[Stargate: Drabble] "Couldn't Possibly Do Without" [SG-22, G]
Title: Couldn’t Possibly Do Without
Prompt: writerverse challenge #02 September table of doom
Line Used: “Darling Perdita, you are washing them beautifully and keeping them warm at night.” (The One Hundred and One Dalmatians by Dodie Smith, page42)
Word Count: 516
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Summary: “We don’t expect the impossible from you, Gryff.”
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Couldn't Possibly Do Without
“Bathroom’s all yours, sir,” said Jason, carefully pulling on the soft-worn t-shirt that Gryff had left for him while he was in the shower. He still looked awful, even with all the dried blood washed away, but he was moving a little less stiffly. “You need any help with the lieutenant?”
Gryff shook her head. “No, I can manage. You should get some rest. But could you…?” She stopped herself from finishing the question, feeling selfish for even wanting to ask, but Jason smiled.
“We’ll stay in your room tonight,” he said. “I’ll get Levi.”
The sociologist had gone to shower in the boys’ bathroom, while Jason had been in the master bath, since both of them could more or less maneuver on their own. They’d each gotten more than a few scrapes and bruises on their last mission, but they had already been half-healed by the time they’d made it home. Toby was the worst off, nursing three bruised ribs, one broken one, and a sprained wrist, on top of his own cuts and scrapes, while Gryff had returned, this time, with hardly a mark on her.
Toby sat on his bed, still looking pale from his trip up the stairs, and he leaned heavily on Gryff as she helped him into the master bathroom.
“Usually, I buy a girl a drink first,” he joked, as Gryff helped ease him out of his loose scrub top without jostling his ribs.
“C’mon, I think you’ve gotten to at least second base with me by now,” she said.
He laughed, then winced. “Stop being funny, Gryff, it hurts too much to laugh.”
“Sorry,” she said.
Gryff closed her eyes as Toby slid out of his pants, but held out a hand to steady him. After a moment, she heard splashing and he squeezed her hand. “Okay, I’m decent.”
“That’s debatable,” she said. She grabbed a clean washcloth and turned back, then froze, sitting on the edge of the tub.
Toby had always had a very even complexion, mocha-latte-colored skin that tanned a deep bronze all over rather than freckling, but now his broad back was covered in welts, scratches and fading bruises. Dr. Fraiser had said that none of them would leave a scar, but Gryff felt her stomach lurch at the sight of them.
“Hey,” Toby said, softly. His hand came up to curl around her wrists, finger-light so he wouldn’t press on the livid bruises beneath. He traced his thumb on one scabbed-over place, where Gryff had pulled so hard at the ropes holding her that she’d broken the skin. “It’s not your fault.”
“You know I don’t believe that.” She handed him the washcloth and reached for the shampoo. “It’s my responsibility.”
“To be hurt?” he asked. “To stop us from being hurt, even when there’s nothing you can do? We don’t expect the impossible from you, Gryff.”
“Maybe I expect it from myself.”
“The only reason we’re mostly okay with that is that you usually deliver,” said Toby. “Now, I thought you were going to wash my hair?”
Gryff managed a smile. “Okay.”
THE END
Current Mood:
cold
Prompt: writerverse challenge #02 September table of doom
Line Used: “Darling Perdita, you are washing them beautifully and keeping them warm at night.” (The One Hundred and One Dalmatians by Dodie Smith, page42)
Word Count: 516
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Summary: “We don’t expect the impossible from you, Gryff.”
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Couldn't Possibly Do Without
“Bathroom’s all yours, sir,” said Jason, carefully pulling on the soft-worn t-shirt that Gryff had left for him while he was in the shower. He still looked awful, even with all the dried blood washed away, but he was moving a little less stiffly. “You need any help with the lieutenant?”
Gryff shook her head. “No, I can manage. You should get some rest. But could you…?” She stopped herself from finishing the question, feeling selfish for even wanting to ask, but Jason smiled.
“We’ll stay in your room tonight,” he said. “I’ll get Levi.”
The sociologist had gone to shower in the boys’ bathroom, while Jason had been in the master bath, since both of them could more or less maneuver on their own. They’d each gotten more than a few scrapes and bruises on their last mission, but they had already been half-healed by the time they’d made it home. Toby was the worst off, nursing three bruised ribs, one broken one, and a sprained wrist, on top of his own cuts and scrapes, while Gryff had returned, this time, with hardly a mark on her.
Toby sat on his bed, still looking pale from his trip up the stairs, and he leaned heavily on Gryff as she helped him into the master bathroom.
“Usually, I buy a girl a drink first,” he joked, as Gryff helped ease him out of his loose scrub top without jostling his ribs.
“C’mon, I think you’ve gotten to at least second base with me by now,” she said.
He laughed, then winced. “Stop being funny, Gryff, it hurts too much to laugh.”
“Sorry,” she said.
Gryff closed her eyes as Toby slid out of his pants, but held out a hand to steady him. After a moment, she heard splashing and he squeezed her hand. “Okay, I’m decent.”
“That’s debatable,” she said. She grabbed a clean washcloth and turned back, then froze, sitting on the edge of the tub.
Toby had always had a very even complexion, mocha-latte-colored skin that tanned a deep bronze all over rather than freckling, but now his broad back was covered in welts, scratches and fading bruises. Dr. Fraiser had said that none of them would leave a scar, but Gryff felt her stomach lurch at the sight of them.
“Hey,” Toby said, softly. His hand came up to curl around her wrists, finger-light so he wouldn’t press on the livid bruises beneath. He traced his thumb on one scabbed-over place, where Gryff had pulled so hard at the ropes holding her that she’d broken the skin. “It’s not your fault.”
“You know I don’t believe that.” She handed him the washcloth and reached for the shampoo. “It’s my responsibility.”
“To be hurt?” he asked. “To stop us from being hurt, even when there’s nothing you can do? We don’t expect the impossible from you, Gryff.”
“Maybe I expect it from myself.”
“The only reason we’re mostly okay with that is that you usually deliver,” said Toby. “Now, I thought you were going to wash my hair?”
Gryff managed a smile. “Okay.”
THE END
Current Mood:
cold