kriadydragon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kriadydragon) wrote2009-11-19 06:27 pm
kriadydragon) wrote2009-11-19 06:27 pm
DVD Commentary on Peace of Mind
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coolbreeze1 who wanted commentary on Peace of Mind
The inspiration for this story came from something a writer visiting our college had told us about open-heart surgery and how it had affected him in an emotionally negative way. But it was some time later before I came up with this story, as I wanted to explore what would happen if, after Sheppard survived some terrible torture, he was injured and had to endure extreme surgery that he was aware of, and how it would affect him.
I wanted to explore Sheppard at his breaking point, when he's forced to stop and take into consideration his own needs rather than pushing forward and focusing on the needs of others. I think it rather easy to see him as someone who is capable of overcoming just about anything, all the more so if those he cares about are in trouble. I wanted this story to be about Sheppard the human rather than Sheppard the hero and Sheppard the team leader.
Each character had an interlude with Sheppard. This one is Teyla's
Teyla knocked again. “ Colonel Sheppard?” Still no answer. This had been the fourth time she had knocked, which officially made her justified to just walk in if she wanted to. It was fifteen minutes passed the lunch hour, and Sheppard's soup was getting cold. If he were in the shower, he would have been out by now, unless something had happened.
Teyla shoved aside her discomfort at entering Sheppard's quarters without invitation and palmed the pad to get the barrier to slide away. She entered darkness that took a moment to morph into various shapes as her eyes adjusted. Her gaze went to the empty bed covered in rumpled sheets, then down to the floor when she noticed a shape highlighted by the light of the corridor, and a slight movement.
She nearly dropped the tray when she finally registered the shape to be John. She moved quickly to set the tray on the table, then positioned herself in front of him, folding herself into a tense crouch.
John was leaning against the bed with his knees pulled up, both arms wrapped around them, and head resting sideways on his knees. The light from the corridor revealed to Teyla the dark wet stains on his long-sleeved shirt, and her nose revealed to her the sour stench of drying vomit.
I don't know what it is about a vulnerable Sheppard I love so much. Maybe because it's something we rarely see on the show? Plus I have a thing for characters showing moments of weakness, reminding us that they are still human and still subject to times when they are helpless.
“ Colonel Sheppard?” Teyla said. She slowly, carefully, reached out to touch Sheppard's hand. He flinched and jerked his head up with a quick inhale. He had the heavy eyed look of one who'd just woken up, though Teyla had caught the white in his open eyes when she'd moved to be in front of him.
“ I was just resting,” he hoarsely explained, and dropped his head against the side of the bed.
Teyla looked back over his wet shirt, then to the floor and the remains of the mess. Her face twisted in frightened concern. “ You were sick.”
John blinked at her. “ Bad dream.”
Teyla looked at him sadly. She knew he hated any sort of expression of pity, but she couldn't help herself. He looked worn to the bone, was visibly shaking, and in what she hoped was only a trick of the light and shadows, seemed even thinner. She placed her hand on his arm and felt his tremors. He flinched but at least didn't try to pull away.
There is pity and there is sympathy. Teyla thinks "pity" but what she is really feeling is sympathy. She is worried about Sheppard and can't help worrying.
“ Do you wish me to contact Dr. Beckett?”
John shook his head. “ It won't make a difference.”
For some reason, Teyla believed John. “ Do you still feel ill?” she asked.
John shook his head. “ A little cold.”
That came as bit of a surprise. The room could have supported a rain forest in its current temperature. “ I will take care of the floor,” she said. “ You get cleaned up.” She lightly gripped his arm and helped him to rise on his unsteady legs. He didn't move until he found his balance, then grabbed some cloths from the drawer and headed into his bathroom. Teyla took a discarded towel from the plastic crate John used as a hamper to wipe up the vomit. The smell continued to linger. Teyla thought about bringing in a candle that was both sweet-smelling and made of herbs that were known to aid people in avoiding bad dreams. She heard the water running in the shower, so busied herself with straightening the blankets on John's bed
It wasn't a long shower. Maybe five minutes at most, then the water shut off. Teyla found more busy work in discarding the empty water bottles scattered around the small table. After dumping them, she turned, and jumped with a yelp of surprise. John was standing by his bed wearing only sweat pants, with his towel held around his shoulders in one hand, and the hand of the casted arm holding a long strip of wide gauze.
John flashed her an uncomfortable smile. “ Um, I – uh – need some... help...”
Teyla relaxed, and smiled at him reassuringly. “ Of course, Colonel. Just sit down and I will help you.”
John lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, and didn't remove the towel until Teyla was sitting down beside him and had taken the gauze. The lights came on, and the door slid shut – faster than Teyla had ever seen it shut. Removing the towel was slow, and more of an effort than it should have been for John. Teyla had to finally take it from him. John kept his gaze to the floor, and planted his hands on his knees to keep his arms out of the way so Teyla could wrap his chest.
This was meant to convey a combination of humiliation, fear, and resignation. Sheppard has his pride but he isn't stupid - he knows when he needs help. But it's difficult, especially after what he's been through. touch scares him, reminding him of what was done to him. But he knows Teyla won't hurt him, and knows he needs help with the bandaging, so forces himself to endure.
John wasn't horribly emaciated. Remnant muscles – stretched and ropey – gave him some definition, but mostly in the arms. Other than that, he really was skin and bones with every inch of his skeleton pressing against his skin as though all the meat had been sucked right out of him. The bruises were glaringly vivid, but fading, and the wounds on his back angry red yet on their way to becoming more scars to add to the collection of scars already marking his flesh. The brightest – like a king of wounds -was the one on his chest, still ragged with the black sutures but no longer needing to be covered. Teyla found that she hated looking at it, yet couldn't pull her eyes away. The area around the wound was heavily bruised where...
Where Dr. Beckett had split the bone to get to the bullet. Teyla wound the gauze around John's chest, knowing how tight to make the binding having provided similar medical help to her own people, and having learned under Carson how to better the technique. The gauze soon hid the chest wound from sight, and Teyla found herself breathing out in relief. She just hoped John hadn't noticed. He didn't seem to have, his eyes still locked unwavering on the floor. His back was stiff, his whole body tense, and his shaking more pronounced.
I'm such a detail junky:D But above all I didn't want this moment to be perceived as intimate or hinting at romantic. I wanted my readers to see John as a fellow human being than a sexual object, and Teyla as a distressed friend trying to do what she can for him. I love stories where one friend takes care of another. Plus this is the grim reality of torture and major surgery - it isn't pretty, it isn't sexy, and anyone can break.
“ I am finished,” she announced, and the result of her words was like watching grass shrivel in a fire. John curled into himself, pulling his arms in to wrap around his chest. He had to pry one arm away from himself to grab the shirt he'd dropped on the bed, and quickly pulled it on. Another long-sleeved shirt, this one dark blue and knit. When he was done, his arm went back to his chest. He looked... concerned, nervous, confused, slightly afraid though the latter was on again, off again. Teyla had to clench her hands into fists to keep from reaching out and placing her hand on John's back. Instead, she placated the need by unclenching one hand to place on his arm. Again he flinched, but didn't pull away.
I think most people know my feelings about forcing Sheppard to open up as a means to help him heal. It's always been my opinion that to help Sheppard is to give him what he needs, not what his team thinks he needs. Teyla wants to comfort him with touch, but knows that it will only make matters worse. It is difficult, but what I love about Teyla is her compassion, and part of that compassion is knowing when to dial said compassion down.
“ I have brought you some food.”
She saw his throat move in a swallow. “ I'm not hungry,” he said.
“ You really should try to eat,” she pressed. “ It would do you good.”
John gave her an apologetic look. “ I'm still kind of tired. Can I eat something later? M-maybe I'll be more hungry.”
Teyla nodded. “ Of course. I will come back around dinner. But if you awaken sick again, please call Dr. Beckett. You should not suffer having to wake up in such a way.”
John's eyes lowered toward his bed. “ It won't help...” then after a moment added, “ but I will.”
Teyla smiled wanly. “ Thank you.” She stood, then helped him to stand and pull back the covers so he could get into bed. She pulled the covers up to his shoulders, then took the tray before heading out. The lights dimmed, the door slid open, but on looking back over her shoulder, Teyla saw John to be deep asleep – and even in sleep he looked weary.
I have a love/hate relationship with this story, in that I don't like how it seems to drown in angst, but I loved writing it and writing Sheppard at his most fragile and vulnerable. It was also difficult, as it's difficult to write Sheppard as vulnerable, though I do enjoy it and write it as much as I can :D As I said, it's easy to see him as stoic, able to move on past any trauma, because it's all we really see on the show. Vulnerable moments are rare, so to write him as such takes a lot of careful thinking and time. But it's a challenge I enjoy.
coolbreeze1 who wanted commentary on Peace of MindThe inspiration for this story came from something a writer visiting our college had told us about open-heart surgery and how it had affected him in an emotionally negative way. But it was some time later before I came up with this story, as I wanted to explore what would happen if, after Sheppard survived some terrible torture, he was injured and had to endure extreme surgery that he was aware of, and how it would affect him.
I wanted to explore Sheppard at his breaking point, when he's forced to stop and take into consideration his own needs rather than pushing forward and focusing on the needs of others. I think it rather easy to see him as someone who is capable of overcoming just about anything, all the more so if those he cares about are in trouble. I wanted this story to be about Sheppard the human rather than Sheppard the hero and Sheppard the team leader.
Each character had an interlude with Sheppard. This one is Teyla's
Teyla knocked again. “ Colonel Sheppard?” Still no answer. This had been the fourth time she had knocked, which officially made her justified to just walk in if she wanted to. It was fifteen minutes passed the lunch hour, and Sheppard's soup was getting cold. If he were in the shower, he would have been out by now, unless something had happened.
Teyla shoved aside her discomfort at entering Sheppard's quarters without invitation and palmed the pad to get the barrier to slide away. She entered darkness that took a moment to morph into various shapes as her eyes adjusted. Her gaze went to the empty bed covered in rumpled sheets, then down to the floor when she noticed a shape highlighted by the light of the corridor, and a slight movement.
She nearly dropped the tray when she finally registered the shape to be John. She moved quickly to set the tray on the table, then positioned herself in front of him, folding herself into a tense crouch.
John was leaning against the bed with his knees pulled up, both arms wrapped around them, and head resting sideways on his knees. The light from the corridor revealed to Teyla the dark wet stains on his long-sleeved shirt, and her nose revealed to her the sour stench of drying vomit.
I don't know what it is about a vulnerable Sheppard I love so much. Maybe because it's something we rarely see on the show? Plus I have a thing for characters showing moments of weakness, reminding us that they are still human and still subject to times when they are helpless.
“ Colonel Sheppard?” Teyla said. She slowly, carefully, reached out to touch Sheppard's hand. He flinched and jerked his head up with a quick inhale. He had the heavy eyed look of one who'd just woken up, though Teyla had caught the white in his open eyes when she'd moved to be in front of him.
“ I was just resting,” he hoarsely explained, and dropped his head against the side of the bed.
Teyla looked back over his wet shirt, then to the floor and the remains of the mess. Her face twisted in frightened concern. “ You were sick.”
John blinked at her. “ Bad dream.”
Teyla looked at him sadly. She knew he hated any sort of expression of pity, but she couldn't help herself. He looked worn to the bone, was visibly shaking, and in what she hoped was only a trick of the light and shadows, seemed even thinner. She placed her hand on his arm and felt his tremors. He flinched but at least didn't try to pull away.
There is pity and there is sympathy. Teyla thinks "pity" but what she is really feeling is sympathy. She is worried about Sheppard and can't help worrying.
“ Do you wish me to contact Dr. Beckett?”
John shook his head. “ It won't make a difference.”
For some reason, Teyla believed John. “ Do you still feel ill?” she asked.
John shook his head. “ A little cold.”
That came as bit of a surprise. The room could have supported a rain forest in its current temperature. “ I will take care of the floor,” she said. “ You get cleaned up.” She lightly gripped his arm and helped him to rise on his unsteady legs. He didn't move until he found his balance, then grabbed some cloths from the drawer and headed into his bathroom. Teyla took a discarded towel from the plastic crate John used as a hamper to wipe up the vomit. The smell continued to linger. Teyla thought about bringing in a candle that was both sweet-smelling and made of herbs that were known to aid people in avoiding bad dreams. She heard the water running in the shower, so busied herself with straightening the blankets on John's bed
It wasn't a long shower. Maybe five minutes at most, then the water shut off. Teyla found more busy work in discarding the empty water bottles scattered around the small table. After dumping them, she turned, and jumped with a yelp of surprise. John was standing by his bed wearing only sweat pants, with his towel held around his shoulders in one hand, and the hand of the casted arm holding a long strip of wide gauze.
John flashed her an uncomfortable smile. “ Um, I – uh – need some... help...”
Teyla relaxed, and smiled at him reassuringly. “ Of course, Colonel. Just sit down and I will help you.”
John lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, and didn't remove the towel until Teyla was sitting down beside him and had taken the gauze. The lights came on, and the door slid shut – faster than Teyla had ever seen it shut. Removing the towel was slow, and more of an effort than it should have been for John. Teyla had to finally take it from him. John kept his gaze to the floor, and planted his hands on his knees to keep his arms out of the way so Teyla could wrap his chest.
This was meant to convey a combination of humiliation, fear, and resignation. Sheppard has his pride but he isn't stupid - he knows when he needs help. But it's difficult, especially after what he's been through. touch scares him, reminding him of what was done to him. But he knows Teyla won't hurt him, and knows he needs help with the bandaging, so forces himself to endure.
John wasn't horribly emaciated. Remnant muscles – stretched and ropey – gave him some definition, but mostly in the arms. Other than that, he really was skin and bones with every inch of his skeleton pressing against his skin as though all the meat had been sucked right out of him. The bruises were glaringly vivid, but fading, and the wounds on his back angry red yet on their way to becoming more scars to add to the collection of scars already marking his flesh. The brightest – like a king of wounds -was the one on his chest, still ragged with the black sutures but no longer needing to be covered. Teyla found that she hated looking at it, yet couldn't pull her eyes away. The area around the wound was heavily bruised where...
Where Dr. Beckett had split the bone to get to the bullet. Teyla wound the gauze around John's chest, knowing how tight to make the binding having provided similar medical help to her own people, and having learned under Carson how to better the technique. The gauze soon hid the chest wound from sight, and Teyla found herself breathing out in relief. She just hoped John hadn't noticed. He didn't seem to have, his eyes still locked unwavering on the floor. His back was stiff, his whole body tense, and his shaking more pronounced.
I'm such a detail junky:D But above all I didn't want this moment to be perceived as intimate or hinting at romantic. I wanted my readers to see John as a fellow human being than a sexual object, and Teyla as a distressed friend trying to do what she can for him. I love stories where one friend takes care of another. Plus this is the grim reality of torture and major surgery - it isn't pretty, it isn't sexy, and anyone can break.
“ I am finished,” she announced, and the result of her words was like watching grass shrivel in a fire. John curled into himself, pulling his arms in to wrap around his chest. He had to pry one arm away from himself to grab the shirt he'd dropped on the bed, and quickly pulled it on. Another long-sleeved shirt, this one dark blue and knit. When he was done, his arm went back to his chest. He looked... concerned, nervous, confused, slightly afraid though the latter was on again, off again. Teyla had to clench her hands into fists to keep from reaching out and placing her hand on John's back. Instead, she placated the need by unclenching one hand to place on his arm. Again he flinched, but didn't pull away.
I think most people know my feelings about forcing Sheppard to open up as a means to help him heal. It's always been my opinion that to help Sheppard is to give him what he needs, not what his team thinks he needs. Teyla wants to comfort him with touch, but knows that it will only make matters worse. It is difficult, but what I love about Teyla is her compassion, and part of that compassion is knowing when to dial said compassion down.
“ I have brought you some food.”
She saw his throat move in a swallow. “ I'm not hungry,” he said.
“ You really should try to eat,” she pressed. “ It would do you good.”
John gave her an apologetic look. “ I'm still kind of tired. Can I eat something later? M-maybe I'll be more hungry.”
Teyla nodded. “ Of course. I will come back around dinner. But if you awaken sick again, please call Dr. Beckett. You should not suffer having to wake up in such a way.”
John's eyes lowered toward his bed. “ It won't help...” then after a moment added, “ but I will.”
Teyla smiled wanly. “ Thank you.” She stood, then helped him to stand and pull back the covers so he could get into bed. She pulled the covers up to his shoulders, then took the tray before heading out. The lights dimmed, the door slid open, but on looking back over her shoulder, Teyla saw John to be deep asleep – and even in sleep he looked weary.
I have a love/hate relationship with this story, in that I don't like how it seems to drown in angst, but I loved writing it and writing Sheppard at his most fragile and vulnerable. It was also difficult, as it's difficult to write Sheppard as vulnerable, though I do enjoy it and write it as much as I can :D As I said, it's easy to see him as stoic, able to move on past any trauma, because it's all we really see on the show. Vulnerable moments are rare, so to write him as such takes a lot of careful thinking and time. But it's a challenge I enjoy.
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