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TITLE: Evasive Actions
SUMMARY: John always hated watching others fly the mission while he was grounded.
CATEGORY: friendship, action-adventure, some hurt/comfort
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 1000
NOTES:For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
picfor1000 (ie. a picture is worth a thousand words) Challenge #7 - Roy G. Biv - to this picture. I focused on the colour, not the image, although I did contemplate a BDSM fic. No porn, this time, though - perfectly kiddie safe!
Evasive Actions
Teyla thinks they've eluded the Wraith by the time the land grows warm with the golden glow of daylight over them.
John does not thank her when she slows and stops, although his arm tightens over her shoulder. His breath comes in swift rasps against her ear, rough with effort. Although his glance flickers across her face, measuring her expression. He wastes no air on a protest at their pausing; he has no breath to spare.
As she surveys their stopping place, she lets her senses take in everything around them. The dry scent of crushed grasses rises from beneath their bootheels; hidden insects chirp and click the laboured drag of John's breathing; shadows drift across rippling stalks that bow and sway before the wind's invisible passage.
Her eyelids droop over her eyes, exhausted by the night's running. At least, they are free of pursuit for the moment, although she does not think it will last. Morning will not stop the Wraith, although the planet's dry air will make them tire more easily for what little that is worth.
Teyla casts her thoughts out across golden plains and tawny hills, seeking the taint of the Wraith. When she opens her eyes again, John is watching her.
"They are still in the hills," she says, taking the water bottle from his hand. A sip of liquid rolls around her mouth, cool and fresh against her tongue, and she licks a droplet from her lips.
"On foot?"
"At present, yes."
Crows' feet deepen around greenish eyes. "And the bad news?"
"I believe they intend to hunt us."
"Like Ronon?"
She nods.
"Great," he mutters. Something steals across his face; his mouth opens.
Teyla forestalls what she knows he will say. "I am not leaving you behind, John."
"Look, they're going to come for us anyway and I'm a liability."
"You are a fool," she says evenly, glancing up at the bright sky. Leaving John behind is not even an option, and that he believes it is fills her with anger. "There will be no leaving of anyone behind."
"Teyla, I'm not exactly mobile."
She knows. There is no denying that the Wraith have the advantage; neither is there any denying that the situation would be easier were John not weak and aged from the feeding. Teyla killed the Wraith that caught him when it turned to face the new threat coming at it from behind, but there was nothing to be done for him.
Not all the physicians in Atlantis can give back what the Wraith have taken.
Only the Wraith can return to him what was lost.
"What is it?" His eyes might no longer be as clear as they were, but they are still sharp when they focus on her.
"I will not leave you behind," she says, crouching down to hand back the water bottle. "But I will use you as bait, if you are willing."
--
John always hated watching others fly the mission while he was grounded.
Teyla touches his shoulder. Sunlight past the tree's trunk frames her with a halo of dark gold hair, but her expression is serious rather than exalted. "You are comfortable?"
As comfortable as he can be. He's done the 'old' thing before, and the second time feels no better than the first. Worse, because he was resigned to dying the first time, ignorant of what the Wraith could do.
Now he knows.
But, unlike Todd, these Wraith owe him nothing.
"Go," he says and jerks his chin. But even as she turns away, his hand reaches out for her. The sunlight's warm, but Teyla's hand is warmer; her palm burns his fingertips as he squeezes her hand and she squeezes back.
Then she's gone and it's all about waiting.
John hates it.
It's a while before he hears the Wraith's steady pace through the grass. His heart pounds as he slides the weapon out of its holster, flicks off the safety, and aims for the noise.
His arm trembles, wasted muscles struggling to hold the Beretta steady as the Wraith steps into his sight.
John's first shot goes wide. Then his body trembles with the numbing ache of a stunner shot, and his world goes hazy.
Hazy, not dark. He's not unconscious. He can feel the cold ground beneath his butt, can see the golden glow of sunlight across his shoulder, is aware of the shadow of the Wraith bending over him with its hand outstretched...
Where's Teyla? Panic seizes him as the hand pushes him down to the ground, but he can't fight, can't shout...
It blasts into him, a rushing, adrenalised wave. His scream is strangled as tiny needles push into every pore, every cell - the thrill of flight and the terror of the fall. Every nerve pulses.
Then the Wraith jerks his hand away with a sharp crack. And another and another. It slumps, and beyond it, Teyla is lowering her weapon.
Her nose and chin are bloody.
Jesus, Teyla... John shoves the Wraith away, jumping to his feet in time to see the second Wraith rise up behind her.
This time, he shoots true. When Teyla turns, the Wraith's head is already a mess of ichor, bone, and brain matter. Then John's there, dragging her away.
"Are there others--?"
"No." Her words are thick and clammy through the blood. The back of one hand swipes across her face, a smear of red, and John's heart sticks to his ribs for a moment as a fresh gush slides down her lip.
She fishes for Kleenex in her pockets, but there's not enough to do the job cleanly, and her face is still streaky. John grimaces, then wets his fingers and swipes at the smears while she stands still, her gaze unfocused.
"You're sure there aren't more?"
Teyla looks up at him, blinks, as though she's realigning her mind again. "No. It was a small hunting party."
"You controlled it."
"Yes."
"Thanks."
Sunlight catches the edge of her smile.
--
SUMMARY: John always hated watching others fly the mission while he was grounded.
CATEGORY: friendship, action-adventure, some hurt/comfort
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 1000
NOTES:For the
picfor1000 (ie. a picture is worth a thousand words) Challenge #7 - Roy G. Biv - to this picture. I focused on the colour, not the image, although I did contemplate a BDSM fic. No porn, this time, though - perfectly kiddie safe!
Evasive Actions
Teyla thinks they've eluded the Wraith by the time the land grows warm with the golden glow of daylight over them.
John does not thank her when she slows and stops, although his arm tightens over her shoulder. His breath comes in swift rasps against her ear, rough with effort. Although his glance flickers across her face, measuring her expression. He wastes no air on a protest at their pausing; he has no breath to spare.
As she surveys their stopping place, she lets her senses take in everything around them. The dry scent of crushed grasses rises from beneath their bootheels; hidden insects chirp and click the laboured drag of John's breathing; shadows drift across rippling stalks that bow and sway before the wind's invisible passage.
Her eyelids droop over her eyes, exhausted by the night's running. At least, they are free of pursuit for the moment, although she does not think it will last. Morning will not stop the Wraith, although the planet's dry air will make them tire more easily for what little that is worth.
Teyla casts her thoughts out across golden plains and tawny hills, seeking the taint of the Wraith. When she opens her eyes again, John is watching her.
"They are still in the hills," she says, taking the water bottle from his hand. A sip of liquid rolls around her mouth, cool and fresh against her tongue, and she licks a droplet from her lips.
"On foot?"
"At present, yes."
Crows' feet deepen around greenish eyes. "And the bad news?"
"I believe they intend to hunt us."
"Like Ronon?"
She nods.
"Great," he mutters. Something steals across his face; his mouth opens.
Teyla forestalls what she knows he will say. "I am not leaving you behind, John."
"Look, they're going to come for us anyway and I'm a liability."
"You are a fool," she says evenly, glancing up at the bright sky. Leaving John behind is not even an option, and that he believes it is fills her with anger. "There will be no leaving of anyone behind."
"Teyla, I'm not exactly mobile."
She knows. There is no denying that the Wraith have the advantage; neither is there any denying that the situation would be easier were John not weak and aged from the feeding. Teyla killed the Wraith that caught him when it turned to face the new threat coming at it from behind, but there was nothing to be done for him.
Not all the physicians in Atlantis can give back what the Wraith have taken.
Only the Wraith can return to him what was lost.
"What is it?" His eyes might no longer be as clear as they were, but they are still sharp when they focus on her.
"I will not leave you behind," she says, crouching down to hand back the water bottle. "But I will use you as bait, if you are willing."
--
John always hated watching others fly the mission while he was grounded.
Teyla touches his shoulder. Sunlight past the tree's trunk frames her with a halo of dark gold hair, but her expression is serious rather than exalted. "You are comfortable?"
As comfortable as he can be. He's done the 'old' thing before, and the second time feels no better than the first. Worse, because he was resigned to dying the first time, ignorant of what the Wraith could do.
Now he knows.
But, unlike Todd, these Wraith owe him nothing.
"Go," he says and jerks his chin. But even as she turns away, his hand reaches out for her. The sunlight's warm, but Teyla's hand is warmer; her palm burns his fingertips as he squeezes her hand and she squeezes back.
Then she's gone and it's all about waiting.
John hates it.
It's a while before he hears the Wraith's steady pace through the grass. His heart pounds as he slides the weapon out of its holster, flicks off the safety, and aims for the noise.
His arm trembles, wasted muscles struggling to hold the Beretta steady as the Wraith steps into his sight.
John's first shot goes wide. Then his body trembles with the numbing ache of a stunner shot, and his world goes hazy.
Hazy, not dark. He's not unconscious. He can feel the cold ground beneath his butt, can see the golden glow of sunlight across his shoulder, is aware of the shadow of the Wraith bending over him with its hand outstretched...
Where's Teyla? Panic seizes him as the hand pushes him down to the ground, but he can't fight, can't shout...
It blasts into him, a rushing, adrenalised wave. His scream is strangled as tiny needles push into every pore, every cell - the thrill of flight and the terror of the fall. Every nerve pulses.
Then the Wraith jerks his hand away with a sharp crack. And another and another. It slumps, and beyond it, Teyla is lowering her weapon.
Her nose and chin are bloody.
Jesus, Teyla... John shoves the Wraith away, jumping to his feet in time to see the second Wraith rise up behind her.
This time, he shoots true. When Teyla turns, the Wraith's head is already a mess of ichor, bone, and brain matter. Then John's there, dragging her away.
"Are there others--?"
"No." Her words are thick and clammy through the blood. The back of one hand swipes across her face, a smear of red, and John's heart sticks to his ribs for a moment as a fresh gush slides down her lip.
She fishes for Kleenex in her pockets, but there's not enough to do the job cleanly, and her face is still streaky. John grimaces, then wets his fingers and swipes at the smears while she stands still, her gaze unfocused.
"You're sure there aren't more?"
Teyla looks up at him, blinks, as though she's realigning her mind again. "No. It was a small hunting party."
"You controlled it."
"Yes."
"Thanks."
Sunlight catches the edge of her smile.
--
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I envy your muse right now :P
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That's, like, the telepathic equivalent of a 7 story stage dive. Just, wow.
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Well, the muse isn't doing fantastically, but it's doing okay. Hopefully the various things I've signed up for are going to prod it into being more productive.
...hopefully...
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Well done.
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It's funny how we can discern which author wrote a piece, based on what they included or not in their fics.
Oh, and on a completely different note, thanks for linking to the team_sga au thing. I'm looking forward to writing mine.
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Well done and thanks for sharing!
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Thank you!
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Thanks for reading and commenting! :)
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Thanks for commenting!
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I envy your muse right now :P
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That's, like, the telepathic equivalent of a 7 story stage dive. Just, wow.
no subject
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Well, the muse isn't doing fantastically, but it's doing okay. Hopefully the various things I've signed up for are going to prod it into being more productive.
...hopefully...
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Well done.
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It's funny how we can discern which author wrote a piece, based on what they included or not in their fics.
Oh, and on a completely different note, thanks for linking to the team_sga au thing. I'm looking forward to writing mine.
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Well done and thanks for sharing!
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Thank you!
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Thanks for reading and commenting! :)
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Thanks for commenting!
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