Prompt Table, SGA, team
001.Beginnings
002.Middles
003.Ends
004.First
005.Last
006.Hours
007.Days
008.Weeks
009.Months
010.Years
011.Red
012.Grey
013.White
014.Black
015.Blue
016.Purple
017.Brown
018.Green
019.Pink
020.Colourless
021.Friends
022.Enemies
023.Lovers
024.Family
025.Strangers
026.Teammates
027.Parents
028.Children
029.Birth
030.Death
031.Sunrise
032.Sunset
033.Too Much
034.Not Enough
035.Sixth Sense
036.Smell
037.Sound
038.Touch
039.Taste
040.Sight
041.Shapes
042.Triangle
043.Square
044.Circle
045.Moon
046.King
047.Heart
048.Diamond
049.Queen
050.Joker
051.Water
052.Fire
053.Earth
054.Air
055.Spirit
056.Breakfast
057.Lunch
058.Dinner
059.Food
060.Drink
061.Winter
062.Spring
063.Summer
064.Fall
065.Passing
066.Rain
067.Snow
068.Lightning
069.Thunder
070.Storm
071.Broken
072.Fixed
073.Light
074.Dark
075.Shattered
076.Rebirth
077.Paralysis
078.Disease
079.Agony
080.Healing
081.Blind
082.Deaf
083.Lost
084.Found
085.Missing
086.Choices
087.Life
088.He
089.She
090.It
091.Birthday
092.Christmas
093.Thanksgiving
094.Solstice
095.New Year
096.Writer‘s Choice
097.Writer‘s Choice
098.Writer‘s Choice
099.Writer‘s Choice
100.Writer‘s Choice
sga, team-focused; including het, gen, no pairings, and AU-ness.
spoilers up to Sunday.
g - pg13
strangers
"He was a good man," Hammond says, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder.
Sheppard's used to the gesture. He no longer has the urge to pull back; twist away from the person who has no fucking idea what they're talking about. Doesn't feel he has to point that out.
He just nods. Watches the others take away the casket. "Yes, sir."
middles
Bullets whiz by. Exploding into rocks, mushroom clouds of dust in their wake. Somehow, he's been separated from the others.
One of the shooters falls suddenly, grabbing at his leg.
Taking the chance, he runs. When more fire erupts, he jumps, rolls-- feels a hand grabbing at his vest. "Sir! I think I got one of 'em," Lorne's saying over the noise, pulling him the rest of the way behind the boulder, "couldn't see for sure."
"Saw one go down." Sheppard confirms, panting. He gets to his knees, blindly returning fire with the P90. "Thanks for the help. Ronon?"
Lorne's already nodding. "Says it's just a flesh wound,"
John doesn't have the time to see whether or not it's true.
He'll regret that, later.
hours
The rock skips once, twice, five times before sinking into the misty lake.
“Good.” Ronon's impressed, watching the ripples. A small bird floats through them, unhurried. He glances over at his petite companion. “Really good. My turn, now,”
She's already kneeling down to find another though, tossing the unsuitable away into the bank of the water.
He rolls his own thin stone around in his hand. When she still hasn't looked up, he finally asks, “You going to watch?"
“Yes, just... ah,” She finds the perfect one, buried halfway beneath the sand, pulled loose during her search. Wiping the rock off on her flak vest, she rises to her feet. “All right, go ahead.”
He revolves a shoulder in preparation, flexing his muscles.
Teyla tries not to roll her eyes.
touch
Elizabeth hates golf. Known fact.
Sheppard comes to her office though, asks anyway. She laughs, brushes him off, but he's determined, and she's more willing than either of them think.
The sun's getting in her eyes and the wind blows her hair around. John presses into her back, hands covering hers and moving them to the correct position on the club's handle, explaining in a low voice, breath on her ear.
Elizabeth remembers how long ago, far away, she used to hate football too.
Hail Mary, she thinks now, smiling, and they swing.
drink
“I'm out.”
McKay looks over, sees him pointing, and tosses him another. Somehow, the case had ended up next to the physicist, though John was the one who brought it.
A strange power he has, Sheppard thinks ruefully, twisting off the cap of Canadian beer he would never drink in other company. “And then what happened?”
McKay grimaces and shrugs. “I don’t know. Pretty much what you'd think.” He taps the neck of his bottle, admitting, “I used to think I had an invisible sign over my head that only the jocks could read. Like, ‘Nerd Here’ or something.”
There's a beat before John replies, kindly, “I don’t see a sign.”
“You’re not a jock,” and McKay looks so disgusted with him that he almost laughs.
teammates
Grass tickles the palm of his open hand as they walk, P90 beam illuminating the lush foliage around the path they make. Blinking fireflies dance through the air, vivid in the night, one even lighting on his wrist before flashing into nothingness again.
"God I have to pee."
Sheppard scowls, lifting his hand and wiping the small amount of dew that had collected off on his pant leg. "Way to ruin the moment."
"We were having a moment?" McKay asks, baffled.
Sheppard sighs, not bothering to answer.
not enough
She laughs, pulling at the bindings. The bindings pull back, cutting deep into her wrists. There will be bruises. She really doesn't care.
Ronon grins; from her view, it looks like a terrible scowl.
She growls suddenly-- spits. It slaps the corner of his twisted mouth, dripping.
"What the hell are you waiting for?"
found
“Rodney,” a voice sounds from behind him, and he's already turning. Warm and familiar. Accented.
An awkward moment of not knowing exactly how to react, before Rodney's walking up to his old friend, holding out a cordial hand-- that Carson immediately swats away. Voice thick with emotion as he tries to sound angry: “Don’ even try that with me!”
Suddenly, Rodney finds himself in the tightest and most embracive bear hug he’s ever been a part of; Carson's even going so far as to lift the physicist up off the floor, his sneakers dangling a good three inches above.
“Good to see you too!” he manages to squeeze out on his third try.
Beckett snorts. "Wish I could say the same," Finally, he lowers Rodney back to the floor, dabbing at his eyes. "wasn't hoping to see you for years yet!"
Rodney smiles crookedly. "Well, you know how Sheppard and I had that thing for saving each other's lives,"
"Your turn?"
"My turn." he confirms.
choices
It's too slick-- she can't keep her grip.
A sobbing grunt comes from someone, but she's not sure from where or who. It's the rain, bucketfuls that don't let up, making sound a confusing concept, and in the chaos another inch slips between them.
"Hold tighter!" she gasps, her shoulder wrenching painfully. Teyla's working on her fumes' fumes by now. "Please!"
"I can't!" he groans, deep in his throat. It is obvious he is in pain. Eyes full of rain, tears, meet hers. "There's nothing left!"
She sees the decision in his eyes before she feels the loosening grasp of his hand.
"No!" she roars, feet kicking at the cliff wall-- but it's too late, he's not holding her anymore, she's the only one holding anything and her fingers are numb and they ignore her frantic orders and let go; they let go, and he's sobbing, but she's the one who slips into oblivion.
ends
He can feel Beckett behind him now, and he thinks the old Beckett would’ve said something comforting like, “it’s not as bad as it looks,” or “don’ worry son, he’ll pull through this”, and he probably would’ve laid a hand on his shoulder as he did so.
Hands remaining in his lab coat pockets, present Beckett says, dispassionately, “That head wound was left alone far too long for me tah do anythin‘ for him.”
Looking back to the prone figure, Sheppard steps forward; takes up one of Rodney's limp hands and finds it shockingly cold. The old Sheppard would stay by him, he thinks. Would have faith he'd somehow pull through.
Unjustifiably hopeful thoughts won't come to him now though, and as he gazes down at the comatose man's face, trying to remember whether or not he'd need to go to the weapon's locker first, he realizes just how different the old Sheppard is from present Sheppard.
Teyla will be so mad at me for leaving her all alone, is his other thought.
---