story: this valley of dying stars
This isn't a happy story. You have been warned.
Title and quote in italics are from Eliot.
Summary: The flames are beautiful. It's almost worth it, seeing this.
Word count: 1500
This Valley of Dying Stars
They’re having dinner together. Two red candles on the table, and Jennifer in a red dress. Somewhere away from the usual bustle and busyness, where the soundtrack is the clink of cutlery, and words are soft and inconsequential, not infused with life-or-death urgency.
It’s a rarity to have this time to share, and it passes quickly in smiles and exaggerated stories (his) and gentle laughter (hers).
Until their radios, nestled close together on a side table, both buzz simultaneously. They stop eating, look at each other, and sigh.
This is the way the world ends.
-
Their radios are in their ears before they’ve even left the room. “What?” Rodney snaps, their feet clattering as they hurry down the stairs, Jennifer still shrugging on her jacket.
He doesn’t get a reply, because that moment is when the light and the deafening boom of the explosion shake through the city - through them - and they’re tossed like a pair of dolls off their feet and against the hard tessellated floor. Rodney hears glass shatter and looks up, vision shaky - holy crap, where did all those windows come from? - and isn’t given time to find an answer because they’re already splintering, and Jennifer’s screaming, and there’s only just enough time for him to move…
…and then it’s the emergency lighting which is on, and Jennifer’s pushing him off her. “What happened?” she asks, her voice shaking, and he blinks her face into focus, and stares at her.
But he can’t lie here. They need to get to the control room. He fumbles for his radio, but his hand can’t find it. And Jennifer’s staring at back at him, kneeling among pieces of broken glass, her eyes widening. “Rodney, you’re bleeding!”
He lifts his other hand, and bright red blood beads and drops from his fingertips. He stares, hardly comprehending, until Jennifer tugs off her jacket in one swift movement and presses it hard against his side. He can’t feel the wound. He can just feel coldness in his abdomen, and numbness. “Is it… bad?” he asks, recognising the inanity of the question. There’s a lot of blood, already spreading across the tiles…
“It’s fine,” Jennifer tells him quickly. Too quickly. “You’re going to be fine.” She reaches up to her own radio. “I need a med team to the East tower. Now! What the hell just happened?”
She listens for a moment. And she goes very still.
Rodney snaps his fingers impatiently at her, knowing that he doesn’t have long before the rush of adrenaline wears off. “Give me the radio!”
She hands it over instantly and he jams it into his ear, flicking the channel, wiping blood across his cheek as he does so. Jennifer presses the already-sodden mass of fabric more firmly against him.
On the other end, Sheppard’s talking a mile a minute. “…need to do this quickly, and where the hell is McKay?”
“Here,” Rodney cuts in.
There’s a momentary sigh of relief. “Right. McKay, we’re under attack. Three hive ships.”
Suddenly there isn’t any air in his lungs. “What?”
“You heard me. They dropped out of hyperspace and took out the shield generator, along with the ZPM.”
“But - that’s impossible - ”
“Zelenka doesn’t know how we didn’t pick them up before, but right now it’s very possible. We’re evacuating to the alpha site - get to the Gate now!”
“I can’t,” Rodney says. He feels appallingly light-headed. “Too far away.”
“Are you hurt?” Sheppard asks, urgently.
“…A bit.”
Sheppard swears. Rodney stares at Jennifer, who’s staring, white-faced, back at him. Her eyes beg him for reassurance, but he’s got none to give her.
Except… “Go,” he says.
She doesn’t move. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Go! You need to get to the Gate… we’re being attacked…”
“I’m not leaving you,” she says firmly, and grasps his hand tightly. He can feel her shaking.
He doesn’t want her to leave. He wants to scream that, but bites down on the words before they leave his mouth. “Jennifer, you have to…”
“No,” she says, resolutely, and grabs the radio from his ear before his slowed reactions can do anything about it. He struggles to snatch it back and the effort makes him dizzy, so that his head drops heavily to the floor. And then, in what seems to be the next moment, Jennifer’s trying to move him.
“What - ” he begins, but she cuts him off.
“We need to get up into the open. Colonel Sheppard’s coming to get us in a Jumper.”
He nods, and is grateful for the continuing numbness as he’s manhandled to his feet. He knew John would find a way, and realises that he’d accepted that without question.
There’s a lot of blood on the floor, pooling around splinters from the once-window, and he swallows, and then looks away, feeling sick.
“We have to hurry,” Jennifer says, and he can tell that she’s trying to keep the urgency out of her voice, but it’s really not working.
They stumble together along the corridor and then begin to climb the twisting flight of stairs they ran down not many minutes ago, and Rodney has no real comprehension of how he’s actually managing this, but he thinks that Jennifer’s responsible for most of the credit, since most of his weight seems to be on her.
“How did - they - find us?” he asks, between steps.
Jennifer shakes her head sharply. “Find out at the Alpha site. Don’t stop!”
There are more tremors, shaking the floor and the walls, but these are further away. The main hub of the city will be the primary target for bombardment, he thinks, almost dispassionately. But even if the Gate’s taken out, if Sheppard and the Jumper reach them, they can hide behind the cloak and wait for the Daedalus.
He tries to share this insight with Jennifer, to reassure her that they’ll be ok, but she shakes her head fiercely, and shakes his shoulder a little, too. “Tell me later. Not now. Keep moving.”
He keeps moving, the smooth pale walls blurring together and bearing his trail in bright smudged handprints. And he still can’t feel anything, and he knows that that’s bad, but he can’t sort out his mind enough to give it much thought.
It’s a shock when Jennifer waves open a door ahead of them and suddenly the stairs have ended and they’re out on a balcony, with a warm, violent wind tossing their hair and swirling Jennifer’s skirt, its colour hiding his blood staining it. They get to the railing, and stop.
Beneath the stars, the city is burning.
Flowers of flame bud and blossom over the fairy-tale towers which glitter in the moonlight, silver birds of darts dipping and darting among them, and the orange and gold blooms of light reflect and are tossed and scattered across the dark and turbulent waves.
It’s beautiful.
Deadly, and terrifying, but beautiful.
A tower explodes, and the blast of silver shards radiate outwards, and around the shape of something airborne and invisible. Jennifer’s grip tightens on Rodney’s shoulder, her fingers digging in with a fear which he instantly shares.
John…
What they can see, others can see too, and they can only watch the darts as they turn, spitting fire.
And a fireball forms in the sky, coronas outward, a firework throwing golden sparks high into the night, reaching upwards to touch the stars and the impassive face of the moon.
Rodney’s chest tightens, and he can’t breathe. But he somehow, between Jennifer’s support and the railing he’s clutching and his own fading strength, manages to stay standing. And he doesn’t look away, not for one second. To do so would be a betrayal.
He watches, faithfully, as the remains of the golden star fall to the ocean and extinguish. He tries to think, Sheppard’s gone, but his mind won’t accept it.
The flock of deadly birds swoop and turn towards them.
Jennifer’s free hand finds his cold fingers curled over the metal bar, and fasten around them. They’re warm, and he thinks for a moment that he can feel her heartbeat through them, but that’s surely impossible. Her breath is soft against his cheek.
“Happy Birthday,” she whispers, and her voice cracks on the words.
He looks at her in wonderment, with her dress fluttering in the wind, and the firelight and starlight in her eyes and glinting from the tears spilling silently down her cheeks, and thinks that she’s never looked more beautiful. He opens his mouth to tell her so, but she lifts her fingers and holds them against his lips for a moment, to stop him.
She smiles, and this is her last smile, and it’s only for him.
“Make a wish,” she tells him, and he does.
Title and quote in italics are from Eliot.
Summary: The flames are beautiful. It's almost worth it, seeing this.
Word count: 1500
This Valley of Dying Stars
They’re having dinner together. Two red candles on the table, and Jennifer in a red dress. Somewhere away from the usual bustle and busyness, where the soundtrack is the clink of cutlery, and words are soft and inconsequential, not infused with life-or-death urgency.
It’s a rarity to have this time to share, and it passes quickly in smiles and exaggerated stories (his) and gentle laughter (hers).
Until their radios, nestled close together on a side table, both buzz simultaneously. They stop eating, look at each other, and sigh.
This is the way the world ends.
-
Their radios are in their ears before they’ve even left the room. “What?” Rodney snaps, their feet clattering as they hurry down the stairs, Jennifer still shrugging on her jacket.
He doesn’t get a reply, because that moment is when the light and the deafening boom of the explosion shake through the city - through them - and they’re tossed like a pair of dolls off their feet and against the hard tessellated floor. Rodney hears glass shatter and looks up, vision shaky - holy crap, where did all those windows come from? - and isn’t given time to find an answer because they’re already splintering, and Jennifer’s screaming, and there’s only just enough time for him to move…
…and then it’s the emergency lighting which is on, and Jennifer’s pushing him off her. “What happened?” she asks, her voice shaking, and he blinks her face into focus, and stares at her.
But he can’t lie here. They need to get to the control room. He fumbles for his radio, but his hand can’t find it. And Jennifer’s staring at back at him, kneeling among pieces of broken glass, her eyes widening. “Rodney, you’re bleeding!”
He lifts his other hand, and bright red blood beads and drops from his fingertips. He stares, hardly comprehending, until Jennifer tugs off her jacket in one swift movement and presses it hard against his side. He can’t feel the wound. He can just feel coldness in his abdomen, and numbness. “Is it… bad?” he asks, recognising the inanity of the question. There’s a lot of blood, already spreading across the tiles…
“It’s fine,” Jennifer tells him quickly. Too quickly. “You’re going to be fine.” She reaches up to her own radio. “I need a med team to the East tower. Now! What the hell just happened?”
She listens for a moment. And she goes very still.
Rodney snaps his fingers impatiently at her, knowing that he doesn’t have long before the rush of adrenaline wears off. “Give me the radio!”
She hands it over instantly and he jams it into his ear, flicking the channel, wiping blood across his cheek as he does so. Jennifer presses the already-sodden mass of fabric more firmly against him.
On the other end, Sheppard’s talking a mile a minute. “…need to do this quickly, and where the hell is McKay?”
“Here,” Rodney cuts in.
There’s a momentary sigh of relief. “Right. McKay, we’re under attack. Three hive ships.”
Suddenly there isn’t any air in his lungs. “What?”
“You heard me. They dropped out of hyperspace and took out the shield generator, along with the ZPM.”
“But - that’s impossible - ”
“Zelenka doesn’t know how we didn’t pick them up before, but right now it’s very possible. We’re evacuating to the alpha site - get to the Gate now!”
“I can’t,” Rodney says. He feels appallingly light-headed. “Too far away.”
“Are you hurt?” Sheppard asks, urgently.
“…A bit.”
Sheppard swears. Rodney stares at Jennifer, who’s staring, white-faced, back at him. Her eyes beg him for reassurance, but he’s got none to give her.
Except… “Go,” he says.
She doesn’t move. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Go! You need to get to the Gate… we’re being attacked…”
“I’m not leaving you,” she says firmly, and grasps his hand tightly. He can feel her shaking.
He doesn’t want her to leave. He wants to scream that, but bites down on the words before they leave his mouth. “Jennifer, you have to…”
“No,” she says, resolutely, and grabs the radio from his ear before his slowed reactions can do anything about it. He struggles to snatch it back and the effort makes him dizzy, so that his head drops heavily to the floor. And then, in what seems to be the next moment, Jennifer’s trying to move him.
“What - ” he begins, but she cuts him off.
“We need to get up into the open. Colonel Sheppard’s coming to get us in a Jumper.”
He nods, and is grateful for the continuing numbness as he’s manhandled to his feet. He knew John would find a way, and realises that he’d accepted that without question.
There’s a lot of blood on the floor, pooling around splinters from the once-window, and he swallows, and then looks away, feeling sick.
“We have to hurry,” Jennifer says, and he can tell that she’s trying to keep the urgency out of her voice, but it’s really not working.
They stumble together along the corridor and then begin to climb the twisting flight of stairs they ran down not many minutes ago, and Rodney has no real comprehension of how he’s actually managing this, but he thinks that Jennifer’s responsible for most of the credit, since most of his weight seems to be on her.
“How did - they - find us?” he asks, between steps.
Jennifer shakes her head sharply. “Find out at the Alpha site. Don’t stop!”
There are more tremors, shaking the floor and the walls, but these are further away. The main hub of the city will be the primary target for bombardment, he thinks, almost dispassionately. But even if the Gate’s taken out, if Sheppard and the Jumper reach them, they can hide behind the cloak and wait for the Daedalus.
He tries to share this insight with Jennifer, to reassure her that they’ll be ok, but she shakes her head fiercely, and shakes his shoulder a little, too. “Tell me later. Not now. Keep moving.”
He keeps moving, the smooth pale walls blurring together and bearing his trail in bright smudged handprints. And he still can’t feel anything, and he knows that that’s bad, but he can’t sort out his mind enough to give it much thought.
It’s a shock when Jennifer waves open a door ahead of them and suddenly the stairs have ended and they’re out on a balcony, with a warm, violent wind tossing their hair and swirling Jennifer’s skirt, its colour hiding his blood staining it. They get to the railing, and stop.
Beneath the stars, the city is burning.
Flowers of flame bud and blossom over the fairy-tale towers which glitter in the moonlight, silver birds of darts dipping and darting among them, and the orange and gold blooms of light reflect and are tossed and scattered across the dark and turbulent waves.
It’s beautiful.
Deadly, and terrifying, but beautiful.
A tower explodes, and the blast of silver shards radiate outwards, and around the shape of something airborne and invisible. Jennifer’s grip tightens on Rodney’s shoulder, her fingers digging in with a fear which he instantly shares.
John…
What they can see, others can see too, and they can only watch the darts as they turn, spitting fire.
And a fireball forms in the sky, coronas outward, a firework throwing golden sparks high into the night, reaching upwards to touch the stars and the impassive face of the moon.
Rodney’s chest tightens, and he can’t breathe. But he somehow, between Jennifer’s support and the railing he’s clutching and his own fading strength, manages to stay standing. And he doesn’t look away, not for one second. To do so would be a betrayal.
He watches, faithfully, as the remains of the golden star fall to the ocean and extinguish. He tries to think, Sheppard’s gone, but his mind won’t accept it.
The flock of deadly birds swoop and turn towards them.
Jennifer’s free hand finds his cold fingers curled over the metal bar, and fasten around them. They’re warm, and he thinks for a moment that he can feel her heartbeat through them, but that’s surely impossible. Her breath is soft against his cheek.
“Happy Birthday,” she whispers, and her voice cracks on the words.
He looks at her in wonderment, with her dress fluttering in the wind, and the firelight and starlight in her eyes and glinting from the tears spilling silently down her cheeks, and thinks that she’s never looked more beautiful. He opens his mouth to tell her so, but she lifts her fingers and holds them against his lips for a moment, to stop him.
She smiles, and this is her last smile, and it’s only for him.
“Make a wish,” she tells him, and he does.