helenkacan: (Default)
( Jan. 1st, 2011 10:24 am)
A far too modest total but, considering the circumstances, I'm surprised I wrote anything at all. And thank the universe for [livejournal.com profile] lgbtfest!

"Red and White", December 19, SGA (G)
Santa Claus + canon/original characters
Written for [livejournal.com profile] stargate_las
Word count: 993

"One of a Kind", November 21, SGA (PG)
Carson Beckett
Written for [livejournal.com profile] stargate_las
Word count: 993

"Future Perfect", November 7, SGA (G)
Evan Lorne
Written for [livejournal.com profile] stargate_las
Word count: 999

"I Could Never Lie to Mama ... So I Didn't, October 10, SGA (PG)
OFC, Radek Zelenka
Written for [livejournal.com profile] stargate_las
Word count: 993

"Elective Sub-routines", September 26, SGA (G)
Rodney McKay + ?
Written for [livejournal.com profile] stargate_las
Word count: 728

"Odd Man Out", June 11, SGA (R)
Rodney McKay/Ronon Dex, John Sheppard POV
Written for [livejournal.com profile] lgbtfest
Word count: 3,756

"Belonging", June 11, SGA (PG13)
Rodney McKay/Ronon Dex
Written for [livejournal.com profile] lgbtfest
Word count: 6,012

A trio of drabbles for Valentine's Day, February 14, R
"Winner Takes All", "Not Just Another Day", "The Game"
Written for [livejournal.com profile] brendan_vincent
Word count: 100/100/100

"Not until I let you", January 23, SGA (NC17)
Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Written for [livejournal.com profile] neevebrody's bj Friday
Word count: 839

Total for 2010: 15,613
Hello, out there in the Pegasus Galaxy. I'm back and so is Santa Claus. The verdict is in from the last challenge of [livejournal.com profile] stargate_las and it is ... meh. Ah, well, I'm still moving on to the next round. And Santa can go have a very long rest.

Name: [livejournal.com profile] helenkacan
Show/Movie: Stargate Atlantis (SGA)
Story Title: Red and White
Character/Relationships: "Santa Claus", canon and original characters / Gen
Rating: G (suitable for children of all ages)
Warnings: none
Timeline: Post S5 (EatG), with Atlantis returning to Pegasus in late summer, 2009


He slumped as he shrugged off his clothing and hung it in the closet. Delivering presents stealthily over the past thirty days, in Earth time, had been the hardest job in his life but it was over, well ... everything except for the huge party tomorrow welcoming in the New Year.

With Atlantis stuck on Earth for a few short months, people were homesick for the holiday traditions they hadn't been able to observe, some for more than five years. And, then, by a sudden and weird vote of the IOA, they were expected to simply return to Pegasus, once again leaving behind most of their customs without having had a proper chance to reacquaint themselves.

He didn't think it was fair and Mr. Woolsey – bless his bureaucratic but luxury-loving heart – agreed. Between the two of them, they hatched a plan that, as far as the city's residents were concerned, was only about celebrating the return of light which, to be honest, was heavily weighted in favour of the Northern Hemisphere. Woolsey had gone on (and on and on ... and on) about the many observances that focused on light - Diwali (festival of lights), Hannukah (lighting the menorah), followed by Yule (Winter Solstice welcoming the return of the sun north of the equator), Christmas and finally Kwanzaa to finish off the month.

But he and nearly everyone else called it Christmas, its religious symbolism having been stripped away mostly and replaced by Santa Claus. Which was not a bad thing entirely, with the giving of gifts. Except that there was no way to guarantee that everybody received one ... without outside influence. Hence ... the appearance of Santa in Atlantis.

He recalled the reactions on December 1st from the first recipients who'd stumbled into the Mess, initially startled by the appearance of a lavishly decorated tree, and then surprised to see packages with their names – from "Santa" - surrounding its base. He observed flashes of hurt and envy on the faces of those around who hadn't received a gift ... until the next day when there were more boxes waiting. As the joy spread, anxiety dissipated as everyone figured out they just had to wait their turn.

Then something unusual happened. The cooks began to bake mounds of cookies, left out – presumably for Santa – and people would wander in during the night to chat, have some milk and grab a cookie or two. There were many new friendships formed as they shared the letters they'd received unexpectedly, along with their presents, written by children from around the world. If those children only knew their letters had been delivered to another Galaxy!

He made sure to stay away from any of the pools, where wagers were placed on the true identity of Santa. He didn't know if he could have maintained a poker face, but would have been curious to know what the odds were on him.

He figured one of the scientists had dragged in the whiteboard from the labs and placed it next to the tree. There were scribbled thanks to Santa from every sector.

Such as Lt. Rieger: "Thank you for the supply of wool, so that I can continue on my nefarious mission to knit everyone here a hat!" He shuddered, wondering when he would receive his.

Or Dr. Bronski: "I didn't expect to replace my broken tea service, but the new one and the splendid teas are much appreciated."

Or the bunch of Marines who thanked Santa for the hoops and basketballs. It had been high time they had something that was both entertaining and physical where many could play on teams.

Or Teyla, on behalf of her son: "Torren John is enchanted by the snow globe. I must shake it several times a day for his enjoyment." Hmmm. He wasn't sure whether Teyla was thanking him or chastising him.

Every night, someone would transcribe all of the thank-you notes onto a tablet before wiping the board clean, ready for more expressions of gratitude the next day.

Just as he was touched to see who had written their thanks, he was mystified to see who had not. There were several people, most notably someone for whom he'd gone to great lengths acquiring extremely popular souvenirs. But he knew he hadn't done it for the thanks. And he also knew that some people were private, despite their loud exteriors.

Between the random distribution of presents and the special displays of more light every day making the city glitter like a jewel, there was food. Atlantis now had fully stocked pantries and freezers with foodstuffs from all over the globe. So there were different dishes on the menu every day, ranging from latkes with real sour cream to dim sum.

Finally, he took one last look at the familiar flash of red and white in the closet before going to sleep. He had done a good job.

Epilogue:
When he was ready to leave his quarters the next day for the huge party, he didn't expect to see a familiar pair of Canadian Winter Olympic mittens outside his door, along with a note.

"Don't try to pretend you're not Santa. I can't think of anybody else who could have accomplished all that you did, without slacking off on the job. And you got me a Canadian hockey team jersey, the best present ever, that I will wear to the labs every day we face off against the Americans."

Chuck smiled to himself. It wasn't a public thank-you, but that didn't matter. As he strolled to join the Australian hosts at their throw-another-shrimp-on-the-barbie party, he wondered whether he should warn Dr. McKay that he would be needing those very mittens next month, when the hockey arena on a lower level was ready.

But then he thought he'd keep that a surprise, too. It was much more fun that way and just another privilege of being Santa.
Hello, everyone out there in the Pegasus Galaxy. You know how much I love to visit you. So, I've been having a pretty good Sunday (church, ya know), and the just-released results from the fifth segment of [livejournal.com profile] stargate_las and my fourth entry show that I won! I'm moving on to the next segment, so happy yay. [And most gratifying to my mostly-blind self, considering that I proofread out loud until I'm hoarse!] I'd definitely like to thank the voting members of the Academy (lol) as well as the man himself, Dr. Carson Beckett. Actually, I like the fact that I'm forcing myself to write about characters or situations I've never considered before. And it's not as if it were any particular hardship; I just have to focus on other people and/or relationships (instead of mooning over McShep or even McDex).

Name: [livejournal.com profile] helenkacan
Show/Movie: Stargate Atlantis (SGA)
Story Title: One of a Kind
Character/Relationships: Carson Beckett, mention of canon characters / Gen
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Timeline: Post S5 EaTG, after Atlantis has rightfully returned to Pegasus!


Night. On yet another world.

Most normal people would have been fast asleep, but Carson Beckett was no normal man.

He stood, his back cracking, and stumbled to the tent entrance. He scrubbed at his bleary eyes, desperate to magically erase the weariness from working too many hours. A reassuring glance outside was all the respite he permitted himself before returning to his field table and Ancient microscope.

He picked up another marked vial and uncorked it, before pushing a slide with a drop of blood under the lens. He was driven to do this, to atone for the monstrous things Michael had forced him into. His only mission for the remainder of his life would be – as it had always been – to help people.

He never had enough time for sleep, nor did he wish it. Moving from one world to the next, trying to treat not only the victims of the Hoffan Plague, but all manner of other life-threatening illnesses, filled the daylight hours. When it grew dark, he retreated to his only abode, a tent, as he could no longer endure the claustrophobia of feeling trapped by solid walls and ceilings.

Imprisonment – first under Michael and then in that not-dead but not-alive twilight of the stasis chamber – meant he chose to sleep in a tent for shelter, beneath the sky and stars, no matter how inclement the weather.

Still, working was more palatable than trying to outrun the nightmares of Michael's infernal charnal house. He hadn't had a single uninterrupted night's sleep since his capture. But working to near exhaustion might guarantee him a few hours of dreamless sleep.

Carson couldn't turn anyone away. As soon as word spread that the "Healer" had arrived through the Gate, crowds would gather and surge forward – yet halt at a respectful, even fearful, distance. There were no screams, no accusations or tears, merely a gently rustling murmur of hopeful voices. Yet it was that quiet patience that nearly broke him. They expected him to produce a miracle. If not there, then soon. He always did as much as he could before moving on.

Always moving on. Never pausing long enough to rest. As far as he was concerned, rest was for the dead. Well, he'd been dead and yet here he was again. He couldn't tolerate being stuck in one place for more than a few days.

Yes, he missed Atlantis dearly and the inspiration of her singular beauty. He missed his friends, Rodney most of all. The man's generosity toward him after his rescue had been a balm to his soul. Rodney could have treated him as an impostor, but hadn't. Had not once uttered "Vampire" or "Dolly the sheep" to his knowledge.

Carson remembered viewing the Gateroom footage of the honour guard, led by Rodney and the Colonel, escorting his – his original – remains back to Earth. From the look of abject misery etched into Rodney's face, Carson could imagine how Rodney had blamed himself for not having taken that fateful Sunday off to spend it fishing with his friend. Not that it would have changed much. Carson would have been recalled and the outcome most likely the same.

Though he missed Atlantis, he did not miss the Infirmary. It wasn't his by rights, even if he could have withstood the claustrophobia of the OR. A surgeon with incipient tremors, no matter how gifted, was a liability.

He tried his best not to think of his unique nature or the isolation he was imposing on his life. He knew he wasn't the only clone in the universe, not even the only human clone. He'd read the file on O'Neill the younger. That was one lucky lad to be able to carve out his own destiny and to have many productive years ahead of him.

But Carson couldn't adopt a new identity. He could only be his mother's son whom she believed, in her grieving prayers, to be singing with the Angels, no doubt in the proper Scottish part of Heaven, complete with bagpipes, never harps.

There was no way he could exist outside of the SGC except in the Pegasus Galaxy. And, even in Pegasus, he'd had to rid himself of that all-too-common human wish for love. He tutted to himself as he thought back to his daft behaviour with Dr. Alison Porter. How could he expect someone so young – so alive – to respond to his foolish advances?

He'd come to deny himself companionship, even of a professional nature. Approached by doctors on each world who offered to travel and work with him, he let them down with kindness, maintaining that they were already desperately needed where they were. The first time he'd been asked had led to a particularly nasty nightmare later that night when he'd woken up gasping, "Perna" on his lips. Thankfully, there had been no witness, nor would there ever be after that painful experience.

Only when Carson wasn't treating the ill or working late into the night did he allow himself one small distraction. He wondered what kinds of simulations Rodney might have installed into the virtual reality of his stasis chamber, even though Carson had declined originally. In one, he could imagine how embarrassed yet proud Rodney would have been, programming the Nobel ceremony where both of them received their rightful honours, side by side. Well, there would be no such honour for himself, but at least he could hope for it on his friend's behalf.

He knew there would come the day when he could no longer rise, no longer work. He could only pray that, on the day he drew his final breath, he had done enough to absolve himself of guilt and was worthy of redemption.

Because, on that day, he intended to meet not only his Maker, but also Carson the First.

And, finally, on that day, Carson would never feel alone again.
Okay, here we are, kiddies, in the fourth segment of [livejournal.com profile] stargate_las and my third entry. I'm moving on to the next round, so yay. Although my score put me in second place in the SGA category, there was one vote against me ... so I'll be very curious to read that particular judgment!

Name: [livejournal.com profile] helenkacan
Show/Movie: Stargate Atlantis (SGA)
Story Title: Future Perfect
Character/Relationships: Lorne, various OFCs and OMCs / Gen
Rating: G
Warnings: None


Nick tried his best not to stumble, hurrying down the street into town while clutching a crumpled ten dollar bill in his hand. He'd already slipped on his cheap thin-soled shoes and fallen, scraping an elbow. But it was really important that he get to the art store before it closed. If he was lucky, Gillian would be on duty. She usually dawdled on purpose, knowing he would be coming by every Saturday.

Nick knew he was lucky to have any kind of a part-time job at the age of ten. The fact that old man Gleason had offered him work - just nosing around at the junkyard - was something any curious kid would love. He got to search through abandoned cars, picking up loose change or other objects. Mr. Gleason had asked him to be very careful if he uncovered a knife or even a gun. So far, he'd found a couple of knives he'd handed over cautiously in plastic bags. Once he'd found a twenty and couldn't believe it when Mr. Gleason told him to keep the money. And he still got paid his usual ten!

The job was just a recent thing. He'd been hanging out with his two best friends, Mike and Jack, snooping around the junkyard when he'd found a large leather portfolio filled with paintings as well as blank canvasses. He couldn't understand why someone had thrown something like that out, but he lugged it home to show his mom who'd gotten this panicked look on her face after she'd glanced at a couple of paintings. So she'd made him march right back to show her where he'd found it.

Next thing Nick knew, she was knocking on Mr. Gleason's door asking if the portfolio belonged to him. Though he looked upset, he invited them in and offered Nick a glass of juice and a cup of coffee to his mom. Nick wasn't paying too much attention to what they were talking about until he heard his name ... the one he hated.

"So, young man, I hear you like to draw."

"Yes, sir," he replied eagerly. "It's fun and I can draw on anything." That certainly was true. If there was an empty cereal box, he'd draw on the inside. The backs of corrected tests. Even scraps of paper.

"Well, I would like you to have this portfolio so you can draw or paint on proper canvas." Mr. Gleason paused, drawing a shuddering breath, before he continued softly, "My son painted these. I hope you'll find some inspiration in them."

Wow! Nick couldn't believe he was being given the portfolio outright. He'd never had something this big or important before. He pulled himself out of his daydreams, because Mr. Gleason was speaking again.

"I'm sorry I can't give you his oil paints, but they dried out some time ago. Still ... I'd like to offer you a job, so you can buy your own set. How would you like to help me here every Saturday? I need someone responsible to go through the cars, just to make sure there's nothing valuable left in them. You know, like a wallet or cigarette lighter. I'll pay you ten dollars in cash at the end of the day. So, what do you say?"

Nick was speechless. He just grinned and nodded his head with enthusiasm. Mr. Gleason ruffled his hair and chuckled. After his mom had finished her coffee, she shook hands with Mr. Gleason and they walked back home, both in a much lighter mood.

He didn't understand why Mr. Gleason was so generous until he asked his mom. She just got this sad look on her face and mentioned he'd lost his only child, the son who'd painted, in the war. Nick could understand what it was like to lose someone since his dad was gone, leaving just him and his mom. And, yeah, his pesky kid sister who was five.

Nick was happy they lived near the water. He loved to paint the ocean. He already had all the right blue and green tints, but he needed some steel grey and camelia pink and those were the two tubes he purchased from Gillian.

Even though Nick didn't have a dad, he felt lucky living with his mom and sister. Mike and Jack often mentioned how their dads were threatening to send them to a military academy in the next couple of years, supposedly to put some discipline into them. Nick couldn't understand how parents could send their kids away, especially to become soldiers. Even pretend-soldiers.

He knew his mom would never do anything like that to him. She was happy he had a hobby like art, something he was passionate about. She didn't have to worry about him getting into trouble. And, even if his mom didn't say stupid stuff like, "You're the man of the house now," Nick felt it was important for them to stick together, the three of them.

Back up in his room after dinner, he lay down on his bed. It was too late to do any work in the waning evening light, but he could stare at the paintings Mr. Gleason's son had made, mostly of trees and sky. Nick's index finger traced the letters of the name in the lower corner. J-O-N-A-H. Huh. No last name. And then he wondered how he would sign his name, thinking of what it would feel like to be famous. His whole name was way too long. And "Lorne" didn't sound artistic anyway. But, maybe, he could use the first name he hated so much. It did sound fancy, after all. Too fancy for a kid, but maybe okay for a grownup.

Having mapped out his future with the clarity and certainty only a young boy could harness, he fell asleep whispering "Evan". And knew the first thing he would do Sunday morning was to paint his unique name on the canvas of the rest of his life.
Here's my second entry in the [livejournal.com profile] stargate_las competition. No, I didn't win. But, OTOH, I didn't have any votes against me and one for (winner had three) ... so I move ahead to the next challenge. Yay me.
Story Title: I Could Never Lie To Mama ... So I Didn't
Character/Relationships: OFC, Radek Zelenka plus mention of canon SGA characters; also OFC, OMC on Earth / Gen
Rating: PG
Warnings: Non-explicit mention of accident and physical injury

Svetlana Byelarova opened the door, startled to see her brother. "Volodya Petrovitch." She whispered ... suddenly fearful. "Galina?"

"Da. Po Angliski." He thrust the paper at her.

She sighed in relief. Receiving an e-mail in English from her only child wasn't a tragedy. Merely unexpected.

dear uncle volodya ... or did you think i, working with so many americans, would call you uncle wally, the way mama fears. you know how mama is. if i don't use proper names, then i'm disrespecting my heritage.

i'm sorry this e-mail looks so unusual, but it's the reason i'm writing to you instead of mama. when my cyrillic keyboard broke, dr. zelenka, one of my colleagues here, lent me his computer so i wouldn't miss the scheduled data transmission. but i'm not used to this model or its shift key.

mama should be pleased i get any time for language practice. dr. zelenka's russian is very good; he'd prefer we spoke in english, but will indulge me occasionally.

i can't believe i've been here for three years already. it's hard but exciting work. i wouldn't have the chance for anything this advanced anywhere else. it's still all classified but i hope you and mama will see my name one day on many published papers. i know you would be proud to see our family name in print.

we made some new discoveries recently in one of the labs....
~::~::~

Galina rested her left hand gently on the touchscreen of Radek's tablet while her bandaged right hand rubbed idly at limp bangs. She wondered whether one of the nurses might wash her hair. Hell, she'd even ask one of the marines, anything to feel less grubby.

At least her torn clothing had been removed, cuts and scrapes cleaned. Except for severe burns on one hand, she was ... well, she would be okay. Though her hair wasn't just dirty, but also singed. The long, black braid her mother had loved was but a memory. Maybe it was time for a new hairstyle, too.

Galina didn't regret what she'd done. But she now understood Dr. McKay's constant yelling about morons. She couldn't believe how these recent arrivals had caused the accident that could have blown up their lab and killed them all. Who in their right mind would open Ancient-shielded stasis boxes - stasis boxes! - without asking first ... not even thinking, eagerly dumping the contents onto metal slabs where – to everyone's horror – various limbs, most likely failed Wraith experiments, had begun to slither closer to each other, fibrous tendrils extending and thrashing, a grotesque reenactment of Medusa's hair.

If that hadn't been gruesome enough (with creepy music the only thing missing), Galina could see an electrical charge forming between the largest limbs from two originally separate boxes.

Her assistants stood transfixed. Completely useless. She realized it was up to her to fix the problem. She'd never sworn in her life until arriving in Atlantis but yelled at them to get the hell out of the lab, an order they were smart enough to obey.

She looked around frantically for any non-conductive tools. Of course not. That would be far too simple a solution. Only her brain and hands were at her disposal.

Not even thinking of the risk, because the alternative was not an option in her mind, Galina tore off her shirt to wrap around her left hand, then grabbed the two limbs, ripping the entangled tendrils apart with difficulty, struggling to drag the more electrically-charged limb whose tendrils were lashing at her, sparks igniting as they connected, into the disposal unit. Only then, after wondering idly if she was doomed to return to Earth as a damaged failure, did she pass out.

She'd woken hours later in the Infirmary, her hand blissfully numb, to the news that the cuts, burns and blisters – though severe – would heal fully. Galina knew she was lucky.

But bored. Lying in bed irritated her more than having dirty hair. So Radek's visit at her bedside earlier with two gifts was a welcome relief. Now she had a touchscreen laptop, able to type with her dominant left hand; and, even more amazing, a chocolate bar from Dr. McKay's hidden stash.

As she considered what else to include in her e-mail home, her thoughts wandered. She knew she'd been both incredibly brave and undeniably stupid. But she'd survived.

She recalled how many people had died in Pegasus, yet lived again. Radek. Rodney. Ronon. Then Rodney again (or was that the third time), rescued at death's door (her lips quirked ... cave entrance) from Second Childhood.

Or what about the Colonel? How many times did he personally defy certain death? If they could be fearless in the face of disaster, then how could she not try her best when danger struck.

Glancing at her bandaged hand, Galina knew she would do it all over again, no matter what the cost. Otherwise, she'd be ashamed, feeling unworthy to live and work in Atlantis.

Dr. McKay had high expectations of the quality of her work (and the gift of chocolate was definite proof, even if he still called her "Balalaika"). She had no intention of letting him or anyone else down.

~::~::~

Svetlana continued reading the e-mail to its end. She then picked up the photograph her brother had printed and looked wistfully at the image of her daughter, hair chopped short – so like a young boy's – but beaming with confidence. The older man, with woolly hair, resting his hand gently on her shoulder, was probably Dr. Zelenka.

She was happy for her daughter. If Galina had such good colleagues and friends where she worked, and could even afford the time to have her hair done, then it must be a wonderful place to live.

Svetlana sighed, grateful that her daughter was safe and well. Though she really hoped the next e-mail would be in properly respectful Russian.
I wrote this for the first-round challenge over at [livejournal.com profile] stargate_las and, surprise, surprise (yay), I was in a four-way tie for first-place in the SGA category. SG-1 and SGU (with fewer entries) had one winner each.

I don't often write G-rated fic but, when I do, I really have a good time. And now I'm off to write my second fic. There are so many authors for SGA who skipped the first challenge, so I feel this will be a very long battle.


Show/Movie: Stargate Atlantis (SGA)
Story Title: Elective Sub-routines
Character/Relationships: Rodney McKay + one (surprise) character / Gen
Rating: G
Warnings: None

Rodney McKay had established early on in his life – through hypotheses, trials and results – that discipline and routines were crucial components in the never-ending search for excellence.

It was, therefore, no surprise to find him here, trying to impart the validity of his life's purpose to his newest recruit who was staring at him in rapt, wide-eyed wonder. Not that it was a new experience for Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD. But flattering, nonetheless.

"No, really, really, you can't simply fritter through your time here following what others have determined should be your routines. You'll need to decide what projects you want to tackle each year and pursue them. You'll need to demonstrate steady progress and achievement. Then, you'll have to be ruthless in securing consistent lab time. How else do you think I got to be where I am today?"

Rodney proudly waved his expressive hands in the air for emphasis. "But don't worry, you have me here to guide you. You couldn't have asked for a better mentor, and not only because I'm a genius. You'll do well to observe me the most. Just don't let any of the others distract you because too many of them are – and you'll hear me say this more than once – morons."

Rodney rubbed his jaw, deep in thought as he considered the ever-growing list of potential distractions. "Of course, I'll try to spare as much time as I can, but you know the place can't get along without my brilliance and I'm a very bus--." Rodney halted, mid-word, when he heard an enormous yawn aimed in his general vicinity.

He glanced at his bed and found that Torren John's eyelids were drooping, the toddler unable to stifle his ever-increasing yawns.

"Oh. Right. I nearly forgot that you're still at the stage where nap-time is an integral part of your daily routine. Your mother is a very smart lady, though I don't understand why she was so persistent in pointing out to me that I shouldn't spend so much time talking without observing whether you'd need a nap or a bottle or ... well, you know, the other thing."

Rodney bustled over to the bed, gently rearranging TJ on his back in the centre of a plush, miniature fort constructed from towels and blankets. TJ gurgled as his arms and legs flailed about, though his movements were floppy and lethargic. Rodney found it all surprisingly hypnotic. His own eyes began to slide shut in response, though he tried to shake off the unexpected drowsiness.

Perhaps it wouldn't be the end of the world (galaxy ... solar system ... whatever) if he were to join TJ in this totally meaningless bow to many traditional child-rearing customs. Just this once, he'd change his routine ... if only to keep TJ company.

As he slid onto the bed, dimming the lights with a thought and mindful not to jostle the dozing child, Rodney whispered, "Just wait. When you're a little older, I'll eventually get your mother to understand and accept my brilliant deductive reasoning. And, if there's anything like a Grade 6 Science Fair in Pegasus, you'll be sure to be awarded the first prize."

He reached out, wanting to feel the connection he'd had with this child since its birth ... because, well, he couldn't have gotten closer unless he'd been the one actually giving birth which, despite all of the galaxy's freakiness, was not going to happen, at least not to him. He hoped.

As his fingers caressed the boy's soft hair, he thought of the changes to his own predictable routines, grimacing at certain unwelcome memories, and how they had led him through the Stargate into a reality where he was not only the smartest man, in two galaxies now (even if "Mom" – whether it was Hammond or O'Neill or Landry – liked Sam best), but also a trusted friend who could and would love and protect this child.

Though, he mused, he wouldn't object too strenuously if Teyla and Kanaan were to offer to officially acknowledge his contribution to TJ's upbringing as "Uncle" Rodney. It would be strangely comforting to hear those words, well ... whenever TJ finally emerged from the babbling stage.

Rodney played with the words, the sounds slurring on his tongue. And then he slept, a tiny smile gracing his lips.
Title: Odd Man Out
Author: [livejournal.com profile] helenkacan / Helena K.
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagen
Pairing: McDex
Rating: Mild R (for wild fancies of the imagination)
Word Count: 3,756 words
Summary: Post S5. After John finally flies Atlantis back to Pegasus, he thinks that, once everybody is settled in, things will return back to normal, meaning that he and Rodney will go back to hanging out a lot, especially as Keller didn't return with the expedition when (no surprise) they broke up. Well, actually, Rodney broke up with her. He is quite stunned with the evidence (and becomes obsessed with the thought) of Rodney being in a relationship with Ronon. John's POV.
Disclaimer: Seriously, if you think they're mine ... oh, don't tempt me!
Author's Note: In my heart, I'll always be a McShepper, but there's been something at the back of my mind about the sweetness that could exist between Rodney and Ronon. There are many instances of their interactions, such as the healing hug in Tao of Rodney (for which I've used a screen-cap generously provided by [livejournal.com profile] watcher652); the talk about intentions in S5, which one could interpret in a completely different manner. Also, thank you, John, for talking to Ronon about “a woman ... or a man”. Hee, I love it when characters co-operate.

Additional Author's Note: May be read as a companion fic for my submission into the 2010 [livejournal.com profile] lgbtfest, found here: http://helenkacan.livejournal.com/442093.html#cutid1.

Read more... )

Title: “Belonging”
Author: [livejournal.com profile] helenkacan / Helena K.
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing/characters: Rodney McKay/Ronon Dex; other named or anonymous characters from SGA canon
Word Count: 6,012 words
Rating: FRT/PG13
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the SGA characters. They are the property of their creators and copyright holders. This is a work of fiction and not for profit.
Written for [livejournal.com profile] lgbtfest
Prompt 3156: Stargate Atlantis; Ronon Dex/Rodney McKay.
By accident, Rodney learns that Ronon is having problems going beyond the kissing stage when dating women. After seven years as a Runner, he had ruthlessly suppressed his physical desire in order to survive. Rodney wants to help his friend and offers to teach him to enjoy his body again. When Ronon decides he is ready to try being with a woman, he realizes that his body already knows whom he really wants.
Summary: The Pegasus galaxy had changed Rodney. Yes, he'd done the selfless thing when Jeannie had been kidnapped, but that was because she was his sister and, yes, he loved her. He didn't expect to feel this generous again – so soon anyway - and compelled to offer to help Ronon with his problem.
Warnings: None. Really. Well, okay, some swears. A tiny flash of undescribed nudity.
Author's Notes: This is my first-ever McDex. The prompt called out to me (isn't that the best kind).
Bonus sequel: “Odd Man Out”, from John Sheppard's POV, found here: http://helenkacan.livejournal.com/442194.html.
Musical eccentricities: ::giggles:: Here be Canadian musical references. And stuff written by Dead White Guys, lol.

Posting date: June 12
Author's apology re posting date: I just moved and still don't have internet access reconnected. Today was the only day I could reliably expect to be able to post. So, please accept this post just a few hours ahead of schedule.

Read more... )
::giggles::
So I wrote this yesterday ... and then LJ had to go take a nap. Waaaah.

TITLE: Not Until I Let You
PROMPT: Written for [livejournal.com profile] neevebrody's bj friday under "edging" (http://neevebrody.livejournal.com/156368.html) and inspired by her amazing icon choice.
SUMMARY: Rodney makes John wait, but it is SO worth it.
RATING: A modest nc-17/frao
WORD COUNT: 839
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