Like That, All the Time by Shell
Apr. 9th, 2005 09:49 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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astolat's gorgeous wallpaper and this icon, just under the wire for the challenge, written in somewhere around 38 minutes, and 599 words, unbeta'd. Title's from the poem on the wallpaper. Gen, with a tiny bit of McKay/Sheppard pre-slash if you squint.
Title: Like That, All the Time
Author: Shell
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through Siege, part 2
Like That, All the Time
The first time John Sheppard sat in the chair, he didn't even know what it was. He'd shuttled a brigadier general, gotten shot at by a missile that looked like a squid, and he'd been given security clearance only to get babbled at by some Scottish guy about ancient technology. And he'd been told not to touch anything, which meant he had to touch something.
So he'd touched the arm of the chair, just for kicks, and nothing happened, but it felt strange, so he touched it again. And then he sat in it, and it lit up and leaned back and he could feel it respond to him, even before they asked him to do anything, and it was the greatest thing since he learned to fly.
He turned down Dr. Weir all the same, the first time she asked, but he was glad she got O'Neill to ask him again, because wanting to sit in that chair again was keeping him up nights. Maybe he'd be happier in Antarctica--he'd definitely be safer there--but the thought of an entire city or planet full of things like that chair was more than he could resist.
The next time he sat in a chair like that it welcomed him like an old friend. He more than understood the Ancient technology by that point--it was part of him, and not just because he carried some gene in his cells.
He'd flown countless jumper missions by then, and the jumpers were part of him, too, so much so that it was hard to teach others how to fly them. "You just feel it," he wanted to say to the Marines who'd expected some sort of flight manual they could follow, but the Marines wouldn't understand, so he talked to them about inputs and interfaces, about technical specifications and inertial dampeners, and eventually enough of them figured enough of it out to get the mines placed.
Fat lot of good that did.
Sitting in the chair, though, that did do some good. The city responded to him as it always did, from the second he stepped through the gate and the lights started coming on all around him, the stairs waiting to light up until they felt his booted feet. The chair was part of him, and he gloried in the battle, gloried in taking out dart after dart until, too quickly, the last drone caught up with the last ship.
He'd been tired--exhausted was more like it--when he sat in the chair that second time. He'd barely slept in weeks, ever since they first discovered the Hive ships on course for Atlantis. But it all disappeared as he and the city defended their people--it was like he was getting some of the energy from that Mark II Naquadah Generator. Or from the city, more like.
Once it was over, though, he could barely stand up. Rodney helped him out of the chair, and they leaned against each other for one long moment before walking to the gate room together.
The third time he sat in the chair, nothing happened. He couldn't feel the city, and he knew the power was gone before Rodney said a word.
He couldn't really feel the city when he was in the jumper, but he could see it spread out below him as he headed for the Hive ship. The jumper was still part of him, though, welcoming him, not caring what they were going to do together, only wanting to fly, to fly with him, wherever he needed to go.
END
astolat's gorgeous wallpaper and this icon, just under the wire for the challenge, written in somewhere around 38 minutes, and 599 words, unbeta'd. Title's from the poem on the wallpaper. Gen, with a tiny bit of McKay/Sheppard pre-slash if you squint.Title: Like That, All the Time
Author: Shell
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through Siege, part 2
Like That, All the Time
The first time John Sheppard sat in the chair, he didn't even know what it was. He'd shuttled a brigadier general, gotten shot at by a missile that looked like a squid, and he'd been given security clearance only to get babbled at by some Scottish guy about ancient technology. And he'd been told not to touch anything, which meant he had to touch something.
So he'd touched the arm of the chair, just for kicks, and nothing happened, but it felt strange, so he touched it again. And then he sat in it, and it lit up and leaned back and he could feel it respond to him, even before they asked him to do anything, and it was the greatest thing since he learned to fly.
He turned down Dr. Weir all the same, the first time she asked, but he was glad she got O'Neill to ask him again, because wanting to sit in that chair again was keeping him up nights. Maybe he'd be happier in Antarctica--he'd definitely be safer there--but the thought of an entire city or planet full of things like that chair was more than he could resist.
The next time he sat in a chair like that it welcomed him like an old friend. He more than understood the Ancient technology by that point--it was part of him, and not just because he carried some gene in his cells.
He'd flown countless jumper missions by then, and the jumpers were part of him, too, so much so that it was hard to teach others how to fly them. "You just feel it," he wanted to say to the Marines who'd expected some sort of flight manual they could follow, but the Marines wouldn't understand, so he talked to them about inputs and interfaces, about technical specifications and inertial dampeners, and eventually enough of them figured enough of it out to get the mines placed.
Fat lot of good that did.
Sitting in the chair, though, that did do some good. The city responded to him as it always did, from the second he stepped through the gate and the lights started coming on all around him, the stairs waiting to light up until they felt his booted feet. The chair was part of him, and he gloried in the battle, gloried in taking out dart after dart until, too quickly, the last drone caught up with the last ship.
He'd been tired--exhausted was more like it--when he sat in the chair that second time. He'd barely slept in weeks, ever since they first discovered the Hive ships on course for Atlantis. But it all disappeared as he and the city defended their people--it was like he was getting some of the energy from that Mark II Naquadah Generator. Or from the city, more like.
Once it was over, though, he could barely stand up. Rodney helped him out of the chair, and they leaned against each other for one long moment before walking to the gate room together.
The third time he sat in the chair, nothing happened. He couldn't feel the city, and he knew the power was gone before Rodney said a word.
He couldn't really feel the city when he was in the jumper, but he could see it spread out below him as he headed for the Hive ship. The jumper was still part of him, though, welcoming him, not caring what they were going to do together, only wanting to fly, to fly with him, wherever he needed to go.
END
