SGA Fanfic: Five Times Aiden Ford Was Put To Bed

[kat_lair]

Title: Five Times Aiden Ford Was Put To Bed
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Category/Pairing: Five Things (includes gen, het, and slash)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~ 1730
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Spoilers: Brief references to Thirty-Eight Minutes (1.04) and The Lost Boys (2.10)
Summary: Title says it all.

Author notes: The prompt/title was given by moth2fic some considerable time ago. Since then she’s written me fic, provided me with food and shelter when I required them, and simply been an amazing friend. Words cannot describe how embarrassed I am that it took me so long to write this. Beta by hullfire who is so quick and efficient she gives me whiplash. In a good way. Also thanks to dark_cygnet and pushkin666 who helped me past the final hurdle and donated some ideas.

Five Times Aiden Ford Was Put To Bed

1. The quilt feels scratchy against his skin, new and foreign. Aiden lies on his back, stiff as a board, arms crossed over his narrow chest. The room is mostly black, pale moonlight filtering through the open curtains, and Aiden keeps his eyes wide open, because he’s a big boy and big boys aren’t afraid of the dark. His daddy said so, and it’s a truth Aiden now clings to. 

There’s a creak of the door and quiet steps approaching the bed. The mattress dips and his Grandma sits down with a sigh, her round belly and tight curls blocking out the hall light. She brushes a hand over his forehead and then down his skinny arms, and Aiden can’t help but curl into the touch a bit, big boy or not.

“You still awake, sweetie?” 

“It smells funny,” he mumbles against her side, drawn together into a tight ball now, all pretence of bravery gone.

“What does?” 

“The pillow. And the sheets. Everything.” It doesn’t make any sense and it’s probably really stupid to notice things like that and Mom said to be good, Mom said—

“Oh honey. It’s just a different detergent.” Grandma doesn’t sound angry, just sad. Aiden wonders if that’s what he sounds like, too. “What do you say tomorrow we’ll go buy the brand your Momma used? Do you think you can remember what it was?” 

Aiden nods, face buried in the soft fabric of her dress. He remembers. It’s only been a few days since the funeral.

 

 

2. A tiny push to his chest and Aiden goes tumbling down, falling onto the bed with muffled laughter, dozens of teddy bears making a break for it and scattering all over the floor. Tina grins at him, all dimples and honey-blond beauty, as she hikes her skirt up and crawls after him. 

They’re kissing with intent, Tina’s small hands working their way under his jersey, pink nails scraping over the ribcage. Aiden flips them over, seems like a thing to do, and she giggles, sweet and sixteen and his. Her t-shirt says “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” on the front, the red letters crumpling as Aiden pushes it up and off.

“You too,” she says, breathless and beautiful, and Aiden complies, tossing his top toward the locked door. He bends down, and that first taste of woman’s skin bursts on his tongue like a revelation, salty and hot. 

Aiden’s been out of balance for weeks now, nervous and wanting, but now that they’re finally here, he feels curiously confident. The bed groans under them, the sound drowned by laughter and whispered words. And in that time and place, they mean every one of them.

 

 

3. “Ford? What are you still doing up? Big day tomorrow. I thought you’d be in bed already.” 

Aiden looks up from his mug of hot chocolate. “Can’t sleep, too jittery.” He flashes a grin at the man, who drops to the seat opposite of him. “Don’t tell Major Sheppard I said that though. Wouldn’t do to let the flyboys think us marines were made of anything but pure steel and stubbornness.”

“Bullshit more like it.” Raul laughs at his own joke, but it’s subdued. He swipes one of the tiny sugar packets from the bowl, slim fingers twisting it this way and that. 

Aiden raises his eyebrows. “What’s up, amigo? Everything okay with Pepe?”

As always, Raul’s face softens with the mention of the boy. Three years they’ve served in SGC; recruited at the same time, working in different teams but together nonetheless. Aiden knows all about the car crash that killed Raul’s sister and her husband, leaving him a sole guardian of his three-year-old nephew. 

“Nah, man, Pepe’s fine. Running me ragged as usual.” And just like that Raul launches into a rambling tale about their recent trip to the zoo, and trying to convince Pepe that lions would not, in fact, appreciate a lick of his ice cream.

It’s well past midnight before Raul looks at his watch, grabs Aiden unceremoniously by his jacket and announces that even tough-as-nails marines need their beauty sleep before exploring new Galaxies far, far away. 

Aiden sniggers, but lets himself be dragged down the corridors, all the way to the door of his temporary quarters. Once there, Raul leans against the wall, arms crossed, and regards him with an inscrutable look in his eyes.

He sighs, gaze falling to the floor. “I wish I was going with you.” 

“No you don’t,” Aiden says, thinking of Pepe’s small arms, chubby and tanned, winding around Raul’s legs in enthusiastic hello every time he walks through the door.

Raul straightens, covering the distance between them in two steps. “No I don’t,” he agrees, clapping both hands on Aiden’s shoulders and squeezing hard. “You take care now, Ford. It’s been a pleasure.” 

They stay like that for a few seconds, until Aiden pulls the other man into a brief hug. “You too, amigo.” He mouths the words against Raul’s collar, his voice unexpectedly rough. In some ways this is worse than saying goodbye to his grandparents.

When they pull apart Raul is smiling. For the life of him Aiden can’t tell whether the expression is happy or sad, but suspects it looks a lot like his own. 

They depart in silence.

It’s only three days later, tossing and turning between thin sheets of his new bed in Atlantis, when Aiden realises that his last night on Earth need not have been a lonely one. But by that time it’s all gone to shit, the Wraith awake and the city full of refugees, and he is too busy for anything more than fleeting regret.

 

 

4. There are things crawling everywhere, black and gleaming and goddamned fast, like huge spiders only not. They skitter across the corridor, up and down the walls, closer, closer, too fucking close, and he’s caught between wanting to run and needing to throw up. Something about their multi-jointed sideways shuffle makes him think of the Iratus bugs, and maybe he goes a bit crazy then, but just look at what happened the last time they encountered one of those, what Aiden had to do. 

He grapples for his gun, but it’s not where it’s supposed to be, and that’s when he realises he’s been dragged backwards, carried by three pairs of arms.

Suddenly, the world explodes into bright lights and noise as they round the corner. People are shouting, but Aiden only catches a word here and there, the voices mixing into each other and drowning under the brittle raspy sound of hundreds of exoskeletons grinding and scraping and swarming all around him.   

Teyla’s face swims to focus. “…listen to me!” She’s speaking, an earnest look in her eyes. “… accident … chemicals.” Why is she here, why isn’t she running away, where’s—

He’s pushed onto an infirmary bed, flat on his back, vulnerable and strapped down. And there’s Sheppard, hands on his chest, his full weight behind them. Muscles screaming, Aiden struggles against the leather fastenings around his wrists and ankles, back curved sharp like a sickle moon. 

Sheppard leans in, forcing Aiden down to the mattress. “Calm down, Lieutenant! … an order!” His head is turned toward the foot of the bed, glaring at whoever is standing there. “… a little care … goddamn idiots!”

“Not my fault!” McKay barks, his grip surprisingly strong, holding Aiden’s legs immobile. He tries to kick him off, futilely. “…wasn’t even in the room!”

The insects are still coming, clustering around the bed, and Aiden draws breath in great hitching sobs. 

“… hallucinations, son.” Beckett says, plunging a needle into his arm, “…some sleep…” Black bodies cling to the doctor’s white jacket, jaws snapping. Aiden closes his eyes and concentrates on the warmth of John’s hands, resting above his heart, and the constant litany of “…come on, take it easy Ford, steady now…”

He’s trying, he is, because John’s his… John’s his…  He takes a gulp of air, then another, every instinct screaming danger and fight. But Sheppard’s his commanding officer and he can’t afford not to obey. “I’ll sit with him,” John says and Aiden feels himself being pulled under, Beckett’s drugs proving impossible to resist. 

His team is gathered around him like a protective wall. Aiden curls inside it, small and scared like he hasn’t been since that long ago night when the state trooper knocked on his Grandma’s door with a hat in his hands. The blackness laps at the edges of his mind, and with a sigh Aiden surrenders to it. After all, if you can’t trust your team to protect you, who can you trust?

But even the strongest walls fall down, and behind this one he can still hear the creatures, scrabbling and hollow like nightmares come to life.
 

 

5. He stands in the clearing, throwing a fistful after fistful of dirt into the fire until the only light left is coming from the twin moons adorning the night sky. The wind is biting, carrying frost on its back, but he only feels the intricate flow of air currents as they bend around him, not the cold.

One by one they walk past him, each deliberate brush of bodies a silent invitation. They still have names, his men, but each night he forgets them, just like forgets his own. Words have become increasingly useless, and every month that goes by there are less things to talk about. 

He turns to follow, ducking under the low entrance, eyes adjusting to the dark much quicker than human eyes should. The room tastes of sweat and semen, the flavours of brotherhood. He finds the others on the pallet, hands reaching to pull him down. He goes willingly, burrowing into the tangle of limbs.

The men curl around him like sleepy wolves, the press of bodies both entirely sexual and at the same time not. He shoves his hands under layers of clothing, seeking skin, his teeth gently biting down on someone’s jugular, already bared in submission. 

In his veins the Wraith enzyme ebbs and flows in time to his heartbeat, strong and steady. He falls asleep to the sound of the wind howling like a hungry animal. There are dreams that still linger, full of faces and feelings slow to fade, but come morning he won’t remember any of them.

And perhaps that’s for the best.

Fin.

Comments

[tifaching.livejournal.com]

So nice....and gorgeously written. I liked Ford a lot and hated the way he went out.

So much heartstring tugging here so well done.