Prey, by tigs [Virgin Challenge]
May. 19th, 2006 07:51 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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sga_flashficTitle: Prey
Author: tigs
Challenge: Virgin
Characters: McKay, Teyla, Sheppard, Ford. (Gen)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Summary: They hadn't mentioned that he'd be dropped into a world where it was kill or be killed.
Author's Notes: First season fic. Pre-Suspicion. An experiment in darkness. I interpreted 'virgin' as 'never before'. Unbeta'd.
Ford was the first to spot the Wraith. He stopped where he was—quickly enough that Rodney barely avoided running into him—but before he could mention the fact that *some* of them were carrying thousands of dollars worth of equipment around with them, Ford said, "Um, Sir? I think we have some company." Then Sheppard stopped and Teyla stopped and all Rodney could do was look where they were looking and yes, *there* were the telltale sounds of Wraith moving through the forest: crunched branches, a slithered sort of breathing.
Through the trees he could see pale skin, the now familiar black robes, tortoise-shell armor, and all he could think of to say was, "Of course. Yes, of course they're here, too. Just for the record, Major, this is getting a little old."
Because it was. Three planets, three encounters with the Wraith; it was *beyond* getting old.
Or, he would have said that last part anyway if Sheppard hadn't raised his hand in a 'silence' motion on the "major" and oh, look, Rodney thought, he already had his gun out. As did Ford. And Teyla had pulled her sticks free of her pack. And maybe, Rodney thought, he should be reaching for his gun, too. Because he'd gone through the training, right, and obviously he was carrying it for a reason.
Even as he was fumbling with the holster, though, Sheppard hissed, "McKay, get to the Gate. Dial Atlantis. We'll hold them off."
Then, before Rodney could protest, his attention was focused forward again, on the approaching Wraith, and Rodney found himself, well, running towards the Gate, Sheppard, Teyla, and Ford following along behind. In fact, he'd almost reached it when he heard the first peal of gunfire, the near constant rat-tat-tat and this, he thought, was *not* what he'd signed on for. Science mission, they'd said. Wormholes, space, discoveries, and he'd watched just enough *Star Trek* as a kid to get more than a little thrill out of the idea of going where no man had gone before. But they hadn't mentioned guns and hunting and the fact that he'd be spending his days as *prey*.
They hadn't mentioned that he'd be dropped into a world where it was kill or be killed, when pre-SGC his one experience with a gun, with any sort of death, had been an ill-fated camping trip with his friend Brian and Brian's father, a Hunter, capital H, with the mounted moose head above the fireplace in his office to prove it.
They hadn't mentioned a lot, actually, but they had mentioned wormholes and he was dialing as fast as he could now, fingers to keys, watching the Chevrons spin in front of him, not locking nearly fast enough, thank you. The gunfire was getting closer; he could hear Sheppard and Ford calling back and forth to each other and when he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw that each of them was firing steadily into their opponents, a stream of bullets. Teyla was off to the side, doing stick battle with the third Wraith and Rodney had seen her break the neck of another Wraith just like this one last week, so he wasn't worried. They were doing their job and he was doing his, which was to get them home as quickly as possible.
But then Teyla went down. A rock behind her and all Rodney could do was watch as she fell to the ground, as the Wraith she'd been fighting *smiled*, its hand already reaching out for her and before Rodney realized what he was doing, he'd covered half the distance between the DHD and where she was lying, already struggling to her feet, struggling backwards.
He said, "Hey," his voice sounding weak and pathetic even to his own ears, a protest even the most cowed graduate student wouldn't pay attention to. So he tried again.
"*Hey you*," and before he knew it—instinct now where he'd never had instinct before—his gun was in his hand and he was pointing it at the Wraith and when it turned to look at him, he opened fire, just like Sheppard would, just like Ford. Round after round of bullets and the Wraith was actually backing up under the assault. He could see it contorting, crumpling in on itself and he felt good, powerful, because this was what he should be doing, he thought. Just like Sheppard, Ford, Teyla, the rest of his *team*.
He also thought that Teyla must have done a pretty good job of inflicting damage on her own because the Wraith was already folding to the ground, collapsing, and before Rodney knew it, he was standing at its feet, gun pointed directly at where its heart would be if it were human. One more burst of gun fire would do it, he was sure and—
—and it was blinking up at him with slitted eyes and Rodney could see the knowledge there, that this was it, that he was going to kill it, the end, and when Rodney closed his own eyes, just for a moment of preparation, he was back in the woods with Brian, the deer at the other edge of the clearing and Brian's father was leaning over him saying, "Slow, steady, that's it. Keep it in your sight. Whenever you're ready, Rodney. Whenever your ready." Brian off to the side saying, "Come on, Rodney. Do it, Rodney. Or do you want me to?"
And it wasn't that he'd ever been particularly fond of deer, it was just that deer had never done anything to *him*, and it'd been staring at him—at *him*, this strange creature who was staring at *it*—knowing what was going to happen, but looking as if it was caught in headlights all the same.
When he'd barked a cough a moment later, startling the deer, making it bolt, he'd blamed it on his allergies. The outdoors, he'd said, doesn't agree with me.
The next time Brian had asked him over, it was to play video games, where shooting things was good, normal, and—
—and Wraith were not deer, he reminded himself, staring down into its pale face, which was starting, he thought, to look a little scornful. Wide, blood-spread sneer.
"You can't do it, can you?" it hissed.
Rodney flexed his finger on the trigger, but he didn't shoot because that was when he realized that he was surrounded by silence. When he glanced behind him, he saw that Teyla was standing right there, that Sheppard and Ford were approaching, their own guns still out, and when Sheppard was within speaking distance, he said, "McKay, I can—" and Rodney wanted to say yes, oh god, he wanted to. He wanted to cough and have this be over with, but he shook his head and turned back to the Wraith, looked it directly in the eyes and fired one more time.
Author: tigs
Challenge: Virgin
Characters: McKay, Teyla, Sheppard, Ford. (Gen)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Summary: They hadn't mentioned that he'd be dropped into a world where it was kill or be killed.
Author's Notes: First season fic. Pre-Suspicion. An experiment in darkness. I interpreted 'virgin' as 'never before'. Unbeta'd.
Ford was the first to spot the Wraith. He stopped where he was—quickly enough that Rodney barely avoided running into him—but before he could mention the fact that *some* of them were carrying thousands of dollars worth of equipment around with them, Ford said, "Um, Sir? I think we have some company." Then Sheppard stopped and Teyla stopped and all Rodney could do was look where they were looking and yes, *there* were the telltale sounds of Wraith moving through the forest: crunched branches, a slithered sort of breathing.
Through the trees he could see pale skin, the now familiar black robes, tortoise-shell armor, and all he could think of to say was, "Of course. Yes, of course they're here, too. Just for the record, Major, this is getting a little old."
Because it was. Three planets, three encounters with the Wraith; it was *beyond* getting old.
Or, he would have said that last part anyway if Sheppard hadn't raised his hand in a 'silence' motion on the "major" and oh, look, Rodney thought, he already had his gun out. As did Ford. And Teyla had pulled her sticks free of her pack. And maybe, Rodney thought, he should be reaching for his gun, too. Because he'd gone through the training, right, and obviously he was carrying it for a reason.
Even as he was fumbling with the holster, though, Sheppard hissed, "McKay, get to the Gate. Dial Atlantis. We'll hold them off."
Then, before Rodney could protest, his attention was focused forward again, on the approaching Wraith, and Rodney found himself, well, running towards the Gate, Sheppard, Teyla, and Ford following along behind. In fact, he'd almost reached it when he heard the first peal of gunfire, the near constant rat-tat-tat and this, he thought, was *not* what he'd signed on for. Science mission, they'd said. Wormholes, space, discoveries, and he'd watched just enough *Star Trek* as a kid to get more than a little thrill out of the idea of going where no man had gone before. But they hadn't mentioned guns and hunting and the fact that he'd be spending his days as *prey*.
They hadn't mentioned that he'd be dropped into a world where it was kill or be killed, when pre-SGC his one experience with a gun, with any sort of death, had been an ill-fated camping trip with his friend Brian and Brian's father, a Hunter, capital H, with the mounted moose head above the fireplace in his office to prove it.
They hadn't mentioned a lot, actually, but they had mentioned wormholes and he was dialing as fast as he could now, fingers to keys, watching the Chevrons spin in front of him, not locking nearly fast enough, thank you. The gunfire was getting closer; he could hear Sheppard and Ford calling back and forth to each other and when he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw that each of them was firing steadily into their opponents, a stream of bullets. Teyla was off to the side, doing stick battle with the third Wraith and Rodney had seen her break the neck of another Wraith just like this one last week, so he wasn't worried. They were doing their job and he was doing his, which was to get them home as quickly as possible.
But then Teyla went down. A rock behind her and all Rodney could do was watch as she fell to the ground, as the Wraith she'd been fighting *smiled*, its hand already reaching out for her and before Rodney realized what he was doing, he'd covered half the distance between the DHD and where she was lying, already struggling to her feet, struggling backwards.
He said, "Hey," his voice sounding weak and pathetic even to his own ears, a protest even the most cowed graduate student wouldn't pay attention to. So he tried again.
"*Hey you*," and before he knew it—instinct now where he'd never had instinct before—his gun was in his hand and he was pointing it at the Wraith and when it turned to look at him, he opened fire, just like Sheppard would, just like Ford. Round after round of bullets and the Wraith was actually backing up under the assault. He could see it contorting, crumpling in on itself and he felt good, powerful, because this was what he should be doing, he thought. Just like Sheppard, Ford, Teyla, the rest of his *team*.
He also thought that Teyla must have done a pretty good job of inflicting damage on her own because the Wraith was already folding to the ground, collapsing, and before Rodney knew it, he was standing at its feet, gun pointed directly at where its heart would be if it were human. One more burst of gun fire would do it, he was sure and—
—and it was blinking up at him with slitted eyes and Rodney could see the knowledge there, that this was it, that he was going to kill it, the end, and when Rodney closed his own eyes, just for a moment of preparation, he was back in the woods with Brian, the deer at the other edge of the clearing and Brian's father was leaning over him saying, "Slow, steady, that's it. Keep it in your sight. Whenever you're ready, Rodney. Whenever your ready." Brian off to the side saying, "Come on, Rodney. Do it, Rodney. Or do you want me to?"
And it wasn't that he'd ever been particularly fond of deer, it was just that deer had never done anything to *him*, and it'd been staring at him—at *him*, this strange creature who was staring at *it*—knowing what was going to happen, but looking as if it was caught in headlights all the same.
When he'd barked a cough a moment later, startling the deer, making it bolt, he'd blamed it on his allergies. The outdoors, he'd said, doesn't agree with me.
The next time Brian had asked him over, it was to play video games, where shooting things was good, normal, and—
—and Wraith were not deer, he reminded himself, staring down into its pale face, which was starting, he thought, to look a little scornful. Wide, blood-spread sneer.
"You can't do it, can you?" it hissed.
Rodney flexed his finger on the trigger, but he didn't shoot because that was when he realized that he was surrounded by silence. When he glanced behind him, he saw that Teyla was standing right there, that Sheppard and Ford were approaching, their own guns still out, and when Sheppard was within speaking distance, he said, "McKay, I can—" and Rodney wanted to say yes, oh god, he wanted to. He wanted to cough and have this be over with, but he shook his head and turned back to the Wraith, looked it directly in the eyes and fired one more time.