Random Insanity

After a moment, he turned to her, hands clasped behind his back. “Looks good, Colonel. Any problems since you’ve taken over.”

Relief swelled in her, and she shook away the cobwebs of doubt that invaded her head. “Not really. Just your typical disgruntled personnel.”

“There’s always a few that don’t adapt well to a regime change.”

She snorted. “I’d hardly call it a regime change, sir.”

“Going from a civilian command to military is a lot to take. Especially with a science expedition like this.”

“It hasn’t been that bad. And I think things have smoothed out rather nicely.”

He must have noticed her defensiveness because his expression softened with a smile. “I’m sure it has, Carter. I wasn’t trying to imply otherwise. I just know it’s... hard. Being in charge.”

She regarded him for several beats but found his words sincere. He knew from experience. She nodded in agreement. “It’s different here, though. We’re so far from home that we rely on each other a great amount so we’re all kind of like-”

“Family?”

She smiled up at him. “Yeah, family.”

“That’s good, Carter. You deserve to have family close.”

I originally wrote this back in April 2017 and started editing it in June 2018. Not sure why I never got around to finishing the edit or posting it.

Canon-divergent with the Ark never coming down, leaving the 100 on their own through the winter. Bellamy is on a mission, and Clarke isn’t totally sure she can trust his motives. But she knows she can trust him with her life so that has to be enough. At least, that’s what her heart is telling her.

3,834 words | [PG-13]

“Hey,” Bellamy says, “I need your help with something.”

“Help with what?” she asks without so much as a glance at him.

“I found what looks like a cache of medical supplies. But I’m not sure if any of it is worth bringing back.”

That gets her attention. She cocks her head, the sun behind him, blinding her. “The stuff would be well over a hundred years old.”

He shrugs. “It was sealed up pretty tight.”

Clarke pushes a strand of hair off of her face. If the cache was sealed like the Art Supply bunker, the stuff inside could still be good. And even if the meds have gone bad, there might be other salvageable items or equipment. The hair falls back into her face, and she tries to blow it away. Unsuccessfully.

“How far away is it?”

“It’s a bit of a walk. We probably won’t get back until after dark.”

She stands up, wiping her hands on her dirty pants. “You think it’s worth it?”

He nods. “We barely made it through winter. We need all the help we can get.”

Of course, he’s right. It’s pretty much what they argued about all day yesterday—she wanted more help with planting; he wanted more help securing the fence. “Okay,” she says, wiping the strand of hair away again. “I’ll grab my bag.”

She’s filling bottles of water when Finn finds her a moment later. “You can’t seriously be going with him?”

“Why not?”

“Because yesterday he was talking about burying you with the potatoes.”

“Up and at ‘em, Jackson.”

A boot connected with Daniel’s side. He groaned and rolled away, snuggling deeper into his sleeping bag. His head was killing him—felt like a full marching band playing the 1812 Overture in there, complete with canons. The boot nudged him again, a little more insistent this time.

“Go 'way,” Daniel mumbled. He was vaguely aware of other voices around him but had neither the will nor want to get up or even to try and understand what they were saying. After a short discussion, the foot ground into his back and shook violently.

“Get up.” Daniel recognized Mitchell’s voice, but he sounded like he was speaking from a great distance. And through cotton. His brain fought to catch up to his senses while the treads of his commander’s boot dug into his tender flesh. Daniel frowned into the soft fabric of his bag. Flesh? Something wasn’t right.

He reached a tentative hand over his body and let it drift over his back and around the boot still planted there. Where the hell was his shirt? The foot moved, and then he felt someone squat down next to his head. When Mitchell spoke again it was softer and closer to his ear.

“That’s right, Daniel, wakey-wakey. Time to get up and face the music.”

What was that supposed to mean? And why the hell was he naked? The realization that not only was his shirt missing, but his pants as well finally broke through the dense fog in his head. He pushed up on one arm and looked around—his vision still fuzzy from sleep.

Somewhere behind him, Sam snickered, and Mitchell looked like he was enjoying things way too much. Daniel narrowed his eyes at the blurred outline of the man standing next to his head. Someone—Teal’c he realized a moment later—handed him his glasses. “Why are you all-” he started to ask when the world around him suddenly came into crisp focus. “What the?”

I watch him, the way he moves around the edge of the room instead of entering the center where I am. I smile, rolling my eyes. He’s so predictable sometimes.

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“Cordy, I don’t-”

I huff, blowing my bangs up, then cross the room and grab his arm. “It’s not the end of the world.”

I watch the emotions play across his face—horror, terror, confusion, embarrassment. He thinks he’s so good at hiding them behind that impassive expression. But his eyes give him away. I can see right through the façade. Sometimes without much effort. I’m starting to think he’s not trying as hard to keep things from me anymore.

He takes a deep breath as if to settle his nerves. Not that he needs to breathe. I’ve long since stopped thinking of him as different, though. Angel’s just a guy. A guy with the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old.

“Like this.” I grab his right hand, slipping it around my waist, and take his other in my right hand. We start to move around the room, circling and turning. He’s more graceful than you would think looking at him. And he isn’t stepping on my toes. I frown at him, but he’s looking anywhere other than me. “You’ve done this before.”

His eyes dart around, finally resting on my shoulder. “Maybe,” he mumbles.

“Have I mentioned how much I dislike planets where I’m forced to dress up?” Carter asked from behind the privacy curtain in the corner. “They never end well.”

“We all have to dress up,” Daniel said as he pulled a pair of tight leather pants over his knees, struggling to get them any higher. The look of sheer concentration on his face was priceless. Across the room, Teal’c stared at what could only be described as a costume that he’d been given to wear. He held up a pair of minuscule looking tights. Jack hid his smile in the shirt he tugged over his head.

SG-1 were spread out around a plush guest room in the palace of King Ardu of P3X-649. The people of this planet had a thing about royalty that rivaled the British Monarchy’s reign on the imaginations of the people of Earth. And travelers through the Stargate qualified as royalty.

Jack finished slipping on his silk shirt. The burnt orange material slid over his skin, soft and cool. It felt nice. He tied up the front, leaving the leather cords hanging, then tucked it into his black leather pants. They weren’t nearly as tight as Daniel’s, and the legs thankfully flared enough to fit over his regulation boots. Carter continued to grumble.

“Oh come on, Carter, what could possibly go wrong at a banquet in our honor?” Jack said, stifling a laugh. He happened to agree with her, but she didn’t need to know that. Carter muttered something under her breath that Jack didn’t catch. He could imagine what the words were, though, leaving another grin on his face.

Daniel stumbled back, knocking into a dressing table. “I think these things are broken.” He suddenly lurched forward and fell hard to the floor. “Ow.”

“I do not see the purpose of such attire,” Teal’c said, still eying his clothing dubiously.

Daniel pulled himself vertical again. “It’s tradition, Teal’c.”

“It’s a stupid tradition,” Carter said. After a few muttered curses she added, “there’s a reason women on Earth stopped wearing corsets. This is impossible.”