Title: Finding your way
Summary: Rules are made to be broken, but sometimes the consequences are forgotten.
Rating+15
Fear. It was pumping through her veins like a dart of poison, burning everything and forgiving nothing under it's merciless rule. She had to be strong – it was required of her to ignore this feeling. To put it to the back of her mind and stand strong. She represented everything that had to do with Atlantis. She represented home. When they looked at her, would they see their leader, or that coward? She couldn't let herself fall to that level.
She couldn't let them see the raw terror on her face as she listened to the screams of taken soldiers, or when she looked at her blood caked hands and tried not to remember the endless flow spilling from endless bodies.
She couldn't let them hear her anguished screams when all she thought of was home, or the small pile of straw she was meant to sleep in. Or the smell of death. Or the yellowed and blackened teeth of their villain as he claimed his next victim in his conquest to know the secrets of the Ancients.
She couldn't let them see her broken spirit as she thought of his dirtied and equally blood stained hand roughly scrabbling at her own as they dragged him from their cell, his brown eyes reflecting everything she had never wanted to see.
His fear.
His defeat.
She couldn't let herself fall into that endless abyss, no matter now tempting the darkness looked from her perch at the top. Inviting to just slip away and not have to deal with anything ever again.
Six days ago they began their techniques. These people who had invited them over to be allies, only to stab them from behind and take all of them hostage. A group of Genaii Terrorists apparently, under the command of the last surviving military leader of the coo that happened a while back.
That day they took two men. Both of them were returned, bleeding and battered.
They had lost those two men that day.
Darryl. He had a family back on Earth. He was only nineteen.
Lawson. He was going to retire in a few months.
A sob rose in her bile tasting throat, but she strangled it back down, curling her arms around her knees and wishing that it would all go back to normal. She wished she could turn back time. A part of her wished to die.
On day Two, they took Lieutenant Matthews. He was never returned, but when the guards did return with their water and pitiful amount of food that night, they threw in his dog tags. They were melted, coated in blood, gore and grime. The small group still had hope back then, on a day that seemed like years ago in Elizabeth's mind. John had worked ruthlessly on escape plans. Everyone had been confident. They would get outta this. Yeah.
On day Three, they tried to escape. John pushed Elizabeth to the ground in the corner and told her not to move from under the one bunk in the group's cell no matter what. A part of her was ashamed she had taken his order. Another part of her was glad. The fight didn't last long. Shots rang out and the group scattered. Michael Yale was shot. He landed next to her, his dead eyes watching her, part of his skull missing. Elizabeth's hands covering her face, coming away covered in drops of sinister looking blood. Many were injured. John pulled Lorne toward the bunk and together they moved the body (when had it become so impersonal? He was still a captain right? Still a person? No. He was a body now. He was dead. He had a wife. What was Elizabeth going to tell her?) away from the bunk so Elizabeth could scramble out. She ended up in John's arms. His ribs were broken, his face bruised, but still he held her, patting her head gently, his nose pressing against her neck, her eyes hidden in the collar of his shirt. Rodney didn't speak after that.
On Day four Malthucsian the torturer returned and took away three. She had long forgotten their names. She had long forgotten her own. John. He held her still as the men were taken away.
On day Five, they came again. Her nightmare erupted in front of her very eyes as they dragged John from the cell, his hand scrabbling for her own.
On day six John didn't come back. Malthucsian returned, seemingly happier then every before when he explained they had found what they were looking for. And that was it. They were free to go. Elizabeth didn't want to leave. She didn't want to leave John behind. Lorne told her Sheppard was most likely already dead. Teyla grabbed her and together they left, back to Atlantis. Back to home. Only it didn't seem that way anymore.
John was gone.
Ronon stood watching them return. Seeing their injuries, he turned to stone. Seeing Teyla, his cheek twitched, before pulling her into a crushing hug. Carson seemed pale. Elizabeth felt dead.
On day seven Elizabeth lay in the infirmary, the lack of colour suiting her mood fine. Rodney was unusually quiet, but Elizabeth heard Kate assure Carson it was just shock. He would be fine. Good.
Elizabeth however…
Teyla came to say hello. Her lip had been stitched back up from the tear caused from their fight. Ronon didn't say a word, but he touched her hand, ever so lightly, and somehow, it made the crushing weight on her chest ease slightly.
Elizabeth didn't cry.
When she was released, but still not allowed to work, she sat in his quarters, John's, lying on his bed, taking in his scent off his pillow and trying to forget for one moment that he was dead.
He was dead.
On the twelfth day the gate splashed out. She felt something cold and terrible settle on her that day. Everything seemed to wash over her like steel-cold water and she thought that if she forgot to breathe, which seemed entirely possible, she would die.
Without admitting that inside, she felt like she was already dead.
It was that day that she was called to the gate room. She was called to the gate room. She hadn't been there since she was returned. She walked like a ghost to it's own funeral. There wasn't a rush. Sometimes she envied the Wraith. They have no heart, breaking, pumping and killing them from the inside. They weren't human.
But now, in some strange way, neither was she.
She stood on the control room deck, watching the gate. Rodney stood next to her, and Teyla next to him. Ronon had Elizabeth's hand in his, a small measure of support in these waves of unstoppable feeling. She used to watch John make this same walk through the gate.
Then suddenly a Genaii stepped through. A small group arrived, someone walking cloaked between them as they marched down the stairs, not willing to hope until she noticed a familiar smile and a familiar, yet severely bruised and bloodied face.
Her jaw dropped.
He wasn't dead. John Sheppard was very much alive.
The Genaii were saying how they stormed the terrorists layer and found John bound up to some experimental machines, they were trying to extract his gene, but Elizabeth wasn't listening. John was removing the hood. He was staring at her. He was smiling. Then suddenly the emotion was too much. It was breaking down her carefully erected walls, and she couldn't take it. She turned and fled, trying to ignore the burned memory of John's shocked and hurt expression.
She threw herself onto his bed.
She was coming back to life, like someone had breathed air into her lungs, and it was the most painful experience in the world. She gasped for air, twitching like a fish out of water, tears streaking down her face, burning her skin.
"P-P-Please…"
The door had opened. She was wanted to be alone.
Suddenly someone had her in their arms and the scent pushed it's way into her nostrils stronger then ever before. Sort material was pressing against her face as she cried, the warm breath washing over her like a lifeline. And without even realizing it, she fell asleep, in his arms.
When she opened her eyes, she was looking into his brown ones. The brown ones that had been the last thing for her to see as they dragged him from her cell. She buried her nose back into his neck, and he patted her head, shifting slightly under her.
"Uh…" Was all he stuttered, as she looked back in concern. His face was pained.
"Are you okay?" She asked, gripping his hand. He smiled weakly.
"B--Broken ribs. Your--your." Then she realised. She was lying on his broken ribs.
"Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm such an idiot. We've got to get you to the infirmary."
He let her help him up, before grabbing her chin lightly and making her look into his eyes. He was smiling.
"Not an idiot." He whispered, pressing his lips against her own. She responded, but he groaned and her mission came back to her with clarity.
"Right. Infirmary." She hefted his arm around her shoulders before smiling fondly at him, using her free hand to brush away a straw piece of hair.
"You okay?" He asked, resting his forehead against her own. She kissed him lightly.
"I will be."
And for once, she actually believed it.
"My name is Doctor Elizabeth Weir. I'm sorry to say that your son died in the line of duty. I didn't know him as well as I would have liked, but I can tell you that your son died bravely, and he saved hundreds of lives. I can't tell you how he died, but I can tell you that he was having the time of his life, and I am as proud of him as I'm sure you will be, because he was making a difference. And I know it's not a consolation, but your son was as nice a person as anyone could hope to meet, and I can tell you we will all miss his presence here greatly."
"I am Doctor Elizabeth Weir, and I am sorry that it is my duty to tell you your daughter died in the line of duty. I can't tell you how she died, or where, and for that I'm sorry, but I can tell you the friends she made here talk about her with a great amount of fondness. She was well known as everyone's baby sister around here and she died saving hundreds of lives. She will not be forgotten by anyone here and I can tell you we will all miss her mischievous presence greatly."
"I'm sorry."
The End