Fic: This Wasn't In the User Manual (SGA/SPN)

I think I've developed an intolerance to gummi snacks. GUMMI TUMMY, YEAH. Really, I wasn't even halfway into a little bag of Pooh Pirate Adventure Gummi's and I had the overwhelming urge to be sick. This is the second time this has happened, so, no more gummi's for me.

Anyways, I'm being horrendously lazy today, and I need to stop. So, I decided I would post the first half of my untitled fic and maybe it will spawn me into writing more. JUST PROD ME, PLEASE.

This Wasn't in the User Manual
SGA/SPN 1,049 pt1:

On Thursday morning, the lights in John Sheppard’s house began to blink.

“Huh,” Rodney said, seated at the kitchen table and halfway into a donut. John made a note to check the fuse box and went back to his coffee.

----

On Friday morning, three of the bulbs in John’s foyer popped with a hiss.

“Jesus Christ!” Rodney yelled, cradling his hand where one of the glass shards had taken up residence.

“C’mere,” John said, tugging on the hem of Rodney’s shirt and trying to remember if he’d put in the right wattage.

----

On Saturday morning, the lamp in John’s bedroom burst into flames.

He spent the afternoon picking electricians out of the phonebook while Rodney gave the household appliances wary looks.

----

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like this before.”

The guy’s name was Steve and he was currently putting pieces of John’s imploded lamp into a plastic bag like it was a crime scene and John had just mutilated the neighbor’s cat.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen something like this before?” Rodney was teetering in the doorway, head tilted to see over both John and Steve’s shoulders. He was clenching his bandaged hand.

“I’ve seen appliances catch fire before, but this--” he held up a piece of charred porcelain, “it just combusted. No faulty wiring, no overheating--and you said it was off, right?”

“I was sleeping.” John said, rubbing at his temples.

Steve whistled, “You’re lucky it was a contained blast.”

Contained blast, John thought. My lamp exploded.

“I’ll need to check the fuse box and some of the other electrical appliances in the house, just to be sure.”

“Of course,” John said, stepping back as Steve stood up, holding his plastic baggy labeled DANGEROUS. John entertained the thought of toxic house ware for a brief moment before following Steve into the hallway.

“If anything else explodes, I’m going back to Nevada.” Rodney hissed, pressing in close on John’s right as Steve filtered into a room down the hall.

“Nothing else is going to explode, Rodney.” They might have to live without power for a few days, but John was pretty sure Rodney would survive--once John pried him from his laptops and hid all his black clothing. “Besides, you could do with some time outdoors.”

Rodney sputtered, “Outdoors?” he waved his hands, “--I spend half my time outdoors--exploring alien planets!”

“Shhh,” John glared, green eyes focused on the door where Steve had disappeared.

“--I was expecting some time off where I wouldn’t be dodging shrapnel, but apparently God hates you and has condemned me for keeping your company.”

What? John’s brow creased. There was no reason to bring God into this. He wasn’t very religious, but John was pretty sure that he and the man upstairs were on good terms.

“Uh--” Steve was poking his head outside the room, “Have you guys been getting a lot of rain up here?”

“What?” Rodney asked, completely stalled in his tirade about John’s religious intolerance.

“It’s been dry for weeks.” John supplied, narrowing his eyes at Rodney.

“Oh, well I think your walls are leaking.”

Cursing, John shifted past the electrician and into the spare room, Rodney right on his heels. The far wall on the left was secreting a black liquid.

“I told you!” Rodney exclaimed, “You are on God’s shit list.”

----

The electrician hadn’t found any other problems during his sweep, but Rodney had taken to wearing oven mitts for protection just in case.

A plumber was next on the list of people John needed to call; it was penciled in right under electrician and right before therapist (that one was in caps and underlined twice). He was in the process of doing just this when the doorbell rang, an incessant buzz that short-circuited into a drone after thirty seconds. John wrote electrician back in under therapist.

“Rodney! Get the door.” McKay had taken sanctuary in the den since God had deemed John’s house a blight on mankind, coveting his excess of computer batteries and removing every other electronic device from the area before blocking the outlets with pillows.

“I’m busy!” he yelled back, forcing John to pick up the first item he saw and throw it at the doorway leading to the den. “Augh!” There was a loud shuffling and John smirked as Rodney toddled out, mittens and all. “A spoon?” Rodney asked, picking up said article and waving it viciously, “you threw a spoon at me? We can’t use the dishwasher!”

“Get the door, McKay.”

Rodney gaped at him angrily before storming off to the front of the house. John heard the door click open--then shut.

“Well?” he asked as Rodney came back.

“Jehovah’s witnesses.”

“Oh,” John said and shrugged, phone pressed between his neck and shoulder.

The doorbell went off again, and the sound faltered, letting off a high whine before dying completely. Rodney paused to give John a disapproving look before heading back to the front door. Right, John thought, God hates me.

He sighed, ignoring the automated voice on the other end of the line, and hung up.

Rodney was mid-rant when John reached him. “Look, I know this is part of your ‘road to enlightenment,’ but I’m not really interested in paying you people to keep bothering me--”

The two men on the other side of the door weren’t what John was expecting. They were young, pressed into flannel shirts and leather, the shorter of the two in dirty boots with untied laces.

“--I mean, the evangelistic preachers are annoying, but at least with them I have the option to change the channel--”

“Rodney,” John said, garnering the attention of the men on his porch,

“They don’t--”

“Rodney.”

“--What?”

“I don’t think they’re Jehovah witnesses.” Rodney blinked, looking at John and then back to the men outside.

“Oh,” he said, “You’re not?”

The taller one looked momentarily stunned before smiling brightly, “No,” he said, “we’re not.” The shorter of the two coughed and adjusted his jacket.

“Actually,” he said, “we were sent by the Fielding water company.” He held up a badge and nodded politely. “There have been some reports about unusual water flow in this area.”

“Oh,” Rodney said--and then, “our walls are leaking.”

--part 2