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“You! Over here, now!”
Rodney snapped his fingers at some random Marine and stared at his tablet. The equations weren’t quite making sense, something was off.
“You snapped, sir?”
A shadow loomed over him in response, and without looking up, McKay motioned to his right and said, “Stand over there... no there! Yes, good.” The bulk of the jarhead was enough to block the overly harsh rays of the alien sun overhead - when positioned just right. In the newly created shade, the tablet screen was more visible and hopefully the equations would start making more sense again. They had to.
Seconds ticked by and Rodney frowned, tapping the screen of the tablet in irritation, wishing for a pen and paper. Why in the hell was this not making sense. The differentials where all right and his error check was all green. A deep voice, surprisingly deep, boomed, “You forgot to carry the one.”
Huffing but without looking up, Rodney snapped, “This isn’t remedial long division, Private, its...”
before he could squawk in indignation or irritation or outrage, or.... an audacious finger, knuckle scabbed and red, interrupted him by tapping the relevant section of the equation and Rodney’s ire at being interrupted by a moron, morphed into embarrassed indignation (mostly at himself). The mistake was blatant, glaringly obvious and just.... Private Moron was right. Oh the mortification!
“Shit!” Rodney exclaimed and hastily made the correction, scowling fiercely at the result – which was now making sense. “Son of a ...” Before he could complete both the curse and his internal diatribe of self-flagellation, the deep voice once again interrupted him.
“You’re welcome, sir.”
The Private’s tone, all smug and pleased, had Rodney turning his baleful glare from screen to Marine. To say he was surprised would be an understatement. What met his irritated gaze was not a neanderthal-forehead, receding hairline or weasly sneer. Instead ridiculous lips, fine profile and were those... freckles? “What? Are you some MIT reject that failed dismally to get into NASA and joined the army and lucked out with the Stargate programme?” Rodney spluttered, raising his hand to shade his eyes, just in case he had been dazzled by the sun or something. Or was having a stroke.
Private Ridiculous Lips smiled, “Something like that, sir. And it’s Sergeant Winchester.”
Glaring more, if that was possible, moving the burn from scorching to nuclear, Rodney humphed loudly, “Winchester, really? Isn’t that a little... ironic, or karmic, or something?”
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Sure, sure,” McKay muttered, returning the nuclear glare to the tablet screen and exclaiming, “So, MIT flunk out or not?”
“Not, sir.”
“Idiot savant?”
“If you say so, sir.”
“Lucky guess?”
“Probably, sir.”
“Mensa member?”
“Hell no, sir.”
Rodney pursed his lips, looked up again in mock dismay, his ire over the equation gone, but the mystery of the genius Marine far more intriguing, or in this case, annoying. Final guess then. “Closet jock mathlete who never applied himself and thinks it’s funny getting one over on the geeks?”
Sergeant Winchester’s smile was iridescent and McKay rolled his eyes, “Got it in one, sir.” His voice was exceptionally annoyingly deep.
“Enough with all the ‘sirring’ its getting on my nerves,” McKay grumbled, raising both hands to his eyes, just in case the sun on this 'science-forsaken' world was causing a brain aneursym or temporary amensia for calculus.
“Yes, sir.”
Rodney stared at the smirk, the classical features only marginally obscured by the standard off-world helmet, and cookie-cutter marine uniform and figured there was no harm in testing the depths of potential intelligence. “Ok, ok, smarty pants. Let’s go – prime or not prime. 86549987?”
sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn
“Colonel, sir?’
Sheppard looked up from his hand-held PSP at Lieutenant Marks and quirked an eyebrow of query. He didn't bother pausing the game.
“Dr McKay is badgering my Marines again. Well, just one this time,” Marks replied but didn’t seem too upset. In fact, he looked downright pleased with himself and that worried Sheppard. Twisting on the log so he could check on McKay, Sheppard frowned. McKay was supposed to be figuring out how to get the DHD to dial home remotely from his tablet. Judging by McKay’s expression, a familiar one, the one he got when he’d found something really interesting in a completely unexpected place, there was no work being done on DHD remote activation.
Sighing, Sheppard hauled himself up, sharing an amused look with Marks. “Somehow I think it’s less badgering and more recruiting, huh, Marks?”
“Either way, Colonel, I’m concerned.”
Snorting, John shook his head, “I totally buy that.”
As Sheppard approached, Rodney’s strident vocal aerobics became understandable and it seemed it wasn’t so much an argument, but a debate over ‘pure’ mathematics vs applied.
“There is no way in hell that Batman could actually create a grappling hook with the strength to support his, Robin’s and the Joker’s weight!” McKay was waving his hands around, tablet forgotten on the ground, an errant wrapper from a powerbar fluttering in the blue grass. Stretching down, Sheppard caught the paper and buried a smile as Sergeant Winchester replied, “Dude, he’s Batman. Of course he can.”
Flapping hands nearly hit Sheppard in the face, who fortuantely stepped back in time, as Rodney exclaimed, “What did I just say about tensile strength and the pure goddamn physics of it all!”
Winchester though had realised that his CO was in earshot of any further debate and nodded at Sheppard even as he said, “You also said Superman would kill Lois if he caught her in mid-flight and clearly he doesn’t. Sir.”
McKay, oblivious to their mini-audience, went red in the face and exclaimed, “In reality, he would! Man of Steel! Soft human flesh! Meet in mid-air! Basic physics!”
“Rodney?” Sheppard decided to interject before McKay launched into the whole ‘Flash would be naked all the time’ theory for the umpteenth time. “What?” Rodney spluttered, whirling on Sheppard. John just stared at him, eyebrow raised Teal’c style and McKay bristled for a moment, before deflating. “Fine, fine, back to work.” McKay picked up his tablet, glared some more at Sheppard and muttered, “Damn slave driver...”
Satisfied, Sheppard shot Winchester a warning look too, but the Sergeant seemed unrepentant, judging by his grin. “And Rodney, stop using my Marines as sunshades.”
Rodney’s reply was non-verbal and in a comic book, would have been a literal death ray. As Marks ordered Winchester back to watching the perimeter, Sheppard heard him say sotto, meant only for Winchester, “What did I say about getting the geeks all riled up, Winchester?”
“Not to, sir.”
“Well?”
“Couldn’t help it, sir.”
McKay, the faker, was pretending not to listen in too, and nearly choked on his own spit when Winchester concluded, “He was going to send us back to Atlantis in itty bitty pieces, sir. I had to say something.”
“I was not!” McKay reported, eyes bugging out, just a little, half-rising from his log.
Unphased by the diminutive balding fury, Winchester turned and deadpanned, “You 100% sure of that, Dr McKay?”
Surprisingly enough, McKay actually checked his tablet, scowled, tapped an app and then paled as the old equation rolled by. Stammering in denial, Rodney sputtered, “I would have figured it out before we actually went through again!” McKay shot Sheppard a worried, sheepish glance and John sighed, and pressed his hand into his eyes.
“Marks?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Leave Winchester here. Winchester?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Wrangle him for me, please.”
“I do not need ‘wrangling!’”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Sheppard left the stormy cloud of hellbent ire behind with its strapping hidden genius and went back to his log. Normally he would have stayed and kept Rodney on track and away from altering wormhole theory, but he was so tired, they’d probably end up rewiring the Stargate for HBO, or something.
“Wipe that ridiculous smirk off your face, Winchester! And Sheppard, don’t think I’ll forget this!”
Sheppard wasn’t scared, ... not really. Ok, maybe a little.
Fin