Fic: (Exchange); Stargate: Atlantis; Sgt. Bates.
(Exchange)
Four months in a coma gives you a lot not to think about.
Author's Notes: For missyvortexdx for the sgarareathon. This is the second ficlet and a little odder than the first. Also, I may have mangled the Marine specific lingo but unfortunately I'm far more familar with the Air Force and Navy proper.
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There's only one color in the Marines.
That's the unofficial motto. The official one is 'Semper Fi.' They go together but as Henry Bates (Sergeant, for now) stares into the mirror set in the corner of his private room it's the first motto that he remembers. There's only one color in the Marines and that color is green.
The problem is that now when he thinks of green it isn't the olive green of his BDUs - the ones half thrown across the room from before his shower - or the bottle green color of his dress uniform - that's hanging in the closet along with a set of civies and another BDU. He doesn't think of the Marines much anymore and not at all when he thinks of green. Instead he has the last steady image of a sickly green face as it grins a horrible grin at him.
When he get dressed on the morning he'll be wearing the blue BDUs, not the green ones. Blue's an easier color to deal with. But he'll put the green ones in the laundry and when they come back clean he'll wear them again. Henry hasn't been able to arrange for an accident. He might be given green replacements if he does; it's a fifty-fifty chance. Plus, he's not afraid of a little color.
Now he wipes his face and looks at it in the mirror. What he sees is a strong brown color and equally brown hair cropped in close curls against his scalp. Here he takes a moment not to think of gray. Four fucking months in a coma, aware of everything but not able to move, and he'd come out without so much as a gray hair. Dr. Lam didn't think anything was strange with that - she's not any Dr. Fraiser, that's for sure - and Henry wasn't going to bring it up. His own new personal motto was leave well enough alone. Beckett was the better medic to tell, if he ended up back at Atlantis. He thinks that if he doesn't it's sort of an unimportant point anyway.
He thinks he's seen what they do to people in the SGC when they start admitting to things and he wants no part of it. These are the things he thinks as he walks away from the mirror in the corner of his private room down in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain. It doesn't even touch on what he doesn't think as he takes the few steps towards the bed in the center of the room, the one set against the north wall, but he tries not to think about not thinking as much possible.
If he were thinking about what he doesn't think he'd be thinking about green again. He'd be thinking about the shark grin before everything went out. He'd be thinking about brown skin that wasn't his and brown hair that didn't have grey but wasn't short or curly or anything like his; he'd be thinking about her.
Her, he hates. He knows it's gone beyond rational when he thinks about it, but he hates her just the same. If she was as good as Sheppard liked to think he wouldn't have ended up in that damn coma; maybe she waited just long enough for Henry to get attacked before telling them about the Wraith. That way she couldn't get blamed. He might hate her but he doesn't think she's stupid.
He doesn't think about her skin or her hair or the skirt she wore when sparring with Sheppard that showed her thigh or the shirt that showed an inch, maybe two, of her stomach when she was standing still. He doesn't think about her more than he has to and no one's asked questions about her in a month so he doesn't have to. They already know everything he knows about the Wraith and her connection to them, they already know where he picked up the new hand-to-hand skills, and those two things cover everything he knows about her. Like with everything it doesn't even begin to cover the things he thinks about her.
It sure as hell doesn't cover the things he feels about her. The things he's not thinking now as he drops the towel next to the bed and switches off the light. Maybe part of him knows what he'll be doing in less than five minutes, with an image of her in his head, but it's not the part that thinks, that's for sure. Because he doesn't think about this and he doesn't think about her and he really fucking doesn't think about the color green or the fact that no one else can think of a reason not to send him back to Atlantis.
Between giving them a reason -- and a reason to lock him up with it or make him into a lab rat with that -- or not giving them a reason and ending up back there where he won't think about this sort of thing in person Henry might not be any Sheppard about it but he's smart enough to already be packing.
>>>>
Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Feedback is welcomed.
- Andrea.
Four months in a coma gives you a lot not to think about.
Author's Notes: For missyvortexdx for the sgarareathon. This is the second ficlet and a little odder than the first. Also, I may have mangled the Marine specific lingo but unfortunately I'm far more familar with the Air Force and Navy proper.
<<<<
There's only one color in the Marines.
That's the unofficial motto. The official one is 'Semper Fi.' They go together but as Henry Bates (Sergeant, for now) stares into the mirror set in the corner of his private room it's the first motto that he remembers. There's only one color in the Marines and that color is green.
The problem is that now when he thinks of green it isn't the olive green of his BDUs - the ones half thrown across the room from before his shower - or the bottle green color of his dress uniform - that's hanging in the closet along with a set of civies and another BDU. He doesn't think of the Marines much anymore and not at all when he thinks of green. Instead he has the last steady image of a sickly green face as it grins a horrible grin at him.
When he get dressed on the morning he'll be wearing the blue BDUs, not the green ones. Blue's an easier color to deal with. But he'll put the green ones in the laundry and when they come back clean he'll wear them again. Henry hasn't been able to arrange for an accident. He might be given green replacements if he does; it's a fifty-fifty chance. Plus, he's not afraid of a little color.
Now he wipes his face and looks at it in the mirror. What he sees is a strong brown color and equally brown hair cropped in close curls against his scalp. Here he takes a moment not to think of gray. Four fucking months in a coma, aware of everything but not able to move, and he'd come out without so much as a gray hair. Dr. Lam didn't think anything was strange with that - she's not any Dr. Fraiser, that's for sure - and Henry wasn't going to bring it up. His own new personal motto was leave well enough alone. Beckett was the better medic to tell, if he ended up back at Atlantis. He thinks that if he doesn't it's sort of an unimportant point anyway.
He thinks he's seen what they do to people in the SGC when they start admitting to things and he wants no part of it. These are the things he thinks as he walks away from the mirror in the corner of his private room down in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain. It doesn't even touch on what he doesn't think as he takes the few steps towards the bed in the center of the room, the one set against the north wall, but he tries not to think about not thinking as much possible.
If he were thinking about what he doesn't think he'd be thinking about green again. He'd be thinking about the shark grin before everything went out. He'd be thinking about brown skin that wasn't his and brown hair that didn't have grey but wasn't short or curly or anything like his; he'd be thinking about her.
Her, he hates. He knows it's gone beyond rational when he thinks about it, but he hates her just the same. If she was as good as Sheppard liked to think he wouldn't have ended up in that damn coma; maybe she waited just long enough for Henry to get attacked before telling them about the Wraith. That way she couldn't get blamed. He might hate her but he doesn't think she's stupid.
He doesn't think about her skin or her hair or the skirt she wore when sparring with Sheppard that showed her thigh or the shirt that showed an inch, maybe two, of her stomach when she was standing still. He doesn't think about her more than he has to and no one's asked questions about her in a month so he doesn't have to. They already know everything he knows about the Wraith and her connection to them, they already know where he picked up the new hand-to-hand skills, and those two things cover everything he knows about her. Like with everything it doesn't even begin to cover the things he thinks about her.
It sure as hell doesn't cover the things he feels about her. The things he's not thinking now as he drops the towel next to the bed and switches off the light. Maybe part of him knows what he'll be doing in less than five minutes, with an image of her in his head, but it's not the part that thinks, that's for sure. Because he doesn't think about this and he doesn't think about her and he really fucking doesn't think about the color green or the fact that no one else can think of a reason not to send him back to Atlantis.
Between giving them a reason -- and a reason to lock him up with it or make him into a lab rat with that -- or not giving them a reason and ending up back there where he won't think about this sort of thing in person Henry might not be any Sheppard about it but he's smart enough to already be packing.
>>>>
Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Feedback is welcomed.
- Andrea.