so army men, pick up your feet
title: i’m sure i used to be so free
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don’t own em
rating: pg
fandom: SGA
character: Sheppard
word count: 412
notes: um, hello fandom invasion? took a few liberties with John’s USAF days. title snagged from Muse.
John Sheppard always wanted to fly.
He remembers throwing his arms out wide and jumping off the roof of the stable. He broke his arm in three places and gave himself his first concussion.
After the hospital, once everything settled and his mother stopped crying, he also got his ass beat. It was one of the handful of times his father resorted to physical discipline. John didn’t mind. Nothing could make him regret the way the air whipped past his face, even if he did end up on the ground.
His first trip up in a F-16 left him shaky and wanting. The sims couldn’t touch the reality of having the sky stretched huge and blue around him.
When he landed John was still riding the rush of speedfreedommine. He barely noticed the guys slapping him on the back for a good flight. He only cared about getting back in the air.
Back where he belonged.
The heavy thrum of the Kiowa was like his own pulse. He’d flown plenty of others, but the OH was his favorite. He knew every inch of her assembly from her power train to her pylons. Holland nicknamed her ‘the other woman,’ and John only kicked his ass a little the next time they played poker.
Then Holland is gone, the Kiowa is scrapped, and John’s being shipped home on medical leave until they can decide what to do with him.
He slouches in the jump-seat, picks at the scabs across his knuckles. Tries to ignore the rumble of engines that shake him right down to his bones. For the first time, being in the air feels like being grounded.
McMurdo isn’t as bad as half the guys stationed there seem to think.
John doesn’t complain. Not about the snow and not about the mark on his record. It could’ve been worse, he knows. They could have clipped him. Instead, they give him brass to shuttle back and forth and mostly leave him alone.
He’s settled into a routine by the time General O’Neill shows up for a taxi to the science base. John’s taken a few trips there before, but he’s never seen paid attention to it other than the way it looks from the air. He clicks on the headset and goes through the checks. O’Neill settles into the seat beside him.
John takes them up. If he’s lucky, he’ll be back in time to take a sweep or two around base before dark.
- end
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don’t own em
rating: pg
fandom: SGA
character: Sheppard
word count: 412
notes: um, hello fandom invasion? took a few liberties with John’s USAF days. title snagged from Muse.
John Sheppard always wanted to fly.
He remembers throwing his arms out wide and jumping off the roof of the stable. He broke his arm in three places and gave himself his first concussion.
After the hospital, once everything settled and his mother stopped crying, he also got his ass beat. It was one of the handful of times his father resorted to physical discipline. John didn’t mind. Nothing could make him regret the way the air whipped past his face, even if he did end up on the ground.
His first trip up in a F-16 left him shaky and wanting. The sims couldn’t touch the reality of having the sky stretched huge and blue around him.
When he landed John was still riding the rush of speedfreedommine. He barely noticed the guys slapping him on the back for a good flight. He only cared about getting back in the air.
Back where he belonged.
The heavy thrum of the Kiowa was like his own pulse. He’d flown plenty of others, but the OH was his favorite. He knew every inch of her assembly from her power train to her pylons. Holland nicknamed her ‘the other woman,’ and John only kicked his ass a little the next time they played poker.
Then Holland is gone, the Kiowa is scrapped, and John’s being shipped home on medical leave until they can decide what to do with him.
He slouches in the jump-seat, picks at the scabs across his knuckles. Tries to ignore the rumble of engines that shake him right down to his bones. For the first time, being in the air feels like being grounded.
McMurdo isn’t as bad as half the guys stationed there seem to think.
John doesn’t complain. Not about the snow and not about the mark on his record. It could’ve been worse, he knows. They could have clipped him. Instead, they give him brass to shuttle back and forth and mostly leave him alone.
He’s settled into a routine by the time General O’Neill shows up for a taxi to the science base. John’s taken a few trips there before, but he’s never seen paid attention to it other than the way it looks from the air. He clicks on the headset and goes through the checks. O’Neill settles into the seat beside him.
John takes them up. If he’s lucky, he’ll be back in time to take a sweep or two around base before dark.
- end