Chaos fic: Still Breathing 1/1
Jul. 29th, 2011 08:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
faye_dartmouthTitle: Still Breathing
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eviinsanemonkey asked for Michael whump based on the lyrics from “Ride Forever” (included below). I’m not sure how well this goes off the lyrics, but hopefully it still works :) Unbeta’ed.
Summary: But Michael’s alone, lost in the desert with no phone, no backup. No anything. He’s probably going to die out here, and no one will ever find him.
-o-
I'm still breathing
and I still have my pride
I have my memories
your life it never dies
-o-
The sky above him is blue, scattered with white puffy clouds that float idyllically across the expanse. Looking up, he thinks how he can see for miles, how it’s all there, so close and so far away.
It’s beautiful, of course. Picturesque and vibrant. He takes a breath and reminds himself that he’s still alive; he’s still breathing.
But these things don’t matter. The sky is blue, the expanse is vast, Michael is breathing, and none of it changes the reality.
Because he can see the sky, he can touch the expanse, he can force his lungs to breathe, but it’s just the illusion of what can be. It’s nice to think that the sky is beautiful and that the world is his to grasp. It’s nice to pretend like he can survive this, just like he can survive everything else.
But Michael’s alone, lost in the desert with no phone, no backup. No anything. He’s probably going to die out here, and no one will ever find him.
Probably.
Still, for the blue sky, Michael takes a step and starts walking.
-o-
Using the sun, it’s easy to determine the direction he’s going. However, considering that he was brought out here unconscious, he doesn’t have a point of reference to head back toward. Still, he heads north and pins his hopes on the idea that he has to hit civilization sometime.
If not, the ocean.
If not, then it doesn’t matter anyway.
-o-
The sun is hot and Michael’s skin starts to crawl. The bruises on his face feel shrunken with the heat and it’s hard to tell if the ache in his ribs is from the beating he took or the beginnings of heat exhaustion.
In the end, it doesn’t matter.
Michael forces his legs, one foot after another, and pushes onward.
-o-
He marks time by the sun. He notes when it hits noon and plows ahead. He sees when afternoon dwindles and doesn’t stop. He sees the fall of night and just keeps going.
Sleep is likely to kill him at this point. If he lets his body give in a little, he’s not sure it won’t give in completely. So his feet keep moving, a trail of lonely footprints disappearing to dust in his wake.
-o-
In the darkness, Michael’s mind gets hazy. It’s hard to make out anything in the bleakness. Nothingness is nothingness is nothingness and Michael starts to wonder if he’s still alive after all.
He takes a ragged breath just to remind himself he is.
He lets it out and wonders if it matters.
-o-
When dawn breaks, so does Michael. His legs give out and he falls to the sand. The hot grit is a strange feeling and Michael looks up again. The sky is lighting in a myriad of colors, vibrant and real, and Michael takes a heaving breath.
He wonders where his team is. If they’re on a plane back to the States. If they’ve figured out where he is. If they’ll be able to track him.
He wonders if Fay is worried. If Higgins cares. If there’s room for another star on the wall.
He wonders if they’d blame him. If they’d called him a coward for giving in. If they’d care at all.
But he doesn’t have to wonder. He knows. He knows all the answers already.
And Michael gets to his feet and walks again.
-o-
The sky is blue and it stretches forever. So far, Michael thinks he should be able to touch it.
He can’t.
He takes desperate breaths, feeling the pain in his stomach spread until his hands are numb. This is the beginning of the end, he thinks, but reconsiders it quickly. It’s probably been ending for a while now--well before this mission started--and he’s just never allowed himself to admit it until now.
-o-
Michael doesn’t remember falling. He just feels the hot sand pressing against his face.
He blinks and sees the sky.
He takes a breath and feels the heat in his lungs.
And he remembers marrying Fay. He remembers losing Simms. He remembers recruiting Billy. He remembers meeting Casey. He remembers Rick’s first mission.
He remembers.
He remembers.
-o-
Michael remembers and he breathes and the sky darkens while the expanse shatters.
Dying isn’t the end, he thinks. Dying is never the end.
-o-
It’s not the next breath, but it’s the next one that matters. Cold, moist air filling his lungs. His body still aches, but it’s different now. Less.
He opens his eyes. There’s no sky. The ceiling has beige drop panels filled with holes.
“And the hero awakes,” Billy drawls, and his exuberance is tinted with relief.
“About damn time,” Casey mutters, but it’s just to hide his fear.
Michael turns his head and sees his team seated in chairs. Billy is beaming; Casey is scowling. Rick just looks exhausted, almost as bad as Michael feels.
“How do you feel?” Rick asks.
Michael takes another breath and considers the question. He considers the dull ache that’s buzzing but fading. He considers the memory of the desert and the thoughts of dying.
“Not bad,” he admits.
“Not bad,” Billy says, grin widening. “So says the man who spent nearly two days alone in the desert with not a lick of water or a shred of direction to aid him.”
“It is an impressive feat,” Casey concedes.
Rick’s the only one who can’t quite couch his worry. “We nearly didn’t find you in time.”
Michael smiles at them all and nods his head. “But you did,” he says, rolling his head back toward the ceiling and closing his eyes just for a second while he remembers and purposefully forgets. “You did.”
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N:
eviinsanemonkey asked for Michael whump based on the lyrics from “Ride Forever” (included below). I’m not sure how well this goes off the lyrics, but hopefully it still works :) Unbeta’ed.Summary: But Michael’s alone, lost in the desert with no phone, no backup. No anything. He’s probably going to die out here, and no one will ever find him.
-o-
I'm still breathing
and I still have my pride
I have my memories
your life it never dies
-o-
The sky above him is blue, scattered with white puffy clouds that float idyllically across the expanse. Looking up, he thinks how he can see for miles, how it’s all there, so close and so far away.
It’s beautiful, of course. Picturesque and vibrant. He takes a breath and reminds himself that he’s still alive; he’s still breathing.
But these things don’t matter. The sky is blue, the expanse is vast, Michael is breathing, and none of it changes the reality.
Because he can see the sky, he can touch the expanse, he can force his lungs to breathe, but it’s just the illusion of what can be. It’s nice to think that the sky is beautiful and that the world is his to grasp. It’s nice to pretend like he can survive this, just like he can survive everything else.
But Michael’s alone, lost in the desert with no phone, no backup. No anything. He’s probably going to die out here, and no one will ever find him.
Probably.
Still, for the blue sky, Michael takes a step and starts walking.
-o-
Using the sun, it’s easy to determine the direction he’s going. However, considering that he was brought out here unconscious, he doesn’t have a point of reference to head back toward. Still, he heads north and pins his hopes on the idea that he has to hit civilization sometime.
If not, the ocean.
If not, then it doesn’t matter anyway.
-o-
The sun is hot and Michael’s skin starts to crawl. The bruises on his face feel shrunken with the heat and it’s hard to tell if the ache in his ribs is from the beating he took or the beginnings of heat exhaustion.
In the end, it doesn’t matter.
Michael forces his legs, one foot after another, and pushes onward.
-o-
He marks time by the sun. He notes when it hits noon and plows ahead. He sees when afternoon dwindles and doesn’t stop. He sees the fall of night and just keeps going.
Sleep is likely to kill him at this point. If he lets his body give in a little, he’s not sure it won’t give in completely. So his feet keep moving, a trail of lonely footprints disappearing to dust in his wake.
-o-
In the darkness, Michael’s mind gets hazy. It’s hard to make out anything in the bleakness. Nothingness is nothingness is nothingness and Michael starts to wonder if he’s still alive after all.
He takes a ragged breath just to remind himself he is.
He lets it out and wonders if it matters.
-o-
When dawn breaks, so does Michael. His legs give out and he falls to the sand. The hot grit is a strange feeling and Michael looks up again. The sky is lighting in a myriad of colors, vibrant and real, and Michael takes a heaving breath.
He wonders where his team is. If they’re on a plane back to the States. If they’ve figured out where he is. If they’ll be able to track him.
He wonders if Fay is worried. If Higgins cares. If there’s room for another star on the wall.
He wonders if they’d blame him. If they’d called him a coward for giving in. If they’d care at all.
But he doesn’t have to wonder. He knows. He knows all the answers already.
And Michael gets to his feet and walks again.
-o-
The sky is blue and it stretches forever. So far, Michael thinks he should be able to touch it.
He can’t.
He takes desperate breaths, feeling the pain in his stomach spread until his hands are numb. This is the beginning of the end, he thinks, but reconsiders it quickly. It’s probably been ending for a while now--well before this mission started--and he’s just never allowed himself to admit it until now.
-o-
Michael doesn’t remember falling. He just feels the hot sand pressing against his face.
He blinks and sees the sky.
He takes a breath and feels the heat in his lungs.
And he remembers marrying Fay. He remembers losing Simms. He remembers recruiting Billy. He remembers meeting Casey. He remembers Rick’s first mission.
He remembers.
He remembers.
-o-
Michael remembers and he breathes and the sky darkens while the expanse shatters.
Dying isn’t the end, he thinks. Dying is never the end.
-o-
It’s not the next breath, but it’s the next one that matters. Cold, moist air filling his lungs. His body still aches, but it’s different now. Less.
He opens his eyes. There’s no sky. The ceiling has beige drop panels filled with holes.
“And the hero awakes,” Billy drawls, and his exuberance is tinted with relief.
“About damn time,” Casey mutters, but it’s just to hide his fear.
Michael turns his head and sees his team seated in chairs. Billy is beaming; Casey is scowling. Rick just looks exhausted, almost as bad as Michael feels.
“How do you feel?” Rick asks.
Michael takes another breath and considers the question. He considers the dull ache that’s buzzing but fading. He considers the memory of the desert and the thoughts of dying.
“Not bad,” he admits.
“Not bad,” Billy says, grin widening. “So says the man who spent nearly two days alone in the desert with not a lick of water or a shred of direction to aid him.”
“It is an impressive feat,” Casey concedes.
Rick’s the only one who can’t quite couch his worry. “We nearly didn’t find you in time.”
Michael smiles at them all and nods his head. “But you did,” he says, rolling his head back toward the ceiling and closing his eyes just for a second while he remembers and purposefully forgets. “You did.”
