Paul Stamets + Mordecai Roberts
PG | Some language and references to slavery | Challenge
Words: super - apathetic - fly - level - cover
A piece of Mordecai was missing, and he wanted to see Katie. That wasn't precisely unusual. He'd spent more of his nearly-thirty years incomplete than he had whole. He was used to being broken and used to drowning the gaping void with alcohol, music, and companionship - the more energetic and distracting the better. He was not used to aching for a particular person to fill that space - not for any person other than Rosalie, at least, and that had been years of longing. He hadn't stopped - doubted that he could stop - loving Rosalie. In the same way that Christopher had been able to claim Mordecai for his man despite the Dright possessing his soul, Rosalie had owned his heart, even if (he still flinched at their last argument) she had not accepted it in the end. The loyalty hadn't been Mordecai's to transfer because he'd been unable to help giving it in the first place.
He had friends in Atlantis. Dear friends whom he hated to think of losing - one of whom he had lost. He had a son whose untimely departure hurt even more than that of his briefly known daughters both because of the additional time he'd had to get to know Temple and because he knew what his son had returned to (Atlantis was far too technological to resemble the endless level forests of Eleven even in that poisoned future, but the description of a colorless landscape and the expectation of absolute order and compliance had left Mordecai with an impression not far removed from his birth world. Temple had grown up in Mordecai's own nightmare). The traumatic weekend had made him once again grateful for Alicia, for Julia, for Wanda, for Clarke who felt the same pain he did. Speaking to them was a comfort to which he grasped tightly.
But to none of them did he want to hold on and lose himself in the way he did Katie - not only for comfort or distraction or for fear of losing her as well, but because - well simply because. It was the same impulse that had always led him back to Rosalie despite the damage they did to one another, and that was precisely why he wouldn't follow it. After Saturday's match, he had thought fleetingly of inviting Katie to come soothe his bruised ego as she had once promised to - a teasing flirtation between friends - but then the alert had appeared on his phone, followed by news of the attack on Intake. All passionate thoughts had left his mind, but she hadn't, and that was very, very dangerous.
There was a reason Mordecai didn't usually get involved with friends. There was a reason he didn't get involved. He might no longer be bound to Eleven, but that had been only one of the obstacles that had made him ineligible for - anything. His disastrous attempt to court Rosalie was evidence of that. True, he'd apparently formed a family in Temple's timeline, but those had hardly been ideal circumstances.
That was, although he'd been mostly truthful with Alicia, another reason Mordecai had not immediately started drinking to his absent loved ones. If he opened a bottle, he was that much more likely to slip and ask Katie to come share it with him, and he would have to think long and hard before he did that again.
So, even though the vampires had been caught and the all clear given, Mordecai was not taking advantage of wine-tasting night at Cava, but poring over reports in his office in the magic department.
Paul had been in disbelief the first time he’d heard that there was a Magic Specialist section to Atlantis’ command. The very fact that they saw magic as a real thing had baffled him for a long time - until he heard that Harry Potter characters from (questionably) classical children’s books existed in the world of Atlantis and in fact, everybody from one story or another actually happened to exist. He had regretted looking himself up - the first few results were about a famous mycologist who wasn’t him and the next few were related to himself as a character on a show called Star Trek. The very name had made him roll his eyes at the cheese factor and he’d instantly clicked off, deciding that he’d very much rather not know about what people thought of him and frankly, the one title that had included ‘Hugh Culber’ had caused a visceral burst of anger and hurt to flare up in his chest at the gall that they could even begin to believe they could cover the vast expanse of their relationship in a few half-assed paragraphs.
Curiosity induced research aside, Paul wanted to know what in the hell was going on with magic. A long, long time ago, people would have probably considered a lot of the things they did to be magic - everything from electricity to flying amongst the stars in giant starships like the Discovery. He called it professional curiosity, but part of it was irritation that they were so near-sighted to just simply call it magic without seemingly looking into the actual reasons for the magic existing in the first place. He was sure some of they may consider what he could do was a form of magic in itself, but that wasn’t really relevant - what was relevant was that Paul was stood outside the office to the Magic Department with a sullen look on his face, knocking once before letting himself into the occupied office.
“The concept of magic being an unexplained phenomenon is one that I refuse to accept,” he spoke to the man behind the desk. “Maybe I just don’t have the clearance - which is offensive, by the way - but I couldn’t find anything in the databases of people discussing the obvious connections that must exist between ‘magic’,” he punctuated the word with finger quotes, “and science. Please tell me those are just locked behind walls or somehow lost to the ages rather than simply something people have decided to shrug over.”
Mordecai was just opening his mouth to respond to the knock when the man barged into his office. He raised his eyebrows at the intrusion, and then raised them further during the speech. When he processed the substance of the verbal assault, he leaned back in his chair. Very early in his first tenure in Atlantis, Mordecai had had a similar argument with the Doctor - the older, gray-haired one, rather than the young man with the fascination with bowties. “Not the traditional ‘good evening,’ but I suppose it's direct,” he said. “Mordecai Roberts, head of the magic department - admittedly recently. Perhaps I ought to redefine my office hours.” In all honesty, if he'd been determined not to be disturbed, Mordecai could have warded his door, but he wasn't opposed to distraction, especially when he was working late primarily as a means of filling the hours.
“How can I help you? If it's integration you're interested in, you may want the Technomages under Miss Charlotte Montgomery.” He did not particularly want to inflict this blustering on Charlie and Hope (although it might be amusing to be a fly on the wall for the conversation), but he had found that a mild response to anger generally yielded more entertainment than responding in kind.
“No, not integration,” Paul huffed. “Paul Stamets. Lieutenant here, but back home I was Lieutenant Commander of Engineering. My point here isn’t that we should be integrating, but that we should be looking into the connection between science and magic. A lot of people would rightfully consider that magic is just science in a form we don’t understand yet,” he was gesticulating as he spoke, pausing as he turned to stare at Mordecai, as he’d introduced himself.
“I understand that you’re all- very apathetic about people’s experiences from ‘home’, but I find it hard to believe that nobody has even attempted to define what you call magic. You have all of this technology and yet you just-” he seemed frustrated. “This must be measurable.”
“It's difficult to believe because it isn't true,” said Mordecai mildly. He crossed his ankles. “Perhaps, you ought to begin with a question rather than assumptions? You have heard of the danger of that practice?” He smiled. “Now, if by ‘define,’ you mean call it something other than magic, you can always do that, of course, but that won't change what it is or the associated rules. We have an entire sub department devoted to that research.”
There was some irony, Mordecai still felt, in his heading up the department. There were much more capable people back home. Christopher, Rosalie, even Flavian would have been well-suited had they stayed, but then all of them were vitally needed back in Twelve-A. Mordecai wasn't necessarily a hindrance there - not anymore - but nor was he needed. But while he might not have Christopher's talent, Rosalie's organizational ability, or Flavian's sheer breadth of knowledge, he did know his work.