A/N: This is a series of 100-word drabble things. They're pretty much all Elizabeth/John. They're pretty much all angst. The majority of them are character death, so if that's not your cuppa, please click the back button. No further ado, so enjoy.
i. Finality
She accompanies them off-world for the first time in a long time, and he is concerned. Well…worried. It isn't that he doesn't think that she's capable, far from it, but he has a strong underlying suspicion that something will go wrong. Something always goes wrong. They emerge from the Gate, weapons drawn and steps tentative. She is the only one unarmed. So it makes sense when she is the first one struck by the ambush. She, always so strong, who is physically crumbling beneath his hands, blood oozing, skin paling. He cries after she dies. He never felt so weak.
ii. Surrender
The war has decimated them to this: three people sitting in an office with an open bottle of scotch, waiting for death. He wants to laugh, to scream, but nothing emerges. The room quakes as several wraith darts kamikaze into their simple shield. Their smiles are thin, grim. When the lights flicker, he holds up his cup. A toast. She reaches blindly for his hand, and grasps it, feeling the heat of life and the warm trickle of substance that sustains it. He says nothing, and they throw back their drinks. Her eyes focus on him until the very end.
iii. Catalyst
She sits in the very last row, vision blurred from blinking back tears that morning. The doors open as a rush of piano music greets them, and she can do nothing, say nothing. The blonde cottonball wafts down the aisle, smiling. When they begin to recite their vows, she bites her lip so hard it bleeds. She watches his eyes light up, and wishes it was she standing next to him, swathed in white, declaring vows. When they kiss, it is too much. She stands and exits the cathedral, his life. All that's left is the beautiful and treacherous disaster.
iv. Unrequited
Her eyes slowly flutter open and the first thing they focus on are his, full of concern. She smiles, tries to make light of the situation, but they all know that there's something else going on. She tries to tell him when they're alone, hoping he'll understand. She knows he won't. And he doesn't. He's angry. He slams his hand down on the desk, kicks things. He's only violent because he wants her alive. But she won't be. Soon, all they can do is watch as she withers until there's nothing left, nothing but thoughts on what could have been.
v. Schism
She watches him through the tiny glass window provided for these types of visits. A loud buzz lets her know she can enter. She sits next to him, and bites her lip to hold back tears at the sight of his eyes. He whispers something softly to her, something of a place called Atlantis, and she shakes her head sadly. He was so brilliant, akin to a genius, but now—he'd been reduced to uttering of a mythological place. As she leaves, eyes tearing, she tries to think of the man he was, and not the man he is now.
vi. Sacrifice
During the siege of Atlantis, they beam you onto their ships. You're kept as prisoners, holed up in this one little box. You try and comfort her, tell her that you'll escape, you've done it before. You joke and tell her they practically have your name scrawled in the jail cell. She smiles, and tries to be an optimist, but for the first time, it's failing her. They take you away to a large room. And they can sense your thoughts. They smile when they restrain you. They make you watch. They cull her right in front of your eyes.