![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
danceswithgary posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
stargateficrecShow: SGA
Rec Category: Sheppard/McKay
Characters:: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Het/Slash/Gen: Slash
Warnings: None
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
candle_beck
Author's Website:
Link: Fundamentals of Shipwreck Prevention
Why This Must Be Read:
LittleTimmy Johnny falls down a well, providing a freely associated trip though his psyche. John's journey toward Rodney is told in a gorgeous mix of descriptive passages and humor.
Excerpt:
On planet MX2-349, the trees had curling purplish bark and leaves shaped like perfect snowmen, and it was distracting, niggling feeling in the back of Sheppard's mind that the background had turned animated. Halfway back to the village from the stargate, backpack jammed with bottles of Alka-Seltzer because that stuff was apparently better than gold out here, Sheppard was staring at the alien trees and not watching where he was going, and then the ground wheezed and cracked, gave out underneath him. And then he was falling.
Really fast, only time enough to think oh shit, and check the safety on his P-90, and then Sheppard's head smashed hard into a protruding bit of stone, and it was lights out.
*
From way far away, Rodney called his name.
Not his name.
"Colonel!"
Very high cliff, Rodney an ill-defined smudge against the sky, and Sheppard was down here on the rocks, spread out numb with broken pieces. Sheppard's eyes weren't working right, the colors fading in and out. Rodney, statue on a hill, calling down to him: "Colonel, report!"
Sheppard slipped sideways, and it became the desert, eggy sun and heat like a gigantic hand pressed down on him. The jagged rocks were gone and now he was lying atop a mutilated Pave Hawk helicopter. There was a crooked useless rotor growing out of Sheppard's leg where his foot used to be. Sheppard stared, knowing that it should hurt.
"Colonel!"
Rodney again, and that still wasn't Sheppard's name. Weird achey thing happened in Sheppard's chest, sand scratching under his clothes. He wasn't in the right place. He focused all his energies on Rodney's strident demand of a voice, followed it through visions of trash-can fires and ion storms, upland.
*
Sheppard blinked awake.
Pain, right away, great shuddering wave of pain that was localized in his right ankle with colonies at the left shoulder and the back of his head. Sheppard sucked on his teeth to keep from groaning, and felt gingerly for the misshapen lump on his skull. Nausea rolled through him slow.
Then he looked around, and put his hand on the slick mossy stone walls rising narrowly around him, shifted in the murky few inches of water. Sheppard carefully tipped his head back, squinting, and there was only a postage stamp worth of sky visible, because he'd fallen down a freakin' well.
"Fantastic," Sheppard muttered, and static came bursting to life in his ear.
"Colonel Sheppard?"
"Yeah, McKay."
"Thank you, was that so hard? Now, where are you, and please don't say kidnapped by hostile natives, because I'm not remotely in the mood."
"Ah, no. Not natives, no." Sheppard picked at a smear of lichen on his shoulder, breathing shallowly through his mouth because his leg was fucking killing him.
"Complete the thought, Colonel!" and the standard irritated burr in McKay's voice cleared some of the smog from Sheppard's head.
"Fell down a well," Sheppard grumbled.
"You what?"
"I fell! Down! A well!" Sheppard shouted back, and that was a bad idea, sent shrapnel tearing through his head, and he groaned again, his spine curling uncomfortably.
There was a pause, and then a rustle that might have been McKay laughing. It set Sheppard to anxious clattering on the inside, anger and hurt and self-pity all mixed up together, reddish tide, and then he was confused, not typically so beset.
"Don't laugh at me, Rodney," he said, hearing himself whine a bit and figuring he was owed.
Static, something like McKay breathing. Sheppard was trying to hold still, trying not to throw up.
"Are you hurt?" McKay asked, all business.
"Leg," Sheppard reported, ghostly image of warped metal where his foot was supposed to be. He could still feel it, monstrously heavy, rusting. He realized he was scared to look down and confirm that he was still flesh and blood, and that was kinda weird. "Also, uh. Head, maybe?"
"Why the hell didn't you say so? Where are you?"
"Um."
Trying to remember, badly turned around by recent memories of deserts and cliffs, flashes of Rodney in stone on hilltops. Sheppard passed a hand over his eyes. He was shaking, never a good sign.
"Coming back from the gate," Sheppard said muzzily. "Somewhere. On the way back from the gate."
"All right, I'm on my way."
Wonderful, Sheppard wanted to tell him, looking forward to the time when he would no longer be sitting alone in three inches of stagnant water at the bottom of a well. (On an alien planet in a distant galaxy.) But his mouth didn't work the way it was supposed to, and then it was getting darker, too early for sunset but the trees were purple here so who could say if it was unnatural, and then Sheppard slumped, unconscious again.
...
Rec Category: Sheppard/McKay
Characters:: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Het/Slash/Gen: Slash
Warnings: None
Author on LJ:
candle_beckAuthor's Website:
Link: Fundamentals of Shipwreck Prevention
Why This Must Be Read:
Little
Excerpt:
On planet MX2-349, the trees had curling purplish bark and leaves shaped like perfect snowmen, and it was distracting, niggling feeling in the back of Sheppard's mind that the background had turned animated. Halfway back to the village from the stargate, backpack jammed with bottles of Alka-Seltzer because that stuff was apparently better than gold out here, Sheppard was staring at the alien trees and not watching where he was going, and then the ground wheezed and cracked, gave out underneath him. And then he was falling.
Really fast, only time enough to think oh shit, and check the safety on his P-90, and then Sheppard's head smashed hard into a protruding bit of stone, and it was lights out.
*
From way far away, Rodney called his name.
Not his name.
"Colonel!"
Very high cliff, Rodney an ill-defined smudge against the sky, and Sheppard was down here on the rocks, spread out numb with broken pieces. Sheppard's eyes weren't working right, the colors fading in and out. Rodney, statue on a hill, calling down to him: "Colonel, report!"
Sheppard slipped sideways, and it became the desert, eggy sun and heat like a gigantic hand pressed down on him. The jagged rocks were gone and now he was lying atop a mutilated Pave Hawk helicopter. There was a crooked useless rotor growing out of Sheppard's leg where his foot used to be. Sheppard stared, knowing that it should hurt.
"Colonel!"
Rodney again, and that still wasn't Sheppard's name. Weird achey thing happened in Sheppard's chest, sand scratching under his clothes. He wasn't in the right place. He focused all his energies on Rodney's strident demand of a voice, followed it through visions of trash-can fires and ion storms, upland.
*
Sheppard blinked awake.
Pain, right away, great shuddering wave of pain that was localized in his right ankle with colonies at the left shoulder and the back of his head. Sheppard sucked on his teeth to keep from groaning, and felt gingerly for the misshapen lump on his skull. Nausea rolled through him slow.
Then he looked around, and put his hand on the slick mossy stone walls rising narrowly around him, shifted in the murky few inches of water. Sheppard carefully tipped his head back, squinting, and there was only a postage stamp worth of sky visible, because he'd fallen down a freakin' well.
"Fantastic," Sheppard muttered, and static came bursting to life in his ear.
"Colonel Sheppard?"
"Yeah, McKay."
"Thank you, was that so hard? Now, where are you, and please don't say kidnapped by hostile natives, because I'm not remotely in the mood."
"Ah, no. Not natives, no." Sheppard picked at a smear of lichen on his shoulder, breathing shallowly through his mouth because his leg was fucking killing him.
"Complete the thought, Colonel!" and the standard irritated burr in McKay's voice cleared some of the smog from Sheppard's head.
"Fell down a well," Sheppard grumbled.
"You what?"
"I fell! Down! A well!" Sheppard shouted back, and that was a bad idea, sent shrapnel tearing through his head, and he groaned again, his spine curling uncomfortably.
There was a pause, and then a rustle that might have been McKay laughing. It set Sheppard to anxious clattering on the inside, anger and hurt and self-pity all mixed up together, reddish tide, and then he was confused, not typically so beset.
"Don't laugh at me, Rodney," he said, hearing himself whine a bit and figuring he was owed.
Static, something like McKay breathing. Sheppard was trying to hold still, trying not to throw up.
"Are you hurt?" McKay asked, all business.
"Leg," Sheppard reported, ghostly image of warped metal where his foot was supposed to be. He could still feel it, monstrously heavy, rusting. He realized he was scared to look down and confirm that he was still flesh and blood, and that was kinda weird. "Also, uh. Head, maybe?"
"Why the hell didn't you say so? Where are you?"
"Um."
Trying to remember, badly turned around by recent memories of deserts and cliffs, flashes of Rodney in stone on hilltops. Sheppard passed a hand over his eyes. He was shaking, never a good sign.
"Coming back from the gate," Sheppard said muzzily. "Somewhere. On the way back from the gate."
"All right, I'm on my way."
Wonderful, Sheppard wanted to tell him, looking forward to the time when he would no longer be sitting alone in three inches of stagnant water at the bottom of a well. (On an alien planet in a distant galaxy.) But his mouth didn't work the way it was supposed to, and then it was getting darker, too early for sunset but the trees were purple here so who could say if it was unnatural, and then Sheppard slumped, unconscious again.
...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-01-31 06:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-31 04:22 pm (UTC)