A/N: This is a sort of continuation of "Welcome to Atlantis" that's in my SGA Spare Parts Bin. You might want to head over there and check that out, first.

Yes, the Lorne in my head is a bloody masochist. I kid you not. I was sitting there cruising through music trying to debate on whether or not I wanted to write when I hit on "Getting Away with Murder" by Papa Roach. Instantly Lorne pops up and says, "That's the spirit, ma'am!" Yes, there was a headdesk seconds later as this little fic was spawned.

Really, Lorne?

Enjoy!

Prologue

The shock of the blast ringing in his skull, Major Lorne barely had a chance to comprehend what was happening before his body impacted the water hard enough to feel like he'd just shattered every bone. It forced the air out of his lungs as black spots danced across his vision. The frigid waters shocked him back to awareness enough that his body took over instinctively. His arms and legs flailed as if unwilling to obey his commands. His first real sense of awareness was his chest burning even as the rest of his body froze.

Finally his head broke the surface, only to be slapped with another wave as he tried to breathe. Choking and gasping, his oxygen starved brain finally began to make sense of what had happened and where he was. Looking up, he knew that aside from the velocity of the blast wave that had thrown him off the other side of the pier, he had dropped a very, very long ways. No wonder it had felt like impacting a brick wall when he landed. Shivering uncontrollably he looked up at the pier towering above him.

Dear God this water was cold! Struggling to comprehend the entirety of his situation, he flailed aching limbs he could almost no longer feel just to tread water. The gently rolling waves were pushing him closer and closer to the solid metal wall. But as the waves dipped, he could also see the few feet of exposed underside of the pier. If the waves pushed him up under there, he was as good as dead. If he didn't get out of this frigid water soon, he was dead. With a numb hand he reached for his radio only to find it was gone. It must have been flung off in the blast.

"D-Damn," Lorne swore softly with chattering teeth.

Silently he convinced himself that they knew he was alive. They were sending a Jumper right now. He just had to hold on. Forcing all else out of his mind, he turned himself against the waves and forced himself to swim. With a growl to himself and a mental command to get it together, Lorne forced away the cold and tried to get the blood flowing to his nearly numb limbs. As long as he kept going against the flow of the water, he wouldn't wind up shoved under the pier. As long as he kept moving, he was buying them time to get to him. As long as he could keep his head above water, he could…

He was just so tired, though. His arms didn't want to cooperate and his legs were already somewhere far away. His eyelids were growing heavier by the second. The sudden shock of salty water going down his throat as he began to sink had him spluttering and coughing weakly. Where had his arms gone? Why was he in the water? Why was there a wall of metal towering above him? Where was he?

Suddenly it didn't feel so cold anymore. Rolling over onto his back and letting the warmth wash over him, he let the gently rolling waves lull him into sleep.