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slashing_lorneTitle: Where Youth and Laughter Go
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bethynyc
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Evan Lorne/Captain Jack Harkness, Rivers, Sassoon
Word Count: 3149
Summary: Evan Lorne is a Lieutenant in the Canadian Armed Forces in WWI. Mustard gas exposure sent him to Craiglockhart War Hospital, but there is something that doesn't quite fit.
Timeline: SGA post S5 in Pegasus, Torchwood post CoE, 1917 in WWI
Warning: Graphic depictions of the horrors of the trenches.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything SGA, Torchwood, or Regeneration related. But you should all go read the Regeneration Trilogy by Pat Barker, which is one of the few lit fic book series I recommend.
Beta: Many thanks torm for the insightful beta work!
Author's Note: Written for Summer of Lorne at the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
slashing_lorne community. Prompt: Lorne/author’s choice- male, WWI The trenches, mustard gas, shell shock...and something special? As soon as I saw the prompt, I knew I had to include Captain Jack, Siegfried Sassoon, and Dr. William Rivers. Title from the poem Suicide in the Trenches by Siegfried Sassoon.
Crashing explosions all around, the chaos of the battlefield filled the trenches. Lieutenant Lorne called for his sergeants to gather their men and converge on the weak spot in the line. Then the whistle of mortars filled his ears, and the cry of “Gas! Gas!” echoed along the line. Lorne struggled to put on his mask, but he was too slow, too slow, and the rats in the trench dived into their holes and the stench filled his nostrils and lungs.
Evan woke up, gasping and coughing for air. The ward nurse knocked quickly on the door to his room and entered, and he wondered why she was dressed so strangely. That feeling passed, and he accepted the water gratefully.
“Think you can rest a bit, dearie?” she asked, a country lilt to her voice.
Evan nodded, saving his breath, and leaned back into his pillows. He closed his eyes. Still, he could hear the tap-tap of her heels as she walked back to the station. The rest of the men on the floor slept on; it took a screaming nightmare to wake most of them.
He hadn't had one of those yet. Such was his life at Craiglockhart War Hospital.
~*~*~*~
The next day, Lorne spent the morning in the garden, sketching in a plain notebook Dr. Rivers had given to him once Lorne admitted to drawing for relaxation. After a few sketches of the plants and a curious squirrel, he found himself outlining the faces of his men, men who he had lost.
Warner. McTavish. Carmichael. St. James.
All lost.
“Those are rather good, I must say.” The upper class voice suddenly in his ear caused him to jump and fumble his sketchbook. It dropped to the ground, scattering pages to the wind. Lorne tried to stand to catch them but his lungs wouldn't work, and he slumped on his seat, coughing wildly. The intruder gathered the lost pages, and even stooped to retrieve the pencil that had rolled underneath the bench. When Lorne's coughing finally subsided, he cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. Didn't realize...well.”
Lorne nodded and swallowed hard. “S'all right. I should pay more attention.”
“No, actually. You shouldn't. Throes of creation and all that.” The man held out his hand “Sassoon, Royal Welsh.”
“Lorne, Canadian Corps.”
Sassoon raised an eyebrow. “Sure about that? You sound like a Yank, not a Canuck.” There was room on the bench, and he lowered himself cautiously to sit next to Lorne.
Lorne tried to relax. “Mother's Canadian. I took advantage and joined up by listing my grandparents as my place of residence. I was raised in San Francisco.”
“And quite the artist, I see.” Sassoon handed him the papers back. “Realistic.” On top was a sketch that Lorne barely remembered making. A hand, detached from its owner, with a rat nestled in the palm. The rat was chewing on a thumb. Despite the quickness of the sketch, the rat's beady eyes glittered, and one could almost see the whiskers moving as it gnawed on the thumbnail.
Lorne snatched the pages back and folded them into the sketchbook. There were some things he didn't want anyone else to know. “So, what are you in for?”
Sassoon looked away. Apparently the bees in the lavender were fascinating. “Certification of fitness for duty. You?”
Lorne shrugged. “Lungful of mustard gas. They think the country air will help, but...” He coughed again, wetly. “Rivers thinks I should spend more time outside.”
“Rivers. Rivers suggested that I speak to you.”
“About what?”
“Owen is editing a literary paper for the hospital, and we could do with some illustrations.” Sassoon tapped the closed sketchbook. “Probably not the more realistic work, though it isn't anything we haven't seen before in the trenches. But perhaps you might illustrate a poem or two?”
Lorne considered for a moment. “I'd have to read them first.”
Sassoon nodded.
~*~*~*~
The dreams kept coming. He fought with his rifle and sidearm, but sometimes with an unfamiliar weapon, and even a lightweight cannon set on his shoulder. His men were in the trenches, fighting the Germans, then in a field aiming at flying ships of silver.
He kept searching for one face in his dreams, a face he could barely remember upon waking.
~*~*~*~
Lorne met with Rivers, discussed art, poetry, and the war with Sassoon and Owen, and tried the various potions meant to heal his scarred lungs. His coughing slowed, but any exertion past a walk brought on a fit. There was no way he could be certified healthy any time soon.
Everyone wanted to get back to the front to do their duty, serve with their men, but no one wanted to go back because they liked fighting. Evan read Sassoon's letter about the War, and thought it made a great deal of sense. He never mentioned it, though. Not even in his sessions with Rivers.
Then Harkness came.
~*~*~*~
Lorne was in the bunker, drinking weak tea with no sugar and dry bread, wishing for something warm to color the unceasing mud and death. There was a knock, and the orderly opened the door, ushering in a tall, smiling, somehow clean man. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he introduced himself. “Here to liaise with the American forces.”
~*~*~*~
Harkness was catatonic, mostly. He would eat when the nursing sisters fed him, would eliminate when brought to the lavatory, but didn't respond to people at all. Craiglockhart was filling up, and since Lorne's previous roommate had been released back to service, Harkness was placed in the other bed in his room.
Somehow, Lorne felt he knew this man, though they were in completely different regiments.
Sometimes the nurses would bring Harkness outside in the wheelchair, to sit in the sun. Lorne found him there, eyes closed in the sunlight. His fingers itched, and, Lorne settled into a nearby seat to sketch. He drew the strong shoulders huddled in the robe, fingers laced together atop the blanket that covered his lap, to the long neck and stubborn chin. When he reached the eyes, they were open and staring at him.
Lorne stepped up to him. “Enjoying the sun?”
Harkness blinked, and looked at him. At him, specifically, not through him. “There you are.” he whispered. “I've been looking for you, Evan.”
With that, he twitched all over, and Evan rushed as fast as he could, cursing his slow legs and coughing the whole way.
When he returned with Dr. Rivers and another doctor, Harkness was catatonic again.
~*~*~*~
It was the peculiar dream again, one where he wore black and flew a strange sort of plane. Harkness was with him – Jack – and they were returning from a successful trade visit with a cargo load full of grains and fruit.
They were alone in the vehicle, and Jack rubbed Evan's shoulder. Evan smiled at him and landed the...Jumper? Who would name an aeroplane something like that?
Evan pressed a certain button on the strange glass dashboard and turned to Jack. “They aren't expecting us for another two hours yet.”
“Amazing what a little organization will do.” Jack smiled and pulled Evan close to kiss him passionately.
~*~*~*~
Evan woke up, gasping from arousal rather than for breath.
What were these dreams? And why was Harkness in them? He glanced over at the other bed, but Harkness wasn't moving.
He resolved to talk to Dr. Rivers about them in his next session. Rivers was the expert. Besides, the doctor had been nagging him about his dreams for practically his whole stay there at Craiglockhart, and it would be nice to have something other than the trenches and faces of dead comrades to describe to him.
~*~*~*~
Rivers listened without comment as Lorne described the dreams. He even sketched the shape of the flying machine and the weapon that he used. Lorne glossed over the part about kissing Harkness, but a knowing eyebrow convinced him that Rivers knew what he wasn't saying.
“What does flight mean to you, Lieutenant Lorne?”
Lorne shrugged. “Freedom. Feeling strong and healthy.”
Rivers nodded, which irritated Lorne for some reason. “Freedom from the limitations of your body, you mean.”
“Yes. Perhaps.”
“So what do you think Captain Harkness symbolizes to you?” asked Dr. Rivers. “And, please, remember that this is completely confidential.”
Lorne flushed and bit his lip. “I'm not sure. I mean, he's catatonic.”
“But he spoke to you. As if he knew you.”
“Yes. But...I don't think I know him.” Lorne shifted uncomfortably under Rivers' knowing gaze. “I'm pretty sure we weren't in the same regiment, and I know I didn't know him back home.”
“But he seems familiar to you,” pressed Rivers.
“Yes, but...well, he looks like a movie star. Maybe that's it.”
Rivers nodded again and Lorne sighed.
~*~*~*~
Evan had a difficult time falling asleep, with Harkness so very close. He could almost touch him, propped up as he was on the pillows, deep in the night with the door closed and no one to see.
He didn't. And Harkness didn't move.
~*~*~*~
They were together again, with a group of people. In the dream, he knew them, but Evan didn't recognize them from his real life. It was a dream, and it was best to just go with the flow. Two of them, Sheppard and McKay, bantered back and forth in a manner that bordered on flirting, to the indulgent smiles of their team members Teyla ( a beautiful woman, serene and strong) and Ronon (a huge man with long matted locks and the grace of a panther.)
They were walking along a road, laughing, chatting, when Teyla stiffened and hissed “Wraith!” Pointy silver planes swooped over the group. He and Jack managed to shoot one down in the nose, but it landed too close and...
...he was flying...
...and when he landed, it was going to hurt...
~*~*~*~
Sassoon came to him the next day with a poem to illustrate. Lorne read it over. Three short paragraphs, but so much pain and scorn wrapped in those few words. “You certain you want me to illustrate this?”
Sassoon nodded decisively. “Just for myself. To see if the images in my head come through in the words.
“I think it comes through quite clearly.”
~*~*~*~
That night, a dream didn't wake Evan, Harkness did. He stood by Evan's bed and rested a warm hand on Evan's shoulder. “Wake up,” Jack whispered in his ear.
Blinking, Evan woke up all the way. He stared at Harkness. “You...you're awake!”
“That I am. Wanna get out of here?”
Evan shook his head. “Can't.” He could feel the weakness in his lungs as they spoke. “I'm not ready yet.”
Harkness shook his head and softly rubbed Evan's shoulder. “The gas damage – it isn't real. This isn't your life.”
Evan frowned at him. Moonlight shone through the window, bathing the room in an eerie glow. “Not real? How can you say that?”
“It's a dream. All this, Craiglockhart, your injuries, all a dream.”
Images of the trenches filled Evan's head. “No. It's real, this is all real.”
Harkness sat on the edge of the bed. “It was real. It isn't any more. You never belonged here, Evan.” He picked up the sketchbook from the bedside table and flipped it open to the picture of the strange craft. “This is real. This is where you belong.”
Evan smiled a little at that. “That can't be real. That's...something out of Verne, or Wells. That's what Rivers calls my dream of health and freedom.”
Harkness shifted impatiently. “Look, I don't have time to convince you. Just, trust me.”
“And why would I trust you?” Evan asked sharply, though part of him already did.
Harkness leaned forward and grabbed the lapels of Evan's pajamas, and kissed him. It was hard and passionate and familiar in ways that Evan couldn't quite understand. Evan's fingers tangled in Jack's hair and Jack's thumbs rubbed lightly against his chest.
“That persuade you?”
Evan smiled at Jack. “Sort of. I still think you're crazy, but hey, moonlight walk sounds good to me.”
Jack helped Evan find his slippers and cane, and they walked through the strangely deserted corridors. As they walked, the walls seemed to shimmer a bit, changing from whitewashed wood panels to blue and silver glass. “Did you see that?” asked Evan.
“What's important is that you see it.” Jack responded, taking Evan's hand. The corridors slowly shifted, until they were more the futuristic glass than wood. Still, he didn't see any people, until they came to a room that was clearly an infirmary, though unlike any Evan knew.
Jack led him through the infirmary to a side room, and where two coffin-like devices rested on rolling carts and had wires running into them from the walls. For some reason, this room made Evan feel very uncomfortable. He squeezed Jack's hand. “Couldn't we go someplace else? This room gives me the creeps.”
With a negative shake of the head, Jack replied, “No., This is where we need to be. Do you trust me?”
Evan paused and thought for a moment. “I...guess I do.”
“Not good enough.” Jack ran his free hand through his hair. “Look, you need to believe that this is where you belong. In Atlantis. With me.”
At the word 'Atlantis' Evan's heart jumped and beat a little faster. “Atlantis?”
Jack leaned down to whisper against his lips “Atlantis” before kissing Evan gently.
Evan closed his eyes.
~*~*~*~
Lorne and Jack were on a mission with SGA-1, checking out an uninhabited planet for potential naquada mining. Everything seemed reasonable, though the climate was on the chilly side for Lorne's taste. They were walking back to the Jumper to make a fuller scan of the planet as a whole when Teyla stopped in her tracks and hissed “Wraith!”
They scattered. Evan ran with Jack to duck beside some large rocks. He could hear the buzz of the Dart heading their way, and caught Jack's eye as he readied his P-90. Together they sprayed the nose of the craft with bullets, and the satisfying sound of the Dart engines whining in an effort to stay aloft.
It was still heading toward them.
The angle was way too steep.
Evan grabbed Jack's arm and tried to drag him out of the way of the explosion but it was too late.
He was flying through the air.
And when he landed, all he could feel was pain in the brief moment before he blacked out.
~*~*~*~
Evan opened his eyes.
He was in one of the coffins. At first, he panicked, breathing heavy and scratching at the lid to find a way out. Then Jack's voice buzzed in his ear. “Calm down, Evan. It's all right.”
“Get me out of here!” He slammed on the cover of the coffin with both hands.
“Look to your right. Do you see that big blue button.”
Evan's breath caught in his throat, and he looked. There was the button. “Y-yes.”
“Good. Is it lit up?”
“Yes.”
“Fantastic! Now, just push that button, and you'll be out of there in no time.”
Evan pushed the button, hard, and something on the side clicked. The top lifted up, and he was able to sit up. The side folded down as well, and he could swing his legs around to sit properly on the edge. There was Jack, and Colonel Sheppard, and Dr. Keller. All of them were smiling.
“Welcome back, Major.” Sheppard said, and nodded at Jack and Dr. Keller before striding out of the infirmary.
“You gave us quite a scare there, Major Lorne.” Dr. Keller had her stethoscope at the ready and took his pulse. As she checked his pupils, she asked, “Do you remember anything?”
“Sort of. It...seems like a dream now.”
Jack leaned against the coffin and grinned, and it was the sexiest thing Evan had ever seen. “You were injured on our last mission. Almost died. Luckily Jennifer here got these healing pods working, and we popped you in until your burns healed.”
Dr. Keller finished her exam and stepped back. “Once you were healed, though, we couldn't get you out. Apparently you triggered some sort of virtual reality. Dr. McKay is trying to figure out how World War One ended up in the Atlantis database.”
Evan glanced away. “That might be my own fault. I uploaded some books on the shared server, along with a couple of movies set in that era.”
Dr. Keller shook her head with a smile. “Well, when we couldn't get you out after you were mostly healed, Captain Harkness volunteered to go in and fetch you.”
“My hero.” Evan said dryly, earning a smirk from Jack for the comment.
“We're done here, but I want you off duty for the next three days, and light duty for the week after. No heroics.” She slung her stethoscope around her neck and patted Jack's arm. “I'm counting on you to bring him to his quarters and let him rest.”
“Yes, ma'am” Jack saluted.
Then they were alone. Evan leaned on Jack, legs suddenly wobbly. “How did you escape?”
Jack snaked an arm around Evan's waist. “That is a very long story. Let's go back to your quarters and I'll tell you.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah, Evan?”
“Thanks.”
Jack smiled again. “You're welcome.”
End notes:
Text of Siegfried Sassoon's letter: Finished with the War: A Soldier's Declaration
Text of the Poem: Suicide in the Trenches
Author:
bethynycRating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Evan Lorne/Captain Jack Harkness, Rivers, Sassoon
Word Count: 3149
Summary: Evan Lorne is a Lieutenant in the Canadian Armed Forces in WWI. Mustard gas exposure sent him to Craiglockhart War Hospital, but there is something that doesn't quite fit.
Timeline: SGA post S5 in Pegasus, Torchwood post CoE, 1917 in WWI
Warning: Graphic depictions of the horrors of the trenches.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything SGA, Torchwood, or Regeneration related. But you should all go read the Regeneration Trilogy by Pat Barker, which is one of the few lit fic book series I recommend.
Beta: Many thanks to
rm for the insightful beta work!Author's Note: Written for Summer of Lorne at the
slashing_lorne community. Prompt: Lorne/author’s choice- male, WWI The trenches, mustard gas, shell shock...and something special? As soon as I saw the prompt, I knew I had to include Captain Jack, Siegfried Sassoon, and Dr. William Rivers. Title from the poem Suicide in the Trenches by Siegfried Sassoon. Crashing explosions all around, the chaos of the battlefield filled the trenches. Lieutenant Lorne called for his sergeants to gather their men and converge on the weak spot in the line. Then the whistle of mortars filled his ears, and the cry of “Gas! Gas!” echoed along the line. Lorne struggled to put on his mask, but he was too slow, too slow, and the rats in the trench dived into their holes and the stench filled his nostrils and lungs.
Evan woke up, gasping and coughing for air. The ward nurse knocked quickly on the door to his room and entered, and he wondered why she was dressed so strangely. That feeling passed, and he accepted the water gratefully.
“Think you can rest a bit, dearie?” she asked, a country lilt to her voice.
Evan nodded, saving his breath, and leaned back into his pillows. He closed his eyes. Still, he could hear the tap-tap of her heels as she walked back to the station. The rest of the men on the floor slept on; it took a screaming nightmare to wake most of them.
He hadn't had one of those yet. Such was his life at Craiglockhart War Hospital.
~*~*~*~
The next day, Lorne spent the morning in the garden, sketching in a plain notebook Dr. Rivers had given to him once Lorne admitted to drawing for relaxation. After a few sketches of the plants and a curious squirrel, he found himself outlining the faces of his men, men who he had lost.
Warner. McTavish. Carmichael. St. James.
All lost.
“Those are rather good, I must say.” The upper class voice suddenly in his ear caused him to jump and fumble his sketchbook. It dropped to the ground, scattering pages to the wind. Lorne tried to stand to catch them but his lungs wouldn't work, and he slumped on his seat, coughing wildly. The intruder gathered the lost pages, and even stooped to retrieve the pencil that had rolled underneath the bench. When Lorne's coughing finally subsided, he cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. Didn't realize...well.”
Lorne nodded and swallowed hard. “S'all right. I should pay more attention.”
“No, actually. You shouldn't. Throes of creation and all that.” The man held out his hand “Sassoon, Royal Welsh.”
“Lorne, Canadian Corps.”
Sassoon raised an eyebrow. “Sure about that? You sound like a Yank, not a Canuck.” There was room on the bench, and he lowered himself cautiously to sit next to Lorne.
Lorne tried to relax. “Mother's Canadian. I took advantage and joined up by listing my grandparents as my place of residence. I was raised in San Francisco.”
“And quite the artist, I see.” Sassoon handed him the papers back. “Realistic.” On top was a sketch that Lorne barely remembered making. A hand, detached from its owner, with a rat nestled in the palm. The rat was chewing on a thumb. Despite the quickness of the sketch, the rat's beady eyes glittered, and one could almost see the whiskers moving as it gnawed on the thumbnail.
Lorne snatched the pages back and folded them into the sketchbook. There were some things he didn't want anyone else to know. “So, what are you in for?”
Sassoon looked away. Apparently the bees in the lavender were fascinating. “Certification of fitness for duty. You?”
Lorne shrugged. “Lungful of mustard gas. They think the country air will help, but...” He coughed again, wetly. “Rivers thinks I should spend more time outside.”
“Rivers. Rivers suggested that I speak to you.”
“About what?”
“Owen is editing a literary paper for the hospital, and we could do with some illustrations.” Sassoon tapped the closed sketchbook. “Probably not the more realistic work, though it isn't anything we haven't seen before in the trenches. But perhaps you might illustrate a poem or two?”
Lorne considered for a moment. “I'd have to read them first.”
Sassoon nodded.
~*~*~*~
The dreams kept coming. He fought with his rifle and sidearm, but sometimes with an unfamiliar weapon, and even a lightweight cannon set on his shoulder. His men were in the trenches, fighting the Germans, then in a field aiming at flying ships of silver.
He kept searching for one face in his dreams, a face he could barely remember upon waking.
~*~*~*~
Lorne met with Rivers, discussed art, poetry, and the war with Sassoon and Owen, and tried the various potions meant to heal his scarred lungs. His coughing slowed, but any exertion past a walk brought on a fit. There was no way he could be certified healthy any time soon.
Everyone wanted to get back to the front to do their duty, serve with their men, but no one wanted to go back because they liked fighting. Evan read Sassoon's letter about the War, and thought it made a great deal of sense. He never mentioned it, though. Not even in his sessions with Rivers.
Then Harkness came.
~*~*~*~
Lorne was in the bunker, drinking weak tea with no sugar and dry bread, wishing for something warm to color the unceasing mud and death. There was a knock, and the orderly opened the door, ushering in a tall, smiling, somehow clean man. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he introduced himself. “Here to liaise with the American forces.”
~*~*~*~
Harkness was catatonic, mostly. He would eat when the nursing sisters fed him, would eliminate when brought to the lavatory, but didn't respond to people at all. Craiglockhart was filling up, and since Lorne's previous roommate had been released back to service, Harkness was placed in the other bed in his room.
Somehow, Lorne felt he knew this man, though they were in completely different regiments.
Sometimes the nurses would bring Harkness outside in the wheelchair, to sit in the sun. Lorne found him there, eyes closed in the sunlight. His fingers itched, and, Lorne settled into a nearby seat to sketch. He drew the strong shoulders huddled in the robe, fingers laced together atop the blanket that covered his lap, to the long neck and stubborn chin. When he reached the eyes, they were open and staring at him.
Lorne stepped up to him. “Enjoying the sun?”
Harkness blinked, and looked at him. At him, specifically, not through him. “There you are.” he whispered. “I've been looking for you, Evan.”
With that, he twitched all over, and Evan rushed as fast as he could, cursing his slow legs and coughing the whole way.
When he returned with Dr. Rivers and another doctor, Harkness was catatonic again.
~*~*~*~
It was the peculiar dream again, one where he wore black and flew a strange sort of plane. Harkness was with him – Jack – and they were returning from a successful trade visit with a cargo load full of grains and fruit.
They were alone in the vehicle, and Jack rubbed Evan's shoulder. Evan smiled at him and landed the...Jumper? Who would name an aeroplane something like that?
Evan pressed a certain button on the strange glass dashboard and turned to Jack. “They aren't expecting us for another two hours yet.”
“Amazing what a little organization will do.” Jack smiled and pulled Evan close to kiss him passionately.
~*~*~*~
Evan woke up, gasping from arousal rather than for breath.
What were these dreams? And why was Harkness in them? He glanced over at the other bed, but Harkness wasn't moving.
He resolved to talk to Dr. Rivers about them in his next session. Rivers was the expert. Besides, the doctor had been nagging him about his dreams for practically his whole stay there at Craiglockhart, and it would be nice to have something other than the trenches and faces of dead comrades to describe to him.
~*~*~*~
Rivers listened without comment as Lorne described the dreams. He even sketched the shape of the flying machine and the weapon that he used. Lorne glossed over the part about kissing Harkness, but a knowing eyebrow convinced him that Rivers knew what he wasn't saying.
“What does flight mean to you, Lieutenant Lorne?”
Lorne shrugged. “Freedom. Feeling strong and healthy.”
Rivers nodded, which irritated Lorne for some reason. “Freedom from the limitations of your body, you mean.”
“Yes. Perhaps.”
“So what do you think Captain Harkness symbolizes to you?” asked Dr. Rivers. “And, please, remember that this is completely confidential.”
Lorne flushed and bit his lip. “I'm not sure. I mean, he's catatonic.”
“But he spoke to you. As if he knew you.”
“Yes. But...I don't think I know him.” Lorne shifted uncomfortably under Rivers' knowing gaze. “I'm pretty sure we weren't in the same regiment, and I know I didn't know him back home.”
“But he seems familiar to you,” pressed Rivers.
“Yes, but...well, he looks like a movie star. Maybe that's it.”
Rivers nodded again and Lorne sighed.
~*~*~*~
Evan had a difficult time falling asleep, with Harkness so very close. He could almost touch him, propped up as he was on the pillows, deep in the night with the door closed and no one to see.
He didn't. And Harkness didn't move.
~*~*~*~
They were together again, with a group of people. In the dream, he knew them, but Evan didn't recognize them from his real life. It was a dream, and it was best to just go with the flow. Two of them, Sheppard and McKay, bantered back and forth in a manner that bordered on flirting, to the indulgent smiles of their team members Teyla ( a beautiful woman, serene and strong) and Ronon (a huge man with long matted locks and the grace of a panther.)
They were walking along a road, laughing, chatting, when Teyla stiffened and hissed “Wraith!” Pointy silver planes swooped over the group. He and Jack managed to shoot one down in the nose, but it landed too close and...
...he was flying...
...and when he landed, it was going to hurt...
~*~*~*~
Sassoon came to him the next day with a poem to illustrate. Lorne read it over. Three short paragraphs, but so much pain and scorn wrapped in those few words. “You certain you want me to illustrate this?”
Sassoon nodded decisively. “Just for myself. To see if the images in my head come through in the words.
“I think it comes through quite clearly.”
~*~*~*~
That night, a dream didn't wake Evan, Harkness did. He stood by Evan's bed and rested a warm hand on Evan's shoulder. “Wake up,” Jack whispered in his ear.
Blinking, Evan woke up all the way. He stared at Harkness. “You...you're awake!”
“That I am. Wanna get out of here?”
Evan shook his head. “Can't.” He could feel the weakness in his lungs as they spoke. “I'm not ready yet.”
Harkness shook his head and softly rubbed Evan's shoulder. “The gas damage – it isn't real. This isn't your life.”
Evan frowned at him. Moonlight shone through the window, bathing the room in an eerie glow. “Not real? How can you say that?”
“It's a dream. All this, Craiglockhart, your injuries, all a dream.”
Images of the trenches filled Evan's head. “No. It's real, this is all real.”
Harkness sat on the edge of the bed. “It was real. It isn't any more. You never belonged here, Evan.” He picked up the sketchbook from the bedside table and flipped it open to the picture of the strange craft. “This is real. This is where you belong.”
Evan smiled a little at that. “That can't be real. That's...something out of Verne, or Wells. That's what Rivers calls my dream of health and freedom.”
Harkness shifted impatiently. “Look, I don't have time to convince you. Just, trust me.”
“And why would I trust you?” Evan asked sharply, though part of him already did.
Harkness leaned forward and grabbed the lapels of Evan's pajamas, and kissed him. It was hard and passionate and familiar in ways that Evan couldn't quite understand. Evan's fingers tangled in Jack's hair and Jack's thumbs rubbed lightly against his chest.
“That persuade you?”
Evan smiled at Jack. “Sort of. I still think you're crazy, but hey, moonlight walk sounds good to me.”
Jack helped Evan find his slippers and cane, and they walked through the strangely deserted corridors. As they walked, the walls seemed to shimmer a bit, changing from whitewashed wood panels to blue and silver glass. “Did you see that?” asked Evan.
“What's important is that you see it.” Jack responded, taking Evan's hand. The corridors slowly shifted, until they were more the futuristic glass than wood. Still, he didn't see any people, until they came to a room that was clearly an infirmary, though unlike any Evan knew.
Jack led him through the infirmary to a side room, and where two coffin-like devices rested on rolling carts and had wires running into them from the walls. For some reason, this room made Evan feel very uncomfortable. He squeezed Jack's hand. “Couldn't we go someplace else? This room gives me the creeps.”
With a negative shake of the head, Jack replied, “No., This is where we need to be. Do you trust me?”
Evan paused and thought for a moment. “I...guess I do.”
“Not good enough.” Jack ran his free hand through his hair. “Look, you need to believe that this is where you belong. In Atlantis. With me.”
At the word 'Atlantis' Evan's heart jumped and beat a little faster. “Atlantis?”
Jack leaned down to whisper against his lips “Atlantis” before kissing Evan gently.
Evan closed his eyes.
~*~*~*~
Lorne and Jack were on a mission with SGA-1, checking out an uninhabited planet for potential naquada mining. Everything seemed reasonable, though the climate was on the chilly side for Lorne's taste. They were walking back to the Jumper to make a fuller scan of the planet as a whole when Teyla stopped in her tracks and hissed “Wraith!”
They scattered. Evan ran with Jack to duck beside some large rocks. He could hear the buzz of the Dart heading their way, and caught Jack's eye as he readied his P-90. Together they sprayed the nose of the craft with bullets, and the satisfying sound of the Dart engines whining in an effort to stay aloft.
It was still heading toward them.
The angle was way too steep.
Evan grabbed Jack's arm and tried to drag him out of the way of the explosion but it was too late.
He was flying through the air.
And when he landed, all he could feel was pain in the brief moment before he blacked out.
~*~*~*~
Evan opened his eyes.
He was in one of the coffins. At first, he panicked, breathing heavy and scratching at the lid to find a way out. Then Jack's voice buzzed in his ear. “Calm down, Evan. It's all right.”
“Get me out of here!” He slammed on the cover of the coffin with both hands.
“Look to your right. Do you see that big blue button.”
Evan's breath caught in his throat, and he looked. There was the button. “Y-yes.”
“Good. Is it lit up?”
“Yes.”
“Fantastic! Now, just push that button, and you'll be out of there in no time.”
Evan pushed the button, hard, and something on the side clicked. The top lifted up, and he was able to sit up. The side folded down as well, and he could swing his legs around to sit properly on the edge. There was Jack, and Colonel Sheppard, and Dr. Keller. All of them were smiling.
“Welcome back, Major.” Sheppard said, and nodded at Jack and Dr. Keller before striding out of the infirmary.
“You gave us quite a scare there, Major Lorne.” Dr. Keller had her stethoscope at the ready and took his pulse. As she checked his pupils, she asked, “Do you remember anything?”
“Sort of. It...seems like a dream now.”
Jack leaned against the coffin and grinned, and it was the sexiest thing Evan had ever seen. “You were injured on our last mission. Almost died. Luckily Jennifer here got these healing pods working, and we popped you in until your burns healed.”
Dr. Keller finished her exam and stepped back. “Once you were healed, though, we couldn't get you out. Apparently you triggered some sort of virtual reality. Dr. McKay is trying to figure out how World War One ended up in the Atlantis database.”
Evan glanced away. “That might be my own fault. I uploaded some books on the shared server, along with a couple of movies set in that era.”
Dr. Keller shook her head with a smile. “Well, when we couldn't get you out after you were mostly healed, Captain Harkness volunteered to go in and fetch you.”
“My hero.” Evan said dryly, earning a smirk from Jack for the comment.
“We're done here, but I want you off duty for the next three days, and light duty for the week after. No heroics.” She slung her stethoscope around her neck and patted Jack's arm. “I'm counting on you to bring him to his quarters and let him rest.”
“Yes, ma'am” Jack saluted.
Then they were alone. Evan leaned on Jack, legs suddenly wobbly. “How did you escape?”
Jack snaked an arm around Evan's waist. “That is a very long story. Let's go back to your quarters and I'll tell you.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah, Evan?”
“Thanks.”
Jack smiled again. “You're welcome.”
End notes:
Text of Siegfried Sassoon's letter: Finished with the War: A Soldier's Declaration
Text of the Poem: Suicide in the Trenches
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Date: 2010-07-28 02:34 pm (UTC)Have your read Pat Barker's Regeneration trilogy? Sassoon figures in those books, too.
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Date: 2010-07-28 02:39 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for your kind and superfast comment!
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Date: 2010-07-28 02:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-28 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-28 04:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-28 04:51 pm (UTC)::hugs you tight::
Great piece
Date: 2010-07-28 07:23 pm (UTC)Re: Great piece
Date: 2010-07-28 07:28 pm (UTC)I thought about a trenches scene with them, but it was just too heartbreaking to write. Another time.
Re: Great piece
Date: 2010-07-28 09:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-19 11:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 12:08 am (UTC)