Drabble Time!
So, as I mentioned, LCF began life a year ago last week. *beams proudly* I'm so grateful to all you lovely folks who post your stories here and comment and generally support one another. Keep on posting and tell people you saw their story on LCF and encourage new people to come on over. We don't bite unless you ask. *ahem
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Comments 29
It wasn't just her anxiety. The "VIP" rooms in Cheyenne mountain felt like prison cells even on a good day.
Sometimes Elizabeth wished, fervently, that her office had walls, or blinds, something to shield those big floor-to-ceiling windows. But all that natural light had spoiled her rotten. The entire SGC felt like exactly what it was, a top-secret military bunker buried beneath tons of rock. Furtive, hidden, covert; the opposite of Atlantis, gleaming on the open ocean.
Strategically and tactically unsound, but Elizabeth would trade the safety of Colorado bedrock for the windows of her city any day.
Especially today.
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At least he would as soon as he got some feeling back into his hands.
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Either way, the pain was the same and when he yelled, he opened his eyes to find Teyla crouching next to him in the cold cell.
“You pulled my hair!”
Turning the corner of her mouth up slightly, she whispered, “Next time, I’ll leave you here, then.”
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Ronon looked across the bonfire at Teyla, trying to see if she was planning something clever. First McKay and then Sheppard had been dragged off into the darkness, and try though he might, Ronon couldn't get free from his bonds.
These strangers knew how to tie good knots.
And how to hit four quickly moving targets with drugged darts. Ronon’s head still ached.
The fire flared brighter, casting the face of the leader into sharp relief. She grinned, and Ronon noticed that her teeth were filed to sharp points.
Sheppard better come up with something good.
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Elizabeth tried to hide her panic as Ronon carried a singing John through the gate behind Rodney and Teyla. "What happened?"
“Harvest festival,” Ronon answered gruffly.
Elizabeth sighed. “He drank the liquor?”
Rodney nodded. “And now he’s serenading us with Disco’s greatest hits. For an hour,” he grumbled.
“It is… painful,” Teyla admitted, cringing as John moved on to ‘In the Navy’.
“What are we going to do?” Ronon asked.
Rodney smiled easily, patting John on the head. “Send him back, and then trade him again for coffee?”
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John peered down at the requisition form in front of him. “Yes Rodney, we already have that down here; right after ‘drones from Antarctica’.”
“Well, it bears repeating. And put it down before the drones. Right now, coffee will contribute infinitely more to our survival.” Rodney was in full flow now. “Oh, and we need a coffee machine. A good one. Hey,” He snapped his fingers as something occurred to him. “Do you think they’ll let us have our own barista?”
Radek answered before John could gather his wits. “No, but ask for extra lab technician. Is same thing.”
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Radek was almost afraid to look up. When McKay started sputtering, though, he felt compelled to. Radek raised his eyes and caught McKay blinking rapidly.
"You...you..." McKay stuttered.
"I?" Sheppard asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"You..."
Sheppard quirked half a smile.
McKay turned to Radek in desperation, and Radek felt that he had to intervene. He frowned at Sheppard. "You worry me."
"Sorry," Sheppard said with a shrug.
"Have you thought about seeing someone?" Radek replied, deadpan.
"Seeing somebody?" John replied, his insolent smile dropping away for a moment. "I'm not crazy."
"Are you sure about that?" Radek asked, raising both eyebrows.
"No," Sheppard said honestly. At that, Sheppard's smile returned.
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The first time she'd come back, it had felt wonderful. Wonderful to see sights once taken for granted, to see Simon's face.
Now, she wanted to go back. Even if there was nothing - no one - to go back to. How many was it now? Rodney, Ronon, Caldwell, Lorne, Radek... John-
No. She couldn't think of that now, couldn't think of him. Now was not the time to mourn them.
But if not now, then when? When could she mourn them… him? When could she accept that the odds had beaten John Sheppard?
Not now. Never.
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