kristen999 | "Second Skin" (1/1)

Title: “Second Skin” (1/1) Gen
Author: Kristen999
Character(s): Sheppard
Genre(s): Stargate Atlantis: Drabble
Rating: K+
Words: 1460
Spoilers: None

Summary: Some things shouldn't feel like second nature.

Notes: Written for

valleya during one of my open drabble requests at my LJ. Prompt at the end and I will finish the other two this week, thanks for waiting. This has helped with my writer's block.

Not betaed.

--------------------------------

Every finger nail on his right hand is cracked and split. Dried blood coats his knuckles, the dark red mixing with crusty mud. The left hand is worse with more gashes than patches of skin. Sheppard grips the P-90 tightly causing his battered hands to ache, but its a dull, faraway kind of pain. He stands stiff as a board because if he allows his posture to slacken just one bit, he might fall over.

He waits along side his weary team for Lorne and his men to step through the gate, his eyes darting back and forth between the glistening wormhole and the exhausted features of Teyla, Rodney, and Ronon. Behind them the Marines mill around unwilling to leave. Smudged, weary faces lift their chins up at him, nodding—acknowledging him in silence.

The alarm blares in the background, but looking around he notes that the lights are not flickering. He gives his head a shake and the noise blends into the background. Sheppard grits his teeth as his stomach drops suddenly and the room tilts sideways before it rights itself. He knows he just turned a shade whiter than the fresh paint in the mess hall and swallows back the bile creeping up his throat.

Carson hovers, conducting cursory exams on the spot of the others. Elizabeth knows him well enough to keep her distance, though her eyes bore holes in the back of his head. Sheer force of will keeps his knees locked, gravity tries its best to pull him down and he longs to give in to it.

The gate glistens brightly before the battered and bruised faces of Major Lorne's team arrives, his second in command marching in last. Lorne checks up on his men, his gaze sweeps over Sheppard's team before it lands on his CO, its message loud and clear.

We're all back safe and sound.

Sheppard's legs tremble, all the strength keeping him upright leeches into the floor below.

“Everyone's all accounted for,” he says just to hear the words out loud.

He really wishes that someone would shut off the damn alarm, his brain feels like its rattling along the inside of his skull. He flinches and spins around suddenly from a touch to his shoulder. Carson's eyes widen, hands shoot up in supplication for startling him. Sheppard gives him a half grin, anything more requires too much energy. The Doc stutters an apology, but the words don't reach his ears and Sheppard mumbles that things are fine before heading towards the armory.

His feet move on autopilot, the distance in the hallways looms longer than normal and the lights burn brighter, forcing Sheppard to squint against the harshness. Unless there's an obvious injury, protocol dictates that all weapons are to be secured after each mission. It takes longer to navigate around, his right knee doesn't want to bend very far and he lurches to one side drunkenly. The corridor seems off and it takes a moment before it dawns on him that he took a wrong turn.

The wall offers him silent support, he presses his forehead along the cool surface to gather his waning thoughts. He forgets where he was going, rubbing at his throbbing temples to try to ease the pressure before making his way back towards........

“Armory,” he reminds himself.

His brain freezes for a panicky moment and he searches the darkness for his team mates, breathing heavily.

Where are they?

He lifts up the P-90 in confusion, the thing shakes in his hands as it suddenly weighs a ton. As he struggles to keep it upright, reality crashes in--- they are in the infirmary—he's back on Atlantis.

Sheppard drops the rifle, letting it dangle and pushes onward reminding himself that it's been forever since he's slept. Rodney's probably still steamed over their argument on the planet, it's rare when he's forced to pull rank during a hostile situation.

Teyla and Ronon are fully aware of the burden of command, knowing the importance of time and distance. He scrubs at several days worth of scruff on his face knowing he's earned a short reprieve.

Space----he needs space and they've given it to him.

Supply Sergeant Richards straightens to attention upon his approach. “Sir.”

“At ease,” Sheppard waves his hand dismissively.

He enters the storage facility, removes the clip to his P-90 and secures his weapon. He pats down his vest in search for extra ammo and remembers having run out on the second day.

How could he have forgotten the sound of the gun clicking empty? There's still blood stains on his BDUs and now more than ever, he wants to strip them off his body.

Instinct guides his hands towards the left upper pockets for C-4 and once again he's reminded that there's none left. There are two smoking craters behind the east wall of the village—that had been day three he thinks. When his fingers dig at the lower pocket on the same side, the contents crinkle and he pulls out two empty power bar wrappers.

His stomach growls at him, but its difficult to be hungry when you've been on the verge of throwing up for hours on end. That last bite of oatmeal raisin had occurred minutes before the mudslide and only a few hours after the fire.

If Carson asked, he wouldn't be able to tell him the last time he ate a real meal.

He had lost his canteen but at least his knife and sidearm remain hooked to his belt. Doing one last inventory, he searches for left over field dressings in the side pockets only to stop himself mid-search. He gags at images of blood, lots and lots of blood. Sheppard sucks in several breaths to keep from vomiting.

He doesn't salute the Staff Sergeant after leaving, the halls morphing into one endless corridor. After a long, painful walk, the doors to his quarters open to allow him inside and he sits down on the bed in a controlled collapse.

His boots are barely laced up and it's the only reason he's coordinated enough to pull the heavy things off of his feet. The belt is tougher to figure out, but eventually he unbuckles it and the soiled BDUs are next.

With a couple of tugs they pool to the floor and Sheppard swings his legs around and lays on his back. Removing his clothes shouldn't leave him panting like this and he closes his eyes against the spinning ceiling.

Time has lost all meaning and despite his beaten body Sheppard feels numb all over. It seems like hours, but something nags at his subconscious. He jerks awake at a noise, hand reaching for his gun when Major Lorne's voice cuts through the fog.

“Sir! It's me.”

Sheppard groans and sways sitting up in bed. “What the Hell?” he hisses.

“Sorry, sir. You didn't answer your door and after a few minutes I came in to check on you...it ..um wasn't locked.”

Sheppard fumbles for a moment before trying to stand. “What's wrong?”

Lorne grabs his shoulders and pushes him back down easily. “Nothing. You didn't return to the infirmary.....so I came looking for you.”

Infirmary?

It was like sloshing through a swamp to focus. “Is everyone alight?”

“Everyone's fine, sir. Carson was about to have kittens when you didn't show and he didn't want the others to leave yet despite some loud complaining.”

“I'm ... I'm just tired.”

“That's not for me to determine, sir.”

Sheppard just wants to go back to sleep. “Alright.... I need to get dressed,” he mumbles.

“Um...You're still wearing your tac vest.”

Sheppard looks down at the torn fabric and filthy T-shirt beneath it. “Guess I got used to it.”

Lorne's eyes narrow in concern. “Maybe the force of that bomb knocked you down harder than you thought.”

That had been day number four.

He stares at the bloody pile of pants.

“We saved a lot of lives, sir.”

“We lost a lot of those villagers, Major.”

“A few casualties are better than a massacre....the seizes never seemed like they were going to end. We held on for a long time.” Lorne looks down at the ruined BDUs. “Sacrifices were made all around, Colonel. The Elstrodts are a brave people.”

“Indeed they are.”

Lorne opens a drawer, grabs some sweats and hands them over. Sheppard is grateful at the gesture and accepts the help slipping them on.

“The vest?”

Sheppard regards it a moment and shrugs it off. “Think I need a new one.”

He allows Lorne to escort him to get checked out and he can't wait to go back to bed in clothes that will not remind him of death and violence.

fini

valleya wanted: This is going to sound really weird, but maybe something to do with Sheppard's flak jacket?