Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.
Warnings: This story is a Parrish/Lorne. Thus this fiction will contain allusions to a pre-slash relationship. This fiction also contains adult language and adult situations.
Author's note #1: This is a horrendously late response to a prompt for the Thing-a-Thon on the LJ community: Parrish_Lorne. The prompt goes as follows: "Lorne/Parrish - Parrish is a vampire."
Before the Blood Dries
Chapter Two
The implications of the man's presence were almost incomprehensible. And for a long second his brain simply refused to internalize it. - Because Evan couldn't be here… Not now. Not like this. He'd see.. - He'd see everything…
And as he laid there, spread-eagled and helpless underneath the branches of a remarkably ordinary looking Acertataricum. Sluggish eyes tracking the sunlight as it shone through the gaps of those wide, maple-like leaves. Bathing the thin, translucent membranes in that iconic, warm green glow that he knew better then most people did their own heart beat. - He realized that maybe this time; it really was all over…
Because despite over a hundred and fifteen years of near misses and close calls, he could think of no way he was going to get out of this without Lorne knowing. In fact, that was the best case scenario. - And the best case scenario, he was sure, involved at the very least, losing everything.
…Lorne's trust, friendship, that easy going camaraderie that had lately begun leaning towards an awkward, but growingly oblivious flirtation. His job. Atlantis. - Hell, maybe even his life. - That was what he was going to lose. And all because of some freak chance in a million that he would get blind sided by a load of shrapnel in a fire fight.
Figures, really… He never did seem to have any luck in the field. It was always dead wraith, mind altering pollen, angry natives, or the occasional overly affectionate herd of those carnivorous cow-giraffe-like things from RTX-94E. Apparently Dobson had been right after all. Maybe he should have just cut his losses and let Katie start going off world.
But of course he hadn't. Because he was a stupid, love struck fool that hoarded both his time off world and his time spent alone with the other man like a stock broker does gold shares during a recession. And he'd delighted in every single moment of it. - In every coaxed smile and unguarded laugh. In every lingering conversation spent over lunch, disastrous fire arms lesson at the range, or half an hour training session in the gym. Good, bad, or ugly he'd taken them all. ..Wanted them all. - And now he was going to pay for it.
…Stupid really. He never should have let himself get so close. He'd known the risks. He'd know what even the smallest slip would mean…
- But the thing was that when it had all come down to it, he hadn't even hesitated. Not once.
They had been cut off from both the gate and the rest of their team when a whole company of Wraith, likely fifteen strong had come marching through the event horizon. - It had been bad. Really bad. The kind of bad that generally involved things like city wide alerts and McKay shutting his trap for more the five seconds at a time. The kind of bad that most Scientists could only ever gossip about after hours, safe in the mess hall with full bellies and nice air conditioned rooms. The kind of bad that means empty work stations and packing crates that slowly stack up outside of previously occupied rooms. - The kind of bad where the word 'FUBAR' just doesn't seem to do the situation justice…
There had been far too many to fight. It had happened too suddenly and being cut off from one another they were far too vulnerable. It hadn't taken long for Lorne to call a strategic, scattered retreat. Ordering the others to circle back around to the gate and dial back to Atlantis as able. They had been the farthest a field when it'd happened, heading out towards the farthest mapped quadrant to collect samples and thus they were the last group to make their way back.
Everything had gone off seamlessly, with Reed and Coplin, then Burnett and Sampson all slipping through the gate undetected, under orders to inform command to stand down. With Lorne deciding to vie for secrecy rather then confrontation when it seemed as though the Wraith were no more aware of their presence than the planets abundant flora and fauna based Eco-system.
– …Or at least they had been until the Wraith had caught up with them that is…
He'd lost count of how many rounds he'd fired, using his superior vision and reflexes to subtly alter his shots. Taking down nearly as many as Lorne with his side arm as the Marine unloaded his P-90 into the encroaching mob. – …Let it not be said that Marines don't give as good as they get… That's for damn sure.
Lorne had taken out the last two, a drone and the last remaining master with a cluster of explosive grenades and few liberal sprays of gunfire. - …Or so they'd thought anyway. Because just as Lorne had motioned for him to stay put. Advancing out from the rocky outcropping they'd taken over behind, in one last act of merciless defiance, the Wraith had lobbed their remaining egg-shaped charges and set their self destructs to maximum.
The resulting explosion had been so massive that his keen senses had actually felt the first tingling atoms of the shock wave as it rolled through the ground at their feet. Microscopic vibrations that coursed up his legs and into his bones long before the sound could even so much as form.
Realization hit a split second before it happened. His eyes taking in the way the man was whirling on the spot, turning to run back the way he'd came as the high pitched whine of those wailing, self destructs pierced through the heavy, summer air. - The man's face a wrecked canvas of too wide eyes and a knowing grimace, squinting into the glare as their eyes met from across the distance.
– He wasn't going to make it. Lorne wasn't going to-…
He hadn't even thought it through. There had been no doubt, no hesitation, or even a single moment of second guessing. Because faster then a blink, he'd hit the Major running. Sending the man catapulting out of the way just in time as the percussive force of the explosion caught him full on, sending him flying backwards, caught in the middle of a hellish whirlwind of shrapnel and debris. – So fast that he hadn't even had a moment to cry out…
But even then, as he'd slammed to the ground with punishing force, chest caught in a vice grip as the scent of raw wood and singed pine sap rose like fire in his senses… - His last conscious thoughts before the blackness overtook him was of the strangled yell that had ripped up from Lorne's throat. Screaming his name into the alien, summer heat long before the rain of debris had stopped falling.
- He was jolted back to reality when blood slick fingers fell across his neck, searching out his pulse as his heart hushed sluggishly. The rhythm sporadic and almost sullen as the vibrations echoed oddly through his ruined rib cage. – Heart still beating despite the odds. Thrumming along as unnaturally as ever despite the fact that his lungs, and perhaps almost every other rather important organ he possessed, had been all but obliterated by the jagged, blood smeared shard of tree trunk that was now embedded where his chest used to be.
His lids shuddered. Flickering open once, then twice, as the familiar curve of the man's face took shape. Because Lorne was still hovering over him, skin speckled with his blood, and hands drenched up to the wrists as he wrapped tensor bandages around the edges of the wound. Securing the chunk of wood as tightly as possible as he tried to stem the worst of the bleeding.
And even then he had to wonder, the thought drifting through his mind in subtle, paper thin whispers. - If he was really just that far gone, or that spite of the blood, he swore that Lorne had never looked more beautiful…
- …Or maybe he was just a pervert. Being what he was, it was rather hard to tell sometimes…
"That's it, look at me. Good… You're doing great." Lorne murmured, eyes flashing panic fueled blue as he ducked his head, avoiding eye contact for a long second as the man visibly fought to maintain his composure.
He really wasn't, but he appreciated the pep talk all the same.
His long fingers curled into the dirt, desperate for something to ground him against the stinging pain and growing hunger as the man pressed against him. All eager skin and thudding heart beats. He could smell him. All of him. The man, the life humming just underneath that lightly tanned skin. …God. He needed to get away, he needed to-
- He coughed convulsively as blood frothed up from what was left of his lungs. The action sending a few errant streams trickling down from his parted lips as he sucked in a breath he really didn't need to take. - Pure habit he supposed.
The man seemed to have about eight hands. Because there were fingers kneading into his scalp, lifting his head to help him breathe, as shaking fingers moved up to slap against his jugular once again. - Because time was doing that silly, jumping thing and Lorne was starting to get that confused little frown between his eyes whenever he went too long without inhaling. …Shit.
Lorne's hands gently lifted his right side, working a torn strip from one of their jackets underneath him as calming murmurs lapsed off into confusing echoes. The pain bringing him back a moment later as the man secured the strip around the wound. He hissed low in this throat as the movement sent pain lancing through him.
- Unable to hold it back as the man grunted an apology from somewhere above him, too busy with the bandages to notice that no normal human throat could ever make such a noise in the first place. It could be explained away of course, as air leaving punctured lungs or the man merely hearing things in the heat of the moment. But that didn't change the fact that it had happened in the first place.
He was losing control. He had to get away..
But it was too late anyway. A human would have been dead by now. Dead on impact in fact. - He wondered how long it would take before Lorne forced himself to face that growingly inescapable little tid-bit. The man had to know that even the most fluke, off-kilter chance of actually surviving a wound this grievous could have never gone this far. He should have been dead. Only he wasn't.
- As it was he was already pushing his luck and he knew it.
"Damnit Parrish. Stay with me!" Lorne snarled. Voice pitch heavy and high as he worked feverishly, slicing his shucked jacket into wide swatches with his K-bar in order to make more bandages.
And in spite of it all he nearly laughed at that. The liquidly chuckle getting caught somewhere deep in his throat as his lungs rebelled halfway through. - Because ironically, he really wasn't going anywhere. And that was pretty much the crux of the whole god damn problem…
A/N: Please let me know what you think? Or indeed if I should continue? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!
"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly."-Richard Bach