Rating: PG-13
Characters: Weir/Sheppard and shades of Elizabeth/Rodney
Summary: The star drives hum, loud and steady, a rhythm Rodney feels in Elizabeth's body.
Authors Note: For heylittleriver in all her cracktastic glory. Her prompt got me started and she was kind enough to act as beta too.
i.
The wires are pale, translucent against her cold skin. When Rodney touches them he feels her tremor, synaptic pathways shuddering at the interruption and she blinks in response. It's the most reaction they've seen in days and John is up from the floor, haggard face cleansed in a moment with bright hope.
"Elizabeth," he says but she doesn't answer.
Rodney's beginning to think she never will.
ii.
Her hair is soft between his fingers, warming under the heat of his skin even after all this time. John does not touch her; none of the scientists do. They are unnerved by her unnatural stillness but when Rodney is alone he lays a hand on her chest and the empty echo of what should be there still startles him, gives way to a tight fear he can't explain.
iii.
It's been weeks and John doesn't come down to see her anymore, doesn't look Rodney in the eye. Rodney's failure is paramount, an unspoken weight that brings him to the bowels of Atlantis, brings him to her even when he knows she's already gone.
iv.
John reassigns the scientists when weeks turn into months and Rodney is glad for Teyla's pragmatic voice, the one that lets him stay. The star drives hum, loud and steady, a rhythm Rodney feels in Elizabeth's body. Her features haven't faded or wasted away and Rodney takes the time to smooth her hair, to brush away the dust that has gathered on the swell of her cheek when he comes to see her each morning. Her skin turns pale under the artificial light and he sees the blue network of her veins, still and congealed with blood.
He wonders if she knew what was happening to her, if she's somewhere inside her static body unable to move and to speak. He hopes not, but he cannot stop the dreams that come each night and he wakes to the image of her face, the sick surprise caught in her wide eyes and voiceless mouth.
v.
The Wraith come three months later and down the city goes, swallowed whole by the ocean to protect herself. The lone ZPM is not enough; the city is breaking under the weight of what they ask and for the first time Rodney doesn't dream of Elizabeth.
vi.
It's John and the natural gene holders who feel it first; a waking awareness inside, a silver thread of connection that aches as the city fights. Rodney finds John in the morning kneeling before Elizabeth. "It's her," he breathes, face tight with emotion. "It's her," he says again, voice so sure that Rodney wants to believe him, wants to think it's Elizabeth calling out for help.
"Colonel, I don't think-" is as far as he gets before Elizabeth's body convulses, rises up and suddenly she's standing, blinking and looking at them.
"John," she says but the voice is all wrong, too deep and empty. She reaches out for his face, fingers cool on his cheek and he recoils at her touch.
vii.
The city rises, beautiful and full from the depths and Elizabeth stands tall and impossibly strong alongside the star drives, face opened with more emotion then Rodney understands as the Wraith ships fall, one by one into the looming ocean below, fiery stars from the heavens.
"Stop," Rodney says to John, "stop her," but it's too late to save her as Atlantis thrums with life and power, burning her out from the inside.