Bates pulled the boxing gloves off, tore the tape with his teeth and unwrapped his hands.
“Here, sir.” Private Walters held out a bowl of ice. Bates leveled his gaze on him. “I’ll just leave this here for you, sir.” Hands shaking, the private set the ice on the bench and scurried away.
Bates waited until he’d cleared the room before allowing himself to fold himself onto the bench. They were totally fucked.
Damn Sumner for dying and leaving a pansy-assed Air Force puke in charge that thought the words “operational security” were a foreign language. Ignoring his bruised knuckles, he wrapped some ice in towel and held it to his aching jaw. That Athosian bitch had a hell of a right. He prayed to God that she wasn’t a traitor or they’d all be dead inside a week.
“Sergeant.” Sheppard’s lazy-assed drawl echoed through the locker room.
“Sir.” Bates jumped to his feet and spun to face him, forcing his fingers to straighten into a proper salute. The bastard took his time before returning it with a sloppy facsimile.
“At ease, Sergeant.” Spineless as always, Sheppard leaned back against the wall of lockers, hands tucked casually up under his arm pits and said, “There’s a reason you were made chief of security - you’re the most suspicious s.o.b. I’ve ever met.”
Fuck a duck. Here’s were he got reassigned to mess hall duty.
“I consider Teyla Emmagan a friend to us. That said, I don’t expect you to shut your eyes. I do, however, expect you to shut your mouth unless you’ve got proof. Is that understood, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sheppard’s voice hardened, “Is that understood, Sergeant?”
Bates snapped back to attention, “Sir. Yes, sir!”
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Sheppard pushed away from the lockers and eyed Bates for a moment before flicking a glance at the ice pack Bates had been using on his jaw. “If you want to be able to fire your weapon tomorrow, you might want to pay more attention to your bruised knuckles than your bruised pride.”
“Yes, sir!” Bates stood at attention until Sheppard was gone. Sinking back down on the bench he whispered, “bastard”, under his breath as his stuck his hands in the bowl of ice. But, maybe, just maybe, this bastard wouldn’t get them all killed.
I always wanted to see Bates and Teyla go at it, preferably with sticks, but boxing gloves would have been cool, too. I was sorry they didn't bring him back for season 2.
Thank you. Glad you enjoyed. While not a traditional comfort fic, I think it's the most comfort Bates would have permitted anyone to provide. I hold out hope that we might yet see him again.
Bates pulled the boxing gloves off, tore the tape with his teeth and unwrapped his hands.
“Here, sir.” Private Walters held out a bowl of ice. Bates leveled his gaze on him. “I’ll just leave this here for you, sir.” Hands shaking, the private set the ice on the bench and scurried away.
Bates waited until he’d cleared the room before allowing himself to fold himself onto the bench. They were totally fucked.
Damn Sumner for dying and leaving a pansy-assed Air Force puke in charge that thought the words “operational security” were a foreign language. Ignoring his bruised knuckles, he wrapped some ice in towel and held it to his aching jaw. That Athosian bitch had a hell of a right. He prayed to God that she wasn’t a traitor or they’d all be dead inside a week.
“Sergeant.” Sheppard’s lazy-assed drawl echoed through the locker room.
“Sir.” Bates jumped to his feet and spun to face him, forcing his fingers to straighten into a proper salute. The bastard took his time before returning it with a sloppy facsimile.
“At ease, Sergeant.” Spineless as always, Sheppard leaned back against the wall of lockers, hands tucked casually up under his arm pits and said, “There’s a reason you were made chief of security - you’re the most suspicious s.o.b. I’ve ever met.”
Fuck a duck. Here’s were he got reassigned to mess hall duty.
“I consider Teyla Emmagan a friend to us. That said, I don’t expect you to shut your eyes. I do, however, expect you to shut your mouth unless you’ve got proof. Is that understood, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sheppard’s voice hardened, “Is that understood, Sergeant?”
Bates snapped back to attention, “Sir. Yes, sir!”
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Sheppard pushed away from the lockers and eyed Bates for a moment before flicking a glance at the ice pack Bates had been using on his jaw. “If you want to be able to fire your weapon tomorrow, you might want to pay more attention to your bruised knuckles than your bruised pride.”
“Yes, sir!” Bates stood at attention until Sheppard was gone. Sinking back down on the bench he whispered, “bastard”, under his breath as his stuck his hands in the bowl of ice. But, maybe, just maybe, this bastard wouldn’t get them all killed.
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I miss Bates, but I guess they're not going to bring him back. He was an interesting note, y'know?
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