Pairing: Shep/Weir.
A/N: -sigh- The latest SGA episode, coupled with the recent news about cast changes for season four have me a little down. This is meant to be an attempt at cheering up myself, the girls at the SSS forum and anyone else who needs it.
If you don't know what cast change I'm referring to, please take a look at my profile.
Hide Within a Flower
The first flower appeared during one of her early mornings, a vivid red splash among the dull pastels of her files and paperwork.
Kavanagh had been insistent in requesting a private meeting with her, and she soon decided that it would be better to get the tiresome encounter over and done with; rather than continue receiving his daily emails. He began composedly, but her coolness toward him and his sense of her many wrongs against him fuelled his anger.
It was a relatively public argument that soon followed; Elizabeth had shut her office door, but glass walls didn't contribute much to privacy. Extremely aware of the curious gazes of present personnel, Elizabeth attacked every point he made against her. It was almost embarrassing when Kavanagh- red-faced- stormed out, and was later said to have been close to tears and then sobbing in a supply closet.
Rodney, unashamedly delighted, was pleased enough to invite her to join him for a coffee. When she returned, the bloom was already in place on her desk. It wasn't prettily arranged, or particularly pretty itself. She picked it up, noting the tiny slip of paper attached. It bore three neatly typed words: Red carnation: Admiration.
The flower looked nothing like a red carnation; no resemblance except for the colour.
It still made her smile.
x . o . x . o . x . o . x
'I hope you won't be blowing up the city while I'm gone,' Elizabeth said, sneaking up on the animated group in the mess hall. The comments about 'what we can do now' presented her with some alarming images.
Looking highly entertained, John gestured to a free seat and stabbed enthusiastically at his blue Jell-O.
'We don't plan to do it intentionally, 'Lizabeth, but you know, accidents happen.'
'What could you possibly do,' Elizabeth wondered, 'that may result in Atlantis becoming a pile of rubble at the bottom of the ocean?'
'Fight,' Ronon contributed, surfacing from his laden tray.
'You're going to be… fighting each other? Sparring practise, you mean?' Elizabeth asked slowly, refusing Rodney's generous offer of a cookie.
'No,' Ronon said shortly. 'Fight as in fight to the death.'
'Hey, I don't want to come back and find I have to replace you all.'
'I don't plan to lose.'
Raising her eyebrows at Ronon, who had returned to his meal with vigour, Elizabeth turned to John for clarification.
'Don't ask me,' he said immediately. 'I have no idea what he's talking about.'
'All right,' she relented. 'Enjoy your meal. I have some last minute packing to do.'
A little over ten hours later and Elizabeth's bag, its contents neatly organised, sat just beside her office door, where it waited while she finalised some reports. Her time of departure came just as she remembered that she'd almost forgotten to take her pocket watch.
In carefully placing it in the bag's front pocket, she came across another blossom. This one was pink, with tiny dark specks dotting the petals. It was labelled: Azalea: Take care of yourself for me.
Smiling, Elizabeth looked up in response to the tap at her door.
'I'm coming,' she told the expectant technician.
She gave the flower one last look before tucking it away.
x . o . x . o . x . o . x
She felt sick doing it, but having been ordered to keep away from any form of work, Elizabeth secured herself a flight to the mainland, where her memorial was situated.
She still couldn't sleep properly, even though spending two weeks in a tiny room that smelt of sweat and hopelessness and death should have meant she slept fantastically in her warm, comfortable quarters. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered her hooded captors and their blank stares.
The grey tombstone was simple and dignified. An array of flowers lay in front of it, mostly in a straight line except for where the wind had displaced them. She knelt and gently touched the closest offerings.
'We'll have to get that thing destroyed,' John told her.
Elizabeth smiled, rising and stepping back to join him.
'Isn't it bad luck to do something like that?'
'Isn't it worse to keep a tombstone for someone who's alive?' he retorted.
She shrugged. She continued surveying the sombre scene.
'We didn't want to stop searching.'
'I know,' Elizabeth answered, glancing at her companion. She caught a fleeting glimpse of sorrow crossing his face. 'I'm home now, John, and I don't plan to leave anytime soon.'
His eyes didn't leave the memorial.
'It's good to have you back, Elizabeth,' he said quietly, before moving, she presumed, back to the Puddlejumper.
Elizabeth stood a moment longer, unable to look away from her grave. A flutter of wind blew a paper strip into the air, but it was prevented from further movement by string. Elizabeth discovered, beneath the fresher flowers, a wilted blossom. The paper she'd noticed was like that on the others flowers she'd received in the city.
Its words were a little blurred from dew, but she could still confidently make them out.
Asphodel: My regrets follow you to the grave.
x . o . x . o . x . o . x
Her tray still held its light load, but lay forgotten just beyond her head, which was at that moment resting on her arms. The cold table was pressing her wrists; otherwise, it was unfelt.
The late hour she'd chosen for dinner meant that, thankfully, the mess hall had very few diners. Excepting a busy member of the kitchen staff, she believed she was alone.
'Look, it was nothing particularly life-threatening. He's just making a fuss for-'
'You're lucky he agreed not to tell Weir, McKay,' Ronon growled.
'Tell Weir what?' Elizabeth said, unwilling to sacrifice the lovely position she'd found to give the newcomers her complete attention. She did, however, open her eyes to stare at the tabletop.
There was silence as, Elizabeth guessed, they decided how to backtrack.
'Is something wrong, Elizabeth?' Teyla spoke first, and if not for the genuine worry in her voice, Elizabeth would have supposed the tactic they'd chosen was distraction.
'I'm fine, thank you. I'm just a little tired.'
'Then you should get to your quarters,' John advised. 'There's a group of hungry scientists about to descend on this place.'
'I will.'
'Then come on kids; let's go.'
'Could you sound any more patronising, Sheppard?' Rodney snapped, his quick footsteps passing her. She heard a rattle of trays.
'Yes,' John answered cheerfully. 'Ronon, are you sure you can handle all those?'
There was a pause.
'Yeah, stupid question,' he continued.
Elizabeth heard Teyla laughingly offer to take a tray from Ronon, and the two left first, apparently arguing about chivalry. Rodney's grumbles to John about the lack of his favourite dishes disappeared only when he was out of her hearing range.
Fifteen minutes after they had gone, Elizabeth decided returning to her room would be better than facing the inquiries of whoever happened to drop by later. She reluctantly pulled her head up and trudged to her quarters.
The latest bloom was a vibrant yellow with clusters of small petals, perched at the bottom of her bed. The note attached read: Jonquil: Sympathy.
x . o . x . o . x . o . x
'What you did is unacceptable!' Elizabeth snapped, her pace quickening as she strode toward her office.
'It didn't turn out the way I expected it to, no,' her companion admitted.
Making an obvious effort to lower her voice, but showing her anger through the loud thump she caused by putting down her files, she answered,
'No, it didn't. Teyla almost died, John. If Ronon hadn't caught her at the last moment-'
'Don't you think I know that the entire thing is my fault? I put Rodney in the infirmary, I almost sent Teyla to an early grave, and I know that! I won't ever forgive myself for it.'
Elizabeth's expression was icy as she uttered her next words, her left hand unconsciously tapping a pen on the desk in agitation.
'And it was all for a woman?'
'No!' Indignant, John leant forward in earnest. 'I was trying to save the whole village, not just her.'
'You did it even when you knew there was almost no chance you could do it without harm to you or your team?'
'We've always been lucky,' he answered, almost inaudibly.
'That's just it, John!' Elizabeth stood, dropping the pen and slamming both palms on her desk, losing all pretence at maintaining sang-froid. She mirrored his previous action, as though closing the gap between them would give her words more impact. 'You can't rely on luck forever. The others have told me that they saw the situation as a near impossible one, but ultimately, it was your decision. By trying to save everyone, John- even when you can't- you're going to get yourself killed.'
'It was a bad move, okay? But there are times when I can't just stand by and do nothing.'
'Sometimes, you're just going to have to,' Elizabeth told him. She drew away from him and let out a ragged breath, looking resigned. 'I don't like it either, but you're going to have to.'
John seemed about to reply, but at her weary sigh, he departed.
Her mind exhausted, and heart heavy, Elizabeth took a quick trip to the infirmary to check up on Rodney.
That night, she found a purple flower with a jagged stem a few feet from the entrance of her quarters. The slip of paper it held read:
Purple hyacinth: I'm sorry.
x . o . x . o . x . o . x
The opportunity was just too good to resist.
Elizabeth had fallen into conversation with Katie Brown, who, as it happened, was a hopeless romantic. It turned out that she'd been introduced to the 'language of flowers' while she was a teenager by her cousin. Whether that first love of such a use for plants contributed to her later career, Elizabeth never discovered; but a question or two later, Elizabeth found a flower suitable for her purpose.
Obtaining the specimen was a little difficult. The mainland held very few varieties of flowers and she rarely ventured off-world. A quick word with Teyla secured her the blossom she desired: one similar to the 'jonquil' she'd received, but with white petals.
The note she secured to it was in her own handwriting.
x. o . x
His head pounding as a result of a furious sparring session with Ronon, John entered his quarters with the intention of heading straight for the shower. His plans altered a little when he noticed a white flower arranged thoughtfully on his pillow.
He smiled in amusement.
Narcissus: Stay as sweet as you are/Egotism.
A/N: Yes, I am a hopeless romantic. :) The title, by the way, comes from an Emily Dickinson poem.