SGA ficlets: dead end h/c
Have some dead end h/c-ish snippets while I try to convince this other fic it doesn't need plot. Two snippets: one of the nightmare cliche variety, and the other of the "from the climatic scene of a fic never written" variety. John, Teyla, Rodney.
One
Rodney dreamed in nonsensical nightmares after stressful situations. It was predictable and therefore acceptable, and the pattern had only broken once, early on, with a strange, lucid dream like a snapshot on the edge of waking. Even as he opened his eyes, he heard a man say, deep-voiced and out of nowhere: “He died instantly.”
With it came a certainty very appropriate to dreaming--dropped whole into the back of his mind like a gift--that the voice meant Sheppard.
It upset him for the whole rest of the week. He had trouble telling people about it, something vitally important but totally unshareable, like Jeannie as a child or his last day on Earth. He’d tried it once, just added Sheppard’s Painless Death Dream to the end of the daily brain-dump rotation, but he could never figure out how to word it, and even when he only half-implied it, the faces people made embarrassed him.
So he stopped mentioning it, and really, it stopped bothering him pretty quickly.
Two
“Rodney!” Sheppard’s voice, fading in and out a little. Damn it, he’d dropped the tools again. He tried to fumble for them, but Sheppard had a hold of his wrists, pressing them into his lap. “Look at me, McKay.”
“John,” Teyla sounded so urgent, “You need to go now. I will put in the sequence when Dr. McKay cannot.”
Rodney opened his eyes. It was very bright, and hot, huddled into the corner. He spared a moment to be shocked by the dirt and blood streaked down Sheppard’s face. He’d lost his tac vest. His shirt was ripped.
“Rodney?” Teyla said. She was holding his tablet--oh, that’s where it was.
“Huh,” he mumbled. “You look worse.”
Teyla made a horrible face, brushing tangled hair back from her forehead and the red bandage there. Rodney’s vision listed a little to the side and went dark around the edges. He focused blearily on the cannibalized console behind Teyla’s head.
“It’s busted, you know. One of the circuits is disconnected over at the power relay--”
“Yeah,” Sheppard cut in, “down the hall behind the bit that’s on fire. We know, Rodney.” Sheppard’s voice was low and hoarse. He was breathing hard; she was too. It was very loud in here, rumbling and roaring.
“Oh,” Rodney said, remembering suddenly. “We’re dead.”
“We’re not--” Sheppard started.
“We are! We so are.” Rodney’s head dipped to Teyla’s shoulder. He felt her hand come up to touch his hair. “Oh, no, no, this is so bad. I liked the head-injury place much better. Clear blue skies. Maybe that rock damaged the part of the brain that senses roasting--”
“McKay!” Sheppard shook him a little and oh, oh, that was such a bad idea. He put a hand to his head, watching the room spin nauseatingly. Teyla’s fingers stroked the hair at the nape of his neck.
“John, you need to go now.”
“Right, okay, okay, I’m going. I just--” Sheppard’s hands tightened around Rodney’s wrists. Rodney opened one eye to stare at him suspiciously.
Sheppard bent his head to his chest, letting out an explosive breath. When he looked up his eyes were feverish, red and irritated by smoke. He said, “McKay, if this goes wrong, you have to help Teyla with that console. I’m going to the relay station--”
“It’s impossible,” Rodney managed, listless. "You'll die."
“--it is not impossible!” Sheppard snapped. His grip was a vise. “You are not dying here! People I love do not die in burning caves!” He was looking at both of them now, visibly undone. His voice cracked as he forced out, “Do you understand?”
Rodney stared, feeling a little broken. He said, strangled: "Oh, because the laws of physics will take your objections into consideration, I'm sure!"
"Shut up," Sheppard said, and Teyla shouted, "John, we know! Now, go!" and Sheppard grabbed Rodney’s crystal stylus, pushed a kerchief against his mouth, and left their crowded haven, up the stairs into the black smoke.
One
Rodney dreamed in nonsensical nightmares after stressful situations. It was predictable and therefore acceptable, and the pattern had only broken once, early on, with a strange, lucid dream like a snapshot on the edge of waking. Even as he opened his eyes, he heard a man say, deep-voiced and out of nowhere: “He died instantly.”
With it came a certainty very appropriate to dreaming--dropped whole into the back of his mind like a gift--that the voice meant Sheppard.
It upset him for the whole rest of the week. He had trouble telling people about it, something vitally important but totally unshareable, like Jeannie as a child or his last day on Earth. He’d tried it once, just added Sheppard’s Painless Death Dream to the end of the daily brain-dump rotation, but he could never figure out how to word it, and even when he only half-implied it, the faces people made embarrassed him.
So he stopped mentioning it, and really, it stopped bothering him pretty quickly.
Two
“Rodney!” Sheppard’s voice, fading in and out a little. Damn it, he’d dropped the tools again. He tried to fumble for them, but Sheppard had a hold of his wrists, pressing them into his lap. “Look at me, McKay.”
“John,” Teyla sounded so urgent, “You need to go now. I will put in the sequence when Dr. McKay cannot.”
Rodney opened his eyes. It was very bright, and hot, huddled into the corner. He spared a moment to be shocked by the dirt and blood streaked down Sheppard’s face. He’d lost his tac vest. His shirt was ripped.
“Rodney?” Teyla said. She was holding his tablet--oh, that’s where it was.
“Huh,” he mumbled. “You look worse.”
Teyla made a horrible face, brushing tangled hair back from her forehead and the red bandage there. Rodney’s vision listed a little to the side and went dark around the edges. He focused blearily on the cannibalized console behind Teyla’s head.
“It’s busted, you know. One of the circuits is disconnected over at the power relay--”
“Yeah,” Sheppard cut in, “down the hall behind the bit that’s on fire. We know, Rodney.” Sheppard’s voice was low and hoarse. He was breathing hard; she was too. It was very loud in here, rumbling and roaring.
“Oh,” Rodney said, remembering suddenly. “We’re dead.”
“We’re not--” Sheppard started.
“We are! We so are.” Rodney’s head dipped to Teyla’s shoulder. He felt her hand come up to touch his hair. “Oh, no, no, this is so bad. I liked the head-injury place much better. Clear blue skies. Maybe that rock damaged the part of the brain that senses roasting--”
“McKay!” Sheppard shook him a little and oh, oh, that was such a bad idea. He put a hand to his head, watching the room spin nauseatingly. Teyla’s fingers stroked the hair at the nape of his neck.
“John, you need to go now.”
“Right, okay, okay, I’m going. I just--” Sheppard’s hands tightened around Rodney’s wrists. Rodney opened one eye to stare at him suspiciously.
Sheppard bent his head to his chest, letting out an explosive breath. When he looked up his eyes were feverish, red and irritated by smoke. He said, “McKay, if this goes wrong, you have to help Teyla with that console. I’m going to the relay station--”
“It’s impossible,” Rodney managed, listless. "You'll die."
“--it is not impossible!” Sheppard snapped. His grip was a vise. “You are not dying here! People I love do not die in burning caves!” He was looking at both of them now, visibly undone. His voice cracked as he forced out, “Do you understand?”
Rodney stared, feeling a little broken. He said, strangled: "Oh, because the laws of physics will take your objections into consideration, I'm sure!"
"Shut up," Sheppard said, and Teyla shouted, "John, we know! Now, go!" and Sheppard grabbed Rodney’s crystal stylus, pushed a kerchief against his mouth, and left their crowded haven, up the stairs into the black smoke.