Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, H/C, Friendship (a bit Romance)
Rating: P16 / R
Summary: Follows episode 2x13 "Critical Mass". Her decision had been wrong, that much she knew...
Disclaimer: All rights belong to MGM/UA, Acme Shark and Pegasus Productions. Borrowed the characters a long time ago to write this story and have them long since given back; this is only a translation of the original story.
It had been one hell of a long day, literally. But the night promised to become even longer.
Restless John Sheppard wandered the hallways of Atlantis, thoughtful, brooding over what had happened during the past day. The few people he met at this late hour he greeted automatically without really noticing them, and dressed in his sleeping attire - sweatpants and a slightly too-big t-shirt - he must have looked like a sleepwalker to them. But John was wide awake, much to his regret.
With almost shocking routine, his feet carried him to the terrace-like room they'd declared to be their mess hall. The room was deserted; only a few lights were still on. Not that he would have expected otherwise; after all, the city was asleep, as its inhabitants were supposed to be. Emphasis on supposed to. John sighed. He had only one decision to make now: Coffee or tea? Against better judgment, he let the unreasonable part of him win and chose a coffee as late night drink, knowing full well that it wouldn't help him or his insomnia in any way. On the other hand he had already given up hope to find sleep in this night, so no damage would be done...
Cup in hand, he sank down on one of the chairs, feeling utterly exhausted. The only sounds in the room were his careful slurping of his hot beverage, and... rain. Surprised, John turned to look out of the floor-to-ceiling windows one wall of the room was entirely made of, giving one the feeling of sitting outside and just above the ocean - if one cared to look, that was. Sheppard had been so lost in thoughts since he'd entered the room that he had never once paid attention to the outside world. But indeed - it was raining.
It was curious how the weather on this planet always managed to reflect the mood of the people living in the Ancient City. And John knew that all those who had been part of or were informed about the day's events felt similar to him.
Really worried, however, he was about Elizabeth. Shortly after he'd found her in her office, thoughtfully playing with her pocket watch, she had sent him away, asking him to let her work. No further words, no conversation they so often shared after hard days like this - or any day - nothing that may have helped them both. No doubt the whole incident weighed on her, and much more than on him. Still it seemed as if this time, he just wasn't the right one to support her; that she wouldn't let him stand by her side and have her know that someone was there for her.
Giving a low, frustrated growl, John rested his head in his hands. The aroma of his coffee invaded his senses, something he'd always found to be pleasant and that, for reasons unknown to him, calmed him down somehow.
Luckily, he thought, he didn't need to understand everything, and a small smile tugged at his lips.
But this smile vanished as soon as it had come when his thoughts once again returned to Elizabeth. He blamed himself for not being more insistent and staying with her. Her face appeared before him; these empty eyes, the pain, the disappointment she felt because of her own behavior and decisions. By now he knew her well enough to know exactly how she felt about certain things, and how deep she felt guilt.
And weren't they friends? Weren't they meant to help each other, listen to the other one's sorrows and problems, and to be there for each other especially in times like these?
Yes, they were.
His gut feeling - or his Elizabeth antennas he'd grown over the time and which gave him an almost unmistakable sense for their expedition leader's condition - told him that she, like him, hadn't found any rest yet either. Maybe she was still sitting in her office, or maybe she threw around in her bed - but normal and direly needed sleep hadn't come to her.
Thus he downed his coffee and left the mess hall to check on her.
-8-8-8-
It was a relief for Sheppard that Elizabeth's office was dark and empty; as was the balcony - their balcony - she often retreated to when she needed some time alone; time to think. Faint hope grew in him that maybe she had gone to get her much deserved sleep after all. Or at least had decided that she would and wanted to.
Nevertheless he followed that demanding, worried inner voice to make a detour past her quarters before he went back to his own. Only when he reached it and was about to knock, he asked himself what he was doing. Could he invade Elizabeth's privacy just like this - even if they were friends? Could he possibly wake her where it was hard enough to get some sleep to start with? No sounds could be heard from inside her quarters, and he wanted to believe that she was okay. That she was sleeping peacefully. And still something inside him urged him to make sure that she was all right...
-8-8-8-
The hallways of Atlantis were deserted when she walked through them. Not a single soul seemed to be around; everything was dark. Lifeless. Where was everyone? Not even the usual security personnel that was patrolling the city 24/7 she met.
Her office suddenly held this menacing atmosphere; barely illuminated by the faint moonlight, it was like the belly of a beast awaiting her to enter it.
And when she reached the make-shift interrogation room, terror arose in her - there, at the table, Kavanagh sat with his eyes wide open. His gaze lifeless; dead. Carefully she took a few steps towards him, and right then he fell forward. With a thud his head hit the table, and Elizabeth could only do so much to keep herself from throwing up when she saw the knife that had been driven into his back. Ronon's knife.
I've taken care of him. Like you wanted me to.
Weir started and turned around, but the owner of the voice she had just heard was nowhere to be seen. She knew that it had to be Ronon; his voice was too distinctive. Yet there was no one around; the city still appeared to be empty; abandoned.
Only now she slowly realized what Ronon's voice had said. But she had no time to think about it. To let the thought that she was responsible for Kavanagh's death sink in. And hadn't Ronon said before that he was only unconscious?
Everything you do is motivated by personal feelings. You're driven by emotion, not reason.
Another voice. This time unmistakably Kavanagh's. And it spoke one of the accusations the scientist had made against her. It was as if his words were harshly raining down on her; they came out of nowhere, sounded distant and empty as they echoed through the room. And his body... his dead body... hadn't moved.
Not that her head cared much about that. Her thoughts were too occupied with contemplating what he had said. Was he right? Was she endangering the expedition and its people? Was she indeed making decisions guided by emotions instead rationality?
You don't have the strength to be leading the fight against the Wraith.
His words were like hard blows that took away her breath.
Yes, she was weak. She was responsible for so many people, and yet she was only a woman who was looking for protection and care like everyone else. But it was denied to her. She had to be strong, at all times. Be strong where she wasn't.
There's no need for the Trust to blow it up when Dr. Weir is at the helm.
She would destroy everything. She would be responsible for the death of Atlantis' inhabitants because she wasn't capable of leading such an expedition in the way it needed to be. This here was a military affair. This was war. She was just a scientist, a diplomat. But their enemies, and especially the Wraith, didn't negotiate.
She saw them. All those creatures that wanted to harm them and Atlantis. They circled her, just like Kavanagh's words did. They hissed and snarled at her. Came closer. Threatened her. Cornered her. Struck out with their long claws.
Let them catch her She even wanted them to. She wanted all this to end - the fear, the constant worry. She was weak. Not willing to fight any longer, to pretend to be strong, she allowed the walls around her to be torn down. Lowered her shields. Gave up her defense lines.
And the creatures around her attacked her, grabbed her and threw her to the ground.
-8-8-8-
Screaming, Elizabeth jolted awake. Disoriented she looked around, but all she saw were the creatures from her nightmare. She felt like someone was choking her, and hugged her knees to her body; tried to be as small as possible.
She didn't notice John, who had blown every doubt and hesitation about disturbing her at this late hour into the wind as soon as he heard her scream, standing right next to her bed. And when he laid a hand on her shoulder, she jerked away, cowered even more, and whispered something John believed to make out as, "Please don't kill me".
"Elizabeth," he said gently, sat down in front of her and this time laid both hands on her shoulders, "Elizabeth, it was just a dream. Everything's all right."
It took her a good while to return to reality; her eyes regaining focus very slowly until she finally recognized, finally saw the man sitting at her bedside. She was still shaking violently.
"What happened, Elizabeth? Do you want to talk about it?"
Weir sucked in a breath and remained quiet for a moment; then, however, she began to speak.
"It was... Kavanagh. His words, his accusations. I'm weak, John. I will always be the one to blame when people of this expedition die. Ultimately, it is my fault. This whole mission isn't anymore what it was once supposed to be. This has nothing to do with science and research. It's war, John. War. I'm a diplomat, and I may even be a good, a skilled one. But people aren't talking when they are at war. "
Even though she said his name a few times, he wasn't sure she was actually talking to him. Her eyes were empty, like her soul had already fled her body, and she spoke as if she wanted to run away as well, as if every new word was carrying her farther away from her nightmare.
He wanted to tell her that he knew what she was talking about, and how she felt. He wanted to tell her that he believed in what his mother had once told him - that after every rainy day, sun would follow. But he knew that he could never have been convincing when saying it; because it wasn't the truth.
Yes, this was war. There were the Wraith as a constant threat, and now they also had to add the Goa'ulds. All the time attacks, fights, conflicts. Destruction. Loss. Wounded people. Death.
He only had a vague notion of how Weir probably felt now. He was a soldier - but Elizabeth?
Helpless and at a loss of what to say, he drew her close to him and hugged her tight. If he were less the cliché of an average man, he would know what to say, he thought; but then, were there any right words in a situation like this one? He doubted it. Besides, it seemed as if it was his presence that was helping the most; that being there with her, for her, as someone she could hold on to, was better than any thoroughly contemplated word.
"Tell me, something, John. Tell me a story. Anything that will make me forget those pictures in my mind. Please," Weir almost begged, her voice barely audible and choked with tears. He didn't have to think about it then; it was a chance to help her, and he would take it. So while he leaned over slightly to get the tissues from her nightstand, he began to speak. He spoke about the beauty of the planets they'd visited; he remembered all the happy times, the anecdotes from his childhood and youth, his adventures, his trips with friends. Every once in a while, he felt the woman in his arms whose cheek rested against his shoulder smile. She let herself be guided by his stories, and his soft, soothing voice, to leave this dark place her mind had her brought to.
Only after a long while she slowly detached herself from the embrace of her military commander, and got up.
"I'll be right back," she said and vanished into the bathroom, to splash a bit of cold water into her tear-streaked face. John used the opportunity to sink back on the bed and stretch his muscles, locking his arms behind his head. When Weir returned to the main area of the room and saw him lying on her bed, she smiled - a gesture he returned. Everything but a smiling Elizabeth was unacceptable in his world; he had decided that some time ago.
Unceremoniously she lay down beside him; her hands playing with her necklace as she stared at the ceiling. Her expression was serious, and Sheppard's matched it; they had a lot to think about. Lying next to each other, they remained silent for a little while, listened to the sounds of waves breaking on the city, and both got lost in their own thoughts, until John spoke again.
"Why can't it be always like this, Elizabeth? Just a bit like in this very moment," he wondered, whispering, and pulled her close once more to wrap his arms protectively around her, "Why does there always have to be enemies, war and lust for power, wherever we go?" Her head rested on his chest and he gently kissed her hair.
"Believe me, John, if we knew the answer, this universe would long since have become one without pointless death and suffering," she sighed, and shifted even closer to him.
"Are you sure? Sometimes I get the impression that all these beings in this universe only worry about their own advantage; their possessions and properties. That they want nothing else but to protect it at all costs, and fight for it, whether it is necessary or not. And truth be told, I'm no different. We thirst for power and wealth, and only so often waste a thought when it comes to those around us."
"Perhaps only very few are aware of this and that's why humanity, why all beings in the universe are unable to change anything." Sheppard shrugged at her words.
"Who or whatever created us, Elizabeth, did it knowing full well what would be the outcome. That's what I like to believe. They intended us fight, with each other and against each other. Only so that we learn what is important in life, and that we value what we have. And... that we protect it."
"Then it is a high price we pay," Elizabeth murmured, the thought that this was all meant to be one that scared her.
"It is also something that apparently isn't discouraging anyone; it doesn't keep the beings of the universe from willingly paying it despite all the sorrow it causes."
"Sounds a lot like the 'meaning of life' is to sell our soul to the devil," the scientist thought aloud, and they both laughed quietly. Then comfortable silence settled on them again; this time, however, they didn't think and contemplate. They just savored the quiet they almost felt, this inner peace that filled them.
No war. No dead. No sorrow. Just for this short moment in time.
Eventually, Sheppard sat up, pulling the woman in his arms with him. When his hands came to frame her face and his thumbs gently caressed her cheeks, there was so much affection, so much love in his eyes, that a feeling of warmth, comfort and security engulfed her.
"Know one thing: No matter what happens, you are not alone," he said and slowly closed the distance between them, while adding whispering, "Even if I have to sell my soul for it - I'll always be there for you, Liz." His using of the shortened form of her name, something she had only ever known as kind of endearment throughout her life, made a pleasant shudder pass through her. Eyes half closed, she nodded in acknowledgement.
"Thank you," she replied softly and placed the breath of a kiss on John's lips. The touch was so feathery light, more the idea of a touch than an actual one, and yet both felt it with every fiber of their bodies.
Being there for each other. Protecting each other. Looking out for each other. Giving one another warmth, affection, a feeling of safety.
Maybe all the tragedy and gruesomeness that happened in their lives did have a deeper meaning, after all. Even if it was only to make their hearts beat stronger, to strengthen them, to show them what was really important.
Maybe its purpose was to give them the chance to pause every now and then. Until time stood still.
Just like now. Now, that the touch of the other had left behind a burning feeling of wistful longing. One that told and taught them the importance of loving each other and drawing strength from this love - for their fight, for their duty, for the path they'd walk in their lives.
Together, they were going to be strong.
Together.
FIN