…Strangers in a Car…
The overall fic is titled for Marc Cohn's song, Strangers in a Car, which is one of the most romantic songs I have ever heard, and, I think, really captures the idea behind these stories…Since I'm not allowed to post the lyrics up here, you ought to go google the lyrics and read them! The song is absolutely beautiful.
Anyway, the idea is to pair up every major character with every other major character in Atlantis! I'm not sure why…but I hope this satisfies each and all shippers!
Current Characters (if I'm missing some, tell me and I'll add them):
-Weir
-Sheppard
-McKay
-Teyla
-Ronon
-Caldwell
-Zelenka
-Beckett
-Kate
-Lorne-Cadman
If there's interest I might add Kolya, Michael, Sora, and a "Wraith Queen"…on the whole I'd rather not write Ford, but I can try to it y'all want.
Keep in mind this is going to result in a lot of strange pairing (take Zelenka/Caldwell for example!) but the end result will hopefully be a one-shot that makes said pairing not only work, but appear real and normal…we'll see how that works out! I'll probably start w/ some more common pairing, but if there's one you're just dying to see tell me and I'll get working on it! Also, they'll be angsty/romance fics on the whole, and there might be several deathfics, we'll see how that works out.
Updates should come Monday/Wednesday/Friday, at night…maybe more often, but those are the definite dates.
Erm…on one last note, I'd love lots of reviews! And even if its not a pairing that you especially like, I would LOVE it if you'd still read it! (Keep in mind that I'm a John/Liz and Ronon/Teyla shipper all the way, so this is pretty out there for me, lol)
Oh, and if you'd like to see MORE of a specific pairing, tell me that as well and maybe I'll work on a separate fic for them. And the fics in this group will all probably follow this format/style…what with the flashbacks.
mmmkay, on with the fic!
AN: Written for BiteMeTechie's theme 'I Want to Die a Beautiful Death.'
…Beautiful Death…
They stand outside in the pouring rain, and she is waiting for an explanation, a story, a reason for him dragging him away from her duties and outside, but he is as silent as he always is, raindrops drenching his long hair, sliding down the lines in his face drawn by time and pain and worry.
She starts to speak but he moves, a slight turn of the shoulder, and she silences as if he asked, as if he ordered. There is something in his eyes that almost scares her, for he is tall and dark with so much suppressed anger, so much harshness and pain that she doesn't know what to say, what she could say to heal such wounds.
"Ronon—"
"Dr. Weir, I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to do what I do best—take out some wraith."
"That's not what I was going to say."
"To be honest, I don't really care."
"I was going to tell you to call me Elizabeth."
His presence is an entity unto itself, and she feels surrounded by it, surrounded by his strength and his words although he stands feet away and is silent. There is something that draws her to him, something that will not be denied, and she no longer knows if she wants to deny him.
"I respect Colonel Sheppard for what he's done, and because he respects you I'm inclined to respect that—"
"Cut the macho bullshit, Ronon. I'm going to be honest and tell you that I don't give a damn if you respect me as long as you follow my orders."
"Elizabeth—"
"What? I'm not going to try to demand your respect. That's up to you. Just do your job."
The skies are literally pouring down, the rain splattering into the ocean below, and the skies are becoming darker as the clouds roll in. She almost—almost—steps back under the cover of the city, but something pulls her instead and she steps to the edge of the balcony, hair plastered to her face, finding the play of lightning across the ocean terrifyingly beautiful, as all things of nature must be.
She glances at the man at her left, and smiles softly, for he is exactly that—a force of nature, a creation of nature that will not be denied or halted or stopped in any fashion or form, unbending and unending.
"Elizabeth—"
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just…what you did today…"
"Yes?"
"You earned it. My respect. You've got it."
He watches her blatantly, as uninhibited as one would expect, as determined as she has come to assume. There is something in his gaze—a sort of primal need—that she feels mirrored in her depths, and her breath hitches as she looks at him, hypnotized. She takes a step towards him and it is enough of a signal, enough of an affirmation. He reaches out and she is enfolded in his arms.
"Dr. Weir?"
"You're awake! How're you feeling? Should I call Carson or one of the nurses?"
"Why am I in the infirmary?"
"You were shot on your last mission…the bullet pierced your lung. You were in surgery for a couple of hours."
"Why are you here?"
She blushes, unexpectedly. "I was…worried."
"Don't be. I'll be all right."
"I know."
"And yet you still worry."
"Commander's prerogative," she smiles.
He lifts her, unexpectedly, and she finds herself pushed against the bars of the railing, callused hands trailing a path from her cheek down her neck. She shivers as flesh melts into flesh, as raindrops flutter on his eyelashes as he watches her, needs her. She leans her head down, brushing his forehead with a soft kiss.
"How could you stand it? Always staying one step in front of death?"
"Sometimes you can't think…you just have to do."
"I don't know if I could, given the circumstances. …all those years. How could you go on?"
"I went on for all those that could not…for all those that died before their lives began…for all those not given a chance."
She looks at him and wonders why she never knew his lips could speak such truth.
"Elizabeth," he whispers, and her hands are clutching the back of his neck, the turn of his shoulders and she can feel his leashed strength, his savage intensity.
"I want to die a beautiful death," she breathes, and he blinks, water blending like tears on his cheeks, and she knows he understands.
"Elizabeth, you have to let it go. Let them go."
"How can I? I sent them through that gate! I sent them to their deaths."
"They knew what they were risking and they chose that death. To honor them you have to let them rest. Respect their deaths."
"How can I respect death?"
"Because death is the ultimate defeat, the ultimate surrender…but it is also the ultimate defiance. There are so many faces of death…" he falls silent, unsure, unused to philosophy of words and ideas, unused to speaking of such deep thoughts.
The storm surrounds them, layered and complex, but she is wrapped in tanned arms and brutal need, awash in a storm of the soul and a storm of rain and lightning and thunder.
"I want to die a beautiful death," she repeats, a soft whisper, an unneeded explanation. "But today I want to live."