Fic: Watermark
Just for the heck of it, here's the fic that became Survival...
Yeah, I'm not quite sure how, either. I kind of don't like it, but at the same time I'm attached to it. Um. Is Sheppard horribly OOC? Seriously, I'm not sure if he just worked in my head for this, or he was right.
Title: Watermark
Author: trill100
catagory: gen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: angst, deathfic (still McKay)
Summary: John Sheppard knew death.
Notes: see above.
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John Sheppard knew death.
He had seen far too much of it, in Afghanistan and before.
It wasn’t hard to recognize, not when you were as close to it as he always felt he was.
And so he knows, before he’s even pulled McKay from the lake, he knows that he’s dead.
The water was too shallow, he’d hit at a bad angle, been under too long…
He drags him up onto the shore and all he can think is how cold he is and his skin is gray and oh god, nothing bad was supposed to happen…
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A little R & R was exactly what they needed.
Everything lately was Wraith and bureaucracy, and while John had spent the better part of the last year dealing with the Wraith, that had largely been without having to answer to anyone.
Which meant he had been doing a lot less paperwork, and not dealing with anyone who bothered him about that. A whole year without requisition forms had spoiled him.
And it wasn’t that Caldwell was a bad officer, it was obvious that he cared about his men. He just tended to ignore those that knew more than him, and he seemed to forget that Sheppard was in charge of Atlantis from time to time.
Understandably, Sheppard was looking forward to their four days on M76-677, even though Teyla had opted out of the trip. Four guys alone on a planet still comprised mainly of children was not exactly the long weekend he’d envisioned.
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He’s not breathing, it’s so obvious that he doesn’t even have to check. He knows there’s no pulse because that was the first thing he checked, when he was still in the water.
That was how he knew his neck was broken.
Beckett must know that, too, but he’s started CPR anyway.
The man never could recognize a lost cause, Sheppard thinks, watching numbly as Beckett pumps his friend’s chest.
He looks up at him desperately, yells for him to help.
But there’s nothing John can do, and he doesn’t want to be there anymore. He retreats to the tree line, where he drops to hands and knees and wretches water that is not nearly as sweet coming up as it had been going down.
Eventually there’s no water left, none of the chicken like bird Keras had served them for lunch, but dry heaves still wrack his frame.
He manages to push the Scot’s curses back long enough to wonder where Ford is. He doesn’t want to lose two members of his team today.
Ronon, he admonishes himself, Ronon, not Ford. He’s already lost Ford, and now he’s lost McKay. Both of them in places where they should have been safe.
Both his fault.
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Keras and some of his people met them at the gate, and it took all of five seconds for the girls to surround Ronon.
John slapped a fake smile on his face as he silently fumed that that used to be him with the natives.
Really, though, if he’s completely honest with himself, he’s old enough to be a lot of these girl’s father.
A point driven home when McKay leaned in close and said, “God, Sheppard, we’re a whole Pokemon Master older than everyone here. Could we have picked a planet with more jailbait?”
Beckett waved nervously at a brunette he caught staring at him from the tree line. “Don’t be silly, Rodney, there’s no such thing as jailbait in space,” he replied, smiling when the girl waved back.
John and Rodney shared a look and started laughing, even though they were both secretly thinking the same thing.
Beckett’s face turned three shades of red, but soon he was laughing along with them.
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He glances behind him and is surprised to see McKay. The scientist is no runner; he expected to have an easy lead on him by now.
Like the easy lead Ronon had on him.
A foot race.
It’ll be fun.
“Fun my ass,” he mutters.
Up ahead he sees a clearing, maybe a field. Even, open ground might be a chance to gain some ground on Ronon. He redoubles his efforts and he’s at the edge of the clearing in no time. Somewhere off to his right he hears Ronon call his name. He turns in the direction of the sound, and suddenly there’s nothing beneath his feet.
It’s very clear, he thinks, as he plummets toward the small lake below, that the nice path he was following was a dry riverbed.
He sucks in air, but it’s knocked out of him when he belly flops.
The water is unnaturally sweet; it reminds him of a year at a base in Florida and a creek that tasted like honeysuckle-
His leg hits something sharp and he remembers where he is.
Two kicks and he’s above the surface, coughing and sputtering. Beckett’s climbing down the hill already, and...
Oh god, Rodney’s diving in after him. He’s an instant too late to stop him.
He’s at the wrong angle and this water’s too shallow for diving, anyway. The scientist hits too close to the far bank, it can’t be more than five feet deep there.
“Damn it, McKay! You don’t save me!” he yells, swimming for the spot where he saw him go under.
Yeah, I'm not quite sure how, either. I kind of don't like it, but at the same time I'm attached to it. Um. Is Sheppard horribly OOC? Seriously, I'm not sure if he just worked in my head for this, or he was right.
Title: Watermark
Author: trill100
catagory: gen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: angst, deathfic (still McKay)
Summary: John Sheppard knew death.
Notes: see above.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
John Sheppard knew death.
He had seen far too much of it, in Afghanistan and before.
It wasn’t hard to recognize, not when you were as close to it as he always felt he was.
And so he knows, before he’s even pulled McKay from the lake, he knows that he’s dead.
The water was too shallow, he’d hit at a bad angle, been under too long…
He drags him up onto the shore and all he can think is how cold he is and his skin is gray and oh god, nothing bad was supposed to happen…
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A little R & R was exactly what they needed.
Everything lately was Wraith and bureaucracy, and while John had spent the better part of the last year dealing with the Wraith, that had largely been without having to answer to anyone.
Which meant he had been doing a lot less paperwork, and not dealing with anyone who bothered him about that. A whole year without requisition forms had spoiled him.
And it wasn’t that Caldwell was a bad officer, it was obvious that he cared about his men. He just tended to ignore those that knew more than him, and he seemed to forget that Sheppard was in charge of Atlantis from time to time.
Understandably, Sheppard was looking forward to their four days on M76-677, even though Teyla had opted out of the trip. Four guys alone on a planet still comprised mainly of children was not exactly the long weekend he’d envisioned.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He’s not breathing, it’s so obvious that he doesn’t even have to check. He knows there’s no pulse because that was the first thing he checked, when he was still in the water.
That was how he knew his neck was broken.
Beckett must know that, too, but he’s started CPR anyway.
The man never could recognize a lost cause, Sheppard thinks, watching numbly as Beckett pumps his friend’s chest.
He looks up at him desperately, yells for him to help.
But there’s nothing John can do, and he doesn’t want to be there anymore. He retreats to the tree line, where he drops to hands and knees and wretches water that is not nearly as sweet coming up as it had been going down.
Eventually there’s no water left, none of the chicken like bird Keras had served them for lunch, but dry heaves still wrack his frame.
He manages to push the Scot’s curses back long enough to wonder where Ford is. He doesn’t want to lose two members of his team today.
Ronon, he admonishes himself, Ronon, not Ford. He’s already lost Ford, and now he’s lost McKay. Both of them in places where they should have been safe.
Both his fault.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Keras and some of his people met them at the gate, and it took all of five seconds for the girls to surround Ronon.
John slapped a fake smile on his face as he silently fumed that that used to be him with the natives.
Really, though, if he’s completely honest with himself, he’s old enough to be a lot of these girl’s father.
A point driven home when McKay leaned in close and said, “God, Sheppard, we’re a whole Pokemon Master older than everyone here. Could we have picked a planet with more jailbait?”
Beckett waved nervously at a brunette he caught staring at him from the tree line. “Don’t be silly, Rodney, there’s no such thing as jailbait in space,” he replied, smiling when the girl waved back.
John and Rodney shared a look and started laughing, even though they were both secretly thinking the same thing.
Beckett’s face turned three shades of red, but soon he was laughing along with them.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He glances behind him and is surprised to see McKay. The scientist is no runner; he expected to have an easy lead on him by now.
Like the easy lead Ronon had on him.
A foot race.
It’ll be fun.
“Fun my ass,” he mutters.
Up ahead he sees a clearing, maybe a field. Even, open ground might be a chance to gain some ground on Ronon. He redoubles his efforts and he’s at the edge of the clearing in no time. Somewhere off to his right he hears Ronon call his name. He turns in the direction of the sound, and suddenly there’s nothing beneath his feet.
It’s very clear, he thinks, as he plummets toward the small lake below, that the nice path he was following was a dry riverbed.
He sucks in air, but it’s knocked out of him when he belly flops.
The water is unnaturally sweet; it reminds him of a year at a base in Florida and a creek that tasted like honeysuckle-
His leg hits something sharp and he remembers where he is.
Two kicks and he’s above the surface, coughing and sputtering. Beckett’s climbing down the hill already, and...
Oh god, Rodney’s diving in after him. He’s an instant too late to stop him.
He’s at the wrong angle and this water’s too shallow for diving, anyway. The scientist hits too close to the far bank, it can’t be more than five feet deep there.
“Damn it, McKay! You don’t save me!” he yells, swimming for the spot where he saw him go under.