Mission: Ladi's Name

[rc45]

Title: Ladi's Name
Author: vexed wench
Rating: Adult
Obligatory Linkage: http://tv.adultfanfiction.net/story.php?no=600093917
Sporking by: agenttrojie and tea_fiend
Sporking rated: PG-13
Sporkers' notes: Short, fluffy and stupid. The fic, that is. We hope the mission isn't stupid. And for those who have been following the recent adventures of Trojie and Pads, you'll be very pleased to hear there's a total lack of graphic rape, smut and gratuitous angst. Thanks again to cassie5squared for the beta.





October 2008 HST



'You and your bloody algorithm,' Agent Trojanhorse muttered as she led the way down the grey corridors of HQ. Her partner, Agent Paddlebrains, immediately assumed a defensive posture, crossing her arms over her protruding stomach and glaring.

'It was legitimately assigned, as well you know.'

'Yes, but who taught the Console we can handle that continuum? You know I know nothing about SGA. Except for rather more than I ever wanted to hear about your fetishes.'

'It'll be fine,' Pads answered airily, setting forth once more and leading Trojie in her wake. 'It's got bugger all relation to the canon, you'll be fine. And there's plenty of really stupidly bad biology, so you'll be better than fine. You'll be in raptures. Dammit, where the hell has that RC got to?'

The piece of string they were following, one end of it being attached to their RC's door-handle and the other to that of their trainee agent, had so far led them through one Cafeteria, two auditoriums, three cupboards that appeared to have ideas above their station and aspirations to Narnia, and innumerable corridors.

Given that when the piece of string had been attached to the door handles of their RC and their trainee's RC, said RCs had been on opposite sides of the same corridor, this was somewhat vexing.

'I don't think those two agents snogging in the Really Very Tiny Auditorium will ever forgive us,' said Trojie, wincing at the memory. Agent couples tended not to appreciate the Department of Bad Slash bursting in on their trysts.

'No, they took it entirely the wrong way. But to be fair, you didn't have to pull out your bell, you know,' said Pads, rolling her eyes.

'I'm sorry! It's habit!'

'When you see someone snogging you ring a bell at them? That is the weirdest Pavlovian response I have ever heard of.'

Trojie shrugged. 'Come on, he can't be far off.'

In fact, he was just round the corner, although the corner in question did appear to pass through three different time zones, and Pads did have to drag Trojie, fast asleep, for some of it. There were muffled noises from inside an RC with string attached to the door handle as Trojie and Pads approached.

***

From deep within RC#794, squeaky snores permeated the stillness of HQ. Agent Oscar Henson slumped over the mercifully silent Console, a small puddle of drool collecting under his open mouth. It may be that he was attempting to break the Console using the mighty powers of dribble, but as he had recently returned from his first ever mission, it was more likely that he was simply recuperating by taking refuge in dreams. Occasionally, he twitched, and let out small whimpers.

It is possible that it was psychologically bad for him to be awoken by a roared 'ALRIGHT MY SON! HANDS OFF COCKS AND ON WITH SOCKS!' in the manner of John Cleese as a drill sergeant, but FicPsych were sadly not there to prevent Agent Paddlebrains from doing it anyway. He accelerated vertically for several feet before even waking up. When he opened his eyes it was to see Trojie (glaring at Pads) and Pads (looking smugly amused) lounging in front of his Console.

'I wasn't-' Oscar began, rubbing his eyes blearily, but Trojie interrupted.

'No time for excuses. We have a Duty to do.' And she waved a single printed sheet of paper at him.

'A mission?' Oscar asked, waking up a little more, and registering Pads's grin with a momentary stab of alarm. 'What continuum?'

'SGA,' Trojie said with a disdainful sniff. 'Pads fancies one of the canons.'

Oscar's expression was one of concern. 'Isn't that going to make this difficult?'

'Not if she knows what's good for her,' said Trojie, menacing her partner with a leather leash. 'Come on, kiddo, open us a portal,' she added, as Pads pretended to cower melodramatically.

Oscar dutifully did so, fumbling slightly with the still-unfamiliar controls of the Console. He was about to ask if he needed to bring anything, but noticed that Trojie had her Bag and thought better of it, thinking that he might as well take advantage of not having to weigh himself down. He was beginning to suspect that occasionally legging it at high speed would be a feature of working with these two slightly unconventional agents.

The portal disgorged them in an undefined room, described as Ronon's 'family's quarters'. Apparently they were also the mess, or the mess was in the room; probably the author meant that the quarters were messy, but this being a military installation of sorts, the mess was where the canon characters usually ate their food. The three agents thus found themselves being thrown back and forwards between the actual mess and the messy family quarters until the canon decided that the balance of probability was in favour of the actual mess, given there'd just been a party there, apparently.

Ronon was reflecting on the party, in a variety of tenses. Not ten seconds into the fic and all three agents were scowling. Oscar was busily writing charges, and Pads was alternating between drooling over one the canons and glaring at the entire continuum. Trojie, meanwhile, was already confused, predictably enough.

'Who's Radek?' she asked. 'Was he in the last one?'

'Don't think so,' Pads answered, wincing in pain at the horrible grammar with which Ronon was mentally rambling about his firstborn's 'naming day'. 'He's a scientist, Doctor Zelenka. Often inexplicably paired with Ronon, despite them canonically spending bugger all time on screen together. And before you ask, no, his sperm do not have magical powers.'

'Of course not,' Trojie said. 'Glod forbid there should be any such well-thought-out reason for a pregnant man.'

'Um,' Oscar interrupted. 'A little help, please?'

'What seems to be the problem, Kermit?' Pads asked, leaning down to look over his shoulder at the beginnings of the chargelist.

'It's this bit,' Oscar said, pointing at the relevant Words on the printout.

As far as Ronon could tell, they had no knowledge of the beo ortus. Satedan’s had thought they were the only race to have the Blessing.

'I can see the horrible grammar charge,' the trainee agent continued, 'but I don't really know this continuum. What's a Satedan and how are they blessed?'

'For the purposes of this fic, or rather, the exorcising of this fic, a Satedan is a perfectly normal human,' Pads answered, having decided, after a quick glance at the pained expression on Trojie's face, to skip the lengthy and incomprehensible explanations of Stargate canon for the time being. 'At a guess I'd say the blessing is the inexplicable ass-womb.'

Trojie twitched. 'We went over this last time, didn't we? When that idiot Suethor tried to call Ronon an alien?'

'Yep. He's as human as any of us.' Pads eyed her partners. 'Well, as you and me, anyway.'

'So if only Ronon's people have this blessing and the blessing is apparently the ability to have babies, does that mean there are no human females anywhere else in the galaxy?'

'There's one,' Oscar noted, pointing at Teyla, who was loitering on the other side of the mess with an array of canons and bit characters and waiting for Ronon to finish his biologically implausible musings so she could get on with naming his uncanonical child. Pads, however, wasn't looking; she was reading the Words and giggling.

On Sateda, the secrecy was their most scared laws.

'Scared sounds about right,' Trojie observed. 'I certainly would be, if I knew I could shit out babies.'

Pads's giggles soon turned to the more common splutters of rage, as Ronon's thoughts turned to the whys and wherefores of his being chosen by the Wraith as a Runner.

They had information on whose family had the blessing; that is why he was not culled. They informed him that when he was captured that he would be bred with the other skilled runners, for the next generation of guards. They told him that all his future children would have the honor of guarding the Queen.

'Charge for equating Wraith with dairy farmers,' Pads said, with a hint of a growl. 'Alright, the humans in this galaxy are effectively cattle, but the Wraith don't keep stock books. They don't care who they eat. And I seem to recall they did try to feed on him, and while it's never yet been explained why they couldn't, I highly doubt it was because they could taste the mystical ass-womb gene in his life force!'

'Pads,' Trojie warned, placing a restraining hand on the Animagus's arm. She was totally ignored as Pads continued ranting.

'And as for breeding him with other Runners to make guards for the Wraith Queen...' She flailed ineffectually for a moment, unable to choose which horrible breach of canon merited the honour of being derided first. 'The Wraith see humans as cattle! Would you set a cow to guard the Prime Minister?'

'Probably not,' Trojie admitted, still subtly holding onto her partner. 'Not even if it was a rabid and demented bull. With an ass-womb.'

'Exactly!' Pads cried, and then seemed to deflate a bit. She finally noticed Oscar, who had been staring at her in a sort of mesmerised awe for several minutes now. She decided to give the poor newbie a break. 'Charge for blatantly not having seen the episode "Sateda" despite this fic being set after it. The Hive that captured Ronon and made him a Runner had a King, not a Queen.'

Oscar gaped soundlessly for a moment, then, pulling himself together, jotted down the charge. Trojie reminded him about another very important addition to the chargelist:

'That little episode just now? It's called Pissing Off the Agents, and it's the most heinous charge there is, although not, unfortunately, a kill-worthy offence in and of itself.'

'Noted,' Oscar said, a little weakly.

'Please also note the assumption that sexytimes will rejuvenate and refresh a tired person,' Trojie added, as Zelenka 'skimmed his fingers down the side of Ronon’s neck, and gently guided him to the couch'.

'And the intentionally spastic speech patterns for Zelenka,' snarled Pads. 'He's Czech, not a complete idiot. He speaks English fine, albeit without articles.'

'S'fair to call the kid a miracle, though,' said Trojie. 'I never fail to be utterly and completely gobsmacked at the existence of assbabies. No offence,' she added, looking at Oscar.

'None taken,' said Oscar, rolling his eyes. 'We're not going to have to debug this one, are we? Given it's already miraculously been born. So what do we do? Snatch it and then exorcise and neuralyse and so on?'

'Yep,' said Trojie.

Zelenka chose this point to have an extended moment of overdramatic wangst at the thought that his workmates might think that his Dearly Beloved had not only had it away with a lady of negotiable affection but had also knocked said lady up, and that he might forever more have to tell naughty fibs about how the beloved and legitimate son of his seed wasn't in fact his. The agents watched, a trifle bored.

'Charge for accidental telepathy?' Pads suggested, sticking her finger in her ear. 'Honestly, speech marks exist for a reason.'

Fortunately, the end of the wangst was Teyla's cue, and she and the bit characters stepped forward for the naming ceremony.

'Funny place to have such an important ceremony,' Oscar observed. 'You'd think they'd make a bit more of a, well, ceremony about it.'

'Thus are the perils of utter lack of description,' Trojie told him, as Teyla produced an infant out of thin air and held it up at arm's length. 'She's not planning to dash it to pieces in some sort of Biblical moment, is she?'

Oscar blanched, and Pads clutched at her belly. 'Don't say things like that,' she said. 'No, she's not. She's going to do a really stupid Lancrastian-style naming ceremony, only with none of the logic that the Lancrastians used. And I think she's trying to signify that this is a Very Important Moment, although, on balance, we should probably be glad there wasn't any description of location. Special events in Atlantis tend to occur on very high balconies, and she really doesn't have the face for impersonating Michael Jackson.'

'And also, shouldn't she be supporting that baby's head better?' asked Oscar, wincing some more. 'Surely that'll do him an injury?'

'It's the magic of Mpreg missions,' said Trojie, oblivious to her unintentional alliteration. 'The canon seems to protect babies in these missions; the illogic would have killed them long before now. The canon seems to insulate them with plotholes, or something. I mean, honestly, if you could really get pregnant from taking it up the arse, the pregnant man would then not be able to take a shit for nine months. Plotholes are the only explanation, and they seem to be protecting the poor kid from all the ignorance of the Author. That's probably why we haven't come to grief yet with you, third-trimester-lady,' she added, turning to Pads. 'Strenuous activity in the third trimester is generally a very bad idea, but the canon appears to be protecting young Spencer from a premature arrival. For which I am eternally grateful.'

'You're not the only one,' Pads said. 'Is this going to affect my maternity leave?'

'Very probably, although the effect on my sanity will doubtless be worse.'

Pads stuck her tongue out, then turned back to Teyla, who was busy mangling etymology.

“Ladislav the name chosen by your parents. In the language of the life giver it means glorious rule.
You have the right to both Dex and Zelenka for both claim you before all who stand here in body and in spirit.

'Somehow I doubt it does,' Pads said. 'Also, the life giver? Humans in Pegasus worship the Ancients, not gods. Note Ancients, plural, so that's another bad grammar charge too.'

'This claiming business looks a bit charge-y too,' Oscar said. 'Unless babies are possessions in this continuum.'

'Write it down,' Trojie told him, as Pads continued muttering.

She then looked at men and asked if his inner spirit name had been reviled .

'Um?' said Oscar, hoping that this was some canonical thing that could be explained. Sadly, the expression on Pads's face hinted that it wasn't.

'It reviles me,' said the Animagus. 'Is that enough?'

'I think she means 'revealed',' said Trojie carefully. 'Although of course I could be wrong. Whatever. Charge for this, kiddo, because it makes pretty much no sense.'

Oscar complied as Teyla 'explained that all Satedan’s have an inner spirit that can only be know to those that are present at their naming ceremony. That it will forever bind the child to the namesake and nothing shall ever come between them'.

The agents stared in bemused silence.

That only the strongest people get to be an inner spirit guide. The life carrier always picks the spirit name.

'Handy explanation time, I think, Pads.'

'Right,' said she, frowning at the Words and attempting to make sense of them. 'Humans on Sateda, unlike all other humans, have souls, which is... disturbingly reminiscent of the Portnoy complaints, actually. Coupled with the earlier Biblical imagery, it would appear that at naming ceremonies, everyone present shags the Satedan's soul, which sounds distinctly unhygienic. The soul-semen acts as a sort of glue, sticking the child to its owner-parent for the rest of time.'

There was a pause, and then Trojie burst out laughing. While she had her giggling fit, Ronon explained the qualities that the as-yet unrevealed, or unreviled, spirit name would give to young Ladislav, or 'Ladi'.

'Is it just me, or have they effectively named the child after a collie from the Discworld?' asked Oscar. 'Misspelt, though.'

'You're right, young Kermit,' said Pads, thwacking the now-choking Trojie on the back.

“He will be graced with a sharp mind and quick wit. He will have inner strength and bravery when needed most. He will always look for the best answer and not the quickest. He will not back down easily from what he knows to be right,” declaimed Ronon.

'This is remarkably erudite for Ronon,' Pads commented. 'He's really more the monosyllabic type. Although I suppose the whole getting into a relationship and shitting out a baby thing might have brought the vocabulary he lost while Running back to him.'

'Charge or not?' Oscar asked, pen hovering over the chargelist.

'Not,' Pads answered, and then clutched at Trojie as the world gave a sudden and unexpected lurch. The bit characters assembled for the ceremony fell over, though the canons appeared not to notice the floor shaking under their feet. Teyla continued.

“What is the name you give him in front of your brethren and the fallen?” She handed Ladi over to his parents so she could wrap him in a cloth with the families crest on it.

'Charge for poor spelling and grammar leading to the creation of uncanonical seismic activity,' Trojie said, gently removing Pads's hand from her arm.

“Meredith” Ronon said loudly and clearly.

'Well.' Pads chewed her lip thoughtfully, while Oscar frowned.

'Isn't that a girl's name?'

'Yep. Although I must say, it makes a nice change to see some gratuitous Rodney-love.'

'Who?' Oscar asked, but before he could be answered, the world gave another shift, and they found themselves transported, along with the canons and the infant, to Ronon and Zelenka's quarters.

'Why is the Doctor here?' Trojie immediately wanted to know.

'The Doctor? Where?!' Pads asked, gaze darting frantically about the room. 'This wasn't labelled a crossover!'

There was a pause.

'Well, this is new,' Trojie announced after a moment. 'I thought you preferred them hairier than that.'

Pads frowned. 'What? But...' She followed Trojie's gaze. 'Oh. That Doctor. That's Mr Woolsey, he's the head of the Expedition.'

'I thought that Carter woman was the head?'

'That was last series,' Pads said with a sigh. 'I'm going to have to force you to watch this show one of these days, aren't I?'

'You don't have to do anything of the sort,' said Trojie grumpily, as Ronon talked about the 'Milk Way' and how in the Pegasus Galaxy 'Meredith' was a name meaning smart warrior.

'Actually, it means 'guardian of the sea' or 'sea lord',' said Oscar off-handedly. When the other two looked at him, he shrugged. 'What? I read a few baby-naming books when I found out we had to rehome babies, alright?'

'Guardian of the sea,' mused Pads. 'Actually, that's quite appropriate for the actual owner of the name...'

'What?' asked Trojie. 'What are you talking about?'

'It's McKay's name,' Pads said, indicating the canon in question. 'Atlantis, the great city that sank below the ocean? He's one of the most important people living in it?'

All three agents turned to look at the character. This meant that they were perfectly positioned to witness Ronon dropping his infant son on McKay.

'...This is not standard parenting practice,' Trojie said. 'And yet the infant is fine. See what I mean about mpreg canon cushioning babies?'

'All the same, my vote's for not letting people drop babies,' Pads said, looking worried and stroking her belly.

'We could exorcise?' Oscar suggested. 'I think the fic's about finished.'

'Fair dos,' said Trojie, pulling her bell out of the Bag and grinning. 'Shall I?'

'Of course,' said Pads, bowing as far as she could given the baby bump. 'Sunglasses on, young Kermit,' she added, handing a pair to the trainee and donning her own. 'You never know when neuralysation may have to be done in a hurry,' she said, remembering her last mission.

Trojie advanced on the characters, bell clanging and DVD box set of the fifth season of Stargate Atlantis clutched tightly to her chest. 'Avaunt!' she bellowed, and the baby started to cry. 'I banish thee, O spirit of male pregnancy, and do abjure thee never to enter this continuum again! I banish bad characterisation, I banish bad grammar. I cast out poor etymology! In the name of - hell, Pads, who created this continuum? - I compel thee! Avaunt!'

'Cooper and Wright,' Pads supplied.

Oscar was in place to snatch the baby when McKay convulsed as the Author-wraith left him, and Pads was ready with the neuralyser. Trojie gave the bell another ear-splitting clang, and the wraith coalesced out of the other canons. Before it could lodge any complaints at this ill-treatment, Trojie bellowed a final 'AVAUNT!' and the wraith dissolved away into nothingness.

There was a stunned silence for a moment, before the canons began advancing on the agents.

'Any time now would be great, Pads,' Trojie gulped as the imposing figure of Ronon bore down on her.

FLASH

Ronon and Zelenka immediately clutched their heads, cursing - after all, shitting out an assbaby is a rather large thing to have to forget. The other canons merely looked confused.

'Gentlemen, Teyla,' Pads began with a bright grin. 'There's absolutely no reason for you to be here, and I'm sure you all have work to do. Wraith to fight, galaxy to save, that sort of thing.' That was enough for most of the canons to disperse, and the agent advanced on Ronon and Zelenka. 'You,' she said, pointing at the latter, 'are not gay, and you don't angst. And you,' she continued, a note of anger rising in her voice as she turned to Ronon, 'do not have a womb, alright?'

'Right,' he agreed, sounding utterly bemused.

Pads nodded emphatically and then swept out of the room, Trojie and Oscar following in her wake. Once out in the corridor, she took the Portal Generator from Trojie and opened a portal.

'I notice that you didn't tell Ronon that he's not gay,' said Trojie slyly as they hopped back into their RC. She put the Bag in its corner, and flopped onto her bed, whereupon she was sat on by Absinthe and Apple, both happy to see their mistress again. The Nameless Cat watched this unseemly display with disdain from atop the Console.

'It must have slipped my mind,' said Pads airily. She eyed the overpopulated bunk. 'Room for one more on there?' Without waiting for an answer, she went dog, and leapt up beside Trojie.

'You smell,' the human agent complained, though without malice, and the shove she gave the large black dog was not only decidedly half-hearted but also rapidly descended into skritching behind the ears.

'Um,' Oscar said after a moment. 'I hate to spoil the moment, but what do I do with this?' Trojie looked over, to see him cradling the baby as though afraid he might drop it.

'Take it to the Nursery,' she said. 'And name it first!'

'Name it? Why?'

'Would you like to go through life named Ladislav Meredith Zelenka-Dex?' asked Trojie. 'Well, keep the Zelenka-Dex, but he needs a new first name.'

'But what?'

'Whatever you like. Mpreg agent's perks. I hope you're not going to object to becoming Uncle Oscar to an increasingly large proportion of HQ's kids as time goes on, though.'

'No,' said Oscar distractedly, staring at the baby and trying to decide on a name. He ran through all of his childhood heroes, trying to come up with a name that didn't sound too horrible combined with the epithet 'Zelenka-Dex' (though he privately determined to alter the spelling to Zelenkadex, as it sounded much more heroic and less cumbersomely double-barrelled), and wouldn't horribly embarrass the child.

'Oh, I don't know,' he moaned after ten minutes. 'Can I give him to the Nursery now and keep thinking about it?'

'I suppose,' said Trojie, who was almost asleep under her warm, furry, feathery blanket of pets and partner. 'Shut the door on your way out?'

'I've got it!' the newbie suddenly shouted, waking both Bad Slashers, the dog and the baby. The mini continued to sleep, however. Oscar explained his idea over the sound of the baby crying. 'I've got it. The perfect, heroic name the kid can be proud of!'

'Well?' asked Trojie.

'Wolverine! Wolverine Zelenkadex!'

'Um, you do know we're supposed to give them names that are less stupid than their badfic name, don't you?'

Oscar deflated slightly, but perked up again almost immediately. 'How about Logan, then?' he asked.

'Logan works, I suppose,' said Trojie, settling back down to sleep. 'Now hop it, before the Console goes off again.'

Oscar dutifully did so. He wandered off down the corridors, in a direction he was fairly certain didn't lead to the Nursery, in the hopes of getting there before he had to find out whether or not the baby had a nappy on. He tickled the child beneath its chin. 'Hello, little Wolfy,' he crooned as he walked.

The baby gurgled happily, and Oscar smiled. The job, he reflected, was turning out to be alright, and not nearly as traumatising as Marsha had led him to believe. In fact, he thought he was already beginning to enjoy it.

Unfortunately, his training hadn't covered the capricious ways of the Ironic Overpower, and so, a moment later, when Oscar turned a corner and walked straight into Agent Luxury, he was utterly unprepared for it.