mirageofmae (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mirageofmae) wrote2005-09-23 07:45 am
mirageofmae) wrote2005-09-23 07:45 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Wreck of the Day or Five Ways Elizabeth Hasn't Forgotten
Wreck of the Day
Or Five Ways Elizabeth Hasn’t Forgotten
By Mirageofmae (darkerdreamer9 at yahoo dot com)
Disclaimer: I’m a poor college student; of course I don’t own anything. Stargate: Atlantis belongs to someone else and the lyrics below are Anna Nalick’s Wreck of the Day.
Summary: A solid victory isn’t enough to cover the scars. (A reactionary piece to The Siege)
Pairing: John/Elizabeth friendship and some UST
Note 1: This is for the swficathon and I was assigned familyarchives who wanted Teyla and Liz friendship, mention of Peter and Ford. She didn’t want needlessly silly/dark angst, polka, Rodney McKay being anything more than a plot point. Hope this fits the criteria!!!
Spoilers: The Siege parts 1-3, takes place after but with no spoilers for specific season 2 episodes (except a mention of Ronon.)
Ratings: For Everyone (if you watch the show, you can read this)
Driving away from the wreck of the day
And I’m thinking ‘bout callin’ on Jesus
Cuz love doesn’t hurt
So I know I’m not fallin’ in love
I’m just fallin’ to pieces
And if this is giving up, then I’m giving up
If this is giving up, then I’m giving up, giving up
On love, On love
Deep gulps of pungent sea air filled her lungs, chasing away the darker smells of cloves, sweat and fear.
They said that smell was closely linked to memory and Elizabeth had never believed it more till now.
She leaned against the railing, the metal pressed into her belly. She tilted her head to capture the sun and was pitched forward enough to where she could imagine the feel of ocean spray against her face.
John was standing behind her, smelling of things she’d rather not remember.
He stood just beyond her reach, to where she was able to sense his hesitation at coming any closer.
She was a rabbit, with wild wide eyes and a flight or fight complex that was leaning heavily in the flight direction.
She wasn’t built for this, her mind puzzled over and over again. She was a diplomat. The most frightening point of her day should be arguing officials when nuclear weapons were at stake: ideas that were normally far outside her idea of reality.
But this—
He’d just returned from another harrowing mission and she wasn’t sure how many more long waits at her desk she could take waiting to hear if he’d gotten himself killed yet.
She knew what his fear smelled like. She’d breathed it in from the base of his neck once upon a time.
The scent of some clove scented aftershave that Teyla had given him had mingled with heady male sweat and the overpowering scent of stark fear that had only just begun dissipating when she’d grabbed him bodily and pulled him into an embrace.
“John—“
“The mission went fine, Elizabeth.” She flinched at the way he said her name, as if she really was going to run if he didn’t treat her like glass. “The locals were a little less friendly about where they stuck their spears but it was all settled after Teyla got the jump on the leader. Turns out they really don’t like men in charge—some social stigma from when men treated their women like cattle.” He made an indignant noise deep in his throat, willing her to join in with a flippant tone or sharp remark about respecting female leaders. She tried to oblige but found the words stuck in her throat; somewhere next to the memory of waiting for the sound of his demise over a comlink while his scent still lingered in the air.
She granted herself one more rescuing breath of the salty air before turning fully to him.
She took full stock of him, from the mud smeared boots to his usual ruffled hair that was looking a bit more flat than usual despite traces of attempts to bring it back to its gravity-defying peaks.
He was okay. They were all okay. She hadn’t sent anyone to die today.
She wasn’t sure why this was affecting her so much today.
Maybe it was because it had finally hit her that Peter was gone. His usual work station was normally occupied, he’d had to replaced almost immediately and she’d tried not to give it much thought. Today it had been so bleakly empty that her knees had almost buckled on sight.
Maybe it was just that John was the only person for whom she ever let her guard down.
She gave him a smile and he seemed to relax, though they both noted that it hardly reached her eyes.
“Full mission debriefing or can I take a shower first?”
Her eyes flickered and she nodded more fervently then she wished.
“Of course,” she said, holding her voice tight in restraint. She wanted to hug him again and hated herself for it. No need to admit that she had any reason to worry about his mortality. Better to pretend all was well and hope he’d make jokes about being sexually harassed by alien females and share full on Kirk impersonations.
He grinned at her, a smile that stretched from his lips to the crinkle at his eyes that never failed to get her in the gut. “Of course,” he repeated, without any of her restraint, leaving a million things unsaid and best left under the darkest rock of their professional relationship.
She sighed as he turned to go.
He was okay.
But she still couldn’t get the scent of panic out of her clothes for the rest of the day.
***
She was hardly watching where she was going, so focused on the mission debriefings in her hands. Which was probably how she ended up in the wrong hallway in the first place.
It was the sound of gunshots that first alerted her to the fact that something was wrong.
Her entire body tensed and for a few precious moments she indulged in a full on panic.
She let it go with a harsh puff of air and moved forward. Her mind was quickly catching up and she realized she was insane. If those were gunshots, what could she do? She wasn’t even armed.
Her hand was halfway to her comlink to call for backup before reality set in.
Two doors from where she crouched in an empty hallway was the shooting range.
Embarrassment rushed in to replace the adrenaline that had sent her heart pounding. She straightened up and calmly looked around to see if there were any witnesses to her panic.
She casually strode towards the door and palmed her way in. There was only one occupant in the room and she recognized him immediately by the stance.
She’d only seen him like this once, although she’d heard enough rumors and debriefings that she was surprisingly familiar with his frame of mind.
He was in a killing mood.
For all his frank immaturity and self-professed laziness, John Sheppard was downright scary when it came to protecting the people he claimed loyalty to. She, admittedly, sometimes forgot he was anything more than a military leader with a history of insubordination or a charmingly arrogant flyboy.
She reminded herself that this was the man who had killed his own superior officer to spare him from death by the hands of an enemy. The man who had taken out almost the entire military contingent of the Genii who’d been sent to overtake their city in the middle of a hurricane. The man who had set himself on a suicide mission with a homemade nuclear bomb strapped to his jumper.
Not a man to be dealt with lightly.
She flinched as he fired a succession of rounds into a paper target.
The sound brought her back to the control room when the horrifying sound of muffled gunfire had echoed down the hallways as they watched an insurmountable enemy close in on computer screens.
She clearly recalled that the silence afterwards was infinitely worse than the gunfire.
He made a frustrated noise as he set down the gun. His whole posture screamed anger and judging by the bullet riddled sheet zipping toward him, he’d chosen his target.
A creak alerted John to her presence. She hadn’t even realized she’d been creeping backwards. She quickly schooled her features into her calm diplomat’s mask as he turned to see who’d intruded upon his privacy.
“Elizabeth,” he started, looking as surprised as she’d been moments ago, “I didn’t realize you were there.” He swallowed hard. “I just, um, well, Ronon’s been making me look like an amateur. I thought I’d get some practice in.”
It was a barely concealed lie. A joke to hide the deeper things. Classic John.
She let herself smile as an indulgence. They all had ways of coping.
He relaxed slightly when she didn’t contradict him and half turned towards her, “Has anyone ever trained you to handle a firearm?”
She grimaced, “I have a squad of marines fifty feet from my office all day—“
He interrupted her with a concerned frown that made her stomach do an odd flip that she’d rather not think too hard about, “There could be a time when you’re alone and…” He trailed off, almost like he was regretting how much he was admitting, “You should be able to protect yourself.”
She took his concern in stride. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of touching the gun. She’d never liked them. She’d worked her entire professional career to stop the spread of arms around the world. Now she was faced with a risk to her personal safety, a risk so great that not even the most sophisticated city in the galaxy could save her from having to learn basic marksmanship.
He demonstrated how to hold it, trigger the safety on and off, how to reload. He placed the handgun gingerly in her hand, watching her eyes as he did so. She stared at their hands as they wrapped around the butt of the gun. He helped her aim and then slowly slid his hand away. Her hand trembled.
She sent one round in the general direction of a paper target that suddenly seemed miles away. The sound made her jump.
“Well, I’d say that leg is probably going to be smartin’ for awhile.”
Her shot had gone low; it hadn’t even hit the paper. She aimed higher.
“I think you scalped him.”
She tried not to smile; there was no need to encourage him.
She fired again. And hit air.
“You’re holding arms too loose.” She wasn’t sure what he was talking about; she was wound so tight her upper back was starting to feel the strain.
He came up behind her, making her breathe a little quicker than normal. He adjusted her arms, her hands on the double grip on the gun, and she let him. She forced herself to breathe normally. He smelled like soap and nothing like cloves and—
She fired into the target. The sound ricocheted around her ears, bringing back the sound of screams cut short and warning bells that wouldn’t stop. She fired again and again until the sound of the gunfire dulled all others. When she was done her ears were ringing.
John brought the paper forward. Most of her shots had gone all over the place but the final few had been close to center. John looked at her and a strange look fluttered over his face before disappearing into his usual smirk.
She spoke before he could, “Let’s try that again.”
***
She was having tea with Teyla when it happened.
On this day, she glanced up from her steaming cup of ginger tea and caught a glimpse of a jumper leaving the bay and powering through an active wormhole. In moments, the procedure had been executed and the light from the wormhole fell away. The normal shadows returned to Teyla’s face, which was now lit with worry at Elizabeth’s apparent distraction.
She didn’t blame Teyla for her concern. Her cup was frozen midway to her mouth. Her eyes wide and her tea trembled seemingly of its own accord. She quickly set down the cup and deliberately turned from the window that revealed the stargate.
Teyla cocked her head, and being more intuitive then Elizabeth sometimes liked to give her credit for, said, “Does it remind you of…” the woman trailed off, looking down into her tea as if she could swallow her words as easily as the hot drink.
It did remind her. Of John leaving for what could have been forever. Of Lt. Ford slipping beyond their grasp. Of Peter Grodin not being able to make it back to one of those contraptions before he sacrificed himself to save others. Of every man and woman who’d piled themselves into that piece of Ancient technology for some brave adventure or daring attack and never returned.
When she looked up, Teyla was watching her again, waiting for some assurance that everything was all right.
Elizabeth quickly said, “I was remembering something I had forgotten.” She hated making light of it. “Dr. Zelenka wants to run a new diagnostic program and I’ve forgotten to schedule him in.” She hated pretending she was unaffected.
She wanted to be honest, to say more, so much more. She wanted to tell her, tell anyone, about the panic that had frequently tightened her throat lately. She wanted to spill everything, the memories that had started haunting her dreams months after the actual event. She wanted to just speak and hear the cadence of her own voice admitting that she was scared, well and truly scared of something that was over and far away already.
Teyla’s dark eyes were filled with something Elizabeth had no desire to name—pity or some other unwanted emotion. Teyla sat quietly for a moment before lifting her eyes back to meet Elizabeth’s.
“I have nightmares at times. It has been months yet they still linger.”
Elizabeth breathed evenly, willing her heart to calm at this admission. She knew what it had cost the Althosian leader to admit to this. She could see the mission briefing as if it were in front of her eyes. Teyla was the only member of her unit still standing. She had survived two marines sent to protect the city’s most valuable asset. She had been in the thick of battle while Elizabeth had watched it from afar.
Elizabeth spoke slowly, as if she were only giving a carefully worded speech to stubborn, deaf-eared leaders, “I still see them. Every last one that I sent to fight for this city who never came back.”
Teyla’s gaze flickered back to the dormant stargate, “It is a risk we have all conceded to in being here.” She paused, “Perhaps it is necessary that we remember them, each of them.”
Elizabeth continued where Teyla had trailed us, “So the dead have not died in vain.”
She wanted to wince at the high tone her words had taken, but Teyla nodded, her attention focused inward.
For once, Elizabeth pondered, the silence didn’t bother her.
***
She hated the taste of MREs. On every third day, the Atlantis expedition ate MREs in order to preserve the little organic food they had. The situation had improved greatly upon a bountiful harvest at the mainland and a semi-regular shipment of Earth food from the Deadalus, but the influx of new personnel had equalized the situation until it was almost as bad as before.
MREs were dry and had a texture more reminiscent of cardboard than actual food substance. She didn’t even want to think about the amount of preservatives necessary to make an almost limitless supply of ready to eat food.
She missed the muffins that Lt. Ford used to make out of the dry oats and wild berries from the mainland.
She did not miss the two weeks they had all spent shoveling MREs and Power Bars as they desperately tried to find a way around the arrival of the Wraith at their front doors. She’d hardly had time to shower during those two weeks, much less sit down for a meal that had actually been cooked that year.
Her thoughts were interrupted when John plopped across from her with two steaming cups of coffee as a peace offering. He grinned at her, pushing one cup forward. “To wash down the taste.”
He also brought forward an extra dessert. “Lemon bar. Rodney’s. Don’t worry though, he’s currently ripping apart packs in one of the store rooms to find his fudge brownie.” Sheppard’s grin turned devilish and Elizabeth would have to have been made of stone not to be warmed by it, “What he doesn’t know is that the box he’s looking through only has lemon bars.” He positively cackled at this.
Elizabeth shook her head, marveling at how this man who was reading War and Peace as a pastime and second in command of the most important endeavor for humanity could be reduced to an errant twelve year pulling practical jokes.
“And the storage room has a timer. If he’s not finished rummaging in thirty minutes he’ll be locked in until the next cooling cycle is finished.”
Maybe twelve was giving him too much credit.
She sipped her coffee, trying to cover her grin, something she found herself doing more and more often around him. She couldn’t let him get to her. That was how she’d ended up hugging him in front of God and country and Colonel Caldwell who now thought they were sleeping together. Why else would a woman go to bat for a man who was so relatively inexperienced as a commander, insubordinate, cocky, and just generally irritating?
She smothered the taste of her MRE with another sip of coffee, savoring the rich flavor while it lasted.
There were a lot of reasons she’d gone to bat for John Sheppard. The lemon bar he was pushing at her hand was just one of them.
***
She woke with a scream in her throat and the sheets tangled so tightly in her hands, her fingers were numb.
She hastily pulled on clothes and escaped the suddenly claustrophobia of her dark room. She walked without knowing where she was going, only focused on not remembering whatever it was that had awoken her.
Yesterday had been the six-month mark for the disappearance of Lt. Aiden Ford. The military had wanted to know if his status had changed.
Still MIA? Yes.
Should it be changed to Presumed Dead? No.
What are the chances of finding him? She didn’t know.
She had argued for what had felt like hours and she still wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the letters from Aiden’s family that she had only heard about. Or maybe it was the way John had frozen when his trip to the family came up. Or maybe it was just that she could clearly recall Aiden’s face when he’d escaped through that wormhole.
She couldn’t let go of that failure.
She wondered if his family was better off not knowing.
Better to think he’d gone a hero, instead of the victim of the wraith, his mind twisted and unwhole, not even given the dignity of a clean death.
She couldn’t fathom John’s sense of responsibility for it all.
She just knew that not knowing where he was or if he could ever come back—
Even if John found him—
She pulled on her shirt before digging her fingers into the soft flesh of her belly until the sense of whirling despair had faded.
She wondered she would be better off not knowing.
The hallway was dark, the lights dimmed for night hours, empty of personnel for once.
She reached her balcony, the only place it seemed she could find any peace. She hugged her arms to her chest and tried to pretend that the wetness on her face was the spray of the sea.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
She really shouldn’t be surprised that he had.
“John.” She said evenly.
“Elizabeth.” He said back. He came up next to her, mimicking her pose against the railing. She unconsciously leaned into his heat, thankful that he’d taken the position to block most of the sharp wind from the ocean.
He cleared his throat, “I saw that Ford’s status hasn’t been changed.” He shuffled his feet and ducked his head, again reminding her of a shy twelve year old. His words were rough.
“It means there’s still hope,” she said with more confidence then she felt. “I trust you’ll find him.” She wasn’t sure she believed that. But she needed him to. She needed him to believe that for her.
“I will.” The savagery of those words almost made her pull back.
She looked at him and felt all her fears flood forward. That she’d lose him like she’d lost so many others. That she’d be responsible for his demise and never be in a position to do more than listen to it over a radio. She could still smell his underlying fear, the sweat from the late night workout he’d just left. She could hear the ringing of gunfire that seemed to follow him like a shadow. She could see the jumper leaving with him and a nuke in it. She could taste the desperation on the tip of her tongue, the lack of hope that had plagued them for two weeks straight.
Damn it, she wanted to hug him again. Just pull him close and keep him safe. Hold him and run her hands over the shoulders that carried too much responsibility. Wanted him to carry her some place far from here.
But Elizabeth Weir was never one to admit to weakness.
Instead, he touched her.
He just placed his hand over hers without looking. As if by not looking they didn’t have to admit that this was a breach of their usual protocol. As if by not looking they didn’t have to admit that this job was getting harder each moment. As if by not looking they didn’t have to admit to themselves that they were a bit more to each other than just leaders.
She stared at their hands, at his thumb stroking hers.
Then she let go of all but his hand and turned back to the ocean.
The scent of the sea chased the rest away.
Driving away from the wreck of the day
And the light's always red in the rear-view
Desperately close to a coffin of hope
I'd cheat destiny just to be near you
If this is giving up, then I'm giving up
If this is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up
On love, On love
-Anna Nalick, Wreck of the Day
Or Five Ways Elizabeth Hasn’t Forgotten
By Mirageofmae (darkerdreamer9 at yahoo dot com)
Disclaimer: I’m a poor college student; of course I don’t own anything. Stargate: Atlantis belongs to someone else and the lyrics below are Anna Nalick’s Wreck of the Day.
Summary: A solid victory isn’t enough to cover the scars. (A reactionary piece to The Siege)
Pairing: John/Elizabeth friendship and some UST
Note 1: This is for the swficathon and I was assigned familyarchives who wanted Teyla and Liz friendship, mention of Peter and Ford. She didn’t want needlessly silly/dark angst, polka, Rodney McKay being anything more than a plot point. Hope this fits the criteria!!!
Spoilers: The Siege parts 1-3, takes place after but with no spoilers for specific season 2 episodes (except a mention of Ronon.)
Ratings: For Everyone (if you watch the show, you can read this)
Driving away from the wreck of the day
And I’m thinking ‘bout callin’ on Jesus
Cuz love doesn’t hurt
So I know I’m not fallin’ in love
I’m just fallin’ to pieces
And if this is giving up, then I’m giving up
If this is giving up, then I’m giving up, giving up
On love, On love
Deep gulps of pungent sea air filled her lungs, chasing away the darker smells of cloves, sweat and fear.
They said that smell was closely linked to memory and Elizabeth had never believed it more till now.
She leaned against the railing, the metal pressed into her belly. She tilted her head to capture the sun and was pitched forward enough to where she could imagine the feel of ocean spray against her face.
John was standing behind her, smelling of things she’d rather not remember.
He stood just beyond her reach, to where she was able to sense his hesitation at coming any closer.
She was a rabbit, with wild wide eyes and a flight or fight complex that was leaning heavily in the flight direction.
She wasn’t built for this, her mind puzzled over and over again. She was a diplomat. The most frightening point of her day should be arguing officials when nuclear weapons were at stake: ideas that were normally far outside her idea of reality.
But this—
He’d just returned from another harrowing mission and she wasn’t sure how many more long waits at her desk she could take waiting to hear if he’d gotten himself killed yet.
She knew what his fear smelled like. She’d breathed it in from the base of his neck once upon a time.
The scent of some clove scented aftershave that Teyla had given him had mingled with heady male sweat and the overpowering scent of stark fear that had only just begun dissipating when she’d grabbed him bodily and pulled him into an embrace.
“John—“
“The mission went fine, Elizabeth.” She flinched at the way he said her name, as if she really was going to run if he didn’t treat her like glass. “The locals were a little less friendly about where they stuck their spears but it was all settled after Teyla got the jump on the leader. Turns out they really don’t like men in charge—some social stigma from when men treated their women like cattle.” He made an indignant noise deep in his throat, willing her to join in with a flippant tone or sharp remark about respecting female leaders. She tried to oblige but found the words stuck in her throat; somewhere next to the memory of waiting for the sound of his demise over a comlink while his scent still lingered in the air.
She granted herself one more rescuing breath of the salty air before turning fully to him.
She took full stock of him, from the mud smeared boots to his usual ruffled hair that was looking a bit more flat than usual despite traces of attempts to bring it back to its gravity-defying peaks.
He was okay. They were all okay. She hadn’t sent anyone to die today.
She wasn’t sure why this was affecting her so much today.
Maybe it was because it had finally hit her that Peter was gone. His usual work station was normally occupied, he’d had to replaced almost immediately and she’d tried not to give it much thought. Today it had been so bleakly empty that her knees had almost buckled on sight.
Maybe it was just that John was the only person for whom she ever let her guard down.
She gave him a smile and he seemed to relax, though they both noted that it hardly reached her eyes.
“Full mission debriefing or can I take a shower first?”
Her eyes flickered and she nodded more fervently then she wished.
“Of course,” she said, holding her voice tight in restraint. She wanted to hug him again and hated herself for it. No need to admit that she had any reason to worry about his mortality. Better to pretend all was well and hope he’d make jokes about being sexually harassed by alien females and share full on Kirk impersonations.
He grinned at her, a smile that stretched from his lips to the crinkle at his eyes that never failed to get her in the gut. “Of course,” he repeated, without any of her restraint, leaving a million things unsaid and best left under the darkest rock of their professional relationship.
She sighed as he turned to go.
He was okay.
But she still couldn’t get the scent of panic out of her clothes for the rest of the day.
***
She was hardly watching where she was going, so focused on the mission debriefings in her hands. Which was probably how she ended up in the wrong hallway in the first place.
It was the sound of gunshots that first alerted her to the fact that something was wrong.
Her entire body tensed and for a few precious moments she indulged in a full on panic.
She let it go with a harsh puff of air and moved forward. Her mind was quickly catching up and she realized she was insane. If those were gunshots, what could she do? She wasn’t even armed.
Her hand was halfway to her comlink to call for backup before reality set in.
Two doors from where she crouched in an empty hallway was the shooting range.
Embarrassment rushed in to replace the adrenaline that had sent her heart pounding. She straightened up and calmly looked around to see if there were any witnesses to her panic.
She casually strode towards the door and palmed her way in. There was only one occupant in the room and she recognized him immediately by the stance.
She’d only seen him like this once, although she’d heard enough rumors and debriefings that she was surprisingly familiar with his frame of mind.
He was in a killing mood.
For all his frank immaturity and self-professed laziness, John Sheppard was downright scary when it came to protecting the people he claimed loyalty to. She, admittedly, sometimes forgot he was anything more than a military leader with a history of insubordination or a charmingly arrogant flyboy.
She reminded herself that this was the man who had killed his own superior officer to spare him from death by the hands of an enemy. The man who had taken out almost the entire military contingent of the Genii who’d been sent to overtake their city in the middle of a hurricane. The man who had set himself on a suicide mission with a homemade nuclear bomb strapped to his jumper.
Not a man to be dealt with lightly.
She flinched as he fired a succession of rounds into a paper target.
The sound brought her back to the control room when the horrifying sound of muffled gunfire had echoed down the hallways as they watched an insurmountable enemy close in on computer screens.
She clearly recalled that the silence afterwards was infinitely worse than the gunfire.
He made a frustrated noise as he set down the gun. His whole posture screamed anger and judging by the bullet riddled sheet zipping toward him, he’d chosen his target.
A creak alerted John to her presence. She hadn’t even realized she’d been creeping backwards. She quickly schooled her features into her calm diplomat’s mask as he turned to see who’d intruded upon his privacy.
“Elizabeth,” he started, looking as surprised as she’d been moments ago, “I didn’t realize you were there.” He swallowed hard. “I just, um, well, Ronon’s been making me look like an amateur. I thought I’d get some practice in.”
It was a barely concealed lie. A joke to hide the deeper things. Classic John.
She let herself smile as an indulgence. They all had ways of coping.
He relaxed slightly when she didn’t contradict him and half turned towards her, “Has anyone ever trained you to handle a firearm?”
She grimaced, “I have a squad of marines fifty feet from my office all day—“
He interrupted her with a concerned frown that made her stomach do an odd flip that she’d rather not think too hard about, “There could be a time when you’re alone and…” He trailed off, almost like he was regretting how much he was admitting, “You should be able to protect yourself.”
She took his concern in stride. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of touching the gun. She’d never liked them. She’d worked her entire professional career to stop the spread of arms around the world. Now she was faced with a risk to her personal safety, a risk so great that not even the most sophisticated city in the galaxy could save her from having to learn basic marksmanship.
He demonstrated how to hold it, trigger the safety on and off, how to reload. He placed the handgun gingerly in her hand, watching her eyes as he did so. She stared at their hands as they wrapped around the butt of the gun. He helped her aim and then slowly slid his hand away. Her hand trembled.
She sent one round in the general direction of a paper target that suddenly seemed miles away. The sound made her jump.
“Well, I’d say that leg is probably going to be smartin’ for awhile.”
Her shot had gone low; it hadn’t even hit the paper. She aimed higher.
“I think you scalped him.”
She tried not to smile; there was no need to encourage him.
She fired again. And hit air.
“You’re holding arms too loose.” She wasn’t sure what he was talking about; she was wound so tight her upper back was starting to feel the strain.
He came up behind her, making her breathe a little quicker than normal. He adjusted her arms, her hands on the double grip on the gun, and she let him. She forced herself to breathe normally. He smelled like soap and nothing like cloves and—
She fired into the target. The sound ricocheted around her ears, bringing back the sound of screams cut short and warning bells that wouldn’t stop. She fired again and again until the sound of the gunfire dulled all others. When she was done her ears were ringing.
John brought the paper forward. Most of her shots had gone all over the place but the final few had been close to center. John looked at her and a strange look fluttered over his face before disappearing into his usual smirk.
She spoke before he could, “Let’s try that again.”
***
She was having tea with Teyla when it happened.
On this day, she glanced up from her steaming cup of ginger tea and caught a glimpse of a jumper leaving the bay and powering through an active wormhole. In moments, the procedure had been executed and the light from the wormhole fell away. The normal shadows returned to Teyla’s face, which was now lit with worry at Elizabeth’s apparent distraction.
She didn’t blame Teyla for her concern. Her cup was frozen midway to her mouth. Her eyes wide and her tea trembled seemingly of its own accord. She quickly set down the cup and deliberately turned from the window that revealed the stargate.
Teyla cocked her head, and being more intuitive then Elizabeth sometimes liked to give her credit for, said, “Does it remind you of…” the woman trailed off, looking down into her tea as if she could swallow her words as easily as the hot drink.
It did remind her. Of John leaving for what could have been forever. Of Lt. Ford slipping beyond their grasp. Of Peter Grodin not being able to make it back to one of those contraptions before he sacrificed himself to save others. Of every man and woman who’d piled themselves into that piece of Ancient technology for some brave adventure or daring attack and never returned.
When she looked up, Teyla was watching her again, waiting for some assurance that everything was all right.
Elizabeth quickly said, “I was remembering something I had forgotten.” She hated making light of it. “Dr. Zelenka wants to run a new diagnostic program and I’ve forgotten to schedule him in.” She hated pretending she was unaffected.
She wanted to be honest, to say more, so much more. She wanted to tell her, tell anyone, about the panic that had frequently tightened her throat lately. She wanted to spill everything, the memories that had started haunting her dreams months after the actual event. She wanted to just speak and hear the cadence of her own voice admitting that she was scared, well and truly scared of something that was over and far away already.
Teyla’s dark eyes were filled with something Elizabeth had no desire to name—pity or some other unwanted emotion. Teyla sat quietly for a moment before lifting her eyes back to meet Elizabeth’s.
“I have nightmares at times. It has been months yet they still linger.”
Elizabeth breathed evenly, willing her heart to calm at this admission. She knew what it had cost the Althosian leader to admit to this. She could see the mission briefing as if it were in front of her eyes. Teyla was the only member of her unit still standing. She had survived two marines sent to protect the city’s most valuable asset. She had been in the thick of battle while Elizabeth had watched it from afar.
Elizabeth spoke slowly, as if she were only giving a carefully worded speech to stubborn, deaf-eared leaders, “I still see them. Every last one that I sent to fight for this city who never came back.”
Teyla’s gaze flickered back to the dormant stargate, “It is a risk we have all conceded to in being here.” She paused, “Perhaps it is necessary that we remember them, each of them.”
Elizabeth continued where Teyla had trailed us, “So the dead have not died in vain.”
She wanted to wince at the high tone her words had taken, but Teyla nodded, her attention focused inward.
For once, Elizabeth pondered, the silence didn’t bother her.
***
She hated the taste of MREs. On every third day, the Atlantis expedition ate MREs in order to preserve the little organic food they had. The situation had improved greatly upon a bountiful harvest at the mainland and a semi-regular shipment of Earth food from the Deadalus, but the influx of new personnel had equalized the situation until it was almost as bad as before.
MREs were dry and had a texture more reminiscent of cardboard than actual food substance. She didn’t even want to think about the amount of preservatives necessary to make an almost limitless supply of ready to eat food.
She missed the muffins that Lt. Ford used to make out of the dry oats and wild berries from the mainland.
She did not miss the two weeks they had all spent shoveling MREs and Power Bars as they desperately tried to find a way around the arrival of the Wraith at their front doors. She’d hardly had time to shower during those two weeks, much less sit down for a meal that had actually been cooked that year.
Her thoughts were interrupted when John plopped across from her with two steaming cups of coffee as a peace offering. He grinned at her, pushing one cup forward. “To wash down the taste.”
He also brought forward an extra dessert. “Lemon bar. Rodney’s. Don’t worry though, he’s currently ripping apart packs in one of the store rooms to find his fudge brownie.” Sheppard’s grin turned devilish and Elizabeth would have to have been made of stone not to be warmed by it, “What he doesn’t know is that the box he’s looking through only has lemon bars.” He positively cackled at this.
Elizabeth shook her head, marveling at how this man who was reading War and Peace as a pastime and second in command of the most important endeavor for humanity could be reduced to an errant twelve year pulling practical jokes.
“And the storage room has a timer. If he’s not finished rummaging in thirty minutes he’ll be locked in until the next cooling cycle is finished.”
Maybe twelve was giving him too much credit.
She sipped her coffee, trying to cover her grin, something she found herself doing more and more often around him. She couldn’t let him get to her. That was how she’d ended up hugging him in front of God and country and Colonel Caldwell who now thought they were sleeping together. Why else would a woman go to bat for a man who was so relatively inexperienced as a commander, insubordinate, cocky, and just generally irritating?
She smothered the taste of her MRE with another sip of coffee, savoring the rich flavor while it lasted.
There were a lot of reasons she’d gone to bat for John Sheppard. The lemon bar he was pushing at her hand was just one of them.
***
She woke with a scream in her throat and the sheets tangled so tightly in her hands, her fingers were numb.
She hastily pulled on clothes and escaped the suddenly claustrophobia of her dark room. She walked without knowing where she was going, only focused on not remembering whatever it was that had awoken her.
Yesterday had been the six-month mark for the disappearance of Lt. Aiden Ford. The military had wanted to know if his status had changed.
Still MIA? Yes.
Should it be changed to Presumed Dead? No.
What are the chances of finding him? She didn’t know.
She had argued for what had felt like hours and she still wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the letters from Aiden’s family that she had only heard about. Or maybe it was the way John had frozen when his trip to the family came up. Or maybe it was just that she could clearly recall Aiden’s face when he’d escaped through that wormhole.
She couldn’t let go of that failure.
She wondered if his family was better off not knowing.
Better to think he’d gone a hero, instead of the victim of the wraith, his mind twisted and unwhole, not even given the dignity of a clean death.
She couldn’t fathom John’s sense of responsibility for it all.
She just knew that not knowing where he was or if he could ever come back—
Even if John found him—
She pulled on her shirt before digging her fingers into the soft flesh of her belly until the sense of whirling despair had faded.
She wondered she would be better off not knowing.
The hallway was dark, the lights dimmed for night hours, empty of personnel for once.
She reached her balcony, the only place it seemed she could find any peace. She hugged her arms to her chest and tried to pretend that the wetness on her face was the spray of the sea.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
She really shouldn’t be surprised that he had.
“John.” She said evenly.
“Elizabeth.” He said back. He came up next to her, mimicking her pose against the railing. She unconsciously leaned into his heat, thankful that he’d taken the position to block most of the sharp wind from the ocean.
He cleared his throat, “I saw that Ford’s status hasn’t been changed.” He shuffled his feet and ducked his head, again reminding her of a shy twelve year old. His words were rough.
“It means there’s still hope,” she said with more confidence then she felt. “I trust you’ll find him.” She wasn’t sure she believed that. But she needed him to. She needed him to believe that for her.
“I will.” The savagery of those words almost made her pull back.
She looked at him and felt all her fears flood forward. That she’d lose him like she’d lost so many others. That she’d be responsible for his demise and never be in a position to do more than listen to it over a radio. She could still smell his underlying fear, the sweat from the late night workout he’d just left. She could hear the ringing of gunfire that seemed to follow him like a shadow. She could see the jumper leaving with him and a nuke in it. She could taste the desperation on the tip of her tongue, the lack of hope that had plagued them for two weeks straight.
Damn it, she wanted to hug him again. Just pull him close and keep him safe. Hold him and run her hands over the shoulders that carried too much responsibility. Wanted him to carry her some place far from here.
But Elizabeth Weir was never one to admit to weakness.
Instead, he touched her.
He just placed his hand over hers without looking. As if by not looking they didn’t have to admit that this was a breach of their usual protocol. As if by not looking they didn’t have to admit that this job was getting harder each moment. As if by not looking they didn’t have to admit to themselves that they were a bit more to each other than just leaders.
She stared at their hands, at his thumb stroking hers.
Then she let go of all but his hand and turned back to the ocean.
The scent of the sea chased the rest away.
Driving away from the wreck of the day
And the light's always red in the rear-view
Desperately close to a coffin of hope
I'd cheat destiny just to be near you
If this is giving up, then I'm giving up
If this is giving up, then I'm giving up, giving up
On love, On love
-Anna Nalick, Wreck of the Day
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OMG. It is so perfect. The ending! The ending! And Grodin! And guns and MREs and everything and omg!!
But really, the ending killed me dead. I can't even tell you how much I love that, because I can see it and believe it and DAMN do I ever love friendship/UST fics like this. There's so much boiling beneath the surface, but it really works within the confines of the show.
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I love UST fics because I can never quite bring myself to change the dynamic of the show. And I love their friendship, so for the most part, outside of reading others fic, that's more than enough for me.
Again, thank you so much! The ending was my favorite part too.
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love the ust and the subtle angst and the little teyla/liz friendship moment and the shep and the ending and everything.
wish i could pull myself together and finish my fic for the fichaton. ;(
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Thanks for the feedback! and good luck w/ your fic!! Believe me, I was grasping at straws till this idea came to me.
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*saves to read again later*
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Excellent! *applauds*
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Great work.
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For some reason, this line "She knew what his fear smelled like. She’d breathed it in from the base of his neck once upon a time." just stuck with me at the very beginning. I love it.
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*clings*
2.) I LOVE YOU.
3.) I loved the tone of this. Actually, this is the tone I was aiming for with my story for the
4.) I about squealed when I saw you'd used 'Wreck of the Day' as a kind of basis for this story.
5.) There are just so many phrases and turns of phrase and sentences in this story that I want to box up and put on display as "OMG THIS IS AWESOME!!! COPY IT!" examples. Again, the words create this just gentle, rhythmic cadence to the story that guts you just as it lulls you.
6.) I LOVE THIS STORY SO MUCH I WIN AT FICATHONS!
7.) Marry me?
Re: *clings*
2) :::blushes:::
3) Yeah for tone!! I love Elizabeth's world, it's such a fun place to be in... although maybe not for her.
4) I love Anna Nalick! That song was part of what inspired me for this fic, so I had to include it. There was much copious listening before I actually sat down and wrote this.
5) Aww, thank you. It doesn't happen nearly as often as I liked, but once I started this fic, it really flowed without much effort. I love it when that happens, both as a writer and a reader.
6) Hehe
7) Lol, absolutely
Now I'm off to be a good ficathon writer and read other peoples entries... I admit I haven't had much time. And if the above wasn't enough: THANK YOU for your wonderful comments. It means a lot that you took the time to say all that. =)
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