Hard Enough (1/1)
Title: Hard Enough
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: SGA
Characters: Evan/David/John
Word Count: 985
Rating: PG-13/not as much porn as I thought there would be.
Notes: For clwilson2006. I know, it's not the porn I promised, but I hope it still makes you feel better, dear.
It’s hard for David. It’s hard for him to stand in the Gate room and watch as the wormhole opens, to watch as one of the others strolls through with a P90 and a casual grin in his direction. It’s hard, because that’s their job and that’s what they do, but he can’t go with them, can’t be there if they need him.
He feels, sometimes, like he’s a war widow of sorts, husband away and stuck at home with the houseplants, waiting for bits and scraps of news, holding his breath every time the alarms sound, praying not them not them but not able to hope it's someone else, either.
It’s hard for him this time, especially, because when the teams return there’s a lot of blood and they’re one short when the wormhole closes. David’s eyes scan each face and something in his stomach unclenches when he finds them. He hopes Stevens is okay, wherever he is, not dead or about-to-be or wishing-he-was. But he’s glad, so glad, that it’s not them.
But then there’s shouting and med teams and gurneys, and David shrinks back out of the way, letting the professionals get to work.
He wanders to the greenhouses and repots the same Athyrium vidalii three times before Katie Brown gently takes the trowel from him and pushes him towards the door. She looks like she wants to walk him back to his quarters, too, so David straightens his back and fakes a smile as he walks to the transporters.
His door opens soundlessly and Evan’s there, sitting on the bed, legs crossed, studying his intertwined fingers. He looks up when David enters, and David doesn’t know what his face is giving away, but Evan’s across the room in an instant, strong arms wrapping around David’s taller frame and drawing him down.
“Hey,” Evan says into his ear, and David realizes that his hands are fisted into Evan’s shirt and he’s trembling. His breath is coming in harsh gasps that aren’t quite sobs, and Evan is running his hand up and down David’s back. “David. We’re fine.”
David laughs and coughs, the sounds mixing in his mouth to make a strangled-sounding sob, and he drops his head to Evan’s shoulder. “There was - you were bleeding.”
“No,” Evan murmurs. “Not mine. I’m fine.”
“John,” David says numbly, but Evan’s shaking his head. “Where’s John?”
“He’s fine,” Evan tells him gently. “Filling out some paperwork. He’ll be here soon. David, we’re fine. Really.”
“Stevens,” David asks, or tries to; Evan’s face closes off for a second, and David knows that Stevens is dead, that John’s filing that sort of paperwork, remembers that it’s hard for him here but it’s hard for them there, too.
“Come here,” Evan says gently, walking David backwards until they fall onto the bed, large enough for all three of them. David’s fingers follow the curve of Evan’s jaw as they curl into each other, swooping down across his shoulders, the plane of his chest. Evan’s arms pull him in and they slide closer, pressing into each other until David feels himself stop shaking.
“We’re fine,” Evan tells him again, and David suddenly knows but needs to see, to feel it for himself. Evan doesn’t stop him as his hands pull at the hem of Evan’s shirt; instead, he sits back and pulls it up and off, tossing it to the floor behind him. David’s hands run almost of their own accord across the muscles of his torso, fingers playing across dips and curves he’d know anywhere. He follows his hand with his mouth, tasting skin and sweat, feeling the beat of Evan’s heart with his cheek. He settles his head there, listening to the steady sound, as his fingers curl around Evan’s dogtags.
Evan’s hands haven’t stilled since he put them back around David, rubbing circles into his shoulder, combing through his hair, moving up and down his arms. It’s a constant reassurance - here, fine, okay - and David’s grateful for it. Evan leans his head down and presses a kiss into David’s hair as the door slides open behind them.
David’s twisting in Evan’s arms before the sound of the door stops, but he already knows what he’ll see. Sure enough, John’s striding across the room towards them, already pulling at his clothing. He slides in and moves right up next to David, tucking his face into David’s shoulder and breathing in. One of David’s arms automatically wraps around John’s waist, and as he leans into John he feels Evan move closer in behind him.
“It was bad,” John says quietly. David learned long ago that John’s actually talkative enough, if only for his own catharsis, which is why the rest of the expedition thinks he’s such a closed-off person; John would never burden the rest of them with his own trials. It had taken a long time for him to let it show, even to Evan and David. “It was - God. It was bad.”
“Yeah,” Evan says from behind David. “But we’re here.”
“Stevens,” John says helplessly, and it’s another name John will never forget, another face that will be etched into his memory for the rest of time, and there’s nothing to be done about it except for David to lean forward and press a kiss to John’s lips. It’s not forgiveness but it’s still a benediction, still a point for John to move from, a place for him to begin to heal.
There will be a lot of them tonight, a lot of hands on bodies in comfort, a lot of mouths meeting just to taste, a lot of words said and left unsaid. It’s what they all need, in a way; it’s a reminder, an assurance that the day might have been terrible, but at least it wasn’t them.
David doesn’t let him think not this time, at least. He can’t. It’s already hard enough.
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: SGA
Characters: Evan/David/John
Word Count: 985
Rating: PG-13/not as much porn as I thought there would be.
Notes: For clwilson2006. I know, it's not the porn I promised, but I hope it still makes you feel better, dear.
It’s hard for David. It’s hard for him to stand in the Gate room and watch as the wormhole opens, to watch as one of the others strolls through with a P90 and a casual grin in his direction. It’s hard, because that’s their job and that’s what they do, but he can’t go with them, can’t be there if they need him.
He feels, sometimes, like he’s a war widow of sorts, husband away and stuck at home with the houseplants, waiting for bits and scraps of news, holding his breath every time the alarms sound, praying not them not them but not able to hope it's someone else, either.
It’s hard for him this time, especially, because when the teams return there’s a lot of blood and they’re one short when the wormhole closes. David’s eyes scan each face and something in his stomach unclenches when he finds them. He hopes Stevens is okay, wherever he is, not dead or about-to-be or wishing-he-was. But he’s glad, so glad, that it’s not them.
But then there’s shouting and med teams and gurneys, and David shrinks back out of the way, letting the professionals get to work.
He wanders to the greenhouses and repots the same Athyrium vidalii three times before Katie Brown gently takes the trowel from him and pushes him towards the door. She looks like she wants to walk him back to his quarters, too, so David straightens his back and fakes a smile as he walks to the transporters.
His door opens soundlessly and Evan’s there, sitting on the bed, legs crossed, studying his intertwined fingers. He looks up when David enters, and David doesn’t know what his face is giving away, but Evan’s across the room in an instant, strong arms wrapping around David’s taller frame and drawing him down.
“Hey,” Evan says into his ear, and David realizes that his hands are fisted into Evan’s shirt and he’s trembling. His breath is coming in harsh gasps that aren’t quite sobs, and Evan is running his hand up and down David’s back. “David. We’re fine.”
David laughs and coughs, the sounds mixing in his mouth to make a strangled-sounding sob, and he drops his head to Evan’s shoulder. “There was - you were bleeding.”
“No,” Evan murmurs. “Not mine. I’m fine.”
“John,” David says numbly, but Evan’s shaking his head. “Where’s John?”
“He’s fine,” Evan tells him gently. “Filling out some paperwork. He’ll be here soon. David, we’re fine. Really.”
“Stevens,” David asks, or tries to; Evan’s face closes off for a second, and David knows that Stevens is dead, that John’s filing that sort of paperwork, remembers that it’s hard for him here but it’s hard for them there, too.
“Come here,” Evan says gently, walking David backwards until they fall onto the bed, large enough for all three of them. David’s fingers follow the curve of Evan’s jaw as they curl into each other, swooping down across his shoulders, the plane of his chest. Evan’s arms pull him in and they slide closer, pressing into each other until David feels himself stop shaking.
“We’re fine,” Evan tells him again, and David suddenly knows but needs to see, to feel it for himself. Evan doesn’t stop him as his hands pull at the hem of Evan’s shirt; instead, he sits back and pulls it up and off, tossing it to the floor behind him. David’s hands run almost of their own accord across the muscles of his torso, fingers playing across dips and curves he’d know anywhere. He follows his hand with his mouth, tasting skin and sweat, feeling the beat of Evan’s heart with his cheek. He settles his head there, listening to the steady sound, as his fingers curl around Evan’s dogtags.
Evan’s hands haven’t stilled since he put them back around David, rubbing circles into his shoulder, combing through his hair, moving up and down his arms. It’s a constant reassurance - here, fine, okay - and David’s grateful for it. Evan leans his head down and presses a kiss into David’s hair as the door slides open behind them.
David’s twisting in Evan’s arms before the sound of the door stops, but he already knows what he’ll see. Sure enough, John’s striding across the room towards them, already pulling at his clothing. He slides in and moves right up next to David, tucking his face into David’s shoulder and breathing in. One of David’s arms automatically wraps around John’s waist, and as he leans into John he feels Evan move closer in behind him.
“It was bad,” John says quietly. David learned long ago that John’s actually talkative enough, if only for his own catharsis, which is why the rest of the expedition thinks he’s such a closed-off person; John would never burden the rest of them with his own trials. It had taken a long time for him to let it show, even to Evan and David. “It was - God. It was bad.”
“Yeah,” Evan says from behind David. “But we’re here.”
“Stevens,” John says helplessly, and it’s another name John will never forget, another face that will be etched into his memory for the rest of time, and there’s nothing to be done about it except for David to lean forward and press a kiss to John’s lips. It’s not forgiveness but it’s still a benediction, still a point for John to move from, a place for him to begin to heal.
There will be a lot of them tonight, a lot of hands on bodies in comfort, a lot of mouths meeting just to taste, a lot of words said and left unsaid. It’s what they all need, in a way; it’s a reminder, an assurance that the day might have been terrible, but at least it wasn’t them.
David doesn’t let him think not this time, at least. He can’t. It’s already hard enough.