Chapter 4: John
Walking along the silent halls of nighttime Atlantis, Elizabeth tried to make herself relax; let the worry that had built up over the last week finally dissipate. The city and all her people were safe. John was safe. She should be sleeping; should be catching up on the rest that she admitted she'd been shortchanging her body on. But she'd lain in bed for an hour already and hadn't been able to shut her mind down. Some niggling little root of worry was refusing to let her find enough peace.
And now as she reached the balcony nearest to John's quarters, she knew she'd been right. He was safe, but he wasn't completely okay.
As he stood out there, staring up into a beam of moonlight, for just a second her eyes played tired tricks on her and made her see him as a ghost. The nightmare she all too often had, of the dead soul of her friend guarding Atlantis while as ephemeral as that light. A hateful world in which they both stood alone and strained to continue the battle while emotionally reaching for each other in hopeless, helpless need.
The clouds finally shifted and the mirage passed, releasing her from the vision. She took a shuddering breath and walked out to him with determination, refusing to let the impossible-to-deny fear stop her from acting. From taking care of him and taking comfort from his presence.
She knew he heard her approach, saw the small shift in his stance that told her he was listening to her; would take her cue, would stand by her however she needed. Wondered when she'd started noticing it, relying on it; when he'd started doing it. And did she do the same?
"John?" she let the word hint at the worry she felt for him.
He shook his head and she could see that he was trying to smile as she came to stand next to him, answering in his softest voice, "I'm OK."
Of course. If she'd thought he expected her to believe that, she would have been very annoyed with him. As it was, he was stalling, which told her he didn't know how to explain himself... Which meant this wasn't simple; maybe wasn't even all, or at all, about work. Alright then, the slow road: gentle nudging, "You seemed a little on edge earlier."
An understatement. She'd actually seen the relief relax his stance when he'd gated through. There were rings under his eyes which a quiet trip shouldn't have caused, and then there'd been an off-balance intensity to the way he'd watched her; something she rarely saw, usually only when death was particularly near one of them. Which made it all the more worrisome to see when everything seemed to be going well enough.
And now sleepless John staring alone into the night... Her hand went to touch him, wanting to remind him he didn't have to be alone, but then she hesitated and pulled back, just as he turned his head to give her a reassuring smile; catching her mid-movement. His attention shifted from his inner thoughts to the present and he frowned from the hand to her, worriedly, catching it in one of his as he tilted his head in question.
His grip was warm, relaxed; comforting. Home and peace and everything she needed on dark nights. Unfortunately also reminding her of how rarely they let their skin meet; again, mostly only under situations of highest danger.
Facing his worried look with what she hoped was calm humour, she shrugged with a self-deprecating smile, answering the unspoken question, "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." When he blinked in astonishment, her brows rose with forced teasing, too tired and concerned not to be honest, "You stiffened up pretty badly last time." She remembered she'd felt downright guilty for taking advantage of him as a matter of fact. Just because she'd thought he was dead was no reason not to respect his distance.
Now he winced, "Oh," he squeezed her hand in what felt like an apology, confusing her. And then he broke away from her gaze on the excuse of looking at the chilled limb he held, awkwardly bringing it to the forearm he must have assumed she'd been aiming for. She held her breath as he stroked her fingers absently before letting go and looking at her again, looking far too sorry for such a small thing... As he spoke, she shifted her hand to her real goal, more convinced than ever that he needed something. "You just surprised me that day. You don't usually hug people." He smiled wistfully at the hand on his bicep, continuing softly, "Or touch people."
She'd only meant her grip to be brief, but letting go now would say something she didn't want him to ever think. She hadn't really considered how her own physical boundaries affected people. But he was right, somewhere along the way, she'd picked up the habit of keeping everyone at a distance. A fairly common command stance, but still, to have not seen its effect... "I'm sorry. I really hadn't.. realized." she squeezed the muscle under her palm gently, "Though I do have to say, you're not exactly touchy-feely yourself colonel." The emphasis on his rank relaxed the tension that had threatened to grow between them with all this private honesty spilling out, making them grin at each other at the memory of another conversation, of flirting happily in the depth of an inter-galactic night.
And then her original question was back between them, but more relaxed, the track to secrets already broken; her hand staying where it was, mostly forgotten by both.
"There was just too much time for.. 'feeling' conversations."
She blinked, trying to picture such a thing in the context of his team. "'Feeling conversations'? Shall I tell Kate you said that?"
He pretended to grunt as though she'd gut-punched him, making her bte back a grin, then answered with utterly calm politeness, "I'd rather you didn't, thank you."
She laughed at the uncharacteristically correct, proper tone. When she stopped chuckling, she caught him giving her such a tender look her breath stuttered... was that what love looked like from John? What had happened on that planet??
Her hand crept to the ball of his shoulder and tightened as he looked back out over the water. "If.." he took a bracing breath and locked his eyes to hers seriously, "Teyla said something, and at the time the answer seemed so obvious.. but now... If someone was going to die, would you want to know how they felt? Would you want them to know how you felt?"
The silence stretched as her throat closed up and she bit her lip, her eyes burning; finally breaking away from his gaze and fixing on where her hand held him. She swallowed hard and made herself answer through the nightmares hazing her view again at the painful thought. "I think, it would depend. If.. if I care about the person... nothing could make the pain worse. And if I don't," she shrugged stiffly, seeing, out the corner of her, his hand reaching to touch her shoulder in comfort, "It won't really matter, so.. they may as well get it off their chest."
They stood in mirrored shoulder-stroking positions, waiting out her heavier breathing until she faced him again, seeing in him the sadness and regret, and loneliness and pain, that she knew all too well herself. The damned social conventions they lived with were going to destroy them one day.
She straightened and stiffened, seeing the understanding twitch of his lips, making herself thump down the damned 'feelings' enough to finish this conversation; she couldn't help him when she was letting herself drown. And this was, first and foremost, about him. "What about you? You said you were rethinking your first response."
He didn't answer at first. Looking away and seeming lost in thought again. She wanted so much to hug him right then. If she'd been sure it wouldn't make things worse... Before she could change her mind about what was better for him, he turned back to her, utterly determined now; her stubborn colonel, certain of the path they had to take and ready to convince her. "I love you."
Her eyes widened at the unexpected words, mouth dropping with the shock; not so much at the knowledge, but at hearing the words. He didn't waver as she recovered and when she tried to shape words, his hand lifted from her shoulder to lay a finger across her lips, blinking for an instant at the intimate touch before shaking his head, "I don't... you don't have to say anything. Once the nightmares got me up, I just couldn't stop hearing the question." He shrugged apologetically, "When you showed up, it seemed like part of a message. And then while we talked," he grinned, laughing at himself, inviting her to share the joke, "Then I realized it wasn't any real belief in staving off pain and sadness that was keeping me quiet; it was plain old stupid pride. So," he shifted back, momentarily squeezing both her shoulders but then doing the opposite of his words by stepping away from her, still smiling at her, "There you have it."