Journal of the Genius's Daughter
Stargate Atlantis
By Teenangel
Summary: The words of a certain scientist's daughter about her life on Atlantis.
Note: This is assuming they're never able to contact Earth. Don't expect a concrete plot or explanations; this is a journal so the character wouldn't assume she'd have to put in the duh stuff. Being that I am not a doctor or a medical persons or a mechanic some things may be incorrect, forgive me.
I only mention the year once, unless it changes.
Disclaimer: Me poor college student using time poorly, me broke ug. Don't sue me, waste of time.
Important: When it came down to this chapter I could think of only one style for it. Unfortunately, It's not uniquely mine, but borrowed from another Atlantis fanfiction I read a couple months ago. I' d love to give them credit, but I can't seem to find the fic again. If you know it, tell me so I can give them credit.
September 14th 14:15
I died this week.
I've died a lot in my lifetime. I can't actually remember the first time. It was when I was a baby and Carson had given me my shots and sent me back home with my parents. Dad nearly had a panic attack. I had turned white and stopped breathing. Apparently, I was allergic to the shot. Another shot later and I was fine, crying up a storm.
I remember the second time I died. I was three, Kar was sharing his snack with me. He gave me a sweet juicy slice of a round pink fruit. I didn't even get a chance to chew before my throat closed up. That's the first time I woke up to Carson's face.
I died again when I was seven and dad wasn't watching me closely in his lab (and no one else was either). I turned something on with my ATA gene (which oddly enough I inherited from my dad--Carson didn't think it would happen with the artificial gene). Electrocution isn't so bad, but I was standing on a chair and you just can't keep your balance after having your lights burned out. I thought I had shattered when I hit the floor. It was the first time I had seen my own blood (cuts and scraps just don't relay the viscosity, volume, and color of true spilt blood).
I died when I was sixteen, the first time I'd worked a consecutive twenty four hours in the lab. I'd run out of power bars nearly twenty hours ago and had never bothered to go to any of the meals. I forgot. I forgot I was hungry, I forgot I had a fast metabolism, I forgot. It feels like losing yourself when you go into a hyperglycemic shock. It feels like you've turned into a ghost and you're body is paper and you're gonna be shred into pieces. But there isn't any pain.
This time there was pain, and I misunderstood it. I forgot to think like Kar and go to Carson. I was busy after all; I had deadlines. Honestly, I thought it was a muscle cramp from sparring with Shemp and being immune to sedatives tends to give me a high threshold for pain. I was working on a dormant system of the city off in the lower east corridor, which has tons of storage, so no one but kids playing hide and seek ever come down here. It was quiet and after having a row with my dad over going on a mission with Shemp's team, it was a welcome retreat.
I didn't except to surface from the "basement" for awhile and brought ten power bars to prove it too myself. (At least I remembered the hyperglycemia this time around and read the ingredients first). I acknowledged the discomfort in my abdomen, but I was so focused on the code on the terminal and the chocolate in my mouth to give it much attention.
I must've been sitting there for over six hours before I made any attempt to get up. The room felt cold and I noticed my shirt sticking to my back. It bothered me and I went to stand, but my right leg buckled and I found myself kneeling on the floor, cringing as a fire flared up my thigh and into my stomach. I sat myself down and tentatively poked my right lower abs--I almost screamed. It was not fucken muscle cramp: it was my appendix.
Congratulations kid, like father like daughter; you've learned how to work yourself to death. And that isn't an exaggeration either. According to the beginning of my discomfort, I'd had the symptoms for nearly a day and was well on my way to having it burst. I couldn't stand, I couldn't crawl, and I'd left my radio in the lab (remembering food was hard enough). Plus, I was running a fever and was beginning to get a little disoriented.
Finally, I resolved to make a lot of noise, hoping Mila or Greg would be around. I shoved the chair into the wall, encouraging a stack of boxes to clatter and crash onto the floor. It was my last bout of energy and five minutes later I found myself simply lying on the cold floor, staring up at the blue opaque ceiling. I'd never died slowly before, I'd always passed out. (Shemp says faint but we'll ignore him). This was too real to shrug off; I couldn't close my eyes and open them to Carson's reassuring smile.
"Death ain't so bad," I muttered to myself, knowingly being pessimistic, but then I felt guilty. Mom would be a wreck if I died; Dad would be destroyed by his own guilt that the last words between us were in anger. And what would the others do without me? How would Beckett feel being the only ghost in the city. Suddenly, I wanted Beckett more than anything. I wanted his baby blue eyes to sooth away the pain, I wanted his voice to sing me to sleep.
My eyes shot open (had I passed out?). I heard a shuffle down the hall and my heart leapt at the opportunity. I forced my self on my left foot (amazing what you can accomplish when you're desperate) and barely hoped two steps before I had to grab the doorway to prevent myself from crashing. I moved my self carefully and leaned against a box in the hall as a shadow came down towards me (the lights our never working in the 'basement'). He almost walked through me; he'd been thinking again.
"Kevin," I whispered using his first name, he came to attention, eyes wide and confused, just in time to catch me as I almost tumbled to my knees. He hoisted me soundlessly into his arms, which is strange for me because I always assert not needing to be helped. I'd never trusted in anyone before, but this time I let my self off the hook and sunk into his soft, strong arms and breathed in his scent of sea salt and Athosian crumb cake, just as the pain disappeared and my mind shutoff.
I died for a complete four minutes.
I was out for nearly three days. And for once I awoke to Kevin's instead of Carson's face. What would I do without a Beckett around to save me? Dad apologized of course (Carson said he did have a panic attack), but ironically I'm off this mission and have to wait for the next one. I'm out of the infirmary tomorrow--Carson's threatening to take my laptop away if I don't stop and sleep.
Author's note: I'm no medical person. I don't know what it feels like to have hyperclycemia or appendicitis. Just take it with a grain of salt, okay.