Remnant tag - Phantom Pains
Title: Phantom Pains
Author: Padawan_aneiki
Rating/Pairing: PG/None
Characters: John
Summary: John tries to sleep
Phantom Pains
Your own mind drove it...
You torture yourself every day...
Use your hand.
You’re going to give us a hand...
“No!”
John Sheppard sat bolt upright, gasping. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, several, several more for his heart to stop slamming violently in his chest. But in the pale moonlight that streamed into his window, he could see his hand. Feel as well as see the fingers moving as he clenched it into a fist.
The ache, however, remained.
It was a familiar ache, a sharp pain that ate at him often, in the dark corners of his mind. The AI had simply been another reminder of the failures, the losses, and the names. Ford. Elizabeth. Sumner; heaven help him the man still haunted his dreams on occasion, fulfilling his unspoken promise to make his life miserable in the Pegasus Galaxy, five years later. Carson. The...original Carson, for lack of a better word, never should have died on his watch. That simple.
Almost Teyla. “Almost” nipped at him just as hard, sometimes.
John shoved aside a blanket and sheet that was now a tangled, damp mess as the nightmare had left him drenched in sweat. He shivered slightly as a cool breeze blew in through the open window, un-sticking his teeshirt from his chest. The material fluttered briefly against clammy skin, and then he was up, barefoot, padding to the door. He didn’t care particularly where he was going. Just that he was going...moving. Trying to escape the phantom pains that chased him in the dark, just like the phantom pain of his “missing” hand had chased him in the hallucination.
It had felt so real at first that he could hardly think straight, could hardly heard his imagination-in the form of Kolya-taunting him about his failures, above the screaming pain. He should have realized something was backwards when it had died down to something almost tolerable. When he’d been able to fight...himself.
He’d been fighting himself, for all intents and purposes. John’s steps slowed down, the soft slap of bare skin on cold hallways disappearing into silent padding as he veered off and wandered toward a nearby balcony. Atlantis, as ever, responded to his gene without delay, the doors opening and granting him access. John stepped out into the cool breeze and tipped his face to the moonlit sky above, assessing that.
“Okay, John, I’ll go with that,” he murmured to himself, one hand rubbing the back of his neck and the other gripping the nearby pillar. “I admit there’s some...regrets. Okay, a lot of regrets.” He exhaled. Talking to himself, again...Okay, maybe I really am nuts.
No, not nuts. Just...tortured. That was the word the AI had used, right? That he tortured himself every day? John lifted his head, pulling his hand away from his neck. His hand...whole and real and fingers all moving. Did he really think he’d deserved that?
Maybe he did...deep down, under the layers of loss and pain, think that.
John looked at his hand once again. There was only one place for those kinds of thoughts. He didn’t have room for them in the daylight hours. Couldn’t afford them on duty, couldn’t let them out to compromise the mandate he carried to protect the people here. His family.
His redemption.
It was a quiet, quick, cool walk back to his quarters, to a bed that had chilled in his absence. John laid down, covered up and then curled up beneath the blankets. If the only room he had for the pain was right here, in the dark, in his sleep, then he would deal with them as he always did.
After all, they were only phantom pains.
Author: Padawan_aneiki
Rating/Pairing: PG/None
Characters: John
Summary: John tries to sleep
Phantom Pains
Your own mind drove it...
You torture yourself every day...
Use your hand.
You’re going to give us a hand...
“No!”
John Sheppard sat bolt upright, gasping. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, several, several more for his heart to stop slamming violently in his chest. But in the pale moonlight that streamed into his window, he could see his hand. Feel as well as see the fingers moving as he clenched it into a fist.
The ache, however, remained.
It was a familiar ache, a sharp pain that ate at him often, in the dark corners of his mind. The AI had simply been another reminder of the failures, the losses, and the names. Ford. Elizabeth. Sumner; heaven help him the man still haunted his dreams on occasion, fulfilling his unspoken promise to make his life miserable in the Pegasus Galaxy, five years later. Carson. The...original Carson, for lack of a better word, never should have died on his watch. That simple.
Almost Teyla. “Almost” nipped at him just as hard, sometimes.
John shoved aside a blanket and sheet that was now a tangled, damp mess as the nightmare had left him drenched in sweat. He shivered slightly as a cool breeze blew in through the open window, un-sticking his teeshirt from his chest. The material fluttered briefly against clammy skin, and then he was up, barefoot, padding to the door. He didn’t care particularly where he was going. Just that he was going...moving. Trying to escape the phantom pains that chased him in the dark, just like the phantom pain of his “missing” hand had chased him in the hallucination.
It had felt so real at first that he could hardly think straight, could hardly heard his imagination-in the form of Kolya-taunting him about his failures, above the screaming pain. He should have realized something was backwards when it had died down to something almost tolerable. When he’d been able to fight...himself.
He’d been fighting himself, for all intents and purposes. John’s steps slowed down, the soft slap of bare skin on cold hallways disappearing into silent padding as he veered off and wandered toward a nearby balcony. Atlantis, as ever, responded to his gene without delay, the doors opening and granting him access. John stepped out into the cool breeze and tipped his face to the moonlit sky above, assessing that.
“Okay, John, I’ll go with that,” he murmured to himself, one hand rubbing the back of his neck and the other gripping the nearby pillar. “I admit there’s some...regrets. Okay, a lot of regrets.” He exhaled. Talking to himself, again...Okay, maybe I really am nuts.
No, not nuts. Just...tortured. That was the word the AI had used, right? That he tortured himself every day? John lifted his head, pulling his hand away from his neck. His hand...whole and real and fingers all moving. Did he really think he’d deserved that?
Maybe he did...deep down, under the layers of loss and pain, think that.
John looked at his hand once again. There was only one place for those kinds of thoughts. He didn’t have room for them in the daylight hours. Couldn’t afford them on duty, couldn’t let them out to compromise the mandate he carried to protect the people here. His family.
His redemption.
It was a quiet, quick, cool walk back to his quarters, to a bed that had chilled in his absence. John laid down, covered up and then curled up beneath the blankets. If the only room he had for the pain was right here, in the dark, in his sleep, then he would deal with them as he always did.
After all, they were only phantom pains.