Fic: The One-Eyed Undertaker", SGA fic, John/Rodney, pg13
Title: The One-Eyed Undertaker
Fandom/pairing: SGA, John/Rodney
Rating/ Word count: PG13, 1500 words
Warning: THIS IS NOT A HAPPY FIC. For more warning:
Spoiler for fic! Select by mouse to read:
death of a major character
Note: This has been nagging at me for months, I had to write it. Used for cliche_bingo . A big thank you to siluria for the beta ♥
Summary: "You know I have to," John said, and he was convinced of it, right down to the marrow of his bones.
The One-Eyed Undertaker
When he lifted his forehead from Teyla's, John felt a bit calmer. Funny how she always managed that, as if she'd slip him some composure by osmosis. She was crying, now, and John swiped the tears away with his thumbs, then kissed her forehead.
"You know I have to," John said, and he was convinced of it, right down to the marrow of his bones.
"John..." she said but he put a finger on her lips, silencing her.
His decision was made, he wouldn't change it.
"Take care of 'em for me, okay?" he said. "Don't let them do anything stupid."
He knew Teyla, was certain that she wanted to call him on his own stupidity right now but she didn't disappoint John and nodded.
"I will," she said, resolute even if her voice was strained.
With a last touch to her shoulder, John got up and walked over to Ronon's prone form, tied as tightly as Teyla but slumped in the dirt, unconscious. John checked his pulse, reassured to feel it strong, then Ronon's hands and they weren't cold, so the blood circulation was probably okay. It was something, at least. The big guy had put up a hell of a fight, and it had taken six men trying to take him down before someone had stunned Ronon with his own blaster.
"You did all you could, buddy," John said, repositioning Ronon's head so that when he'd wake up, he wouldn’t have a cramp in the neck.
Ronon didn't even twitch, totally out of it. He looked so young, features lax in fake sleep; just a kid who had a too rough life. With a final pat to Ronon chest, John got up again. It was now time for the hardest part of this, so John took a deep breath and turned to Rodney.
Tied up but on his knees, like Teyla, Rodney had been gagged on top. He was flushed and terrified, making inarticulate sounds around the cloth in his mouth; a Rodney without words was so unnatural that John thought about taking the gag off. Technically he could have, he was pretty sure, but on the other hand he didn't really want to hear Rodney right now.
Yes, John was giving his life away, but it was worth it. He was doing it for his Team, and frankly it was the way he wanted to go, if it had to come to that. It was John's responsibility to get them out of this. No amount of pleading or insults would change his mind and John didn't want to fight, not in the last moments like this. Not with Rodney.
He had to say goodbye, though, so John knelt before Rodney and wrapped him in a tight hug. John let himself put his face in Rodney's neck as he hung on, breathing him in, even if it meant the smell of sweat and fear. The inarticulate cries turned into sobs that racked Rodney's frame and John had to cling to his control so he didn't break to pieces. He let go, pulled back, and brushed his face with the back of his hand, taking away his own tears.
"I'm sorry, Rodney, I'm so sorry," he said, voice tight and wrecked, surprised the words even found a way out of his chest. He knew he should leave it at that, but he could not resist and kissed Rodney's forehead, then his eyelids, tasting the salt of his tears. John was slipping, showing too much, making it harder for Rodney in the long run but he needed this. "I'm sorry I never acted on it, but I love you."
Rodney's eyes screwed shut and he doubled over at that and keened, as if he had been kicked in the gut. When he opened them again, his eyes were pleading, showing so much. John knew without a doubt that he was loved back; he took a moment to mourn what would never be.
There was not much he could do to alleviate his friends' pain, but he could at least spare them the sight of his death. He looked over his shoulder to the grim-faced leader of this world, Drish, who was watching them solemnly.
"I'll turn him around, now. No one does anything stupid."
After he got the nodded consent to proceed and was certain none of the twenty or so warriors would take the excuse to shoot, John gently pushed on Rodney's shoulder, pulling on the other, urging him to turn. Not surprisingly, he was met with resistance and now Rodney looked furious.
"C'mon, Rodney, you don't need to see this."
Rodney nodded vehemently, eyes shooting daggers. John understood, he would have wanted to watch, too, every single second he could even if it would rip his heart right out. But John wished to protect Rodney, but most of all he was selfish. If he cracked, and it was a possibility, he didn't want Rodney to see it happen.
"Please. For me."
It took the fight right out of Rodney and after that he let John manhandle him until he was facing the other way, towards the lake and the sort of ducks that swam over there. It was an eerily pretty place to die, John thought. Once John was satisfied with Rodney's position he bent his neck and rested his forehead on a wide shoulder for a couple of breaths, pained to hear how labored Rodney's own respiration was, as if fighting not to lose it again for John's sake.
"Don't hate me too much," John whispered. Rodney shook his head firmly and it was a small comfort.
When he could not stall anymore, John got up and saw that Teyla, bless her, was already almost turned away too. He mouthed "thank you" and she nodded back, getting in position and closing her eyes.
John walked to the leader and stopped before him at parade rest.
"Can I choose my death?"
The man frowned.
"I'm not trying to get out of this, but I don't want to be shot like a dog," John said.
"It would be painless and over quickly, I assure you," Drish said.
John had a humorless smile.
"Sure. But..." He pointed to the Stargate with his chin. "I'd prefer the energy of the Ring of the Ancestors, when it opens. Standing real close."
If there was something everyone with a Stargate knew, it was that the swoosh killed. It was not a ploy to escape, and it made Drish frown, confused.
"There will be nothing left for your friends to bury."
John nodded.
"Exactly. I don't want them to see me dead. It's enough that it has to happen."
"You are a strange but honorable man. I respect that," Drish said after examining him for a minute.
John almost pleaded, then, wanted to beg Drish to let them all go, him included. But the Terolians were unmovable in their beliefs and someone in their group had to die so the others could live, as simple as that. They would never agree to anything else and trying to get out of it would get someone else killed on top.
"I accept your request. Your sacrifice will be known, John Sheppard," Drish said with a little bow.
John inclined his head slightly.
"I have your word that my people will be freed, unharmed, as soon as it's done and allowed to go?"
"My word is sacred," Drish said, with a hand over his heart. John believed him.
"Fine, then. Let's get this over with," John said, walking to the gate and stepping on the platform. Once near the ring, he turned to Drish again. "Would you allow me to pray to my god for a moment?"
"Of course," he nodded, face solemn. It was a last request that didn't cost him anything, and the Terolians were an honorable people, even if unforgiving.
John slowly lowered himself to his knees, facing the gate, well into the swoosh radius where he'd be sure to be killed on impact and not just horribly injured. Sitting on his haunches, head bowed, John closed his eyes and breathed deeply. So this was it, his last minutes alive. He'd always thought he'd be killed in action, to be honest. He'd always known he'd die relatively young, though.
John focused on getting as calm as he could, slowing his breathing and his heartbeat, freeing his head of every fear and every regret to focus on the good things in his life. Flying, friendship, love, Atlantis: John twisted them all together, a series of images like a mantra running over and over and over again in his head, drowning even the sound of the chevrons engaging on the Stargate.
Maybe, just maybe, he could pull off the ultimate Hail Mary.
Everything went blue.
The End
Note: I had a square on my cliche_bingo card for character death, so blame them ;) This fic nagged me for months, I had to get it out. I'm sorry. I really am. The ending is open so you can make of it what you want, maybe John was able to ascend, maybe not. There is no plan of writing more of this, but who knows.
Further note: Title from the song "Shelter From the Storm" by Bob Dylan
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
Fandom/pairing: SGA, John/Rodney
Rating/ Word count: PG13, 1500 words
Warning: THIS IS NOT A HAPPY FIC. For more warning:
Spoiler for fic! Select by mouse to read:
death of a major character
Note: This has been nagging at me for months, I had to write it. Used for cliche_bingo . A big thank you to siluria for the beta ♥
Summary: "You know I have to," John said, and he was convinced of it, right down to the marrow of his bones.
The One-Eyed Undertaker
When he lifted his forehead from Teyla's, John felt a bit calmer. Funny how she always managed that, as if she'd slip him some composure by osmosis. She was crying, now, and John swiped the tears away with his thumbs, then kissed her forehead.
"You know I have to," John said, and he was convinced of it, right down to the marrow of his bones.
"John..." she said but he put a finger on her lips, silencing her.
His decision was made, he wouldn't change it.
"Take care of 'em for me, okay?" he said. "Don't let them do anything stupid."
He knew Teyla, was certain that she wanted to call him on his own stupidity right now but she didn't disappoint John and nodded.
"I will," she said, resolute even if her voice was strained.
With a last touch to her shoulder, John got up and walked over to Ronon's prone form, tied as tightly as Teyla but slumped in the dirt, unconscious. John checked his pulse, reassured to feel it strong, then Ronon's hands and they weren't cold, so the blood circulation was probably okay. It was something, at least. The big guy had put up a hell of a fight, and it had taken six men trying to take him down before someone had stunned Ronon with his own blaster.
"You did all you could, buddy," John said, repositioning Ronon's head so that when he'd wake up, he wouldn’t have a cramp in the neck.
Ronon didn't even twitch, totally out of it. He looked so young, features lax in fake sleep; just a kid who had a too rough life. With a final pat to Ronon chest, John got up again. It was now time for the hardest part of this, so John took a deep breath and turned to Rodney.
Tied up but on his knees, like Teyla, Rodney had been gagged on top. He was flushed and terrified, making inarticulate sounds around the cloth in his mouth; a Rodney without words was so unnatural that John thought about taking the gag off. Technically he could have, he was pretty sure, but on the other hand he didn't really want to hear Rodney right now.
Yes, John was giving his life away, but it was worth it. He was doing it for his Team, and frankly it was the way he wanted to go, if it had to come to that. It was John's responsibility to get them out of this. No amount of pleading or insults would change his mind and John didn't want to fight, not in the last moments like this. Not with Rodney.
He had to say goodbye, though, so John knelt before Rodney and wrapped him in a tight hug. John let himself put his face in Rodney's neck as he hung on, breathing him in, even if it meant the smell of sweat and fear. The inarticulate cries turned into sobs that racked Rodney's frame and John had to cling to his control so he didn't break to pieces. He let go, pulled back, and brushed his face with the back of his hand, taking away his own tears.
"I'm sorry, Rodney, I'm so sorry," he said, voice tight and wrecked, surprised the words even found a way out of his chest. He knew he should leave it at that, but he could not resist and kissed Rodney's forehead, then his eyelids, tasting the salt of his tears. John was slipping, showing too much, making it harder for Rodney in the long run but he needed this. "I'm sorry I never acted on it, but I love you."
Rodney's eyes screwed shut and he doubled over at that and keened, as if he had been kicked in the gut. When he opened them again, his eyes were pleading, showing so much. John knew without a doubt that he was loved back; he took a moment to mourn what would never be.
There was not much he could do to alleviate his friends' pain, but he could at least spare them the sight of his death. He looked over his shoulder to the grim-faced leader of this world, Drish, who was watching them solemnly.
"I'll turn him around, now. No one does anything stupid."
After he got the nodded consent to proceed and was certain none of the twenty or so warriors would take the excuse to shoot, John gently pushed on Rodney's shoulder, pulling on the other, urging him to turn. Not surprisingly, he was met with resistance and now Rodney looked furious.
"C'mon, Rodney, you don't need to see this."
Rodney nodded vehemently, eyes shooting daggers. John understood, he would have wanted to watch, too, every single second he could even if it would rip his heart right out. But John wished to protect Rodney, but most of all he was selfish. If he cracked, and it was a possibility, he didn't want Rodney to see it happen.
"Please. For me."
It took the fight right out of Rodney and after that he let John manhandle him until he was facing the other way, towards the lake and the sort of ducks that swam over there. It was an eerily pretty place to die, John thought. Once John was satisfied with Rodney's position he bent his neck and rested his forehead on a wide shoulder for a couple of breaths, pained to hear how labored Rodney's own respiration was, as if fighting not to lose it again for John's sake.
"Don't hate me too much," John whispered. Rodney shook his head firmly and it was a small comfort.
When he could not stall anymore, John got up and saw that Teyla, bless her, was already almost turned away too. He mouthed "thank you" and she nodded back, getting in position and closing her eyes.
John walked to the leader and stopped before him at parade rest.
"Can I choose my death?"
The man frowned.
"I'm not trying to get out of this, but I don't want to be shot like a dog," John said.
"It would be painless and over quickly, I assure you," Drish said.
John had a humorless smile.
"Sure. But..." He pointed to the Stargate with his chin. "I'd prefer the energy of the Ring of the Ancestors, when it opens. Standing real close."
If there was something everyone with a Stargate knew, it was that the swoosh killed. It was not a ploy to escape, and it made Drish frown, confused.
"There will be nothing left for your friends to bury."
John nodded.
"Exactly. I don't want them to see me dead. It's enough that it has to happen."
"You are a strange but honorable man. I respect that," Drish said after examining him for a minute.
John almost pleaded, then, wanted to beg Drish to let them all go, him included. But the Terolians were unmovable in their beliefs and someone in their group had to die so the others could live, as simple as that. They would never agree to anything else and trying to get out of it would get someone else killed on top.
"I accept your request. Your sacrifice will be known, John Sheppard," Drish said with a little bow.
John inclined his head slightly.
"I have your word that my people will be freed, unharmed, as soon as it's done and allowed to go?"
"My word is sacred," Drish said, with a hand over his heart. John believed him.
"Fine, then. Let's get this over with," John said, walking to the gate and stepping on the platform. Once near the ring, he turned to Drish again. "Would you allow me to pray to my god for a moment?"
"Of course," he nodded, face solemn. It was a last request that didn't cost him anything, and the Terolians were an honorable people, even if unforgiving.
John slowly lowered himself to his knees, facing the gate, well into the swoosh radius where he'd be sure to be killed on impact and not just horribly injured. Sitting on his haunches, head bowed, John closed his eyes and breathed deeply. So this was it, his last minutes alive. He'd always thought he'd be killed in action, to be honest. He'd always known he'd die relatively young, though.
John focused on getting as calm as he could, slowing his breathing and his heartbeat, freeing his head of every fear and every regret to focus on the good things in his life. Flying, friendship, love, Atlantis: John twisted them all together, a series of images like a mantra running over and over and over again in his head, drowning even the sound of the chevrons engaging on the Stargate.
Maybe, just maybe, he could pull off the ultimate Hail Mary.
Everything went blue.
The End
Note: I had a square on my cliche_bingo card for character death, so blame them ;) This fic nagged me for months, I had to get it out. I'm sorry. I really am. The ending is open so you can make of it what you want, maybe John was able to ascend, maybe not. There is no plan of writing more of this, but who knows.
Further note: Title from the song "Shelter From the Storm" by Bob Dylan
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.