New SGA fic: Harbour in Stormy Waters, Chuck-centric, G
Title: Harbour in Stormy Waters
Rating: G
Warnings: mild angst
Spoilers: loosely for 'The Return Part 2'
A/N: This is the Chuck fic that ate my muse. No, seriously, this is only 800 words and it went through FIVE WHOLE DRAFTS. *falls off chair* Don't be surprised if I write more in this verse - I've spent entirely too much time living in thinking about it. :D
Huge thanks goes out to my betas tesserae_ (who wanted more) and general_jinjur (who wanted everything).
Chuck pokes his fingers through the blinds to part them, his fingertips smudging the glass. He moves his face as close to the window as he can without fogging the surface, without making himself obvious. The snow drifting into billowing mounds on the front lawn feels wrong, jarring and alien. There's bright white where Chuck anticipates rippling blue; where the concrete road curves at the apex of their cul-de-sac, Chuck expects cool grey spires and blue-green glass.
He’s never thought of himself as Atlantean, not like Doctor Weir and Colonel Sheppard and all the other first-wavers seem to. But he misses the cool beauty of the city nonetheless, the glow of the gate, the rush he felt every time the symbols lit up and the wormhole engaged. Even the more prosaic elements, like the control room's muted whirrs, murmurs, and constant human presence give him a pang of loss. Some days are worse than others: when he gets into a car, never thinking to do the driving - he hasn't got the gene, after all - and finds himself wondering why Dad won't just steer with his mind; when he spends twenty minutes in the market trying to find the tava beans, baffled; when the comfortable, loving bustle of the house feels wrong without any badgering, insults, or challenges to drive along tasks, without anyone asking him to achieve the impossible. Those are the days he misses Atlantis the most, when he feels her absence keenly.
It's not like he's alone here, of course. His exile is not complete: his parents are in the other room with his older sister and her three kids; a few streets over his grandparents are hosting their weekly bridge night. Chuck could never lack for company here at home. His family makes it routine to walk in and out of each other's houses and lives, keeping each other close by virtue of being both neighbours and busybodies, but Chuck can't help but feel as if something about this place has become woefully inadequate.
Maybe it’s him; maybe the constant threat of death has made him crave excitement. Perhaps he’s been spoiled by his access to exciting new technologies; perhaps by the opportunity to work alongside the brightest minds of his generation. Maybe his family is just too nicenormaldull in comparison - nothing at all like Doctor McKay with his outrageous reactions, or Teyla with her secretive smiles and strange way of speaking. Maybe he doesn’t belong. Maybe his family doesn’t even know who he is anymore.
That thought makes his stomach lurch and Chuck jerks away from the window as if burned. It’s not their fault he’s been gone so long. University, then Area 51, then the SGC - he’d been gone a long time even before he crossed two galaxies. Even before he couldn’t send so much as a letter for nearly a year. And once he could, all he was able to tell them was that he was safe and happy, doing good work. They couldn’t know anything about wormholes or spaceships or floating cities - Chuck had to omit the most important parts of his life, the most salient and therefore classified details, until all he could say was I miss you and wish you were here.
The sound of soft, stumbling footsteps makes him turn to find that his littlest nephew has wandered in, dragging a stool across the kitchen floor in determined, stuttering jerks. The sight surprises an indulgent smile out of Chuck, and he rises to help, ruffling the boy's curly mop of hair while pulling down a plastic cup from the cabinet to fill with juice. His nephew gives him a mute but fierce tackle-hug around the knees before pulling the drink from Chuck's hand and padding back toward the living room.
Instead of manning a control room, Chuck fetches sippy cups and mows the lawn. He tries not to think about it, how these feel like someone else’s jobs, some other man's responsibilities. He has usurped this role as surely as the Ancients usurped his seat in the gate room. But this place was home once, and holds enough of his heart that he can still appreciate it, call it a haven. The house may lack enigmatic aliens and near-magical transporters, but he still loves it. No ship full of arrogant Ancients could ever take this away from him.
When the SGC finally sends the recall to duty, posting him back to Atlantis, Chuck doesn't question the circumstances, nor does he hesitate - he packs his bags to return to Pegasus. The family home, his Earth home, will be here for him, will welcome him, whenever he can come back, but Atlantis? Atlantis is dangerous, exotic, and fleeting - it won’t always be there.
Atlantis is everything he’s always wanted, and he doesn’t dare let it go.
Rating: G
Warnings: mild angst
Spoilers: loosely for 'The Return Part 2'
A/N: This is the Chuck fic that ate my muse. No, seriously, this is only 800 words and it went through FIVE WHOLE DRAFTS. *falls off chair* Don't be surprised if I write more in this verse - I've spent entirely too much time living in thinking about it. :D
Huge thanks goes out to my betas tesserae_ (who wanted more) and general_jinjur (who wanted everything).
Chuck pokes his fingers through the blinds to part them, his fingertips smudging the glass. He moves his face as close to the window as he can without fogging the surface, without making himself obvious. The snow drifting into billowing mounds on the front lawn feels wrong, jarring and alien. There's bright white where Chuck anticipates rippling blue; where the concrete road curves at the apex of their cul-de-sac, Chuck expects cool grey spires and blue-green glass.
He’s never thought of himself as Atlantean, not like Doctor Weir and Colonel Sheppard and all the other first-wavers seem to. But he misses the cool beauty of the city nonetheless, the glow of the gate, the rush he felt every time the symbols lit up and the wormhole engaged. Even the more prosaic elements, like the control room's muted whirrs, murmurs, and constant human presence give him a pang of loss. Some days are worse than others: when he gets into a car, never thinking to do the driving - he hasn't got the gene, after all - and finds himself wondering why Dad won't just steer with his mind; when he spends twenty minutes in the market trying to find the tava beans, baffled; when the comfortable, loving bustle of the house feels wrong without any badgering, insults, or challenges to drive along tasks, without anyone asking him to achieve the impossible. Those are the days he misses Atlantis the most, when he feels her absence keenly.
It's not like he's alone here, of course. His exile is not complete: his parents are in the other room with his older sister and her three kids; a few streets over his grandparents are hosting their weekly bridge night. Chuck could never lack for company here at home. His family makes it routine to walk in and out of each other's houses and lives, keeping each other close by virtue of being both neighbours and busybodies, but Chuck can't help but feel as if something about this place has become woefully inadequate.
Maybe it’s him; maybe the constant threat of death has made him crave excitement. Perhaps he’s been spoiled by his access to exciting new technologies; perhaps by the opportunity to work alongside the brightest minds of his generation. Maybe his family is just too nicenormaldull in comparison - nothing at all like Doctor McKay with his outrageous reactions, or Teyla with her secretive smiles and strange way of speaking. Maybe he doesn’t belong. Maybe his family doesn’t even know who he is anymore.
That thought makes his stomach lurch and Chuck jerks away from the window as if burned. It’s not their fault he’s been gone so long. University, then Area 51, then the SGC - he’d been gone a long time even before he crossed two galaxies. Even before he couldn’t send so much as a letter for nearly a year. And once he could, all he was able to tell them was that he was safe and happy, doing good work. They couldn’t know anything about wormholes or spaceships or floating cities - Chuck had to omit the most important parts of his life, the most salient and therefore classified details, until all he could say was I miss you and wish you were here.
The sound of soft, stumbling footsteps makes him turn to find that his littlest nephew has wandered in, dragging a stool across the kitchen floor in determined, stuttering jerks. The sight surprises an indulgent smile out of Chuck, and he rises to help, ruffling the boy's curly mop of hair while pulling down a plastic cup from the cabinet to fill with juice. His nephew gives him a mute but fierce tackle-hug around the knees before pulling the drink from Chuck's hand and padding back toward the living room.
Instead of manning a control room, Chuck fetches sippy cups and mows the lawn. He tries not to think about it, how these feel like someone else’s jobs, some other man's responsibilities. He has usurped this role as surely as the Ancients usurped his seat in the gate room. But this place was home once, and holds enough of his heart that he can still appreciate it, call it a haven. The house may lack enigmatic aliens and near-magical transporters, but he still loves it. No ship full of arrogant Ancients could ever take this away from him.
When the SGC finally sends the recall to duty, posting him back to Atlantis, Chuck doesn't question the circumstances, nor does he hesitate - he packs his bags to return to Pegasus. The family home, his Earth home, will be here for him, will welcome him, whenever he can come back, but Atlantis? Atlantis is dangerous, exotic, and fleeting - it won’t always be there.
Atlantis is everything he’s always wanted, and he doesn’t dare let it go.