Work Text:
About a week before Christmas, John Crichton had been quite content working in his lab at IASA when all hell broke loose. The ground started to shake, which was unusual, since Florida had never been prone to earthquakes. Then the wall of his lab started to glow, it became almost translucent, then turned into a giant vacuum cleaner, sucking everything in the lab through it, including John. There was nothing to grab hold of to stop his wild tumbling across the labrotory.
He was sucked through what had to be a wormhole. Unfortunately, so was the steel lab table he’d been working at, and he was conked on the head by it. He didn’t experience much of the trip after that.
When he regained consciousness, a man with a half-mask was standing over him, staring down at him with his one good eye. He was dressed in a raggy robe. His hair was standing on end, and there didn’t seem to be much sanity in that single eye. When he spoke, the words were completely garbled. When John just stared at him, rubbing his head, the man threw up his hands and spoke louder.
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying, buddy,” John grumbled. His head had a huge lump on it and it hurt. He wanted the guy to stop shouting at him. It seemed to work; the man fell silent and tilted his head, then made a rolling motion with his hand, the universal sign for ‘go on.’ “I guess you don’t speak English?”
The man held his hand up and then muttered under his breath in a rhythmic chant. Then he waved his hand. John felt something like a warm breath of air wash over him, and he sneezed.
“Do you understand me now?”
“What? How? What just happened?”
“Simple translator spell.” The man shrugged and stepped back, holding a hand out to help John to stand.
‘Translator spell? Spell? What the hell?’ John thought to himself. He wobbled on his feet and stared at the stranger. “Where am I?”
“Katratzi, this is my workshop.”
Looking around at the artifacts in the room, John realized he was very far from Kansas, very far indeed. “How did I get here, who are you?”
“I’m Stark. I brought you here, my friends are dying. My research revealed that I needed something called a doctor, so I cast about for a world that had such a person.”
Holding up “Whoa, buddy, I’m not that kind of doctor, I’m an astrophysicist.”
The single eye blinked and Stark seemed distressed. “I don't understand.”
“I’m a scientist. I’m not a medical doctor, I can’t do anything about sick people.”
“This is dreadful, this is horribly dreadful. What am I to do now?”
“You don’t have anyone that takes care of the sick?”
Stark pursed his lips and snapped, “Of course we do, we have healers. But this is beyond their ability to fix with spells. What does an astro-phanana do?”
Ignoring the mispronunciation, John replied. “Well, I could help if you needed anything to do with astronomy; I’m pretty good with quantum mechanics, particle physics, thermodynamics and statistical mechanics,” and at the man’s blank look, he added, “Math, I’m very good at math.”
Stark made a sign with his fingers and breathed out, “Math! Science! Goddess help us all, I’ve brought a scientific blasphemer into our midst! The Council is going to sanction me, they might toss me in a cell and forget all about me. You’re more than useless to me, you’re a menace, and you’re going to ruin me. Go over there. Just get as far from me as you can. Go sit by the table over there while I figure out what I’m going to do.”
“This isn’t my fault, you brought me here!” John protested, refusing to move.
“Go over on your side of the room. This is my side, that is your side. Stay over there while I think.”
He found he had some talent here, in this pre-industrial world that ran by magic. He was able to cast simple spells. He was not so good at potions, however. He tried mixing one that was supposed to relieve some of the symptoms of the illness plaguing Stark’s friends. He tasted it and it wasn’t horrible and it didn’t kill him after three small doses spread out over two days.
Since Stark had a mild case of the disease himself, John asked him to try it, telling him he'd already tested it on himself.
Within an hour of Stark drinking the potion, John felt the pull of lust. He couldn't stop himself from looking over at Stark. After two hours, Stark was crossing the workroom with purpose. He grabbed John and kissed him, hard. John returned the kiss with equal ferocity. When they broke for air, John said, “I don’t get this. What the hell is going on?”
Stark shook his head, as if trying to clear it, holding John’s hand and caressing his fingers. “What did you use in that potion? Show me the spellbook.”
Leading him to it, John pointed to the ingredients list. As Stark bent over the huge tome, John couldn't resist leaning in and kissing his cheek. This was out of control. He didn't even like the man. But yet, he did. A lot. This morning, he thought Stark hated him, and now he was holding hands and casting mooning glances at John. It had to be the potion causing this.
“Where did you get fala root? Fala root is out of season.”
“Right over there.” John pointed to a jar on a shelf.
Dropping John’s hand, Stark went to the shelf and pulled down the jar. His forehead wrinkled as he pulled the root out and sniffed it. “Labeled wrong. This is katralla root.”
“What is that used for, Stark?”
“Sleeping spells, long sleeping spells. And, oh Goddess! There’s tyno leaf in here as well. When katralla root is mixed with tyno leaf, it forms a base for…” Stark gulped and looked at John helplessly.
“What?”
“A love spell. It forms the base for a love spell.”
“Oh, crap on a cracker!” John exclaimed. Stark nodded and pulled John into his arms, kissing him again.
Sighing, John decided they could figure it out later.