SGA - Downtime
Almost there...
Title: Downtime
Genre: Gen, Team (more if you squint)
Length: ~ 2,850 words
Rating: High PG-13
Synopsis: A little break from it all.
Author’s Notes: For the cliche_bingo entry “vacation/holiday”
Warnings: Brief mentions of the aftermath of violence.
Disclaimer: Not mine, they belong to people with far more money than me. I’m just borrowing them and making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
They were on Earth and, really, how often was that going to happen? No personal tragedies, no incursion by evil forces, just mandatory relaxation and, maybe if they were lucky, a good time.
Rodney had said he knew a place, then corrected it to say that his family owned a place and that it was big enough for everyone if they wanted to come with. After the culture shock of just trying to get pizza at Gianni’s thirty minutes outside of the SGC, John had agreed a place away from it all sounded like a good idea. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, maybe a little cabin nestled in the friendly woods of Canada, but apparently the McKay’s did not rough it quite like other people.
The “cabin” was two stories filled with bedrooms, a living room type space with a rather large television and DVD library, an awesome kitchen, and of course, an office with an incredibly fast internet connection. He stashed his gear and spread out on the bed chosen to be his, the orthopedic mattress gently cradling his spine, and drifted off almost immediately.
The dreams came pretty much the moment his head hit the pillow. Trapped in a tiny space, not nearly enough air to survive, pain lancing up his side as his hands fumbled to hold his injury still, tried not to leave his insides on his outsides. Concerned faces gazed down at him, promised him it would be all right, that they were going to get him to safety, make him better.
He woke up covered in a sheen of sweat, the twinge in his side reminding him of the mission gone horribly wrong and just why this downtime wasn’t just authorized, but required.
He stumbled into the bathroom and took a quick shower, eying the yellowing bruises with distaste. He dried off and changed into a fresh t-shirt and jeans, wandering into the office where Rodney was showing Teyla how to order pizza without ever having to deal with annoying people or crowds, and Ronon was pressing against the screen as he attempted to lean out the window and breathe in the lake lapping at the shore only a few yards away.
“This is nice,” the Satedan said, finally tearing his gaze away from the water. His eyes narrowed on John and he didn’t even pretend to be subtle as he asked, “You feelin’ okay?”
“I’m fine,” John insisted. When the eyes narrowed a bit more, he relented, “Side’s bugging me, that’s all.”
Ronon nodded and turned back to the window. John figured he was getting off easy, and was thankful for it, right up until Rodney hollered from his place at the computer, “You know, we have something for that.”
John looked over his shoulder to see McKay was now showing Teyla how to order far more than just a pepperoni pie and asked dubiously, “Oh, really?”
Rodney nodded, not bothering to look up. “Yeah, those pills you’re supposed to be taking. They’re on the top shelf in the bathroom.”
John rolled his eyes but dutifully took a pill when it looked like Ronon was going to force one on him if he didn’t. Mind you, he only took one and the dosage was two, but that was a minor detail and besides, he’d rather be awake to enjoy the vacation rather than sleep his way through it all.
Pizza was delivered and consumed with gusto, John even being allowed a beer despite the meds, and he could feel the relaxation start to seep into him as he dozed on the dock. He woke up to a blinding sun, feeling way too warm and making a mental note to dig out his shorts for tomorrow. He also had this creepy feeling he was being watched which, when he turned his head, he discovered was more than just a feeling as Teyla was sitting in the grass doing some sort of stretching thing and keeping an eye on him as well.
He’d complain about his teammates’ protectiveness, but knew he would probably do the same in their place. As Rodney pointed out, repeatedly, with great volume, he had nearly died again, and that sort of thing makes your friends a little more conscious of just how close you stand near the water or just how far the little trip down the hill really was even though he doubted he got any bruises beyond the one on his arm when Ronon grabbed him, but whatever.
Rodney gave him another beer and a bottle of sunscreen and the four of them sat and talked about everything and nothing as they watched the sun sink low in the sky. Dinner was leftover pizza eaten in front of an incredibly bad sci-fi movie, followed by him trudging off to bed when the next dose of meds hit him a bit too hard.
The next few days were more of the same, with John being introduced to the wonder of some brand of coffee called “Tim Horton’s” and Rodney slowly being peeled away from his laptop. The pizza sometimes changed to be takeout from some stir-fry place in town, and the bottle of sunblock moved from being placed next to him, to on top of his chest, to being thrown at his head.
And if John delayed going to sleep a little bit more each night, no one mentioned a thing.
By the fourth night, John and Ronon had a little foray into town where he bought food for a proper barbeque, only to have to return when it was discovered Rodney had no charcoal on hand to cook it with. He took the wrapping off the grill and set to work while Ronon chopped salad like no one’s business and Teyla made dessert by way of opening the package of cookies.
They watched another movie, this time John keeping the remote and making the others sit through the DVD extras and when those were over, he was tempted to watch the whole thing again with the director’s commentary, but thought that would be too obvious. Instead, he glanced around and realized everyone else had passed out in various positions on the couch and floor. With a shrug, he turned down the volume and started flipping through the satellite channels until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any more.
He woke up to the sound of hushed voices and a room full of shadows. He blinked himself fully awake to see they had drawn the curtains to block out the sun, a clock on the wall noting the time as sixteen after eleven. He caught bits and pieces of the conversation in the next room, about how he wasn’t sleeping right but maybe it was to be expected after everything else that happened.
He rolled his eyes at their concern, pulled his stiff body upright and stretched through the cricks in his muscles. He waved to them as he headed to the shower, noticing a fresh pot of coffee getting started and what looked to be a box of pastries from that Horton place sitting on the counter waiting for him.
That afternoon he went for a swim and, really, if there was any benefit to this required respite it was Teyla in a swimsuit followed shortly by Ronon picking up Rodney and physically dunking him in the lake. A water fight ensued, as was right and proper, followed by the four of them sunning themselves dry on the shore. Well, three of them sunning and one hiding under towels in the shade, tossing Shea butter scented gifts at the rest of them.
That night, he was tired enough to go to sleep at a normal time and not at all prodded to do so by his teammates. The dreams came, but he stayed in bed, running the schematics of all the aircraft he had ever flown through his mind until he drifted off again. In the morning, he was not exactly well rested, but could fake it well enough to earn some time on the X-Box Rodney had smuggled along.
At the end of the week, he packed up his stuff to go home, only to have Rodney sigh and hang up the phone, giving him some song and dance about how their vacation was extended due to some problem with the Gate that wasn’t serious, only stalling, and that they were not going to let him help with and that it was totally John’s turn to cook again so he better make something good. As much as he missed Atlantis, John couldn’t help the sense of relief at another few days in paradise versus being in charge of one disaster after another. He was still tired and knew he wasn’t up to his full strength yet, even as he knew he would probably push himself past his limits anyway back home should the situation call for it. The physical bruises were all but memories, it was the mental ones kept kicking his ass and, if he wasn’t careful, they were going to get him distracted enough to get him more of the physical ones before too long.
Sure enough, that night when he grilled another set of fabulous steaks, it happened. He just meant to check to see how done they were. The knife sliding into the flesh, the liquid red dripping into the flames, distracted him, brought him back to another place, reminded him of reaching for Lorne, of pushing the bleeding man out of the way just before the fire roared around him, taking half of the building down and him with it. They had been lucky, so incredibly lucky, that everyone survived with no more than an extended stay in the infirmary, but it could have been much, much worse.
A hand on his arm pulled him away from the flames, reached and pulled his outer shirt off of him, the cuff still smoking despite the ginger ale Rodney had thrown on it to put it out. Teyla treated the new wound as John grudgingly ordered Ronon to not burn the meat and Rodney gave him a look that told him maybe he should have seen the new psychologist after all.
John shrugged, sheepish, feeling the tender flesh pull with the movement. “I got distracted,” he said by way of explanation.
“We understand,” Teyla assured him, and he was certain she was telling the truth.
That night, she fell asleep with him as a pillow as they watched yet another old DVD. It was only fair given how he had somehow ended up propped up against Ronon’s bulk and Rodney had sprawled his legs across them all. No one suggested he go back to his room alone, and he was a bit grateful for it.
The next afternoon, over some chips, salsa, and more beer, he spilled his guts. He admitted to the bad dreams, to the flashbacks. With gentle prompting, he described in detail every last second he remembered. He thought of the pain, and the burning, and the voices calling to him as hands dug him out of the wreckage. He thought of being carried to the infirmary and how his team never left his side. How they still didn’t even now.
That night, he slept soundly.
The next morning, he watched Rodney pace nervously as he enjoyed a cup of coffee and a plate of something called TimBits. He figured the anxiety had something to do with whatever was wrong with the Gate. Not being involved in the repairs must have been driving Rodney insane. He would have been more concerned about it himself except the problem seemed localized to just one system and the connection with Pegasus was perfectly fine, at least for incoming wormholes, as they were still getting updates on the city. They always had the backup of the Daedalus if needed, and were only grounded to make sure whatever it was didn’t spread if they used a Jumper or directly dialed the city themselves.
Rodney surprised him though. He sat down across from him, body vibrating with energy, and demanded, “Why haven’t you asked yet? Why haven’t you figured it out?”
John put down his breakfast and raised an eyebrow. “You mean the thing with the Gate? They’ve got top people working on it, what can I do to help?”
Rodney shook his head. “Not the Gate. You.”
John made a face. He had no idea what McKay was talking about and wasn’t sure he wanted to. He took a sip of his coffee and debated going for a swim.
He looked up when Rodney grabbed his arm, held up the burn for him to see. “This!” his friend insisted. “And everything else like it.”
John looked to the burn, still a bit raw and fresh. It had not been his proudest moment, but he had worse. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Just... look,” Rodney pleaded. “Take a look at yourself and figure it out.” Teyla and Ronon had appeared behind him and offered John matching beseeching looks.
He figured it had to be important if they were tag-teaming him, and took another look at his arm. The burn was still there, but had turned a violent red instead of the light pink he could have sworn it was earlier. His skin ached and he traced the damage up higher, noting deep cuts and purpling bruises forming along his forearm as he watched, alarming colors trailing up his elbow to disappear beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. His side chose that moment to scream in pain and he instinctively lowered his hand to it, felt the squish of blood beneath his fingers.
He raised his red-tinged hand in front of him, the fingers clenching of their own accord. “What?” he asked, truly confused. His head was spinning now; the room was moving in dizzying circles around him, only his team and their silent solidarity stayed standing in place. “How?” he ground out, feeling himself begin to list to the side.
“We could not heal you,” Teyla told him. Her voice was tinged with sorrow and her eyes looked suspiciously moist.
“We didn’t have the technology,” Rodney confirmed, looking everywhere but at him.
“They’re trying to get something for you,” Ronon advised. “Something that will make you better.”
Rodney reached out to take one hand, Teyla the other, both mindless of the blood. “You’re in cryogenic stasis until they can get it,” Rodney told him. “This place, this whole thing, it’s just a program I designed to make the stay more pleasant.”
Teyla looked up and her grip tightened. “They are here.”
John blinked and was in another place. The shadows, muted lights, and gentle hum told him it was somewhere in the depths of Atlantis. There were hands all over him, lowering him to a gurney. The beep of far too many scanners and more medical equipment than he could identify was nearly drowned out by the rushing of the blood in his ears. There was a vibration, starting low in his chest and spreading outwards towards his limbs, the muscles clenching and straining and fighting and tearing. He heard a familiar voice call out, “He’s seizing!” followed by another insist, “We need to move him now!”
He wanted to ask where to and how and a million other questions. He opened his mouth but could only form a groan, and even that felt like a ripping agony from deep within. The hands were back, lights sailing by and spinning around him.
He caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye, something shining golden and mysterious and alien. There was a grinding noise as if centuries old stones were rubbing together, and then there was movement again, bringing him closer to the strange box. He was placed within and, as the grinding noise returned and the lid slid into place, locking him within, all he could think was, “Huh, a sarcophagus.”
He wasn’t sure how long he was in it. Minutes, hours, days all blurred into one big flash of white light. He opened his eyes as the light died down and faded away. The lid slid back again, revealing the concerned faces of his teammates and a cadre of medical personnel.
“Are you well, John?” Teyla asked, the first to voice anything in the silence.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, felt the complete absence of the usual aches and creaks of being a military man in active service for the better part of his natural life. He looked down at the unblemished skin of his arms, brushed his hands against his abdomen with absolutely no pain. “I... think so,” he answered honestly.
Rodney collapsed against the gaudy golden box, pillowing his head in his arms. “Oh, thank god or your concept of it,” he breathed. He lifted his head slightly to reveal dark shadows under haggard looking eyes. “I need a vacation,” he declared.
John let out a hint of a breath, feeling his lips quirk into a smile. “I think I know just the place.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Downtime
Genre: Gen, Team (more if you squint)
Length: ~ 2,850 words
Rating: High PG-13
Synopsis: A little break from it all.
Author’s Notes: For the cliche_bingo entry “vacation/holiday”
Warnings: Brief mentions of the aftermath of violence.
Disclaimer: Not mine, they belong to people with far more money than me. I’m just borrowing them and making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
They were on Earth and, really, how often was that going to happen? No personal tragedies, no incursion by evil forces, just mandatory relaxation and, maybe if they were lucky, a good time.
Rodney had said he knew a place, then corrected it to say that his family owned a place and that it was big enough for everyone if they wanted to come with. After the culture shock of just trying to get pizza at Gianni’s thirty minutes outside of the SGC, John had agreed a place away from it all sounded like a good idea. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, maybe a little cabin nestled in the friendly woods of Canada, but apparently the McKay’s did not rough it quite like other people.
The “cabin” was two stories filled with bedrooms, a living room type space with a rather large television and DVD library, an awesome kitchen, and of course, an office with an incredibly fast internet connection. He stashed his gear and spread out on the bed chosen to be his, the orthopedic mattress gently cradling his spine, and drifted off almost immediately.
The dreams came pretty much the moment his head hit the pillow. Trapped in a tiny space, not nearly enough air to survive, pain lancing up his side as his hands fumbled to hold his injury still, tried not to leave his insides on his outsides. Concerned faces gazed down at him, promised him it would be all right, that they were going to get him to safety, make him better.
He woke up covered in a sheen of sweat, the twinge in his side reminding him of the mission gone horribly wrong and just why this downtime wasn’t just authorized, but required.
He stumbled into the bathroom and took a quick shower, eying the yellowing bruises with distaste. He dried off and changed into a fresh t-shirt and jeans, wandering into the office where Rodney was showing Teyla how to order pizza without ever having to deal with annoying people or crowds, and Ronon was pressing against the screen as he attempted to lean out the window and breathe in the lake lapping at the shore only a few yards away.
“This is nice,” the Satedan said, finally tearing his gaze away from the water. His eyes narrowed on John and he didn’t even pretend to be subtle as he asked, “You feelin’ okay?”
“I’m fine,” John insisted. When the eyes narrowed a bit more, he relented, “Side’s bugging me, that’s all.”
Ronon nodded and turned back to the window. John figured he was getting off easy, and was thankful for it, right up until Rodney hollered from his place at the computer, “You know, we have something for that.”
John looked over his shoulder to see McKay was now showing Teyla how to order far more than just a pepperoni pie and asked dubiously, “Oh, really?”
Rodney nodded, not bothering to look up. “Yeah, those pills you’re supposed to be taking. They’re on the top shelf in the bathroom.”
John rolled his eyes but dutifully took a pill when it looked like Ronon was going to force one on him if he didn’t. Mind you, he only took one and the dosage was two, but that was a minor detail and besides, he’d rather be awake to enjoy the vacation rather than sleep his way through it all.
Pizza was delivered and consumed with gusto, John even being allowed a beer despite the meds, and he could feel the relaxation start to seep into him as he dozed on the dock. He woke up to a blinding sun, feeling way too warm and making a mental note to dig out his shorts for tomorrow. He also had this creepy feeling he was being watched which, when he turned his head, he discovered was more than just a feeling as Teyla was sitting in the grass doing some sort of stretching thing and keeping an eye on him as well.
He’d complain about his teammates’ protectiveness, but knew he would probably do the same in their place. As Rodney pointed out, repeatedly, with great volume, he had nearly died again, and that sort of thing makes your friends a little more conscious of just how close you stand near the water or just how far the little trip down the hill really was even though he doubted he got any bruises beyond the one on his arm when Ronon grabbed him, but whatever.
Rodney gave him another beer and a bottle of sunscreen and the four of them sat and talked about everything and nothing as they watched the sun sink low in the sky. Dinner was leftover pizza eaten in front of an incredibly bad sci-fi movie, followed by him trudging off to bed when the next dose of meds hit him a bit too hard.
The next few days were more of the same, with John being introduced to the wonder of some brand of coffee called “Tim Horton’s” and Rodney slowly being peeled away from his laptop. The pizza sometimes changed to be takeout from some stir-fry place in town, and the bottle of sunblock moved from being placed next to him, to on top of his chest, to being thrown at his head.
And if John delayed going to sleep a little bit more each night, no one mentioned a thing.
By the fourth night, John and Ronon had a little foray into town where he bought food for a proper barbeque, only to have to return when it was discovered Rodney had no charcoal on hand to cook it with. He took the wrapping off the grill and set to work while Ronon chopped salad like no one’s business and Teyla made dessert by way of opening the package of cookies.
They watched another movie, this time John keeping the remote and making the others sit through the DVD extras and when those were over, he was tempted to watch the whole thing again with the director’s commentary, but thought that would be too obvious. Instead, he glanced around and realized everyone else had passed out in various positions on the couch and floor. With a shrug, he turned down the volume and started flipping through the satellite channels until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any more.
He woke up to the sound of hushed voices and a room full of shadows. He blinked himself fully awake to see they had drawn the curtains to block out the sun, a clock on the wall noting the time as sixteen after eleven. He caught bits and pieces of the conversation in the next room, about how he wasn’t sleeping right but maybe it was to be expected after everything else that happened.
He rolled his eyes at their concern, pulled his stiff body upright and stretched through the cricks in his muscles. He waved to them as he headed to the shower, noticing a fresh pot of coffee getting started and what looked to be a box of pastries from that Horton place sitting on the counter waiting for him.
That afternoon he went for a swim and, really, if there was any benefit to this required respite it was Teyla in a swimsuit followed shortly by Ronon picking up Rodney and physically dunking him in the lake. A water fight ensued, as was right and proper, followed by the four of them sunning themselves dry on the shore. Well, three of them sunning and one hiding under towels in the shade, tossing Shea butter scented gifts at the rest of them.
That night, he was tired enough to go to sleep at a normal time and not at all prodded to do so by his teammates. The dreams came, but he stayed in bed, running the schematics of all the aircraft he had ever flown through his mind until he drifted off again. In the morning, he was not exactly well rested, but could fake it well enough to earn some time on the X-Box Rodney had smuggled along.
At the end of the week, he packed up his stuff to go home, only to have Rodney sigh and hang up the phone, giving him some song and dance about how their vacation was extended due to some problem with the Gate that wasn’t serious, only stalling, and that they were not going to let him help with and that it was totally John’s turn to cook again so he better make something good. As much as he missed Atlantis, John couldn’t help the sense of relief at another few days in paradise versus being in charge of one disaster after another. He was still tired and knew he wasn’t up to his full strength yet, even as he knew he would probably push himself past his limits anyway back home should the situation call for it. The physical bruises were all but memories, it was the mental ones kept kicking his ass and, if he wasn’t careful, they were going to get him distracted enough to get him more of the physical ones before too long.
Sure enough, that night when he grilled another set of fabulous steaks, it happened. He just meant to check to see how done they were. The knife sliding into the flesh, the liquid red dripping into the flames, distracted him, brought him back to another place, reminded him of reaching for Lorne, of pushing the bleeding man out of the way just before the fire roared around him, taking half of the building down and him with it. They had been lucky, so incredibly lucky, that everyone survived with no more than an extended stay in the infirmary, but it could have been much, much worse.
A hand on his arm pulled him away from the flames, reached and pulled his outer shirt off of him, the cuff still smoking despite the ginger ale Rodney had thrown on it to put it out. Teyla treated the new wound as John grudgingly ordered Ronon to not burn the meat and Rodney gave him a look that told him maybe he should have seen the new psychologist after all.
John shrugged, sheepish, feeling the tender flesh pull with the movement. “I got distracted,” he said by way of explanation.
“We understand,” Teyla assured him, and he was certain she was telling the truth.
That night, she fell asleep with him as a pillow as they watched yet another old DVD. It was only fair given how he had somehow ended up propped up against Ronon’s bulk and Rodney had sprawled his legs across them all. No one suggested he go back to his room alone, and he was a bit grateful for it.
The next afternoon, over some chips, salsa, and more beer, he spilled his guts. He admitted to the bad dreams, to the flashbacks. With gentle prompting, he described in detail every last second he remembered. He thought of the pain, and the burning, and the voices calling to him as hands dug him out of the wreckage. He thought of being carried to the infirmary and how his team never left his side. How they still didn’t even now.
That night, he slept soundly.
The next morning, he watched Rodney pace nervously as he enjoyed a cup of coffee and a plate of something called TimBits. He figured the anxiety had something to do with whatever was wrong with the Gate. Not being involved in the repairs must have been driving Rodney insane. He would have been more concerned about it himself except the problem seemed localized to just one system and the connection with Pegasus was perfectly fine, at least for incoming wormholes, as they were still getting updates on the city. They always had the backup of the Daedalus if needed, and were only grounded to make sure whatever it was didn’t spread if they used a Jumper or directly dialed the city themselves.
Rodney surprised him though. He sat down across from him, body vibrating with energy, and demanded, “Why haven’t you asked yet? Why haven’t you figured it out?”
John put down his breakfast and raised an eyebrow. “You mean the thing with the Gate? They’ve got top people working on it, what can I do to help?”
Rodney shook his head. “Not the Gate. You.”
John made a face. He had no idea what McKay was talking about and wasn’t sure he wanted to. He took a sip of his coffee and debated going for a swim.
He looked up when Rodney grabbed his arm, held up the burn for him to see. “This!” his friend insisted. “And everything else like it.”
John looked to the burn, still a bit raw and fresh. It had not been his proudest moment, but he had worse. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Just... look,” Rodney pleaded. “Take a look at yourself and figure it out.” Teyla and Ronon had appeared behind him and offered John matching beseeching looks.
He figured it had to be important if they were tag-teaming him, and took another look at his arm. The burn was still there, but had turned a violent red instead of the light pink he could have sworn it was earlier. His skin ached and he traced the damage up higher, noting deep cuts and purpling bruises forming along his forearm as he watched, alarming colors trailing up his elbow to disappear beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. His side chose that moment to scream in pain and he instinctively lowered his hand to it, felt the squish of blood beneath his fingers.
He raised his red-tinged hand in front of him, the fingers clenching of their own accord. “What?” he asked, truly confused. His head was spinning now; the room was moving in dizzying circles around him, only his team and their silent solidarity stayed standing in place. “How?” he ground out, feeling himself begin to list to the side.
“We could not heal you,” Teyla told him. Her voice was tinged with sorrow and her eyes looked suspiciously moist.
“We didn’t have the technology,” Rodney confirmed, looking everywhere but at him.
“They’re trying to get something for you,” Ronon advised. “Something that will make you better.”
Rodney reached out to take one hand, Teyla the other, both mindless of the blood. “You’re in cryogenic stasis until they can get it,” Rodney told him. “This place, this whole thing, it’s just a program I designed to make the stay more pleasant.”
Teyla looked up and her grip tightened. “They are here.”
John blinked and was in another place. The shadows, muted lights, and gentle hum told him it was somewhere in the depths of Atlantis. There were hands all over him, lowering him to a gurney. The beep of far too many scanners and more medical equipment than he could identify was nearly drowned out by the rushing of the blood in his ears. There was a vibration, starting low in his chest and spreading outwards towards his limbs, the muscles clenching and straining and fighting and tearing. He heard a familiar voice call out, “He’s seizing!” followed by another insist, “We need to move him now!”
He wanted to ask where to and how and a million other questions. He opened his mouth but could only form a groan, and even that felt like a ripping agony from deep within. The hands were back, lights sailing by and spinning around him.
He caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye, something shining golden and mysterious and alien. There was a grinding noise as if centuries old stones were rubbing together, and then there was movement again, bringing him closer to the strange box. He was placed within and, as the grinding noise returned and the lid slid into place, locking him within, all he could think was, “Huh, a sarcophagus.”
He wasn’t sure how long he was in it. Minutes, hours, days all blurred into one big flash of white light. He opened his eyes as the light died down and faded away. The lid slid back again, revealing the concerned faces of his teammates and a cadre of medical personnel.
“Are you well, John?” Teyla asked, the first to voice anything in the silence.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, felt the complete absence of the usual aches and creaks of being a military man in active service for the better part of his natural life. He looked down at the unblemished skin of his arms, brushed his hands against his abdomen with absolutely no pain. “I... think so,” he answered honestly.
Rodney collapsed against the gaudy golden box, pillowing his head in his arms. “Oh, thank god or your concept of it,” he breathed. He lifted his head slightly to reveal dark shadows under haggard looking eyes. “I need a vacation,” he declared.
John let out a hint of a breath, feeling his lips quirk into a smile. “I think I know just the place.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.