Title: Days Like This
Author: Ellex
E-mail: Everyone
Category: humor, challenge
Season/Episode: Season 1
Archive: If you want it, it's yours. Just let me know.
Feedback: Always welcome
Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis is not mine…although I wish it were.
Summary: 'My father never told be there'd be days like this."
A/N: Written for the "My father never…" 5 minute challenge on SGAHC. Took me about 2 or 3 hours, off and on, at work this afternoon. Sit me down for 5 minutes, and about all you'll get out of me is my name.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"My father never told me there'd be days like this," McKay said reflectively.
Ford couldn't see the scientist from his current position: tied to a pole sunk firmly in the ground. He had tried repeatedly to pull it up or to get his wrists free of the braided-vine rope that bound them behind his back, to no avail. The one guard he could see, facing away from him, ignored them, scanning the surrounding forest with an eye toward impending violence.
"I think you mean 'My mama told me there'd be days like this'," the younger man responded.
The silence that followed was so full of unspoken snark that Ford tried, without success, to turn his head far enough to see McKay's face. Lacking visual confirmation, he could imagine an expression somewhere between mild outrage and nonplussed confusion.
"Once in a while I think I'd like to have some idea of what you're talking about. This isn't one of those times. I meant exactly what I said. My father told me many things, a few of which have actually been useful, but I'm sure he never imagined my life might end in a stewpot on an alien planet in another galaxy."
"Major Sheppard and Teyla are still out there. They'll rescue us," Ford said encouragingly.
McKay snorted. "Sheppard is entirely too likely to get himself lost in the jungle. I have little doubt that he will get himself and Teyla captured by our charming hosts, who will happily feast on us for the next week. They'll probably eat me first, I'm obviously – oh!"
Aiden turned his head again to try and see why McKay had stopped so suddenly, but the Canadian abruptly started up again.
"Um – so – did I ever tell you my father was a musician? He was first violin with the Toronto Philharmonic. He had me taking piano lessons almost before I could talk. I think I learned to read music even before I learned to read English. He liked to say that music was the strongest force in the universe – which is patently untrue, as any scientist can tell you; and that everyone loves a good musician – also untrue, since my mother couldn't stand him. He used to tell me, 'Son, some days are like Johann Sebastian Bach: everything is beautiful and perfectly balanced. Other days are like commercial jingles: trite, repetitive, and irritating.' He never told me there would be days that made 'Night on Bald Mountain' sound like a lullaby." He fell silent for a moment.
"What's 'Night on Bald Mountain'?" Ford asked, curious. McKay seldom volunteered this kind of personal information, and Aiden wasn't about to waste the opportunity.
"Woefully uneducated," McKay muttered. "Can I at least assume you've seen Disney's 'Fantasia'? Yes? Well, the bit near the end, with the ghosts and demons and the giant devil with the huge batwings? That's 'Night on Bald Mountain'."
Ford dimly remembered seeing that, long ago, and could recall hiding his face against his grandmother's arm. He couldn't remember the music, but figured it must have been as scary as the animation.
McKay was right, though. The Wraith made 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' look like a family film, and he thought 'Night on Bald Mountain' must be the classical music equivalent.
"Ow, that's my wrist," he heard McKay murmur. "I'd prefer to keep my hands, thank you very much."
"Doctor McKay?" Something was going on behind him, but Ford still couldn't turn his head far enough to see.
"Yes? Where were we? 'Night on Bald Mountain', right. So, as I was saying, nothing my father told me prepared me for days like today. I would have been better off reading trashy paperback science fiction novels instead of practicing 'Moonlight Sonata' ad nauseam. None of the people we've been held captive by has had a conveniently placed piano nearby which I could use to amaze and astound everyone with my complete lack of musical talent."
Something – some one -- touched Aiden's hands and he was startled into exclaiming, "What –!"
"Yes, it's extraordinary, isn't it?" McKay spoke over him, an edge of desperation only just audible in his voice. "There are actually many things I'm bad at, Lieutenant. No matter how brilliant I am intellectually, technical proficiency doesn't make up for lack of imagination, for that spark of – of soul that makes a real musician."
While McKay had been speaking, Ford's hands were freed, then the rope binding his ankles to the pole fell loose. A hand on his sleeve tugged him away from the pole towards McKay. He kept an eye on the guard even as he passed another one, lying unconscious on the ground.
"Well," Ford said absently, accepting the P-90 that was handed to him, "if we ever find an Ancient piano, I'd like to hear you play, doc. I bet you're pretty good."
"Really?" McKay sounded surprised and ridiculously gratified, and Ford wondered just who had told the man that he lacked imagination. If anything, McKay had a good deal more imagination than most people.
"Sure. And hey, I think our day is starting to look up."
"You may be right. It's not a Bach kind of day, by any stretch of the imagination, but I suppose I could be persuaded to upgrade it. To Barry Manilow, perhaps."
It was at this point that Sheppard yelled, "Run!", and no one had enough breath for further conversation. They made it to the Stargate undamaged, watched a few spears clatter harmlessly on the floor of Atlantis' Gate Room, and when Elizabeth asked how the mission had gone, Ford promptly replied, "It was a Barry Manilow kind of day."
End
A/N2: If there are any Barry Manilow fans reading this…I feel so sorry for you.