Title: The Morning After
Author: Shenandoah Risu
: G
Content Flags: none
Spoilers: none
Characters: Young, Rush, TJ
Author's Notes: Written for prompt #18 "Pirates" at Comm sgu_challenge. When I think of pirates I think of poor dental hygiene, scurvy and - most of all - alcohol. Thus, far be it from me to romanticize what's happening off the coast of Somalia these days... which probably involves poor dental hygiene, too.
Disclaimer: I don't own SGU. I wouldn't know what to do with it. Now, Young... Young I'd know what to do with. ;-)
Thanks for reading! Feedback = Love. ;-)

The Morning After

What shall we do with the drunken sailor

What shall we do with the drunken sailor

What shall we do with the drunken sailor

Early in the morning

Everett Young finishes shaving, and like every morning he has a brief moment of dread thinking about having to use a sharp knife for shaving soon, when the blades in the electric razor are gone for good.

He's done it before, in the field – he can do it again. Still, he hates making like Sweeney Todd on his own face, but when trapped on an ancient spaceship going nowhere one does what one must do.

He straightens his threadbare uniform jacket and heads out towards the control room for a quick check-in, before going to the mess hall.

As usual, Rush is hunched over one of the consoles, muttering to himself and scanning the holographic display next to him.

"Quiet this morning."

"Huh? What?"

"I said it's quiet this morning. Where is everybody?"

Rush rubs his eyes. "No idea. I'm finally getting some work done."

"Did you even go to bed last night?"


Young sighs. Trying to get Rush to take a break is a futile undertaking, so he leaves quietly and turns down the hallway towards the mess, intent on bringing some food back with him.

A shocking view greets him upon entering the room: bodies everywhere – slumped over tables, draped along benches, crumpled on the floor. It's a devastating image, and his stomach turns. He reaches for his radio.

"Anybody on this channel, please come to the mess hall immediately."

He tries to maintain his calm but the panic rises in his throat like bile. The radio crackles to life.

"Colonel? This is TJ. What's happening?"

Young gasps with relief.

"TJ, we've had a major disaster in the mess hall. I… I don't know what's going on."

"I'll be right there."

Young reaches out and places his fingers against Matthew Scott's neck, and thank goodness, there is a pulse, weak, but still there. He pulls him up off the table.

"Matthew? What's wrong?"

Scott twitches in pain, opens his bloodshot eyes for a moment and collapses again with a strangled groan.

He puts him back down, tries the next one – Dr. Lisa Park. Same thing – a twitch, an eye roll, and a whimper.

TJ arrives with her kit, out of breath from running all the way.

"Good grief," she gasps.

"Wussies," comes Rush's voice from the entrance.

They both turn towards him.

Rush scratches his scraggly beard.

"Brody made purple sweet potato hooch. Apparently these children can't hold their liquor."

"And you didn't have any, and neither did TJ or I," Young deduces.

"Oh no, no, I had plenty. Ugh. Wretched stuff, truly. "

TJ pushes him down on one of the benches and does a quick examination, testing for light sensitivity (check), inability to follow her finger with his eyes (check) and reddened skin patches (check).

"Everyone here is drunk?"

"Yep. And believe me, the hangover's a real doozy."

"How come you're up and about?"

Rush grins and points at his chest.

"Scotch." And he falls apart laughing at his own joke.

To his credit, he helps Young and TJ drag everyone to the bathrooms where the inevitable fallout will be easier to clean up.

It takes days for things to go back to what counts as normal on the Destiny, but nobody complains. TJ ends up with all the leftover rotgut, which she uses as a disinfectant in the infirmary.

It also turns out to work very well as a topical analgesic for minor injuries, and TJ suspects that many a paper cut is in fact just an excuse to get some of the good stuff into various people's bloodstream.

Needless to say, Brody's status among the crew is now approaching near-godhood.