Personal Item Challenge
Aug. 21st, 2005 07:41 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
kyffin.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficTITLE: Personal Item: Old and New
AUTHOR: Kyffin
SPOILER: The Brotherhood
RATING: G
WORDCOUNT:1000(Give or take 694)
SUMMARY: Beckett needs some comfort.
Carson Beckett mentally closed the door of his office. A vain attempt to close out the noise from the main area of the infirmary. He rarely closed his office door; doing so was a sign that he wanted to be left alone. This mostly happened when Weir started making comments about the infirmary paperwork, or lack thereof. Sometimes it was for other reasons. The office door had remained closed for over a week after Hoff. Today was definitely another reason. The same reason he was letting his staff deal with the post mission check up of SA-1.
He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and carefully removed the precious bundle, the cloth slightly rough and familiar to the touch. It was a swatch of red plaid, crossed with navy and green. The Robertson tartan, his mother’s family. He unrolled it gently, revealing the scarf that had once adorned his grandfather’s neck. He knew that if he brought it to his nose he would be able to smell pipe tobacco and Whisky. The smells that would always linger on his own clothes after he had visited the Perthshire village pub with his grandfather. As a young boy he had loved those times, sitting near the old men watching as they played their dominoes; the old dog raising his head to stare at any stranger who had dared venture into the pub. He had been ecstatic the first time the dog had completely ignored his own entrance.
The final fold of the scarf revealed its hidden treasure. He let the stone fall into his hand knowing that his appendage would safely catch it, the fingers well used to its precious cargo. It was flat, barely a centimetre in thickness, almost filling the palm of his hand. Its weight was both familiar and comforting, its rough feel testament to the millions of small sand grains that made up its whole. The almost microscopic particles having been trapped together by fate and circumstance; with, he had to admit, a little help from unimaginable amounts of pressure. The latter fact coming from a sedimentologist he had once dated. Had told him about the constituent minerals and the rocks name, something beginning with a T if he remembered correctly. Carson hadn’t really paid attention. He already knew how the stone was made, how natural forces had combined to make the sand into something more. His father had told him the day he had given it to him.
He closed both hands over the stone, feeling its warmth. It wasn’t really warm his brain told him, not anymore. It had been once he knew, heated by his father’s body before the man had taken it out of his pocket and handed it to his frightened son in an attempt to distract him. Closing his eyes he could feel the rain and salt spray on his face. The strong wind reacting with soaked clothing to make his small body shiver.
He and his father had gone for a walk along the beach near their house. It had started off a calm late autumn day, the loch like a milk pond waiting for the moon to reassert its power and start pulling the water out towards the ocean. His father had been teaching him to skip stones on the glass like surface, a true British pastime. They had been so immersed in their game that they had failed to notice the dark cumulus nimbus clouds gathering above them, their anvil heads tall and angry. Their first and only warning had been a loud rumble of thunder followed by the heavy sting of rain. His father had lifted him and carried him to a deep overhang in the cliff face. It was closer than their house and his first concern had been to get them out of the rain. Even so they were both soaked through by the time they had reached their haven.
Carson had been terrified, had always hated storms, and sat shivering on the shingle that made up the beach. His father knowing this had joined him, gathering him to his body, telling him about how the overhang was formed in an effort to keep him from thinking about the storm. Carson hadn’t really heard the words, just listened to his fathers voice, concentrating on blocking out all else. He had been startled when his father had shifted, put his hand in his pocked and brought out the stone. The older man had picked it up earlier, crowing that it was the perfect skimming stone, pocketing it so that it would be kept; its prize was to be the last stone thrown of the day.
He had placed it in Carson’s small cold hands. Had explained to his son that nature could be both destructive and creative. The water having eroded the cliff to make their overhang and in turn had created the sand for this stone. His father had told him that as long as you respected nature and took head of her warnings it was nothing to fear.
The rain had stopped twenty minutes later, the clouds having used up their fury. His father had taken his hand and they had walked along the waters edge back to their house. When they reached the start of the foot path his father had turned to him, hand outstretched, wanting to grant the stone its glory. Carson then did something that he had never done before. He had lied to his father. Told him that he had left the stone amongst its brethren in the cave. His man had just shrugged and started along the path, Carson watched him walk away whilst closing his hand around the comforting presence in his pocket.
That small stone had occampanied him through life since. Taking on a meaning even more special after his father had died. While he had often walked that stretch of beach and thrown stones into the inky blackness of the water, that one stone had remained safely in his pocket. It had always sat on his desk, no matter where on the globe he was and it now sat in his desk draw in another galaxy.
It had sat on his desk at first but Rodney had picked it up once, his mind firmly preoccupied with whatever problem he was spouting about. Carson’s eyes had never left the stone that the man had been absentmindedly throwing up in the air. It had felt like some sort of violation, a blatant disregard of it’s worth. He hadn’t said anything to Rodney about it, just carefully picked it up and placed it in his pocket after the man had left.
He didn’t know why it had bothered him so much at the time. Others had touched it before, some in curiosity, most were just after the paperwork it protected from blowing away. Perhaps now, so far away from home, the beach and familiarity, its meaning had changed once more. It was now no longer just a reminder of his father, of his family; the memories it contained were now his anchor, its lesson his mantra. Last week he had been on the mainland delivering the first baby since the Athosian resettlement. Today he had watched Markham and Smith die.
Even in The Pegasus Galaxy nature, and by default life, could be both destructive and creative.
He carefully rewrapped the memento, and was placing it back in its draw when there was a knock on his door. He mentally opened it and was surprised to see Major Sheppard enter.
“Major?” he asked in greeting.
“Hey Doc. I heard you had a rough day.” Answered the other man.
“Aye.” He noticed the dirty and bedraggled appearance. “So it seems did you.”
“Not so much. Just your usual. You know, friendly aliens turn out to be not so friendly aliens. Wraith hive ships bearing down on you. Same old, same old.” Said the man with a shrug, taking a few steps towards the desk
“So. Was there anything you needed?” asked Carson not bothering to keep the smile of his face.
“Actually I wanted to give you something.” Carson watched as the man reached into his pocket and pulled something out, stretched his arm and dropped it on the desk. At first Carson felt annoyed as he tried to wipe away the dirt it had deposited on his paperwork. His hands stilled when he looked at the object. It was a stone, a strange blue coloured stone. He reached forward and picked it up, using his other hand to rub some of the dirt off it, adding to the pile already on the desk. While it was quite small, about the size of a slightly squashed golf ball, it was remarkably heavy. He looked at John questioningly.
“Found it in a hole I dug on the planet. Thought it was kinda cool. I brought it back for the geologists but McKay said that you liked stones. Told me how you used to have one as a paperweight but must have lost it.”
Carson just stared at him. Which obviously unnerved the major, who pulled his trousers up and puffed his chest out. Something Carson had seen him do before to cover any embarrassment.
“Well you know. It’s heavy. Could keep lots of unfinished paperwork under it. Something that Elizabeth tells me you suffer from. I know it’s not a wraith arm, they were all out of those. If you don’t want it then I can still give it to the rock people.”
“No. I want it. It’s nice of you. Thank You.” He leaned forward slightly and placed it on top of one of the reports on his desk, adding more dirt to the already grubby paper.
“Hey. Don’t mention it. No trouble at all.” He sounded nonchalant but Carson could see that he was pleased. The man seemed to have taken it upon himself to look after the people around him, both physically and mentally. Though Carson doubted he would ever really know what he had just bestowed. An anchor for all the memories he had yet to make. A reminder of his new home.
AUTHOR: Kyffin
SPOILER: The Brotherhood
RATING: G
WORDCOUNT:1000(Give or take 694)
SUMMARY: Beckett needs some comfort.
Carson Beckett mentally closed the door of his office. A vain attempt to close out the noise from the main area of the infirmary. He rarely closed his office door; doing so was a sign that he wanted to be left alone. This mostly happened when Weir started making comments about the infirmary paperwork, or lack thereof. Sometimes it was for other reasons. The office door had remained closed for over a week after Hoff. Today was definitely another reason. The same reason he was letting his staff deal with the post mission check up of SA-1.
He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and carefully removed the precious bundle, the cloth slightly rough and familiar to the touch. It was a swatch of red plaid, crossed with navy and green. The Robertson tartan, his mother’s family. He unrolled it gently, revealing the scarf that had once adorned his grandfather’s neck. He knew that if he brought it to his nose he would be able to smell pipe tobacco and Whisky. The smells that would always linger on his own clothes after he had visited the Perthshire village pub with his grandfather. As a young boy he had loved those times, sitting near the old men watching as they played their dominoes; the old dog raising his head to stare at any stranger who had dared venture into the pub. He had been ecstatic the first time the dog had completely ignored his own entrance.
The final fold of the scarf revealed its hidden treasure. He let the stone fall into his hand knowing that his appendage would safely catch it, the fingers well used to its precious cargo. It was flat, barely a centimetre in thickness, almost filling the palm of his hand. Its weight was both familiar and comforting, its rough feel testament to the millions of small sand grains that made up its whole. The almost microscopic particles having been trapped together by fate and circumstance; with, he had to admit, a little help from unimaginable amounts of pressure. The latter fact coming from a sedimentologist he had once dated. Had told him about the constituent minerals and the rocks name, something beginning with a T if he remembered correctly. Carson hadn’t really paid attention. He already knew how the stone was made, how natural forces had combined to make the sand into something more. His father had told him the day he had given it to him.
He closed both hands over the stone, feeling its warmth. It wasn’t really warm his brain told him, not anymore. It had been once he knew, heated by his father’s body before the man had taken it out of his pocket and handed it to his frightened son in an attempt to distract him. Closing his eyes he could feel the rain and salt spray on his face. The strong wind reacting with soaked clothing to make his small body shiver.
He and his father had gone for a walk along the beach near their house. It had started off a calm late autumn day, the loch like a milk pond waiting for the moon to reassert its power and start pulling the water out towards the ocean. His father had been teaching him to skip stones on the glass like surface, a true British pastime. They had been so immersed in their game that they had failed to notice the dark cumulus nimbus clouds gathering above them, their anvil heads tall and angry. Their first and only warning had been a loud rumble of thunder followed by the heavy sting of rain. His father had lifted him and carried him to a deep overhang in the cliff face. It was closer than their house and his first concern had been to get them out of the rain. Even so they were both soaked through by the time they had reached their haven.
Carson had been terrified, had always hated storms, and sat shivering on the shingle that made up the beach. His father knowing this had joined him, gathering him to his body, telling him about how the overhang was formed in an effort to keep him from thinking about the storm. Carson hadn’t really heard the words, just listened to his fathers voice, concentrating on blocking out all else. He had been startled when his father had shifted, put his hand in his pocked and brought out the stone. The older man had picked it up earlier, crowing that it was the perfect skimming stone, pocketing it so that it would be kept; its prize was to be the last stone thrown of the day.
He had placed it in Carson’s small cold hands. Had explained to his son that nature could be both destructive and creative. The water having eroded the cliff to make their overhang and in turn had created the sand for this stone. His father had told him that as long as you respected nature and took head of her warnings it was nothing to fear.
The rain had stopped twenty minutes later, the clouds having used up their fury. His father had taken his hand and they had walked along the waters edge back to their house. When they reached the start of the foot path his father had turned to him, hand outstretched, wanting to grant the stone its glory. Carson then did something that he had never done before. He had lied to his father. Told him that he had left the stone amongst its brethren in the cave. His man had just shrugged and started along the path, Carson watched him walk away whilst closing his hand around the comforting presence in his pocket.
That small stone had occampanied him through life since. Taking on a meaning even more special after his father had died. While he had often walked that stretch of beach and thrown stones into the inky blackness of the water, that one stone had remained safely in his pocket. It had always sat on his desk, no matter where on the globe he was and it now sat in his desk draw in another galaxy.
It had sat on his desk at first but Rodney had picked it up once, his mind firmly preoccupied with whatever problem he was spouting about. Carson’s eyes had never left the stone that the man had been absentmindedly throwing up in the air. It had felt like some sort of violation, a blatant disregard of it’s worth. He hadn’t said anything to Rodney about it, just carefully picked it up and placed it in his pocket after the man had left.
He didn’t know why it had bothered him so much at the time. Others had touched it before, some in curiosity, most were just after the paperwork it protected from blowing away. Perhaps now, so far away from home, the beach and familiarity, its meaning had changed once more. It was now no longer just a reminder of his father, of his family; the memories it contained were now his anchor, its lesson his mantra. Last week he had been on the mainland delivering the first baby since the Athosian resettlement. Today he had watched Markham and Smith die.
Even in The Pegasus Galaxy nature, and by default life, could be both destructive and creative.
He carefully rewrapped the memento, and was placing it back in its draw when there was a knock on his door. He mentally opened it and was surprised to see Major Sheppard enter.
“Major?” he asked in greeting.
“Hey Doc. I heard you had a rough day.” Answered the other man.
“Aye.” He noticed the dirty and bedraggled appearance. “So it seems did you.”
“Not so much. Just your usual. You know, friendly aliens turn out to be not so friendly aliens. Wraith hive ships bearing down on you. Same old, same old.” Said the man with a shrug, taking a few steps towards the desk
“So. Was there anything you needed?” asked Carson not bothering to keep the smile of his face.
“Actually I wanted to give you something.” Carson watched as the man reached into his pocket and pulled something out, stretched his arm and dropped it on the desk. At first Carson felt annoyed as he tried to wipe away the dirt it had deposited on his paperwork. His hands stilled when he looked at the object. It was a stone, a strange blue coloured stone. He reached forward and picked it up, using his other hand to rub some of the dirt off it, adding to the pile already on the desk. While it was quite small, about the size of a slightly squashed golf ball, it was remarkably heavy. He looked at John questioningly.
“Found it in a hole I dug on the planet. Thought it was kinda cool. I brought it back for the geologists but McKay said that you liked stones. Told me how you used to have one as a paperweight but must have lost it.”
Carson just stared at him. Which obviously unnerved the major, who pulled his trousers up and puffed his chest out. Something Carson had seen him do before to cover any embarrassment.
“Well you know. It’s heavy. Could keep lots of unfinished paperwork under it. Something that Elizabeth tells me you suffer from. I know it’s not a wraith arm, they were all out of those. If you don’t want it then I can still give it to the rock people.”
“No. I want it. It’s nice of you. Thank You.” He leaned forward slightly and placed it on top of one of the reports on his desk, adding more dirt to the already grubby paper.
“Hey. Don’t mention it. No trouble at all.” He sounded nonchalant but Carson could see that he was pleased. The man seemed to have taken it upon himself to look after the people around him, both physically and mentally. Though Carson doubted he would ever really know what he had just bestowed. An anchor for all the memories he had yet to make. A reminder of his new home.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-21 07:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-21 07:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-21 08:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-21 08:14 pm (UTC)I think both Rodney and Sheppard are more observant than they are given credit for.
Rodney would have noticed something but would then have been perfectly happy to let Sheppard deal with it.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-21 09:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-21 10:17 pm (UTC)And was I the only one who was like "John gave him a rock!1!!!1 That means they are married!"? Zomg penguin fic has eaten my brain *head desk*
But I thought this fic was lovely and I adore that McKay mentioned it and Shep remembered and they are both quietly thoughful in their own way and it was all just *sigh* beautiful.
*klo*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-21 10:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-21 11:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-22 12:02 am (UTC)Cheers me dears.
Date: 2005-08-22 09:38 am (UTC)It wasn't actually supposed to end that way, but Sheppard took it upon himself to usurp my muse and cheer up his friend.
Thanks again.
Kyffin
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-22 11:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-22 06:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-25 04:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-26 07:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-26 08:03 pm (UTC)But this was wonderful!
Drive by archivist says
Date: 2005-08-27 04:32 pm (UTC)