Fic: A Desperate Cling
Rating: Gen, H/C
Characters: team, Carson Beckett
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is still not mine *rolling eyes*
A/N: The image of Carson holding a broken John had been haunting me for some time. Linziday’s “Vote of Confidence” gave me the final nudge to actually write it down. So, here it is.
Many thanks to Len-chan, Kriadydragon, and Linziday for the incredible beta. Luv’ ya!!!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“They are here!” A voice rang in Carson’s hearing, so gentle and yet vibrating a certain strength he had always admired.
As the familiar image of Teyla Emmagen finally entered his field of vision, he saw her freeze for a moment, shock distinctly registered on her entire demeanor. He shot the pretty lass a quizzical look before realization sunk in.
He was sitting like a lost child in the middle of one of the tunnels’ openings, where a single strand of moonlight illuminated him from a hole above his head, legs spread and eyes dilated so wide, cradling a battered and bloodied slick and very unconscious Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard in his arms. He had most of the man’s weight in his right arm, John’s head limp against his shoulder. Streaks of tear rolled off his cheeks uncontrollably while his body shivered despite the heat he was feeling at the back of his eyes.
Carson tried opening his badly cracked lips several times, but it seemed like words had refused on forming through his muddled brain. His head was pounding, dulling his other senses. All he could feel was his own hoarse unintelligible whispers and the wheezing of his lungs.
As she ran closer, dragging her own bruised body and a splinted broken left arm, Teyla released a gasp. Among his blurred vision-either from the tears or the fever-and the throbbing ripples of pain his leg was giving off, Carson knew the Athosian was talking to him. Again, his supposedly brilliant brain failed to comprehend.
Like a bloody fool, he looked down, watching perfectly mesmerized as Teyla dug slim fingers into the Colonel’s carotid artery, getting to feel any life left in the man he was clutching.
John Sheppard was beyond pale, his face deathly ashen with cracked lips slightly opened, a deep gash from the blackish lump at his left temple sending rivulets of fresh blood to his filthy and tattered black t-shirt. He had his bony knuckles curled loosely over Carson’s left sleeve, making it hard to fathom who was holding whom. But the part which disturbed Carson the most were the greenish-gold eyes, which usually met his radiating all energy and life, closed. He was also frighteningly cold. Most of all, the man he called his friend looked dead.
A pretty blonde rushed in and dropped to her knees at his side waving a thing that buzzed in her hand around him and the Colonel. He would usually recoil at such sudden moves, even when he wasn’t freaked out. Thankfully, all of his vigor had vaporized during the run.
The blonde, who he acknowledged now as Dr. Jennifer Keller, clawed at his fingers, trying to pry off his tight grip over the unresponsive Colonel. The words ‘concussions’, ‘broken and cracked ribs’, and ‘blood loss’ made it through to his head and still no recollection was forming in his foggy mind. Somehow he started feeling disgusted at himself as his fingers dug tighter around John’s lanky form.
A dark shadow passed over his head, making him cringe yet again, until it came down to crouch in front of him. A pair of sharp blue orbs met him square in the eyes, followed by string of none-too-gentle slapping to his face and an unexpected strong grasp to both of his arms, shaking his already trembling body. “Carson! Snap out of it already, will you?! CARSON!!”
The rough handling made Carson blink, finding the worried face of another good friend hovering above him. Recollection escaped from his dry lips in a soundless murmur.
At once the penetrating gaze softened. Rodney McKay made the obvious effort of giving him a reassuring smile through his split lips and purplish eyes, half proof of the torments he’d endured. “You can let go now, Carson. We’re safe. He’s safe. You’re safe.”
Once upon a time, Carson spent two torturous years alone in the unforgiving claws of Michael, waiting for rescue. This time, he fell yet again, but into the hands of men, who much to his chagrin, could act as monstrous as the Wraith. And he wasn’t alone; he’d gotten John Sheppard’s whole team to endure the brutal beatings.
It was such an irony that just this morning they headed from the city with big smiles plastered on their faces. In the middle of the leisurely stroll through the woods, with the friendly banter he was always fond of floating in the air, they were ambushed by the less than civilized people and dragged to the tunnels. They tried struggling against their captors, but the fight died almost immediately after a club landed heavily on Ronon’s head with a resounding crack, forcing instant obedience from the rest. The situation took a sharp dive when the Colonel’s radio suddenly chirped alive, requesting a response for their late check in, and successfully spooked the already skittish people. Several hours later-or so Carson felt-deep in the tunnels, while witnessing John take most of the beatings as a means of cover for his team, Carson vaguely remembered Rodney mumbling something about mad cavemen and stupid Air Force colonel.
As soon as the minute chance had risen, the always resourceful lot managed to make a break for it, only for him to be left behind thanks to his severely sprained ankle. Then, he saw the stubborn colonel by all intent fall behind with him as the rest of his team scrambled through the tunnels to where backup waited in the form of two Jumpers packed by an antsy Major Lorne, a squad of high-strung Marines, and a nervous medic team.
“Not going to leave you behind this time, doc,” were the Colonel’s words. It was during their last collapse that Carson found the knife hilt protruding from John’s body, the blade lodged completely inside between the protective plates of his TAC vest after cutting a jagged line up from below his waistband. Out of his flickering sight and the barely lit tunnels, he realized the crimson vestige following them and the pool of blood forming beneath his fallen friend.
Dazedly, Carson had used his last reserve and staggered to the unmoving figure, gathered John’s rapidly cooling body, and just sat there. His whole body was burning. He felt broken. His tears ran treacherously for he cared no more. Until Teyla found them.
The tunnel was instantly flooded by lights from the P-90s and torches as Marines fanned out around him. Carson lifted his head, his pain-filled glaze clashed against calm chocolate brown.
“Carson.” With touching gentleness, Teyla repeated Rodney’s exact words. “You can let go of John. We are safe. John is safe. You are safe.”
Yeah, he could do that. Safe meant home. And to him now, home meant Atlantis and Atlantis alone, because Scotland provided him home no more after the death of the other Carson.
His rigid muscles gradually went slack, giving Teyla and Jennifer the opportunity to peel away the Colonel from his hands. The prone military commander of Atlantis was swiftly lifted by the sturdy arms of Ronon Dex to a litter and immediately transferred to the waiting Jumper, Jennifer close at their heels. Carson never reckoned the big man was there at all.
“C’mon, Carson, stand up. We’re going home.” Using both Rodney and Teyla as leverage, Carson stood slowly. When he found out his entire body had turned into Jello, Rodney promptly caught and held him steady until the second littler came, then prodded him to lie down.
Surrounded by friends and family, Carson finally let go of his desperate cling of consciousness.
Characters: team, Carson Beckett
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is still not mine *rolling eyes*
A/N: The image of Carson holding a broken John had been haunting me for some time. Linziday’s “Vote of Confidence” gave me the final nudge to actually write it down. So, here it is.
Many thanks to Len-chan, Kriadydragon, and Linziday for the incredible beta. Luv’ ya!!!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“They are here!” A voice rang in Carson’s hearing, so gentle and yet vibrating a certain strength he had always admired.
As the familiar image of Teyla Emmagen finally entered his field of vision, he saw her freeze for a moment, shock distinctly registered on her entire demeanor. He shot the pretty lass a quizzical look before realization sunk in.
He was sitting like a lost child in the middle of one of the tunnels’ openings, where a single strand of moonlight illuminated him from a hole above his head, legs spread and eyes dilated so wide, cradling a battered and bloodied slick and very unconscious Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard in his arms. He had most of the man’s weight in his right arm, John’s head limp against his shoulder. Streaks of tear rolled off his cheeks uncontrollably while his body shivered despite the heat he was feeling at the back of his eyes.
Carson tried opening his badly cracked lips several times, but it seemed like words had refused on forming through his muddled brain. His head was pounding, dulling his other senses. All he could feel was his own hoarse unintelligible whispers and the wheezing of his lungs.
As she ran closer, dragging her own bruised body and a splinted broken left arm, Teyla released a gasp. Among his blurred vision-either from the tears or the fever-and the throbbing ripples of pain his leg was giving off, Carson knew the Athosian was talking to him. Again, his supposedly brilliant brain failed to comprehend.
Like a bloody fool, he looked down, watching perfectly mesmerized as Teyla dug slim fingers into the Colonel’s carotid artery, getting to feel any life left in the man he was clutching.
John Sheppard was beyond pale, his face deathly ashen with cracked lips slightly opened, a deep gash from the blackish lump at his left temple sending rivulets of fresh blood to his filthy and tattered black t-shirt. He had his bony knuckles curled loosely over Carson’s left sleeve, making it hard to fathom who was holding whom. But the part which disturbed Carson the most were the greenish-gold eyes, which usually met his radiating all energy and life, closed. He was also frighteningly cold. Most of all, the man he called his friend looked dead.
A pretty blonde rushed in and dropped to her knees at his side waving a thing that buzzed in her hand around him and the Colonel. He would usually recoil at such sudden moves, even when he wasn’t freaked out. Thankfully, all of his vigor had vaporized during the run.
The blonde, who he acknowledged now as Dr. Jennifer Keller, clawed at his fingers, trying to pry off his tight grip over the unresponsive Colonel. The words ‘concussions’, ‘broken and cracked ribs’, and ‘blood loss’ made it through to his head and still no recollection was forming in his foggy mind. Somehow he started feeling disgusted at himself as his fingers dug tighter around John’s lanky form.
A dark shadow passed over his head, making him cringe yet again, until it came down to crouch in front of him. A pair of sharp blue orbs met him square in the eyes, followed by string of none-too-gentle slapping to his face and an unexpected strong grasp to both of his arms, shaking his already trembling body. “Carson! Snap out of it already, will you?! CARSON!!”
The rough handling made Carson blink, finding the worried face of another good friend hovering above him. Recollection escaped from his dry lips in a soundless murmur.
At once the penetrating gaze softened. Rodney McKay made the obvious effort of giving him a reassuring smile through his split lips and purplish eyes, half proof of the torments he’d endured. “You can let go now, Carson. We’re safe. He’s safe. You’re safe.”
Once upon a time, Carson spent two torturous years alone in the unforgiving claws of Michael, waiting for rescue. This time, he fell yet again, but into the hands of men, who much to his chagrin, could act as monstrous as the Wraith. And he wasn’t alone; he’d gotten John Sheppard’s whole team to endure the brutal beatings.
It was such an irony that just this morning they headed from the city with big smiles plastered on their faces. In the middle of the leisurely stroll through the woods, with the friendly banter he was always fond of floating in the air, they were ambushed by the less than civilized people and dragged to the tunnels. They tried struggling against their captors, but the fight died almost immediately after a club landed heavily on Ronon’s head with a resounding crack, forcing instant obedience from the rest. The situation took a sharp dive when the Colonel’s radio suddenly chirped alive, requesting a response for their late check in, and successfully spooked the already skittish people. Several hours later-or so Carson felt-deep in the tunnels, while witnessing John take most of the beatings as a means of cover for his team, Carson vaguely remembered Rodney mumbling something about mad cavemen and stupid Air Force colonel.
As soon as the minute chance had risen, the always resourceful lot managed to make a break for it, only for him to be left behind thanks to his severely sprained ankle. Then, he saw the stubborn colonel by all intent fall behind with him as the rest of his team scrambled through the tunnels to where backup waited in the form of two Jumpers packed by an antsy Major Lorne, a squad of high-strung Marines, and a nervous medic team.
“Not going to leave you behind this time, doc,” were the Colonel’s words. It was during their last collapse that Carson found the knife hilt protruding from John’s body, the blade lodged completely inside between the protective plates of his TAC vest after cutting a jagged line up from below his waistband. Out of his flickering sight and the barely lit tunnels, he realized the crimson vestige following them and the pool of blood forming beneath his fallen friend.
Dazedly, Carson had used his last reserve and staggered to the unmoving figure, gathered John’s rapidly cooling body, and just sat there. His whole body was burning. He felt broken. His tears ran treacherously for he cared no more. Until Teyla found them.
The tunnel was instantly flooded by lights from the P-90s and torches as Marines fanned out around him. Carson lifted his head, his pain-filled glaze clashed against calm chocolate brown.
“Carson.” With touching gentleness, Teyla repeated Rodney’s exact words. “You can let go of John. We are safe. John is safe. You are safe.”
Yeah, he could do that. Safe meant home. And to him now, home meant Atlantis and Atlantis alone, because Scotland provided him home no more after the death of the other Carson.
His rigid muscles gradually went slack, giving Teyla and Jennifer the opportunity to peel away the Colonel from his hands. The prone military commander of Atlantis was swiftly lifted by the sturdy arms of Ronon Dex to a litter and immediately transferred to the waiting Jumper, Jennifer close at their heels. Carson never reckoned the big man was there at all.
“C’mon, Carson, stand up. We’re going home.” Using both Rodney and Teyla as leverage, Carson stood slowly. When he found out his entire body had turned into Jello, Rodney promptly caught and held him steady until the second littler came, then prodded him to lie down.
Surrounded by friends and family, Carson finally let go of his desperate cling of consciousness.