Welcome to Atlantis (SGA/Traders xo) no 11

[sealie]

Author: Sealie jimandblair
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis/Traders xo [Atlantis: sur la mer segment]
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Beta: the incomparable LKY.



Welcome to Atlantis.
by Sealie

~*~ ATLANTIS ~*~

Grant stood at the bottom of the wide staircase on a platform drawn with ochre circles and lines. One of the Lorentzian wormhole gates stood proud on the edge of the platform, its base embedded in the floor. It drew the eye, mainly as it was of more modern design than the Earth gate. Mouth open, Grant looked upwards. The ceiling arched, storeys height, above him. Inside his head, it felt like a football stadium – echoing. Opaque ambers and golds and creams were interlocked in hexagonal-derived crystalline structures between the ceiling’s arching gables. Sheets of the glasswork drizzled down plain walls.

How were they grown? Grant wondered, turning in a slow circle.

There was a lot of jubilation colouring the air. Happy people were greeting each other. Auras were sparkling like scintillating fireworks. People came together and bright lights coruscated. The squad of scary, hard people -- auras tight and contained (a mere wash of colour over their skin) -- stood to the side of the platform in polite rank and file, listening (with a side order of derision) to the Major Lorne person.

Crouching, Grant extracted Mr. Jinx from his cat carrier and lifted him up to tuck his head under his chin. Mr. Jinx set a paw on his forearm, claws threateningly extended.

Shush, Grant soothed silently, rubbing Mr. Jinx’s head with his chin. The gravity, he guessed was a little higher. The planet must be larger than Earth, assuming that the mass was similar. You’ll get used to it, he thought to the cat.

Tail whipping against his arm, Jinx was anything but relaxed. Reluctantly, Grant crouched and humming under his breath, slipped the cat back in the carrier, quickly closing the mesh lid as Jinx spun around intent on escape and cat mayhem.

Grant held his finger up chidingly as Jinx hissed. Mostly the cat was relaxed, unless teased. Major-Colonel Sheppard, Flyboy, he had teased Mr. Jinx with a bootlace and now bore a row of parallel scratches across the back of his hand. Only Flyboy-reflexes had prevented him from getting a row of scratches across his nose. They were very pretty scratches, with little dark red, scabby beads spaced 1.2 centimetres apart.

Realising that the hubbub of people were probably upsetting his cat, he shrugged out of his light jacket and draped it over the box. Giving the carrier a careful pat, he then stood. He needed to find his room, so he could store his belongings and equipment, and get away from the tumult. Amidst the sea of people, Grant picked his way up the stairs. He carefully avoided an overspill of excited aura as an estranged couple met in a clinch at the top of the stairs that turned the air red.

Silently, he slid over into the protection of Flyboy, basking in his closeness.

“Grant!” Flyboy lit up like the sun the Daedalus had almost flown into. “Grant, this is Teyla.”

He stepped backwards revealing a tiny person. She held herself tautly -- back straight and chin high -- as she turned on a heel to face them directly. Her smile was open, polite and distantly welcoming.

She blinked at Grant, confusion twisting her pretty face. Grant followed her line of sight as Rodney and Carson clattered down a far set of steps moving out of sight, muttering about moisturiser.

An arm rested over his shoulders. “Teyla, this is Grant. He’s another McKay family genius.”

“Rodney’s--” Teyla said clearly, and the rest was lost in nonsense.

“Ah, Teyla.” Dr. Elizabeth Weir came up, a wide, warm smile on her narrow, dry face.

Grant ducked his head. He knew that Rodney had pretended to be him, to convince Dr. Weir to bring him to a City of the Ancients so that he could plumb their knowledge.

He shuffled closer, right into the prickly edges of John’s closest aura and fixed his gaze firmly on the floor.

~*~

“Right!” McKay announced, getting the attention of the entire science team in the lecture theatre. The hubbub died instantly. “I hoped you enjoyed your vacation when I was working hard at the SGC to find more serfs to the Holy Altar of Science.”

“We solved the residual ionisation problem in the corridor shunts,” Zelenka heckled from the audience.

“What? How?” McKay stood straight at the podium. “How did you constrain the suprathermal electrons?”

“We--”

“Later. Stop interrupting.” McKay pointed at the score of scientists flattened up against the far wall. “As I told you, we have new personnel. We will be having a mixer after this meeting with beer -- Canadian, of course -- and wine will be served and you can, well, mix. But in the interests of facilitating interaction between the different disciplines and promoting a greater understanding of the complexities of Ancient science, our new members are going to introduce themselves one at a time and then give a verbal summary of their best project idea. You will then have the opportunity to rip them apart at the seams and help in the distillation of a better project.”

The new staff blanched at the prospect of the impromptu presentation.

“Firstly,” Rodney continued, “I want to introduce you to another new member of the group who will not be talking today.” He clicked his finger and thumb impatiently.

The lights lowered and the projector at the back of the theatre flared into life. An eight foot photograph of Rodney and Grant flared into being on room’s screen above their heads. Grant stood next to Rodney, shoulders a little bit more rounded, his stance defensive. He was glancing sideways at the photographer as McKay glared at the lens full on.

“This is Dr. Grant Jansky, my cousin. He joins us as a data modeller experienced in pattern recognition, amongst other things.”

There was a low mutter of recognition.

“Yes, yes, there is an uncanny resemblance. Hence the reason for putting up the PowerPoint photo; to dispense with confusion from the get-go.” McKay waved his hand. “Dr. Jansky will be interrogating the Ancient Datasbase. At some point, no doubt in the near future, he will be able to assist you in your projects. However, all requests to utilise Grant’s -- Dr. Jansky’s -- expertise will first have to go through, hmmm.” McKay scratched his jaw. “Dr. Miko Kusanagi, who will then bring the request to me.”

Miko alternately flushed and then paled at the honour afforded her.

McKay rubbed his hands together and turned to the gaggle of Daniels about to enter the Lion’s Den. “Now, intro’ time. Keep it short. We want to get to the mixer at some point this evening. I brought snacks from Safeway. To keep it fair, though--” he pointed at members of the audience, “--Galton, O'Doherty, El-Saad, Crockwell and Harrington, you botany person, Óskarsson and Walton will also summarise a project for us.”

~PARTY TIME~

Light music filled the commissary dining room as Atlantis personnel, new and old, milled. Little gatherings of the latest staff, tumblers of beer or wine held defensively, were dotted throughout the room. The original crew were laughing, grabbing the opportunity for a party with both hands. Elizabeth, when she arrived, would no doubt slide through the party deftly cajoling the immiscible groups to combine.

“So why didn’t he give a talk?”

“Dunno, I heard that he’s some kind of autistic savant.”

Carson slid around the gossiping scientists. He made a quick scan of the room making sure that no new member stood alone. The commissary staff had done themselves proud. It appeared that they had leaped, gleefully, on the new supplies. There was even a chocolate cake in centre stage. Cellophane wrapping was still draped over the cake, and sandwiches, gateaux and fresh fruit arrayed around it. The cellophane was doing an amazing job at keeping a gaggle of visibly interested scientists and marines off the arrangement. Large bowls of salad, couscous, coleslaw and smaller ones with humus, lurid greenish and purplish (Carson wasn’t going there) contents were dotted amidst trays of cold cuts. There were gaps in the display, more than likely waiting for trays of warm savoury dishes since enticingly meaty scents and the aroma of warm bread wafted from the canteen kitchens.

“Dr. Beckett?” a soft voice broke his reverie.

“Carson, my dear,” he corrected automatically, smiling at Teyla.

“Carson, of course.” Teyla inclined her head fractionally. “I have a question.”

Carson nodded amenably as the Athosian moved closer, the slight twist of her torso towards him entreating privacy. She didn’t speak.

“Yes, my dear?” he said encouragingly, dropping his voice a fraction and allowing a little bit more brogue to leach into the tones.

“Dr. McKay’s brother,” she began, but went no further.

“Cousin, actually,” Carson supplied into the silence. “Although since their mothers are identical twins – genetically they could be considered half brothers.”

Her smooth brow furrowed. “He does not speak?”

Carson laughed. “Well, you’re certainly quicker than the average person to figure that out, but, I guess Rodney talks enough for both of them.”

She twisted her neck as if discomforted. “I do not understand. Why he is here?”

“Unfortunately, some nasty people back at home figured that he is as bright as Rodney, in his own way. He was kidnapped, you see, to use him. John rescued him.”

“Ah. So John feels responsible?”

“I guess.”

Across the ballroom, John had set up his customary corner stage, arranging chairs in a right angle against the wall. A round table was set in front with a copious selection of crisps and dips. A wide eyed, watching Grant was sitting in the corner seat, a large glass of coke clutched to his chest.

“Well, yes, but that’s John.” Carson smiled as he regarded the pair. “You’re right; normally our family members don’t come to Atlantis. But Rodney didn’t trust the SGC to keep him safe and we effectively destroyed any chance of him being able to return home.”

“So you brought--”

“Hello,” Elizabeth said so cheerily that Carson blinked. She pressed Champagne glasses on both himself and Teyla. Before he could say a word, she snagged two more flutes of Champagne from the table beside them and moved on to talk to two blue clad scientists.

“I wonder where the new marines are and Lieutenant Lorne?” Carson mused. “The mixer is for all new staff, surely? Our marines are here.”

“Perhaps they didn’t realise that they were included in the invitation.”

“Oh, we can’t be having that,” Carson said. “Excuse me. I better talk to Major -- Colonel Sheppard.”

“Of course.” Teyla inclined her head.

John had his feet propped up on the table, one hundred percent off duty. “Hey, Carson.” he toasted him with a plastic tumbler of beer.

“John. I’ve…uhm… got a question.”

“Yeah?” Sheppard gestured to a seat with his tumbler hand.

Carson brushed the back of one of the five free seats. “I’ve got a question.”

“You said that all ready, Doc.”

“The new marines and Lieutenant Lorne--”

“Major Lorne,” Sheppard corrected, feet dropping to the floor.

“Aye, whatever. Do they know that there’s a party?”

“Oh.” Sheppard stood. “They know that there’s a mixer because of the new scientists. They probably don’t know that a party is a party here at Atlantis.” His hand moved automatically to the side of his head. His mike wasn’t looped over his ear. “Excuse me, Doc. I’ve got some invites to make.”

Carson rocked back on his heels, pleased at the immediate response. He was, however, not the slightest bit surprised.

Sheppard cocked a finger at Grant. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Grant gulped loudly.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Carson flopped down onto the seat and reached for the salted peanuts.

“K.” Sheppard spun on his heel and marched off.

“Have you unpacked yet, Grant?” Carson asked.

Grant nodded furtively and added a little shrug to complicate matters.

“Has Rodney introduced you to his friends? I think that you’ll get on with Radek like a house on fire. He’s a lovely man. If you tell him what you’re up to he’ll understand.” Carson slid the peanuts over to Grant.

Precisely, Grant selected a single nut.

“So what do you think of our City?”

Grant lit up like a Christmas tree. His back straightened and his hands unfurled like sunrise, the habitually clenching fingers splaying open. They encompassed the entirety of the mind-blowing City.

“Hah, told you that you’d like it.” Rodney dropped down into the seat between Carson and Grant. “I’ve cleared Grant space next to my lab. and the Dadaelus will beam down your equipment into the area tomorrow.”

“Where’s his quarters?”

“I turfed out some marine gnome and gave him the one down from mine, of course.” Rodney scraped idly at one of his canines with a finger nail in a positively predatory manner.

“Rodney,” Carson chastised.

“I promised to reconfigure his X–Box so it can draw energy from the Atlantis energy conduits,” Rodney admitted. “He thought that it was a reasonable exchange.”

“Don’t those things need a television?” Carson checked.

“Yes – he brought one. He was actually looking for a plug socket when I turfed him out of his room. I don’t want anyone that stupid in my immediate vicinity. It might be catching.”

“Rodney…”

“It’s good deal. His X-Box will work when I’ve finished with it. It will be better,” Rodney added arrogantly and took a deep quaff from a plastic tumbler of beer. “When’s the food going to be ready?”

“I think that Elizabeth is going to make some kind of announcement first.” Carson sipped at his Champagne.

“Oh, god.” He sagged in his plastic chair. “I definitely need more snacks then.”

Carson pushed John’s bowl of Ding Dongs under Rodney’s nose.

“Oooh, chocolate.”

There was a sudden clamour as ten odd marines entered the commissary and headed straight for the drinks table. Sheppard and Major Lorne stood silhouetted in the doorway, taking a moment to scan the crowd, and then the rest of the marines and Air Force officers arrived.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” Elizabeth’s voice rang through the throng of people.

Rodney grumbled lowly and stuffed a Ding Dong straight into his lopsided mouth. He flopped loosely into his chair as he chewed, blissfully.

John glided slowly around the attentive statues listening to Elizabeth. The civilian head, mike in hand, stood next to the small music station. Carson was reminded of his oldest sister’s wedding reception. He took a large gulp of Champagne and followed up with a handful of peanuts. They didn’t mix. Alison’s Wedding had been a bit of a catastrophe.

“As you are no doubt aware--” Elizabeth continued.

The highlight of the wedding had been when Uncle Jim threw up in the punch. Setting his palms on the table, Carson tried to look attentive, but Champagne always went straight to his head and the peanuts weren’t cutting it.

“I’m hungry,” Rodney muttered under his breath. “Food.”

Grant stealthily leaned forwards and liberated a Ding Dong. Sheppard finally reached his corner and slid onto his claimed seat, shuffling down and snagging his beer in one movement. Carson gave him a surreptitious thumbs up.

“Well, I know that you’re all hungry, so I won’t linger,” Elizabeth said. “I would like to say: welcome to Atlantis.” She began clapping and dutifully everyone joined in. The unit chefs and catering staff entered the dining hall laden with trays.

“Finally.” Rodney stood and arrowed straight for the buffet table. “Come on, Grant.”

“Settled in, Doc?” Sheppard asked, leaning back as Grant made his way past him.

“Aye,” Carson said slowly. “I haven’t unpacked my personal belongings, but most of the medical supplies from the Daedalus have been catalogued and stored.”

“First things, first?” Sheppard said conversationally.

Carson shrugged. It was important to touch base with his staff and share the giant box of Quality Street chocolates that he had brought from home.

“Food.” Rodney plonked a commandeered plate deftly arranged with a veritable ziggurat of sandwiches and finger foods on the table. The peak of the sandwich mountain proudly bore a little cocktail flag which proclaimed: citrus free – promise (underlined three times). Grant followed, placing a simple aluminium tray of hors d'oeuvres on the table.

“Hungry, McKay?” Sheppard drawled.

“They’re for all of us,” Rodney rapped back, sitting and selecting a Vol-au-vent à la reine. “Yum, chicken and mushroom. Do you think that we might be able to convince Elizabeth to have a party every time the Daedalus makes a visit?”

Sheppard simply lounged and quaffed.

“It is also,” Carson began, “a celebration of our survival and new beginnings.”

“So that’s a ‘no’ then. We have to survive certain doom before we can have vol-au-vents,” Rodney said morosely but his mood shifted like quicksilver. “Hmmm, so again in about two weeks?”

Grant giggled.

Rodney snuck a sideways grin at him. “Here--” he took a thin cracker drizzled with a cascade of fine, dark lines, “--this is a delicacy from a planet called Salpicon. You’ll like it.”

Grant dutifully licked the cracker, then his lips and stuffed the tiny cracker in his mouth.

“Told you that you’d like it.” Rodney captured the other crackers on the selection plate and divvied them up between himself and his cousin.

Carson shook his head fondly. Teyla, carrying a small plate of vegetable crudités and a glass of Champagne slid onto the chair beside Sheppard.

“Hey, Teyla,” Rodney said brightly, fuelled by beer and Hallstatt crackers. “Have you met my cousin, Grant? Grant, this is Teyla. I’ve told you about Teyla, she’s on my team.”

Shyly, Grant kept his gaze on his little hillock of crackers, playing with a crumb.

“John introduced us when you first arrived from the Daedalus.” A firm smile graced her face.

Reading a slight tenseness in the air, Carson wondered on it. Wracking his brains, he couldn’t remember if there were twins in the Athosian camp. Two Rodneys would be a little awe inspiring.

“Grant’s not very talkative at the moment,” Rodney tried for quiet divulgence, but was innately incapable of speaking quietly. “Grant was kidnapped--”

Grant hunched a little lower in his seat, fumbling for his beaker of coke.

“So,” Carson said, attempting to change the subject, “how’s your pussy, Grant?”

John nose-snorted beer across the table.

“Ewww! Disgusting.” Rodney pulled his sandwiches onto his lap.

Sheppard coughed and wheezed, banging his hand on the table as he tried to draw breath.

“Well, you’re a doctor, help him,” Rodney directed.

Carson held up his hand, watching the man writhe. “Give him a second.”

Sheppard coughed, hand pushed into his side as he coughed and added a heeing laugh. Plainly amazed at the noise, Grant carefully pushed a pile of paper napkins into Sheppard’s reach. The colonel laughed and coughed and laughed some more as his tablemates watched. He finally drew in a whooping breath.

“Oh God, my nose.” Grabbing the napkins, he blew a honk. “Don’t say things like that Carson!”

“What? Yes, I mean – okay.” Carson took a swig of Champagne to cover his embarrassment. “It does actually mean ‘cat’. It’s a perfectly innocent description.”

“Ha!” Sheppard mocked, brushing the tip of his nose, checking for beer. “That cleared the sinuses.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it to patients,” Carson said sagaciously.

“Nah, not really.” Cocking his head, Sheppard leaned back in his chair. “Is Mr. Jinx alright, Grant?”

Grant nodded, definitely. He cradled his hands over his chest and rocked.

“Fast asleep, comfortable,” Sheppard translated.

“Mr. Jinx?” Teyla asked slowly.

“My cat,” Rodney said promptly. “We’ve brought him to Atlantis.”

“Was your cat also kidnapped?”

Rodney blinked. His mouth opened and closed as he processed that question. “That… that was a joke, wasn’t it?” he hazarded.

“I was under the impression that your government and the Stargate Command had important rules regarding moving animals between planets.” Teyla continued, “is that not true? You yourself, Dr. McKay, have complained that you could not bring your cat to Atlantis?”

Rodney shrugged, and ran a finger tip around the rim of his glass.

“We made an executive decision,” Carson admitted. “Unlike livestock, which typically, you would be breeding, Mr. Jinx has been both spayed and inoculated to Hell and back. Nor will he be allowed off Atlantis.”

“Camel’s nose.” John tossed a peanut in the air and caught it in his mouth.

“We’ll tell everyone that it’s Grant’s.” Rodney jerked a thumb at his cousin, who paused mid-bite of an open sandwich. “No one’s going to take Grant’s pussy off him.”

Sheppard brayed a laugh.

~*~

Grant skirted the boundary between the dancing area and the tables and chairs filled with lounging scientists and soldiers. Dance floor and tables. Drinking and socialising. Inefficient speakers and bad music. All that was missing was a shiny disco ball to hang from the ceiling. Grant quickly raised his head enough to check that Ms. Weir had not ordered one to be hung.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

The young marine in charge of the music chose a rap dancing beat, which proved immediately popular with the younger contingent. Profoundly disturbed by the reverberating double beat, Grant scuttled out of the dance hall and into the quieter, cooler corridor.

The scent of the sea air was refreshing.

“You okay, McKay?” a nasally voice asked.

Grant stared blankly at the long-haired -- blue shirt and horn-rimmed glasses -- scientist.

“Oh.” The scientist extended a narrow finger towards the sticky label on Grant’s chest. A label which spelt: Dr. Grant Jansky – Database division.

“You’re McKay’s cousin. The autistic savant.”

Grant shook his head. His diagnosis was much more complicated than that.

“Can’t you speak?”

Grant nibbled at all his finger nails.

The scientist opened his hands and then closed them. He curled his right thumb against his palm and brought his hand to his temple to then wave. Then his fingers danced; knuckling his palm, finger to thumb, making a vee sign….

‘K-a-v-a-n-a-u-g-h.’ Grant spelled out and smiled.

“Hey.” Sheppard poked his head out the doorway. The lights in the corridor flared brightly. He was slightly out of breath and perspiration beaded on his brow. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Kavanaugh stuck his hands in his pockets, effectively silenced.

“Grant?”

Smiling Grant, stopping nibbling his fingers. He made a circle of his thumb and finger, followed by a squinty right angle of his first and index finger.

“What?” Sheppard glanced at Kavanaugh.

“He signed ‘okay’,” Kavanaugh translated haughtily.

“You sign?” Sheppard asked both of them.

“I know the basics. I assumed that since Dr. Jansky doesn’t talk that he signed.”

“Huh.” Sheppard slid forward. “Grant just lost his voice recently, after a trauma. It’s not physical.”

“Oh, well, it was a logical inference.” Kavanaugh sniffed. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Jansky, maybe we can converse again. Although why someone who can’t talk is here on Atlantis defeats me. What if there’s an emergency?”

“McKay’s designed a panic button.”

“I think I’ll go and sample the buffet. Colonel Sheppard.” Kavanaugh raised his chin and stalked into the party hall.

“Jerk,” Sheppard said once he was out of sight. “You okay, Squirrel?”

Grant nodded and pointed down the corridor away from the cacophony. It was later, in fact later than late since the Daedalus was on the SGC twenty four hour clock and they were now on Atlantis time.

“You want to go to bed?”

Grant nodded – it was definitely time for bed.

“Okay, come on, Grant. I’ll walk you to your room.”

Grant waited and as expected warm arm was flung over his shoulders to guide him along a magic corridor that lit up as soon as Colonel Sheppard stepped within 2.3 meters of the light units.

Fin