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Woo! I am officially a bronze goddess over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
atlantis_lvw. (ie. I came in third)
CONGRATULATIONS to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
celli for winning the competition
wickedwords for coming in second and
darkhavens for coming in forth.
That was a tough competition and so much fun! Thanks toslodwick for running it and to everyone that took the time to vote. :)
I can now reveal my final story was: Shaking Hands With the Devil (Gen, teen, no spoilers).
Warning: It's fairly angsty future fic.
He looked down at his hands where they played with the crisp white sheets. Lifting one hand up, he watched it shake for a moment, before clenching it into a fist and letting it drop back to the bed.
Carson had always had steady hands. The room around him could be in absolute chaos, his heart pounding with adrenaline formed from fear or desperation, but his hands were always steady. It was a trait that many people remarked upon and that he tried not to think about, because if he did, he remembered the few times his hands had not been so steady.
The first time his hands shook, he’d been twelve. It had been a normal day – his mother humming to herself as she cooked the Sunday roast and Carson sitting quietly, playing with a bug catcher his uncle had bought him for his birthday.
It had been a normal day until there was a loud crash from the bedroom. He’d dashed curiously toward the source of the sound, running faster than his ma, to find his dad lying on the floor. His dad’s hand had clutched at his chest, his breathing labored.
That day, his small fists clenched tight against the shaking of his hands, Carson had watched his father die slowly in his mother’s arms while the ambulance took too long to arrive. From that day, he swore to never feel so helpless again.
His hands shook all the time now.
“Carson, you have visitors.” The nurse smiled at him as she poked her head into the doorway. The nurses all liked Carson; he wasn’t like so many of the other patients. Still so young at heart, he’d heard one of them remark just the other day.
He nodded, smiling, as she ushered in the two men. John sauntered into the room, casually making himself comfortable by leaning up against the window. His smile was all white teeth and his presence instantly relaxing. “Hey, Doc.”
Carson had been surprised by that ease and charm the first day he’d met John Sheppard. That day, he’d casually strolled in and sat down in the Ancient control chair… against orders too. He was unchanging, and yet he was so different - the complete opposite of most military men Carson dealt with. Carson now realized there was a resolve tougher than steel beneath that careful mask.
Rodney followed John into the room, waving at Carson and looking tentative, almost sheepish. On first impression of Rodney, he’d been struck by the walking contradiction: a self-proclaimed genius who didn’t seem to care about anyone but himself. In truth, he cared about everyone too much.
“Hi Carson. You doing okay? I mean, I don’t mean that, I mean of course you’re not okay. You’re stuck in here, and do you know there’s a man in the corridor talking in Klingon? He even insulted me, told me my mother’s forehead was smooth. If I was a Klingon, I’d have had to kill him right there…” Rodney was waving his arms, wound tight as only he could be. Sheppard put a hand on his shoulder and he stilled. Carson took that as his cue to speak.
“I’m fine, Rodney. This place is close to my mother, has nice nursing staff and I can get outside. Not much more I could want for, really.” He chuckled. “You speak Klingon, Rodney?”
Explosions, yelling and chaos.
Elizabeth’s hand went limp in his own as they neared the Stargate. Her blood was warm against his skin.
He knelt to shield her as the next wave of explosions hit the city. No shields left.
The boots appeared beside him in a flash of light. A grey-green hand reached toward his chest.
Carson awoke with a scream, warm hands surrounding him, steadying him as he caught his breath.
“Hey, buddy. You okay? You dozed off on us.” Sheppard’s voice wasn’t so calm now, reminding Carson that John had once shared his nightmares, but Sheppard had resisted the nurse who tried to usher them out.
Rodney had picked up Carson’s hand in his own and was gently playing with it, as if trying to warm it. He concentrated on that touch and started to calm.
“Have they found anything new?” Carson asked every time. He needed to know.
Rodney reached into his bag and pulled out the latest research from Carson’s team. “They tried the new treatment on Colonel Everett.” His expressive eyes told Carson the results without him reading them.
“You can’t give up, Carson.”
Later, after some friendly reminiscing, a pat on the shoulder from John, and a choking hug from Rodney, they were gone.
Carson looked down at his hands.
They shook all the time now.
atlantis_lvw. (ie. I came in third)CONGRATULATIONS to
celli for winning the competition wickedwords for coming in second and darkhavens for coming in forth. That was a tough competition and so much fun! Thanks to
slodwick for running it and to everyone that took the time to vote. :)I can now reveal my final story was: Shaking Hands With the Devil (Gen, teen, no spoilers).
Warning: It's fairly angsty future fic.
He looked down at his hands where they played with the crisp white sheets. Lifting one hand up, he watched it shake for a moment, before clenching it into a fist and letting it drop back to the bed.
Carson had always had steady hands. The room around him could be in absolute chaos, his heart pounding with adrenaline formed from fear or desperation, but his hands were always steady. It was a trait that many people remarked upon and that he tried not to think about, because if he did, he remembered the few times his hands had not been so steady.
The first time his hands shook, he’d been twelve. It had been a normal day – his mother humming to herself as she cooked the Sunday roast and Carson sitting quietly, playing with a bug catcher his uncle had bought him for his birthday.
It had been a normal day until there was a loud crash from the bedroom. He’d dashed curiously toward the source of the sound, running faster than his ma, to find his dad lying on the floor. His dad’s hand had clutched at his chest, his breathing labored.
That day, his small fists clenched tight against the shaking of his hands, Carson had watched his father die slowly in his mother’s arms while the ambulance took too long to arrive. From that day, he swore to never feel so helpless again.
His hands shook all the time now.
“Carson, you have visitors.” The nurse smiled at him as she poked her head into the doorway. The nurses all liked Carson; he wasn’t like so many of the other patients. Still so young at heart, he’d heard one of them remark just the other day.
He nodded, smiling, as she ushered in the two men. John sauntered into the room, casually making himself comfortable by leaning up against the window. His smile was all white teeth and his presence instantly relaxing. “Hey, Doc.”
Carson had been surprised by that ease and charm the first day he’d met John Sheppard. That day, he’d casually strolled in and sat down in the Ancient control chair… against orders too. He was unchanging, and yet he was so different - the complete opposite of most military men Carson dealt with. Carson now realized there was a resolve tougher than steel beneath that careful mask.
Rodney followed John into the room, waving at Carson and looking tentative, almost sheepish. On first impression of Rodney, he’d been struck by the walking contradiction: a self-proclaimed genius who didn’t seem to care about anyone but himself. In truth, he cared about everyone too much.
“Hi Carson. You doing okay? I mean, I don’t mean that, I mean of course you’re not okay. You’re stuck in here, and do you know there’s a man in the corridor talking in Klingon? He even insulted me, told me my mother’s forehead was smooth. If I was a Klingon, I’d have had to kill him right there…” Rodney was waving his arms, wound tight as only he could be. Sheppard put a hand on his shoulder and he stilled. Carson took that as his cue to speak.
“I’m fine, Rodney. This place is close to my mother, has nice nursing staff and I can get outside. Not much more I could want for, really.” He chuckled. “You speak Klingon, Rodney?”
Explosions, yelling and chaos.
Elizabeth’s hand went limp in his own as they neared the Stargate. Her blood was warm against his skin.
He knelt to shield her as the next wave of explosions hit the city. No shields left.
The boots appeared beside him in a flash of light. A grey-green hand reached toward his chest.
Carson awoke with a scream, warm hands surrounding him, steadying him as he caught his breath.
“Hey, buddy. You okay? You dozed off on us.” Sheppard’s voice wasn’t so calm now, reminding Carson that John had once shared his nightmares, but Sheppard had resisted the nurse who tried to usher them out.
Rodney had picked up Carson’s hand in his own and was gently playing with it, as if trying to warm it. He concentrated on that touch and started to calm.
“Have they found anything new?” Carson asked every time. He needed to know.
Rodney reached into his bag and pulled out the latest research from Carson’s team. “They tried the new treatment on Colonel Everett.” His expressive eyes told Carson the results without him reading them.
“You can’t give up, Carson.”
Later, after some friendly reminiscing, a pat on the shoulder from John, and a choking hug from Rodney, they were gone.
Carson looked down at his hands.
They shook all the time now.
