Shep Whump Day 7- Fire
He was flying, speeding through the blue sky, as free as a bird. It felt so good; he didn’t want it to end. And yet wasn’t there something he was supposed to be doing?
Stay
Well, okay he could carry on flying. The controls felt good, and even his flight-suit didn’t chafe and constrict like it often did when he’d been in the cockpit for a while. Come to think of it- had it been a while?
Stay
Winds buffeted the Cessna 210E, he took a quick look out of the windows. This model was one of the reasons he’d chosen it over the C 210A- the windows were bigger and the engine was 285 HP. Sweet. He needed the bigger windows for tourist chartering and the addition of engine oomph was always a plus. The plane had a designated number of course but he always thought of her as Atlantis in his head. The mythical city, the never-never, because this was what he’d always dreamed of doing one day and it had seemed impossible that he’d ever be able to actually buy the Cessna.
Stay
He looked automatically at the dials and switches, he stared at the panel- all the needles and dials read 42. That was impossible. It didn’t make any sense. But it jolted him into an awareness of something . He turned the stick to head back to….where? He was getting worried.
Don’t go
Okay, now he was officially freaked and wanted out. He pushed the stick forward to drop altitude, to head for a runway, to land-anything…
You cannot go, I won’t let you
Oh, yeah? Just watch me, he thought and dove down from the clouds and into the sun baked desert of Nevada and a runway, terminal building and a single control tower that looked like it had been built in the 1940’s. It looked deserted apart from a few abandoned fire and baggage trucks. Everything started fine until he got closer and he could feel the aircraft fighting him, pushing him….
Then no-one else will have you, pilot…
What the…? The controls went screwy and the engine sputtered and suddenly he was flying a brick and the ground was rushing up towards him at an incredible speed. The radio was dead. He pulled at the stick, sweat breaking out, his hand cramping with the force of his grip. It was no good, he was going to land messily at best, pancake at worst. Finally the landing gear dropped and he bounced on one wheel before slewing to one side and he thought he’d made it. Then the tyres burst sending him nose down, shearing the propeller and the last thing he saw was the red static fire truck as he hit. Somebody was having a big laugh at his expense that was obvious. The Cessna stopped but his body carried on travelling in momentum, slamming him into the controls and he had a few seconds to wonder if this was it or not.
He came to, immediately smelling smoke and fire. He was trapped and he couldn’t get out. He hurt so badly, but he didn’t want to die in the fire. He’d seen people with burns. He wanted to fly again. It wasn’t much to ask. The belt wouldn’t come undone, the door wouldn’t open and he couldn’t breathe. He shouted and screamed, but he breathed in smoke instead.
Stay
NO! Dammit, not like this. He coughed up blood and his chest wouldn’t expand and the fire came towards him, engulfing him. The heat rippled over him, melting and crisping at the same time…
Yes, like this
He screamed in defiance…and died.
0o0o0
He took a shuddering breath, gasping and fighting to get out, undo the belt, the door…
“Whoa, hang on Sheppard! Stop fighting us! You’re alright! Well, okay you’ve been mind sucked by some Ancient Hussy Holodeck thing…so, not alright really….”
He coughed and choked, still trying to comprehend the cool floor underneath him and Rodney and his team hovering over him. Beckett leant in to clamp an oxygen mask over his face.
“Colonel? Calm down. Breathe slowly for me. I don’t know what the machine did to you, but it’s not doing it now. You’re in Atlantis and you’re going to be okay.” Beckett stared into Sheppard’s wild and frantic eyes, the portable heart monitor beeping too fast next to him on the floor. Sheppard brought up a shaking hand to grab Beckett’s jacket.
“What, lad?” and lifted the mask
“Is this real?” he croaked, damn his chest ached.
“What do you mean? Of course this is real Sheppard! Do you think we like watching you go into a minor vegetatative state and nearly die on us?”
“Then you didn’t see what happened?”
“No, what did happen John? Can you tell us?” Teyla asked quietly.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. Maybe later.”
“Right, I think it’s time we took you to the infirmary for a check up.
Ronon and Beckett gave him a helping hand to stand, he wobbled a little and headed off, mother hens all clucking behind him.
0o0o0
He woke with a start, gasping for breath and fighting with the sheets. Third night in a row. He shouldn’t be surprised really. Anyone would have issues after the grabby Ancient tech incident. For him, it laid bare previously hidden demons. He’s crashed and been on fire before. He hadn’t been badly burned, but he could still smell the smoke, feel the heat, smell the blood and hear the screams. Friends had died. And then he been a POW far a while. That hadn’t been a bundle of laughs either. He got out of bed, pulled on sweats, a dry T Shirt and his running shoes. He didn’t care what time of night or early morning it was. He had to go. The route would take him past Atlantis’s sea and he could sit at the end of one of the piers. Restful waves and cool water, not a hint of heat and flame and sand….
1,014 words…ah, okay this one ran away with itself…
Stay
Well, okay he could carry on flying. The controls felt good, and even his flight-suit didn’t chafe and constrict like it often did when he’d been in the cockpit for a while. Come to think of it- had it been a while?
Stay
Winds buffeted the Cessna 210E, he took a quick look out of the windows. This model was one of the reasons he’d chosen it over the C 210A- the windows were bigger and the engine was 285 HP. Sweet. He needed the bigger windows for tourist chartering and the addition of engine oomph was always a plus. The plane had a designated number of course but he always thought of her as Atlantis in his head. The mythical city, the never-never, because this was what he’d always dreamed of doing one day and it had seemed impossible that he’d ever be able to actually buy the Cessna.
Stay
He looked automatically at the dials and switches, he stared at the panel- all the needles and dials read 42. That was impossible. It didn’t make any sense. But it jolted him into an awareness of something . He turned the stick to head back to….where? He was getting worried.
Don’t go
Okay, now he was officially freaked and wanted out. He pushed the stick forward to drop altitude, to head for a runway, to land-anything…
You cannot go, I won’t let you
Oh, yeah? Just watch me, he thought and dove down from the clouds and into the sun baked desert of Nevada and a runway, terminal building and a single control tower that looked like it had been built in the 1940’s. It looked deserted apart from a few abandoned fire and baggage trucks. Everything started fine until he got closer and he could feel the aircraft fighting him, pushing him….
Then no-one else will have you, pilot…
What the…? The controls went screwy and the engine sputtered and suddenly he was flying a brick and the ground was rushing up towards him at an incredible speed. The radio was dead. He pulled at the stick, sweat breaking out, his hand cramping with the force of his grip. It was no good, he was going to land messily at best, pancake at worst. Finally the landing gear dropped and he bounced on one wheel before slewing to one side and he thought he’d made it. Then the tyres burst sending him nose down, shearing the propeller and the last thing he saw was the red static fire truck as he hit. Somebody was having a big laugh at his expense that was obvious. The Cessna stopped but his body carried on travelling in momentum, slamming him into the controls and he had a few seconds to wonder if this was it or not.
He came to, immediately smelling smoke and fire. He was trapped and he couldn’t get out. He hurt so badly, but he didn’t want to die in the fire. He’d seen people with burns. He wanted to fly again. It wasn’t much to ask. The belt wouldn’t come undone, the door wouldn’t open and he couldn’t breathe. He shouted and screamed, but he breathed in smoke instead.
Stay
NO! Dammit, not like this. He coughed up blood and his chest wouldn’t expand and the fire came towards him, engulfing him. The heat rippled over him, melting and crisping at the same time…
Yes, like this
He screamed in defiance…and died.
0o0o0
He took a shuddering breath, gasping and fighting to get out, undo the belt, the door…
“Whoa, hang on Sheppard! Stop fighting us! You’re alright! Well, okay you’ve been mind sucked by some Ancient Hussy Holodeck thing…so, not alright really….”
He coughed and choked, still trying to comprehend the cool floor underneath him and Rodney and his team hovering over him. Beckett leant in to clamp an oxygen mask over his face.
“Colonel? Calm down. Breathe slowly for me. I don’t know what the machine did to you, but it’s not doing it now. You’re in Atlantis and you’re going to be okay.” Beckett stared into Sheppard’s wild and frantic eyes, the portable heart monitor beeping too fast next to him on the floor. Sheppard brought up a shaking hand to grab Beckett’s jacket.
“What, lad?” and lifted the mask
“Is this real?” he croaked, damn his chest ached.
“What do you mean? Of course this is real Sheppard! Do you think we like watching you go into a minor vegetatative state and nearly die on us?”
“Then you didn’t see what happened?”
“No, what did happen John? Can you tell us?” Teyla asked quietly.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. Maybe later.”
“Right, I think it’s time we took you to the infirmary for a check up.
Ronon and Beckett gave him a helping hand to stand, he wobbled a little and headed off, mother hens all clucking behind him.
0o0o0
He woke with a start, gasping for breath and fighting with the sheets. Third night in a row. He shouldn’t be surprised really. Anyone would have issues after the grabby Ancient tech incident. For him, it laid bare previously hidden demons. He’s crashed and been on fire before. He hadn’t been badly burned, but he could still smell the smoke, feel the heat, smell the blood and hear the screams. Friends had died. And then he been a POW far a while. That hadn’t been a bundle of laughs either. He got out of bed, pulled on sweats, a dry T Shirt and his running shoes. He didn’t care what time of night or early morning it was. He had to go. The route would take him past Atlantis’s sea and he could sit at the end of one of the piers. Restful waves and cool water, not a hint of heat and flame and sand….
1,014 words…ah, okay this one ran away with itself…