Title: Spin the Gate
Author:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
mardahin
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen, Lorne-centric with direct references to 2 pairings
Words: 500
Summary: Who knows what the future brings. A collection of 5 drabbles.
Author's Note: My first foray into Drabble!fic; please let me know what I'm doing well and poorly.
Dedicated tocetpar for her birthday. Happy Birthday!
- - Spin the Gate - -
He has two daughters, but he can't remember their names. One’s turning ten next week, the other’s all of six and ready to take on the world.
He knows without looking that he’s full bird. Now that he’s thinking about it, he knows it happened two years ago. He knows he’s done leading a team, has been since the promotion and the loss of his left leg below the knee.
He thinks he might just be happy anyway.
- - Spin the Gate - -
He’s on Atlantis, that much is certain. He’s in bed with someone – David, his mind supplies. The face is older than he expects, but familiar.
He hears noise from another room and rises carefully, finding a toddler standing in a crib when he steps through the doorway. The child giggles, and the lights turn on. His eyes widen, because he’s never even seen a child with the gene.
There is a paper on the wall, and he step over get a closer look. It reads:
Certificate of Atlantean Citizenship – James L. Parrish
It means exactly what he thinks it does.
- - Spin the Gate - -
He’s in a cell; there’s barely enough room for a bed. It’s cold, but he’s sweating – an infection has finally gone systemic, he thinks.
He’s still in his expedition uniform; it’s old and ragged but still significant, even if the shirt he’s wearing underneath isn’t regulation. The familiar weight of dog-tags remains, that’s what counts.
Footsteps in the hallway; he knows what’s coming. This was his choice – he volunteered to stay behind and face the inquisition.
After all, he’d already lost what he loved most. This would merely finish the job that the Wraith had started two years before.
- - Spin the Gate - -
He’s on Earth, he thinks with surprise. Milwaukee, from the skyline out his window. Details trickle in, but he’s getting used to that now – a son in college, a divorce three years ago, a cranky cocker spaniel from his mother who’s waiting in his living room at home.
He reaches instinctively for the scar on his left forearm, but it’s not there. That’s right; he never went to the academy, went to UW on a scholarship from GM instead. He’s spent the last 35 years playing the ‘what if’ game over that decision.
It’s not like he missed much, right?
- - Spin the Gate - -
With a gasp, Major Lorne dropped the device to the table and blinked rapidly. He was fine; he just needed his thoughts to settle. And possibly a strong drink.
Dr. Zelenka’s voice brought him out of his contemplation, anxious to gather data while it was still fresh. “What did you see?”
He thought back to the brief flashes the ancient device had shown him, and struggled for the right words.
“Everything. Nothing.” He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Listen, why don’t you have Colonel Sheppard try it. I have someone I need to talk to…”
~ Finis ~
Author:
mardahinRating: PG
Pairing: Gen, Lorne-centric with direct references to 2 pairings
Words: 500
Summary: Who knows what the future brings. A collection of 5 drabbles.
Author's Note: My first foray into Drabble!fic; please let me know what I'm doing well and poorly.
Dedicated to
cetpar for her birthday. Happy Birthday!- - Spin the Gate - -
He has two daughters, but he can't remember their names. One’s turning ten next week, the other’s all of six and ready to take on the world.
He knows without looking that he’s full bird. Now that he’s thinking about it, he knows it happened two years ago. He knows he’s done leading a team, has been since the promotion and the loss of his left leg below the knee.
He thinks he might just be happy anyway.
He’s on Atlantis, that much is certain. He’s in bed with someone – David, his mind supplies. The face is older than he expects, but familiar.
He hears noise from another room and rises carefully, finding a toddler standing in a crib when he steps through the doorway. The child giggles, and the lights turn on. His eyes widen, because he’s never even seen a child with the gene.
There is a paper on the wall, and he step over get a closer look. It reads:
Certificate of Atlantean Citizenship – James L. Parrish
It means exactly what he thinks it does.
He’s in a cell; there’s barely enough room for a bed. It’s cold, but he’s sweating – an infection has finally gone systemic, he thinks.
He’s still in his expedition uniform; it’s old and ragged but still significant, even if the shirt he’s wearing underneath isn’t regulation. The familiar weight of dog-tags remains, that’s what counts.
Footsteps in the hallway; he knows what’s coming. This was his choice – he volunteered to stay behind and face the inquisition.
After all, he’d already lost what he loved most. This would merely finish the job that the Wraith had started two years before.
He’s on Earth, he thinks with surprise. Milwaukee, from the skyline out his window. Details trickle in, but he’s getting used to that now – a son in college, a divorce three years ago, a cranky cocker spaniel from his mother who’s waiting in his living room at home.
He reaches instinctively for the scar on his left forearm, but it’s not there. That’s right; he never went to the academy, went to UW on a scholarship from GM instead. He’s spent the last 35 years playing the ‘what if’ game over that decision.
It’s not like he missed much, right?
With a gasp, Major Lorne dropped the device to the table and blinked rapidly. He was fine; he just needed his thoughts to settle. And possibly a strong drink.
Dr. Zelenka’s voice brought him out of his contemplation, anxious to gather data while it was still fresh. “What did you see?”
He thought back to the brief flashes the ancient device had shown him, and struggled for the right words.
“Everything. Nothing.” He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Listen, why don’t you have Colonel Sheppard try it. I have someone I need to talk to…”
Almost, but not quite: 
artistic
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