Live a life extraordinary with me

Chuck waited by the dock, looking out in the direction the...merpeople...were approaching from, according to the sensors. Merpeople. Just when he thought his life couldn't get any weirder. He really hoped they were friendly, because an alliance with mermaids would...well, it would make a really cool movie; he wasn't sure what actual good it would do yet.

He checked his sidearm for the third time, making sure he'd be able to draw it quickly if things went badly. He (and everyone else) tended to forget it, but he was part of the military side of the expedition - he did scientist work, fixing consoles and running the city's systems, but his first priority here was to defend the civilians.

He really hoped it wouldn't come to that, though. Shooting mermaids wouldn't make quite as nice a movie as making friends with them.

Her face it was a work of art,
I loved that girl with all my heart
But I only liked the upper part
I did not like the tail.

Chuck crawled out from under the console he'd been fixing - a few parts had been jostled out of alignment, and, while the console wasn't particularly important to the city's function, it disturbed his sense of aesthetics to have a non-functioning console in the middle of the Gate control room.

He activated it, glancing over the readings to make sure it was working...and...hrm. It looked like he'd maybe fixed it up a bit better than it had been before, and activated a new set of sensors - short-range underwater proximity sensors. And there was something there...he zoomed in on the image, amazed at the level of detail the picture gave him. It was shape only, not color, but still...

He looked around, seeing who was standing nearby.  "Dr. Weir?  Dr. MacGregor?  Tell me I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing."

The boy will always get the girl, when I am King.

Chuck sat down at his computer, pulling up a file from Atlantis's database. In the absence of Jonny and Dr. Jackson, he was the only person in the city who spoke fluent Ancient - Dr. Weir and Steven could get by, but their translations were slow and usually needed triple-checking. Chuck had gladly volunteered to help out in his spare time, which he certainly had plenty of.

He made a few notes on the translation, stopping to rub his eyes. He was bored out of his mind. Before Jonny, he'd been perfectly happy to have his work and nothing else, but somewhere along the way, that had changed...

He slipped his comm off as he got back to his room, finally off-duty after a double shift, and banged his head on the wall several times before sitting down at his desk. Jonny would have yelled at him for it, told him to take better care of his brain cells, but Jonny wasn't here, and that was the problem. He'd heard from one of the other technicians that he'd taken off for Earth without so much as stopping to tell Weir - and he'd left the email about Daniel's disappearance open on his laptop, so it was easy enough to figure out why.

With a sigh, he opened his own email - it was all business related; he had no life outside of Jonny anymore. This wasn't working.

~by email~
TO: Jonathan O'Neil
FROM: Sgt. Charles Rene Lenoir
RE: I'm sorry

Jonny, sweetie, darling, beloved, light of my life -

This isn't working. I can't be yours unless I know you're mine - and I can't know you're mine if you keep chasing off after your ex. Consider yourself dumped until you can look me in the eye and tell me you don't love him, or at least that he doesn't mean as much to you as I do.

He wasn't entirely sure why there was what seemed to be a science lab of some sort connected to the holding cells, but it wasn't his place to question Ancient city planning, just to fix the place up so they could use it. In this case, use it for training simulations - he was supposed to set up a few consoles to give the less experienced a chance to practice repair jobs and using the Ancient systems.

No one had been in here since Sheppard had first searched the city, but Atlantis seemed to have an almost-miraculous dust prevention system; it looked as clean and shiny as the whole city had been when they'd arrived.

The lack of the ATA gene was a distinct advantage, in working with Ancient consoles; yeah, he couldn't activate anything, which was a bit of a nuisance when he had to call someone in to test the console, but on the upside, he didn't have to worry about activating something without meaning to.

One console finished, he hauled himself to his feet with help from a post next to it, noting with some surprise that there were metal rings set into it, as if something were meant to be tied to it. And next to the holding cells...he actually wouldn't have put it past the Ancients to have been running experiments on prisoners, particularly Wraith prisoners. Perhaps he should have Jonny look that up in the database sometime.

A wave of dizziness passed over him as he rested his hand on the top of the post, but it passed quickly. He picked up his tools and turned to leave, and was slightly surprised when the door wouldn't open. Sheppard had tested it, made sure it didn't lock automatically. He tried again, and this time an alarm went off.

Well, at least someone would probably hear the alarm and come rescue him, but it never hurt to call for help. \\Lenoir to the Control Room, I'm in the lab near holding cell 12 and the door won't open, I think I just set off an alarm.\\

Chuck settled into one of the unused labs. They were trying to make more spaces functional, and this one was next on the list (well, close to next, and it was next door to Jonny's lab)...first step, fix the main console. It was a freestanding console, and had a few crystals missing, but there were other repairs to be done first. He crawled under it, studying the wiring, trying to figure out what needed to be done.

Chuck sits down at Jonny's desk, resisting the urge to bang his head on it. That probably wouldn't be a good idea. It's been more than 24 hours since he was released from the infirmary, and after a good long sleep he should have been ready for light duty, or at least to go get himself breakfast in the mess hall, but no, Jonny insisted on him staying in the room and doing nothing. He'd gone to deal with some situation and promised he'd bring dinner back when he returned, but Chuck had spent a rather long, boring half hour already ranting against the injustice of head injuries and overprotective boyfriends.

Chuck woke up, momentarily disoriented until he realized he was in the infirmary. Head injury. Right.

There didn't seem to be anyone around. Jonny had probably left to catch up with Daniel, everyone else would be busy with Dr. MacGregor.

"Hello?" he called, softly, wondering if there were anyone close enough to hear.

After setting up the trap for Astarte (and getting the hell out of there before she showed up), Chuck found his way back to his quarters. Jonny had said to go back to his post, but he was off duty, and he was *really* tired - the long day was starting to catch up with him, the incident with the Marines having been pushed back to ancient history with all the intervening events, even though it had just been a few hours ago.

His head hurt a bit where Brandeis had hit him, and on the other side where it had impacted with the floor. It wasn't too bad, though. He just needed some rest, then he'd be fine. God, he really must be tired, the room was starting to spin as he pulled off his radio headset...he thought he managed to put it down before he collapsed on the bed, but he was out before he even thought of pulling off his shoes.

Chuck hurries to the south pier, one hand on his weapon, trying not to feel too vulnerable out here on his own. He should've taken a guard, should've asked Jonny to send someone with him, but things had been moving too fast and he hadn't thought of it.

He flips on his radio as he runs, on a secure channel. "Lenoir to O'Neil. I've just realized we made a bit of a...tactical error...I...mind if I check in with you every five minutes? Just so you'll know if something goes wrong?"

The console they've picked is remote, but important enough that a malfunction will bring Dr. MacGregor running. He eyes it for a minute, regretting the necessity of devoting his whole attention to the job at hand - from under it, he won't be able to see anyone coming. He locks the door, but knows that probably won't do much good.

His work is undisturbed, though, and half an hour later, he crawls out from under the console, careful not to touch it. He's kept his radio on with a channel open to Jonny, just in case.

"Lenoir to O'Neil, finished successfully - I'm leaving now."

Aie, transporter maintainance. Again. He'd had to postpone a date with Jonny because, apparently, this one little transporter off at the fringes of the utilized portion of the city couldn't wait even one day to be repaired...

Chuck kicked off his shoes and collapsed back on the bed. He hadn't made plans with Jonny because he'd had a meeting, but then it had been cancelled, his radio had broken and he hadn't gotten it fixed yet (though he should, he knew, and soon), and he didn't know where to look for his boyfriend now...so, staring at the ceiling it was. And considering the possibility of a game of computer solitaire. Maybe running a few simulations on a new Stargate diagnostic technique, he was that bored.

First, the Interview Meme - ask me five questions, repost this in your own journal, and I'll answer as honestly as I can.

Second, ( More random questions )

The Question Meme
(I've cut out the questions that seem to have been formulated by giggly 12-year-old girls)

( Although I honestly am curious about the questions that got cut... )