Home Archives July 2007

SGA Fic: Snapshots from an odd AU (SGA/Fantastic Four/CSI crossover; Sheppard, McKay, Reed Richards, Nick Stokes; PG)

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07/29/2007: "SGA Fic: Snapshots from an odd AU (SGA/Fantastic Four/CSI crossover; Sheppard, McKay, Reed Richards, Nick Stokes; PG)"

Title: Snapshots from an odd AU
Fandoms: SGA, Fantastic Four, CSI
Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Reed Richards, Nick Stokes
Words: About 1500
Rating: PG
Summary: John isn't sure how it started. He was in another galaxy at the time.
Notes: Yesterday, inlovewithnight posted speculation about Sheppard, Reed Richards and Nick Stokes, working together. I wrote a tiny comment snapshot; then the thing kind of took over my brain. This is the original snapshot, with a few more. This is deliberately vague in parts.

They meet in a bar, and John would laugh at the cliché if he wasn't so busy making sure no one was watching, or waiting for them. McKay had set the meet up, telling John he'd found him a team, and he'd better not screw it up.

John isn't planning on screwing anything up; if this falls apart, it won't be because of him.

"Nice tie," a man says to him, leaning in close, and John half-smiles down at his nonexistent tie.

"I'm a fashion icon," he replies, and wonders how much fun McKay had making up this code exchange. And then he turns slightly, gets a good look at the man next to him. Fashion icon he's not – he's wearing something tight and it looks like it's one piece, under a ratty jacket. "Sheppard," he says, after a moment of wondering why the man looks like a rejected Star Trek extra.

"Richards."

They don't shake hands. It's twenty minutes and half a carefully nursed beer later when Sheppard finally hears someone walk up behind them.

"Sheppard and Richards?" he asks quietly, leaning in between them.

John closes his eyes briefly, because where's the code. It solidifies John's suspicion that McKay made the exchange just to mess with his head. And that's oddly comforting, given the way McKay is these days. "And you are?"

"A guy with a really great tie," and there's a smile in his tone. "Nick Stokes."

John turns around, sees that Richards is already shaking Stokes' hand. There's something oddly loose about the way Richards' arm moves. It sets off his freaky alarm, and he can't figure out why.

Looking at them – Stokes' face open and easy to read, Richards half-grinning – John thinks about Teyla and Ronon and Lorne. Especially Lorne, who's out on a job right now, already working with his own team.

He knows he's going to have to learn to trust these people, because there are things that need to get done. Still, he wonders how they might have done in Atlantis; he would have given Stokes a month, tops, although Richards is harder to read.

*

They hit a booth in the back, and Richards pulls something out, says he's sweeping for bugs. Stokes looks a little overly interested in the technology, but John's seen better, more exciting, and he'd bet that Richards' toy wouldn't light up in his hand.

"John Sheppard, Air Force," he says, and talks a little bit about what he can do. He leaves out the Wraith and Atlantis and the too-long list of people who died under his command.

"I was a CSI," Stokes says, after, "in Vegas." That's about it for him, and John can't figure quite what he's doing here. He looks too clean-cut, too new somehow, not like a member of a rebellion that most people don't even know exists. John wonders if Stokes even really understands what – who – he's fighting against.

"I'm a physicist," Richards says, smiling. "I suppose that's one way of putting it. It's more, I'm a – " and he hesitates.

And John can't help himself, he just shoots off, "What? A scientific genius?"

Richards doesn't look away, doesn't deny it. "Some people have put it that way."

McKay probably hasn't. And why does John need a scientific genius on his team? Why doesn't McKay come down from his mastermind position, and get his hands dirty? What can this guy do that McKay can't? He's about to ask, when Richards starts speaking again.

"Also, there's this." His hand is reaching, reaching too far, his arm suddenly thin, and thinner, longer than it should be. Stokes is gaping, eyes wide, mouth loose.

John keeps his mouth carefully closed, and yeah, that's something that McKay can't do.

*

John isn't sure how it started, but he was in another galaxy at the time, so he has an excuse. Even now, he doesn't care about the history of the take-over, how the SGC and the NSA and anyone who wasn't dealing with the Wraith managed not to see the infiltration that was happening.

All that matters is that he's stuck with the situation – him and McKay and Lorne, and the other Atlantis personnel who happened to be on leave – medical and otherwise – when the word had come down. When the world had changed.

At least McKay had managed to warn Atlantis before the 'gate was taken, before they tried to send people through to Pegasus.

"How many?" he asks, stunning another guard, ducking into the shadows. They're raiding their second weapons depot, and he's so, so glad – once again – that he'd inherited Ronon's gun, and that he'd 'forgotten' to mention it to anyone when he'd first stepped through the 'gate.

"Eight more," Richards yells, his head far, far too high.

Eight. John grins. Eight is easy, and he knows that Stokes is already on the way with the van.

After, when the van's filled with zat guns and staff weapons and things John's never seen before, he can almost relax. He thinks he can work with these people.

McKay will be thrilled with the haul.

But no matter how many times John brings back weapons, it won't make up for the people he'd lost, getting out of the SGC.

*

McKay almost grins when they get to the safe house. He actually looks up from his plans, his laptops, the scattered scrawls of notes on thin paper.

"They OK?" he asks, not quite looking John in the eye. He's messy and looks exhausted, and some days, John really, really wishes Zelenka were here too. At least McKay wouldn't spend most of his days holed up in the middle of nowhere, planning alone. The guy needs conversation, and some sun.

"Yeah," John says, and he knows that McKay isn't asking about their health. "They'll work. Where did you find them?"

McKay shrugs. "You know how it is."

He doesn't really, but he can guess. "Richards is –"

McKay smiles for real now, brief and flickering. "I know. And he's not entirely stupid either." Something beeps on his laptop, and he looks down, frowning, and types for a few minutes.

"Look," he says eventually, "they've obviously been test missions. If you think you can work with them, there are things you could be doing that aren't just smash and grab. I've got Lorne for that."

John nods, watching the way McKay's mouth tenses, briefly. He misses McKay on his team too, although neither of them will say it.

When this is all over, he wonders what he and McKay will do first. John's thinking it'll involve beer and finding a patch of grass, and lying back, warm in the sunshine.

*

After Atlantis, John shouldn't be bothered by anything. Aliens, space vampires, women who glow while they flirt, sentient technology, sex pollen and plants that talk - he's seen it all, and he's worked right through it. Still, there's something a little freaky about a man who can make himself so flat that he can fit through the smallest of cracks under a door that's hiding the most top-secret of top-secret data.

And he can't help but flinch a little, some days, when Richards' hand gets a little too close to his chest. It's just ingrained.

But they wouldn't be able to pull this stunt without Richards and his freaky skills, so John keeps his mouth shut (he tamps the jokes down) and keeps watch while Richards makes his slow, slow way under the door.

"What's taking so long?" Stokes asks, through John's earpiece.

The guy has the patience of an ox sometimes, working on tiny details, smoothing everything out. But of course, this can't be one of those times. John's feeling a little antsy too, even with the zat in one hand, the grenades tucked into his vest, Ronon's stunner heavy at his waist. "He's really long," he replies. "Getting that thin, you know how it is -" Richards is like ribbon, spread out in the hall.

"Did you guys -"

John already knows what's coming - Stokes is obsessive about leaving traces behind, constantly reminding them to keep trace evidence to a minimum. John doesn't really see the point - working to take down a government isn't exactly subtle, and if they do it well enough, there won't be anyone to track them down for much longer. But humouring Stokes is always a good thing. Especially since McKay has some kind of soft-spot for the guy. "Yeah, we did. Don't worry."

"Good." There's silence for a minute, and then, "You've got ten more minutes, maximum."

Richards is almost all the way under the crack, and John figures ten minutes is more than enough to get the intel they came for, get out, and blow the place. That should take care of any last bits of Stokes' trace worries.

Nudging the guards with his foot - they're still unconscious - John looks up in time to see the last of Richards' weirdly flat foot slide under the door.

He starts counting backwards from nine minutes, wondering how many more missions like this he'll be running before the rebellion wins.

Some days, he almost misses the Pegasus Galaxy.

End.




	Home Archives July 2007 SGA Fic: Snapshots from an odd AU (SGA/Fantastic Four/CSI crossover; Sheppard, McKay, Reed Richards, Nick Stokes; PG) [Previous entry: "SGA Fic: David Parrish, Bewildered Sex Object of Atlantis (Parrish/various; Parrish Lorne; R)"] [Next entry: "SGA Fic: Failsafe (McKay/Sheppard; PG-13)"] 07/29/2007: "SGA Fic: Snapshots from an odd AU (SGA/Fantastic Four/CSI crossover; Sheppard, McKay, Reed Richards, Nick Stokes; PG)" Title: Snapshots from an odd AU Fandoms: SGA, Fantastic Four, CSI Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Reed Richards, Nick Stokes Words: About 1500 Rating: PG Summary: John isn't sure how it started. He was in another galaxy at the time. Notes: Yesterday, inlovewithnight posted speculation about Sheppard, Reed Richards and Nick Stokes, working together. I wrote a tiny comment snapshot; then the thing kind of took over my brain. This is the original snapshot, with a few more. This is deliberately vague in parts. They meet in a bar, and John would laugh at the cliché if he wasn't so busy making sure no one was watching, or waiting for them. McKay had set the meet up, telling John he'd found him a team, and he'd better not screw it up. John isn't planning on screwing anything up; if this falls apart, it won't be because of him. "Nice tie," a man says to him, leaning in close, and John half-smiles down at his nonexistent tie. "I'm a fashion icon," he replies, and wonders how much fun McKay had making up this code exchange. And then he turns slightly, gets a good look at the man next to him. Fashion icon he's not – he's wearing something tight and it looks like it's one piece, under a ratty jacket. "Sheppard," he says, after a moment of wondering why the man looks like a rejected Star Trek extra. "Richards." They don't shake hands. It's twenty minutes and half a carefully nursed beer later when Sheppard finally hears someone walk up behind them. "Sheppard and Richards?" he asks quietly, leaning in between them. John closes his eyes briefly, because where's the code. It solidifies John's suspicion that McKay made the exchange just to mess with his head. And that's oddly comforting, given the way McKay is these days. "And you are?" "A guy with a really great tie," and there's a smile in his tone. "Nick Stokes." John turns around, sees that Richards is already shaking Stokes' hand. There's something oddly loose about the way Richards' arm moves. It sets off his freaky alarm, and he can't figure out why. Looking at them – Stokes' face open and easy to read, Richards half-grinning – John thinks about Teyla and Ronon and Lorne. Especially Lorne, who's out on a job right now, already working with his own team. He knows he's going to have to learn to trust these people, because there are things that need to get done. Still, he wonders how they might have done in Atlantis; he would have given Stokes a month, tops, although Richards is harder to read. * They hit a booth in the back, and Richards pulls something out, says he's sweeping for bugs. Stokes looks a little overly interested in the technology, but John's seen better, more exciting, and he'd bet that Richards' toy wouldn't light up in his hand. "John Sheppard, Air Force," he says, and talks a little bit about what he can do. He leaves out the Wraith and Atlantis and the too-long list of people who died under his command. "I was a CSI," Stokes says, after, "in Vegas." That's about it for him, and John can't figure quite what he's doing here. He looks too clean-cut, too new somehow, not like a member of a rebellion that most people don't even know exists. John wonders if Stokes even really understands what – who – he's fighting against. "I'm a physicist," Richards says, smiling. "I suppose that's one way of putting it. It's more, I'm a – " and he hesitates. And John can't help himself, he just shoots off, "What? A scientific genius?" Richards doesn't look away, doesn't deny it. "Some people have put it that way." McKay probably hasn't. And why does John need a scientific genius on his team? Why doesn't McKay come down from his mastermind position, and get his hands dirty? What can this guy do that McKay can't? He's about to ask, when Richards starts speaking again. "Also, there's this." His hand is reaching, reaching too far, his arm suddenly thin, and thinner, longer than it should be. Stokes is gaping, eyes wide, mouth loose. John keeps his mouth carefully closed, and yeah, that's something that McKay can't do. * John isn't sure how it started, but he was in another galaxy at the time, so he has an excuse. Even now, he doesn't care about the history of the take-over, how the SGC and the NSA and anyone who wasn't dealing with the Wraith managed not to see the infiltration that was happening. All that matters is that he's stuck with the situation – him and McKay and Lorne, and the other Atlantis personnel who happened to be on leave – medical and otherwise – when the word had come down. When the world had changed. At least McKay had managed to warn Atlantis before the 'gate was taken, before they tried to send people through to Pegasus. "How many?" he asks, stunning another guard, ducking into the shadows. They're raiding their second weapons depot, and he's so, so glad – once again – that he'd inherited Ronon's gun, and that he'd 'forgotten' to mention it to anyone when he'd first stepped through the 'gate. "Eight more," Richards yells, his head far, far too high. Eight. John grins. Eight is easy, and he knows that Stokes is already on the way with the van. After, when the van's filled with zat guns and staff weapons and things John's never seen before, he can almost relax. He thinks he can work with these people. McKay will be thrilled with the haul. But no matter how many times John brings back weapons, it won't make up for the people he'd lost, getting out of the SGC. * McKay almost grins when they get to the safe house. He actually looks up from his plans, his laptops, the scattered scrawls of notes on thin paper. "They OK?" he asks, not quite looking John in the eye. He's messy and looks exhausted, and some days, John really, really wishes Zelenka were here too. At least McKay wouldn't spend most of his days holed up in the middle of nowhere, planning alone. The guy needs conversation, and some sun. "Yeah," John says, and he knows that McKay isn't asking about their health. "They'll work. Where did you find them?" McKay shrugs. "You know how it is." He doesn't really, but he can guess. "Richards is –" McKay smiles for real now, brief and flickering. "I know. And he's not entirely stupid either." Something beeps on his laptop, and he looks down, frowning, and types for a few minutes. "Look," he says eventually, "they've obviously been test missions. If you think you can work with them, there are things you could be doing that aren't just smash and grab. I've got Lorne for that." John nods, watching the way McKay's mouth tenses, briefly. He misses McKay on his team too, although neither of them will say it. When this is all over, he wonders what he and McKay will do first. John's thinking it'll involve beer and finding a patch of grass, and lying back, warm in the sunshine. * After Atlantis, John shouldn't be bothered by anything. Aliens, space vampires, women who glow while they flirt, sentient technology, sex pollen and plants that talk - he's seen it all, and he's worked right through it. Still, there's something a little freaky about a man who can make himself so flat that he can fit through the smallest of cracks under a door that's hiding the most top-secret of top-secret data. And he can't help but flinch a little, some days, when Richards' hand gets a little too close to his chest. It's just ingrained. But they wouldn't be able to pull this stunt without Richards and his freaky skills, so John keeps his mouth shut (he tamps the jokes down) and keeps watch while Richards makes his slow, slow way under the door. "What's taking so long?" Stokes asks, through John's earpiece. The guy has the patience of an ox sometimes, working on tiny details, smoothing everything out. But of course, this can't be one of those times. John's feeling a little antsy too, even with the zat in one hand, the grenades tucked into his vest, Ronon's stunner heavy at his waist. "He's really long," he replies. "Getting that thin, you know how it is -" Richards is like ribbon, spread out in the hall. "Did you guys -" John already knows what's coming - Stokes is obsessive about leaving traces behind, constantly reminding them to keep trace evidence to a minimum. John doesn't really see the point - working to take down a government isn't exactly subtle, and if they do it well enough, there won't be anyone to track them down for much longer. But humouring Stokes is always a good thing. Especially since McKay has some kind of soft-spot for the guy. "Yeah, we did. Don't worry." "Good." There's silence for a minute, and then, "You've got ten more minutes, maximum." Richards is almost all the way under the crack, and John figures ten minutes is more than enough to get the intel they came for, get out, and blow the place. That should take care of any last bits of Stokes' trace worries. Nudging the guards with his foot - they're still unconscious - John looks up in time to see the last of Richards' weirdly flat foot slide under the door. He starts counting backwards from nine minutes, wondering how many more missions like this he'll be running before the rebellion wins. Some days, he almost misses the Pegasus Galaxy. End.