Fic: Everytime I Do It Makes Me (SGA, Angst, Sparky)
I wrote a (short) fic. Wow, huh? XD
Title: Everytime I Do It Makes Me
Author:
comanche_rider
Characters: Sheppard
Rating: PG
Genre/Pairing: Angst. Sparky.
Spoliers: Season 4 cast changes only.
Summary: There used to be an empty pocket on his tac vest.
A/N: Title is from the song Photograph by Nickelback. No beta, so all stupid mistakes are mine. XD
There used to be an empty pocket on his tac vest.
Near the gauze wraps, Rodney’s power bars, dental floss, an extra P-90 magazine, and about a million other things, it’s innocuous to anyone who doesn’t look for it. No one would guess that it wasn’t empty anymore - there’s no extra bulge, no clues to say anything has changed (like there are no clues on his face, always calm, always cool).
He knows, though.
Her picture is old, and it shows. He spends minutes alone in the locker room, fingering burnt edges (the pyromaniacs on the moon with what they decided was bluegrass), spots of blood (whoever knew that tac vests were permeated), and some ripped sides (for note-taking on some backwater planet where everyone spoke at once). It isn’t glossy anymore, and some of the colors are smeared from various wet encounters, but her face is still clearly visible. In a way, he likes the smears and rips and darkened corners - it reminds him that everything can survive if you keep trying.
Reminds him that maybe he can bring her back.
~~~*~~~
He doesn’t know how it happens. One minute they’re trudging through snow, the next they’re surrounded by the Genii equivalent of mortars. In moments everything is a blur of white snow and blue sky and frost being thrown up towards bare trees, hollow explosions rocking the earth around them, followed only by near-silence (only near, because he can hear the soft sound of snow on snow, the smallest patter, like a light rain).
They get to cover quickly behind an embankment, but not before he can feel the hot rush of blood, not before he can see dark red stains spotting the ground where he ran. The cold dulls the pain some, just enough that he’s aware that a line of soldiers it blocking the way to the gate, and then all he can feel is a rush of agony.
He’s not sure what happens after that, because his world has faded to light and noise and voices screaming in his ear.
The last thing he remembers before he blacks out is jagged edges bending and digging into clenched fingers.
~~~*~~~
He’s just been released from the infirmary when he hears the soft knock on his door. Behind it is Keller, looking a little out of place, a little sad.
“Colonel, I, um, I think this is yours,” Her voice is tentative, like she’s expecting something explosive as she holds her hand out.
He blinks at the down-turned photo, gently taking it and turning it around. They stand there for a while, before Keller clears her throat.
“You were holding it when you came through the gate. You, uh, wouldn’t let it go until I gave you a shot of morphine.” He finally glances up at her, and his voice feels dry and strained when he speaks.
“Thanks,” She leaves with a little nod, though he catches her glancing back with that sad look once more as she walks away.
His door closes as he sits down and sets the picture on his nightstand. It feels like the first step to getting her back.
On his next mission, there’s an empty pocket on his tac vest.
Title: Everytime I Do It Makes Me
Author:
comanche_rider
Characters: Sheppard
Rating: PG
Genre/Pairing: Angst. Sparky.
Spoliers: Season 4 cast changes only.
Summary: There used to be an empty pocket on his tac vest.
A/N: Title is from the song Photograph by Nickelback. No beta, so all stupid mistakes are mine. XD
There used to be an empty pocket on his tac vest.
Near the gauze wraps, Rodney’s power bars, dental floss, an extra P-90 magazine, and about a million other things, it’s innocuous to anyone who doesn’t look for it. No one would guess that it wasn’t empty anymore - there’s no extra bulge, no clues to say anything has changed (like there are no clues on his face, always calm, always cool).
He knows, though.
Her picture is old, and it shows. He spends minutes alone in the locker room, fingering burnt edges (the pyromaniacs on the moon with what they decided was bluegrass), spots of blood (whoever knew that tac vests were permeated), and some ripped sides (for note-taking on some backwater planet where everyone spoke at once). It isn’t glossy anymore, and some of the colors are smeared from various wet encounters, but her face is still clearly visible. In a way, he likes the smears and rips and darkened corners - it reminds him that everything can survive if you keep trying.
Reminds him that maybe he can bring her back.
~~~*~~~
He doesn’t know how it happens. One minute they’re trudging through snow, the next they’re surrounded by the Genii equivalent of mortars. In moments everything is a blur of white snow and blue sky and frost being thrown up towards bare trees, hollow explosions rocking the earth around them, followed only by near-silence (only near, because he can hear the soft sound of snow on snow, the smallest patter, like a light rain).
They get to cover quickly behind an embankment, but not before he can feel the hot rush of blood, not before he can see dark red stains spotting the ground where he ran. The cold dulls the pain some, just enough that he’s aware that a line of soldiers it blocking the way to the gate, and then all he can feel is a rush of agony.
He’s not sure what happens after that, because his world has faded to light and noise and voices screaming in his ear.
The last thing he remembers before he blacks out is jagged edges bending and digging into clenched fingers.
~~~*~~~
He’s just been released from the infirmary when he hears the soft knock on his door. Behind it is Keller, looking a little out of place, a little sad.
“Colonel, I, um, I think this is yours,” Her voice is tentative, like she’s expecting something explosive as she holds her hand out.
He blinks at the down-turned photo, gently taking it and turning it around. They stand there for a while, before Keller clears her throat.
“You were holding it when you came through the gate. You, uh, wouldn’t let it go until I gave you a shot of morphine.” He finally glances up at her, and his voice feels dry and strained when he speaks.
“Thanks,” She leaves with a little nod, though he catches her glancing back with that sad look once more as she walks away.
His door closes as he sits down and sets the picture on his nightstand. It feels like the first step to getting her back.
On his next mission, there’s an empty pocket on his tac vest.