Disclaimer: SGA isn't mine. I just play with the characters every once and awhile. :P
AN: So, this is Shweir…hope you like it. Def. a one shot, but PLEASE review!!
Summary: Before every mission, they have a ritual.
...1...
…The Ritual…
Before every mission, they have a ritual.
During the briefing, they watch each other, memorizing every detail. They talk, laugh, joke, argue, but it is there nonetheless. Committing each feature, each line, each expression, movement, motion, smile to memory.
And they listen, recording each others voice. Words. Tones. Inflection. The weighty pauses, gasps, whispers, intakes of breath.
He leaves first.
If he didn't, he thinks he wouldn't be able to leave at all.
They pass each other in the hall before his pre-mission check up. They smile. They commit that to memory, as well.
After he leaves the infirmary, he heads to the balcony. She is waiting, the cool ocean breezes playing with her hair--grown longer over the last years. She turns to watch as he comes closer, green eyes brilliant with unspoken worry. He comes up next to her side, leans on the railing.
They stand there for an eternity.
They stand there five minutes.
It is enough.
She turns to go, then pauses, following the pattern.
"Be safe," she tells him. And he smiles, almost cockily. It is expected.
"Always," he assures. "Take care of her," he adds, smile fading. She nods.
"Always," she manages. Then makes her escape.
He seeks her out in her office twenty minutes before they leave. They say nothing, but he hands over the report he has conveniently forgotten to submit. Their fingers brush, and electricity runs up their arms. He smiles half-sadly.
"Gotta go," he says, and leaves.
She waits at the window of her office, and when they arrive ready to go she walks out to the railing. He looks up at her and grins his cocky grin. It is expected.
They have half-a-second to commit that to memory as well. It is their ritual.
He turns to go and does not look back.
When he comes back they will smile and debrief and go through yet another infirmary visit and he will sit down and write the report, so that it will be ready for whenever the next mission might be. He won't be able to sleep, and he will walk in the silent hallways of Atlantis. They will meet on the balcony and stand there for half a night, silent. Safe.
But today he breaks their ritual. Today McKay calls in, frantic, and he, Ronon, and Teyla run through the gate with enemy fire chasing them. He is not with them. Today he has not kept his promise.
The debriefing is cold. Empty. And when the rescue team is sent off, she watches them, and sees his face.
She sits in her office, reading reports and hearing his voice, each nuance and inflection reflecting his attitude. She smiles, lost in thought. Unable to cry.
When the team returns empty-handed, she sits through another briefing without him. But this time he sits to her left and teases her. He rolls his eyes and offers a running commentary, and the part of her that wants to cry is being overwhelmed by the urge to laugh at his outrageous comments, and dimly she wonders if she's snapped. He assures her she hasn't, and she believes him.
He sits in a five by five cell, and watches her pace. Watches her smile, and roll her eyes, and sees the wind toss her hair. She gives him a pep talk after he is beaten and slumped against the bars. She sits with him as he tries to bind his wounds, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes at the pain. She yells at him to fight each time they come for him. She tells him he'll escape, and he believes her.
They do not give up.
They do not forget.
She sends his team out each time they hear a rumor. Following leads, following hope. Each time they leave she paces the empty halls and finds her way to the balcony. Each time they return she is waiting by the railing. She listens to him. Watches him. She laughs, sometimes, but she does not cry.
He does not cooperate. Does not answer their questions. Does not explain why he will sometimes look past them and smile. Does not explain why he cocks his head and listens when he is alone in his cell. When they are dragging him screaming and fighting and he suddenly stops. Why he grows calm in an instant. He listens to her. Watches her. He screams, sometimes, but he does not beg.
When his captors make that fatal mistake, they are ready.
Ronon and McKay find him being chased in the forest. McKay helps him back to the gate while Teyla and Ronon stop the pursuers. At the gate he shrugs off McKay's arm, desperate to take that one step by himself. When he stumbles through, she does not quite believe.
Beckett has waited for this call for weeks. The medical team pulls his away, but they share one moment. One look.
It is an eternity.
It is a second.
It is enough.
She paces outside the doors, waiting with Teyla and Ronon and McKay. Others are curious, worried, afraid, but his team has earned the right to wait there. She has earned the right.
Beckett comes in, hours later, a worried smile. Assuring, with time…
"He asked for you, Elizabeth." She looks up, startled. He is breaking the ritual, but…
It is already broken.
She enters the room quietly. Almost afraid.
"Hey," he whispers when she comes close, and her ears lurch at the familiar voice. The inflection. Unthinkingly she commits it to memory.
"Hey," she smiles back, and the word solidifies into a rope, binding them together. He smiles raggedly. Doesn't tell her how good it is to hear her voice, because he has heard it.
Every day.
"You broke your promise," she smiles sadly, and he shrugs, amused.
"Shucks, it looked safe enough to me." She almost laughs at the tone.
"It's good to have you back," she tells him, but his searching eyes have already discovered the truth in her face.
"I never left," he tells her softly.
"I know," she tells him. His eyes flutter sleepily. He leaves the conversation first. Following old patterns.
Almost.
A week passes as he sits in the infirmary, another in his office and McKay's lab, confined to light duty. Her throat catches when she thinks of what must come next.
They talk of simple things when they see each other.
They do not talk.
The moment comes sooner or later. It must.
They had a ritual before each mission.
During the briefing, they watch each other. Desperately, now. Each feature, expression memorized, tucked into the mind and heart. Not that they could ever forget, now. She leaves first, suddenly. Before the others.
She doesn't think she can ever watch him go again.
She finds herself in the hallway outside the infirmary, waiting for him to pass by. They smile. He wants to grab her and hold her. Apologize. Question, talk, kiss, touch…
Beckett is waiting. She walks past him, unsteady. Unable to hold his gaze.
When he leaves the infirmary, he walks with a heavy heart to the balcony. Unsure if she'll be there. Unsure if he can face her.
She stands, leaning against the railing, the breeze tossing her hair. Even longer now. She turns to face him, green eyes glittering brilliantly with unshed tears. He moves to stand next to her and she watches his approach, but he stops, unexpectedly.
He grabs her blindly, pulling her into his embrace, and she collapses into him.
She cries, at last.
The ritual is shattered.
She looks up, cheeks wet, green eyes shining, and he kisses her. Wild abandonment, uninhibited, desirous.
She laughs when they pull apart.
"You were with me. When you were gone…I heard you. Saw you," she tells him, half-desperate. Hoping he'll understand.
"You held me," he tells her, as if explains everything.
And perhaps it does.
Twenty minutes before he leaves he'll enter her office and hand her last weeks report. And then he'll kiss her, in full view of the control room.
When he meets his team at the gate, he'll look up to where she's waiting, and smile. But this time it won't be cocky, it will be loving. And the others watching will smile as well.
And when he returns with his team, hours later, she will sigh in relief. And their hands will find each others for that split second.
In the debriefing he will be clinical. She will be dispassionate. They will be coworkers.
They will leave together.
That night he will leave his office early, the report unfinished on his desk. He will meet her outside her office and walk to the mess together. Grab a late night snack. He'll put his arm around her as they walk back to their balcony. They'll sit and watch the waves below, and she'll lean into his shoulder. They'll sit out there half the night.
A new ritual will be born.