SGA\\Breathe\\Rodney McKay\\PG-13
Title: Breathe
Author: kibou_sueshijuu
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Angst
Pairing: n/a
Rating: PG-13 for one occurance of the F-word
Word Count: 814
Spoilers: SUNDAY spoiler. Majorly. So. Dun read if you dun wanna know. Sorry.
Challenge: n/a
Episode Tag: Sunday (3x17, i think)
Summary: Rodney has taken to hiding himself away in dark places whenever he has the chance.
Warnings: Err... warnings under the cut, because it has to do with the spoilerage.
Beta: n/a
Archive: kibou_fic, e-mail me for permission to archive elsewhere: kibou_sueshijuu [at] hotmail
Author's Notes: This was completely and utterly inspired by the song "Breathe", by Alexi Murdoch, the lyrics of which you can find here, and one line from another of his songs, "Dream About Flying" was shamelessly lifted and plunked into here, because, well. It fit. And I'm not claiming it as my own, so, no harm no foul? I reccomend you find a way to listen to both songs, because they are phenomenal. Anyways, besides that, I really don't know how I feel about this. It's... well. Different. I was trying to give it the same sort of feel as the song, which is pretty mellow, so... I don't know how that worked out...
Feedback is better than sex.
Warnings: Mourning!fic. Angsting over the loss of Carson. But no tears. Just Rodney and the dark and his own way of dealing with things.
***
Rodney has taken to hiding himself away in dark places whenever he has the chance. When he’s finished in the lab, he goes searching for empty corridors and rooms and, if it’s late and not too cold out and he thinks he can bear the sight of the stars, balconies and piers.
In these places, he imagines that things are like before. He imagines that all the pieces of the puzzle are still in their right place. In the dark, where he can’t see himself, he can find a moment’s peace. He can relieve himself of his guilt, by imagining that his best friend is here with him.
Atlantis hasn’t been the same since they lost Carson. Everyone’s put on a brave face, and they’ve all gone on, acting out their lives, but even Rodney can feel the difference in the atmosphere - the difference in himself. Nobody is the same; no place is the same.
Sometimes, Rodney feels like he’s drowning. Actually, it’s more like most of the time. He surrounded by water and he can feel himself drowning.
When he finds himself back in the dark, he can pull his head out of the water and breathe. He tries to remember to breathe more often, but it’s not easy, and usually he just sinks deeper beneath the surface.
Not that he ever enjoyed being in the infirmary, but Rodney now avoids it like his life depends on it. Sometimes he thinks it does. If he goes near it, let alone in it, he really finds himself unable to breathe. He can’t face the other doctors and nurses anymore, either.
Instead, he hides in the dark.
Tonight, he has found a long, dark corridor in which to disappear. He feels his way down it, dragging his hands along the wall. He can’t help but think of the Ancients who built this place - this haven cum deathtrap that he calls his home. He thinks of their engineering and their science and their hands building these walls, this technology - these mistakes.
Sometimes, Rodney hates the Ancients. Actually, it’s more like most of the time. They’ve been gone for millennia, but they surround him all the same. At least, with the lights off, he doesn’t have to stare at their handiwork - their legacy.
Some legacy, he thinks. Some fucking legacy.
He decides he’s gone far enough, and falls to the floor, sprawling across the cool surface. It is smooth against his cheek, and he slides his hand along it. He doesn’t care that it’s probably filthy with dust and who knows what.
Rodney remembers a game he and Jeannie used to play when they were kids. One of them would lie on their stomach, with their nose to the floor and their eyes closed. The other would hold their arms above their head for twenty or thirty seconds, and then gently lower them to the ground. The lack of blood flow - at least, that’s what he had always figured made the most sense - made it feel like the floor had disappeared.
He remembers the sensation of drifting through the floor. As long as he kept his eyes closed, he could hold on to that feeling, that weightless, beautiful feeling.
He wishes he could feel that now, but there’s nobody to grab his arms and hold them above his head. Instead, he stretches out on his back and stares into the emptiness above him.
He reminds himself to continue breathing, and wonders why he is part of all this. Why any of them are.
They’re all here by fluke. Carson was here by fluke.
Rodney can’t understand how a fluke can bring you to a place so amazing as this, just to have another fluke pull it back from your fingertips.
He breathes in: deep, slow, deliberate breaths. He imagines the darkness closing in on him. His eyes are open, but they may as well be closed. Maybe they are; he can’t tell anymore. There’s a blanket of darkness around him, and he’s sinking into the floor.
***
Rodney doesn’t know how long he’s lain there in the dark corridor, but when he opens his eyes, he can feel that the tight coil of tension that sits in his chest and between his shoulder blades more often than not these days has abated.
He stands up, wincing a little as his knees protest the awkward movement. He’s lost his sense of direction, but he reaches a hand out and takes a few steps and finds the wall rather quickly.
He drags his hands along it as he heads in an arbitrary direction. Whichever way he goes, he’ll end up back in the light, back under the pervasive stare of Atlantis.
The tension would return the next day, he knew, but he would, in turn, seek out another dark place, where he could breathe in the nothingness and drown it out.
Author: kibou_sueshijuu
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Angst
Pairing: n/a
Rating: PG-13 for one occurance of the F-word
Word Count: 814
Spoilers: SUNDAY spoiler. Majorly. So. Dun read if you dun wanna know. Sorry.
Challenge: n/a
Episode Tag: Sunday (3x17, i think)
Summary: Rodney has taken to hiding himself away in dark places whenever he has the chance.
Warnings: Err... warnings under the cut, because it has to do with the spoilerage.
Beta: n/a
Archive: kibou_fic, e-mail me for permission to archive elsewhere: kibou_sueshijuu [at] hotmail
Author's Notes: This was completely and utterly inspired by the song "Breathe", by Alexi Murdoch, the lyrics of which you can find here, and one line from another of his songs, "Dream About Flying" was shamelessly lifted and plunked into here, because, well. It fit. And I'm not claiming it as my own, so, no harm no foul? I reccomend you find a way to listen to both songs, because they are phenomenal. Anyways, besides that, I really don't know how I feel about this. It's... well. Different. I was trying to give it the same sort of feel as the song, which is pretty mellow, so... I don't know how that worked out...
Feedback is better than sex.
Warnings: Mourning!fic. Angsting over the loss of Carson. But no tears. Just Rodney and the dark and his own way of dealing with things.
***
Rodney has taken to hiding himself away in dark places whenever he has the chance. When he’s finished in the lab, he goes searching for empty corridors and rooms and, if it’s late and not too cold out and he thinks he can bear the sight of the stars, balconies and piers.
In these places, he imagines that things are like before. He imagines that all the pieces of the puzzle are still in their right place. In the dark, where he can’t see himself, he can find a moment’s peace. He can relieve himself of his guilt, by imagining that his best friend is here with him.
Atlantis hasn’t been the same since they lost Carson. Everyone’s put on a brave face, and they’ve all gone on, acting out their lives, but even Rodney can feel the difference in the atmosphere - the difference in himself. Nobody is the same; no place is the same.
Sometimes, Rodney feels like he’s drowning. Actually, it’s more like most of the time. He surrounded by water and he can feel himself drowning.
When he finds himself back in the dark, he can pull his head out of the water and breathe. He tries to remember to breathe more often, but it’s not easy, and usually he just sinks deeper beneath the surface.
Not that he ever enjoyed being in the infirmary, but Rodney now avoids it like his life depends on it. Sometimes he thinks it does. If he goes near it, let alone in it, he really finds himself unable to breathe. He can’t face the other doctors and nurses anymore, either.
Instead, he hides in the dark.
Tonight, he has found a long, dark corridor in which to disappear. He feels his way down it, dragging his hands along the wall. He can’t help but think of the Ancients who built this place - this haven cum deathtrap that he calls his home. He thinks of their engineering and their science and their hands building these walls, this technology - these mistakes.
Sometimes, Rodney hates the Ancients. Actually, it’s more like most of the time. They’ve been gone for millennia, but they surround him all the same. At least, with the lights off, he doesn’t have to stare at their handiwork - their legacy.
Some legacy, he thinks. Some fucking legacy.
He decides he’s gone far enough, and falls to the floor, sprawling across the cool surface. It is smooth against his cheek, and he slides his hand along it. He doesn’t care that it’s probably filthy with dust and who knows what.
Rodney remembers a game he and Jeannie used to play when they were kids. One of them would lie on their stomach, with their nose to the floor and their eyes closed. The other would hold their arms above their head for twenty or thirty seconds, and then gently lower them to the ground. The lack of blood flow - at least, that’s what he had always figured made the most sense - made it feel like the floor had disappeared.
He remembers the sensation of drifting through the floor. As long as he kept his eyes closed, he could hold on to that feeling, that weightless, beautiful feeling.
He wishes he could feel that now, but there’s nobody to grab his arms and hold them above his head. Instead, he stretches out on his back and stares into the emptiness above him.
He reminds himself to continue breathing, and wonders why he is part of all this. Why any of them are.
They’re all here by fluke. Carson was here by fluke.
Rodney can’t understand how a fluke can bring you to a place so amazing as this, just to have another fluke pull it back from your fingertips.
He breathes in: deep, slow, deliberate breaths. He imagines the darkness closing in on him. His eyes are open, but they may as well be closed. Maybe they are; he can’t tell anymore. There’s a blanket of darkness around him, and he’s sinking into the floor.
***
Rodney doesn’t know how long he’s lain there in the dark corridor, but when he opens his eyes, he can feel that the tight coil of tension that sits in his chest and between his shoulder blades more often than not these days has abated.
He stands up, wincing a little as his knees protest the awkward movement. He’s lost his sense of direction, but he reaches a hand out and takes a few steps and finds the wall rather quickly.
He drags his hands along it as he heads in an arbitrary direction. Whichever way he goes, he’ll end up back in the light, back under the pervasive stare of Atlantis.
The tension would return the next day, he knew, but he would, in turn, seek out another dark place, where he could breathe in the nothingness and drown it out.