Sharing the Weight (1/1)
Jan. 10th, 2011 01:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kristen999Sharing the Weight
Gen, John-Centric, Team. Comfort aftermath story.
Word Count: 1,200-
Written for :![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kriadydragon for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fandom_stocking
--
“It wasn't that bad,” John whispers.
Although blistered feet and ankles swollen twice their normal size are contradictory to his words.
Resting upside down over Ronon's shoulder, he breathes in old leather and gun oil. It feels like heaven not to be supporting his own weight and the sun beating down his head for over twelve hours a day.
The cracked soil doesn't appear as relentless from this angle and he squeezes his eyes closed against the bouncing ground.
Inside the jumper they lay him on his back, the steady support along his spine both amazing and excruciating at the same time.
He might've groaned, gravity pulling on tendons and muscles looped in knots over his bones.
“You are safe, John,” Teyla tells him with eyes filled with compassion, a solid barrier holding back rage at those who had held them captive.
“I'm good,” he tells her, his body fused to the floor of the jumper.
--
They cut away all his stinking sweaty clothes, the air conditioning chilling his skin.
“How many hours were you forced to stand at a time?” Keller asks, gentle hands ghosting over his bare legs, every touch agony.
“Until dinner?” he answers. “After the sun went down.”
His face feels on fire, the back of his neck and forearms a harsh shade of red. In the morning they'd pull him out of the box and force his bare feet to cover the X carved into the baked clay ground, his skin searing in place.
“The planet had fourteen hours of daytime,” Rodney growls from behind the curtain.
“I said for everyone to go to the waiting room please,” Keller yells at the shadows.
John lays on his side in a futile attempt at relief, curling up his legs, biting his lip when his back spasms.
There's an IV in the back of his hand and Keller pulls out a syringe and injects what he hopes is the entire Atlantis pharmacy. “I'm giving you a slight sedative while I finish my examination.”
She doesn't force him to move much, as long as he remains on his back when he goes under the scanner.
“Just lie still, Colonel. Sixty seconds tops. I promise.”
His eyes unwillingly drift close moments later.
“Stand very still. Do not move off the X or we''ll kill a member of your team.”
Gasping awake; he flails, thinking don't fall asleep! Don't budge from the X!
“Shhhh, it's okay, Colonel,” Keller's face hovers over his line of sight. “I'm done with the scan and now I can give you something to make you feel better.”
–--
After a shot of muscle relaxer and an anti-inflammatory, John's slated and floaty, nearly tipping over in his wheelchair.
“Easy, no falling out before you get to your quarters,” Rodney tells him, hand on his shoulder preventing him from sliding out.
It doesn't take long to reach his room and Ronon bodily lifts him out of the wheelchair, Teyla pulling away the blankets, and Rodney propping up his pillows as he's carefully lowered onto his bed. He manages a token protest of 'hey', but the plushness of his mattress and fluffed-up pillows is like being swallowed by cotton.
“This is nice,” he mumbles.
A tray of food appears with applesauce and soup and his stomach gurgles. He's famished all of a sudden and a spoon appears in front of his cracked clips. Before he can protest being hand-fed, a steady stream of cream of chicken settles in his stomach.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Head too heavy to lift, John's eyes travel up Ronon's face in surprise.
“There's strength and there's endurance. But everyone has a breaking point.”
John's knees are black and blue from buckling and repeatedly slamming the ground.
“Get up! Do you want one of them to die?”
Teyla's arm rests in a sling, punishment for the time John's stamina ran out after hour thirteen, rubbery legs unable to hold his weight any longer.
“I couldn't do it,” he blurts.
“Except the human body isn't built that way. To stand in a single spot without moving. Stress positions, Colonel. There's a reason why they call it torture,” Rodney admonishes.
Teyla brushes away tufts of hair from his sun-burned forehead and presses a kiss there. “Thank you for all the hours you did.”
By the time half the applesauce is gone, John's fallen asleep sitting up in his nest of pillows.
-----
Waking is like emerging from a head-on collision into a wall. His hips are the worst, sending lightening bolts into his pelvis and down his legs. He's flat on his back, although he doesn't recall falling asleep like that and the problem is--he can't move. His back is locked up and any motion triggers sharp spikes of pain.
There's a moment of panic, that he might be trapped in bed, but there's a motion and Rodney magically appears by his side. “Oh, good. You're awake.” Staring at his growing discomfort he reaches over. “I was told that you might have difficulty moving and of course, who ends up on the morning shift? I do, so it's up to me to help.”
“Sonofabitch!” John curses when he's pulled up by his armpits.
“Sorry, sorry, I know you're sore, but it's either I do this in one burst of energy, or it'd be a lot of start-stopping as I tug and yank and I don't think you want that.”
John's panting, sweat trickling down his face and it takes everything in his power not to break down and start sobbing. His back and legs; and God, his arms and shoulders are gnarled together into one massive spasm.
“Jennifer's on her way. She was going to be here earlier but got held up.”
He nods, but even that triggers agony down his vertebrae and between his shoulder blades. Minutes might have passed, it was hard to tell with McKay's chattering, and the pulsating crescendo of pain. Suddenly he's on his side and Keller is there, saying something about pulling his pants down. He doesn’t care and after a pinprick to the ass, the rest of him melts away before he can complain.
--
The afternoon is a happy haze of movie time in his quarters without being really aware of what their watching. At some point Teyla and Ronon are with him as the muscle relaxers ease away and reality settles in the back row of his mind.
Ronon peels off the bandages wrapped around his feet, rubbing lotion across his flayed skin. Ronon squeezes a tab onto Teyla's free fingers and she applies a layer to John's face, rubbing the rest down his tender neck. It's pure heaven of vanilla and eucalyptus, soothing away the smoldering flames.
Moving his arms to do this himself is out of the question, not only from the muscle relaxer, but from an inability to lift anything heavier than a feather. Staring at his limbs, he wonders if he should tone up more, improve his endurance.
“Stop thinking about it,” Ronon growls, his face covered with knuckle-sized bruises.
John had been unable to adjust position; feet rooted in place, his calves and thighs shaking. And when that wasn't enough, they'd made him do more.
“Pretend you can fly,” the captor laughs.
Never had lifting-up his arms ever been such an impossible task. But he'd done it, staring at his captor's sneering face, stretching them in defiance.
Curling his fingers, John can feel the phantom strain of holding out his arms horizontally like an airplane, never allowed to let them drop.
Rodney looks around the room and throws up his hands. “What, no one brought popcorn?”
“You could always bring your microwave,” Teyla teases.
“Or we could get one of Sheppard's marines to bring us some.”
“Those marines are not my personal servants.”
“Oh, please,” Rodney snorts. “Like they don't fight over who gets to serve their heroic commander.”
John rolls his eyes and Rodney doesn't actually badger any of his men.
“We could call for pizza,” Ronon suggests. “Bridget's on KO duty, she'll bring us one.”
“You mean Sergeant Williams? The one who always gives you double servings?”
Ronon blushes at Teyla's suggestion and grumbles something before grabbing a radio.
“Hey,” John protests. “You don't have to,” but he shuts up when he glances at his team sprawled between chairs and his bed.
He gets it now. Understands what they're trying to do.
“I like sausage,” he mumbles and Ronon grins in enthusiasm.
“Could we get three? Since you'll eat one on your own,” Rodney asks before snagging the remote to start the next movie.
Teyla sets her pillow on one side of John, half sitting in her chair and leaning next to him. “Does this cause you discomfort?”
John thinks back to that X on the ground and smiles, dropping his guard and basking in the next few hours. “Not at all.”
Gen, John-Centric, Team. Comfort aftermath story.
Word Count: 1,200-
Written for :
kriadydragon for fandom_stocking--
“It wasn't that bad,” John whispers.
Although blistered feet and ankles swollen twice their normal size are contradictory to his words.
Resting upside down over Ronon's shoulder, he breathes in old leather and gun oil. It feels like heaven not to be supporting his own weight and the sun beating down his head for over twelve hours a day.
The cracked soil doesn't appear as relentless from this angle and he squeezes his eyes closed against the bouncing ground.
Inside the jumper they lay him on his back, the steady support along his spine both amazing and excruciating at the same time.
He might've groaned, gravity pulling on tendons and muscles looped in knots over his bones.
“You are safe, John,” Teyla tells him with eyes filled with compassion, a solid barrier holding back rage at those who had held them captive.
“I'm good,” he tells her, his body fused to the floor of the jumper.
--
They cut away all his stinking sweaty clothes, the air conditioning chilling his skin.
“How many hours were you forced to stand at a time?” Keller asks, gentle hands ghosting over his bare legs, every touch agony.
“Until dinner?” he answers. “After the sun went down.”
His face feels on fire, the back of his neck and forearms a harsh shade of red. In the morning they'd pull him out of the box and force his bare feet to cover the X carved into the baked clay ground, his skin searing in place.
“The planet had fourteen hours of daytime,” Rodney growls from behind the curtain.
“I said for everyone to go to the waiting room please,” Keller yells at the shadows.
John lays on his side in a futile attempt at relief, curling up his legs, biting his lip when his back spasms.
There's an IV in the back of his hand and Keller pulls out a syringe and injects what he hopes is the entire Atlantis pharmacy. “I'm giving you a slight sedative while I finish my examination.”
She doesn't force him to move much, as long as he remains on his back when he goes under the scanner.
“Just lie still, Colonel. Sixty seconds tops. I promise.”
His eyes unwillingly drift close moments later.
“Stand very still. Do not move off the X or we''ll kill a member of your team.”
Gasping awake; he flails, thinking don't fall asleep! Don't budge from the X!
“Shhhh, it's okay, Colonel,” Keller's face hovers over his line of sight. “I'm done with the scan and now I can give you something to make you feel better.”
–--
After a shot of muscle relaxer and an anti-inflammatory, John's slated and floaty, nearly tipping over in his wheelchair.
“Easy, no falling out before you get to your quarters,” Rodney tells him, hand on his shoulder preventing him from sliding out.
It doesn't take long to reach his room and Ronon bodily lifts him out of the wheelchair, Teyla pulling away the blankets, and Rodney propping up his pillows as he's carefully lowered onto his bed. He manages a token protest of 'hey', but the plushness of his mattress and fluffed-up pillows is like being swallowed by cotton.
“This is nice,” he mumbles.
A tray of food appears with applesauce and soup and his stomach gurgles. He's famished all of a sudden and a spoon appears in front of his cracked clips. Before he can protest being hand-fed, a steady stream of cream of chicken settles in his stomach.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Head too heavy to lift, John's eyes travel up Ronon's face in surprise.
“There's strength and there's endurance. But everyone has a breaking point.”
John's knees are black and blue from buckling and repeatedly slamming the ground.
“Get up! Do you want one of them to die?”
Teyla's arm rests in a sling, punishment for the time John's stamina ran out after hour thirteen, rubbery legs unable to hold his weight any longer.
“I couldn't do it,” he blurts.
“Except the human body isn't built that way. To stand in a single spot without moving. Stress positions, Colonel. There's a reason why they call it torture,” Rodney admonishes.
Teyla brushes away tufts of hair from his sun-burned forehead and presses a kiss there. “Thank you for all the hours you did.”
By the time half the applesauce is gone, John's fallen asleep sitting up in his nest of pillows.
-----
Waking is like emerging from a head-on collision into a wall. His hips are the worst, sending lightening bolts into his pelvis and down his legs. He's flat on his back, although he doesn't recall falling asleep like that and the problem is--he can't move. His back is locked up and any motion triggers sharp spikes of pain.
There's a moment of panic, that he might be trapped in bed, but there's a motion and Rodney magically appears by his side. “Oh, good. You're awake.” Staring at his growing discomfort he reaches over. “I was told that you might have difficulty moving and of course, who ends up on the morning shift? I do, so it's up to me to help.”
“Sonofabitch!” John curses when he's pulled up by his armpits.
“Sorry, sorry, I know you're sore, but it's either I do this in one burst of energy, or it'd be a lot of start-stopping as I tug and yank and I don't think you want that.”
John's panting, sweat trickling down his face and it takes everything in his power not to break down and start sobbing. His back and legs; and God, his arms and shoulders are gnarled together into one massive spasm.
“Jennifer's on her way. She was going to be here earlier but got held up.”
He nods, but even that triggers agony down his vertebrae and between his shoulder blades. Minutes might have passed, it was hard to tell with McKay's chattering, and the pulsating crescendo of pain. Suddenly he's on his side and Keller is there, saying something about pulling his pants down. He doesn’t care and after a pinprick to the ass, the rest of him melts away before he can complain.
--
The afternoon is a happy haze of movie time in his quarters without being really aware of what their watching. At some point Teyla and Ronon are with him as the muscle relaxers ease away and reality settles in the back row of his mind.
Ronon peels off the bandages wrapped around his feet, rubbing lotion across his flayed skin. Ronon squeezes a tab onto Teyla's free fingers and she applies a layer to John's face, rubbing the rest down his tender neck. It's pure heaven of vanilla and eucalyptus, soothing away the smoldering flames.
Moving his arms to do this himself is out of the question, not only from the muscle relaxer, but from an inability to lift anything heavier than a feather. Staring at his limbs, he wonders if he should tone up more, improve his endurance.
“Stop thinking about it,” Ronon growls, his face covered with knuckle-sized bruises.
John had been unable to adjust position; feet rooted in place, his calves and thighs shaking. And when that wasn't enough, they'd made him do more.
“Pretend you can fly,” the captor laughs.
Never had lifting-up his arms ever been such an impossible task. But he'd done it, staring at his captor's sneering face, stretching them in defiance.
Curling his fingers, John can feel the phantom strain of holding out his arms horizontally like an airplane, never allowed to let them drop.
Rodney looks around the room and throws up his hands. “What, no one brought popcorn?”
“You could always bring your microwave,” Teyla teases.
“Or we could get one of Sheppard's marines to bring us some.”
“Those marines are not my personal servants.”
“Oh, please,” Rodney snorts. “Like they don't fight over who gets to serve their heroic commander.”
John rolls his eyes and Rodney doesn't actually badger any of his men.
“We could call for pizza,” Ronon suggests. “Bridget's on KO duty, she'll bring us one.”
“You mean Sergeant Williams? The one who always gives you double servings?”
Ronon blushes at Teyla's suggestion and grumbles something before grabbing a radio.
“Hey,” John protests. “You don't have to,” but he shuts up when he glances at his team sprawled between chairs and his bed.
He gets it now. Understands what they're trying to do.
“I like sausage,” he mumbles and Ronon grins in enthusiasm.
“Could we get three? Since you'll eat one on your own,” Rodney asks before snagging the remote to start the next movie.
Teyla sets her pillow on one side of John, half sitting in her chair and leaning next to him. “Does this cause you discomfort?”
John thinks back to that X on the ground and smiles, dropping his guard and basking in the next few hours. “Not at all.”
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Date: 2011-01-10 07:58 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-01-10 08:50 pm (UTC)Thanks hon.
This and Tin Man in the space of a couple of days...I must have done something good when I was little to get such fanatstic stories to read!! I just love Christmas this year...opening other people's presents is such a joy!!
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Date: 2011-01-12 04:14 am (UTC)Thanks!
Date: 2011-01-10 11:00 pm (UTC)Really enjoyed this one...thanks!
Re: Thanks!
Date: 2011-01-12 04:14 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-01-10 11:56 pm (UTC)Great story!!
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Date: 2011-01-11 12:21 am (UTC)Thanks.
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Date: 2011-01-11 05:49 am (UTC)Thats just... *sighs and luffs team* John doing anything for his team and them taking care of him.
"Teyla brushes away tufts of hair from his sun-burned forehead and presses a kiss there. “Thank you for all the hours you did.”
D'awwww!!! *hugs to everyone*
Lovely work!
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Date: 2011-01-12 04:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-13 04:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 09:50 pm (UTC)This is such a perfect comfort/aftermath story!
I love how you manage to tell us what happened to John, what he had to endure, in a short sentence every other paragraph or so and in the comfort and aftercare his Team and Jennifer provides to him. ♥ I even go as far and say: If you would have spelled everything out - the fic wouldn't have worked in the perfect way it works this way...
Thank you very much for this fic! :)
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Date: 2011-01-13 12:50 am (UTC)Thank you.
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