Fic: Medic
Title:Medic
Author:EtherealFlaim
Genre:Slash, AU (slight)
Rating:PG-13 (for implications of the man-secks)
Fandom:Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Characters:Charley/Derek and others
Summary:Derek is in for the shock of his life.
Author's Notes:This is my attempt to purify my image of Derek. It's written for the nascent slashdom over at scc_slash, for the 100-fic challenge prompt Sight. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! These guys really write themselves. This is my explanation for the nice, big scar that Derek has over his heart. It's symbolic. I'll let you figure out how =)
Derek Reese was no stranger to gunshot wounds, deep cuts, searing flesh, blinding flashes, or deafening explosions... but none of that prepared him for the heart-stopping shock and emotional somersaults he felt when he saw Charley Dixon again.
---------
His mind could focus on nothing but the searing pain in his chest. The neurons in his brain refused to fire properly. He didn't know where his gun was; he couldn't remember how many bullets were in it. He didn't know where the nearest exits were, or what his chances were of escaping in the event of an attack. He had no idea who was around him, and which of them--if any--could be trusted in an emergency. All he new was that he hurt.
Derek began to breathe. He controlled the rhythm of his diaphragm, and found a beat that was easy enough to maintain, and began to slowly transfer his focus to his eyes. He opened them with difficulty, and observed with incomprehension the blue-suited man standing over him, gloved hands covered with blood. It slowly dawned on him that the man was cutting into him, digging into the flesh of his shoulder; but before he could take aggressive action he realized that the man must be a medic, trying to remove the eight-inch piece of shrapnel that was probably inches from piercing his heart.
What seemed like an eternity later to Derek, the man had the piece of metal removed, and the synapses up and down Derek's body began to function and feel properly, if not comfortably. The medic finished with his bandage, and shifted his attention to the man himself. He removed a flashlight from his pack and got close to Derek's face with his own, flicking the small light alternately toward and away from Derek's eyes.
"I hope you know how lucky you were, Derek." How does he know my name? "If I recall, that's the second time I've saved your ass from certain death at the hand of a particularly persistent hunk of metal." What the hell is he talking about?
The medic turned off the keychain flashlight, and Derek's eyes readjusted to the dim light of the tunnel.
"You don't appear to have a concussion, your head looks fine, and your shoulder should heal. Your leg's going to take a few weeks before you can walk on it, but that also will heal itself in due time. For now, sleep."
And as if he had been waiting for the command, Derek slipped into unconsciousness; a deep restful sleep of the kind that had been only a memory since Judgment Day. The last thing he noticed before he fell asleep were how the man's light brown eyes seemed to shine in the darkness, impossibly vivid in the twilight of insufficient lighting.
---
Derek awoke to the muffled sounds of explosions above. He tried to sit up, and his hand instinctively reached for where his gun should be, but neither movement succeed in anything more than crippling him with pain.
He looked around him. The corner of the tunnel in which he was lying was all but deserted; there was a large muscular woman lying a few feet away and trembling... Her arm was black from the elbow down to her wrist--to which there was no hand attached. A few feet beyond her, a young boy bound shoulder, neck, and back to a wooden plank was crying out for people who could obviously not hear him.
The medic limped around the corner a few feet down the tunnel, and sat down next to the screaming boy, who calmed quickly at his deep husky reassurances and soothing hands. He then moved onto the woman, who received a very small dose of what appeared to be painkillers and a single sleeping pill.
Derek watched this all with silence, forming in his head a picture of the events which transpired based on what he knew of the beginning of the attack. Undoubtedly, the machines had somehow detected that there were refugees in the area, and begun bombing the ground above them. Fearing collapse or capture, the refugees had begun to flee and the resistance fighters had been dispatched to protect them as they left and to distract the seekers and centaurs while they made it to safety. The medic would have stayed to help the wounded, and judging by the burn on his leg had suffered for it too. And now, as he could not travel, he was left to tend alone to the three residents of the makeshift clinic who were impossible to move.
When the man came over to him and began to give him a small dose of painkiller, Derek forced his aching muscles to take command of his voice.
"St--" He coughed, and cleared his throat. "Stop. Take that and give it to her. I don't need it."
The man started to protest, but Derek narrowed his eyes. "Now. I don't need it."
The medic turned around and administered the second dose of painkillers to the amputee beside him, looking back at Derek only briefly to reassure himself that the man was serious about not wanting the meds.
When he had finished, he proceeded to clean Derek's wounds without a word. Derek kept silent as well, not because he feared conversation with the man, but because he was afraid that if he opened his mouth a cry would escape, and he wasn't about to admit that me might actually have needed painkillers in the first place... much less admit that to some man he hardly knew. What he did know, however, was that he really wished he would stop looking at him. Every time their eyes met, a palpable spark swept his skin. He was glad when--with only the slightest brush of fingers on his lips--the man slipped the sleeping pill in his mouth, and he again drifted off into dreamless, stress-free sleep.
---
Over the course of the next week, Derek's leg slowly recovered. While he could not go with the medic--whose name he learned was Charley--he stayed in the dry section of tunnel that Charley had found not too far away and tended to the wounded as best he could. Charley brought back anyone he could find who had been injured in the escape attempt and left to die above, and soon there were more than eight people--mostly women and children--sharing the small, cramped quarters with the two men.
---
Charley came back one evening empty-handed. None of the people he had found that day were still alive; only corpses. He didn't know whether to be grateful or more worried at this, and had decided that he would ask Derek for his strategic opinion when he saw the younger man sitting by himself away from the group staring at the wall in silence.
Charley crouched down next to him. "You okay, Derek?" He tilted his head to the side and peered into the luminous green eyes, trying to glean from them some explanation. None came. Charley sat down against the wall, and stared ahead in a mirror of Derek's silent contemplation. At least if Derek wasn't going to talk, he was going to have somebody to not talk to.
It was more than an hour before Derek spoke. When he did, his voice was more hoarse than usual, and the vivid timbre of his voice was subdued.
"She died, Charley. She was whimpering quietly, and I went over to see what was the matter. She reached out to me with her good hand, and then she started shaking uncontrollably."
Derek paused, gathering his wits. His face was still expressionless, his eyes dry, but the changes in his voice still spoke of deep pain and sadness.
"I held her in my arms, and she looked up at me and..." the words seemed to catch in his throat, though he gave no outward indication that he was even having difficulty recounting the tale.
"She smiled. I don't think I'd ever seen her smile. And then she died. In my arms, Charley, she died."
He paused for a moment before adding, "I don't know how you live with this, Charley."
Charley felt his heart break just a little bit more. The familiar sadness at losing a patient was there, of course, but that was nothing compared to seeing a strong man break down. It was a hurt that he couldn't bandage, and he felt powerless. He wanted to comfort Derek, but thought that the most effective form of comfort that Derek would be willing to accept was exactly what he was doing: listening and keeping his mouth shut.
---
The two men had been sleeping alternate shifts every night, and that night Charley insisted that Derek sleep first. The man had trained his subconscious brain to count his breaths, and as such had a built-in alarm clock. Charley hoped that Derek would fail to wake up when it was time so he could be allowed to sleep longer... He certainly deserved it after having been reminded just how close they all were to their last breaths. He settled down against the wall by the entrance where they both slept, and prepared himself for a long night of quiet listening and constant vigilance.
Charley just about jumped out of his skin when he felt something move lightly up against his leg, but he caught the reaction to lash out just in time to avoid kicking Derek's sleeping head. In his sleep, the man had rolled closer to Charley, and was cuddling up against the warmth of the medic's thigh. Charley hadn't the heart to wake the sleeping man and allowed the comatose form to remain curled up against his leg.
---
Derek's sleeping brain finished its count, and began to pump more blood through his body in preparation for consciousness.
As consciousness floated to the surface, Derek became aware of a comforting warmth against his cheek, and soft cloth beneath his hands. Without meaning to, he nestled in closer to the warmth, stroking his fingers against the softness beneath them. As if in answer, a gentle hand swept the hair behind his exposed ear and came to rest on his head.
Derek's eyes flew open. His veins burned with adrenaline, his every system now running on high alert. His muscles took control, carrying him swiftly into a sitting position, bringing his gun from where he kept it safely tucked to being pointed inches from Charley's face in less than a heartbeat.
Charley froze, mind racing, trying to find an explanation where he knew the truth was too absurd to believe. When Derek lowered the gun, he remembered to breathe again.
Derek hung his head. It couldn't have been more plain to him that this wasn't Charley's fault; his sleeping brain had gotten the best of him. He wasn't stupid, he knew that Charley was his only companion and had been so for weeks. He had been getting to know the man pretty well through the long hours of cleaning wounds and many nights of standing watch; learning from him and teaching a little himself. If he was honest with himself, as his respect for the medic grew so did his desire for more than simple companionship. It had been too long since his body had found relief, and even longer since he had found that relief with another person. He had wanted to be strong, to resist, to stand tough and alone. Now, he knew, he had found someone who would stand by him and still he was held fast with fear.
Derek lifted his head and looked into Charley's unblinking brown eyes. The chiseled features around them were set, unmoving, and sure. Charley was obviously waiting for Derek to make up his mind about something, and was willing to accept whatever consequences there were.
Derek took this as the closest thing to permission that he was going to get, and with his heart still racing a mile a minute, he put his gun away and curled up with his head against Charley's chest and his arms wrapped around the muscular waist. For the first time he could remember since the sky had begun to fall, he let his guard down and let himself be vulnerable. He took an uncounted breath, and let himself be lulled into slumber by the slowly massaging fingers in his hair.
------
It was almost morning again, and Derek was keenly aware of how few more minutes he had before the children would begin to awaken. He took the opportunity to explore Charley's mouth with his tongue and his body with hands. He already knew every inch of that body, every scar, from the ridges of his abs to the tattoos on his shoulders; but the smooth skin was intoxicating. He withdrew, and placed a final kiss on the soft lips of the man lying sated beneath him before rolling away to find where his clothes went.
Derek stood, stepping into his jeans and watching Charley start slipping into his own when he was thrown from his feet, his head striking the floor before his hands could shield him. The sound of the blast reached his ears after he was already flat on the ground. Immediately, his body was on alert, the bleeding trail down the side of his face completely ignored. He left his shirt where it was and moved quickly to grab the children, not needing to look to know that Charley was also gathering their wards, waking them from sleep and leading them along the escape route they had planned for just such a circumstance. He carried one still-sleeping child over his shoulder and led three others who could walk along the tunnel, half a mile and down into a thicker section of the tunnel which was wet and dark. He jogged quickly back, passing Charley helping two women. Derek gathered the final boy into his arms, realizing with a pang that this was the same boy who had been there his first night... and his mind drifted back to the woman to whom he had given his painkillers. He pushed it out of his mind as he carried the boy as delicately a he could.
As he started down the dark corridor toward their safe hideaway, he began to hear screaming. Without a second thought, he sat the boy down--assuring him that he would be back as soon as he could--and sprinted with every ounce of energy he possessed. When he reached the ladder down into the dark stretch of tunnel they had counted on being safe, he already knew what he would find. He climbed down slowly, afraid to call out and not be answered. At the bottom, he turned around slowly.
Derek's heart stopped. He fell to his knees, and gathered Charley into his arms, willing him to be okay; but the charred flesh at the side of the man's face and the fluid weight of his body told him before he felt his lover's neck that the man was dead.
As if on autopilot, Derek collected the bodies into a corner, took the last of their fuel and used it to make the best fire he could to finish the job that the machines had started. He spoke what he could remember of a prayer over the makeshift funeral pyre.
Derek's mind was blank as he collected the boy and began to make his way through the tunnels, making turns at random, hoping with every turn to find a sign of the resistance, needing to find them, to rejoin the ranks of the fighters. They had taken everything he had ever loved from him, and he was going to make them pay.
---------
Derek's back was being pressed against cold wood, his arms being pinned at his sides. As consciousness caught up with his flailing arms and his vision began to clear, the pain in his chest also flooded back into him. It didn't take long before he began to recognize some of the faces above him. His fighting stilled as the face of Sarah Connor clarified itself above him. She looked different, but she was unmistakable. She looked younger, but still just as cold and calculating. She was studying him, as if trying to determine if he could be trusted, and if he would try to run. He shifted his gaze to the other man standing over him, and with shock wondered if he wasn't finally dead.
Above him stood the man he had never expected to see again: Charley Dixon. Comments are like crack! Er, chocolate?
Derek Reese was no stranger to gunshot wounds, deep cuts, searing flesh, blinding flashes, or deafening explosions... but none of that prepared him for the heart-stopping shock and emotional somersaults he felt when he saw Charley Dixon again.
---------
His mind could focus on nothing but the searing pain in his chest. The neurons in his brain refused to fire properly. He didn't know where his gun was; he couldn't remember how many bullets were in it. He didn't know where the nearest exits were, or what his chances were of escaping in the event of an attack. He had no idea who was around him, and which of them--if any--could be trusted in an emergency. All he new was that he hurt.
Derek began to breathe. He controlled the rhythm of his diaphragm, and found a beat that was easy enough to maintain, and began to slowly transfer his focus to his eyes. He opened them with difficulty, and observed with incomprehension the blue-suited man standing over him, gloved hands covered with blood. It slowly dawned on him that the man was cutting into him, digging into the flesh of his shoulder; but before he could take aggressive action he realized that the man must be a medic, trying to remove the eight-inch piece of shrapnel that was probably inches from piercing his heart.
What seemed like an eternity later to Derek, the man had the piece of metal removed, and the synapses up and down Derek's body began to function and feel properly, if not comfortably. The medic finished with his bandage, and shifted his attention to the man himself. He removed a flashlight from his pack and got close to Derek's face with his own, flicking the small light alternately toward and away from Derek's eyes.
"I hope you know how lucky you were, Derek." How does he know my name? "If I recall, that's the second time I've saved your ass from certain death at the hand of a particularly persistent hunk of metal." What the hell is he talking about?
The medic turned off the keychain flashlight, and Derek's eyes readjusted to the dim light of the tunnel.
"You don't appear to have a concussion, your head looks fine, and your shoulder should heal. Your leg's going to take a few weeks before you can walk on it, but that also will heal itself in due time. For now, sleep."
And as if he had been waiting for the command, Derek slipped into unconsciousness; a deep restful sleep of the kind that had been only a memory since Judgment Day. The last thing he noticed before he fell asleep were how the man's light brown eyes seemed to shine in the darkness, impossibly vivid in the twilight of insufficient lighting.
---
Derek awoke to the muffled sounds of explosions above. He tried to sit up, and his hand instinctively reached for where his gun should be, but neither movement succeed in anything more than crippling him with pain.
He looked around him. The corner of the tunnel in which he was lying was all but deserted; there was a large muscular woman lying a few feet away and trembling... Her arm was black from the elbow down to her wrist--to which there was no hand attached. A few feet beyond her, a young boy bound shoulder, neck, and back to a wooden plank was crying out for people who could obviously not hear him.
The medic limped around the corner a few feet down the tunnel, and sat down next to the screaming boy, who calmed quickly at his deep husky reassurances and soothing hands. He then moved onto the woman, who received a very small dose of what appeared to be painkillers and a single sleeping pill.
Derek watched this all with silence, forming in his head a picture of the events which transpired based on what he knew of the beginning of the attack. Undoubtedly, the machines had somehow detected that there were refugees in the area, and begun bombing the ground above them. Fearing collapse or capture, the refugees had begun to flee and the resistance fighters had been dispatched to protect them as they left and to distract the seekers and centaurs while they made it to safety. The medic would have stayed to help the wounded, and judging by the burn on his leg had suffered for it too. And now, as he could not travel, he was left to tend alone to the three residents of the makeshift clinic who were impossible to move.
When the man came over to him and began to give him a small dose of painkiller, Derek forced his aching muscles to take command of his voice.
"St--" He coughed, and cleared his throat. "Stop. Take that and give it to her. I don't need it."
The man started to protest, but Derek narrowed his eyes. "Now. I don't need it."
The medic turned around and administered the second dose of painkillers to the amputee beside him, looking back at Derek only briefly to reassure himself that the man was serious about not wanting the meds.
When he had finished, he proceeded to clean Derek's wounds without a word. Derek kept silent as well, not because he feared conversation with the man, but because he was afraid that if he opened his mouth a cry would escape, and he wasn't about to admit that me might actually have needed painkillers in the first place... much less admit that to some man he hardly knew. What he did know, however, was that he really wished he would stop looking at him. Every time their eyes met, a palpable spark swept his skin. He was glad when--with only the slightest brush of fingers on his lips--the man slipped the sleeping pill in his mouth, and he again drifted off into dreamless, stress-free sleep.
---
Over the course of the next week, Derek's leg slowly recovered. While he could not go with the medic--whose name he learned was Charley--he stayed in the dry section of tunnel that Charley had found not too far away and tended to the wounded as best he could. Charley brought back anyone he could find who had been injured in the escape attempt and left to die above, and soon there were more than eight people--mostly women and children--sharing the small, cramped quarters with the two men.
---
Charley came back one evening empty-handed. None of the people he had found that day were still alive; only corpses. He didn't know whether to be grateful or more worried at this, and had decided that he would ask Derek for his strategic opinion when he saw the younger man sitting by himself away from the group staring at the wall in silence.
Charley crouched down next to him. "You okay, Derek?" He tilted his head to the side and peered into the luminous green eyes, trying to glean from them some explanation. None came. Charley sat down against the wall, and stared ahead in a mirror of Derek's silent contemplation. At least if Derek wasn't going to talk, he was going to have somebody to not talk to.
It was more than an hour before Derek spoke. When he did, his voice was more hoarse than usual, and the vivid timbre of his voice was subdued.
"She died, Charley. She was whimpering quietly, and I went over to see what was the matter. She reached out to me with her good hand, and then she started shaking uncontrollably."
Derek paused, gathering his wits. His face was still expressionless, his eyes dry, but the changes in his voice still spoke of deep pain and sadness.
"I held her in my arms, and she looked up at me and..." the words seemed to catch in his throat, though he gave no outward indication that he was even having difficulty recounting the tale.
"She smiled. I don't think I'd ever seen her smile. And then she died. In my arms, Charley, she died."
He paused for a moment before adding, "I don't know how you live with this, Charley."
Charley felt his heart break just a little bit more. The familiar sadness at losing a patient was there, of course, but that was nothing compared to seeing a strong man break down. It was a hurt that he couldn't bandage, and he felt powerless. He wanted to comfort Derek, but thought that the most effective form of comfort that Derek would be willing to accept was exactly what he was doing: listening and keeping his mouth shut.
---
The two men had been sleeping alternate shifts every night, and that night Charley insisted that Derek sleep first. The man had trained his subconscious brain to count his breaths, and as such had a built-in alarm clock. Charley hoped that Derek would fail to wake up when it was time so he could be allowed to sleep longer... He certainly deserved it after having been reminded just how close they all were to their last breaths. He settled down against the wall by the entrance where they both slept, and prepared himself for a long night of quiet listening and constant vigilance.
Charley just about jumped out of his skin when he felt something move lightly up against his leg, but he caught the reaction to lash out just in time to avoid kicking Derek's sleeping head. In his sleep, the man had rolled closer to Charley, and was cuddling up against the warmth of the medic's thigh. Charley hadn't the heart to wake the sleeping man and allowed the comatose form to remain curled up against his leg.
---
Derek's sleeping brain finished its count, and began to pump more blood through his body in preparation for consciousness.
As consciousness floated to the surface, Derek became aware of a comforting warmth against his cheek, and soft cloth beneath his hands. Without meaning to, he nestled in closer to the warmth, stroking his fingers against the softness beneath them. As if in answer, a gentle hand swept the hair behind his exposed ear and came to rest on his head.
Derek's eyes flew open. His veins burned with adrenaline, his every system now running on high alert. His muscles took control, carrying him swiftly into a sitting position, bringing his gun from where he kept it safely tucked to being pointed inches from Charley's face in less than a heartbeat.
Charley froze, mind racing, trying to find an explanation where he knew the truth was too absurd to believe. When Derek lowered the gun, he remembered to breathe again.
Derek hung his head. It couldn't have been more plain to him that this wasn't Charley's fault; his sleeping brain had gotten the best of him. He wasn't stupid, he knew that Charley was his only companion and had been so for weeks. He had been getting to know the man pretty well through the long hours of cleaning wounds and many nights of standing watch; learning from him and teaching a little himself. If he was honest with himself, as his respect for the medic grew so did his desire for more than simple companionship. It had been too long since his body had found relief, and even longer since he had found that relief with another person. He had wanted to be strong, to resist, to stand tough and alone. Now, he knew, he had found someone who would stand by him and still he was held fast with fear.
Derek lifted his head and looked into Charley's unblinking brown eyes. The chiseled features around them were set, unmoving, and sure. Charley was obviously waiting for Derek to make up his mind about something, and was willing to accept whatever consequences there were.
Derek took this as the closest thing to permission that he was going to get, and with his heart still racing a mile a minute, he put his gun away and curled up with his head against Charley's chest and his arms wrapped around the muscular waist. For the first time he could remember since the sky had begun to fall, he let his guard down and let himself be vulnerable. He took an uncounted breath, and let himself be lulled into slumber by the slowly massaging fingers in his hair.
------
It was almost morning again, and Derek was keenly aware of how few more minutes he had before the children would begin to awaken. He took the opportunity to explore Charley's mouth with his tongue and his body with hands. He already knew every inch of that body, every scar, from the ridges of his abs to the tattoos on his shoulders; but the smooth skin was intoxicating. He withdrew, and placed a final kiss on the soft lips of the man lying sated beneath him before rolling away to find where his clothes went.
Derek stood, stepping into his jeans and watching Charley start slipping into his own when he was thrown from his feet, his head striking the floor before his hands could shield him. The sound of the blast reached his ears after he was already flat on the ground. Immediately, his body was on alert, the bleeding trail down the side of his face completely ignored. He left his shirt where it was and moved quickly to grab the children, not needing to look to know that Charley was also gathering their wards, waking them from sleep and leading them along the escape route they had planned for just such a circumstance. He carried one still-sleeping child over his shoulder and led three others who could walk along the tunnel, half a mile and down into a thicker section of the tunnel which was wet and dark. He jogged quickly back, passing Charley helping two women. Derek gathered the final boy into his arms, realizing with a pang that this was the same boy who had been there his first night... and his mind drifted back to the woman to whom he had given his painkillers. He pushed it out of his mind as he carried the boy as delicately a he could.
As he started down the dark corridor toward their safe hideaway, he began to hear screaming. Without a second thought, he sat the boy down--assuring him that he would be back as soon as he could--and sprinted with every ounce of energy he possessed. When he reached the ladder down into the dark stretch of tunnel they had counted on being safe, he already knew what he would find. He climbed down slowly, afraid to call out and not be answered. At the bottom, he turned around slowly.
Derek's heart stopped. He fell to his knees, and gathered Charley into his arms, willing him to be okay; but the charred flesh at the side of the man's face and the fluid weight of his body told him before he felt his lover's neck that the man was dead.
As if on autopilot, Derek collected the bodies into a corner, took the last of their fuel and used it to make the best fire he could to finish the job that the machines had started. He spoke what he could remember of a prayer over the makeshift funeral pyre.
Derek's mind was blank as he collected the boy and began to make his way through the tunnels, making turns at random, hoping with every turn to find a sign of the resistance, needing to find them, to rejoin the ranks of the fighters. They had taken everything he had ever loved from him, and he was going to make them pay.
---------
Derek's back was being pressed against cold wood, his arms being pinned at his sides. As consciousness caught up with his flailing arms and his vision began to clear, the pain in his chest also flooded back into him. It didn't take long before he began to recognize some of the faces above him. His fighting stilled as the face of Sarah Connor clarified itself above him. She looked different, but she was unmistakable. She looked younger, but still just as cold and calculating. She was studying him, as if trying to determine if he could be trusted, and if he would try to run. He shifted his gaze to the other man standing over him, and with shock wondered if he wasn't finally dead.
Above him stood the man he had never expected to see again: Charley Dixon. Comments are like crack! Er, chocolate?