fic: give me your hand (SGU, PG-13)
Title: Give me your hand.
Written for the Valentine's Challenge
Author: carmencatalina
Fandom: SGU
Pairing: Young/Rush
Disclaimer: Not mine, but you knew that.
Warnings: My valentines are always blue, sweetheart.
Rating: PG-13, for language.
Author's Note: See end.
Spoilers: Through 1.10, “Justice”.
Summary: “You and me, we’ll be ok.”
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“Oh, for Christ’s sake, do you even know what the date is, back on Earth? Is it a Monday or a Tuesday? What month is it?”
Young walked behind Rush, carefully placing each step, conscious of the loose shale and gravel that covered the way between the larger rocks. Both suns were lower on the horizon now, but the air above the ground seemed to shimmer, the rocks giving back all the heat they had absorbed during the long, hot day. The sky was a dark, dark blue, and much of the ground had an odd color, tinged with a coppery green. His head ached from the glare; for what seemed like the thousandth time, he wished he had a pair of sunglasses or even his hat.
“Of course I do, Colonel,” Rush’s voice floated back to him, with that superior, irritating tone that made Young’s hands itch to slap him. He stopped walking, and glared at the scientist’s back.
“Yeah? So what day is it?”
Rush turned. Lifted his hand to his face to wipe away the sweat and dirt, wincing a bit as he touched his forehead.
“The thirteenth of February. A Saturday, in fact. Almost four in the afternoon, Greenwich Mean Time. We should stop for tea soon.”
Young bit out a short laugh. He hadn’t expected an answer that precise, but he should have. Rush never disappointed.
Saturday. He supposed it was his day off, in that case. He closed the short distance between them, stopping to stand next to Rush, then turning and looking back the way they had come. Maybe there was copper in the soil, and that explained the color. No doubt Rush could tell him, if he really wanted to know. Likely the exact percentage of copper that would give that color, as well.
“Great. And then tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” Young said, kicking at a rock just a few inches from his boot. This place was full of rocks. Rocks, sand, gravel, and then some more rocks. Lovely place for a Saturday stroll.
“Really? Did you forget to send your wife some flowers, Colonel?” Rush’s tone was bland and he only glanced at Young sidelong, but Young caught a hint of something in his eyes that said Rush knew exactly how much that remark would piss him off. Young took a long breath, then another, until he could answer evenly.
“Yeah, I forgot to send flowers.”
Rush looked at him directly this time. Seemed to be studying him for a moment. Then started walking again.
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The second of the twin suns dipped under the horizon, and a fiery orange-red glow spread over much of the sky. Almost immediately, it seemed cooler. The two men sat beneath a rocky outcropping, watching the sky.
“At least it’s finally cooling off,” Young noted.
Rush looked at his hands, seemingly on the verge of saying something and then stopping himself. His hands were dirty, and Young could see dirt under the nails as well.
“What?”
“Nothing, Colonel.”
“What, Rush?”
There was a long silence. Rush’s head was slightly bent down, and his hair obscured most of his face, but Young could see a muscle moving along his jaw. Holding something in, something back.
“Rush.” God, he was tired of Rush and his half-truths and evasions. Always moving away from him, always moving back, so that he had to push and push to get anything.
The wind seemed to be picking up again, and every now and again it sent a fine grit of loose sand and small bits of rock over them.
When Rush finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
“Colonel, if the atmosphere is as thin as the light scatter from the sunsets would seem to indicate, it is going to do a lot more than cool off.”
“It’s gonna get cold?”
Rush looked up from his hands and directly at him. His eyes are really dark for someone with relatively light colored hair, thought Young, and that, he realized, was a ridiculously inane thing to be thinking about, under the circumstances. Then he looked away from Rush’s stare, an awkward feeling settling into his chest.
“Yes, very.”
A long slow inhale, a long slow exhale, and the tightness in his chest eased a bit.
“How cold?”
Rush was still looking at him, and Young didn’t understand why it was so hard to look right back at him, when before it had always been Rush that turned away, that dropped his gaze.
“How cold, Rush?”
Rush didn’t answer, his eyes dropping back to his hands.
“Ah, fuck,” said Young softly, and he thought about Emily, and wondered when the last time he had sent her flowers had been, and what kind of flowers he had sent. He couldn’t remember.
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The stars winked brightly through the thin atmosphere, seeming bigger and closer here than they did on Earth, on Icarus. Neither man had spoken for a long time, and they sat close together, their shoulders and arms touching, their backs against the rocks giving them a small amount of shelter.
Young looked at Rush, who was staring at something a few yards away, or maybe at nothing at all. He wondered if Rush had sat like this on that other dry, empty planet, underneath the alien ship, alone.
He wondered where Destiny was now, and he remembered what it had felt like, walking through the circle of the ‘gate, telling a lie about a rockslide. That seemed like a very long time ago. He listened to the wind, and wondered how long the night would last. When he finally spoke his voice sounded rough, as though he was angry.
“Give me your hand.”
“What?”
Young reached out and took Rush’s hand in his, pulling it against his chest, near his heart. He could feel the slow thrum there, blood going in, blood going out. And their hands against it, cold.
“It’ll be ok, Rush.”
He looked at the scientist’s thin, dirty face, not sure if Rush had even heard him. The cut on his forehead had stopped bleeding, and there was blood and dirt matting Rush’s hair. He thought back to the first time he had seen Rush, back on the Icarus planet, at a reception for the incoming science team, and remembered thinking that he had nice hair. Shiny. His hair was filthy, now.
“It’ll be ok, Nicholas,” he tried again.
The wind continued to whistle across the rocky outcroppings above them, making an odd sound, like metal bending and groaning. Rush’s hand was cold in his, and the skin on his knuckles was rough when Young ran his thumb across them.
“Nick.” Rush’s voice was quiet and dry.
“What?”
“Nick. My friends call me Nick.”
“Ok, then.” Young paused for a moment, closing his eyes briefly. “Nick.”
Metal bending and groaning, that’s what it sounded like. The wind blew against the rocks, against the two men. Rush’s head dropped against Young’s shoulder, and Young could feel the rise and fall of his chest as the scientist breathed in and out. He turned his head slightly and pressed his lips against Rush’s forehead, a dry kiss, his own breath warm against the other man’s cold skin.
It’ll stop soon, he thought, the wind. The wind, and that sound, like metal bending. It’ll stop soon, and it’ll be ok.
The night sky seemed blacker here, maybe just in contrast to the brightness of the stars. He could feel the wind blowing stronger, pushing at him, and now and again small bits of shale and rock picked up by the wind struck his back, his face. He closed his eyes tightly. Keeping his face down, he pulled Rush closer, wrapping his other arm around him.
“It’ll be ok. You and me, we’ll be ok.”
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Author's Note: When I was young, the Challenger space shuttle and all her crew were lost. Five years later, the following quote appeared in Time magazine (Monday, December 24, 1990): “A NASA investigator has confirmed suspicions that the astronauts were conscious of their fate, and that among the last words from the craft were those of one astronaut saying to another, "Give me your hand."”
Written for the Valentine's Challenge
Author: carmencatalina
Fandom: SGU
Pairing: Young/Rush
Disclaimer: Not mine, but you knew that.
Warnings: My valentines are always blue, sweetheart.
Rating: PG-13, for language.
Author's Note: See end.
Spoilers: Through 1.10, “Justice”.
Summary: “You and me, we’ll be ok.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, do you even know what the date is, back on Earth? Is it a Monday or a Tuesday? What month is it?”
Young walked behind Rush, carefully placing each step, conscious of the loose shale and gravel that covered the way between the larger rocks. Both suns were lower on the horizon now, but the air above the ground seemed to shimmer, the rocks giving back all the heat they had absorbed during the long, hot day. The sky was a dark, dark blue, and much of the ground had an odd color, tinged with a coppery green. His head ached from the glare; for what seemed like the thousandth time, he wished he had a pair of sunglasses or even his hat.
“Of course I do, Colonel,” Rush’s voice floated back to him, with that superior, irritating tone that made Young’s hands itch to slap him. He stopped walking, and glared at the scientist’s back.
“Yeah? So what day is it?”
Rush turned. Lifted his hand to his face to wipe away the sweat and dirt, wincing a bit as he touched his forehead.
“The thirteenth of February. A Saturday, in fact. Almost four in the afternoon, Greenwich Mean Time. We should stop for tea soon.”
Young bit out a short laugh. He hadn’t expected an answer that precise, but he should have. Rush never disappointed.
Saturday. He supposed it was his day off, in that case. He closed the short distance between them, stopping to stand next to Rush, then turning and looking back the way they had come. Maybe there was copper in the soil, and that explained the color. No doubt Rush could tell him, if he really wanted to know. Likely the exact percentage of copper that would give that color, as well.
“Great. And then tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” Young said, kicking at a rock just a few inches from his boot. This place was full of rocks. Rocks, sand, gravel, and then some more rocks. Lovely place for a Saturday stroll.
“Really? Did you forget to send your wife some flowers, Colonel?” Rush’s tone was bland and he only glanced at Young sidelong, but Young caught a hint of something in his eyes that said Rush knew exactly how much that remark would piss him off. Young took a long breath, then another, until he could answer evenly.
“Yeah, I forgot to send flowers.”
Rush looked at him directly this time. Seemed to be studying him for a moment. Then started walking again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The second of the twin suns dipped under the horizon, and a fiery orange-red glow spread over much of the sky. Almost immediately, it seemed cooler. The two men sat beneath a rocky outcropping, watching the sky.
“At least it’s finally cooling off,” Young noted.
Rush looked at his hands, seemingly on the verge of saying something and then stopping himself. His hands were dirty, and Young could see dirt under the nails as well.
“What?”
“Nothing, Colonel.”
“What, Rush?”
There was a long silence. Rush’s head was slightly bent down, and his hair obscured most of his face, but Young could see a muscle moving along his jaw. Holding something in, something back.
“Rush.” God, he was tired of Rush and his half-truths and evasions. Always moving away from him, always moving back, so that he had to push and push to get anything.
The wind seemed to be picking up again, and every now and again it sent a fine grit of loose sand and small bits of rock over them.
When Rush finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
“Colonel, if the atmosphere is as thin as the light scatter from the sunsets would seem to indicate, it is going to do a lot more than cool off.”
“It’s gonna get cold?”
Rush looked up from his hands and directly at him. His eyes are really dark for someone with relatively light colored hair, thought Young, and that, he realized, was a ridiculously inane thing to be thinking about, under the circumstances. Then he looked away from Rush’s stare, an awkward feeling settling into his chest.
“Yes, very.”
A long slow inhale, a long slow exhale, and the tightness in his chest eased a bit.
“How cold?”
Rush was still looking at him, and Young didn’t understand why it was so hard to look right back at him, when before it had always been Rush that turned away, that dropped his gaze.
“How cold, Rush?”
Rush didn’t answer, his eyes dropping back to his hands.
“Ah, fuck,” said Young softly, and he thought about Emily, and wondered when the last time he had sent her flowers had been, and what kind of flowers he had sent. He couldn’t remember.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The stars winked brightly through the thin atmosphere, seeming bigger and closer here than they did on Earth, on Icarus. Neither man had spoken for a long time, and they sat close together, their shoulders and arms touching, their backs against the rocks giving them a small amount of shelter.
Young looked at Rush, who was staring at something a few yards away, or maybe at nothing at all. He wondered if Rush had sat like this on that other dry, empty planet, underneath the alien ship, alone.
He wondered where Destiny was now, and he remembered what it had felt like, walking through the circle of the ‘gate, telling a lie about a rockslide. That seemed like a very long time ago. He listened to the wind, and wondered how long the night would last. When he finally spoke his voice sounded rough, as though he was angry.
“Give me your hand.”
“What?”
Young reached out and took Rush’s hand in his, pulling it against his chest, near his heart. He could feel the slow thrum there, blood going in, blood going out. And their hands against it, cold.
“It’ll be ok, Rush.”
He looked at the scientist’s thin, dirty face, not sure if Rush had even heard him. The cut on his forehead had stopped bleeding, and there was blood and dirt matting Rush’s hair. He thought back to the first time he had seen Rush, back on the Icarus planet, at a reception for the incoming science team, and remembered thinking that he had nice hair. Shiny. His hair was filthy, now.
“It’ll be ok, Nicholas,” he tried again.
The wind continued to whistle across the rocky outcroppings above them, making an odd sound, like metal bending and groaning. Rush’s hand was cold in his, and the skin on his knuckles was rough when Young ran his thumb across them.
“Nick.” Rush’s voice was quiet and dry.
“What?”
“Nick. My friends call me Nick.”
“Ok, then.” Young paused for a moment, closing his eyes briefly. “Nick.”
Metal bending and groaning, that’s what it sounded like. The wind blew against the rocks, against the two men. Rush’s head dropped against Young’s shoulder, and Young could feel the rise and fall of his chest as the scientist breathed in and out. He turned his head slightly and pressed his lips against Rush’s forehead, a dry kiss, his own breath warm against the other man’s cold skin.
It’ll stop soon, he thought, the wind. The wind, and that sound, like metal bending. It’ll stop soon, and it’ll be ok.
The night sky seemed blacker here, maybe just in contrast to the brightness of the stars. He could feel the wind blowing stronger, pushing at him, and now and again small bits of shale and rock picked up by the wind struck his back, his face. He closed his eyes tightly. Keeping his face down, he pulled Rush closer, wrapping his other arm around him.
“It’ll be ok. You and me, we’ll be ok.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Note: When I was young, the Challenger space shuttle and all her crew were lost. Five years later, the following quote appeared in Time magazine (Monday, December 24, 1990): “A NASA investigator has confirmed suspicions that the astronauts were conscious of their fate, and that among the last words from the craft were those of one astronaut saying to another, "Give me your hand."”