anyanka_eg (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
anyanka_eg) wrote2006-08-07 07:24 pm
anyanka_eg) wrote2006-08-07 07:24 pm
Die for me
Title: Fix Me
Author: Anyanka_eg
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McShep
Warnings: Probable character death
Summary: “You don’t have much time, Dr McKay. Choose. Your life or his?”
Thanks: To Azrael for all her help and suggestions.
Ok, this sort of just appeared in my head and scared the crap out of me. So I thought I'd share. Originally posted at Wriathbait
_____________________________________________________
Author: Anyanka_eg
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McShep
Warnings: Probable character death
Summary: “You don’t have much time, Dr McKay. Choose. Your life or his?”
Thanks: To Azrael for all her help and suggestions.
Ok, this sort of just appeared in my head and scared the crap out of me. So I thought I'd share. Originally posted at Wriathbait
_____________________________________________________
I shift awkwardly in the plastic seat, trying to not to put pressure on my bruised back. The stitches in my chest pull painfully, reminding me of the cracked ribs beneath them and checking my movement. I’m not sure why they’ve sewn me up and left me alone, but the rest is nice…well…it’s a change, if nothing else. Beatings get tedious real fast.
“You’d die for him?” asks a syrupy voice right in my ear.
My eyes snap open but the grey concrete room is empty. Maybe the pain meds are more than just analgesics because I don’t remember closing my eyes and hearing voices is never a good sign.
“Oh please! You already know the answer to that.”
I can almost hear McKay’s eyes rolling. Of course, I’m still hearing voices but at least now its Rodney’s voice and that’s comforting in ways I’m never going to admit to.
“You’d die for him?” says the voice again and I’m not sure if it’s male or female, it’s just sort of androgynously tinny…and…there it is, a small speaker on the wall behind me. Not going mad then. Whoa, dizzy. Shit, concussion. No closing my eyes again, even though my eyelids feel like lead. Stay awake, stay awake.
I wonder why they’re letting me hear Rodney’s interrogation. Although interrogation may be the wrong word, more like ‘asking dumb questions about dying for someone’ but he sounds whole and snarking, if not exactly hearty, so I’m ok with that.
“I don’t know what you people hope to gain from me, but I’ve heard that actually asking your prisoners pertinent questions is much more likely to get results, rather than having a chat about their feelings.”
And there are the air quotes. I’m smiling, even though we’re both prisoners, in separate cells and I’ve no idea what they want. They didn’t really ask me any questions, just kicked the shit out of me a whole lot, then patched me up and put me in here.
“Of course if you want to talk about feelings, who am I to stop you? Although a nice cup of tea would be more conducive than the gun.”
That’s my Rodney, quipping in the face of danger. I just wish I did a better job of keeping him out of situations that require quippage.
“You’d die for him?”
Why do they keep asking that? And die for who? It’s not like Rodney would sacrifice himself for anyone. Well he would, but he’d never admit it, certainly not out loud, and probably not even to himself. And I really think those pink pills weren’t pain meds because I can smell toast burning.
“You’d die for him?” presses Cyril. He sounds like a Cyril, or maybe a Wendy.
“Of course I would.”
Rodney’s yelling in that exasperated tone he has when dealing with the terminally incompetent, but I think this time he’s just hiding behind it. And I’m angry too because Rodney shouldn’t have anyone he’d die for. Not some mysterious individual, anyway. He’d die for us, for the team, Atlantis, whatever, but not one person, certainly not a him.
“Here? Alone?” asks Cyril and then there’s a noise that sounds so much like a gun sliding across a table that I’m out of the chair and straight down on to the floor. Definitely not pain meds. And, oww.
“What? Now? No! I’m not stupid.”
No you’re not, Rodney, and don’t you forget it. There is no way you’re going to die down here, not for some guy I don’t know. I should, shouldn’t I? I’m his friend. This floor is really, really hard, and cold. And I don’t want to alarm anyone but my legs don’t work.
“If we promise to stop hurting him, let him walk back through the Stargate, would you?”
There is no one here that Rodney knows, except me and…oh…why am I only finding this out now? I am so going to have words with McKay when we get back. And we are going to make it back because no way am I finding something this important out and then…nope, not even thinking that.
“When I see him walking back through the Stargate, we’ll talk about it.”
No! No! Rodney, no! I want to shout at him, but my throat won’t make more than a strangled grunt. It’s gone dark too. That could be because my eyes have shut, I can’t tell.
“He hasn’t got much time. Kill yourself and we’ll administer the antidote.”
I want to rip people into tiny pieces, just to get to Rodney but I can’t move at all. I’m pretty sure they’ve given me slow acting nerve agent, well not that slow, but not as quick as Sarin or VX. Also, no convulsions…yet. Carson would be fascinated.
This is not how it’s supposed to end. I should go out in a blaze of glory, saving Atlantis from certain destruction, not suffocate, alone, on the floor of a cell. I don’t even know what we did to offend these guys. As usual I never saw it coming.
Oh god, I don’t want to die.
“Why are you doing this?” asks Rodney in the quietest voice I’ve ever heard him use and I know I’m crying, even though I can’t feel my face any more. I wonder if they’ve made Rodney watch me dying. I wonder if he knows I can hear him. I hope not.
“You don’t have much time, Dr McKay. Choose. Your life or his?”
I want to tell him that it’s ok, that he doesn’t have to choose but I can’t breathe any more. I dimly hear the slide of the gun across the table and I hope its Rodney making the only sensible choice. After all there’s no point sacrificing himself for me, because I’d die without him.
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Azrael wrote a sequel which can be found here http://www.wraithbait.com/viewstory.php?sid=7048
“You’d die for him?” asks a syrupy voice right in my ear.
My eyes snap open but the grey concrete room is empty. Maybe the pain meds are more than just analgesics because I don’t remember closing my eyes and hearing voices is never a good sign.
“Oh please! You already know the answer to that.”
I can almost hear McKay’s eyes rolling. Of course, I’m still hearing voices but at least now its Rodney’s voice and that’s comforting in ways I’m never going to admit to.
“You’d die for him?” says the voice again and I’m not sure if it’s male or female, it’s just sort of androgynously tinny…and…there it is, a small speaker on the wall behind me. Not going mad then. Whoa, dizzy. Shit, concussion. No closing my eyes again, even though my eyelids feel like lead. Stay awake, stay awake.
I wonder why they’re letting me hear Rodney’s interrogation. Although interrogation may be the wrong word, more like ‘asking dumb questions about dying for someone’ but he sounds whole and snarking, if not exactly hearty, so I’m ok with that.
“I don’t know what you people hope to gain from me, but I’ve heard that actually asking your prisoners pertinent questions is much more likely to get results, rather than having a chat about their feelings.”
And there are the air quotes. I’m smiling, even though we’re both prisoners, in separate cells and I’ve no idea what they want. They didn’t really ask me any questions, just kicked the shit out of me a whole lot, then patched me up and put me in here.
“Of course if you want to talk about feelings, who am I to stop you? Although a nice cup of tea would be more conducive than the gun.”
That’s my Rodney, quipping in the face of danger. I just wish I did a better job of keeping him out of situations that require quippage.
“You’d die for him?”
Why do they keep asking that? And die for who? It’s not like Rodney would sacrifice himself for anyone. Well he would, but he’d never admit it, certainly not out loud, and probably not even to himself. And I really think those pink pills weren’t pain meds because I can smell toast burning.
“You’d die for him?” presses Cyril. He sounds like a Cyril, or maybe a Wendy.
“Of course I would.”
Rodney’s yelling in that exasperated tone he has when dealing with the terminally incompetent, but I think this time he’s just hiding behind it. And I’m angry too because Rodney shouldn’t have anyone he’d die for. Not some mysterious individual, anyway. He’d die for us, for the team, Atlantis, whatever, but not one person, certainly not a him.
“Here? Alone?” asks Cyril and then there’s a noise that sounds so much like a gun sliding across a table that I’m out of the chair and straight down on to the floor. Definitely not pain meds. And, oww.
“What? Now? No! I’m not stupid.”
No you’re not, Rodney, and don’t you forget it. There is no way you’re going to die down here, not for some guy I don’t know. I should, shouldn’t I? I’m his friend. This floor is really, really hard, and cold. And I don’t want to alarm anyone but my legs don’t work.
“If we promise to stop hurting him, let him walk back through the Stargate, would you?”
There is no one here that Rodney knows, except me and…oh…why am I only finding this out now? I am so going to have words with McKay when we get back. And we are going to make it back because no way am I finding something this important out and then…nope, not even thinking that.
“When I see him walking back through the Stargate, we’ll talk about it.”
No! No! Rodney, no! I want to shout at him, but my throat won’t make more than a strangled grunt. It’s gone dark too. That could be because my eyes have shut, I can’t tell.
“He hasn’t got much time. Kill yourself and we’ll administer the antidote.”
I want to rip people into tiny pieces, just to get to Rodney but I can’t move at all. I’m pretty sure they’ve given me slow acting nerve agent, well not that slow, but not as quick as Sarin or VX. Also, no convulsions…yet. Carson would be fascinated.
This is not how it’s supposed to end. I should go out in a blaze of glory, saving Atlantis from certain destruction, not suffocate, alone, on the floor of a cell. I don’t even know what we did to offend these guys. As usual I never saw it coming.
Oh god, I don’t want to die.
“Why are you doing this?” asks Rodney in the quietest voice I’ve ever heard him use and I know I’m crying, even though I can’t feel my face any more. I wonder if they’ve made Rodney watch me dying. I wonder if he knows I can hear him. I hope not.
“You don’t have much time, Dr McKay. Choose. Your life or his?”
I want to tell him that it’s ok, that he doesn’t have to choose but I can’t breathe any more. I dimly hear the slide of the gun across the table and I hope its Rodney making the only sensible choice. After all there’s no point sacrificing himself for me, because I’d die without him.
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Azrael wrote a sequel which can be found here http://www.wraithbait.com/viewstory.php?sid=7048