VOTE OF CONFIDENCE BY linziday [LFWS #1 ROUND 3]
Title: Vote of Confidence
Author: linziday
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., no infringements of any rights is intended.
Spoilers: Set in Season 5, before Inquisition
A/N: Beta-ed by kriadydragon
Prompt for the Round: Choose from two to all characters from the list and write a story in which there is no dialogue at all. There must be social interaction, but you can’t write any dialog. No other characters allowed, but can be mentioned.
VOTE OF CONFIDENCE by linziday
He is never going off world again.
Never. Never ever. Never ever, no matter what, because it always, always ends badly. He’s not a soldier. He’s not even a scientist. He’s a bureaucrat. Three-piece suits have always been his uniform, the pen his weapon of choice. He’s saved lives that way, his own way. Behind a desk.
Not in a damned field, not with blood on his hands and gunfire erupting around him. Around them.
He shields Teyla’s unconscious body with his own - instincts screaming lower, get lower, but he braces himself, elbows locked, palms flat against jagged pebbles, so he doesn’t touch her shoulder and side, doesn’t even brush against the hastily bandaged gunshot wounds there. He doesn’t know who’s been shooting at them, but their weapon of choice is clearly not the pen.
It was supposed to have been a milk run. Meet with the nice people of MX5-546, renew the trade treaty Dr. Weir had established three years before, and be home by dinner. So he went. He went with Lorne’s team because there weren’t supposed to be any threats and he went with Teyla because she knew the planet’s trading traditions better than anyone and he went without a gun because he’s a bureaucrat.
Except everything went to hell, and they got separated from the rest of the team, and Teyla covered him until -
A bullet whizzes by - so close to his head that he’s sure it would have ruffled his hair if he had any. He bites back a yelp and slams his chin to his chest in an attempt to keep his head below the line of fire.
Underneath him, Teyla stirs.
He panics for a moment, certain she’s going to snap awake and try to sit up. But she opens her eyes slowly and he shakes his head frantically, and the most unimaginable thing happens - she seems to understand him. Him or the bullets flying overhead.
She stays still, her breathing shallow, her eyes glazed with pain or shock, and he’s suddenly desperate to offer some reassurance. But while his head buzzes with words, they’re all self-directed. Pathetic. Ineffectual. Weak. For the first time in his life he wants to spit at the word bureaucrat. Teyla risked her life to protect him and there’s precious little he can do to protect her.
But before he can say something, offer an apology, request forgiveness, Teyla grasps his wrist. Her fingers are warm, her grip strong despite her injuries. For a moment, her gaze clears.
She smiles at him.
It’s a small one, the edges tight with pain lines, but it’s a smile nonetheless. A smile like the one she had given him shortly after he arrived on Atlantis, the one that said You’re doing fine.
Her confidence meant something then. It means even more now.
He slides his wrist up until his fingers meet hers, until it’s his hand that she grasps. Teyla closes her eyes.
He holds on.
This he can do.
Don’t forget to leave ONLY FEEDBACK in the comments and NOT VOTES. All comments will be screened until the voting closes.
Author: linziday
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., no infringements of any rights is intended.
Spoilers: Set in Season 5, before Inquisition
A/N: Beta-ed by kriadydragon
Prompt for the Round: Choose from two to all characters from the list and write a story in which there is no dialogue at all. There must be social interaction, but you can’t write any dialog. No other characters allowed, but can be mentioned.
VOTE OF CONFIDENCE by linziday
He is never going off world again.
Never. Never ever. Never ever, no matter what, because it always, always ends badly. He’s not a soldier. He’s not even a scientist. He’s a bureaucrat. Three-piece suits have always been his uniform, the pen his weapon of choice. He’s saved lives that way, his own way. Behind a desk.
Not in a damned field, not with blood on his hands and gunfire erupting around him. Around them.
He shields Teyla’s unconscious body with his own - instincts screaming lower, get lower, but he braces himself, elbows locked, palms flat against jagged pebbles, so he doesn’t touch her shoulder and side, doesn’t even brush against the hastily bandaged gunshot wounds there. He doesn’t know who’s been shooting at them, but their weapon of choice is clearly not the pen.
It was supposed to have been a milk run. Meet with the nice people of MX5-546, renew the trade treaty Dr. Weir had established three years before, and be home by dinner. So he went. He went with Lorne’s team because there weren’t supposed to be any threats and he went with Teyla because she knew the planet’s trading traditions better than anyone and he went without a gun because he’s a bureaucrat.
Except everything went to hell, and they got separated from the rest of the team, and Teyla covered him until -
A bullet whizzes by - so close to his head that he’s sure it would have ruffled his hair if he had any. He bites back a yelp and slams his chin to his chest in an attempt to keep his head below the line of fire.
Underneath him, Teyla stirs.
He panics for a moment, certain she’s going to snap awake and try to sit up. But she opens her eyes slowly and he shakes his head frantically, and the most unimaginable thing happens - she seems to understand him. Him or the bullets flying overhead.
She stays still, her breathing shallow, her eyes glazed with pain or shock, and he’s suddenly desperate to offer some reassurance. But while his head buzzes with words, they’re all self-directed. Pathetic. Ineffectual. Weak. For the first time in his life he wants to spit at the word bureaucrat. Teyla risked her life to protect him and there’s precious little he can do to protect her.
But before he can say something, offer an apology, request forgiveness, Teyla grasps his wrist. Her fingers are warm, her grip strong despite her injuries. For a moment, her gaze clears.
She smiles at him.
It’s a small one, the edges tight with pain lines, but it’s a smile nonetheless. A smile like the one she had given him shortly after he arrived on Atlantis, the one that said You’re doing fine.
Her confidence meant something then. It means even more now.
He slides his wrist up until his fingers meet hers, until it’s his hand that she grasps. Teyla closes her eyes.
He holds on.
This he can do.
Don’t forget to leave ONLY FEEDBACK in the comments and NOT VOTES. All comments will be screened until the voting closes.