corrects Loki. “You see, I kinda like having my things in one piece, and when someone is threatening to change that, I’m going to threaten right back. Attempt to take apart what’s mine, and I stop threatening.”

Whether he does something, or lets Ivan handle the destruction – he does destruction very well – depends on just what the person is threatening. Or if the two of them just take apart between them whoever does more than bluster and threaten what’s theirs. No one threatens Pepper, not anymore. There isn’t anyone on the planet who’s proven that stupid.

“Sure you won’t have that drink? I’m having one.”

There is a familiar clink, the decanter of good scotch being gotten off its shelf. Ivan doesn’t move, still watching Loki as the god turns away and moves toward the window. Stupid, to turn his back on Ivan, but at least the staff is far enough away for Ivan to glance back at Tony for a brief moment. Tony raises an eyebrow, tilting his head away from Loki. Asking if Ivan’s going to get out of reach, or if he’s just going to be his usual immovable self.

Ivan shrugs, and smiles, lifting the bottle of vodka back to his lips as he turns his attention back to Loki, who is still looking out the window. At the sky, from the tilt of his head, though what there is out there save a few clouds, Ivan doesn’t know.

“The Chitauri are coming. Nothing will change that.” Loki turns, giving them both an amused and almost careless look. “What do I have to fear?”

Except there is fear lurking under that mask, and Ivan wonders what it is that Loki does fear. Not what is coming now, that much is clear, but perhaps whatever it is that will be driving the army that the Avengers will have to fight.

“The Avengers.” Tony’s words make that fear vanish as if it never existed, as if that glimse were nothing but a smoke screen, though Ivan thinks it is the other way, the amusement coming down to cloud the truth once more. There is confusion to temper the amusement, though, as if Loki isn’t quite sure he heard Tony right. “That’s what we call ourselves. We’re a team. Almost, mostly. A club of heavy-hitting superheros, something like that.”

A team that hadn’t existed when Tony had left to bother Fury and SHIELD, and left Ivan to his own devices here in the tower. Not the best idea, but Pepper had to travel, and no one outside of those two ever felt safe when Ivan was out in public. At least, that had any sense.

Ivan hides his own amusement over the Avengers behind a bland mask, watching Loki’s reactions still. The confusion is fading now, as well, amusement very much the dominant emotion for them to see. Loki either doesn’t think the threat is genuine, or he wants to be seen to think that.

“Yes, I’ve met them.” There’s laughter hiding under Loki’s words, and lurking in his eyes. “I don’t think I’m in all that much danger.”