He stands on the balcony, staring out over the sea. He loves this view. There are hundreds of balconies on Atlantis, all with gorgeous, sweeping views of green-blue seas stretching as far as the eye can see. On the surface, all the balconies are the same.
But this one has a subtle difference that only he can see. If he looks over his shoulder, through the window, he can see the control room. He can see the bustle, and the movement. He can see Ford teasing Teyla, and Teyla smiling dubiously. He can see Grodin trying to explain something to Zelinka. And he can see McKay earnestly talking to Elizabeth. She's listening, nodding in all the right places, being the perfect, calm, elegant Base Commander. But a second ago, she'd glanced over towards the window, and seen him outside, and nodded imperceptibly.
Yes, this ishis favourite balcony. He comes out here every day. Sometimes she's there. Already leaning on the rail, the wind blowing the hair back from her fine-boned face, her eyes staring into the distance, as if, if she concentrated enough, she could see the entire universe. She turns to look at him, and smiles, relaxing when she sees it's him. And he teases and jokes and smiles the stresses and cares of the day away from her.
Sometimes he's there before her. He leans on the balcony and daydreams. He dreams of going home, of great adventures, of finding a ZPM, a magic spell, the cure, the reason, of something. And lately, he daydreams of her. Her beside him, on another planet, turning to him with a little half-smile, calling him John. He spells out apologies for the times he's disobeyed her, clumsily stammers out his reasons for saving her, and risking himself. He spins conversations that he only half understands, feelings he is only half-aware of. He remembers the cold stab of fear in seeing her hostage. He remembers the way he died inside when he thought she was dead, and he remembers her being alive again. He remembers every time she turns to him, every time she smiles at him, or gets angry at him. As he stares out to sea, he recalls, in tiny, exquisite detail, the exact way she looked at him last night, the exact turn of her head as she said goodbye to him last week, the look of relief on her face when she welcomed him back from a dangerous mission, the hastily suppressed smile on her face as he wound up McKay.
He watches her now, he knows. He knows she's part of him now. He knew the dream of home was a fake when Teyla was with him, not her. He knew he'd murder for her sake. Die for her. Live for her.
He first knew he loved her, out here on his favourite balcony. And he knows one day he'll tell her that too, out here, the wind from the scene blowing the hair back from her face.
The only thing he doesn't know is what she'll say in return. But he knows she'll say it out here, one day, and he's content to wait here for her, everyday.
The door opens and she steps out, smiling.
"How was it?" she asks.
"Oh, you know. McKay was an endless joy, as always. I got something for you."
"It's not my birthday, this time."
"Lets call it a sign of my appreciation."
She blushes a little, and glances down at the bracelet in his hand. It glimmers, blue-green. It is exquisite, and tiny, and she knows it will fit her fragile wrist perfectly. She also knows she ought not to accept it.
She holds out her wrist, and he smiles a little, his heartbreaking, wonderful smile, as he fastens it around her wrist.
She loves this balcony.
THE END