Title: - Lacking
Author: - Katt
Rating: - G
Feedback: - Like it or loathe it let me know
Archive: - I'd be honoured if you did
Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of Stargate Atlantis, and no infringement was intended.
Author's Note: - Set during "Rising Part 1".
Lacking
Rodney was…lacking. What, he wasn't sure, but whatever it was he didn't have any. Looking up at the ceiling he watched as the representation of Saturn that slowly rotated there was passed, and one of its moons, Enceladus he guessed by the way that it shimmered, appeared and then disappeared. Leaving Saturn and its icy rings behind the perspective changed, and they rushed towards Uranus, it's oceans of methane giving it its greeny, blue colouring. He tried not to be swept along with the others, ohing and ahing over a genetic accident, but it was beautiful to watch. This pilot wasn't lacking; no he had the gene. It just wasn't fair, the man had only come here because he'd flown General O'Neill up from McMurdo, and he had the Ancient gene. Rodney tried to push his jealousy deep down within himself. He didn't want anyone to know how badly he wanted it to be him. How badly he wanted to be able to manipulate the Ancient technology. How badly he wanted to make a 3D representation of the solar system appear on the ceiling. How badly he wanted to have art.
That's what this was. That was what this pilot had – art. Carson had the gene, but he couldn't control it properly yet, he feared it even. It was the same with the dozen or so others they'd found who had the gene. Yet here was someone who could shape beauty and science out of thin air with no effort. Rodney felt a flare of envy, and quickly looked down at the computer readouts eager that no one should be able to see the yearning in his eyes.
Clenching and unclenching his left hand he tried not to think about the lack of art in his life. He tried, and failed, not to hear those words from long ago, "You have no art Rodney, no feel for music." He tried not to think about Sam Carter, and the intuitive leaps she could make in theoretical physics, because she felt the science in her soul, unlike him. He intellectualised, studied, sometimes he made small jumps of understanding, but Sam made giant leaps of discovery that made him feel like the village idiot at times.
Once again he'd been tested and found lacking. In fact, as Doctor Weir had so helpfully pointed out, he'd been tested twice and found lacking. He wanted to feel the rush of creation, the thrill that must quiver inside you when you produced pure beauty. The beauty of music, the beauty of knowledge, both could stir the soul and draw others to you.
Glancing quickly towards the chair he saw the wide grin on the pilot's face, the wonder in his eyes, as he effortlessly used his mind to produce images out of thin air. Sensing Rodney's scrutiny the pilot glanced towards him, still smiling. Something about that grin was infectious, and Rodney felt his own mouth wanting to smile back, but he checked himself and quickly looked away. He turned back to the safety of his readouts, his science. He reached out for the sanctuary of order, and reason, and predictability.
People – there was something else that Rodney didn't "get", something else that he lacked.