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beth writing 30 days without

FIC: "Shine" (1/1) PG - Written for LFWS #3 - Round 4

Title: Shine
Author: maddie_amber
Word Count: 717
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and all its characters and settings belong to Metro Goldwyn Meyer. No infringement intended.
Prompt:Write a story in which some activity of the characters' daily routine is the cause of whump. Can feature any characters, OC or canon. H/C round.


“OOOOk-lahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain, And the wavin' wheat can sure smell sweet, when the wind comes right behind the rain… “

“I LOVE the sound of singin’ in ceramic,” he said as the last note reverberated from the walls around him. He swiped the glistening aqua tiles with his rag. Breathing on the cold mirror, he clouded it with his breath then vigorously scrubbed at an invisible smudge. Turning his attention and his cleaning cloths to the sinks, he polished until each surface glittered like a star filled sky on a moonless night. Singing as he went, his repertoire wandered from theater to pop to rock to opera as the mood struck him.

On Atlantis, it was said, everyone eventually found their niche. At first he had doubted he would ever find his. He was after all neither scientifically gifted nor much of an explorer, peaceful or otherwise. He had volunteered for the Pegasus project on a dare, and had been assigned to the mess. It turned out he wasn’t much of a cook either.

But he could make things shine. There were never any willing volunteers for Latrine duty so it fell to him to maintain the few ‘public’ restrooms in and around the inhabited portions of the city, and he took to the job with enthusiasm. He had found his niche. He had found his pride in a job extremely well done. He, Robert Joseph Fitzhugh, had become the king of the porcelain.

Thoughtfully, he studied a small bottle from his arsenal of cleaning supplies. This was something new. Something Baker down in the ExoChem lab had assured him would make his bathrooms shimmer. He squirted a small amount on the floor, and then added a bit more for good measure. Slowly with infinite care, he started at the far side of the room and mopped until he was out of the door. He paused for a moment to survey his kingdom. “Absolute perfection,” he murmured setting the ‘wet floor’ sign outside the door.

Pushing his supply cart down the corridor he hummed contentedly to himself. From the direction of the gateroom he saw several figures approaching. His restroom was often the first stop for returning teams. He recognized them all and nodded as he passed Sheppard, McKay, Lorne and that British fellow Broadhurst. “Good afternoon, gentlemen!”

“Fitzhugh,” Sheppard said with a nod and a smile. “Ready for us?”

“Floors are a bit wet sir, but otherwise ready.”

“Good,” said Broadhurst with a grin. “No time to waste, I’m hitting the can then I’m off to lunch with that new civilian biologist

“Enjoy, gentlemen.” The door opened. In his mind Fitzhugh could see the glistening room he had just left. As he heard Sheppard exclaim “Oh, crap” he thought You’ve come to the right place, sir.


Beckett struggled to keep a straight face as the men around him groaned piteously. He took every injury on Atlantis seriously, but sometimes the circumstances warranted a chuckle. McKay was on one gurney nursing the large bruise coloring the side of his face. Broadhurst had a broken elbow, Sheppard sported a severely twisted ankle and Lorne had a deep contusion of the left glutious group. The call for medical assistance had come not from the gateroom, but from the men’s lavatory in corridor three.

His medics had found McKay unconscious next to a urinal, Broadhurst flat out in a stall and Sheppard and Lorne trying to stand in the middle of the room. But it seemed no matter how hard they tried, they could not get their footing.

After the cursing stopped they had gone in search of Fitzhugh and Beckett’s people had returned with a small bottle.

“It appears,” Beckett told his captive audience, “that Fitzhugh was testing a new floor cleaner Dr. Baker had suggested. Guaranteed to make any floor gleam.”

McKay moaned and sputtered all at the same time and all Beckett understood was ‘Baker’s an idiot.” Taking a deep breath, McKay winced, “Let me see that.”

Beckett handed over the bottle. Squinting through his undamaged eye McKay read the chemical composition then began to fume. “I was right about Baker,” he groaned, “This isn’t cleaner. It’s an ultra low friction lubricant. Fitzhugh didn’t clean the damned floor he greased it.”