SGA fanfic: Unfair 1/3

[kat_lair]

And here is the first chapter of Unfair.

Title: Unfair - Chapter 1/3
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing/Category: Beckett/McKay, Romance
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is most definitely not owned by me but is the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions and Gekko Productions.
Summary: Life is unfair. And then it isn’t. Beckett and McKay get drunk together, sober up separately and move forward in unison.

Author notes: The mental image of drunken Rodney stretching on the floor did not go away so I had to write it down. Unbetaed so all mistakes are mine, please note I’m using UK spelling. Any offers to beta greatly appreciated.

Unfair - Chapter 1/3

***

"Wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us, come because we actually deserve them? So now I take comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the Universe." Marcus Cole

***

Life was maliciously unjust.  

You lived through a period of heart-clenching fear and anxiety, spent in long meetings and in the infirmary. Briefings turned into repeats of clichés and impossible plans, where more important than what was said were the things left unvoiced. In the sickbay broken bones, bleeding bodies, exhaustion and the weight of responsibility blended into each other in a red-tinted haze of death and sleepless nights. Then somehow, miraculously, you survived another, shorter but much more intense experience where the nightmare suddenly became a painfully stark reality of now and right here. Time, precious time slipped through your fingers like water and there was nothing you could do except fight to keep your patients – and by then that meant everyone – alive, your own life only a distant worry.

All this and the universe still felt the need to remind him of the basic unfairness of it all by conspiring to bring together all the variables required for the current situation.  

Carson was drunk. That in itself was not unfair, on the contrary, considering the last months it was probably less than was his due. But as a variable... it was one of the most important ones.

*** 

Earlier that evening…

Carson was sitting in his lab, contently skimming through a pile of new medical journals Daedalus had brought during the last supply run. It was late and blessedly quiet, the article on serum tau protein levels associated with mild head injury both interesting and relevant seeing as bumps in the head were one the most common reasons people needed his services. 

A bottle filled with light brown, slightly sinister looking liquid thumped on his desk.

“Start the research now. We’re going to need the antitoxin before sunrise.” Rodney was standing nearby, his face beyond the light of the table lamp. “You’re not on call, are you?” 

“No. Zelenka’s?” Beckett asked while unscrewing the cap and taking a cautious sniff. The moonshine smelled like something wringed out of a bar dishcloth. It would probably taste worse. While re-established contact with Earth had replenished their dwindling supply of food, medicine and entertainment, US military was being stingy with alcohol and other mind-altering substances. Which was why the sneaky little Czech was still making a nice profit and, Carson suspected, not everything grown by the botanists had any direct nutritional or medicinal value.

“Who else? I swear the man brews his socks in the distillery for extra flavour – or more likely because of pure spiteful glee.” McKay was resting his elbows on the desk, his face looking tired and shadowed with stubble. Carson could smell sweat, coffee and something else, like oil and burnt circuits. He leaned back, not because the smell was unpleasant, but because it wasn’t.  

“Come on, I have some choc-chip cookies and a bootleg copy of the new Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy movie.”

“They made a movie?” Carson got up and stripped off his white coat. “Are there computer generated special effects? Please tell me they haven’t ruined it with cheap CGI…” He trailed after Rodney as they made their way out of the infirmary and towards the residential quarters.

***

That was three hours, too many cookies and half a bottle ago. And now the basic unfairness of life had re-established itself.  

Carson was more than slightly inebriated, sitting on the floor of McKay’s room. There was pleasant buzz in his head, the edges of his vision blurring every now and then, lines and angles softening until it was like looking things through frosted glass. It was all good. Except it wasn’t because it was so unfair.

As a medical doctor, that’s a genuine MD, Carson knew all about the physiological effects of ethyl alcohol. By now significant quantities had been absorbed into his bloodstream and passed on to the central nervous system where it was busy binding itself into neuron receptors of GABA thus effectively blocking inhibitory messages the neurotransmitter usually carried. Typical effects included weakening abilities to act rationally, concentrate, make judgements and control one’s emotions.  

All bad, no good, variables.

It was a warm night and the wind from an open window carried a sharp salty tang of the ocean. They had both taken off their jackets. Rodney had balled his up and was using it as a pillow, lying flat on his back not too far from Carson. Again, nothing unfair about pleasant weather as such, Beckett enjoyed mild climate as well as the next man but… Removed clothing. Yet another piece adding to the whole unfairness of the situation. 

Rodney was talking about… something. The last he remembered the subject was Russian vodka and some bar in St Petersburg McKay used to frequent. By now it could be anything; Carson had stopped listening about ten minutes ago in order to contemplate the unfairness of his life.

External factors. Cause and effect. The probability of these particular variables coinciding here and now. Astronomical. And let’s not forget unfair. So… Recent trauma leading to emotional vulnerability and an aching need for human contact. Alcohol resulting in lowered inhibitions and general relaxation. Unusually warm weather causing them to strip down to t-shirts and standard issue khakis.  

And Rodney.  On the floor. On his back. A drunk, happy Rodney lying on his back on the floor, a stream of vocalised consciousness flowing out of his mouth, hands doing an uncoordinated dance before him. Alive and less than a meter away from him.

A basis of scientific experimentation was to manipulate the independent variables in order to see what, if any, change occurred in the dependent variable. Here the universe had done the manipulating and he was most certainly experiencing the effects. 

Beckett groaned inside. It was unfair. How was he supposed to resist? He couldn’t, not like this. Drunk, warm, safe, his mind swimming in a heady mixture of contentment and yearning. It was incredibly bloody UNFAIR of the universe to expect him to.

“Man, I’m feeling no pain. Radek knows his way around the stills, old socks or no.” Change of pace and pitch alerted him that Rodney had come to an end of his monologue. 

Carson shook his head trying to refocus on the conversation at hand. “Aye. Although, I suspect the pain is not gone but simply postponed until tomorrow…” he squinted at the clock “…make that today, morning.”

McKay snorted and rubbed his face with both hands. For a fleeting moment the drunken grin dropped, his face showing the kind of permanent weariness that comes from knowing that despite the lull, the battle was not yet won.  

Beckett knew the feeling. Everyone on Atlantis did. It’s what made the rare moments of peace and quiet all the more precious.

As if reading his thoughts Rodney turned his head towards Carson, the blue eyes finding his, another infectious smile spreading across his features. “It’s not morning yet, Carson. I believe it an unwise distribution of cognitive resources to worry about it now.” 

“‘Cognitive resources?’” Beckett guffawed. “I don’t have enough of those to worry about getting up from the floor.”

“And why should you? ‘M comfortable right here…”  

And just like that the degree of unfairness increased exponentially. Rodney, relaxed and edging towards sleepy, yawned and stretched.

Carson felt his mouth go dry. He wanted to scream and whack his head to the wall, wanted to cry, wanted to crawl over to Rodney, wanted to reach out his hand and wanted… Fucking unfair. Because he couldn’t. And couldn’t not to either.  

McKay, being the inherent hedonist he was, had lifted his arms above his head and was languidly stretching, back arching off the floor. A small grunt of pleasure escaped his lips. Carson stifled an answering groan as his eyes drifted downwards. Rodney’s t-shirt had risen up to reveal an expanse of smooth skin. With his BDUs riding low it was enough for Beckett to get a glimpse of sharp bones and shadowy hollows of his hips disappearing under the waistband.

Carson knew he was staring. He was distantly aware of the warm buzz of alcohol and how he should really get up and leave but… he wanted to look and couldn’t stop himself. He needed to see this. Rodney alive and drunk and stretching like there wasn’t a care in the world. Relaxed like Beckett hadn’t seen him since the long-gone nights on Antarctica where they used to get pissed on over-priced scotch and talk until the sky turned pale pink. 

“Carson?” Rodney’s voice yanked his gaze back up.

Shit, shit, shit. He’d been caught. From the look on the scientist’s face it was clear that he knew Carson had been staring and, more importantly, he seemed to have a dawning realisation of just what and in what way Carson had been staring. Beckett was also fairly sure that the deer-in-headlights look on his own face confirmed all suspicions. So Rodney knew he had been looking, he knew that Rodney knew and Rodney knew that he knew that Rodney knew and really, why was life so unfair? Why? He was never ever again tempting the universe by drinking Zelenka’s devil juice late at night whilst emotionally vulnerable and in the presence of a certain astrophysicist.  

Beckett felt frozen on place. He should say something, make excuses, a joke, anything to break the moment but was held paralysed by a combination of alcohol and good old-fashioned fear.

McKay rolled over to his side and hauled himself up into semi-sitting position. “Carson?” he repeated, eyes searching his.  

Beckett still couldn’t move. His breath was coming fast and shallow, his heart beating thickly in his throat making it impossible to speak or swallow.

The months of fieldwork had defined the physicist’s upper body and Carson could see arm and shoulder muscles flex under the t-shirt as Rodney pushed himself up into a kneeling position. 

Time seemed to stretch. For what felt like hours but was more likely less than a minute they stayed like that. Beckett sitting cross-legged on the floor, tight with apprehension while Rodney knelt before him close enough to touch.

McKay was first to break the silence. “Carson.” It was the third time he had said his name but this time it wasn’t a question but a complex one-word statement.  

“You…” Rodney’s voice had gone rough-soft around the edges. Slowly and hesitantly his hand came up and brushed against Carson’s face.

“I… I’m sorry, I have to go. It’s late and I have rounds and really I should go now.” Beckett scrambled to his feet, his head spinning from the sudden movement. It was too much; he just couldn’t do this anymore. To stay silent and still, not to say what he wanted to say, to do what he so desperately needed to do. 

“It’s been grand Rodney. Thanks for the drinks and the movie was great, I loved it really… It was… grand. So thanks. And goodnight. I’ll see you in the briefing tomorrow, it’ll be very interesting I have a new research proposal as will no doubt you, you always do, and a lot of other people as well, I hear everyone is being very productive lately what with the resumed contact with the SGC and new resources…”

Carson was babbling, he knew he was but couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was unnerving, seeing McKay so uncharacteristically quiet still kneeling on the same spot.

“I really have to go, it’s late and the meeting you know…” He was backing towards the door with unnecessary haste as Rodney was showing no signs of coming after him. Without taking his eyes from the man on the floor Carson slapped his hand on the door controls. “So I guess I’m going to… Goodnight” He paused for a split second to wait for a response but as none seemed forthcoming he finally backed out of the room, the door whooshing closed behind him.

***

Chapter 2/3

Comments

[darsynia.livejournal.com]

He leaned back, not because the smell was unpleasant, but because it wasn’t.  

This is really one of the best lines I've ever read in a fic, and I'm not just saying that. It's so very, very true, and it's almost mundane in its reality--yet there's something very sad about it as well.

You have a beautiful way of putting things--'rough-soft,' 'inherent hedonist,' 'hands doing an uncoordinated dance.' I could see vividly everything you were describing, and I really, really love your Carson voice here.

Looking forward to the next chapter, clicking right now!

[kat-lair.livejournal.com]

Hee, I saw your comments on this and literally went "o_O how did she even find this??" It's always such an unexpected treat to get feedback on an old fic so thank you very much for taking the time.

And you go quoting stuff... Fair warning: doing that will cause me to make tiny dolphin noises and squirm unabashedly. I love that you picked up on that fist line about the smell, because yes, there is that need for self-preservation that I tried to convey, of Carson not letting himself be drawn in.