Aberrant: Stargate Universe - Why Oh Why Didn't I Cut The /Blue/ Wire? [Fin]

[Forge]

It had, all things considered, been one of those weeks. You know the kind. Your dog forgets that he's a well-trained three year old and chews the laces off the dress-shoes that you need for that hideously dull official dinner. You lose the keys to your truck - four times. You work such late hours that even the bars are closed before you get home and collapse dressed into your bed. It was exactly one of those weeks that Lieutenant Vincent Wright had been having. And now, finding himself with his back to the wall on some alien planet and the rest of his team God only knew where, he had this sinking feeling that it wasn't about to get better any time soon.

The sound of gun fire rattled closer. He shrank himself down even more compactly behind the rise upon which the Stargate had been built, and tried to get a look at what was going on out there. He figured the sound of guns had to be a good thing. It meant that his people were still alive and kicking. That, or the bad guys had really flipped and had started shooting at each other. Hell, he'd seen it happen.

He ran a hand across his forehead. Either way, he was stuck in this shithole. It was a really fucked-up world. This wasn't the sort of thing he was supposed to be doing, well it was, but not the right setting.

He forced himself to look at the bomb. It sat and stared right back at him with that insufferable insolence one frequently finds among inanimate objects liable to blow up with a loud boom and turn you into a rain of silly putty.

Yup, one of those goddamn weeks alright. He put his gun, still cocked, at his feet and crawled a little closer to it. No way was this a good time. He would rather be a cigar-smoking, gun-toting, beer-drinking, good-natured kind of guy, not one who defuses bombs in his spare time. Macguyver, where the hell are you?

The numbers - glyphs - poker symbols - whatever the fuck they were - that were counting down could have been measuring apples and oranges for all he knew, but you didn't need a degree in cross-cultural-translation to figure out that each time they changed, it was one digit closer to the aforementioned boom-and-silly-putty-scenario.

Vin! Fucking focus, ass-tard!

A red wire, a black wire, a white wire, a green one.

Yeah, just like in the movies. If he had the millions, he could pretend he was Bruce Willis and read the fucking script.

Hang on. Mental rewind.

A green wire.

A green wire?

The alternate Vinny Wright, that bizarro version of himself who had been so nice - he had mentioned a green something as his final piece of Dr. Phil advice.

"Hey Wright…when the time comes…cut the green."

Question was, was this that green?

The digits on the bomb twitched even as he thought.

He visualized little pieces of himself flying all around what would be left of the Stargate.

Not pretty.

The digits twitched.

If he didn't defuse it, then there would be no way his team could get back home, presuming they were still alive anyway.

The digits twitched.

He got out his knife. Cut the green one.

For fucking real?

He knew himself well enough to know how twisted his sense of humor could be. And that had definitely been the darkside version of himself. Even if he hadn't come from the evil-twin universe, for all he knew, the guy had been jerking him around, messing with his head.

The digits twitched.

His dog would be really pissed if he didn't get home and feed it at some stage.

The digits twitched.

Then there was the pussy at the corner store that he'd been making friends with.

The digits twitched.

Oh, god, yes, and his computer. He had really planned on wiping some stuff off the hard drive before he kicked the bucket and the SGC sent a team round to go through his gear.

He thought about the silly-putty.

Jeezuz, Vin, make your choice.

The digits twitched.

Cut the green one, right?

Guts in gear, be brave, all that shit.

He chose his wire, shut his eyes, and cut—