Iraira

Elizabeth Weir knew that it would just be a matter of time.

Eventually, she knew she'd have no choice.

Today had been that day.

"But, the miniskirt?" John said. He'd being repeating a variation on this theme for the past hour.

Since the last of the Wraith invading the city had been frozen in the last blast she could manage, and then kicked to little pieces by the marines.

John's eyes didn't seem to be focussing, and Elizabeth wondered if it was because of the hit in the head from the Wraith stunner, or her boots that were the problem.

Elizabeth decided to turn her eyes elsewhere. On the other end of the table, Rodney was looking at her like she'd kicked his puppy.

"All this time," he said, and his voice was edging close to hysterical whining. "All this time." He pointed accusingly at the blue visor of projected energy that arched in front of her face, still half-heartedly giving readouts in Ancient script. "You had a life-signs detector that new the difference between us and the Wraith!"

"Miniskirt," John added, feeling the need to also voice his disapproval over the visor.

Elizabeth slumped slightly on her perch on the conference room table. Only the heads of each section were present at this first flaming – Science, Military, Medicine. And her.

She picked at the scorched tatter of a finger on her left glove with the fingers of her right. Her choker was itchy, and she didn't remember it being so tight when she was younger.

"An' how did I miss this in your bloodwork?" Carson asked, also clearly upset.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Whatever it is that gives me this power, it's small. Smaller than nanites, I think."

"But ya dunna know?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't remember everything from my first life."

"Okay, okay, okay, so let's pretend that we're not caring about why you can do what you can do just yet, because we're not," Rodney barged in. "And go back to the part where you didn't tell us."

The sheer anger in his voice made Elizabeth wince.

"We promised," she said, and for her it was as simple as that. "Setsuna-san – that's Pluto – she made us all swear on the Time Key. When we went our separate ways, we left the Senshi behind. We talked about it, and agreed. There could be no vigilantes, no hysterical mobs." No more comics, she added, for herself. "I kept my promise when I moved to America and started over. Sailor Mercury ceased to exist the same day as Mizuno Ami. I'm Elizabeth Weir now, and I can't use what I am to make things go the way I want. Even in the Pegasus Galaxy. I am a diplomat, not a fighter."

Rodney's lips twisted together in a betrayed white line. "Ford was nearly killed. I was nearly killed! We all were! So many people have died, Elizabeth, and you could have saved them."

That was enough.

It had been a hard day. Stressful. Emotionally upheaving.

Elizabeth had reached the end of her rope.

"Stop it!" she screamed. She squeezed her eyes shut and jammed the heels of her hands against her ears. "Stop it! Don't you think I know this? Don't you think I feel guilty? Every death, every person I have to write letters to the next of kin for, don't you think it tears me up inside? Knowing that if I'd been there, if I had just used it..."

And then she was sobbing, crying like she hadn't since they'd taken Greg away. Since Princess Serenity had died the first time. Since Nephrite had writhed in agony, dying in the arms of the girl who'd taught him human love.

"So, why didn't you?" Rodney growled.

And, oh, he had every right to be this angry.

His anger muffled her tears, put a stopper on her personal agony. She sniffed, once, long, and wiped the tears on her cheeks away with the back of her gloves.

She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye, blue for blue.

"Because I'm not a weapon," Elizabeth said. "I am a person."

There was a short silence in the room.

Rodney swallowed once.

Then, he said: "Well, we're using you now." One last accusatory finger pointed in her face. "The shielding, the teleportation, the transformation, and the element manipulation. And the visor thing. You'll show me how you do it and we'll figure out how to use it. We've got enough ocean on this rock to mimic that ice shield a hundred fold bigger."

Carson smacked Rodney in the arm. "Elizabeth isna a lab rat!"

"No, but she's an Ancient," Rodney bit back. "And we need that. We'll figure out how you do it and try to replicate it outside of the senshi environment."

"But you won't use me as a one-woman ZPM?" Elizabeth asked softly, her voice trembling with the admission of her truest fear.

Rodney scoffed. "Of course not," he said in his 'you are an idiot gnome' voice. "That's moronic. Who would run Atlantis?"

And then he stalked out of the room because he'd said what he'd needed to say. Rodney never stayed longer anywhere than it took for him to saw what he wanted.

Elizabeth let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Rodney was a good man. Even though he tried very hard to make people think otherwise.

Carson also stood, and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "You did a good job today, luv. I'm glad you decided to trust Atlantis with yer secret."

Elizabeth felt the corner of her mouth twitch. "Atlantis already knew. This city is more sentient than you know – like the Doom Tree. It was you I was hiding from."

Carson bent and kissed her cheek softly. "Then thanks for savin' my life," he said, and then he too was headed for the door. "See you in the infirmary after ye've had some sleep... your majesty." He gave her a twinkling grin, and Elizabeth only half regretted telling them that she was a Princess. It wasn't bad, as far as teasing nicknames went. "We'll go over yer bloodwork again then."

That left her, in her silly sailor outfit (and how did she ever think it was cool when she was a teenager?), sitting on the conference table, across from the commanding officer of the military division.

"John?" she said.

Her voice said his name but her eyes asked if he was still angry. He had been fuming when she had finished the first transformation sequence she'd undergone since she was in university. Livid when he saw her fill the room with fog with a mere hand gesture.

He was so still.

Maybe he was still furious.

"But," John replied to her unspoken question, his hazel eyes still unfocussed and confused, "miniskirt."

"Iraira" is the emotion of frustrated anger.