Mandatory (this includes you) by kodiak bear
Title: Mandatory (this includes you)
Author: kodiak bear
Cat: Gen
Word Count: 1161
Rating: PG13, some language
Warnings: Spoilers for season 5. Set sometime in the weeks after the premiere episode, a couple vague mentions that reference events in Search and Rescue. If you do not want to know anything about Search and Rescue, don't read until you've seen it! Also, this deals with casting changes that have been published news for a while.
Summary:
Mandatory (this includes you)
It was a disaster; there were bodies everywhere, stretchers and medical equipment. The Atlantis gate room looked like a war-torn ruin. Moans and pleas crested over the rushed talking of emergency responders. “Triage, folks,” Keller bit out, shouting to be heard above the din. “DOS gets black-tagged, blue for the imminent dead, yellow for those that can wait and red for immediate care!”
Sparks erupted from a console; nearby augmentees swore and ducked.
“I'm dead,” Rodney groaned. He pressed his hands against his side, the horrible pain from being impaled screwing his face into misery. Red stained his hands.
“You are not dead, Rodney.” Teyla calmly but quickly set a pressure bandage around the object.
“Get it out!” He moved his hands helplessly at the area. “Christ, can't you see it's killing me?”
“I can not remove it, you know that. It would not be safe.” She pressed a firm hand against his shoulder. “Now, lay still, you must not move.”
Rodney whimpered and whispered, “Says the woman not currently impaled...”
Those that weren't injured, scurried from body to body. “Porter,” Keller barked, “add Dex, Ronon, deceased, time of death 0145.”
On another stretcher, Sheppard closed his eyes, trying to avoid Lorne's. His leg felt numb under the major's bruising grip.
“Okay, Colonel, looks like you've got some bleeding there.” Lorne kept one hand on Sheppard's shin; he pressed a thick square of gauze in place, while digging blindly with his other hand for the roll to secure it with. “Don't panic, Sir, I've got it --” he bit his lip as he stretched further, feeling sweat bead across his forehead, god damn air would be damaged, where the fuck is that roll!
An alarm began to bleat angrily.
Self destruct, initiated; countdown commencing in 3...2...1: self destruct in ten minutes.
The soft, feminine voice was meant to soothe, but everyone conscious enough to hear and understand felt their heart rate jump, their adrenaline surge. It was the worst-case scenario and now they had to pray they could not only fix lives, but machines as well.
Keller's eyes widened, her head swiveling to Rodney. She shook her head, momentarily thrown.
He panted through another wave of pain, snarling at Teyla, “Get it out so I can fix it, or we're all dead!”
“I can't,” Teyla snapped. Her hair drooped in her eyes, sticking wetly to the sides of her face.
Sheppard felt the pool of blood blooming under his pant leg; knew the sheer amount lost would be enough to kill him even if someone managed to fix the faulty self destruct, probably damaged from the blast. His pants clung to his leg, wet and warm against his calf. He opened his eyes and looked into Keller's, hovering over him, her face pale and anxious.
Lorne swallowed and pulled the roll from the bag, relieved, finally, crap. He fumbled with his hand, trying to get the material to cooperate, while trying to continue pressure on Sheppard's arterial bleed. If he didn't have this bum leg making it awkward as hell to crouch on the floor...
“Congratulations, Major,” Keller snapped, “your patient has expired. Colonel Sheppard has now lost approximately fifty percent of his blood volume which means he is dead. Colonel, you're our latest casualty.” Her lips thinned, moderately frustrated, and she jerked her head to the side. “Go get a cookie.” She stepped around the stretcher, pulling at her stethoscope. “Porter, add Sheppard, John, deceased 0147!” Then, under her breath, “It'll be a miracle if anyone is still alive.”
Self destruct in nine minutes.
Sheppard sat up, thumping Lorne good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Sorry Lorne, life's a bitch.” He stood, still babying his side, letting the hastily wrapped bandage slip from around his forehead and the one to fall off his leg. He sauntered across the wrecked room, trailing bloody size 10 boot prints, to where Ronon slouched against the wall, wolfing down an oversized oatmeal raisin cookie. He picked out the chocolate double fudge and sighed with the first bite. “Now that is worth dying for. I'm starving.”
Ronon blithely ignored the bloody mess underneath and around his right ear, dripping down onto his neck. “What got you?”
“Bled to death,” Sheppard shrugged, “some flying debris from the explosion cut an artery. Messy stuff.” He gestured at Ronon's face, “you?”
“Blow to the head.” Ronon grinned. “Hurt like hell.”
Self destruct in eight minutes; the voice droned on, like clockwork.
A loud, panicked wail echoed above the bubbling, frenetic voices. Teyla's head jerked up, her eyes narrowing and seeking. She frowned at what she saw and climbed to her knee, patting Rodney on his thigh, “I am sorry, Rodney, my son's hungry.”
Rodney stared at her, incredulous. “I'm dying and you're going to just leave me?”
“I can nurse and monitor your wound at the same time.” She blew air irritability up toward her bangs. “I am quite capable of --”
He swore and scrambled to his feet, grabbing the piece of metal in his side and pulling it out. “No, just...no.” Rodney shuddered. “I do not need to see that.”
Self destruct in seven minutes.
“Rodney, what are you doing?” Keller stomped over, gaping at the piece of metal in Rodney's hand. “You're supposed to be suffering from a penetrating injury! I haven't put you on the casualty list which means you are still participating, now get back down there.” She jerked her head at the stretcher on the ground.
Rodney waved a hand at Teyla. “She was going to nurse on top of me!”
Teyla rolled her eyes. “Beside him.”
“Close enough,” Rodney snapped.
Self destruct in six min- disaster scenario 3-alpha, disengaged; repeat, scenario 3-alpha, disengaged.
Woolsey stepped gingerly down the stairs, picking his way carefully over the staging area. His forehead was wrinkled; the frown, becoming more and more prominent since he'd arrived two weeks ago. Across the room, Sheppard tipped his half-eaten cookie towards him with an innocent grin. Doctor McKay was still arguing with Doctor Keller, waving the metal rod, drenched in artificial blood, and seemingly obvious to the falling quiet as others realized the new commander had descended into the fray.
“Gentlemen, ladies,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. He opened his mouth, but found himself unusually speechless. The dead seemed oddly jubilant at their status; the wounded, uncertain whether to keep groaning or get up. Woolsey tugged at the hem of his jacket and cleared his throat, reminding himself that he'd already began his command with a negative popularity poll. “Perhaps that... could've gone better.”
Author: kodiak bear
Cat: Gen
Word Count: 1161
Rating: PG13, some language
Warnings: Spoilers for season 5. Set sometime in the weeks after the premiere episode, a couple vague mentions that reference events in Search and Rescue. If you do not want to know anything about Search and Rescue, don't read until you've seen it! Also, this deals with casting changes that have been published news for a while.
Summary:
Mandatory (this includes you)
It was a disaster; there were bodies everywhere, stretchers and medical equipment. The Atlantis gate room looked like a war-torn ruin. Moans and pleas crested over the rushed talking of emergency responders. “Triage, folks,” Keller bit out, shouting to be heard above the din. “DOS gets black-tagged, blue for the imminent dead, yellow for those that can wait and red for immediate care!”
Sparks erupted from a console; nearby augmentees swore and ducked.
“I'm dead,” Rodney groaned. He pressed his hands against his side, the horrible pain from being impaled screwing his face into misery. Red stained his hands.
“You are not dead, Rodney.” Teyla calmly but quickly set a pressure bandage around the object.
“Get it out!” He moved his hands helplessly at the area. “Christ, can't you see it's killing me?”
“I can not remove it, you know that. It would not be safe.” She pressed a firm hand against his shoulder. “Now, lay still, you must not move.”
Rodney whimpered and whispered, “Says the woman not currently impaled...”
Those that weren't injured, scurried from body to body. “Porter,” Keller barked, “add Dex, Ronon, deceased, time of death 0145.”
On another stretcher, Sheppard closed his eyes, trying to avoid Lorne's. His leg felt numb under the major's bruising grip.
“Okay, Colonel, looks like you've got some bleeding there.” Lorne kept one hand on Sheppard's shin; he pressed a thick square of gauze in place, while digging blindly with his other hand for the roll to secure it with. “Don't panic, Sir, I've got it --” he bit his lip as he stretched further, feeling sweat bead across his forehead, god damn air would be damaged, where the fuck is that roll!
An alarm began to bleat angrily.
Self destruct, initiated; countdown commencing in 3...2...1: self destruct in ten minutes.
The soft, feminine voice was meant to soothe, but everyone conscious enough to hear and understand felt their heart rate jump, their adrenaline surge. It was the worst-case scenario and now they had to pray they could not only fix lives, but machines as well.
Keller's eyes widened, her head swiveling to Rodney. She shook her head, momentarily thrown.
He panted through another wave of pain, snarling at Teyla, “Get it out so I can fix it, or we're all dead!”
“I can't,” Teyla snapped. Her hair drooped in her eyes, sticking wetly to the sides of her face.
Sheppard felt the pool of blood blooming under his pant leg; knew the sheer amount lost would be enough to kill him even if someone managed to fix the faulty self destruct, probably damaged from the blast. His pants clung to his leg, wet and warm against his calf. He opened his eyes and looked into Keller's, hovering over him, her face pale and anxious.
Lorne swallowed and pulled the roll from the bag, relieved, finally, crap. He fumbled with his hand, trying to get the material to cooperate, while trying to continue pressure on Sheppard's arterial bleed. If he didn't have this bum leg making it awkward as hell to crouch on the floor...
“Congratulations, Major,” Keller snapped, “your patient has expired. Colonel Sheppard has now lost approximately fifty percent of his blood volume which means he is dead. Colonel, you're our latest casualty.” Her lips thinned, moderately frustrated, and she jerked her head to the side. “Go get a cookie.” She stepped around the stretcher, pulling at her stethoscope. “Porter, add Sheppard, John, deceased 0147!” Then, under her breath, “It'll be a miracle if anyone is still alive.”
Self destruct in nine minutes.
Sheppard sat up, thumping Lorne good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Sorry Lorne, life's a bitch.” He stood, still babying his side, letting the hastily wrapped bandage slip from around his forehead and the one to fall off his leg. He sauntered across the wrecked room, trailing bloody size 10 boot prints, to where Ronon slouched against the wall, wolfing down an oversized oatmeal raisin cookie. He picked out the chocolate double fudge and sighed with the first bite. “Now that is worth dying for. I'm starving.”
Ronon blithely ignored the bloody mess underneath and around his right ear, dripping down onto his neck. “What got you?”
“Bled to death,” Sheppard shrugged, “some flying debris from the explosion cut an artery. Messy stuff.” He gestured at Ronon's face, “you?”
“Blow to the head.” Ronon grinned. “Hurt like hell.”
Self destruct in eight minutes; the voice droned on, like clockwork.
A loud, panicked wail echoed above the bubbling, frenetic voices. Teyla's head jerked up, her eyes narrowing and seeking. She frowned at what she saw and climbed to her knee, patting Rodney on his thigh, “I am sorry, Rodney, my son's hungry.”
Rodney stared at her, incredulous. “I'm dying and you're going to just leave me?”
“I can nurse and monitor your wound at the same time.” She blew air irritability up toward her bangs. “I am quite capable of --”
He swore and scrambled to his feet, grabbing the piece of metal in his side and pulling it out. “No, just...no.” Rodney shuddered. “I do not need to see that.”
Self destruct in seven minutes.
“Rodney, what are you doing?” Keller stomped over, gaping at the piece of metal in Rodney's hand. “You're supposed to be suffering from a penetrating injury! I haven't put you on the casualty list which means you are still participating, now get back down there.” She jerked her head at the stretcher on the ground.
Rodney waved a hand at Teyla. “She was going to nurse on top of me!”
Teyla rolled her eyes. “Beside him.”
“Close enough,” Rodney snapped.
Self destruct in six min- disaster scenario 3-alpha, disengaged; repeat, scenario 3-alpha, disengaged.
Woolsey stepped gingerly down the stairs, picking his way carefully over the staging area. His forehead was wrinkled; the frown, becoming more and more prominent since he'd arrived two weeks ago. Across the room, Sheppard tipped his half-eaten cookie towards him with an innocent grin. Doctor McKay was still arguing with Doctor Keller, waving the metal rod, drenched in artificial blood, and seemingly obvious to the falling quiet as others realized the new commander had descended into the fray.
“Gentlemen, ladies,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. He opened his mouth, but found himself unusually speechless. The dead seemed oddly jubilant at their status; the wounded, uncertain whether to keep groaning or get up. Woolsey tugged at the hem of his jacket and cleared his throat, reminding himself that he'd already began his command with a negative popularity poll. “Perhaps that... could've gone better.”