Fic: Out Into the New Horizon (McKay/Sheppard, PG)
Title: Out Into the New Horizon
Author: let_fate_decide
Recipient: mrshamill
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,085
Summary: Somedays John longs for winter on Earth.
Author's Note: I'm terribly sorry, I couldn't resist the angst. I hope it's not too much! Title from the David Gray song 'New Horizons' : "Weight on my shoulders \ But I'm walking so tall \ Out into the new horizon \ Wonder in everything \ No matter how great or small." mrshamill, I hope you like it!
Somedays John longs for winter on Earth. He misses the blinding snow of Antarctica, remembers the freezing nights in the deserts of Afghanistan almost fondly. Winter has always been his favorite season; it was always the time of year where his family acted like a real family, gathering around the Christmas tree as presents were hastily unwrapped. Year after year, he and Dave argued over which tree was the largest and therefore the best out of the lot, fighting until their father made the final decision. He usually picked the one Dave favored. It took John years to realize this, but by then he had already graduated high school and moved out and into his college dorm. John missed that next Christmas; choosing instead to spend the holiday away from home, working on his studies and PTing endlessly. John's damn sure Dave chose the tree that year, too.
But John doesn't miss winter just for Christmas. He never even really believed in the hymns his mother sang along to, as she held onto his hand with her own frail grip, pouring her heart into the words echoing around the church. He knows now that the adoration he felt then wasn't directed toward God, but instead towards her.
He loses a lot of people in the winter months, too. He lost her. In hindsight, those same weeks of her illness and those dragged out months following were the same ones in which he lost his father, too, be it in a different way.
He tries not to think about these things.
But what he does think about is how dear the crunch of fall leaves felt underneath his shoes, even as his tennis shoes turned into standard issue boots, the tips of the long laces trailing in leftover snow drifts. There are no trees on Atlantis, no fallen leaves for the winter air to turn crisp. Winter on Atlantis is artificial, an imitation that will never live up to the real thing. On the coldest of nights, John sometimes finds himself on the balcony overlooking his favorite pier, inhaling the fresh ocean air, chilled to his core. He never notices his muscles shivering uncontrollably, not until they begin to ache and the shocks of pain spur him into motion once more.
These days, Rodney's the one who saves him from the cold, long before he can no longer control the shivers that wrack his body. The balcony door always opens with a soft shush, the crystals quietly pinging as the door slides shut again and Rodney moves behind him, chin resting gently on John's shoulder. His arms circle around until they're comfortably wrapped around John's middle, Rodney's warmth seeping into his. The shivers that travel up and down his body after that aren't due just to the cold.
On this night, they stumble into Rodney's quarters, exhaustion tugging at their limbs. John collapses onto the bed, fussing with his bootlaces with one hand and rubbing at his eyes with his other, trying to ease the headache away. He eventually slides his feet out of his boots, kicking them away from the edge of the bed and sliding beneath the covers. He hides his face in the corner of his elbow, avoiding the light pouring in from the bathroom and waiting for Rodney to climb in beside him.
"Sit up," he hears a minute later, words soft but still his head pounds at the disturbance.
"Can't," John mumbles, voice rough. He tries to shake his head but only ends up wincing. He can feel the bed dip as Rodney sits down, sliding next to John and tugging on his shoulder.
"C'mon, John," he barely hears, the words whispered against his cheek as Rodney lifts his shoulder and slides behind him, letting John rest against his chest. "Here, take this."
He takes the glass of water Rodney's pushing into his hand, accepting the pill set in the palm of his other hand and quickly slipping it between his lips and swallowing the cold, relieving water. He never even bothered to open his eyes, turning his face into Rodney's neck as the other man takes back the glass and sets it down. John can feel the sweat on his forehead, plastering his hair down.
As he falls asleep, the pounding in his head slowly easing into a dull and persistent ache, the previous day rushes through his mind. He inhales and swears he can still smell the gunpowder on his hands, can still hear the pained cries of the lieutenant lying, dying, in his arms, blood flowing down onto the ground, staining the fallen leaves a dull, wet red.
"Tomorrow will be better, John, I promise," are the last words he hears Rodney say, but all he can think is that somedays, John really hates this time of year.
~
The ocean is roaring, waves angrily beating the piers of the city as the wind howls and the clouds moan in the sky above, the storm picking up momentum. Rain starts pouring down as Chuck begins dialing the gate, the sounds of the chevrons muted by the storm that is raging against the city.
Behind him in the jumper stands Ronon, stance looming without even meaning to be, careful gaze eyeing the rain obscuring the windows of the gateroom. John's grip on the controls tightens as lightening strikes close to the tower, his shoulders tensing and that old itch tingling at the base of neck, threatening to climb up into skull again. He twists his neck to the side, once, twice, then forcing his hands to relax. He wipes his left hand on his thigh, drying his palm, lifting it the control once more as Rodney finally seats himself next to John, Teyla right behind him.
"We should be back soon," John says into his mic, adjusting the jumpers controls and staring straight into the blue of the puddle. He shivers as the wormhole ripples. "The forest isn't far from the gate."
"Take your time," Elizabeth says, that sarcastic lilt in her voice, and John smiles at the thought of the smirk most likely tugging at her lips. "I don't want anyone to come home hurt."
"We know, we know," John sighs, and Ronon chuckles behind him, the sound deep and echoing in the small jumper. "This is probably the easiest mission we've ever gotten, Elizabeth. Don't wait up." With that, he urges the jumper forward and into the blue of the wormhole, his hands barely shifting as the momentum of his thoughts activates the Ancient ship, the shift into movement easy.
They emerge on the other side and are greeted by a gentle snowstorm, white obscuring John's vision for a moment before his eyes adjust. The HUD pops up, scrolling information about the conditions that Rodney quickly recites back to him, even though in some way John already realizes it all, adjusting his headings accordingly. He points the jumper's nose southwest, doubling back over the gate, heading towards the dark green fir trees lining the edge valley and the slopes of the mountains.
"You guys ready?" John asks a moment later, turning his head towards his team without taking his eyes off the flightpath.
"We are," Teyla responds, as calm and serene as ever. He lands the jumper on the sturdiest patch of snow-covered ground he sees, slowly letting go of the controls before finally rising from his seat. He wraps his hand around his P90, right index finger sliding up until it rests next to trigger. Ronon has a hand on his gun, fingers twitching as John nods at him and reaches over to press the control for the rear hatch. The ramp eases down, starting with a groan as it pushes against the force of the wind outside. Frigid air rushes through the cabin, making Rodney hands scrample to zip his zipper even tighter up his neck. Ronon leaps out of the jumper first, quickly scouting their surroundings, gun already pulled and aimed ahead, even though the life sign detector in John's hand shows only the four of them.
Teyla moves out next, heading straight for the treeline, Rodney moving quickly by her side, the two of them keeping close for warmth. The wind whips John's hair in front of his eyes, the temperature of the air harsh and effectively numbing the tips of his ears. He moves after the rest of his team at a slow jog, catching up to their quicker paces as he presses the remote, the jumper's hatch closing obediently.
Rodney and Teyla are already fussing over a tree. (Well, Teyla's not, but Rodney most certainly is. Naturally.) The tree's branches extend out into the field, fresh snow covering the pine-like needles. It's young enough to still fit in the jumper, not yet grown to its full height but the branches mature enough to support the weight of decorations. John nods in approval, and tugs Rodney and Teyla backwards and away from the tree. "Go ahead!" John shouts through the howling wind at Ronon, grinning as the man quickly unstraps the ax from his coat and swings at the trunk.
Five more whacks later and the tree groans, topling backwards and landing with a thud. Teyla takes the ax from Ronon and hands him some of the rope in her hands, tossing the other half to John. John moves forward, unwrapping the thick rope and bending down in the snow. He presses the branches towards the trunk and bounds the rope tight. He meets Ronon in the middle of the tree, nodding and counting to three before lifting the top onto his shoulders. "Rodney," he calls, throwing him remote to the jumper before moving forward against the prevailing wind.
The storm has picked up speed, the snow completely obscuring the sky and blurring the horizon, the jumper now a dark shape lingering in the distance. The team breaks into a slow jog, pushing against the elements until they reach the rear hatch, which releases just as Teyla and Rodney reach it, climbing in first before John backs in with the top half of the tree. Before John's even reached his seat, the jumper has powered up, the heating system a gentle hum in the back of his mind.
As soon as the hatch seals itself and Ronon's fallen into his seat, his coat covered in pine needles, John lifts off, the jumper shuddering beneath his hands as it surges against the winter storm. It's impossible to find the gate again with just their eyes, and so John has to rely solely upon the HUD, telling to Rodney to dial as soon as he's looped back around to the front of the gate. He can make out the blue of the activated gate now, and the wind surging against the ship as it slips through the wormhole.
~
On the outside, Atlantis is surrounded by an angry sea, its deep blue waves crashing against the piers with vengeance, the clouds above rumbling with uncontrolled thunder. The rain pouring down changes to pellets of ice, then slowly shifts into a hurried snowfall that gathers on the balconies.
Inside, though, the city is alive. The tree has been propped up in the mess hall, Earth-made ornaments hanging alongside those native to Pegasus. Lights hang all about the room, drinks and food tables set up and the vast majority of the city's population gathered together. The celebration may come from Earth, but the holiday here, in Pegasus, means something entirely different.
Christmas in Pegasus means another winter has arrived. Christmas and the winter months of Pegasus mean another year has been fought for and survived. The holiday means something new, something different to this group of people that come from all stems of life; it means remembrance of the year that has come and gone, including all the hardships but also all the good things that year brought. People are lost and teams are torn apart, but even so, there's always a little bit of good left in the world to balance it out.
Sitting at one of the back tables with his team, his family, surrounding him, John grins softly as Rodney reaches for his hand underneath the table. "Merry Christmas, John," Rodney says, smile gently stretching his features, blue eyes shining in the merry lights hanging from above.
John can only keeping grinning, unashamedly bashful, and squeezes Rodney's hand even tighter. Yeah, he thinks, maybe this time of the year isn't so bad.
Author: let_fate_decide
Recipient: mrshamill
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,085
Summary: Somedays John longs for winter on Earth.
Author's Note: I'm terribly sorry, I couldn't resist the angst. I hope it's not too much! Title from the David Gray song 'New Horizons' : "Weight on my shoulders \ But I'm walking so tall \ Out into the new horizon \ Wonder in everything \ No matter how great or small." mrshamill, I hope you like it!
Somedays John longs for winter on Earth. He misses the blinding snow of Antarctica, remembers the freezing nights in the deserts of Afghanistan almost fondly. Winter has always been his favorite season; it was always the time of year where his family acted like a real family, gathering around the Christmas tree as presents were hastily unwrapped. Year after year, he and Dave argued over which tree was the largest and therefore the best out of the lot, fighting until their father made the final decision. He usually picked the one Dave favored. It took John years to realize this, but by then he had already graduated high school and moved out and into his college dorm. John missed that next Christmas; choosing instead to spend the holiday away from home, working on his studies and PTing endlessly. John's damn sure Dave chose the tree that year, too.
But John doesn't miss winter just for Christmas. He never even really believed in the hymns his mother sang along to, as she held onto his hand with her own frail grip, pouring her heart into the words echoing around the church. He knows now that the adoration he felt then wasn't directed toward God, but instead towards her.
He loses a lot of people in the winter months, too. He lost her. In hindsight, those same weeks of her illness and those dragged out months following were the same ones in which he lost his father, too, be it in a different way.
He tries not to think about these things.
But what he does think about is how dear the crunch of fall leaves felt underneath his shoes, even as his tennis shoes turned into standard issue boots, the tips of the long laces trailing in leftover snow drifts. There are no trees on Atlantis, no fallen leaves for the winter air to turn crisp. Winter on Atlantis is artificial, an imitation that will never live up to the real thing. On the coldest of nights, John sometimes finds himself on the balcony overlooking his favorite pier, inhaling the fresh ocean air, chilled to his core. He never notices his muscles shivering uncontrollably, not until they begin to ache and the shocks of pain spur him into motion once more.
These days, Rodney's the one who saves him from the cold, long before he can no longer control the shivers that wrack his body. The balcony door always opens with a soft shush, the crystals quietly pinging as the door slides shut again and Rodney moves behind him, chin resting gently on John's shoulder. His arms circle around until they're comfortably wrapped around John's middle, Rodney's warmth seeping into his. The shivers that travel up and down his body after that aren't due just to the cold.
On this night, they stumble into Rodney's quarters, exhaustion tugging at their limbs. John collapses onto the bed, fussing with his bootlaces with one hand and rubbing at his eyes with his other, trying to ease the headache away. He eventually slides his feet out of his boots, kicking them away from the edge of the bed and sliding beneath the covers. He hides his face in the corner of his elbow, avoiding the light pouring in from the bathroom and waiting for Rodney to climb in beside him.
"Sit up," he hears a minute later, words soft but still his head pounds at the disturbance.
"Can't," John mumbles, voice rough. He tries to shake his head but only ends up wincing. He can feel the bed dip as Rodney sits down, sliding next to John and tugging on his shoulder.
"C'mon, John," he barely hears, the words whispered against his cheek as Rodney lifts his shoulder and slides behind him, letting John rest against his chest. "Here, take this."
He takes the glass of water Rodney's pushing into his hand, accepting the pill set in the palm of his other hand and quickly slipping it between his lips and swallowing the cold, relieving water. He never even bothered to open his eyes, turning his face into Rodney's neck as the other man takes back the glass and sets it down. John can feel the sweat on his forehead, plastering his hair down.
As he falls asleep, the pounding in his head slowly easing into a dull and persistent ache, the previous day rushes through his mind. He inhales and swears he can still smell the gunpowder on his hands, can still hear the pained cries of the lieutenant lying, dying, in his arms, blood flowing down onto the ground, staining the fallen leaves a dull, wet red.
"Tomorrow will be better, John, I promise," are the last words he hears Rodney say, but all he can think is that somedays, John really hates this time of year.
~
The ocean is roaring, waves angrily beating the piers of the city as the wind howls and the clouds moan in the sky above, the storm picking up momentum. Rain starts pouring down as Chuck begins dialing the gate, the sounds of the chevrons muted by the storm that is raging against the city.
Behind him in the jumper stands Ronon, stance looming without even meaning to be, careful gaze eyeing the rain obscuring the windows of the gateroom. John's grip on the controls tightens as lightening strikes close to the tower, his shoulders tensing and that old itch tingling at the base of neck, threatening to climb up into skull again. He twists his neck to the side, once, twice, then forcing his hands to relax. He wipes his left hand on his thigh, drying his palm, lifting it the control once more as Rodney finally seats himself next to John, Teyla right behind him.
"We should be back soon," John says into his mic, adjusting the jumpers controls and staring straight into the blue of the puddle. He shivers as the wormhole ripples. "The forest isn't far from the gate."
"Take your time," Elizabeth says, that sarcastic lilt in her voice, and John smiles at the thought of the smirk most likely tugging at her lips. "I don't want anyone to come home hurt."
"We know, we know," John sighs, and Ronon chuckles behind him, the sound deep and echoing in the small jumper. "This is probably the easiest mission we've ever gotten, Elizabeth. Don't wait up." With that, he urges the jumper forward and into the blue of the wormhole, his hands barely shifting as the momentum of his thoughts activates the Ancient ship, the shift into movement easy.
They emerge on the other side and are greeted by a gentle snowstorm, white obscuring John's vision for a moment before his eyes adjust. The HUD pops up, scrolling information about the conditions that Rodney quickly recites back to him, even though in some way John already realizes it all, adjusting his headings accordingly. He points the jumper's nose southwest, doubling back over the gate, heading towards the dark green fir trees lining the edge valley and the slopes of the mountains.
"You guys ready?" John asks a moment later, turning his head towards his team without taking his eyes off the flightpath.
"We are," Teyla responds, as calm and serene as ever. He lands the jumper on the sturdiest patch of snow-covered ground he sees, slowly letting go of the controls before finally rising from his seat. He wraps his hand around his P90, right index finger sliding up until it rests next to trigger. Ronon has a hand on his gun, fingers twitching as John nods at him and reaches over to press the control for the rear hatch. The ramp eases down, starting with a groan as it pushes against the force of the wind outside. Frigid air rushes through the cabin, making Rodney hands scrample to zip his zipper even tighter up his neck. Ronon leaps out of the jumper first, quickly scouting their surroundings, gun already pulled and aimed ahead, even though the life sign detector in John's hand shows only the four of them.
Teyla moves out next, heading straight for the treeline, Rodney moving quickly by her side, the two of them keeping close for warmth. The wind whips John's hair in front of his eyes, the temperature of the air harsh and effectively numbing the tips of his ears. He moves after the rest of his team at a slow jog, catching up to their quicker paces as he presses the remote, the jumper's hatch closing obediently.
Rodney and Teyla are already fussing over a tree. (Well, Teyla's not, but Rodney most certainly is. Naturally.) The tree's branches extend out into the field, fresh snow covering the pine-like needles. It's young enough to still fit in the jumper, not yet grown to its full height but the branches mature enough to support the weight of decorations. John nods in approval, and tugs Rodney and Teyla backwards and away from the tree. "Go ahead!" John shouts through the howling wind at Ronon, grinning as the man quickly unstraps the ax from his coat and swings at the trunk.
Five more whacks later and the tree groans, topling backwards and landing with a thud. Teyla takes the ax from Ronon and hands him some of the rope in her hands, tossing the other half to John. John moves forward, unwrapping the thick rope and bending down in the snow. He presses the branches towards the trunk and bounds the rope tight. He meets Ronon in the middle of the tree, nodding and counting to three before lifting the top onto his shoulders. "Rodney," he calls, throwing him remote to the jumper before moving forward against the prevailing wind.
The storm has picked up speed, the snow completely obscuring the sky and blurring the horizon, the jumper now a dark shape lingering in the distance. The team breaks into a slow jog, pushing against the elements until they reach the rear hatch, which releases just as Teyla and Rodney reach it, climbing in first before John backs in with the top half of the tree. Before John's even reached his seat, the jumper has powered up, the heating system a gentle hum in the back of his mind.
As soon as the hatch seals itself and Ronon's fallen into his seat, his coat covered in pine needles, John lifts off, the jumper shuddering beneath his hands as it surges against the winter storm. It's impossible to find the gate again with just their eyes, and so John has to rely solely upon the HUD, telling to Rodney to dial as soon as he's looped back around to the front of the gate. He can make out the blue of the activated gate now, and the wind surging against the ship as it slips through the wormhole.
~
On the outside, Atlantis is surrounded by an angry sea, its deep blue waves crashing against the piers with vengeance, the clouds above rumbling with uncontrolled thunder. The rain pouring down changes to pellets of ice, then slowly shifts into a hurried snowfall that gathers on the balconies.
Inside, though, the city is alive. The tree has been propped up in the mess hall, Earth-made ornaments hanging alongside those native to Pegasus. Lights hang all about the room, drinks and food tables set up and the vast majority of the city's population gathered together. The celebration may come from Earth, but the holiday here, in Pegasus, means something entirely different.
Christmas in Pegasus means another winter has arrived. Christmas and the winter months of Pegasus mean another year has been fought for and survived. The holiday means something new, something different to this group of people that come from all stems of life; it means remembrance of the year that has come and gone, including all the hardships but also all the good things that year brought. People are lost and teams are torn apart, but even so, there's always a little bit of good left in the world to balance it out.
Sitting at one of the back tables with his team, his family, surrounding him, John grins softly as Rodney reaches for his hand underneath the table. "Merry Christmas, John," Rodney says, smile gently stretching his features, blue eyes shining in the merry lights hanging from above.
John can only keeping grinning, unashamedly bashful, and squeezes Rodney's hand even tighter. Yeah, he thinks, maybe this time of the year isn't so bad.