Disclaimer: I, of course, own nothing but am doing this as a bit of fun.
A/N: Spoilers through the end of Season 5. Does not take into consideration any sort of movie material, if the movie ever does get released.
She dreams.
In her dreams, she stands at a window looking out at a vast expanse of snow, a white field as far as she can see.
Frigid, lonely, an expanse of isolation.
Standing next to her is someone she cannot see. She knows the person, the shadow just outside her visual field, but she cannot identify the figure, cannot put a name to the shadow.
A face.
An identity.
But in its presence, there is comfort. In the presence of the shadow there is security. Trust. Acceptance.
She wants to turn. To look at the person standing next to her, but she is rooted to the spot. Unable to move. Unable to turn her eyes towards what is a safe place. Security.
But there is no security, and as she dreams, the glass that separates her from the harsh landscape begins to crack. First, a small crack in the far upper right hand corner, a split, a small ting of glass resounding in the silence when it hits the floor. And then, the small crack spreads. Rapidly. A line screeching down one side of the glass, another along the top, another in the middle. More fractures, more cracks, more pieces falling, faster and faster, the roaring in her ears incredible, a blinding blast of freezing air...
The glass breaks. Suddenly. Completely. Sending shards of glass outwards in a million pieces of ice.
Then.
Blackness. Silence. Cold.
She opens her eyes and knows she shouldn't be here. The knowledge is complete, as if she knew the information even before she opened her eyes. She shouldn't be anywhere but in the vast expanse of space.
In the cold, frigid blackness. That is where she should be.
She wonders if she has made a mistake. If somehow, the plan has not worked and she has made a terrible mistake. But no. She remembers giving the signal. As the last piece of air squeezed from her lungs, she gave the signal back through the Stargate. She did it. She remembers it.
So. What now?
Elizabeth Weir looks around. She is lying on a cot in a room lit by a single candle. She takes an experimental breath and she feels her lungs expand. She lets the air out. Slowly, completely then takes in another large breath.
The sound of her heartbeat is strong in her ears.
She sits up, cautiously, testing her strength, her body, herself. Her body responds. There is stiffness in her arms as she props herself up, in her stomach muscles and the muscles along her spine. But the stiffness is not like she was, at some point, injured and is recovering, but more like she has slept in the same place for too long and now that she is awake, her body is protesting.
She pushes the blanket from her body, her arms shaking slightly at the effort. She looks down. She is naked, the lines of her body familiar.
Familiar.
She knows the rise of her breasts, the flatness of her belly, the shape of her thigh and ankle. She knows this body and wonders how it is possible.
This is not the body from before. The body she used. This is her body.
She runs a hand down the length of it, feeling the curves, the familiarity of it. She lingers over a mole on her left hip. She has had that mole since as far back as she can remember. Simon, once upon a time, had kissed that mole, telling her it was a badge that he would always look for, to make sure she was who she was and no one else.
The memory frightens her. They are Elizabeth's memories.
Her memories.
She shouldn't be here.
She looks around. The room is small, really no bigger than a closet, with the cot she sits on and a small table with the candle. The walls are stone, almost as if made directly from rock and she wonders if she is in a cave somewhere.
The door leading out is heavy looking, a dark wood with heavy bolts and an old fashion key hole.
Light shines from the small keyhole in the door.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Elizabeth pushes herself to her feet, hesitantly, unsure. A wave of dizziness assaults her and she closes her eyes, wondering how that is possible. How any of it is possible, but how, especially, the physical responses of her body are possible. It is too normal. The heartbeat, the breathe moving in and out of her body, the waves of dizziness and the nausea in her stomach.
Too normal.
She opens her eyes when the key sounds at the door. She reaches behind her and grabs the blanket, pulling it around her body, watching as the key is inserted, turning, the door opening and revealing a woman, tall, athletic, an aura of authority about her.
Elizabeth wants to sit down, wants to stop the waves of nausea and dizziness.
She holds the blanket closer to her naked body.
She remains standing, watching as the woman walks into the small room, door closing behind her.
"Hello," the woman says, tilting her head so dark hair falls over one shoulder. At her hip is a pistol, different but familiar. Elizabeth wonders where she has seen it before.
"Where am I?" Elizabeth asks. Her voice is scratchy. Dry.
That's not right either. Too human.
"We rescued you," the woman says.
Elizabeth shakes her head, slowly, as to not cause the dizziness to turn into something more, something that would lead to unconsciousness.
"I don't understand."
The woman smiles. It is not a reassuring smile. She takes a step forward and Elizabeth resists the urge to flinch. The woman does not scare her; rather she is worried about herself scaring the woman. She is worried about the billions of nanites in her body running amuck, suddenly alive.
She is worried they will react to the threat the woman possesses. It has happened before.
"We picked you up from the middle of nowhere and brought you back to life," the woman said. "No need to thank us."
Elizabeth tries to process the information but her mind is muddled, unclear, foggy, like she has not slept in a very long time. There is motivation, somewhere, some reason. This woman knew where Elizabeth had taken her group of Replicators. Somehow, this woman, whoever she is, was able to locate their position and had purposefully acquired them. But how did this woman come by the information of the location? And more, why?
Alarm bells ringing in the back of her head cause Elizabeth to shut her eyes. To focus. What is wrong?
She opens them suddenly, looking at the woman.
"The others, you have the others?" Elizabeth asks. There is no alarm in her voice, but it is a near thing.
"No. We had no need for them, so we left them floating," the woman answers.
Good, Elizabeth thinks, and then, thinks that this is another piece of information.
But, it doesn't matter. Nothing is making sense even with the little pieces of knowledge.
Elizabeth lets herself sit down.
"Why?" She asks, looking up at the woman across the small room. "Why am I here?"
The woman hesitates. It is a mere fraction of a moment, but Elizabeth catches it. She has always known to look for those small things. Those small moments that gives the other person away. It's why she was as good as she was as a diplomat. As a peacemaker. Because she knows how to manipulate. How to read people and then manipulate them. She has always been good at doing that.
Elizabeth was good at it, she corrects herself mentally. Not her. Elizabeth Weir.
"We need your help," the woman answers.
This gets Elizabeth's attention.
The woman starts to pace. She is tall, her legs long and the room is small, but still, she paces back and forth. Her hand plays at the gun at her hip.
"Atlantis has abandoned us," the woman says eventually.
"What?" Elizabeth asks, surprise clear in her voice now.
The woman pauses in her pacing and gives Elizabeth a wry smile. "Yep. Left us high and dry and the Wraith are wiping out everyone, planet by planet."
That doesn't make sense. Not at all. Elizabeth knows that Atlantis – knows that John – would never abandon the Pegasus Galaxy, not if a threat still existed, not if the Wraith still fed and killed. Not unless…
Elizabeth feels her stomach knot. Because she knows exactly why Atlantis would leave the Pegasus Galaxy, the only reason Atlantis would leave the Pegasus Galaxy.
Elizabeth shakes her head again, to banish her thoughts, her sudden worry, causing lights of pain to ricochet across her vision.
She closes her eyes and rubs at the area between them with a finger.
"Mathis said the pain should go away in a couple of days. He said you would experience it, from the process of bringing you back," the woman offers, pacing once more.
Elizabeth opens her eyes and watches the woman.
"How did Mathis bring me back?" Elizabeth asks.
The woman shakes her head. "I don't know. All of that medical stuff doesn't make any sense to me. He just did."
Elizabeth wonders if she will be able to speak to this Mathis, find out what he did, how he did it. Because what he did was not just a rebooting of the nanites. No, he did something else. Something different. She is different. Feeling. Breathing. Heart beating. Nausea. Pain.
Elizabeth pushes those kinds of thoughts away, focusing once more on the conversation at hand.
"When did Atlantis leave?" She asks.
The woman paces. Back and forth and back and forth.
"Three months ago," the woman answers. Shaking her head. "It was fine, at first. The Wraith have been at war with one another for over a year now, essentially killing each other off, but somehow, I don't know, they figured out Atlantis was gone and suddenly they are getting along. Long lost tribes getting together for mass culls. Entire planets are being targeted and are being lost."
The woman stops pacing and turns towards where Elizabeth sits.
"Look. Atlantis was the only thing that was keeping the Wraith in check. They were the only thing that was allowing the population in this galaxy to regain a foothold. With them gone and with the Wraith completely awake, there is no hope for this galaxy. First this galaxy and then other galaxies. They aren't going to stop."
Truth, in everything the woman says. Elizabeth knows it, feels it. She remembers. As if the memories are her own.
"And how do I come into this?" Elizabeth asks.
Another hesitation. Another moment of uncertainty.
Elizabeth waits.
"We need you to contact them," she says.
"Who? The Wraith?"
The woman shakes her head.
"No. We need you to contact Atlantis. Tell them to come back."
"No," Elizabeth responds. Immediately. Because she knows where Atlantis is, or probably is, and to contact them there, for her to contact them there… it isn't even an option. Not even a possibility.
Anger is sudden, quick and fierce across the woman's face, gun suddenly in her hand. She steps towards where Elizabeth sits.
"You don't seem to understand. We brought you back for you to contact them. You don't contact them, we put you back where you were, floating dead in space," the woman says.
"Okay," Elizabeth answers.
A knock at the door probably stops the woman from hitting Elizabeth across the face with her gun. Either that or shooting her, if the look on the woman's face is any indication.
But the knock interrupts the moment, causing the woman to pause and then turn on a heel and go to the door. Elizabeth cannot see who is on the other side and cannot hear what they say, but whatever it is it causes the woman to curse. Loudly.
The woman glances over her shoulder at Elizabeth.
"We aren't done," she says, her voice low and threatening. The woman turns and leaves, slamming the door behind her.
The key turns in the lock. Silence descends on the small space.
"Yes, yes we are," Elizabeth says to the empty room, pulling the blanket more closely around her body.