![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katydidmischief posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
cjs_owndisclaimer. Not mine. Never have been, never will be.
title. Five Pieces of Atlantis That Jim Treasures
rating. Teen for language
pairing. Sheppard/McKay, implied.
summary. Fifth semester Starfleet offered a seminar entitled “The Lost Mission of Atlantis and Its Leaders.”
notes. The idea popped into my head on my way home from Manhattan today. So it's happy birthday to me fic. :)
one. the picture
Bones had only gone digging through Jim's footlocker as revenge. He'd admit that easily – Jim had stolen his bottle of premium, aged bourbon, drank it all, and left the empty bottle sitting on his dorm room desk. Retaliation was clearly in order.
Being the reckless moron's best friend meant he'd also known that (care of Jim's mother) the man had embarrassing childhood photos tucked into his belongings. Those would make for a wonderful bunch of flyers in his opinion, especially if distributed among the female members of the Academy.
He'd been fishing through Jim's personal items for a repository of photographic humiliation, when he found an actual picture, the antique kind with a glossy front and a matte back, tucked between the incriminating evidence on a beat-up old PADD and an old, torn and creased copy of the Kama Sutra.
It took him a few minutes to realize what he as looking at; after all, there were only a handful of these such photos in existence anymore, most having degraded and turned to dust ages ago. And that wasn't taking into the account the fact that the Atlantis mission had only been declassified ten years earlier, until then, it had been a secret bound in lies and myths so what had survived was now held by institutions of higher education, museums, and Starfleet.
On the back there was a messy scrawl – scientist scrawl Bones was sure, since penmanship (like pride) goeth first – that read “John, Rodney, and Little Elizabeth. New Athos. May 2010.”
two. The dogtags
After the declassification of the Pegasus mission, many people clamored for a relic of mankind's first long-term venture into space. The remnants of Atlantis, the city having finally fallen to pieces in 2198 in San Francisco Bay after being scarred from battle and weakened by time, had been auctioned off like trinkets and more than one diver had to be chased away from where she lay on the ocean floor.
Personal effects from the most famous of the expedition team members seemed to fetch the most ridiculously high bids and Bones had told Jim a long time ago that he'd very nearly spent his life-savings (pre-divorce) on a medical kit carried by Carson Beckett, the first CMO.
Jim had only shrugged and told him, “History isn't supposed to be bought and sold and it should have more meaning to a person than what it represents – his family should have it, not some collector with a hard-on for dead explorers.”
It was the most cryptic and annoying statement Jim Kirk had ever made, but when McCoy arrived at Jim's dorm the next night, expecting to grab the kid for dinner before Kirk went bar hopping (something McCoy himself was much too old and too divorced for), he found a glinting piece of metal instead.
Piled on a desk filled with papers and PADDs sat a shiny heap. Old style tags, the type that soldiers had worn through countless wars, were tangled with a silver-bead chain and as he ran his fingers over it in the dimly lit room, Bones could make out a name: Lt. Col. J. Sheppard, USAF.
three. the flag patch
Fifth semester Starfleet offered a seminar entitled “The Lost Mission of Atlantis and Its Leaders.”
Bones signed up before he'd even finished reading the mass communique sent to all Cadets. He couldn't explain why he had such a fascination with the city; it wasn't like the Wraith and the Gou'ald were still around – the bastards had completely died out centuries earlier, cut down by civilizations and cultures far more advanced and war-driven than their own.
“I just don't get what's so interesting about it, Bones – it was a bunch of people that went into space and fought some bad guys. They lived in peril? So have people who lived on the edge of Cardassian, Romulan, and Klingon space,” was Jim's response when McCoy asked if he'd be attending the lecture.
So he went by himself, eyes glued to the main screen in the auditorium where large scale pictures showed item after item that researchers had painstakingly located and preserved. Jewelry, photos, letters... puzzle pieces to a life led at the edge of the known world.
They talked about the Stargates, how they'd been changed or hidden by the various cultures who'd thrived on those worlds. How the SG teams had learned through trial and error the best approach to first contact and the journey of the program from Earth-based to Pegasus-based; they even touched upon medical procedures revolutionized by Doctors Beckett and Keller over the five years of the mission.
And he'd been so energized by all that he'd learned that Bones had bypassed his own room to head to Jim's, disappointed when the man didn't answer the door on the first knock nor on the second. He let himself in, figuring that since the discussion afterwards had drawn them past their normal weekday curfew, Jim might actually (for once) be asleep.
He was surprised to find he was right. Even more so when he noticed what Jim was holding clenched in his left hand – an embroidered American flag patch, nearly identical to the one he'd seen in the slideshow on Colonel Sheppard's arm.
four. the statue
Winona Kirk was an oddly serene woman for all that see had seen, experienced, and lost in her life. She'd miscarried a child not long before Jim, listened on a communicator as her husband died, and gave birth on a shuttle on the edge of Klingon space, all while continuing to work for Starfleet with little interruption to her routine.
Her home was equally as quiet and soothing, the entire house done in shades of calming blue and creamy white. There were pictures in tasteful displays on the walls, books on shelves, and a view screen over the fireplace with a line of short, thin bud vases on the mantle. Upstairs, each bedroom was decked out with soft, thousand-count Egyptian Cotton sheets, on canopy beds.
Jim had brought Bones home to Iowa for “down time, man.” He'd gone on as he'd packed up his standard issue duffel bag with enough civvies to avoid laundry for more than a week, “Finals are over and unless you actually want to spend the entire summer in the sims, you should start packing.”
McCoy had resisted for a few minutes, until Jim got that look in his eye that promised he was about as likely to let Bones stay in the dorms for the next three months as to avoid provoking Cupcake every time the two crossed paths. There were simply things written into the cosmos and apparently, spending part of a break at Jim's mother's house in the middle of nowhere was one of them.
It wasn't until the day they were set to leave that he noticed the statue in Jim's bedroom.
Hand-carved and exquisite, it was made of tan, speckled stone. The rock had been formed into four people, hands stretched to touch one another in a circle. The base in the middle had a quote about unity and peace and the bullshit Bones had once believed when he was young.
He picked it up, turning it over in his hands until he could read see the note attached to the base. The scotch tape was yellowed and crispy, old, and he was as gentle as possible as he pulled it away, taking in the delicate script with awe.
Marco, the note said, It's your turn to be Polo. And try hiding this thing somewhere other than the common rooms – Rodney nearly sat on it the other day.
five. the wristband
One morning, in what would become their senior year due to Nero and his fucking band of merry men, Bones walked beside Jim out of assembly, chatting about inconsequential things when he announced he was taking the Kobayashi Maru test for the third time.
Bones hadn't brushed it off, but he'd prepared for the fallout because no one passed the damn test – it was a fucking no win scenario that Jim simply couldn't accept. He'd bitched and moaned when they arrived at the sim, changed, and slid into the same seat he'd occupied the previous two times he'd been forced to endure the clusterfuck that was Jim trying to change fate.
He failed, of course, not without a bit of cheating and they were summarily sent away by the Commanders. Bones knew they where in for the riot act at some point, but as they changed from their simulation test flight suits (in “unfuckable gray” according to Jim) back into their red Cadet uniforms, Bones noticed the wristband.
It was black and stretchy and threadbare in some places, but Jim still wore it and he told his friend, “I haven't seen one of those in years.”
“This thing?” Jim asked, with a raised eyebrow. “Family member of mine used to wear it as a reminder.”
“Of what.”
“Of why letting people dictate your life only ends up in alienation and pain,” Jim replied, and explained, “Bastard tried to kill himself once after his dad and his brother backed him into a corner over family responsibilities.”
“And you're wearing it, why?”
“Because John Sheppard didn't believe in no-win scenarios either. But mostly because I like how it looks.”
Bones just rolled his eyes and trailed after him.
title. Five Pieces of Atlantis That Jim Treasures
rating. Teen for language
pairing. Sheppard/McKay, implied.
summary. Fifth semester Starfleet offered a seminar entitled “The Lost Mission of Atlantis and Its Leaders.”
notes. The idea popped into my head on my way home from Manhattan today. So it's happy birthday to me fic. :)
Five Pieces of Atlantis That Jim Treasures
Bones had only gone digging through Jim's footlocker as revenge. He'd admit that easily – Jim had stolen his bottle of premium, aged bourbon, drank it all, and left the empty bottle sitting on his dorm room desk. Retaliation was clearly in order.
Being the reckless moron's best friend meant he'd also known that (care of Jim's mother) the man had embarrassing childhood photos tucked into his belongings. Those would make for a wonderful bunch of flyers in his opinion, especially if distributed among the female members of the Academy.
He'd been fishing through Jim's personal items for a repository of photographic humiliation, when he found an actual picture, the antique kind with a glossy front and a matte back, tucked between the incriminating evidence on a beat-up old PADD and an old, torn and creased copy of the Kama Sutra.
It took him a few minutes to realize what he as looking at; after all, there were only a handful of these such photos in existence anymore, most having degraded and turned to dust ages ago. And that wasn't taking into the account the fact that the Atlantis mission had only been declassified ten years earlier, until then, it had been a secret bound in lies and myths so what had survived was now held by institutions of higher education, museums, and Starfleet.
On the back there was a messy scrawl – scientist scrawl Bones was sure, since penmanship (like pride) goeth first – that read “John, Rodney, and Little Elizabeth. New Athos. May 2010.”
After the declassification of the Pegasus mission, many people clamored for a relic of mankind's first long-term venture into space. The remnants of Atlantis, the city having finally fallen to pieces in 2198 in San Francisco Bay after being scarred from battle and weakened by time, had been auctioned off like trinkets and more than one diver had to be chased away from where she lay on the ocean floor.
Personal effects from the most famous of the expedition team members seemed to fetch the most ridiculously high bids and Bones had told Jim a long time ago that he'd very nearly spent his life-savings (pre-divorce) on a medical kit carried by Carson Beckett, the first CMO.
Jim had only shrugged and told him, “History isn't supposed to be bought and sold and it should have more meaning to a person than what it represents – his family should have it, not some collector with a hard-on for dead explorers.”
It was the most cryptic and annoying statement Jim Kirk had ever made, but when McCoy arrived at Jim's dorm the next night, expecting to grab the kid for dinner before Kirk went bar hopping (something McCoy himself was much too old and too divorced for), he found a glinting piece of metal instead.
Piled on a desk filled with papers and PADDs sat a shiny heap. Old style tags, the type that soldiers had worn through countless wars, were tangled with a silver-bead chain and as he ran his fingers over it in the dimly lit room, Bones could make out a name: Lt. Col. J. Sheppard, USAF.
Fifth semester Starfleet offered a seminar entitled “The Lost Mission of Atlantis and Its Leaders.”
Bones signed up before he'd even finished reading the mass communique sent to all Cadets. He couldn't explain why he had such a fascination with the city; it wasn't like the Wraith and the Gou'ald were still around – the bastards had completely died out centuries earlier, cut down by civilizations and cultures far more advanced and war-driven than their own.
“I just don't get what's so interesting about it, Bones – it was a bunch of people that went into space and fought some bad guys. They lived in peril? So have people who lived on the edge of Cardassian, Romulan, and Klingon space,” was Jim's response when McCoy asked if he'd be attending the lecture.
So he went by himself, eyes glued to the main screen in the auditorium where large scale pictures showed item after item that researchers had painstakingly located and preserved. Jewelry, photos, letters... puzzle pieces to a life led at the edge of the known world.
They talked about the Stargates, how they'd been changed or hidden by the various cultures who'd thrived on those worlds. How the SG teams had learned through trial and error the best approach to first contact and the journey of the program from Earth-based to Pegasus-based; they even touched upon medical procedures revolutionized by Doctors Beckett and Keller over the five years of the mission.
And he'd been so energized by all that he'd learned that Bones had bypassed his own room to head to Jim's, disappointed when the man didn't answer the door on the first knock nor on the second. He let himself in, figuring that since the discussion afterwards had drawn them past their normal weekday curfew, Jim might actually (for once) be asleep.
He was surprised to find he was right. Even more so when he noticed what Jim was holding clenched in his left hand – an embroidered American flag patch, nearly identical to the one he'd seen in the slideshow on Colonel Sheppard's arm.
Winona Kirk was an oddly serene woman for all that see had seen, experienced, and lost in her life. She'd miscarried a child not long before Jim, listened on a communicator as her husband died, and gave birth on a shuttle on the edge of Klingon space, all while continuing to work for Starfleet with little interruption to her routine.
Her home was equally as quiet and soothing, the entire house done in shades of calming blue and creamy white. There were pictures in tasteful displays on the walls, books on shelves, and a view screen over the fireplace with a line of short, thin bud vases on the mantle. Upstairs, each bedroom was decked out with soft, thousand-count Egyptian Cotton sheets, on canopy beds.
Jim had brought Bones home to Iowa for “down time, man.” He'd gone on as he'd packed up his standard issue duffel bag with enough civvies to avoid laundry for more than a week, “Finals are over and unless you actually want to spend the entire summer in the sims, you should start packing.”
McCoy had resisted for a few minutes, until Jim got that look in his eye that promised he was about as likely to let Bones stay in the dorms for the next three months as to avoid provoking Cupcake every time the two crossed paths. There were simply things written into the cosmos and apparently, spending part of a break at Jim's mother's house in the middle of nowhere was one of them.
It wasn't until the day they were set to leave that he noticed the statue in Jim's bedroom.
Hand-carved and exquisite, it was made of tan, speckled stone. The rock had been formed into four people, hands stretched to touch one another in a circle. The base in the middle had a quote about unity and peace and the bullshit Bones had once believed when he was young.
He picked it up, turning it over in his hands until he could read see the note attached to the base. The scotch tape was yellowed and crispy, old, and he was as gentle as possible as he pulled it away, taking in the delicate script with awe.
Marco, the note said, It's your turn to be Polo. And try hiding this thing somewhere other than the common rooms – Rodney nearly sat on it the other day.
One morning, in what would become their senior year due to Nero and his fucking band of merry men, Bones walked beside Jim out of assembly, chatting about inconsequential things when he announced he was taking the Kobayashi Maru test for the third time.
Bones hadn't brushed it off, but he'd prepared for the fallout because no one passed the damn test – it was a fucking no win scenario that Jim simply couldn't accept. He'd bitched and moaned when they arrived at the sim, changed, and slid into the same seat he'd occupied the previous two times he'd been forced to endure the clusterfuck that was Jim trying to change fate.
He failed, of course, not without a bit of cheating and they were summarily sent away by the Commanders. Bones knew they where in for the riot act at some point, but as they changed from their simulation test flight suits (in “unfuckable gray” according to Jim) back into their red Cadet uniforms, Bones noticed the wristband.
It was black and stretchy and threadbare in some places, but Jim still wore it and he told his friend, “I haven't seen one of those in years.”
“This thing?” Jim asked, with a raised eyebrow. “Family member of mine used to wear it as a reminder.”
“Of what.”
“Of why letting people dictate your life only ends up in alienation and pain,” Jim replied, and explained, “Bastard tried to kill himself once after his dad and his brother backed him into a corner over family responsibilities.”
“And you're wearing it, why?”
“Because John Sheppard didn't believe in no-win scenarios either. But mostly because I like how it looks.”
Bones just rolled his eyes and trailed after him.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 06:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 10:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 06:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 10:47 am (UTC)And thank you! I did have that bit of nervousness because of how Rodney slung Kirk at John, so I'm glad that you enjoyed it.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-02 03:55 am (UTC)Also: ahahahaha. Kirk comes from Shep and Rodney. ha.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-02 09:47 am (UTC)