Five things fic
Mar. 4th, 2009 02:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
less_starFor a prompt at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sg1_five_tings, Five backstories of minor characters that no-one ever told. Gen, about 1000 words.
Robert Rothman
He can’t remember exactly when he found out. At first it’s just one of the things that set his parents apart from those of his friends. Like that they are a little older. And though Mom knows all the right words she still speaks a little funny because she learned English when she was nearly grown-up. That both Mom and Dad are doctors but not the kind you go to when you are ill, but the kind that read and write a lot (that’s the best kind, you know Dad always says). You don’t remember when you find out stuff like that.
He’s in third grade and Suzy Walters is telling class about a book she read and mrs Swersky says something and suddenly everyone is looking at him and he just wants it to stop. Suzy looks like she’s gonna cry and why didn’t he ever feel like that?
He goes straight home after school. It’s a Tuesday and Mom is working from home. She’s sprawled on the couch with a book on her lap. She likes taking a nap in the afternoon if she’s slept badly.
He goes up to her, real quiet, just to look. There’s some grey in her hair and she wears a sweater, different from what other Moms wear. He wonders if Mom or Dad will die before he’s grown up. They might, since they’re older. Benny’s Mom was still in school when she had Benny.
Mom’s grip on her book is loose in sleep. It’s one of the large, foreign ones she reads for work and he can’t make out the title. The sleeve on her left arm is pushed up and he’s seen it before, but today it’s different, means something different. There’s an L, and numbers. My Mom was in a concentration camp, he thinks. She was just a girl and they wanted to kill her. All her family died.
He doesn’t touch, just looks, but Mom wakes up anyway, smiles at him sleepily. “Hello! You’re home already. Not baseball today?”
He shakes his head, suddenly unable to say anything. Mom puts her arms around him and he’s too old for hugging, but today he lets her.
Colonel Reynolds
His ex-wife miscarried three times. Whatever she felt she kept so close to her chest he never really found out. Though, to be fair, he never got round to talk about it either. Didn’t have the words.
That last time, sitting beside her hospital bed after the doctor had left he’d said “I’m sorry”. She was curled up on her side, her back towards him. She wasn’t crying anymore. She just said “Not your fault” and then they didn’t really say anything more. When we get home, he thought. We’ll talk when we get home.
It's stupid, but sometimes he wonders if the divorce had been easier if they'd hated each other.
Katie Brown
I guess I'd better explain that my personal canon for Katie has her working for the SGC for a few years before she went to Atlantis.
It was her fifth trip off-word with SG-10. One minute she was cutting off a stubborn air root and the next Major Gutierrez was hauling her off by the back of her vest and pushing her behind a boulder.
Then he was gone and she heard gun-fire and the sickening bursts of staff-weapons and they were close, too close. Then silence.
She stayed still, like he’d told her but she knew something was wrong. Keyed her radio twice, like she’d been taught, without saying anything. No-one answered.
It got dark. Katie gripped her gun so hard her fingers went a little numb, imagined herself back at the gun range with Sergeant Siler. She wondered if she could kill a man. If she could kill herself. She thought about dr Jackson’s wife, imprisoned in her own body. Dr Jackson had the whole SGC searching for her. Katie didn’t think anyone would search for her. David Parrish seemed to like her well enough, but he was sort of absent-minded.
The planet had short rotations and when SG-2 came to look for her it was already dawn. Major Ferretti knelt in front of her and calmly took the gun. His hands were warm and that was when she started crying.
Chuck
He’s been on the school soccer team since his junior year. Defense, usually or midfield. He does OK.
It’s only when Billy tears his ACL that coach shifts Chuck to keeper. He does OK there, too and so he stays next season when Billy graduates.
Goal-keeping is mostly waiting, he thinks. Then the quick rush of excitement when the game turns and his brain goes “here they come, here they come”. Penalties don’t worry him. You pick one way or the other and throw yourself. You get it or (more often) you don’t. It’s the other guy that’s worried. All keepers know this.
Sometimes, on his bike going home or when he's helping to put his sister to bed, he daydreams of how he'll score a penalty himself. Just stupid stuff. If they'd had the money, he'd rather have played hockey, anyway.
Richard Woolsey
Mom has been gone for a week. He tries to remember what the last thing she said to him was, but he can’t. She took him to school and then she was gone. Before, Dad’s secretary came and made him dinner and put him to bed, but today it’s just him and Dad.
Dad had got them Chinese food that came in boxes. It’s a little cold but it tastes nice. Dad has brought some of his papers from work to the table. When he’s grown up he’ll have a briefcase with important papers, like Dad.
He’s thinking about China, how they have pandas and communist oppression when Dad clears his throat. “So, ah, how was school today, Richard?”
“Good. We did the seven times table.”
“That’s good.” Dad looks down at his food and frowns. Maybe he doesn’t like Chinese food. “Did, did you play with your friends?”
“Yes.” Now it’s his turn to look at his plate. Chinese families are only allowed to have one child. It’s wrong to lie to your parents.
“I don’t really have any friends.” His voice sounds small and funny.
“Oh.” Dad takes off his glasses and puts them back on immediately. “Well, friends aren’t the only thing that’s important, you know. You…you have to work hard. Do your duty to society, your country.” Dad nods, as if agreeing with himself.
They finish dinner in silence. Richard gets ready for bed and Dad comes in to say goodnight, pats his shoulder and turns off the light. Mom always left a light on outside his bedroom but Dad doesn’t know he's supposed to do that. The darkness is almost like a living thing. He thinks that he wanted to ask when Mom is coming back, but something held him back. Tomorrow. He'll ask tomorrow.
After a while he hears music. Dad has put a record on. It’s an opera, but he doesn’t recognize it. If he concentrates on the music he forgets the darkness.
sg1_five_tings, Five backstories of minor characters that no-one ever told. Gen, about 1000 words. Robert Rothman
He can’t remember exactly when he found out. At first it’s just one of the things that set his parents apart from those of his friends. Like that they are a little older. And though Mom knows all the right words she still speaks a little funny because she learned English when she was nearly grown-up. That both Mom and Dad are doctors but not the kind you go to when you are ill, but the kind that read and write a lot (that’s the best kind, you know Dad always says). You don’t remember when you find out stuff like that.
He’s in third grade and Suzy Walters is telling class about a book she read and mrs Swersky says something and suddenly everyone is looking at him and he just wants it to stop. Suzy looks like she’s gonna cry and why didn’t he ever feel like that?
He goes straight home after school. It’s a Tuesday and Mom is working from home. She’s sprawled on the couch with a book on her lap. She likes taking a nap in the afternoon if she’s slept badly.
He goes up to her, real quiet, just to look. There’s some grey in her hair and she wears a sweater, different from what other Moms wear. He wonders if Mom or Dad will die before he’s grown up. They might, since they’re older. Benny’s Mom was still in school when she had Benny.
Mom’s grip on her book is loose in sleep. It’s one of the large, foreign ones she reads for work and he can’t make out the title. The sleeve on her left arm is pushed up and he’s seen it before, but today it’s different, means something different. There’s an L, and numbers. My Mom was in a concentration camp, he thinks. She was just a girl and they wanted to kill her. All her family died.
He doesn’t touch, just looks, but Mom wakes up anyway, smiles at him sleepily. “Hello! You’re home already. Not baseball today?”
He shakes his head, suddenly unable to say anything. Mom puts her arms around him and he’s too old for hugging, but today he lets her.
Colonel Reynolds
His ex-wife miscarried three times. Whatever she felt she kept so close to her chest he never really found out. Though, to be fair, he never got round to talk about it either. Didn’t have the words.
That last time, sitting beside her hospital bed after the doctor had left he’d said “I’m sorry”. She was curled up on her side, her back towards him. She wasn’t crying anymore. She just said “Not your fault” and then they didn’t really say anything more. When we get home, he thought. We’ll talk when we get home.
It's stupid, but sometimes he wonders if the divorce had been easier if they'd hated each other.
Katie Brown
I guess I'd better explain that my personal canon for Katie has her working for the SGC for a few years before she went to Atlantis.
It was her fifth trip off-word with SG-10. One minute she was cutting off a stubborn air root and the next Major Gutierrez was hauling her off by the back of her vest and pushing her behind a boulder.
Then he was gone and she heard gun-fire and the sickening bursts of staff-weapons and they were close, too close. Then silence.
She stayed still, like he’d told her but she knew something was wrong. Keyed her radio twice, like she’d been taught, without saying anything. No-one answered.
It got dark. Katie gripped her gun so hard her fingers went a little numb, imagined herself back at the gun range with Sergeant Siler. She wondered if she could kill a man. If she could kill herself. She thought about dr Jackson’s wife, imprisoned in her own body. Dr Jackson had the whole SGC searching for her. Katie didn’t think anyone would search for her. David Parrish seemed to like her well enough, but he was sort of absent-minded.
The planet had short rotations and when SG-2 came to look for her it was already dawn. Major Ferretti knelt in front of her and calmly took the gun. His hands were warm and that was when she started crying.
Chuck
He’s been on the school soccer team since his junior year. Defense, usually or midfield. He does OK.
It’s only when Billy tears his ACL that coach shifts Chuck to keeper. He does OK there, too and so he stays next season when Billy graduates.
Goal-keeping is mostly waiting, he thinks. Then the quick rush of excitement when the game turns and his brain goes “here they come, here they come”. Penalties don’t worry him. You pick one way or the other and throw yourself. You get it or (more often) you don’t. It’s the other guy that’s worried. All keepers know this.
Sometimes, on his bike going home or when he's helping to put his sister to bed, he daydreams of how he'll score a penalty himself. Just stupid stuff. If they'd had the money, he'd rather have played hockey, anyway.
Richard Woolsey
Mom has been gone for a week. He tries to remember what the last thing she said to him was, but he can’t. She took him to school and then she was gone. Before, Dad’s secretary came and made him dinner and put him to bed, but today it’s just him and Dad.
Dad had got them Chinese food that came in boxes. It’s a little cold but it tastes nice. Dad has brought some of his papers from work to the table. When he’s grown up he’ll have a briefcase with important papers, like Dad.
He’s thinking about China, how they have pandas and communist oppression when Dad clears his throat. “So, ah, how was school today, Richard?”
“Good. We did the seven times table.”
“That’s good.” Dad looks down at his food and frowns. Maybe he doesn’t like Chinese food. “Did, did you play with your friends?”
“Yes.” Now it’s his turn to look at his plate. Chinese families are only allowed to have one child. It’s wrong to lie to your parents.
“I don’t really have any friends.” His voice sounds small and funny.
“Oh.” Dad takes off his glasses and puts them back on immediately. “Well, friends aren’t the only thing that’s important, you know. You…you have to work hard. Do your duty to society, your country.” Dad nods, as if agreeing with himself.
They finish dinner in silence. Richard gets ready for bed and Dad comes in to say goodnight, pats his shoulder and turns off the light. Mom always left a light on outside his bedroom but Dad doesn’t know he's supposed to do that. The darkness is almost like a living thing. He thinks that he wanted to ask when Mom is coming back, but something held him back. Tomorrow. He'll ask tomorrow.
After a while he hears music. Dad has put a record on. It’s an opera, but he doesn’t recognize it. If he concentrates on the music he forgets the darkness.
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