LOSS BY barcardicider [LFWS #1 ROUND 10]
Title: Loss
Author: barcardicider
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., no infringements of any rights is intended.
Spoilers: None
Prompt for the Round: Write a fic emphasizing the burden of a leader. You can use from one to all characters of the list.
LOSS by barcardicider
It was a warm night, waves slapping gently at the base of the pier. The stars shining down in their thousands from a cloudless sky. Sheppard drained the last of his beer, crushing the can before placing it carefully next to the other five crumpled cans. He lowered his gaze to the hand that held the dog tags, fingers tracing across the embossed names and numbers.
Four more lives lost. Another mission gone to hell in a handcart. Four more letters to write home. Died with honor, would be proud, sorry for your loss. The words he wrote would be true and from his soul, but they would bring no comfort to the families of those lost. Meaningless words from the military leader who got their loved ones killed. No matter that he was there, with them. That he gripped Sanchez's hand as life slid from his eyes, the marines last thoughts on his baby daughter, pride evident as he gasped out the words to his commanding officer, his dying regret that he would never get to hold his daughter.
Sheppard looked back up at the night sky, he wondered briefly if M2T-978 was visible from Atlantis. Was it one of those bright stars shining down, looking so majestic and beautiful, hiding a secret of blood, pain and death behind a glowing brightness? He would have to ask McKay. He fumbled for another can, grunting when he realized that the six pack was finished.
He had nearly lost them today as well, McKay, Ronon and Teyla. Ronon was still in surgery, the docs giving their usual bullshit, too early to tell, will do our best. Christ! Sheppard closed his eyes, if the former runner lost his leg, he just knew Ronon would go all Klingon and try and take his own life in some weird warrior honor crap. Teyla, thanks to whatever deity watched over her, had gotten away with cuts and bruises and was no doubt cradling her son in her arms as she waited for news about Ronon.
Sheppard opened his eyes and looked out into the inky darkness, as for McKay. He shook his head. Why he ever thought the man had a strong sense of self-preservation, he would never know. McKay could be a grade A drama queen one second and goddamn Rambo the next. McKay had ignored everything, the explosions, the gunfire, Sheppard yelling blue murder at him, to reach his fallen scientist. To fling her over his shoulder and head for the gate.
All for naught. Doctor Sharma died in the gate room. Another victim of a John Sheppard fuck up.
Sheppard looked back down at the dog tags he was still stroking. They had lost so many, too many.
“Did you have to hide out on the furthest pier?” a voice suddenly said, causing Sheppard to jerk in surprise, knocking some of the empty cans into the ocean below.
“Crap!” Sheppard yelp in surprise, looking up at the intruder. “McKay? What the hell?”
He watched as McKay awkwardly sat down next to him with a grunt of pain, placing a six pack between them.
“How’s your side?” Sheppard asked.
“I’ll live,” McKay replied uncharacteristically stoic. He pulled a beer from the six pack and passed it to Sheppard.
“Ronon?” Sheppard asked worriedly.
McKay shook his head. “Still in surgery,” he replied. “It’s not your fault. You know that, right?” He nodded at the dog tags in Sheppard’s hand.
“Yes, it is,” Sheppard replied sadly. He raised his hand as McKay opened his mouth to reply.
“Yes it is,” he repeated firmly.
Don’t forget to leave ONLY FEEDBACK in the comments and NOT VOTES. All comments will be screened until the voting closes.
Author: barcardicider
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., no infringements of any rights is intended.
Spoilers: None
Prompt for the Round: Write a fic emphasizing the burden of a leader. You can use from one to all characters of the list.
LOSS by barcardicider
It was a warm night, waves slapping gently at the base of the pier. The stars shining down in their thousands from a cloudless sky. Sheppard drained the last of his beer, crushing the can before placing it carefully next to the other five crumpled cans. He lowered his gaze to the hand that held the dog tags, fingers tracing across the embossed names and numbers.
Four more lives lost. Another mission gone to hell in a handcart. Four more letters to write home. Died with honor, would be proud, sorry for your loss. The words he wrote would be true and from his soul, but they would bring no comfort to the families of those lost. Meaningless words from the military leader who got their loved ones killed. No matter that he was there, with them. That he gripped Sanchez's hand as life slid from his eyes, the marines last thoughts on his baby daughter, pride evident as he gasped out the words to his commanding officer, his dying regret that he would never get to hold his daughter.
Sheppard looked back up at the night sky, he wondered briefly if M2T-978 was visible from Atlantis. Was it one of those bright stars shining down, looking so majestic and beautiful, hiding a secret of blood, pain and death behind a glowing brightness? He would have to ask McKay. He fumbled for another can, grunting when he realized that the six pack was finished.
He had nearly lost them today as well, McKay, Ronon and Teyla. Ronon was still in surgery, the docs giving their usual bullshit, too early to tell, will do our best. Christ! Sheppard closed his eyes, if the former runner lost his leg, he just knew Ronon would go all Klingon and try and take his own life in some weird warrior honor crap. Teyla, thanks to whatever deity watched over her, had gotten away with cuts and bruises and was no doubt cradling her son in her arms as she waited for news about Ronon.
Sheppard opened his eyes and looked out into the inky darkness, as for McKay. He shook his head. Why he ever thought the man had a strong sense of self-preservation, he would never know. McKay could be a grade A drama queen one second and goddamn Rambo the next. McKay had ignored everything, the explosions, the gunfire, Sheppard yelling blue murder at him, to reach his fallen scientist. To fling her over his shoulder and head for the gate.
All for naught. Doctor Sharma died in the gate room. Another victim of a John Sheppard fuck up.
Sheppard looked back down at the dog tags he was still stroking. They had lost so many, too many.
“Did you have to hide out on the furthest pier?” a voice suddenly said, causing Sheppard to jerk in surprise, knocking some of the empty cans into the ocean below.
“Crap!” Sheppard yelp in surprise, looking up at the intruder. “McKay? What the hell?”
He watched as McKay awkwardly sat down next to him with a grunt of pain, placing a six pack between them.
“How’s your side?” Sheppard asked.
“I’ll live,” McKay replied uncharacteristically stoic. He pulled a beer from the six pack and passed it to Sheppard.
“Ronon?” Sheppard asked worriedly.
McKay shook his head. “Still in surgery,” he replied. “It’s not your fault. You know that, right?” He nodded at the dog tags in Sheppard’s hand.
“Yes, it is,” Sheppard replied sadly. He raised his hand as McKay opened his mouth to reply.
“Yes it is,” he repeated firmly.
Don’t forget to leave ONLY FEEDBACK in the comments and NOT VOTES. All comments will be screened until the voting closes.