A little J/R for the afternoon...
Title: Alive
Author: Kyizi
Genre: Stargate: Atlantis
Disclaimer: Oh, boys, be mine? *sigh* They belong to someone who isn't me, but I've borrowed and I'm sure I'll eventually return them...
Notes: I was having a debate with loriel_eris about her finally writing some of the fics she's been teasing me with for years and this wee fic came up as an example of...something? *shrugs*
It's late when John finally comes down off that high; the gentle buzz of runshootprotect still singing in his veins as he tugs his t-shirt over his head. He paces the floor, barefoot and not-quite-panting into the quiet night. The stillness around him seems to charge him more, make him move faster until he's almost running in circles, a ball of pent-up energy and frustration with nowhere to let it loose.
He hasn't switched on the light, hasn't bothered to pick up anything from the floor where he dropped it behind him and still his feet find a perfect circle to pace. If he listens for long enough, he can almost make out the sound of bullets underneath his breath.
He's out the door in a second and before he knows it, before he's aware he's even moved, he's padding down the hallway in a gentle jog. This is what he was looking for, what he needs, because panic still has a grip on the corners of his heart and he has no one to shoot at here.
He doesn't know where he's going until he does. Finds himself in the darkness of a bedroom, a different sliver of moonlight stretched across the slowly rising form sprawled in an almost-unrecognisable lump in the centre of the bed, loose limbs dangling over the edges.
He stands, watches for longer than he cares to admit, even to himself, and is finally convinced.
Alive.
Coming through the gate at a run with his team in tact isn't enough to solidify that feeling that everyone made it home okay, but in the darkness he can make sure without having to ask, he can watch and let the last remaining vestiges of panic slip away until next time.
Finally convinced, he takes one last, deep breath. Lets it out slowly. Nods to himself. Turns to leave.
"Thank you."
He freezes, feels naked and pinned to the spot by a gaze he can't see. It was barely a whisper, but he knows he didn't imagine it. He turns slowly and just stares, takes in the moonlight reflected in eyes he could almost fall into.
He hadn't thought much before leaving his room; hadn't thought to put on his socks, or shoes, hadn't picked up his t-shirt or fastened the top button on his BDUs, but he's suddenly aware of being stripped bare on the spot. He swallows, nods jerkily and thinks about leaving.
Shadows shift on the bed and covers pull back in invitation.
He pauses for a moment longer, then moves slowly, sleepily, almost like he's been drugged, and almost falls into the John-shaped-space on the bed. The last of his energy begins to seep out of his skin at a rate of knots and he lets out a sigh as he closes his eyes, takes in the feel of the covers wrapping around him, the arm that stays over his chest, the chin resting on the tip of his shoulder.
He feels sleep tugging at the edge of his thoughts, feels it pulling over him like another blanket and murmurs, "G'night, Rodney," as darkness finally claims him.
Author: Kyizi
Genre: Stargate: Atlantis
Disclaimer: Oh, boys, be mine? *sigh* They belong to someone who isn't me, but I've borrowed and I'm sure I'll eventually return them...
Notes: I was having a debate with loriel_eris about her finally writing some of the fics she's been teasing me with for years and this wee fic came up as an example of...something? *shrugs*
It's late when John finally comes down off that high; the gentle buzz of runshootprotect still singing in his veins as he tugs his t-shirt over his head. He paces the floor, barefoot and not-quite-panting into the quiet night. The stillness around him seems to charge him more, make him move faster until he's almost running in circles, a ball of pent-up energy and frustration with nowhere to let it loose.
He hasn't switched on the light, hasn't bothered to pick up anything from the floor where he dropped it behind him and still his feet find a perfect circle to pace. If he listens for long enough, he can almost make out the sound of bullets underneath his breath.
He's out the door in a second and before he knows it, before he's aware he's even moved, he's padding down the hallway in a gentle jog. This is what he was looking for, what he needs, because panic still has a grip on the corners of his heart and he has no one to shoot at here.
He doesn't know where he's going until he does. Finds himself in the darkness of a bedroom, a different sliver of moonlight stretched across the slowly rising form sprawled in an almost-unrecognisable lump in the centre of the bed, loose limbs dangling over the edges.
He stands, watches for longer than he cares to admit, even to himself, and is finally convinced.
Alive.
Coming through the gate at a run with his team in tact isn't enough to solidify that feeling that everyone made it home okay, but in the darkness he can make sure without having to ask, he can watch and let the last remaining vestiges of panic slip away until next time.
Finally convinced, he takes one last, deep breath. Lets it out slowly. Nods to himself. Turns to leave.
"Thank you."
He freezes, feels naked and pinned to the spot by a gaze he can't see. It was barely a whisper, but he knows he didn't imagine it. He turns slowly and just stares, takes in the moonlight reflected in eyes he could almost fall into.
He hadn't thought much before leaving his room; hadn't thought to put on his socks, or shoes, hadn't picked up his t-shirt or fastened the top button on his BDUs, but he's suddenly aware of being stripped bare on the spot. He swallows, nods jerkily and thinks about leaving.
Shadows shift on the bed and covers pull back in invitation.
He pauses for a moment longer, then moves slowly, sleepily, almost like he's been drugged, and almost falls into the John-shaped-space on the bed. The last of his energy begins to seep out of his skin at a rate of knots and he lets out a sigh as he closes his eyes, takes in the feel of the covers wrapping around him, the arm that stays over his chest, the chin resting on the tip of his shoulder.
He feels sleep tugging at the edge of his thoughts, feels it pulling over him like another blanket and murmurs, "G'night, Rodney," as darkness finally claims him.