trans_9 | Pray this can't be the way

He appreciated having a room to himself, even if it was clearly designed for a second party as well. For now, it was his alone. He appreciated that.

The room was about all he really appreciated since the attack of the crew-zombies. The idea was far more cool on paper than it was actually sitting on the roof of the Vatican, mowing down potential crewmates. Still, it was better than mowing down familiar ones. He appreciated that, too.

He appreciated the cute, glowy new look for Stacy, too.

He didn't appreciate the idea of his universe destroyed by something they'd never even gotten the chance to see--let alone fight. He didn't like the idea of being one of the last survivors of his own universe. Whether or not Ronon and Jackson counted as his own universe or another. He appreciated the cute voice. He didn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it, even if she showed him the destruction. None of this was necessarily real. He functioned within it as he needed to, but he wasn't about to fall for something SG-1 already fell for before. The zombies didn't exactly make the place more credible, either.

He frowned, studying the food goop in front of him.

His home-his family. Everyone and every thing he cared about was not gone. He wouldn't leave it to chance and hope that some of the people he cared about might have been alive--he wouldn't accept that their survival meant the deaths of an entire universe were acceptable losses. He wasn't about to accept a 'might' for saving all of them, if they did someone else's dirty work for them. That wasn't how he did things. He wouldn't be manipulated, and...he refused to believe that SG-1 failed. That Stargate Command, and all of their allies failed to protect not just their galaxy, but their universe.

He refused to believe he'd failed to do the one thing that mattered. He couldn't. Not now...not ever.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hey, there it was. A smile. She was capable of those after all. "My momma's recipe is nothing short of the world's best."

"I suppose I'll find that out," Tempe said and shook her head. "If I get food poisoning I'll hunt you down and break the Phalanges in your right hand." She might be joking, it's hard to tell with her.

It doesn't matter what Phalanges are, he doesn't want anything broken in his hands. Which wouldn't be a problem anyway, because he does not poison people with his food, thank you. "But then I'd have to follow you around and complain about how you went and messed up my filagrees."

"Phalanges... Pha-lan-ges," Tempe corrected him. "Do you even know what Phalanges are?" She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers at him. "Phalanges."

She eyed him, and shook her head. "No you wouldn't. Because you'd know by then that I could easily break the Phalanges of your other hand."

Fingers, right. He didn't like the idea of getting his fingers broken.

"What kind of a doctor breaks fingers?" He offered his best, cute smile. "But then I'd complain about both, and you'd have no more fancy fingers to break. You'd just have to watch movies and listen to my complaining."

"A Forensic Anthropologist type... Who just happens to know the best way to break a bone so it's very very painful." Tempe stated smugly.

She really wouldn't break his fingers... Not unless he invaded her personal space and then tried to get all touchy-feely, and then she'd wipe the floor with him.

"And what makes you think that you'd be following me around?" She lifted an eyebrow in question.

Oh, he knew it could be quite painful. But really, on the damage scale, it was fairly low. High on the inconvenience one, though. Doctors...

"Because if you were to unjustly attack my hands, I'd be forced to."

"Well if food poisoning was involved, it wouldn't be unjust, would it?"

"There won't be, so it would be." It made perfect sense to him.

"We'll see," Tempe shrugs. He's prepared now, so she doubts he'll be trying to poison her. And that's a good thing.

Maybe. Or maybe he'll do it just because she doubts it now.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"But it wasn't one."

He arched an eyebrow. "So?"

"Then why would you take it as a compliment?" He makes NO sense to her at all.

"Because." He crossed his arms, and leaned back in the chair further. "It's pre-emptive."

"You actually think I'm going to end up complimenting you?" And people thought that she was arrogant.

He shrugged. "I know my pie."

"Right. Well I don't and I have to warn you that I can be a very harsh judge," she nodded.

He lifted his palms to the sky. "Momma's recipe has suffered tough critics before. They were converted."

"Right," Tempe said, not really sure if she should believe him or not. "We'll see."

He nodded. "We will."

She nods too. "Yes we will."

He offered the woman a mini-salute, and a smile.

"I should go," she stated. Shaking her head, she turned and began to walk away. What a strange man.

"Later, Doctor Brennan." He gave a small wave, and readjusted himself in his chair, taking his attention off of her to the table and food before him.

See? And now he was no longer obligated to eat the cold chowder. Not that it would have been completely objectionable to have a woman following after him all day. Given the woman, it clearly would have been strange, though. Not that there couldn't have been fun to be had, as well.

Still. Not eating cold chowder was a bonus any way you looked at it.

Pray this can't be the way

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