[Stargate: Drabble] "Unbreakable" [SG-22, G]
Title: Unbreakable
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 phase 9 table of doom, prompt #08 ‘fragile things’ (present tense)
Word Count: 761
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Warnings: a bit of non-graphic violence
Summary: Jason knows just how tough Gryff can be.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Unbreakable
Jason is flipping through the channels when he finds some kind of hearing on C-SPAN, a panel of dark-suited politicians facing a smaller panel of military officers. It’s the uniforms that catch his attention, a one-star general from each of the four branches. One of the senators has just finished asking a question, and the camera cuts back to the Army general, who starts a clearly-prepared speech about combat stress and unit morale.
Maybe they’re finally getting onto that PTSD thing, Jason thinks. It’s about time- the Gulf War has been over for almost a decade, now.
A different senator- at least, Jason thinks it’s a different one, they all look gray and middle-aged- asks a different question, and this time, the Air Force general answers.
“It’s just not feasible,” he says, as C-SPAN puts his name and rank on the screen. “Women are just not equipped, physically, to handle the kind of stresses that men can. No matter how much training we can give them, it is an unavoidable truth that they are more fragile, more easily incapacitated. Furthermore, they are too emotional to make the kind of rapid and coldly-calculated decisions that are often required in a battle. In a high-risk, high-stress situation, a man shouldn’t have to bear the additional worry if the next soldier over is a woman who will freeze in battle, or even that she won’t be capable of carrying him out of danger-”
Jason turns off the TV, pushing the button on the remote with more force than is needed. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his anger, and looks across the room.
Gryff is sleeping in the big armchair, wrapped in blankets and propped on pillows. She’s even paler than usual, making her black eye look all that much worse. There are more bruises down the one bare arm that Jason can see, and he knows that there are many more out of sight, along with the two cracked ribs and six neat stiches above her left hip.
Igraine Gryffydd is the least fragile person that Jason has ever met, and he’s been in the Marines for over a decade.
It’s not the first time she’s been worked over like this, or worse, and it’s starting to worry Jason that they’re getting used to it. They’d just gotten back to Earth, after spending three days in one of Hecate’s naquadah mines- not their record shortest stay, but not bad- and, as usual, Gryff’s smart mouth and worse attitude, had gotten her beat up. Jason knows why she does it, makes herself a target, he understands it, even, but that doesn’t mean he likes to watch it happen. She’d gotten about half those bruises when they’d first arrived, and the rest the next day, for a crack about forming a union and an unfortunate joke about the First Prime’s mother. The black eye had come from the riot they’d used to stage their escape earlier today, though she’d thankfully avoided a concussion. She’d needed the stitches for a shallow cut she’d gotten blocking a knife strike from a Jaffa trying to stab Toby.
Gryff hadn’t mentioned that last one, not until she’d tumbled onto the ‘gate ramp at the SGC- the last to come through the wormhole- and Janet Fraiser had demanded to know where all the blood came from. The doctor had only released Gryff from the infirmary because she knew the rest of her team would make sure she took it easy.
At a sudden sound, Jason looks up to find Gryff stirring from her mound of blankets. “Hey,” says Gryff, sleepily. “You can watch something, if you want. I’m just…” Her hand flails vaguely, then flops back into her lap. “Resting my eyes.”
“Sure,” Jason says.
“Hey,” says Levi, leaning in the living room doorway. “You’re awake. Feeling better?”
Gryff smiles. “A little.”
“Good. Dinner’s ready.”
Jason stands, and holds out a hand to Gryff. It’s ridiculously easy to pull her to her feet, especially after three days of mine-worker rations. But Jason also knows that she can bear his weight if he needs her to. She might not be able to throw him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry, but he remembers with pain-tinged clarity all the times he’s stumbled on the way through the ‘gate, only for Gryff to duck under his arm and hold him up.
“Hey,” Gryff says again, with a hand on his own. “I really am okay, Jase. I’m not made of glass.”
He smiles. “Oh, I know you’re not, sir.”
THE END
Current Mood:
cranky
Prompt: writerverse challenge #03 phase 9 table of doom, prompt #08 ‘fragile things’ (present tense)
Word Count: 761
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Warnings: a bit of non-graphic violence
Summary: Jason knows just how tough Gryff can be.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Unbreakable
Jason is flipping through the channels when he finds some kind of hearing on C-SPAN, a panel of dark-suited politicians facing a smaller panel of military officers. It’s the uniforms that catch his attention, a one-star general from each of the four branches. One of the senators has just finished asking a question, and the camera cuts back to the Army general, who starts a clearly-prepared speech about combat stress and unit morale.
Maybe they’re finally getting onto that PTSD thing, Jason thinks. It’s about time- the Gulf War has been over for almost a decade, now.
A different senator- at least, Jason thinks it’s a different one, they all look gray and middle-aged- asks a different question, and this time, the Air Force general answers.
“It’s just not feasible,” he says, as C-SPAN puts his name and rank on the screen. “Women are just not equipped, physically, to handle the kind of stresses that men can. No matter how much training we can give them, it is an unavoidable truth that they are more fragile, more easily incapacitated. Furthermore, they are too emotional to make the kind of rapid and coldly-calculated decisions that are often required in a battle. In a high-risk, high-stress situation, a man shouldn’t have to bear the additional worry if the next soldier over is a woman who will freeze in battle, or even that she won’t be capable of carrying him out of danger-”
Jason turns off the TV, pushing the button on the remote with more force than is needed. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his anger, and looks across the room.
Gryff is sleeping in the big armchair, wrapped in blankets and propped on pillows. She’s even paler than usual, making her black eye look all that much worse. There are more bruises down the one bare arm that Jason can see, and he knows that there are many more out of sight, along with the two cracked ribs and six neat stiches above her left hip.
Igraine Gryffydd is the least fragile person that Jason has ever met, and he’s been in the Marines for over a decade.
It’s not the first time she’s been worked over like this, or worse, and it’s starting to worry Jason that they’re getting used to it. They’d just gotten back to Earth, after spending three days in one of Hecate’s naquadah mines- not their record shortest stay, but not bad- and, as usual, Gryff’s smart mouth and worse attitude, had gotten her beat up. Jason knows why she does it, makes herself a target, he understands it, even, but that doesn’t mean he likes to watch it happen. She’d gotten about half those bruises when they’d first arrived, and the rest the next day, for a crack about forming a union and an unfortunate joke about the First Prime’s mother. The black eye had come from the riot they’d used to stage their escape earlier today, though she’d thankfully avoided a concussion. She’d needed the stitches for a shallow cut she’d gotten blocking a knife strike from a Jaffa trying to stab Toby.
Gryff hadn’t mentioned that last one, not until she’d tumbled onto the ‘gate ramp at the SGC- the last to come through the wormhole- and Janet Fraiser had demanded to know where all the blood came from. The doctor had only released Gryff from the infirmary because she knew the rest of her team would make sure she took it easy.
At a sudden sound, Jason looks up to find Gryff stirring from her mound of blankets. “Hey,” says Gryff, sleepily. “You can watch something, if you want. I’m just…” Her hand flails vaguely, then flops back into her lap. “Resting my eyes.”
“Sure,” Jason says.
“Hey,” says Levi, leaning in the living room doorway. “You’re awake. Feeling better?”
Gryff smiles. “A little.”
“Good. Dinner’s ready.”
Jason stands, and holds out a hand to Gryff. It’s ridiculously easy to pull her to her feet, especially after three days of mine-worker rations. But Jason also knows that she can bear his weight if he needs her to. She might not be able to throw him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry, but he remembers with pain-tinged clarity all the times he’s stumbled on the way through the ‘gate, only for Gryff to duck under his arm and hold him up.
“Hey,” Gryff says again, with a hand on his own. “I really am okay, Jase. I’m not made of glass.”
He smiles. “Oh, I know you’re not, sir.”
THE END
Current Mood:
cranky