Lt. Helga Sinclair (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notasuggestion) wrote2010-07-10 05:31 am
notasuggestion) wrote2010-07-10 05:31 am
- Small Comforts -
Helga Sinclair
Atlantis: The Lost Empire
450 words
Those lost to the Leviathan are mourned.
The fires scattered about the campsite flickered out one by one. The men and women who had sat around them retired to their tents and sleeping bags. One light remained, an electric lantern that hummed as it threw its unwavering artificial light down a cavern. A lone figure, seated on the ground, followed the path with her eyes as far as it went. Nothing emerged, but she never loosened her hold on the sleek pistol in her hand.
For the first time in eleven years, retreat was not only unacceptable but impossible. They couldn’t go back the way they had come, and only one man could read the map to their destination and whatever warnings it might contain. No alternate plans could be made. She was accustomed to following, but she had never done so blindly before. She’d never been without a choice.
A touch pulled her from her thoughts. A man’s hand, large and firm, settled against the small of her back. The woman looked over at her companion as he sat beside her. Even seated, he was taller than her and easily twice as wide. He ran his hand up her back as she looked away, unable to hold his gaze.
“Lieutenant,” he murmured.
“I keep going over it. Again and again. I keep looking for the mistake.”
“You didn’t make one.” His other hand cupped her chin and forced her head up. “You did everything right.”
Helga Sinclair stared at her commander. “A hundred and fifty men.”
“I know.” He sighed. “We’ve lost men before.”
“Never this many,” she replied. She looked away from him again. “We can’t even let their families bury them.”
He rubbed her back again and moved closer. She leaned against his side lightly, and Lyle Rourke reached into a pocket of his jacket. “Will you do me a favor, Lieutenant?”
“What is it?”
“Take this.” He offered her a small, white pill.
Helga took it and frowned at him, “Why?”
Rourke moved his hand again, applying gentle pressure along her spine with two knuckles. “Because I know you. You won’t sleep.”
“Someone has to keep watch.”
“Leave that to me tonight.”
“Commander.”
“Lieutenant.”
Helga put the pill on her tongue, bit one, and swallowed the two parts. She looked up at the older man again.
After glancing around briefly, Rourke dipped his head to brush his lips against hers. His second-in-command moved closer, and he wrapped an arm around her. Her head settled on his shoulder as he stroked her side.
“Just rest,” he muttered. “You did everything right. You deserve to get some sleep.” He listened to her breathing steady and felt her muscles relax as she succumbed to the medicine.
Atlantis: The Lost Empire
450 words
Those lost to the Leviathan are mourned.
The fires scattered about the campsite flickered out one by one. The men and women who had sat around them retired to their tents and sleeping bags. One light remained, an electric lantern that hummed as it threw its unwavering artificial light down a cavern. A lone figure, seated on the ground, followed the path with her eyes as far as it went. Nothing emerged, but she never loosened her hold on the sleek pistol in her hand.
For the first time in eleven years, retreat was not only unacceptable but impossible. They couldn’t go back the way they had come, and only one man could read the map to their destination and whatever warnings it might contain. No alternate plans could be made. She was accustomed to following, but she had never done so blindly before. She’d never been without a choice.
A touch pulled her from her thoughts. A man’s hand, large and firm, settled against the small of her back. The woman looked over at her companion as he sat beside her. Even seated, he was taller than her and easily twice as wide. He ran his hand up her back as she looked away, unable to hold his gaze.
“Lieutenant,” he murmured.
“I keep going over it. Again and again. I keep looking for the mistake.”
“You didn’t make one.” His other hand cupped her chin and forced her head up. “You did everything right.”
Helga Sinclair stared at her commander. “A hundred and fifty men.”
“I know.” He sighed. “We’ve lost men before.”
“Never this many,” she replied. She looked away from him again. “We can’t even let their families bury them.”
He rubbed her back again and moved closer. She leaned against his side lightly, and Lyle Rourke reached into a pocket of his jacket. “Will you do me a favor, Lieutenant?”
“What is it?”
“Take this.” He offered her a small, white pill.
Helga took it and frowned at him, “Why?”
Rourke moved his hand again, applying gentle pressure along her spine with two knuckles. “Because I know you. You won’t sleep.”
“Someone has to keep watch.”
“Leave that to me tonight.”
“Commander.”
“Lieutenant.”
Helga put the pill on her tongue, bit one, and swallowed the two parts. She looked up at the older man again.
After glancing around briefly, Rourke dipped his head to brush his lips against hers. His second-in-command moved closer, and he wrapped an arm around her. Her head settled on his shoulder as he stroked her side.
“Just rest,” he muttered. “You did everything right. You deserve to get some sleep.” He listened to her breathing steady and felt her muscles relax as she succumbed to the medicine.