All standard disclaimers regarding show ownership apply. All standard disclaimers regarding posting of first fic apply, but I am blaming it on the Sangria...
Flesh and Blood
There was a time when the cockpit of the 302 was a happy place for him. A chance to break barriers and boundaries, an opportunity to achieve more than he had ever even imagined. Yet now, he was beginning to equate the cockpit with a serious headache and a bone marrow cold. The last time he had drifted off, he had been surrounded by such sheer white, it was almost blue, reminding him of hiding in his grandma's laundry basket when she washed the sheets. This time, he slowly opened his eyes and still there was darkness. He panicked. Warmth ran down his face so he knew there was blood, but Mary and Joseph, the force of the shock wave had blinded him. No, no…there it was. The slight glow of a star filtered in, outlining the familiar controls.
Starlight, Starbright, first star I see tonight.
Had they been to that star system?
He knew pain; he knew the muscle twisting fear that came with the realization that you had no control over your movements anymore. Deep breath in…toes are there. Fingers too. Thank god. Deep breath out. Neck still moved…shit…not that fast. The cockpit spun and he hadn't even done anything yet. Bile rose up and he swallowed it down. Had it only been seconds since he woke up?
Why had he woken up? He knew there was a reason. He wanted to sleep, not wake up alone and drifting. If he was going to die out here, he wanted to do it in the midst of dreams of tequila, sand, and girls gone wild live.
He deserved that much after been jettisoned from an exploding spaceship flown by the Russians. He was so gonna blame the Russians.
Shit, Jackson, Daniel had been on that exploding ship flown by the Russians. Sam was gonna kill him.
Sam.
I wish I may, I wish I might.
The faint chirping of her distress call came through again. That was why he had woken up. Time to move, time to fly, time to get Sam. Tell her Jackson was still on the Russian flown ship…he thinks. Damn it, they still drove cardboard cars, why were they given an inter-galactic battleship?
A hand rubbed the blood from his face as the other fired up the 302. Gently steering it towards the Odyssey, glancing at his teammate who was really just plankton in the grand ocean of space. He felt a moment of kinship with Ulysses but damn if a field of poppies didn't sound more appealing than THIS.
Time to move, time to fly, time to get Sam. Teal'c was gonna kill him.
There was a time when the cockpit of a 302 was a happy place for him.