The glass was cool beneath her fingertips and the liquid hot upon her tongue. She let the drink swirl slowly in her mouth, content to allow the alcohol to burn her taste buds – it wasn't as if she longed for sensation any time soon.
She put a hand to her temple in an effort to clear the fog, but instead found more use for it when it slipped to her chin, bracing against her thigh to maintain the weight of her head.
God it was heavy.
She placed the tumbler clumsily on her nightstand, unable to bear its burden a moment longer. With only a limited amount of energy left to focus on the tedious, she concentrated solely on sliding to the middle of the large hotel bed. The cotton duvet was rough against her skin but more comforting than the chill of baseless air.
Her throat stung from the booze and her head from something more substantial. Her heart had left her sometime earlier in the evening and she had no desire to track it down.
Between the buzz of the overhead light and the soft thrumming of her pulse she was too distracted to isolate the sound of the door opening, but propped herself up on her elbows when his voice pierced the din of her haze.
"Elizabeth."
"Rodney," her answer reverberated against the walls of the small room and seemed to come back at her from all directions. She scrunched her face at its volume before letting her head fall back into the pillow. "Go away."
She didn't really want to be alone but she certainly didn't want to be in the company of others. If only she could manage both she'd be content.
"I… uh…"
Were she looking in his direction she was sure she would have seen him shift uncomfortably in the doorframe, backlit by the stark yellow glow of fluorescent lighting from the hallway.
"Elizabeth," he tried again, crossing the threshold and tentatively approaching the bed. "Are you okay?" His eyes blinked at her hopefully before he dipped his head, hooking his chin on his shoulder. "I mean, that's a stupid question, of course you're not okay," he continued, reaching for her discarded drink and rolling the glass absently in his hands as he studied its contents. "None of us are okay. What I mean to say is – well I'm not sure what I mean to say as much as I guess I'm just wondering if you think you'll be okay eventually, maybe –"
"Rodney," she cut him off and draped an arm across her eyes to block out the visual stimulation, "you're not helping my headache."
"Oh right." He put the glass down again and exhaled slowly, filling the room with inconsequential sounds. "I was just – I was worried about you. It looks like you've had a bit too much to drink."
She'd left Atlantis less than 18 hours ago and already she was circling 'round the drain. Impressive how quick the fall was from her peak. After a solid half-day spent in the mountain debriefing the senior staff had been shuffled off to the nearest hotel for a few hours sleep. Tomorrow the meetings would resume. The day after that she'd take the biggest set of jumper cables she could find and restart her life. Her life on Earth. Her life without the SGC and the IOA, without wormholes and aliens, military escorts and scientific discoveries.
Tomorrow she'd attempt to move on from Atlantis, but not tonight. Tonight she and the mini bar planned on sitting in companionable silence, preferably in the dark, reveling in the sting of each other's company.
Finally resigned to the fact that Rodney wasn't going to simply go away, she heaved herself into a sitting position against the headboard, pulling a pillow to her chest and burying her chin in it's soft down. After a moment she lifted her head slightly so he could hear her. "I think it's helping."
Rodney dropped onto the mattress, jostling her a bit before scooting up next to her, sitting close enough that she could feel the heat from his arm brush against hers. "I think it's giving you a headache," he countered, his frown casting a dark shadow across his face.
She took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. "Yeah, that too," she agreed, letting her head fall onto his shoulder and wrapping her arms more firmly around her chest. After a few seconds of silence she offered tentatively, "But it's better..." She paused and blinked. "It's better than the heartache," she confessed to the pillow.
He considered that for a moment before reaching for her glass and knocking back the remaining liquid. "Then maybe I should try it. Got any more?"
"Allow me," John called from the doorway, lifting a bottle of whiskey.
God it was like she was fucking Times Square.
John made his way to the bed and refilled Elizabeth's glass, spilling on Rodney's lap in the process.
"You're drunk," she accused, raising her head from Rodney slowly.
"That seems to be going around," he answered agreeably before taking a swig from his bottle.
She bit her lower lip and turned away. Her world was spinning violently and she fought the urge to lie down again. "Would you boys mind leaving me alone?" Her fingers twisted the corner of the pillow. "I'd prefer to wallow all by my lonesome."
Rodney cast a sideways glance to John, holding his gaze for a moment. Something unspoken passed between them and Rodney shifted awkwardly, pulling himself to his feet. "I should go check on Carson," he said after a moment. "Sheppard, you'll watch Elizabeth for me?"
John took another pull of whiskey and slipped into Rodney's place beside her. "Like a hawk."
Satisfied, Rodney snatched the bottle from John's hand and started out of the room.
"Hey!" John protested. "That was mine!"
"I'm guessing you'll be busy elsewhere," Rodney answered over his shoulder, closing the door behind him.
John grumbled something incoherent, the faint vibrations rattling the silence that followed in the wake of Rodney's departure.
1Sighing, he ran a hand down Elizabeth's arm and she resisted the urge to lean into his body. Abandoning the pillow she pulled her legs to her chest and lowered her head to her knees, letting her fingers comb through her hair to rest against the back of her neck.
"John, go away."
"No."
She allowed her hair to fall forward, shielding her eyes. "Was worth a shot," she said on an exhale.
John scooted down the mattress and stretched out fully before squeezing Elizabeth's wrist, pulling her down until she lay prone beside him. He turned toward her, his fingertips feathering across her cheek, his voice soft and scratchy, "You didn't really mean it."
She supposed she didn't.
Of their own volition her hands breached the space between them, coming to rest on his shoulders. His arms slipped to her waist as he settled her firmly against him.
She was sure there was something she needed to say, but first she needed to trace his lips with the pad of her thumb. She needed to watch his eyes darken at her touch. She needed let him wrap his hand around the base of her neck and crush her mouth to his.
It should have been awkward. The tension – months, years of tension –, the circumstances; nothing about their situation should have been easy. But this she understood. This was tangible. This she wanted. This she could control.
His lips were hot and wet on her jaw but the last small vestige of reason made one more traitorous attempt to worm its way through the foggy recess of her mind. She forced her hands to push him away.
"John, no."
Her words were a rejection but her moans were acceptance and damn him for knowing which one she really meant.
When his teeth nipped along the column of her neck she tilted her head toward the window and ordered her eyes to focus on the nightscape. A smog covered moon and flickering streetlamps reflected in the glass – the disgusting visuals of Earth and commonplace.
"I'm sick of it," she hissed into his mouth and he swallowed the words like a necessary pill. "I haven't been here a whole day and I loathe it."
"Look at the bright side," he managed through a mouthful of Elizabeth. "Now you can finally realize your fantasy of grabbing my ass in public."
Somehow that didn't mollify her.
"You taste like booze," he observed as his tongue slid across her collarbone and his fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt. It must have been seeping from her pores.
She hadn't had sex in forever and the friction of his body against hers caused anticipation to coil in her stomach. Resolve was a funny thing and, when intoxicated, incredibly flimsy. No more thinking, she told herself; she'd deal with the consequences later.
She'd left her heart and soul in another galaxy. Her body might as well get laid.
She fumbled with his belt, clumsy, shaking, tugging it from his pants before hooking her finger in the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer.
John managed to stop her, gripping her wrists and hauling her questing hands to his chest, his eyes scanning her face with bleary concern. He crawled further up the bed, settling with his back against the pillows and slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her to him, wrapping her small body securely within the framework of his.
Her face instinctively burrowed into his chest, deep inhales filling her senses with the thick smell of sweat and fabric softener. She didn't realize that she was crying until his knuckle swept away an errant tear.
Her gaze drifted to the window again as she chewed on her lower lip. "I," her voice broke. "I don't quite know what to do," she tried again. She sighed and brushed her hair from her forehead with the back of her fingers.
"It'll be okay," he soothed, his voice quiet and hoarse. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but you'll make it through this, Elizabeth. We all will."
She nodded in agreement because that was what she was supposed to do.
He dragged a lazy hand through her curls and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You're humoring me," he said at length.
She was, she knew, but she couldn't bring herself to respond any other way. It hurt to be with John, she realized. It hurt to think of him, to think of Atlantis. Her heart constricted painfully, slowly, and she swallowed back a sob.
This depression would be acceptable tonight, the drunken self-pity and the tears. Tonight only; tomorrow maybe. John would understand, and Rodney too, because they were feeling the same thing. But the day after that things would start to rebuild and she didn't know how to be ready for that. Weeks would slide by, days merging into nights, and it would be expected of her to start over.
"That's the thing about life," he continued her unspoken thought. "It goes on."
Not for Elizabeth. Not without Atlantis.
She tightened her arm around his chest and held on with everything she had because tomorrow – tomorrow she would have to let him go.