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sga_flashficTitle: Escapism
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
volupine
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Epiphany, Sanctuary
Word Count: 588
Summary: An idle mind finds its own amusements.
Teer was well-named, John Sheppard thought as the months passed swiftly by him, cocooned on a planet where the only escape lay in another plane of existence, whether it be death or ascension. She looked fragile, made brittle by long years of waiting, as if the mildest blow could make her break down and cry. Yet she, too, belied her appearance, the only one who stood by his side against certain doom. Not long ago, it would have been another standing in her place.
John was at least grateful for the substitute, meager as it was. His practical side latched onto his only dependable ally, spinning tactics and contingency plans. But in the corners of his mind John wondered if these people were too frozen to be saved, if he would succumb in the end as well, passing the rest of his time suspended, moving in a dream.
He began to spend more time sleeping. The long hours sitting in meditation, feeling the tendons in the back of his neck stretch and stiffen as he dozed. He would lie in bed long past sunrise, until the noises outside finally became unbearable, when Teer would walk in with her fragile smile and a tray of food. Sometimes he pretended to be asleep and listened to her footsteps circling around his bed as she tucked the covers in around him, drawing the blinds firmly, quietly, not disturbing him at all.
John longed for the steps to turn loud and solid, thumping against the dirt floor with all the subtlety of steel-toed combat boots. He listened for the clatter of P90’s and rough scrape of canvas vests through the doorway, even the hideous chest-rattling bang of exploding C4. He imagined that, if he lay still and let the blood pound through his ears, the indistinct chatter would coalesce into familiar voices, a smooth tone, a rough growl, an impatient whine cutting through the walls.
The third month John began hallucinating. It might have been the special gift of the sanctuary, granting each inhabitant a tantalizing taste of their deepest wish. At first John thought perhaps he was going mad, but then he began to think that it might simply have been his mind trying to keep him sane. Even if the glimpses of Rodney, Elizabeth, Teyla, Radek, and Atlantis herself filled him with a heady mixture of fury and despair, at least it made him feel gloriously, inadequately human, in a place where everyone else wanted to be a god.
The morning of the fifth month John felt it for the first time. A whisper of fingers that should have been Teer's, but felt different, better. Warmer, rougher, filled with a rush of urgency that had nothing to do with a lifetime of patient waiting. He kept his eyes closed. Maybe this was what it meant to ascend, to let your mind create bursts of energy that did what you willed, that gave you everything but cost everything in return. John felt a lingering wave of empathy for Chaya, alone and desperate for the reality of someone else's touch.
It could have been Carson, palpating his chest and stomach with precise objectivity. It could have been Elizabeth, firm, fleeting grips meted out with a share of comfort from one burdened leader to another. It could have been Rodney, brows pinched and fingers splayed, trembling a little in concentration or excitement, wide shoulders bowed over the bed as if it were an Ancient console, and John the mysterious controls that refused to give up their secrets.
John wanted it to be Rodney.
Author:
volupinePairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Epiphany, Sanctuary
Word Count: 588
Summary: An idle mind finds its own amusements.
Teer was well-named, John Sheppard thought as the months passed swiftly by him, cocooned on a planet where the only escape lay in another plane of existence, whether it be death or ascension. She looked fragile, made brittle by long years of waiting, as if the mildest blow could make her break down and cry. Yet she, too, belied her appearance, the only one who stood by his side against certain doom. Not long ago, it would have been another standing in her place.
John was at least grateful for the substitute, meager as it was. His practical side latched onto his only dependable ally, spinning tactics and contingency plans. But in the corners of his mind John wondered if these people were too frozen to be saved, if he would succumb in the end as well, passing the rest of his time suspended, moving in a dream.
He began to spend more time sleeping. The long hours sitting in meditation, feeling the tendons in the back of his neck stretch and stiffen as he dozed. He would lie in bed long past sunrise, until the noises outside finally became unbearable, when Teer would walk in with her fragile smile and a tray of food. Sometimes he pretended to be asleep and listened to her footsteps circling around his bed as she tucked the covers in around him, drawing the blinds firmly, quietly, not disturbing him at all.
John longed for the steps to turn loud and solid, thumping against the dirt floor with all the subtlety of steel-toed combat boots. He listened for the clatter of P90’s and rough scrape of canvas vests through the doorway, even the hideous chest-rattling bang of exploding C4. He imagined that, if he lay still and let the blood pound through his ears, the indistinct chatter would coalesce into familiar voices, a smooth tone, a rough growl, an impatient whine cutting through the walls.
The third month John began hallucinating. It might have been the special gift of the sanctuary, granting each inhabitant a tantalizing taste of their deepest wish. At first John thought perhaps he was going mad, but then he began to think that it might simply have been his mind trying to keep him sane. Even if the glimpses of Rodney, Elizabeth, Teyla, Radek, and Atlantis herself filled him with a heady mixture of fury and despair, at least it made him feel gloriously, inadequately human, in a place where everyone else wanted to be a god.
The morning of the fifth month John felt it for the first time. A whisper of fingers that should have been Teer's, but felt different, better. Warmer, rougher, filled with a rush of urgency that had nothing to do with a lifetime of patient waiting. He kept his eyes closed. Maybe this was what it meant to ascend, to let your mind create bursts of energy that did what you willed, that gave you everything but cost everything in return. John felt a lingering wave of empathy for Chaya, alone and desperate for the reality of someone else's touch.
It could have been Carson, palpating his chest and stomach with precise objectivity. It could have been Elizabeth, firm, fleeting grips meted out with a share of comfort from one burdened leader to another. It could have been Rodney, brows pinched and fingers splayed, trembling a little in concentration or excitement, wide shoulders bowed over the bed as if it were an Ancient console, and John the mysterious controls that refused to give up their secrets.
John wanted it to be Rodney.
How would you like to be woken up in the morning?
