Empty Star by sgatazmy
Aug. 3rd, 2006 11:07 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
sgatazmy.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashfic(by Tazmy)
Description: Tag for the Eye. Written for the sgaflashfic challenge: Secret Superpowers
Rating: PG 13
Beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kodiak_bear and friendshipper. Remaining errors are mine and bound to show up.
If John closes his eyes he can almost forget the faces, but never the darkness.
He had thought Elizabeth to be dead, strong Elizabeth...dead. How many men was it that he murdered only five days ago, all because he believed a lie? Or all because he had a city to protect? Husbands and fathers will never return home to their families, and that is his doing.
All evidence of the John Sheppard massacre is gone now, Kolya has escaped, and the expedition is starting to rebuild. Injured but not broken. He wonders if he is so lucky.
The darkness is growing within him. Years after Afghanistan--years after swearing that he had seen his last battlefield--he is once again consumed by an inward coldness that would make even the strongest of soldiers tremble in fear. He should never have come to Atlantis.
He walks down the bloodless corridors, but he can imagine crimson streaked across the walls, the way it had looked just days before. How many children has he made orphans? How much more of his soul has he sold? Soldiers. All of them were soldiers, and according to his training, that made it all better. It doesn't though, not really. He's known a lot of good soldiers who never deserved to die.
He arrives at Grounding Station Three where Elizabeth and Rodney had been held captive in the pouring rain. The sea outside is deceptively calm now, as if it could never pose a danger to anyone. Rodney almost tumbled to his death here at the hands of another killer, another soldier that was too much like John for either of their comforts. Seeing how Rodney had wrapped his arm was testament to how out of it he was, so when John escorted the exhausted and battered scientist to the infirmary, he had made it clear to Elizabeth that he would want answers, and soon.
In the infirmary, he'd seen the bruises painted on Rodney's back, but it was Elizabeth who had told him where they came from and why, not Rodney. Another testament to just how off McKay was feeling from the whole experience.
He'd tried talking to Rodney about the cut. Tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault. That he shouldn't blame himself for doing what anyone else would have in his position. Rodney had responded with a few snide remarks, a few jokes carefully well placed. John knows some things can't be fixed right away, that only time can numb the pain, so he had let it go. He never mentioned just how hard it was for him to bring up the conversation. He'd been on the other end. He'd broken the strongest of men until they were reduced to tears, willing to sell out their own families if only to end the pain. What Rodney was going through...Sheppard had done to other people.
Now it's days later. Days. Rodney's back to work and so are John and Elizabeth. They need a month's vacation, maybe even a few years, but there just isn't time. He finds Rodney in his lab, his head resting upon his good arm while the other is cuddled onto his lap. His breathing is level and the slight snore isn't enough to bother any of his co-workers.
“He has been this way for nearly two hours now,” Zelenka whispers. He shoves his glasses to eye level, placing a stack of items on a nearby table.
“Anyone think to wake him up?” He doesn't let his worry show, just annoyance.
“We have, yes. But he is a stubborn fool. He keeps insisting on working more and then he drifts to sleep again. I say that he will get a crick in his neck and back if he doesn't just go to his quarters, but he does not seem to care. So I let him be. He is at least resting.”
“Hey sleeping beauty,” Sheppard nudges McKay's arm with his elbow, “The...”
Rodney's response is instantaneous. He jumps from the stool, nearly toppling over. His eyes wide, he surveys the room in a frenzied pace. He's ready for a fight.
“Whoa, Rodney. It's just us.”
Panicked, he surveys the room, a terrible fear flickering within his stormy blue irises. “Don't...do...that,” Rodney mutters through tight breaths. He coddles his arm safely against his chest.
“Sorry.” Sheppard moves forward with a tentative step, his hand coming to rest on McKay's shoulder.
McKay tenses, taking a step back.
Sheppard does not release his hold.
“C'mon McKay, we're getting out of here.”
He drags the man forward, making sure to pull on his good arm. Rodney gives little if any resistance. It is the lack of response that worries Sheppard the most. When they exit onto the east pier, McKay slouches against the rail, a green tinge painting his features.
The stars shine empty against the black sky, nothing more than a token light in the darkness. The ocean waves crash against the various docks below.
“You gonna be okay?”
McKay shakes his head. He slopes against the nearest wall, pulling his legs into his chest. He sniffles, but Sheppard isn't sure whether it's from the cold he's developed or something...well...crying was right up there on the uncomfortable list with accidentally seeing your parents naked.
Sheppard stuffs his fist in his pocket, taking his place beside his trembling friend. It has been five days now and this is the third time he's had to help McKay mid-panic attack. He knows Heightmeyer is having sessions with him, but really, psychology can only go so far. Kolya's men have inflicted deep wounds that have broken stronger men.
Was this how the others reacted afterward? The ones Sheppard had done the same too oh so many years ago in that horrible hell? Some of them had died; others...well...Sheppard wasn't going to ask. It had been so easy to shut off his emotions. Following orders because if he didn't...no...it was more than following orders. He had done it to find Dex and Mitch. Tortured others to save his friends. Ruined whole lives for the sake of those he called friends. Not that it had mattered, they died only weeks later in a different fight.
It wasn't the only time he tortured either. Once the military found out what he was capable of--how he could just shut off his emotions to....well...he wasn't just a pilot to them anymore. Before the black mark on his record, he rarely questioned superiors. It was as that old Chilean dictator, Pinochet, used to say: If you could save thousands from dying in an explosion by extracting the information from one man, wasn't it worth it? So Sheppard turned off his emotions and did just that. Maybe he did save some folks, he doesn't know.
McKay has yet to speak, so Sheppard asks again, “You gonna be okay?” Can anyone be okay after something like that?
“Even Superman has his weakness.”
“What?”
“Kryptonite. Don't even try to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about because I don't have the energy to play your little game of 'let's avoid the hard topics'. I told you that I'm not Superman but even if I were...even he...”
It was one thing to break a stranger. It was something entirely different to see a friend broken.
“It wasn't your fault, McKay. Anyone would have broken.”
“Anyone like me you mean? Weak. Pathetic. Self-centered.”
“Self-centered people don't step in front of guns.”
McKay laughs but Sheppard isn't sure whether it is out of some unsaid joke or a crazed madness. Maybe it's better not knowing.
“You saved Elizabeth's life and the whole city. Not that you need a bigger ego or anything, but hold to that thought and you'll be okay.”
McKay's fingers tap-dance against his thigh. “So I guess that's my superpower then? Foolish bravery in the face of danger?”
It's Sheppard's turn to laugh this time. “There are worse things.”
“Yeah. But I'd prefer one that didn't get me killed.” A pause. “So what's your superpower?”
It is said lightly, but the words are cold in Sheppard's ear. He stares at Rodney's frightening pallor. He glances at the dark sky and thinks of blood stained walls. “You don't want to know,” he says.
Description: Tag for the Eye. Written for the sgaflashfic challenge: Secret Superpowers
Rating: PG 13
Beta'd by
kodiak_bear and friendshipper. Remaining errors are mine and bound to show up.If John closes his eyes he can almost forget the faces, but never the darkness.
He had thought Elizabeth to be dead, strong Elizabeth...dead. How many men was it that he murdered only five days ago, all because he believed a lie? Or all because he had a city to protect? Husbands and fathers will never return home to their families, and that is his doing.
All evidence of the John Sheppard massacre is gone now, Kolya has escaped, and the expedition is starting to rebuild. Injured but not broken. He wonders if he is so lucky.
The darkness is growing within him. Years after Afghanistan--years after swearing that he had seen his last battlefield--he is once again consumed by an inward coldness that would make even the strongest of soldiers tremble in fear. He should never have come to Atlantis.
He walks down the bloodless corridors, but he can imagine crimson streaked across the walls, the way it had looked just days before. How many children has he made orphans? How much more of his soul has he sold? Soldiers. All of them were soldiers, and according to his training, that made it all better. It doesn't though, not really. He's known a lot of good soldiers who never deserved to die.
He arrives at Grounding Station Three where Elizabeth and Rodney had been held captive in the pouring rain. The sea outside is deceptively calm now, as if it could never pose a danger to anyone. Rodney almost tumbled to his death here at the hands of another killer, another soldier that was too much like John for either of their comforts. Seeing how Rodney had wrapped his arm was testament to how out of it he was, so when John escorted the exhausted and battered scientist to the infirmary, he had made it clear to Elizabeth that he would want answers, and soon.
In the infirmary, he'd seen the bruises painted on Rodney's back, but it was Elizabeth who had told him where they came from and why, not Rodney. Another testament to just how off McKay was feeling from the whole experience.
He'd tried talking to Rodney about the cut. Tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault. That he shouldn't blame himself for doing what anyone else would have in his position. Rodney had responded with a few snide remarks, a few jokes carefully well placed. John knows some things can't be fixed right away, that only time can numb the pain, so he had let it go. He never mentioned just how hard it was for him to bring up the conversation. He'd been on the other end. He'd broken the strongest of men until they were reduced to tears, willing to sell out their own families if only to end the pain. What Rodney was going through...Sheppard had done to other people.
Now it's days later. Days. Rodney's back to work and so are John and Elizabeth. They need a month's vacation, maybe even a few years, but there just isn't time. He finds Rodney in his lab, his head resting upon his good arm while the other is cuddled onto his lap. His breathing is level and the slight snore isn't enough to bother any of his co-workers.
“He has been this way for nearly two hours now,” Zelenka whispers. He shoves his glasses to eye level, placing a stack of items on a nearby table.
“Anyone think to wake him up?” He doesn't let his worry show, just annoyance.
“We have, yes. But he is a stubborn fool. He keeps insisting on working more and then he drifts to sleep again. I say that he will get a crick in his neck and back if he doesn't just go to his quarters, but he does not seem to care. So I let him be. He is at least resting.”
“Hey sleeping beauty,” Sheppard nudges McKay's arm with his elbow, “The...”
Rodney's response is instantaneous. He jumps from the stool, nearly toppling over. His eyes wide, he surveys the room in a frenzied pace. He's ready for a fight.
“Whoa, Rodney. It's just us.”
Panicked, he surveys the room, a terrible fear flickering within his stormy blue irises. “Don't...do...that,” Rodney mutters through tight breaths. He coddles his arm safely against his chest.
“Sorry.” Sheppard moves forward with a tentative step, his hand coming to rest on McKay's shoulder.
McKay tenses, taking a step back.
Sheppard does not release his hold.
“C'mon McKay, we're getting out of here.”
He drags the man forward, making sure to pull on his good arm. Rodney gives little if any resistance. It is the lack of response that worries Sheppard the most. When they exit onto the east pier, McKay slouches against the rail, a green tinge painting his features.
The stars shine empty against the black sky, nothing more than a token light in the darkness. The ocean waves crash against the various docks below.
“You gonna be okay?”
McKay shakes his head. He slopes against the nearest wall, pulling his legs into his chest. He sniffles, but Sheppard isn't sure whether it's from the cold he's developed or something...well...crying was right up there on the uncomfortable list with accidentally seeing your parents naked.
Sheppard stuffs his fist in his pocket, taking his place beside his trembling friend. It has been five days now and this is the third time he's had to help McKay mid-panic attack. He knows Heightmeyer is having sessions with him, but really, psychology can only go so far. Kolya's men have inflicted deep wounds that have broken stronger men.
Was this how the others reacted afterward? The ones Sheppard had done the same too oh so many years ago in that horrible hell? Some of them had died; others...well...Sheppard wasn't going to ask. It had been so easy to shut off his emotions. Following orders because if he didn't...no...it was more than following orders. He had done it to find Dex and Mitch. Tortured others to save his friends. Ruined whole lives for the sake of those he called friends. Not that it had mattered, they died only weeks later in a different fight.
It wasn't the only time he tortured either. Once the military found out what he was capable of--how he could just shut off his emotions to....well...he wasn't just a pilot to them anymore. Before the black mark on his record, he rarely questioned superiors. It was as that old Chilean dictator, Pinochet, used to say: If you could save thousands from dying in an explosion by extracting the information from one man, wasn't it worth it? So Sheppard turned off his emotions and did just that. Maybe he did save some folks, he doesn't know.
McKay has yet to speak, so Sheppard asks again, “You gonna be okay?” Can anyone be okay after something like that?
“Even Superman has his weakness.”
“What?”
“Kryptonite. Don't even try to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about because I don't have the energy to play your little game of 'let's avoid the hard topics'. I told you that I'm not Superman but even if I were...even he...”
It was one thing to break a stranger. It was something entirely different to see a friend broken.
“It wasn't your fault, McKay. Anyone would have broken.”
“Anyone like me you mean? Weak. Pathetic. Self-centered.”
“Self-centered people don't step in front of guns.”
McKay laughs but Sheppard isn't sure whether it is out of some unsaid joke or a crazed madness. Maybe it's better not knowing.
“You saved Elizabeth's life and the whole city. Not that you need a bigger ego or anything, but hold to that thought and you'll be okay.”
McKay's fingers tap-dance against his thigh. “So I guess that's my superpower then? Foolish bravery in the face of danger?”
It's Sheppard's turn to laugh this time. “There are worse things.”
“Yeah. But I'd prefer one that didn't get me killed.” A pause. “So what's your superpower?”
It is said lightly, but the words are cold in Sheppard's ear. He stares at Rodney's frightening pallor. He glances at the dark sky and thinks of blood stained walls. “You don't want to know,” he says.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-04 12:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-04 03:10 pm (UTC)