East Coast Gazette

Today, I bit off the head of a Santa Clause gummy sucker and gnawed at it for like, half an hour thinking about all the wasted thousands of dollars in dental work that would have to be redone with the magic of invisilines (it’s hard enough to be taken seriously as a chick who wears t-shirts and jeans in my business without you know, braces at 23, yo) when I have insurance again sometime in the distant future.

Also, I recalled, vaguely, a conversation I had with somebody (I seriously do not remember who) about the horrible mission reports Sheppard must write up.  I mean, seriously — think about it.  John’s totally the type to check all the boxes and fill in all the ovals and then write something in the summary section like, “We went to the village.  There was a pony,” and then fail to elaborate.  Maybe it’s some sort of conservation of blather rule or something because I bet McKay’s mission reports are all 20 pages long at the short end of the spectrum.

Of course, this also got me thinking about specific episodes:

“Childhood’s End”: Wraith shield discovered; McKay made bad Lost Boy jokes.

“The Brotherhood”:  We got a ZPM, then McKay hit puberty, and we lost it.  Genii continue to suck.

“Underground”: Beckett found love.  Didn’t work out.  New rule: scientists shouldn’t date.

“Condemned”: We went to the city.  Then we wore collars.  (See McKay’s attached note re: chafing.)

Just IMAGING having to read these things professionally makes me want to cry.

Oh, and also, a snippet, for those of you who were rooting for SGA/Bones AU:

“I thought we agreed you’d do the windows,” Cadman hissed, squinting at the sheer glass of McKay’s office.  “God, I can’t see anything.”

“I told you, that sort of low-tech spying is useless,” Beckett muttered, peering down the eye of his microscope, shoulders hunched.  “Also, this sample Sheppard brought doesn’t make any sense.”

Cadman was practically hanging off of the platform railing.  “Low tech it may be, but body language is the biggest tell of all, and McKay’s like an open book of near-unbridled gay lust.”

Beckett put his face in his hands, making a wounded noise.  “God, Laura.”

“I don’t think we should talk about Dr. McKay’s gay lust at work,” Chuck said, wringing his hands.  Carson almost would have felt sorry for him, but Chuck was halfway through two separate doctorates and — out of some kind of deranged academic Stockholm Syndrom for sure — kept volunteering to suffer extra abuse from McKay at the Jeffersonian, so his sympathy was limited at best.  Besides, Chuck never wanted to talk about McKay’s gay lust — if she’d known squints could be so boring, Cadman would have stuck to her job in the bomb squad, she’d said more than once.

She turned around, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest.  Beckett thought Cadman was pretty in a classically pleasing way.  She was also scary, and getting scarier ever since Sheppard had walked into the Medico-Legal lab at the Jeffersonian for the first time and said, “Holy crap, Cadman?  They let you back into normal society?”

“Look, you two freaks of nature might not care about McKay,” she said, giving Beckett a meaningful stare, “but he’s my best friend.  I want him happy, and as McKay is — ” she made an indistinct wave with her hand ” — sort of a guy, making McKay happy means getting him laid.”

Chuck glanced worriedly off to McKay’s office again, where Sheppard was now  busy getting his hands slapped away from something on Rodney’s desk.  “I feel very uncomfortable about us speculating on Dr. McKay’s private life.”

“What private life?” Cadman burst out.  “This year, he’s written two books and groped dead bodies in like, eight countries and worked late every single Friday — so I ask you: what private life?”

Relenting, Carson looked up from his microscope.  “You realize that if your endless quest to jam Agent Sheppard into Rodney’s pants succeeds, it’s only going to come back and bite us in our arses,” he warned her, thinking about how they’d all spent a month and a half tiptoeing around the lab after Katie Brown had dumped McKay for being “an emotional retard of unparalleled proportions.”

Then the phone on Beckett’s station buzzed, and when he hit the speakerphone, Rodney’s voice barked out, “You’re all fired!” before hanging up.

“One day,” Cadman vowed, “I’m going to figure out how he does that.”

*

John raised an eyebrow, kicking his legs up on Rodney’s desk.  “You don’t even know if they were saying anything,” he pointed out.

“I find it’s more efficient if I psyche them out occasionally,” Rodney explained, shoving Sheppard’s feet off of the half-peer-edited paper.  It was an appalling waste of recyclable paper, of course, but Elizabeth seemed to think that part of his job description involved humoring anthropology journals.

Sheppard squinted out the window at where Cadman, Beckett and Chuck huddled together, whispering.  “I still think it’s mean.”

“And I still don’t care — now will you get out of my office?” Rodney pleaded.  “I have a plane to catch.”

*

AND THEN, MCKAY GOES TO NEW ORLEANS AND THEN — okay, wow, this sugar high has GOT TO END SOMETIME.