Dance With Me
Sarie Venea
A/N--A happy fic! A happy, happy, Sparky pretty fic, happy happy happy….
We are dancing, spinning, my hand in his, his eyes following me with a reverence that comes from so much more than the dress of cranberry that twirls around my ankles. The white shirt at his throat opens to a smile brilliant with happiness and green eyes that are finally at peace. My hand reaches up, up, over my head, my fingers twisted in his as he turns me under his elbow. I feel the smile beginning in the depths of my being and radiating outward for him, all for him, bursting with the love that I no longer hide or fear.
Friends closer than can be realized watch, two of them in their own dance of fluid, cat-like grace, their arms strong and protective, but concerned only for one another. One more is leaning against the rail, still at last, his hands wrapped around a smooth drink and a tiny, beautiful woman at his side, her glasses gone and her dark hair down. She crinkles in a smile, his gaze resting over her with a notice she has craved for a long time. My eyes follow my swirl, seeing a people smiling, a contentment and peace settling over the movement and swirling in the music. I am pulled back toward a narrow chest, cradled close with an arm of strength and love. I look up into the gentle eyes, and I smile.
"Elizabeth!" Sheppard shakes the frail woman in his arms, previously unaware of the fragility of this core of Atlantis. "God damnit! Open your eyes!"
He ducks as a shot shatters the window above him, colored glass sprinkling around them. Elizabeth opens her eyes slowly, deep shadows of pain and fear hiding behind the peace as she looks far through him.
"That's it. Look at me now, we're gonna find Beckett, alright?" He shifts her closer, sliding an arm under her knees and lifting her lithe weight.
She cries out at the motion, the pain flooding away the images of a city at peace and filling her with the reality of one at war.
"John," she chokes out, her bloodied hand clutching at his jacket. "Oh my god, John!" She buries her face in his chest and he blinks angrily, the hot tears pressing away as the soldier's determined façade slams shut. The wound across her stomach is bad, bleeding heavily, and his only mission now is to get her to safety, then keep her that way. He sucks in a deep breath, another blast echoing as he crouches to his feet, sprinting to the hallway entrance and darkness beyond the gateroom.
"Colonel! Sheppard, answer me!" His best friend is screaming in his ear, and he can't reassure him that they are both alive, for the moment. "The gateroom is gone, Colonel! You had better not be in there right now, and if you don't have Elizabeth I am going to haunt you into the next plane of existence!"
Sheppard smirks despite himself, the soft curls against his neck heaven in another time, another place; the ranting that means all is never as bad as it should be a soothing, abrasive sound. He pulls around another corner, the lack of defense in his hands disturbing, but the secrecy and collaboration with the walls and doors themselves an advantage he blesses his ancestors for. The twisting halls are silent and deserted, the fight taken to the important areas of the city and the route to a haven of medicine nearly undefended. He glances down at the now-trembling woman and frowns; her eyes are glassy and dull, but still open, sliding in and out of focus on his chin.
"C'mon, Liz, stay with me here," he mutters quietly, glaring at the long hallway in front of him. There should be a light spilling onto the ground at the end, the familiar entrance to the infirmary and the care and flutterings of a Scottish doctor. But there is only darkness.
"It's alright, Sheppard. I don't have any idea who is listening, but I see you, at least I really really hope and pray to all that is holy that that dot is you, and just know, its okay. Go ahead, I turned the lights out, go ahead." He grins this time, the flash of warmth in his chest directed solely at the man who reads his mind like the city herself, who knows exactly where and why John is going, even without being sure he is alive. He whispers a sweet nothing into the perfect ear under his jaw, and takes off at a cautious run toward that door.
Inches. They are inches from safety and healing when Carson finds them, John curled around his closest soul, her body molded to his, the bullets that tore through his back and into her sealing their fate, always together. Rodney cries, though he doesn't know how, his knees bruised from the fall of disbelief and anger. Ronon spins and slams his fist into the bubbling waters, roaring in anger. Teyla crumples against the wall and stares, her eyes dry and broken. The city mourns, the wind in her towers crying out in sorrow until they sank beneath the waves once more.
Dance with me John. Dance with me, we will spin together in our city, when she is free and at peace and her people are smiling again. Hold my hand and twirl me around, I will wear a red dress and I will smile.
Dance with me.
And------Wow, I cried, how about you?