Title: Stupid
Author: Mlle Lambert
Rating: K/PG
Genre: Angst
Pairing: Sparky
Season/Sequel: Season 2 (Ronon)
Spoilers: None really
Summary: Most of all, it was stupid of her to cry like this. Warning: possible character death!
Disclaimer: Whoever owns them owns them! If I did, I'd be writing the scripts, not the fanfic!
Author's Note: Special thanks to my friend, Darlene, for giving me the word "stupid" to jump start my writing. Yes, I realize I very badly need a job...something...
Written: January 23, 2006

This was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Elizabeth repeated the word in her head over and over again like a mantra. It had been stupid of her to send them on that mission. It had been stupid of her to fall for him in the first place. It had been stupid of her to ignored the looks, the flirting, and the touches. Most of all, it was stupid of her to cry like this.

She remembered it perfectly. Every image was frighteningly clear in her mind. They had been missing for almost a week when the gate activated and McKay's signal was received. Weir, who'd been standing in the control room, had hurried down the steps to meet the incoming team. All of them had been covered in dirt and who knew what else. What had caught her attention most was the form Ronon carried slung over his back.

She vaguely recalled calling a medical team as Ronon laid Sheppard on the floor and she rushed over to the still body. She'd fallen to her knees and cradled his head in her lap, tears forming in her eyes. "John? Oh my God, John," she said, feeling for a pulse.

"...Liz...beth..."

"Stay with me, John." She'd reached for his hand and squeezed it and stayed by his side all the way to the infirmary.

That had been almost a month ago. He'd shown no signs of life since that moment. Carson was doing his best, she knew, but the odds were against the man lying in that hospital bed in a coma. Elizabeth's hopes had fallen with the chances of him reawakening. He was dying and they all knew it.

Leaning against the balcony railing outside of her office -- the one where they had often shared important conversations and playful banter -- she couldn't control the emotions she'd kept at bay for so long. The tears spilled out of her eyes nonstop, soaking her cheeks and shirt. The wind she usually took comfrot in seemed to taunt her with its breezes. Out of all the things plaguing her, however, the fact that John would never again come up beside her silently and be the rock she needed to lean on was what hurt the most.

Wiping her eyes, Elizabeth left the balcony, then her office where the medical report of Sheppard's condition lay open on her desk. She headed for the infirmary, knowing no one would ask about her tear-streaked face even if they noticed. Carson turned to her when she arrived, uttering her name softly, sorrowfully. He knew she was taking this hard.

Elizabeth crossed to where John lay. He was so pale. She took his hand as new tears formed. He looked more frail than ever before. It broke her heart to see him like this.

Weir's hopes had come crashing down with the revelation that he wasn't going to make it through this, and now it was time to let go. After all those days and nights spent by Sheppard's bedside talking, she had finally given up. It was stupid to keep him alive like this. It was even unfair to him.

"Carson," Elizabeth called, not looking up.

Dr. Beckett stood across the bed from her. "Yes, Elizabeth?"

Their eyes met briefly before Weir averted her gaze, focusing on the still form before her. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke the words that would forever end the smallest possibility that she would see John's smile ever again: "You know what to do."