stargateficrec | "Divergence (The One Less Traveled By)" by maisierita (mature)

Show: SGA
Rec Category: AU
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Evan Lorne
Pairings: McKay/Sheppard
Categories: slash
Warnings: none
Author on LJ:

maisierita
Author's Website: none
Link: "Divergence (The One Less Traveled By)" by maisierita

Summary by the author:
McKay and Sheppard in the universe from SG ep. 10.13, "The Road Not Taken". After Carter returns to her universe, someone's got to finish saving this one from the Ori.

Why This Must Be Read:

Usually I'm not that fond of AUs and when this one was posted to AO3 in June it went on my reading-list because I like maisierita as an author. For month I lacked the proper motivation to read it because ... well, AU. Then I finally came around to give it fair attention which resulted in me asking for the AU-category for this month specifically just so I could recommend this fic.

I just love how Rodney and John are still just so in character, even when put in a entirely different universe in which they have to cope with being stuck at the SGC, in circumstances which are ill-suited for them. Maisierita adapts them to this situation perfectly and shows how they would react, behave, feel, think, based on their personalities. It's a true pleasure to read, believe me. It's sweet to see how they start to like and care for each other, there's the classic banter, snark, humor. Give it a try, even if you don't like AUs - no, *especially* if you don't like AUs. *g*

Rodney is in the lab — the pathetic, under-furnished, underfunded, ugly lab — staring morosely at the Ancient device on the lab table. (In truth, the lab is neither under-furnished nor underfunded, but it is still pathetic and ugly and built into an underground mountain, and Rodney loathes every inch of it.) Merlin's device sits on the table, lifeless and silent. Merlin’s device. Apparently Merlin was an Ancient. Ten years ago that would have been shocking, especially as he hadn't known what an Ancient was back then, but now it's just another little blip in the farce he likes to call his life.

The device is placid, utterly inert and therefore utterly useless, except perhaps as a particularly large, ugly paperweight. Despite promises of salvation, it is entirely failing to offer a concrete method for defeating the Ori. Fortunately Rodney has been able to successfully reproduce Colonel Carter's work to put the entire planet out of phase, but even that produces no satisfaction, because Carter had left him her notes, which, Carter being Carter, were more or less a step-by-step instruction manual. Any idiot could have done that, even Kavanaugh.

Rodney flips through Carter’s notes again, but inspiration stubbornly refuses to strike despite the flawless array of equations marching neatly across the page. This Colonel Carter is just as brilliant as his own is — as his own was . And ouch, that stings, a little burst of hurt and loss and grief for a woman he'd thought he never wanted to see again. Of course that was when she was alive and well and insufferable, and the fact that he feels differently now that she’s dead irritates him even more.

Meanwhile, the device is still mocking him in its own inorganic way, while Colonel Carter's moralistic blathering about their responsibility to the rest of the universe continues to echo in his ears. Rodney can't sleep now, has not slept in days, because now, thanks to Carter, he keeps thinking of all the millions of people out there in the galaxy who can't escape the Ori simply by phasing out of existence. This makes him feel guilty for being relatively safe and secure, which is ludicrous beyond all common sense, but the feeling sits there in his gut nonetheless, heavy and unfamiliar and unpleasant.

So he's been staring at the device in this dismal lab, wondering if it can't be used as a offensive weapon instead of a strictly defensive mechanism. It's a remarkably effective way to put the planet out of phase, but it only solves their problem. If he could put the Ori out of phase, it'd solve everyone's problem.

Which might mean he'd get his life back. He wants his life back. He likes his life. Or had liked it, up until about two weeks ago. Now his life is full of bad coffee and annoying rules and pointless interviews and an Ancient device that is as stubborn as any non-sentient machine could possibly be.

"Hey," a voice says, nasal and lazy, "Evan, are you ready yet — oh. You're not Evan."

"No," Rodney says irritably. "I am not. Who's Evan?"

"Evan Lorne?" the guy says, coming into the room and peering at Merlin's device interestedly.His gaze on Rodney is decidedly less interested. "Head of SG1? Walter said he was down here."

"Well," Rodney says with a grin that isn't much of one, "he's not. So," he waves his hand in a little shooing motion towards the door, "thanks for stopping by. Close the door on your way out."

The guy ignores him and points to the device. "What's that?"

"That," Rodney says witheringly, "is supremely classified. You could probably be shot for even being in here."

The guy does not wither. He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms across his chest, leaning one hip against the table, looking for all the world like he is settling in. "I kind of doubt it. My clearance is pretty high."

Rodney is frustrated. He has spent a good deal of day being frustrated. He has spent a good deal of his month being frustrated, come to think of it. It does not make him warm towards his fellow man, come-hither slouch or no. He just wants to be left alone with the recalcitrant device so he can break it to his will, satanic origins be damned. "Look, soldier whoever you are, I'm sure you were hot stuff in high school, but-"

"First of all," the guy says pleasantly, "it's airman, not soldier. Except it’s Major, not airman. Second of all, I was a geek in high school and I hung out with the science club, so not so much with the hot stuff. And third of all, I—"

"Third of all, I don't care," Rodney says. "Just go. Away." He waves his hand in dismissal.

"Yeah," the guys says, still infuriatingly mellow and continuing to infringe on Rodney’s space. "But, no. I don't think so. Who are you, anyway? This whole corridor is restricted." His smile remains pleasant, but there's a glint of steel in his eyes, and his hand is hovering dangerously close to his thigh holster.

Rodney rolls his eyes, because really, obvious displays of aggression are so much testosterone posing, and after several weeks in the SGC, he’s had more than enough of that. It is why he has never wanted to work directly with the military, but has always had his underlings deal with the defense contracts. "Are you going to shoot me in the lab? Near this highly volatile Ancient device? Because it's quite possible that it will blow up the planet."

"Uh huh," the guy says. "Because Ancient devices do that a lot. Blow up, I mean. You know, spontaneously."

"If you shoot at it-"

"Ancient devices," the guys says firmly, "are self-shielded. If I shot it, the only real danger is that the bullet might ricochet and hit someone else.” He grins, wide and full of perfect teeth. “Like you."

"Consider me appropriately intimidated," Rodney snaps. He pulls his ID badge from his pocket and slams it down on the table. "There. I have clearance. Satisfied? Now please, seriously, just get out of my lab and find your friend Lonny."

"Lorne," the guy corrects absently. He's actually examining Rodney's badge, which he’s had the nerve to pick up and examine, like Rodney might be lying. Rodney is mildly insulted — or would be, if he could be bothered to care what the guy thinks. Airman Guy squints at the ID badge a little, then looks up at Rodney's face, mouth twisted, staring intently in a way that makes Rodney feel self-conscious and uncomfortable.

"Yes, yes, terrible picture, I know. It's chronic. I can never figure out how to smile so it doesn’t look horrible You should see my wedding photos. Well, no, you shouldn't, and anyway I threw them out after the divorce, so you couldn't, regardless."

The guy gives him a weird look, then tosses the badge back on the table. "You're Rodney McKay?"

"I presume," Rodney says, "that's a hypothetical question, since you just spent 30 seconds scrutinizing my ID."

"The dot com guy?"

"Ex-dot com guy." No, he is not bitter at all . "Now I'm the president's personal advisor."

"Huh," the guy says. "I heard a rumor they’d brought in some hot shot astrophysics geek to work on Merlin’s device and other Ancient tech. That’d be you, I guess.”

Rodney bristles slightly. “Hot shot astrophysics geek? I’m flattered and insulted all at the same time.”

The guy grins, and it's genuine this time, startling and warm, and holds out a hand across the table. "John Sheppard."

Rodney takes his hand out of instinct. Sheppard's grip is firm and strong, but not aggressive.

"Sheppard," Rodney muses. "Sheppard. Hey, you're the guy with the gene I’ve heard about."

Sheppard winces. "Yeah, I suppose."

"I thought you'd be in Area 51."

"With the chair?" Sheppard shrugs. "No ZPM to power it up, so there’s nothing for me to do there. They've got me out hunting for Ancient tech."

"Off-world?" Rodney's intrigued. He knows Sam has been — had been — off-world several times, but they had never talked about it before she ... before she died ... and he hasn't had time since getting here to talk to anyone else about it either.

"Yeah," Sheppard says. He rubs at the back of his neck. "It's not as exciting as you might think. There's a lot of mud, and I swear to god, I get poison ivy or the alien equivalent every other day. Plus there are all these godawful ceremonies."

"Ceremonies? For what, awards?"

Sheppard snorts. "No. Jesus, I wish. No, it's like, 'oh, honored visitor from the other side of the ring, we welcome you to our humble village, please share our moldy bread and disgusting tea so that we may pledge our lifelong friendship.' But then five minutes later they start shooting at us. Or, you know, trying to have our babies."

Rodney blinks. He can't help it. "Really?"

"Totally not as sexy as it sounds, trust me."

"Oh," Rodney sighs. "Because on Star Trek, the aliens were always hot."

"Yeah," Sheppard says. "But in real life, they're mostly just unwashed and malnourished. I dunno. I think SG1 gets all the missions with the hot babes." He shifts against the table. "So are they going to put you on a gate team? SG1 needs a scientist, now that Carter's dead."

Some kind of expression crosses Rodney's face; he can't help it, it's involuntary, but he'd have to be inhuman not to react to that, and despite the rumors, he’s not actually an android. Sheppard curses when he realizes. "Shit. You knew her. I’m sorry.”

"It’s okay," Rodney manages. "It’s just, we were, uh, married. Once, I mean. Not now. I mean, we got divorced a few years back."

"Oh," Sheppard says. He looks a little thrown. "I had no idea. I, uh, I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thanks,” Rodney says. “But you don’t need to ... I mean, it’s not my loss, really. I mean, I’m sorry she’s dead and all, but ... it’s ... it’s just weird, mostly. Honestly, I hadn't thought about her in a long time. But then I saw her on the news and I sort of remembered what it was like, in the beginning. But actually, we didn't really get along all that well. She was kind of arrogant and condescending."

Sheppard stares at him for a minute, then says slowly, "Oh. You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious!"

"Just because," Sheppard says, "it seems like you might have, uh, been a good match."

"We were," Rodney says. "For about a year. After that, not really very much. Turns out she wasn't my type."

"Not your type?" Sheppard looks at him like he's a little crazy, which, Rodney admits, he might be. "She was tall, blonde, gorgeous and brilliant. What part of that is not your type?"

"The part where she's a woman," Rodney says. "Big life-changing moment for me, anger and obscenities from her. Much angst ensued, ritual smashing of our china, etc, etc. It was very much the dramatic scene."

“I can imagine,” Sheppard says. But then his radio goes off and Rodney turns back to the device — still stubborn and inert — and Sheppard throws a “Catch you later, McKay,” over his shoulder as he leaves.

The thing is, Sheppard’s not just that guy with the gene, he’s That Guy With The Gene, and he hates being at the SGC almost as much as Rodney does. Besides the gaggle of dazzled Ancient-tech groupies who follow him around asking him to “touch this, please,” there’s a bunch of bureaucrats with OCD who follow him around with clipboards and hand pick all his missions so he doesn’t get himself accidentally killed.

SG-1 goes on all the first contact missions; SG-10, Sheppard’s team, only goes after the planet has been vetted and cleared and certified as not-too-hazardous. This doesn’t mean that Sheppard doesn’t get occasionally shot at or involved in some bizarre fertility ritual, but mostly his missions are pretty milk-run. “Boring,” Sheppard clarifies, lying in the infirmary bed covered in pink hydrocortisone paste — he had not been exaggerating about the frequency with which he contracts alien poison ivy — “our missions are boring. Seriously, McKay, I think the only reason they let me off-world at all is because they’re afraid I’ll blow up the SGC if they try to keep me here."