ficpost: "Brave New Day" Beckett
Jun. 1st, 2005 09:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wisdomeagleTitle: "Brave New Day"
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Characters: Beckett, Weir, and others
Notes: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eretria in the Beckett Ficathon. She requested gen, a surprising revelation, and a Scotland reference.
Disclaimer: Far from mine.
Words: 1059
Summary: The talking cure for homesickness.
Brave New Day
When Dr. Weir heard about it, she told them to stop, but of course they didn't, and that was mostly Rodney's doing, because a man like Rodney, you couldn't tell him no. Not if you wanted him to listen. But Dr. Weir didn't know that yet, or if she had figured it out, it didn't show on her face when she caught them at it again, the next night, Rodney leaning back, eyes open but staring at something far away, saying, "The snotty French people. I miss the snotty French people, and I miss maple trees. Also, I want some pie."
Carson considered that for a moment, but it was easy to know what he missed. His love for the land was physical and brutal, and missing her hurt him somewhere near his heart. He said softly, "The view from Ben Nevis, the mist over the glens, and --"
"What I miss most," Dr. Weir clipped off the last consonant of each word precisely, trimming them off like hedges in the royal gardens, precise and careful and sculptured, "is subordinates who do what they're told, especially when it's for their own good."
Rodney stood up, away from Canada for a moment and focused on Common Room Three. "Elizabeth, please. We're tired. We miss home -- Carson misses his family. I miss my cat."
"Do you people not have enough work to do?" Dr. Weir sighed with precision too, careful never to betray too much. She was cold, English in demeanor if not blood. "Major, can't you do anything about this?"
"Popcorn," Major Sheppard said from his corner of the room. "Ford would say hot dogs, but he's playing tag with the kids."
"Are you sure we should be fraternizing with them?" Carson looked expectantly towards Dr. Weir, but she just nodded in Sheppard's direction.
"At least Lieutenant Ford isn't busy thinking about how homesick he is," she said. "Major, a word?"
"I'm still sticking with the heather," Carson muttered to Rodney. "The heather and the landscape."
"Landscape," Rodney muttered. "You miss the landscape. Like, trees?"
"They aren't just any trees! The wildlife of the highland is like no other!"
Rodney shrugged with a laziness that started in his shoulder but seemed to sag his whole body. "Pretty much all the planets I've seen look a lot like my backyard growing up. Only without the refineries and imported fast food restaurants. You should get offworld. Maybe we'll find somewhere that looks like Scotland."
Carson was indignant at that. "There's no place in the world that remotely resembles Scotland's beauty."
"Yes, well, I'm not talking about the world. I'm talking about worlds -- dozens of them. Hundreds of them."
"The one was quite enough for me," Carson told him.
"All right, gentlemen." Weir sat down in the seat that Sheppard had occupied, crossing her legs carefully. "We need to have a discussion."
"Last time we had a discussion," Carson countered. "I ended up coming here."
"And obviously that wasn't the best idea," she said, "if you're going to be complaining about it constantly. But we can't exactly send you back" -- she shot a glance at Rodney, as if to confirm that Carson wasn't going anywhere -- "so we might as well make the best of it."
"What about me?" Rodney whined. "Do I not warrant a lecture?"
"You don't mention your home half as much as Carson mentions his, and that's pretty impressive, given that not a day goes by without a reminder of how Canada lost its pride and joy to the souless US Air Force."
"Tell me, Dr. Weir," Carson said, "Do you even have a home to miss?"
Looking him in the eye, she said, "I do. And loved ones. And the view from the upstairs window in my grandmother's house, and an office in New York City that I haven't worked in for years but still miss every day."
"It's not Edinburgh," sighed Carson. He couldn't imagine anyone missing any home half as much as he missed the short walk from his upstairs flat to the corner market to buy a morning paper and a cup of coffee. No skies were clearer -- he knew that -- but Elizabeth was talking again.
"There was a corner grocery," she said, a little sadly. "Fresh coffee and day-old bread, and the owner had worked there his entire life. I fell in love with the city the day I moved in," she said. "But I left. And now -- now I'm in a city I love more than any other place I've ever known. I can't make you love Atlantis the way I do, Carson, but -- but please --"
"Why?" he interrupted. "Why did you leave a city you loved?"
"Same reason we all did," Elizabeth said, gesturing at Rodney with one hand, putting the other on Carson's knee. "Work called me elsewhere."
The idea was a new one for Carson, and he thought it over carefully. Work was scalpel-precise and scientifically rigorous, afternoons in the laboratory with Rodney hanging over his shoulder, progress reports issued to Weir in a language filled with jargon and words he understood only with his mind, not with his soul. The clear air of Scotland, the fragrance of freedom blowing in from the North, had very little place in Atlantis. But it was work, and work meant something more than saving lives. He tried to puzzle out what that might be, what Weir had seen in him that went beyond the fact that he was a doctor.
He'd never been a theorist, never wanted to know why medicine worked, only that it did. But here, the whys and the hows were somehow one, mingling the way sharp salt air and lowland heather did when a strong breeze blew up, and every treatment he provided -- even the ones that failed -- were teaching him. The work he was doing was making him more than a doctor, and something like a scientist. This realization stopped him short, and he had to struggle to catch his breath.
"Carson?" He looked up, surprised to find that her hand was still on his knee, that her eyes betrayed concern and perhaps affection.
"I'll be fine," he said, taking a deep breath. "And if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Characters: Beckett, Weir, and others
Notes: for
eretria in the Beckett Ficathon. She requested gen, a surprising revelation, and a Scotland reference.Disclaimer: Far from mine.
Words: 1059
Summary: The talking cure for homesickness.
Brave New Day
When Dr. Weir heard about it, she told them to stop, but of course they didn't, and that was mostly Rodney's doing, because a man like Rodney, you couldn't tell him no. Not if you wanted him to listen. But Dr. Weir didn't know that yet, or if she had figured it out, it didn't show on her face when she caught them at it again, the next night, Rodney leaning back, eyes open but staring at something far away, saying, "The snotty French people. I miss the snotty French people, and I miss maple trees. Also, I want some pie."
Carson considered that for a moment, but it was easy to know what he missed. His love for the land was physical and brutal, and missing her hurt him somewhere near his heart. He said softly, "The view from Ben Nevis, the mist over the glens, and --"
"What I miss most," Dr. Weir clipped off the last consonant of each word precisely, trimming them off like hedges in the royal gardens, precise and careful and sculptured, "is subordinates who do what they're told, especially when it's for their own good."
Rodney stood up, away from Canada for a moment and focused on Common Room Three. "Elizabeth, please. We're tired. We miss home -- Carson misses his family. I miss my cat."
"Do you people not have enough work to do?" Dr. Weir sighed with precision too, careful never to betray too much. She was cold, English in demeanor if not blood. "Major, can't you do anything about this?"
"Popcorn," Major Sheppard said from his corner of the room. "Ford would say hot dogs, but he's playing tag with the kids."
"Are you sure we should be fraternizing with them?" Carson looked expectantly towards Dr. Weir, but she just nodded in Sheppard's direction.
"At least Lieutenant Ford isn't busy thinking about how homesick he is," she said. "Major, a word?"
"I'm still sticking with the heather," Carson muttered to Rodney. "The heather and the landscape."
"Landscape," Rodney muttered. "You miss the landscape. Like, trees?"
"They aren't just any trees! The wildlife of the highland is like no other!"
Rodney shrugged with a laziness that started in his shoulder but seemed to sag his whole body. "Pretty much all the planets I've seen look a lot like my backyard growing up. Only without the refineries and imported fast food restaurants. You should get offworld. Maybe we'll find somewhere that looks like Scotland."
Carson was indignant at that. "There's no place in the world that remotely resembles Scotland's beauty."
"Yes, well, I'm not talking about the world. I'm talking about worlds -- dozens of them. Hundreds of them."
"The one was quite enough for me," Carson told him.
"All right, gentlemen." Weir sat down in the seat that Sheppard had occupied, crossing her legs carefully. "We need to have a discussion."
"Last time we had a discussion," Carson countered. "I ended up coming here."
"And obviously that wasn't the best idea," she said, "if you're going to be complaining about it constantly. But we can't exactly send you back" -- she shot a glance at Rodney, as if to confirm that Carson wasn't going anywhere -- "so we might as well make the best of it."
"What about me?" Rodney whined. "Do I not warrant a lecture?"
"You don't mention your home half as much as Carson mentions his, and that's pretty impressive, given that not a day goes by without a reminder of how Canada lost its pride and joy to the souless US Air Force."
"Tell me, Dr. Weir," Carson said, "Do you even have a home to miss?"
Looking him in the eye, she said, "I do. And loved ones. And the view from the upstairs window in my grandmother's house, and an office in New York City that I haven't worked in for years but still miss every day."
"It's not Edinburgh," sighed Carson. He couldn't imagine anyone missing any home half as much as he missed the short walk from his upstairs flat to the corner market to buy a morning paper and a cup of coffee. No skies were clearer -- he knew that -- but Elizabeth was talking again.
"There was a corner grocery," she said, a little sadly. "Fresh coffee and day-old bread, and the owner had worked there his entire life. I fell in love with the city the day I moved in," she said. "But I left. And now -- now I'm in a city I love more than any other place I've ever known. I can't make you love Atlantis the way I do, Carson, but -- but please --"
"Why?" he interrupted. "Why did you leave a city you loved?"
"Same reason we all did," Elizabeth said, gesturing at Rodney with one hand, putting the other on Carson's knee. "Work called me elsewhere."
The idea was a new one for Carson, and he thought it over carefully. Work was scalpel-precise and scientifically rigorous, afternoons in the laboratory with Rodney hanging over his shoulder, progress reports issued to Weir in a language filled with jargon and words he understood only with his mind, not with his soul. The clear air of Scotland, the fragrance of freedom blowing in from the North, had very little place in Atlantis. But it was work, and work meant something more than saving lives. He tried to puzzle out what that might be, what Weir had seen in him that went beyond the fact that he was a doctor.
He'd never been a theorist, never wanted to know why medicine worked, only that it did. But here, the whys and the hows were somehow one, mingling the way sharp salt air and lowland heather did when a strong breeze blew up, and every treatment he provided -- even the ones that failed -- were teaching him. The work he was doing was making him more than a doctor, and something like a scientist. This realization stopped him short, and he had to struggle to catch his breath.
"Carson?" He looked up, surprised to find that her hand was still on his knee, that her eyes betrayed concern and perhaps affection.
"I'll be fine," he said, taking a deep breath. "And if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-02 01:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-02 02:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-02 07:57 am (UTC)Oh, dear. That was a stabbing ache. Not only for Carson and his homesickness, but most of all for me, because I miss Scotland like crazy now and want to go back and feel the wind on Skye on my face and the clouds hanging deep in the sky and the air in my lungs and the sun. And I want the people. And the landscape. Mist over Loch Lomond. Dark clouds meandering over the highlands.
I ... I ... God, thank you.
I loved the style in this, the way Elizabeth is so precise and cool and seemingly unaffected and yet isn't, not at all. How it helps Carson in coming to terms with not going home and still not losing the pain of missing a place he can't return to.
The complaints were perfect. Very Rodney, very Carson.
The snotty French people. I miss the snotty French people, and I miss maple trees. Also, I want some pie.
I almost squeaked with delight at this one. This is Rodney. Top-notch Rodney.
"Tell me, Dr. Weir," Carson said, "Do you even have a home to miss?"
Low blow, that, Carson. She does appear very much above it all, though, doesn't she? As if nothing could faze her, everything under control, all the time. No weakness.
No skies were clearer
*snort* Yes. And no air smells as bad as when the breweries get on the wrong side of the wind. Good heavens, but Edinburgh smells. Like mash. And it's everywhere and you can't escape it. As much as I love the city, but that? Oi.
Dr. Weir clipped off the last consonant of each word precisely, trimming them off like hedges in the royal gardens, precise and careful and sculptured
I was about to flail (from being so utterly impressed) when I came to that sentence. That's so ... damn that's figurative writing. Also, Elizabeth to a T. Very crisp, no-nonsense and correct.
mingling the way sharp salt air and lowland heather did when a strong breeze blew up
I blame you if I break my bank-account and book the next flight to Glasgow now. (This whole story is salt into an open wound, but in the good aching way)
"Carson?" He looked up, surprised to find that her hand was still on his knee, that her eyes betrayed concern and perhaps affection.
"I'll be fine," he said, taking a deep breath. "And if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
Wonderful closing line. Yes, he may be blinded by homesickness and the feeling that he doesn't belong here quite yet, but Carson isn't stupid, he knows when to get himself together and work with what's given to him and thrive in the process. And Elizabeth is anything but cold.
Can I just say: Thank you! Again? Because, really. Thank you.
(Also, getting a damn good writer like yourself, whose stories I read before and enjoyed mightily is the cherry on top.)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-02 11:40 pm (UTC)So, squee! Thanks so much for the detailed feedback and I'm very, very glad you enjoyed it. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-02 04:56 pm (UTC)Rodney and Carson being delightfully whiny, Carson being sentimental, Elizabeth laying down the law... delightful. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-02 11:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-05 03:17 am (UTC)*Totally* understand Carson's love of the land... Wisconsin, USA might not be as mysterious and ancient as Scotland, but I do so love our old farm house in the country. To the point where I get homesick even when the entire family is with me on some trip or vacation... just cause, well... It's home.
Anyway, thanks much for posting such a lovely fic. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-05 03:28 am (UTC)Home for me is New Jersey... and smokestacks and endless highways and shaggy pine in South Jersey and the sight of the New York sky line in North Jersey. It's not ancient, mysterious, or even especially pretty, but damned if I don't love it anyhow.
I'm glad you enjoyed.