Fic: Drowning out the Whispers
So I've not been writing for ages. Uni has been draining my mind, but here is tiny ficlet from me. Some John Character study.
Title: Drowning out the Whispers
Characters/Pairing: John Sheppard, with a little Rodney McKay.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Character Study
Words: 915 words.
Written For: 30_kisses, for the prompt 'Dash'.
Notes: I don't own Stargate: Atlantis or any of the characters or actors within. Gen story just for a change from me. Unbeted due to rush.
Summary: John Sheppard had many rituals.
Drowning out the Whispers
John Sheppard had many rituals.
Some were automatic, such as the way he would check his weapons three times before going through the gate to make sure they were working. Some were odd and small, such as the way he would always put on his left shoe before his right one. Some were painful reminders, such as the way he would always shake his clothes before putting them on in order to prevent any nasty surprises springing out at him, a fear left over from Afghanistan.
His father had always called him anal; right from when he was a little boy and insisted on only having socks that matched his underwear. John tried not to let it bother him and simply shrugged it off, offering a sheepish smile if questioned too deeply. Fending away unwanted questions with smiles, charm and words that meant nothing when thought about. Deflecting comments and sly digs with practised ease, ensuring that nobody got too close for comfort, that nobody could claim to really know him and that nobody could ever understand his rituals.
Rituals meant routine and routine meant stability.
He knew he wasn’t the only one with his little rituals, knew that most of them in Atlantis had little rituals and motions they went through to keep themselves calm and sane. As whole as broken people could be, stuck together by spite and a prayer. How Rodney McKay would go through his backpack two times to make sure he had exactly fifteen power bars. How Elizabeth Weir would lift her hand to her face and lightly kiss it every time a team left. A kiss for good luck perhaps or a kiss to comfort… only she really knew.
John slipped the earphones onto his head, took a few deep breaths and began to run, his head bowed, not looking at anyone he passed. To look might mean catching someone’s eye and having to stop and explain. John didn’t think he could handle explaining and seeing the hidden pity in their eyes.
It had been a bad mission.
A mission of search and rescue. Tracking the enemy, not able to think or focus on anything else but the mission. It had been a silent mission, no screams or shouts. Just muted footsteps, heavy breathing and the choking gasps of the man he was supposed to save.
Hands clasped to his neck in a futile gesture, bright red blood bubbling out from the cut and trailing over the man’s hands. John and his small team had burst from cover too late, their own killed in front of them. He supposed there was noise after that, but it wasn’t there in his memory. No noise was there except that horrid wheezing as Captain Jones breathed out his life.
John ran and he ran with the music as loud as he could stand it. Letting the music drown out thoughts and memories that he didn’t want to have. A single lifetime was too short to have these memories. John ran until his lungs burnt and he could run no longer. He leant against the wall, hands resting on his knees and feeling as he was either going to collapse or throw up.
“I'm surprised you can hear yourself think with all that noise in your ears,” Rodney said, his voice deceptively light, suddenly appearing next to him. Just the tone of Rodney's voice set warning bells ringing in his head - Rodney didn't do light and casual, John knew that. Instantly he could feel his smile becoming fake and brittle, as he willed Rodney not to push, not to force the issue.
But this being Atlantis and Rodney being Rodney, he wouldn't leave it at a simple comment and of course he would push and pry, until he had broken down every wall John flung up, every barrier that was designed to keep people at bay. Rodney had a habit of doing that to John, of crashing right through any and all protective measures without any disregard for how the person themselves might feel about it. John looked away from the other man when it felt as if the smile on his face would break away, shattering the rest of his face along with it.
He can feel Rodney standing there, silent for a change and to his surprise, he realises that the scientist is giving him a chance. To surrender and lower the drawbridge before Rodney just bulldozed his way through in and left his defensives in tatters. It’s a grand gesture and one the scientist is unlikely to repeat or even offer for too long. Tick tock, tick tock, he doesn’t have time to over think it because Rodney will get impatient and John is so tired of having to make snap choices.
“I'm tired,” John admitted at last, drawing in large mouthfuls of air. His legs felt weak under him, as if they would crumble at any second due to the relentless pressure he had put on them, forcing himself to run and run and run. He didn't mean that by tired though.
“I know,” came the quiet voice, Rodney's hand resting on his shoulder. John turned his head slightly, looking at Rodney's face, relived to find no hint of pity. He didn't think he could take Rodney's pity and concern or worse, his sympathy. Slowly John slid down the wall, Rodney following, his hand remaining on his shoulder the whole time.
They stayed like that for a long time.
~fin~
Title: Drowning out the Whispers
Characters/Pairing: John Sheppard, with a little Rodney McKay.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Character Study
Words: 915 words.
Written For: 30_kisses, for the prompt 'Dash'.
Notes: I don't own Stargate: Atlantis or any of the characters or actors within. Gen story just for a change from me. Unbeted due to rush.
Summary: John Sheppard had many rituals.
Drowning out the Whispers
John Sheppard had many rituals.
Some were automatic, such as the way he would check his weapons three times before going through the gate to make sure they were working. Some were odd and small, such as the way he would always put on his left shoe before his right one. Some were painful reminders, such as the way he would always shake his clothes before putting them on in order to prevent any nasty surprises springing out at him, a fear left over from Afghanistan.
His father had always called him anal; right from when he was a little boy and insisted on only having socks that matched his underwear. John tried not to let it bother him and simply shrugged it off, offering a sheepish smile if questioned too deeply. Fending away unwanted questions with smiles, charm and words that meant nothing when thought about. Deflecting comments and sly digs with practised ease, ensuring that nobody got too close for comfort, that nobody could claim to really know him and that nobody could ever understand his rituals.
Rituals meant routine and routine meant stability.
He knew he wasn’t the only one with his little rituals, knew that most of them in Atlantis had little rituals and motions they went through to keep themselves calm and sane. As whole as broken people could be, stuck together by spite and a prayer. How Rodney McKay would go through his backpack two times to make sure he had exactly fifteen power bars. How Elizabeth Weir would lift her hand to her face and lightly kiss it every time a team left. A kiss for good luck perhaps or a kiss to comfort… only she really knew.
John slipped the earphones onto his head, took a few deep breaths and began to run, his head bowed, not looking at anyone he passed. To look might mean catching someone’s eye and having to stop and explain. John didn’t think he could handle explaining and seeing the hidden pity in their eyes.
It had been a bad mission.
A mission of search and rescue. Tracking the enemy, not able to think or focus on anything else but the mission. It had been a silent mission, no screams or shouts. Just muted footsteps, heavy breathing and the choking gasps of the man he was supposed to save.
Hands clasped to his neck in a futile gesture, bright red blood bubbling out from the cut and trailing over the man’s hands. John and his small team had burst from cover too late, their own killed in front of them. He supposed there was noise after that, but it wasn’t there in his memory. No noise was there except that horrid wheezing as Captain Jones breathed out his life.
John ran and he ran with the music as loud as he could stand it. Letting the music drown out thoughts and memories that he didn’t want to have. A single lifetime was too short to have these memories. John ran until his lungs burnt and he could run no longer. He leant against the wall, hands resting on his knees and feeling as he was either going to collapse or throw up.
“I'm surprised you can hear yourself think with all that noise in your ears,” Rodney said, his voice deceptively light, suddenly appearing next to him. Just the tone of Rodney's voice set warning bells ringing in his head - Rodney didn't do light and casual, John knew that. Instantly he could feel his smile becoming fake and brittle, as he willed Rodney not to push, not to force the issue.
But this being Atlantis and Rodney being Rodney, he wouldn't leave it at a simple comment and of course he would push and pry, until he had broken down every wall John flung up, every barrier that was designed to keep people at bay. Rodney had a habit of doing that to John, of crashing right through any and all protective measures without any disregard for how the person themselves might feel about it. John looked away from the other man when it felt as if the smile on his face would break away, shattering the rest of his face along with it.
He can feel Rodney standing there, silent for a change and to his surprise, he realises that the scientist is giving him a chance. To surrender and lower the drawbridge before Rodney just bulldozed his way through in and left his defensives in tatters. It’s a grand gesture and one the scientist is unlikely to repeat or even offer for too long. Tick tock, tick tock, he doesn’t have time to over think it because Rodney will get impatient and John is so tired of having to make snap choices.
“I'm tired,” John admitted at last, drawing in large mouthfuls of air. His legs felt weak under him, as if they would crumble at any second due to the relentless pressure he had put on them, forcing himself to run and run and run. He didn't mean that by tired though.
“I know,” came the quiet voice, Rodney's hand resting on his shoulder. John turned his head slightly, looking at Rodney's face, relived to find no hint of pity. He didn't think he could take Rodney's pity and concern or worse, his sympathy. Slowly John slid down the wall, Rodney following, his hand remaining on his shoulder the whole time.
They stayed like that for a long time.
~fin~