John's Journal 2

Holster

by Cynical_Coat

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asc/ccoat/jjournal02.php
Summary: John writes in his journal as any wounded romantic does, without reserve

You can tell a lot about a man from the way he holds his gun.

Not so much with women. They tend to give less away.

Men though... hand a man a gun and I'll tell you more about him than you ever wanted to know. How he drives, how he makes love, how he masturbates, how he thinks, how he... well, just how he is.

Who he is.

There are basically two kinds of men.

The guy who knows what to do with the gun.

And the guy that doesn't.

Of the ones that do, there are two catagories.

The ones who like it.

And the ones that hate it.

Of the ones that hate it, again, two groups.

The ones that do what they have to anyway.

And the ones that don't.

Of the ones that don't... you guessed it, two kinds.

The lucky.

And the dead.

Shooting, like life, is a progression of choices.

You either shoot or you don't, but no matter what, you have to choose.

Life is hell.

Shooting... well, it's the road to.

It's easy to spot the differences between the above groups, the most obvious distinction coming between the guy who knows and the guy who doesn't.

A 'doesn't' might look like a 'doesn't want to' at first...

He holds the gun white knuckled straight out in front of him, like something that might turn and bite him suddenly and without warning. He pays more attention to what he's shooting *with* than to what he's shooting *at*.

A 'does', on the other hand, uses the gun as an extention of his hand, never losing sight of the target.

A guy can practice for years and still be a 'doesn't'.

Some of the best soldiers I know still don't know what to do with a gun.

And that reflects other aspects of their lives.

A 'doesn't' is the kind that drives wild to prove a point.

The kind that brags about all the chicks they've banged... ask them how many they've brought to moaning completion and they look at you like a stoned dog.

They masturbate like it's a crime.

They think like it's their right.

A guy can practice for years, and still never fire a shot.

Others... never fire a shot and live in the holster.

They know instinctively what the gun is for.

They drive to get where they need to be.

They love like they need to be loved.

Masturbation is an art, and thinking... hell, thinking is a *priviledge*.

They know by sheer instinct what the gun is for.

Gun's are for killing.

You don't have to worry about the guy who knows what the gun is for.

It's the one that likes it that's a danger to everyone around him.

The guy that hates it is going to be careful, he's going to take as few shots as he can manage while still keeping himself and his team alive.

The guy who likes it...

There's no telling.

What you have to watch for with the 'hates' is the one who won't take the shot even when he needs to.

He'll get everyone killed just as quick as the trigger happy moron who get's off on a spray of bullets and a smoking barrel...

You want the guy to live in the holster, not hide in it.

Today...

Today I had the chance to find out what kind of man Rodney is...

I won't lie... I was surprised.

He's just like me, only I had to train for years to get to this point...

My Rodney lives in the holster... and he'll take the shot, no matter how much it hurts him.

My Rodney hates his gun, but he'll use it to save me... to save the team.

My Rodney lives in the holster.

***

Carson stared at that last line, his tea long gone cold beside him. He stared and stared, as though trying to unearth some underlying truth, some hidden admission. He had already gleaned from the first entry that Major Sheppard was falling in love with Rodney...

Rodney's own journal had exposed no equivalent epiphany, but that hardly meant anything.

With a sigh, Carson closed the cover of the actual, physical journal. Most of the expediition was using electronic means, but not Sheppard. He had actually brought a supply of leather bound journals. It was a comfort to know he would have done this therapy exercise without being told.

It was not a comfort for Carson to be an audience of one to his unfolding saga of unrequitted love... He took a sip of the tea and grimaced, placing it back on the tray. It was bitter and cold... it fit his mood perfectly. Sighing again, he massaged his temples.

"That's enough of that for one night..."

He stood and retreated to his quarters. Somehow, even in the safety of his own room he could feel John's sadness. He resolved to do what he could.

What that was... he didn't know.

~fin~

Next: Closet