Stargate fic - when do you give up?
At what point do you give up? When do you just say “fuck it,” and “had a good run, right?” When do you stop thinking about whether you can get a paperclip which will get you out of the goddamn handcuffs, and checking out your captors to see if they’ve got a blade in their hands? When do you stop fighting, stop hoping?
When do you let go of the moment, and just remember the people you’ve left behind?
When do you accept you’re going to die?
Aurora Heaton’s been thinking about that a lot lately.
She’s not normally someone who ever accepts that kind of thing. Well, she’s Team Fitzroy, right? If you gave up the first time someone said ‘you’ve been infected by a sentient alien parasite which is devouring your lungs right now and we don’t have a cure’, you’d never get anything done. She’s got her favourite bunk at Lamprey and she even keeps a teddy there for special occasions.
She’s walked into planets where the surface turned out to be toxic, she’s been kidnapped by aliens who wanted to brainwash her as punishment for ‘crimes against public order’ (which is way more than the youth offenders court ever suggested, although she’s fairly sure her social worker would have been well up for that), she’s climbed monkey bars over lava rivers and one time she ran the gauntlet during an alien invasion wearing only a t shirt and combats because her ribs were in too many pieces to support body armour.
She doesn’t normally give up. She doesn’t normally think she’s going to die.
But it’s not been a good weekend.
Do you give up when you see your mates vaporized in front of you? AJ had liked the soldiers she’d been working with. Sergeant Carmichael had a wife at home and a kid on the way. He’d been worried he wouldn’t get back in time for the birth. They had swapped pictures of their families; his wife, pregnant and beaming, her husband, hugging a dog, and her daughter, with oversized flight goggles on her head.
He’d died first. There was a beam of light, and then he was twisting, shrivelling, almost dancing and…
…gone.
She’d liked Private Donovan too. He’d been a World of Warcraft player and they’d argued happily over whether the filthy Alliance or the noble Horde were the moral choice. Donovcan had tried to run. The beam had caught him anyway.
It had been his twenty first birthday in two weeks’ time.
Do you give up then?
AJ Heaton hadn’t tried to run. It had clearly been pointless, and she’s never really wanted to die scrambling for the exit. Instead, she had stood, and wrapped her hand around her wolf’s tooth necklace and thought of Hardy.
“Put your game face on, soldier, and don’t let me down,”
He had died well. She wouldn’t betray his memory.
That was the first time she had given up and waited for death.
*
AJ hadn’t died.
That had been a surprise. Instead she’d woken up to find herself in a ship that looked like it had been made of a mix of snot and turtle semen, glued together with frog’s spawn, over a turtle’s shell; mucus and chitin, and a really weird smell. And she’d thought for a moment that it would be alright. Space Adventurer Heaton was totally a thing, and she even had a GGC Lieutenant Colonel with her, who would be a fucking excellent companion as they fought their way free. This was another day at the fucking space office, right? Battle aliens, decipher ancient technology, and get home for tea.
Her optimism had been short lived.
At what point do you give up?
Is it during the physical experiments, when you can’t move anymore, and yet your muscles keep jerking? Is it when you first lose control of your bowels? Or maybe the third time when you realize that the scent of piss and blood doesn’t even make you wince anymore, but what is scaring you is the strange acrid odour beginning to overlay it all and you don’t know what they are doing to your body?
AJ had tried to fight back, but they had taken the hairpin out of the cuff of her jacket, and after the first time she managed to get her wrist loose to punch a mouthless alien, they had done something which had frozen her muscles. She had wanted to move, but her body had become her prison. Her limbs were lumps of meat and she couldn’t even swear at them anymore.
Still, she’s hoped, until she felt something soft and wet wriggling inside her body as the aliens brought out a new probe, organic and almost alive. It was worse than metal inside, a weird kind of violation, and as she screamed inside she heard the mouthless aliens talking in her mind.
That was the second time she’d given up and waited for death.
*
AJ hadn’t died.
Instead, after a while, they had placed some kind of moist sponge on her mouth. For a brief moment it had felt like she was drowning (is this what waterboarding feels like?) and then blessed unconsciousness had taken her.
Except for the voices in her mind. They hadn’t meant to be cruel, but they had wanted to explore. She’d felt them there, watching as memories raced through her mind, both good and bad. They had been there for the night she got drunk on the snowy sands of Dresden with Spike, watched as she remembered his promise.
“Say it after me. Robert Spike Heaton will never leave me,”
He was on deployment right now. No chance of him keeping this promise this time.
They had been there for the night her mother broke her wrist, whilst raging drunk, watched as she’d watched the sun rise on a rooftop with Morris Hicks, knowing she’d never have another night with him again. They had lingered as she sat by her brother’s bedside.
They were there. And none of it was real.
At what point do you give up?
When you don’t know if you’ll even know when the rescue comes, because nothing seems real any more.
*
In a dream, AJ had thought she heard the sound of gunfire, and rapid footsteps.
Floating in the endless dark, she had smiled.
“Said my squad would come,” she said, silent, to the listening void.
From far far away, she thought she could smell the scent of her husband’s aftershave. Cheap Lynx, of course. He’s a soldier. What the hell else would he wear?
If this was a dream, they’d have him turn up smelling better.
But they know my mind. They know that’s what I’d expect.
Maybe none of this will ever be real again. Maybe she’ll wake up in a fake Corsham, go back to a fake home, cuddle a fake child and none of it will be real. Maybe she’ll live her whole life and it will only be a game, a way of teaching the mouthless aliens with their moist and creeping hands more about the Earth, about home, about humanity, about Aurora Heaton’s entire way of life?
Maybe it isn’t even safe to hope, because hope gives them power, gives them more of a weapon?
And this was the final time that Aurora gave up. She didn’t think of Hardy, or Spike. But she sent up a silent Hail Mary to the sky and thought of the velvety darkness. It was time to let go.
That’s when you give up. When you have nothing to live for any more.
*
At what point do you give up? When do you just say “fuck it,” and “had a good run, right?” When do you stop thinking about whether you can get a paperclip which will get you out of the goddamn handcuffs, and checking out your captors to see if they’ve got a blade in their hands? When do you stop fighting, stop hoping?
When do you let go of the moment, and just remember the people you’ve left behind?
When do you accept you’re going to die?
Aurora Heaton is still thinking about that when she wakes up, beneath magnolia paint, in a bed that smells of industrial strength British army disinfectant.
She can smell her husband’s aftershave. Cheap Lynx of course. He’s a soldier. What the hell else would he wear?
If this was a dream, they’d have him turn up smelling better.
But they know my mind. They know that’s what I’d expect.
That was the third time she’d given up and waited for death, closing her eyes to the electric lights.
In hell, she thought, at least it would be nice straightforward pitchforks and burning. She wouldn’t have to deal with the tadpole probes, or creepy voices and she’d never have to see snot green walls again.
“Put your game face on, soldier, and don’t let me down,”
Aurora Heaton sighed.
“But I’m dead, Quinn. Not coming back from this, innit?”
“What is that, AJ? You’re not going to fight? Just going to sit down here and let them take you? Or maybe you’re going to wander off and pick flowers, like Warrant Officer Banks in combat?”
Aurora Heaton’s fist clenched, her body slowly jerking back into life in the real world.
“No, Quinn,” she barked in the silent of her brain.
“What’s that, officer cadet? And good job on getting to Cranwell, by the way. Glad you ditched that army nonsense.
“No, what do you say?”
Aurora Heaton, lying half-conscious in bed, opens her eyes.
Her head aches and her throat is sore and she can’t quite manufacture an actual sound yet, but her voice in her head echoes loud and true.
“Yes sir,”
At what point do you give up and die?
When they nail your fucking coffin down.
When do you let go of the moment, and just remember the people you’ve left behind?
When do you accept you’re going to die?
Aurora Heaton’s been thinking about that a lot lately.
She’s not normally someone who ever accepts that kind of thing. Well, she’s Team Fitzroy, right? If you gave up the first time someone said ‘you’ve been infected by a sentient alien parasite which is devouring your lungs right now and we don’t have a cure’, you’d never get anything done. She’s got her favourite bunk at Lamprey and she even keeps a teddy there for special occasions.
She’s walked into planets where the surface turned out to be toxic, she’s been kidnapped by aliens who wanted to brainwash her as punishment for ‘crimes against public order’ (which is way more than the youth offenders court ever suggested, although she’s fairly sure her social worker would have been well up for that), she’s climbed monkey bars over lava rivers and one time she ran the gauntlet during an alien invasion wearing only a t shirt and combats because her ribs were in too many pieces to support body armour.
She doesn’t normally give up. She doesn’t normally think she’s going to die.
But it’s not been a good weekend.
Do you give up when you see your mates vaporized in front of you? AJ had liked the soldiers she’d been working with. Sergeant Carmichael had a wife at home and a kid on the way. He’d been worried he wouldn’t get back in time for the birth. They had swapped pictures of their families; his wife, pregnant and beaming, her husband, hugging a dog, and her daughter, with oversized flight goggles on her head.
He’d died first. There was a beam of light, and then he was twisting, shrivelling, almost dancing and…
…gone.
She’d liked Private Donovan too. He’d been a World of Warcraft player and they’d argued happily over whether the filthy Alliance or the noble Horde were the moral choice. Donovcan had tried to run. The beam had caught him anyway.
It had been his twenty first birthday in two weeks’ time.
Do you give up then?
AJ Heaton hadn’t tried to run. It had clearly been pointless, and she’s never really wanted to die scrambling for the exit. Instead, she had stood, and wrapped her hand around her wolf’s tooth necklace and thought of Hardy.
“Put your game face on, soldier, and don’t let me down,”
He had died well. She wouldn’t betray his memory.
That was the first time she had given up and waited for death.
*
AJ hadn’t died.
That had been a surprise. Instead she’d woken up to find herself in a ship that looked like it had been made of a mix of snot and turtle semen, glued together with frog’s spawn, over a turtle’s shell; mucus and chitin, and a really weird smell. And she’d thought for a moment that it would be alright. Space Adventurer Heaton was totally a thing, and she even had a GGC Lieutenant Colonel with her, who would be a fucking excellent companion as they fought their way free. This was another day at the fucking space office, right? Battle aliens, decipher ancient technology, and get home for tea.
Her optimism had been short lived.
At what point do you give up?
Is it during the physical experiments, when you can’t move anymore, and yet your muscles keep jerking? Is it when you first lose control of your bowels? Or maybe the third time when you realize that the scent of piss and blood doesn’t even make you wince anymore, but what is scaring you is the strange acrid odour beginning to overlay it all and you don’t know what they are doing to your body?
AJ had tried to fight back, but they had taken the hairpin out of the cuff of her jacket, and after the first time she managed to get her wrist loose to punch a mouthless alien, they had done something which had frozen her muscles. She had wanted to move, but her body had become her prison. Her limbs were lumps of meat and she couldn’t even swear at them anymore.
Still, she’s hoped, until she felt something soft and wet wriggling inside her body as the aliens brought out a new probe, organic and almost alive. It was worse than metal inside, a weird kind of violation, and as she screamed inside she heard the mouthless aliens talking in her mind.
That was the second time she’d given up and waited for death.
*
AJ hadn’t died.
Instead, after a while, they had placed some kind of moist sponge on her mouth. For a brief moment it had felt like she was drowning (is this what waterboarding feels like?) and then blessed unconsciousness had taken her.
Except for the voices in her mind. They hadn’t meant to be cruel, but they had wanted to explore. She’d felt them there, watching as memories raced through her mind, both good and bad. They had been there for the night she got drunk on the snowy sands of Dresden with Spike, watched as she remembered his promise.
“Say it after me. Robert Spike Heaton will never leave me,”
He was on deployment right now. No chance of him keeping this promise this time.
They had been there for the night her mother broke her wrist, whilst raging drunk, watched as she’d watched the sun rise on a rooftop with Morris Hicks, knowing she’d never have another night with him again. They had lingered as she sat by her brother’s bedside.
They were there. And none of it was real.
At what point do you give up?
When you don’t know if you’ll even know when the rescue comes, because nothing seems real any more.
*
In a dream, AJ had thought she heard the sound of gunfire, and rapid footsteps.
Floating in the endless dark, she had smiled.
“Said my squad would come,” she said, silent, to the listening void.
From far far away, she thought she could smell the scent of her husband’s aftershave. Cheap Lynx, of course. He’s a soldier. What the hell else would he wear?
If this was a dream, they’d have him turn up smelling better.
But they know my mind. They know that’s what I’d expect.
Maybe none of this will ever be real again. Maybe she’ll wake up in a fake Corsham, go back to a fake home, cuddle a fake child and none of it will be real. Maybe she’ll live her whole life and it will only be a game, a way of teaching the mouthless aliens with their moist and creeping hands more about the Earth, about home, about humanity, about Aurora Heaton’s entire way of life?
Maybe it isn’t even safe to hope, because hope gives them power, gives them more of a weapon?
And this was the final time that Aurora gave up. She didn’t think of Hardy, or Spike. But she sent up a silent Hail Mary to the sky and thought of the velvety darkness. It was time to let go.
That’s when you give up. When you have nothing to live for any more.
*
At what point do you give up? When do you just say “fuck it,” and “had a good run, right?” When do you stop thinking about whether you can get a paperclip which will get you out of the goddamn handcuffs, and checking out your captors to see if they’ve got a blade in their hands? When do you stop fighting, stop hoping?
When do you let go of the moment, and just remember the people you’ve left behind?
When do you accept you’re going to die?
Aurora Heaton is still thinking about that when she wakes up, beneath magnolia paint, in a bed that smells of industrial strength British army disinfectant.
She can smell her husband’s aftershave. Cheap Lynx of course. He’s a soldier. What the hell else would he wear?
If this was a dream, they’d have him turn up smelling better.
But they know my mind. They know that’s what I’d expect.
That was the third time she’d given up and waited for death, closing her eyes to the electric lights.
In hell, she thought, at least it would be nice straightforward pitchforks and burning. She wouldn’t have to deal with the tadpole probes, or creepy voices and she’d never have to see snot green walls again.
“Put your game face on, soldier, and don’t let me down,”
Aurora Heaton sighed.
“But I’m dead, Quinn. Not coming back from this, innit?”
“What is that, AJ? You’re not going to fight? Just going to sit down here and let them take you? Or maybe you’re going to wander off and pick flowers, like Warrant Officer Banks in combat?”
Aurora Heaton’s fist clenched, her body slowly jerking back into life in the real world.
“No, Quinn,” she barked in the silent of her brain.
“What’s that, officer cadet? And good job on getting to Cranwell, by the way. Glad you ditched that army nonsense.
“No, what do you say?”
Aurora Heaton, lying half-conscious in bed, opens her eyes.
Her head aches and her throat is sore and she can’t quite manufacture an actual sound yet, but her voice in her head echoes loud and true.
“Yes sir,”
At what point do you give up and die?
When they nail your fucking coffin down.