Aithine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sga_flashfic2005-03-13 12:10 pm
aithine) wrote in sga_flashfic2005-03-13 12:10 pm
Entry tags:
Flight by Aithine
Flight
by Aithine
Sheppard/McKay
Takes place during the end of "The Siege, Part 2"
For the enclosed spaces challenge
Many, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tir, who cheerfully edits, prods and connects the dots for me, and to ealgylden and ophidiae, who cheerlead and kibitz like nobody's business. *bg*
John could barely remember what it felt like to fly a fighter. To be surrounded by hard metal, cradled in the harness, all sound filtered through the headset in the helmet. He'd never felt closed in, because he could see everything; if he ignored the trappings that allowed him to break Mach 2 and just flew, it was the most glorious thing he could imagine. Even having a weapons systems officer seated behind him couldn't ruin the joy he felt at fifty thousand feet. It was amazing how freeing a space as tiny as a cockpit could be.
The jumper was nothing like anything he'd ever flown. Even the transports at McMurdo had had some separation from the passengers, some feeling of being alone up there as he shuttled cargo from the base to the field stations or Christchurch. But the jumper was--immediate. His team was right there in his space, shouting in his ear when something went wrong, celebrating the defeat of another wraith, talking on the way back to the gate, or mourning when they lost another member of the expedition team. They were always there.
He didn't really mind sharing the jumper with those three, though; Ford was a good kid, Teyla was restrained but friendly enough, and Rodney was--Rodney. Astoundingly smart and talented, blunt and obnoxious as hell, ridiculously self-centered sometimes, and, in turns, amazingly courageous, insecure and oblivious.
Not that John had been obvious about the way he felt about Rodney, and nothing short of a nuclear explosion would get Rodney to see what was in front of his nose if it wasn't powered by a ZPM.
He'd never given much time to regrets or what-ifs. If he did, he'd never stop, and the permutations running through his head would drive him mad. What if he'd never saved those soldiers in Afghanistan? What if he'd never requested to be posted to Antarctica? What if he'd never sat in that damned chair?
What if he'd kissed Rodney?
That question nagged at him as he maneuvered the jumper through the sky door. He'd imagined a thousand different responses, but not one had felt believable enough to justify upsetting the balance of what they had when John couldn't predict the results. Because even after months of working together, what did he really know about the man?
That Rodney was both brilliant and socially inept had been obvious from nearly the moment they'd met, and his courage under fire and bravery in the face of "certain doom" had amazed John more than once, usually when he least expected it. But what he enjoyed the most was Rodney's sense of humor: sarcastic and razor-sharp, quick, wide-ranging, and ridiculously absurd.
That sense of humor had forged an instant bond between them, created a sense of normality in this cold, sterile city, provided a base for their unexpected but rapidly growing friendship. And they were friends, despite their differences.
And now he might never get to yank Rodney's chain again while Rodney tried to get him to turn on yet another bizarre Atlantean toy, a job that John secretly enjoyed but would never admit to liking in a million years. Teasing Rodney was familiar, John was used to it; in fact, he'd gotten used to all of them being in the jumper with him so quickly that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to fly solo.
But this run was his alone.
The jumper was painfully quiet for the first time since he'd stepped into one, the day they'd arrived in Atlantis. The bomb was silent, no ominous ticking to announce its presence as it sat in the cargo bay like an elephant in the room.
He slowly activated the radio to report his status back to Atlantis. "They haven't detected my approach. Weapon is armed and ready," he said quietly. "Going in."
He wanted to leave the channel open, to hear Rodney's voice again as he tried one last, desperate Hail Mary to save them all, but what he felt for Rodney was crushing him, a great imaginary weight on his chest as he flew closer to the hive ship, and he knew if he left the radio on he'd try to say something, now that it was too late, now that he had nothing to lose.
He had no helmet, no harness anchoring him in the seat, and there was plenty of room in the jumper. But for the first time in his life, John felt confined.
by Aithine
Sheppard/McKay
Takes place during the end of "The Siege, Part 2"
For the enclosed spaces challenge
Many, many thanks to
tir, who cheerfully edits, prods and connects the dots for me, and to ealgylden and ophidiae, who cheerlead and kibitz like nobody's business. *bg*John could barely remember what it felt like to fly a fighter. To be surrounded by hard metal, cradled in the harness, all sound filtered through the headset in the helmet. He'd never felt closed in, because he could see everything; if he ignored the trappings that allowed him to break Mach 2 and just flew, it was the most glorious thing he could imagine. Even having a weapons systems officer seated behind him couldn't ruin the joy he felt at fifty thousand feet. It was amazing how freeing a space as tiny as a cockpit could be.
The jumper was nothing like anything he'd ever flown. Even the transports at McMurdo had had some separation from the passengers, some feeling of being alone up there as he shuttled cargo from the base to the field stations or Christchurch. But the jumper was--immediate. His team was right there in his space, shouting in his ear when something went wrong, celebrating the defeat of another wraith, talking on the way back to the gate, or mourning when they lost another member of the expedition team. They were always there.
He didn't really mind sharing the jumper with those three, though; Ford was a good kid, Teyla was restrained but friendly enough, and Rodney was--Rodney. Astoundingly smart and talented, blunt and obnoxious as hell, ridiculously self-centered sometimes, and, in turns, amazingly courageous, insecure and oblivious.
Not that John had been obvious about the way he felt about Rodney, and nothing short of a nuclear explosion would get Rodney to see what was in front of his nose if it wasn't powered by a ZPM.
He'd never given much time to regrets or what-ifs. If he did, he'd never stop, and the permutations running through his head would drive him mad. What if he'd never saved those soldiers in Afghanistan? What if he'd never requested to be posted to Antarctica? What if he'd never sat in that damned chair?
What if he'd kissed Rodney?
That question nagged at him as he maneuvered the jumper through the sky door. He'd imagined a thousand different responses, but not one had felt believable enough to justify upsetting the balance of what they had when John couldn't predict the results. Because even after months of working together, what did he really know about the man?
That Rodney was both brilliant and socially inept had been obvious from nearly the moment they'd met, and his courage under fire and bravery in the face of "certain doom" had amazed John more than once, usually when he least expected it. But what he enjoyed the most was Rodney's sense of humor: sarcastic and razor-sharp, quick, wide-ranging, and ridiculously absurd.
That sense of humor had forged an instant bond between them, created a sense of normality in this cold, sterile city, provided a base for their unexpected but rapidly growing friendship. And they were friends, despite their differences.
And now he might never get to yank Rodney's chain again while Rodney tried to get him to turn on yet another bizarre Atlantean toy, a job that John secretly enjoyed but would never admit to liking in a million years. Teasing Rodney was familiar, John was used to it; in fact, he'd gotten used to all of them being in the jumper with him so quickly that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to fly solo.
But this run was his alone.
The jumper was painfully quiet for the first time since he'd stepped into one, the day they'd arrived in Atlantis. The bomb was silent, no ominous ticking to announce its presence as it sat in the cargo bay like an elephant in the room.
He slowly activated the radio to report his status back to Atlantis. "They haven't detected my approach. Weapon is armed and ready," he said quietly. "Going in."
He wanted to leave the channel open, to hear Rodney's voice again as he tried one last, desperate Hail Mary to save them all, but what he felt for Rodney was crushing him, a great imaginary weight on his chest as he flew closer to the hive ship, and he knew if he left the radio on he'd try to say something, now that it was too late, now that he had nothing to lose.
He had no helmet, no harness anchoring him in the seat, and there was plenty of room in the jumper. But for the first time in his life, John felt confined.
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I like this; but then, you already knew that. ;-)
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(Anonymous) 2005-03-13 08:17 pm (UTC)(link)--Merryish (temp anon while LJ is being a freak)
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(And, um, fanon?)
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(You know, I feel bad about saying, "Yay, it worked!" when it hurts. Which, granted, was the goal, but... *g*)
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Now, tell me he gets back to Atlantis and him and Rodney have hot monkey sex ;-)
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And of course he does and they do. ;)
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a great imaginary weight on his chest
Man, this? Is what I feel every time I see Rodney's face, watching that little blue dot go up and up and up...
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Is what I feel every time I see Rodney's face, watching that little blue dot go up and up and up...
Oh, no kidding. The ep as a whole has so many problems, but the character bits? Kill me, they're so well done. Rodney doesn't even have to say anything and he makes me sniffle. *sniff*
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oh man, such a killer line. and a great idea for the enclosed space. ouch
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He wanted to leave the channel open, to hear Rodney's voice again as he tried one last, desperate Hail Mary to save them all, but what he felt for Rodney was crushing him, a great imaginary weight on his chest as he flew closer to the hive ship, and he knew if he left the radio on he'd try to say something, now that it was too late, now that he had nothing to lose.
This is terrific, so painful and real, especially that para. Great sadness without melodrama, the whole thing--just really well done.
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