sorry, no batman

click, don't think


also, the people who left me random comments two weeks ago are awesome! do it again, please? and if you don't want to be spammed with sga snippets, just say so and i'll spam you with snippets from something else.
He should talk to the man sitting beside him in the cockpit, should explain what he's doing and how and why, and what the plan is and the contingency plans and when Markham should simply cut and run---but there's something slowly curling up inside him, something he'd thought lost and then forgotten.

Optimism is a choice, though he never could get Rodney to understand this. Somewhere in Antarctica, after the blood had dried and flaked off and the snow had scoured him clean, he'd decided to always assume that a situation could be salvaged, to never give up. To not quit. (Although he'd then spent the better part of a year quiescently playing taxi-driver, which went to show how much *that* had meant.)

But this, this sensation beating against his ribs and heart like the wings of some prehistoric butterfly---this is hope, which he hasn't known since everything went to hell and sand and failure (after failure after failure, it sometimes seemed, in the dark places of his memory).

He doesn't tell Markham anything because he doesn't need to: this rescue, he knows, *knows*, will go right, whatever may come after.

This is what he's here for.

Edited at 2009-12-18 03:13 am (UTC)