DISCLAMIER: I don't own anything, I am making no money. The only thing I'm doing is losing sleep. The song is 'My Worst Fear' by Rascal Flatts,I've been told songfics have been banned, so I took them out. Dont know how I missed that, but thanks for letting me know ;) so you'll just have to look up the lyrics...it's a good song.
I couldn't sleep, I was trying to but then this just started coming to me in bits and pieces so I had to write it down before I forgot, and then I just started writing everything.
Anyway, I'll finish my other story soon, and then start re-doing the other. Finals this week, and then I'm free baby!
I wrote this without describing who is in bed and who the woman is so that all shipperdoms would feel welcome. Sheyla, McWeir, hell Teyla/Ford, Ford/Weir, it can be whoever you want it to be…well, except for Beckett.
Oh well, enjoy!
His eyes opened slightly, unnoticeable to those milling about. The light burned his eyes, sending a wave of pain through his already pounding skull. He closed them again, waiting for the wave to pass, waiting for the light of the living world to become bearable again. He wasn't sure it was something he would ever know.
He felt like he'd been lying there for an eternity, and for all he knew it could have been just that long, but he was reasonably sure it had only been a day or so, maybe three. Head injuries could lead a person down an ever widening, darkened path, with a stop here or there along the way to get one's bearings.
He might not remember everything that happened, but he remembered what he'd heard last night. It was one of those stops along the path, where he became aware of the real world taking shape around him.
flashback
There had been noises, familiar ones; they were they kind of sounds you'd hear in a hospital. The shuffling of papers, the rolling of a cart, the sound of x-rays being snapped into an upright position in mid-air before being placed on a backlit table of some kind. He knew he was in the infirmary, not just because of noises, no, there were voices, one in particular that meant health issues.
That soft, Scottish brogue, it was a sound he didn't mind hearing at all really, given the right circumstances. When he was a child he'd often wished for some kind of suave accent, it was a killer with the ladies.
But the usual playfulness was gone and the voice had been thick with sorrow, laced with pain and regret. He wasn't a dumb man; he could read between the lines, the tone said everything.
I want to help, but I can't.
There's too much damage…it's too late.
He's as good as dead.
The voice would never say that, not to anyone. He could have a sucking chest wound and the owner of the voice would try to tell him he was ok. But he wasn't, and he as well as everyone else, knew that. He could feel it. His life was slipping away, like sand through his fingers. For a brief, misguided second, he wondered if this is what it felt like to be fed on by a Wraith. He came to the conclusion that it had to be very different, this was a mind set. He couldn't really feel himself dying, not yet, but if he thought about…he could imagine the feeling.
There were other voices, ones he knew well, some he didn't, and there might have even been one or to he detested, but they were there for him, to feel sorry for and pity him. One by one, they left until it was just the good doctor and one other, a female. To her he told the truth, not in so many words as he'd imagined, the doctor had it sugar coated the truth. When he'd told her, she'd accepted without contesting, loss was something they all knew well.
She'd stepped to his bed, and not seeing that he was awake, began to speak softly. Her voice was like silk, soft and soothing. If he wasn't careful he was liable to fall back into sleep, back to the dark road, but he wanted to hear what she had to say, and it was a lot.
Some regret for actions and emotions left untouched, words not spoken between the pair. Anger for not being able to help, not being there to stop the catastrophe that had befallen him, like she could have held her arms out like Moses to give them safe passage. Sadness for not knowing him as well as would have been liked, sadness for everything, even the things she couldn't control.
Things like the Wraith, all the problems confronting them, delaying the march toward the Wraith's defeat.
There was sadness over a loss that hadn't happened yet, but couldn't be stopped.
And then, the last sentence to leave her lips floated over him like the warn sunshine, and for a moment he forgot his fate.
"I love you."
Then the reality of his situation had made its self known, he felt like an ice pick had been shoved through his skull; the pain forcing a reaction making his body dig into the bed sending lightning bolts of pain through the rest of him. His head wasn't the only thing injured, his chest, arms, legs, back. He felt like a giant bruise, he was probably bleeding internally, that would be his downfall, bleeding they couldn't stop. He might as well be a hemophiliac.
He was in the worst pain of his life, but he couldn't help but spare a mental laugh. Women were difficult, no doubt. All it took for someone to tell him how they felt was his inevitable death. On the brink of the big sleep, someone decided to say they loved him.
He was going to die; there was no doubt in his mind. Would he be able to say something to this person? Could he let them know how he felt?
He'd had to try. He opened his mouth to speak, and he waited. He could just imagine himself lying there, mouth agape, waiting for word that weren't coming. Not because he didn't know what to say, on the contrary he knew exactly what he wanted to express, but he couldn't. It was like he forgot how to work his vocal cords.
Unable to stop her, he'd watched her walk away. Replaying those three simple words over and over in his head he had drifted back to that path, which seemingly had no end.
end flashback
Now the next morning, he struggled to open his eyes, more determined now to say what he needed to say, because God knew how much time he had left.
Who would take over for him?
What would his teammates do? Would the pick someone knew right off the bat, and continue on? Maybe they'd hold everyone to an unattainable standard and they'd go one as a three person team.
What would they do without him? Who would they turn to, who would give them something to laugh at, or make fun of? How would they get by? Would they miss him?
They'd survive; of course, he had no doubt about that, but what of him? They'd move on, be set back, but keep going and eventually he'd be lost. He'd become a memory aged and forgotten with the passing of time and people. He'd be a name chiseled in metal and hung on a wall. Maybe there would be a picture, maybe not.
But that was something wasn't it? He'd be remembered by those few who took the time to read the names listed on the wall?
None of that mattered; not really, all that mattered was that she knew, that he told her.
He tried to open his eyes again, they were sticky, the crust of sleep holding them together. He opened them, and squinted against the light.
Day four, or five…it wasn't important, what was, was that this was likely to be it. It was his last day. He opened his mouth again, and a horrid, gravely sound emerged, searing his throat in the process. His mouth closed as he tried to accumulate saliva to swallow, to allow him to speak. His body ached, sore for the beating it had taken days before.
The hope he'd had for wetting his throat dissipated, he didn't have any thing to give. He croaked out her name, and it burned for nothing, his voice was nothing more than a whisper and could easily be mistaken for a moan.
Where was she? She should have been there, by his side, all night, waiting for something, anything.
Amidst all his aches and pains he could feel his stomach tighten into knots. He was hurt beyond reason. She said she loved him, a sentiment he returned ten fold, and she wasn't going to be there to see him off. He didn't understand how someone could say that, then not be there at their beloved's death bed.
He remembered what he'd thought last night, about feeling death. He felt it now…the icy cold fingers lacing themselves around his soul, waiting for the most inopportune time to yank it out.
His eyes were burning again, but not from the light, this time from tears. He didn't want to die. No one ever did. What was that saying…don't fear death, fear the unlived life, it was probably spouted off by some spiritualist. He'd lived, yes. He'd done some incredibly amazing things, yes. He'd lived his life, but he had so much more to do, he should have had so much more time. It was unfair.
But on the other hand, he didn't want to linger. He was in pain, and it wasn't going to stop until his eyes closed for good. He was scared to die, and just as scared he'd be stuck in a state of pain should he live.
Which did he fear more was the real question. Was there something after, somewhere he could go and keep an eye on his friends? Maybe he could ascend, hold out for that third option? Not likely, he didn't know where to begin to try and reach another level of existence, and from what he knew of all the rules, he wasn't sure it was somewhere he wanted to be anyway.
Death or pain?
Pain or death?
Neither option appealed to him, and they weren't really options, now were they? He was going to die.
His eyes were drifting closed again, he felt tired and weary. He moved his arms in a feeble attempt to get someone to notice him. He didn't want to die alone, and if she couldn't be there to hold his hand, anyone would do. Luckily someone was nearby and caught the movement, the reached his side in time to see his eyes flutter closed, and hear a low grumble escape his lips. They bent over him, without saying a word they lowered their ear to his lips.
He felt the air above him grow heavy. Someone had come, taken his hand, and without asking, acknowledged that they would hear him. He spoke through the pain, through the darkness, asking this person to deliver a message of love and sadness, and happiness for time well spent.
The pain in his body died down, and he faded back into his place on the path. It had become significantly narrower, and he knew there were no more stops, and it was lighter, like dawn had finally reached the path's edges.
What he saw was more intoxicating than the city he'd left, but it was twice as empty as the city had been when they found it. Maybe one day, when he'd faded to nothing but a name carved in a wall, she'd be there with him, and he could tell her everything he'd meant to.
Yeah, so, it's like 5:30 now, the sun is coming up, thank God it's a 6pm class…R and R please!
