Title: Shades of grey
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
starrylizard
Rating: Teen (just in case)
I’m gonna call this one a Kavanagh-centric, Post-Critical Mass Angsty Crack!fic ?!?
Spark word: I for Ineluctable: Impossible to avoid or evade.
Summary: Many things are unavoidable – decisions, consequences, feelings…
Spoilers: Spoilers for episode 2x13 Critical Mass
Notes: Written as part of my claim for Kavanagh-centric fic atalphabetasoup. The spark list is here. Kindly beta read by rinkle. Any remaining mistakes are mine alone – if you find any, please point them out. Whether you like my fic or not, please feel free to comment and let me know. I’m always interested and I want to improve my writing. (A few more notes on this fic here)
Kavanagh moaned as his mind and body struggled toward consciousness. The problem was, that the closer he came to consciousness, the more he realized he didn’t want to be there. He became aware of his head thumping painfully and, although he would rather slip back into a blissful sleep, neither his thumping head nor his analytical mind would allow him that simple peace. He instead began to analyze his current situation, starting with why he felt like he had the hangover from hell. Since this process involved problem-solving, the exercise was at least practical and soothing.
Shifting his position slightly, he moaned again, as the movement caused the skull-cracking pain to worsen. He stopped moving long enough to pity himself and to take stock of the fact that he was definitely lying in a bed, but not his own. He could feel the slightly lumpy mattress beneath him and the scratchy, over-starched linen that was covering him.
“Ah, you’re back with us Dr Kavanagh. Welcome back! You’ve been out almost fifteen minutes.”
At the sound of a very Scottish accent, Kavanagh finally cracked his eyes open, squinting as his pupils adjusted to the light. Seeing the form of Dr Carson Beckett standing over him, he tried to sit up. Kavanagh was a tall man and unused to people looking down on him- as such it was something he disliked immensely. His arms seemed slightly weak and rubbery, but he managed to push himself up into a sitting position, noting as he did that the movement caused surprisingly little in the way of extra complaint from his already aching head.
“Easy there. How’s the head feel?”
“What do you think?” came the somewhat surly and mumbled reply.
Kavanagh reached a shaky hand up to the back of his head and found that he could feel the offending lump. He was still trying to remember what had happened to land him here in the infirmary. It was obvious he’d hit his head, but …and then it all came flooding back: the accusations, the interrogations, the override codes he didn’t have, and Weir’s pet Caveman coming to get them from him. As these memories came back to him, Kavanagh’s increasingly sour facial expressions were the only thing that might have given away the revelation. He sat placidly and answered Carson’s medical queries, as the Scotsman ran his steady hands over the new lumpy addition to his head, flashed a penlight in his eyes and tested his memory and vision.
Finally, when Carson had finished, Kavanagh spoke up quietly, “So, since the city is still here, I take it we didn’t blow up.” His words were half question and half statement, and full of well-deserved, yet well-contained, contempt.
Carson took a deep breath before answering. He seemed to be trying to judge his patient’s state of mind before deciding how exactly to answer. He finally settled for simple, direct, and to-the-point as the best form of response.
“It turns out that it was Caldwell that disabled the ZPM failsafes. A Goa’uld symbiote has taken up residence inside his head, but they managed to get the codes from him in time. Hermiod is hopeful that they can remove the Goa’uld safely using the Azgard transporter technology.”
Kavanagh nodded. “Nice to know,” he stated quietly.
Dr Beckett reached a hand out awkwardly to squeeze the other man’s shoulder. “You know Dr Kavanagh, if you need anything…someone to talk to about what happened…anything at all...?”
He left the question hanging. Dr Kavanagh brought his head up to make eye contact with the doctor, before shrugging off Beckett’s hand. His expression slowly became a sneer and suddenly the placid façade that Kavanagh had been attempting to maintain was dropped.
“Yeah right, like you’d want to be associated with an obviously untrustworthy and traitorous sort like me. If you don’t mind doctor, I’d like some privacy to get dressed and then I’ll be heading back to the Daedalus. It’s obvious I’m not wanted here.”
Dr Beckett sighed. “Aye. I can imagine how you must feel, but I meant what I said and the offer remains open. I want you under observation for the next 24 hours. I’d prefer you stay here, but if you insist on leaving, then at least make sure you aren’t left alone. You’ve got a concussion and that’s not to be taken lightly. Any dizziness, nausea, or blurred vision and I want you straight back here. Understand?” He gave Kavanagh a serious look. “I’ll leave you be then.”
As soon as Dr Beckett had disappeared through the curtain and it had swung shut behind him, Kavanagh’s shoulders began to shake and hot tears streaked their way down his face. He had been called many things in his life - paranoid, stubborn, mean, egocentric, pessimistic, over-bearing, selfish, unlikable and unfriendly, just to name a few. He had never been well-liked or had many friends and he had often been the butt of hurtful jokes, both practical and personal, yet he liked to think that he managed to take all of these things in his stride …but never before today had anyone questioned his loyalty, his trustworthiness, or his patriotism. In one fell swoop, all three had been questioned today, by not just one but many people, many of whom he had privately held in high regard …and it hurt! It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and there was nothing he could do to make that hurt go away. He angrily wiped at the hot tears with his sleeve. He was bigger than this and he couldn’t afford to be seen this way. His, at times, unforgiving manner and carefully cultivated thick skin were the main protection he had against a world that had never been all that fond of him.
He caught the sparkle of the transport beam out of the corner of his eyes and, without looking, he knew Hermiod was there. He was standing quietly and passively, his large black eyes taking in Kavanagh’s tear-streaked face and flimsy hospital attire. Kavanagh looked up briefly, before dropping his gaze down to his hands; his fingers nervously fidgeting with each other where they rested in his lap. To his credit, his voice trembled only slightly as he spoke.
“Weir knew about the messages I sent to Atlantis. They will automatically decrypt and display any moment now and there is nothing I can do about it. We should have been well out of communications range and instead we’ll have to face the consequences.”
*****************
Elizabeth Weir sat alone in her office; her eyes stared intently at one space, yet she was concentrating on nothing in particular. She had been like this for some time now. Sheppard had tried to convince her of the correctness of her decisions that day, but her mind couldn’t let go…not yet anyway and maybe not ever. She had crossed a line today with Kavanagh. Whichever way she looked at it though, given the same circumstances, she knew she would do it again. The thing that was truly bothering her, was whether her own bias had forced her to the wrong conclusion. Had her own dislike of Kavanagh been the only thing leading her to the belief that he was the culprit? She didn’t know the answer and it truly had her scared. She had been so sure of his guilt, with very little proof to back it up.
A sudden burst of static, followed by a disembodied voice, made her jump slightly, until she realized it was emanating from the radio that was still attached to her ear.
“Dr Weir. Those messages you wanted decrypted earlier …they seem to have just decrypted themselves.”
Dr Simpson’s voice sounded puzzled and Elizabeth frowned as it dawned on her which messages the woman had to be referring to.
“Dr Simpson? What do you mean by ‘they decrypted themselves’?”
“It appears the messages were programmed to decrypt and become available at a set time. In case you’re wondering the two messages appear to contain an identical file. The file is marked as a confidential correspondence from Dr Kavanagh and one copy is addressed to you and the other to Dr McKay. Would you like me to bring the file to you?”
“Yes, thank you Dr Simpson. Please do.”
A short time later, the scientist delivered the confidential video file as promised and Elizabeth opened it up on her private laptop.
At first only a close up of Kavanagh’s arm could be seen, as he fiddled with the camera’s focus and then carefully moved back and sat down, so that the top half of his body was positioned in the center of the picture. The onscreen Kavanagh then cleared his throat nervously and adjusted his glasses, before he took a deep breath and finally began to speak. His speech was slightly stilted, as if he had rehearsed it previously, or was reading notes as he spoke.
This message is confidential and intended for Doctors Weir and McKay, The Atlantis Expedition Leader and my direct Supervisor, respectively.
I am aware that in recent months, that perhaps my behaviour at times has seemed somewhat erratic, especially concerning my wishes to be reassigned, and I wanted the chance to explain myself.
I realize that we haven’t been on the best of terms in the past and so I thought that perhaps if I could state my reasons for requesting reassignment in a passive format, then you would be more inclined to think it over, rather than simply turning me down or getting into an argument, as has happened in the past.
I hereby formally request to be reassigned to the Daedalus. I believe that I would be a useful addition to the scientific crew there and having already been on several journeys aboard the ship, I have become acquainted with many of the current crew.
I’ve asked permission for a transfer from the appropriate authorities within the SGC, but they have requested that I get approval from my current supervisors...you.
Suddenly Dr Kavanagh seemed to drop his rehearsed speech and look more directly at the camera. An almost pleading expression seemed to come over his face for a moment, before he looked away and busied himself for a moment with cleaning his glasses. When he looked back at the camera and spoke once more, the rehearsed feel was no longer present.
I have another reason for my transfer request. I have fallen in love and we want to be together. The easiest way for that to happen is if you agree to the transfer. There are other ways, but an official transfer would obviously be more accepted. Please, try to overlook any biases that may be clouding your judgment and grant me this request. Thank you for your time.
With that, Kavanagh switched off the camera and Elizabeth’s laptop screen went black. She didn’t move for several minutes.
*********************
Kavanagh looked up from his hands long enough to study his lover’s face, as he spoke in his usual calm and logical manner.
“Whether we are in Atlantis at this time does not change much. They would have found out anyway…and whether they give their blessings or not, you are essential to me and I believe I can be very persuasive.”
Hermiod had climbed gracefully up onto the bed and he now reached out a small grey hand to stroke Kavanagh’s face, gently wiping away a last errant tear from his cheek. His large black eyes seemed to Kavanagh to hold nothing but love and reassurance and he felt himself relax slightly under the touch. He covered Hermiod’s hand with his larger one and bent down to gently touch foreheads with his alien lover. After a while Hermiod gently pulled back, though their hands remained clasped between them.
“I cannot stay here long. I am needed aboard the Daedalus to reconfigure the transport beam. I am going to attempt to remove the Goa’uld symbiote from Colonel Caldwell’s head, but I wanted to see you first. If you are well enough, I could use your help. You are the only one unafraid of pointing out possible errors.”
“…Though I’m yet to prove you wrong,” stated Kavanagh, with a wry grin. Though others may have deserted him and labeled him a traitor, Hermiod still trusted him explicitly.
A short time later, had anyone been there to observe, they would have seen two forms beam up to the Daedalus; one was short and grey, the other tall and skinny, yet they stood companionably close, hands clasped together and, although neither party was quite sure how it had happened, their love was now an inescapable fact, impossible to deny or evade- and they wouldn’t have it any other way.
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Author:
starrylizardRating: Teen (just in case)
Spark word: I for Ineluctable: Impossible to avoid or evade.
Summary: Many things are unavoidable – decisions, consequences, feelings…
Spoilers: Spoilers for episode 2x13 Critical Mass
Notes: Written as part of my claim for Kavanagh-centric fic at
alphabetasoup. The spark list is here. Kindly beta read by rinkle. Any remaining mistakes are mine alone – if you find any, please point them out. Whether you like my fic or not, please feel free to comment and let me know. I’m always interested and I want to improve my writing. (A few more notes on this fic here)Kavanagh moaned as his mind and body struggled toward consciousness. The problem was, that the closer he came to consciousness, the more he realized he didn’t want to be there. He became aware of his head thumping painfully and, although he would rather slip back into a blissful sleep, neither his thumping head nor his analytical mind would allow him that simple peace. He instead began to analyze his current situation, starting with why he felt like he had the hangover from hell. Since this process involved problem-solving, the exercise was at least practical and soothing.
Shifting his position slightly, he moaned again, as the movement caused the skull-cracking pain to worsen. He stopped moving long enough to pity himself and to take stock of the fact that he was definitely lying in a bed, but not his own. He could feel the slightly lumpy mattress beneath him and the scratchy, over-starched linen that was covering him.
“Ah, you’re back with us Dr Kavanagh. Welcome back! You’ve been out almost fifteen minutes.”
At the sound of a very Scottish accent, Kavanagh finally cracked his eyes open, squinting as his pupils adjusted to the light. Seeing the form of Dr Carson Beckett standing over him, he tried to sit up. Kavanagh was a tall man and unused to people looking down on him- as such it was something he disliked immensely. His arms seemed slightly weak and rubbery, but he managed to push himself up into a sitting position, noting as he did that the movement caused surprisingly little in the way of extra complaint from his already aching head.
“Easy there. How’s the head feel?”
“What do you think?” came the somewhat surly and mumbled reply.
Kavanagh reached a shaky hand up to the back of his head and found that he could feel the offending lump. He was still trying to remember what had happened to land him here in the infirmary. It was obvious he’d hit his head, but …and then it all came flooding back: the accusations, the interrogations, the override codes he didn’t have, and Weir’s pet Caveman coming to get them from him. As these memories came back to him, Kavanagh’s increasingly sour facial expressions were the only thing that might have given away the revelation. He sat placidly and answered Carson’s medical queries, as the Scotsman ran his steady hands over the new lumpy addition to his head, flashed a penlight in his eyes and tested his memory and vision.
Finally, when Carson had finished, Kavanagh spoke up quietly, “So, since the city is still here, I take it we didn’t blow up.” His words were half question and half statement, and full of well-deserved, yet well-contained, contempt.
Carson took a deep breath before answering. He seemed to be trying to judge his patient’s state of mind before deciding how exactly to answer. He finally settled for simple, direct, and to-the-point as the best form of response.
“It turns out that it was Caldwell that disabled the ZPM failsafes. A Goa’uld symbiote has taken up residence inside his head, but they managed to get the codes from him in time. Hermiod is hopeful that they can remove the Goa’uld safely using the Azgard transporter technology.”
Kavanagh nodded. “Nice to know,” he stated quietly.
Dr Beckett reached a hand out awkwardly to squeeze the other man’s shoulder. “You know Dr Kavanagh, if you need anything…someone to talk to about what happened…anything at all...?”
He left the question hanging. Dr Kavanagh brought his head up to make eye contact with the doctor, before shrugging off Beckett’s hand. His expression slowly became a sneer and suddenly the placid façade that Kavanagh had been attempting to maintain was dropped.
“Yeah right, like you’d want to be associated with an obviously untrustworthy and traitorous sort like me. If you don’t mind doctor, I’d like some privacy to get dressed and then I’ll be heading back to the Daedalus. It’s obvious I’m not wanted here.”
Dr Beckett sighed. “Aye. I can imagine how you must feel, but I meant what I said and the offer remains open. I want you under observation for the next 24 hours. I’d prefer you stay here, but if you insist on leaving, then at least make sure you aren’t left alone. You’ve got a concussion and that’s not to be taken lightly. Any dizziness, nausea, or blurred vision and I want you straight back here. Understand?” He gave Kavanagh a serious look. “I’ll leave you be then.”
As soon as Dr Beckett had disappeared through the curtain and it had swung shut behind him, Kavanagh’s shoulders began to shake and hot tears streaked their way down his face. He had been called many things in his life - paranoid, stubborn, mean, egocentric, pessimistic, over-bearing, selfish, unlikable and unfriendly, just to name a few. He had never been well-liked or had many friends and he had often been the butt of hurtful jokes, both practical and personal, yet he liked to think that he managed to take all of these things in his stride …but never before today had anyone questioned his loyalty, his trustworthiness, or his patriotism. In one fell swoop, all three had been questioned today, by not just one but many people, many of whom he had privately held in high regard …and it hurt! It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and there was nothing he could do to make that hurt go away. He angrily wiped at the hot tears with his sleeve. He was bigger than this and he couldn’t afford to be seen this way. His, at times, unforgiving manner and carefully cultivated thick skin were the main protection he had against a world that had never been all that fond of him.
He caught the sparkle of the transport beam out of the corner of his eyes and, without looking, he knew Hermiod was there. He was standing quietly and passively, his large black eyes taking in Kavanagh’s tear-streaked face and flimsy hospital attire. Kavanagh looked up briefly, before dropping his gaze down to his hands; his fingers nervously fidgeting with each other where they rested in his lap. To his credit, his voice trembled only slightly as he spoke.
“Weir knew about the messages I sent to Atlantis. They will automatically decrypt and display any moment now and there is nothing I can do about it. We should have been well out of communications range and instead we’ll have to face the consequences.”
*****************
Elizabeth Weir sat alone in her office; her eyes stared intently at one space, yet she was concentrating on nothing in particular. She had been like this for some time now. Sheppard had tried to convince her of the correctness of her decisions that day, but her mind couldn’t let go…not yet anyway and maybe not ever. She had crossed a line today with Kavanagh. Whichever way she looked at it though, given the same circumstances, she knew she would do it again. The thing that was truly bothering her, was whether her own bias had forced her to the wrong conclusion. Had her own dislike of Kavanagh been the only thing leading her to the belief that he was the culprit? She didn’t know the answer and it truly had her scared. She had been so sure of his guilt, with very little proof to back it up.
A sudden burst of static, followed by a disembodied voice, made her jump slightly, until she realized it was emanating from the radio that was still attached to her ear.
“Dr Weir. Those messages you wanted decrypted earlier …they seem to have just decrypted themselves.”
Dr Simpson’s voice sounded puzzled and Elizabeth frowned as it dawned on her which messages the woman had to be referring to.
“Dr Simpson? What do you mean by ‘they decrypted themselves’?”
“It appears the messages were programmed to decrypt and become available at a set time. In case you’re wondering the two messages appear to contain an identical file. The file is marked as a confidential correspondence from Dr Kavanagh and one copy is addressed to you and the other to Dr McKay. Would you like me to bring the file to you?”
“Yes, thank you Dr Simpson. Please do.”
A short time later, the scientist delivered the confidential video file as promised and Elizabeth opened it up on her private laptop.
At first only a close up of Kavanagh’s arm could be seen, as he fiddled with the camera’s focus and then carefully moved back and sat down, so that the top half of his body was positioned in the center of the picture. The onscreen Kavanagh then cleared his throat nervously and adjusted his glasses, before he took a deep breath and finally began to speak. His speech was slightly stilted, as if he had rehearsed it previously, or was reading notes as he spoke.
This message is confidential and intended for Doctors Weir and McKay, The Atlantis Expedition Leader and my direct Supervisor, respectively.
I am aware that in recent months, that perhaps my behaviour at times has seemed somewhat erratic, especially concerning my wishes to be reassigned, and I wanted the chance to explain myself.
I realize that we haven’t been on the best of terms in the past and so I thought that perhaps if I could state my reasons for requesting reassignment in a passive format, then you would be more inclined to think it over, rather than simply turning me down or getting into an argument, as has happened in the past.
I hereby formally request to be reassigned to the Daedalus. I believe that I would be a useful addition to the scientific crew there and having already been on several journeys aboard the ship, I have become acquainted with many of the current crew.
I’ve asked permission for a transfer from the appropriate authorities within the SGC, but they have requested that I get approval from my current supervisors...you.
Suddenly Dr Kavanagh seemed to drop his rehearsed speech and look more directly at the camera. An almost pleading expression seemed to come over his face for a moment, before he looked away and busied himself for a moment with cleaning his glasses. When he looked back at the camera and spoke once more, the rehearsed feel was no longer present.
I have another reason for my transfer request. I have fallen in love and we want to be together. The easiest way for that to happen is if you agree to the transfer. There are other ways, but an official transfer would obviously be more accepted. Please, try to overlook any biases that may be clouding your judgment and grant me this request. Thank you for your time.
With that, Kavanagh switched off the camera and Elizabeth’s laptop screen went black. She didn’t move for several minutes.
*********************
Kavanagh looked up from his hands long enough to study his lover’s face, as he spoke in his usual calm and logical manner.
“Whether we are in Atlantis at this time does not change much. They would have found out anyway…and whether they give their blessings or not, you are essential to me and I believe I can be very persuasive.”
Hermiod had climbed gracefully up onto the bed and he now reached out a small grey hand to stroke Kavanagh’s face, gently wiping away a last errant tear from his cheek. His large black eyes seemed to Kavanagh to hold nothing but love and reassurance and he felt himself relax slightly under the touch. He covered Hermiod’s hand with his larger one and bent down to gently touch foreheads with his alien lover. After a while Hermiod gently pulled back, though their hands remained clasped between them.
“I cannot stay here long. I am needed aboard the Daedalus to reconfigure the transport beam. I am going to attempt to remove the Goa’uld symbiote from Colonel Caldwell’s head, but I wanted to see you first. If you are well enough, I could use your help. You are the only one unafraid of pointing out possible errors.”
“…Though I’m yet to prove you wrong,” stated Kavanagh, with a wry grin. Though others may have deserted him and labeled him a traitor, Hermiod still trusted him explicitly.
A short time later, had anyone been there to observe, they would have seen two forms beam up to the Daedalus; one was short and grey, the other tall and skinny, yet they stood companionably close, hands clasped together and, although neither party was quite sure how it had happened, their love was now an inescapable fact, impossible to deny or evade- and they wouldn’t have it any other way.
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