A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Marianne. Because...just because. LOL.
Also, this order of senses thing I'm doing in this chapter? Total BS I made up.
The lyrics to this song (all chapter titles are songs by The Killers) are actually really good lyrics that tie into this chapter if anyone is bored and feels like looking them up!
Chapter 12: Daddy's Eyes
Scent.
It's the first sense that returns to you after a long uneventful sleep. A long deep sleep that only finds you when you're at your most stressed or wounded. When your mind is busy resetting its awareness and trying to compile a quick update to your memories on what happened before you slept, your five basic senses are jumpstarting.
It's your sense of smell that returns first, which is why most often people will casually note that they woke up to the "smell of coffee" or whatever thing they find most pertinent to mention. It's not that they don't wake up "to the glare of the sun" or "to the sound of people". While both of those may be the one thing they remember most about their morning, most often it's the smell of something that gets to them first.
She stretches in the bed and buries her face under the covers, trying to avoid another long run with Shal and at the same time avoid Atlantis as a whole. She didn't know these people, or who they wanted her to be, and quite frankly she was tired of pretending to be interested in being that person. Just for one day, she didn't want to be told how great she was, or what an inspiration. She didn't want to listen to people she didn't know tell her things about who she wasn't.
She buried herself in those covers, ignoring the light that peaked from the edges, and the sound of laughing the echoed from the nearby couch where Shalimar was busy getting dressed.
Her sheets smelled clean. The room had obviously been cleaned by the time she and Shal had returned yesterday. The bed had been made, their clothes taken for laundering, and a small basket of fruit placed on the now cleared table. In the few days they'd been there, they'd made a mess of the quarters, and Beth hated to clean.
"Are you planning on getting out of bed today? Or should I go get you some breakfast?" His voice was just above the covers, approximately where her head was located.
Sound.
It was next to return, bringing with it the small noises that make up the background of everyday life. The small beep of communicators out in the hall, the wind moving against the tower in which they now resided, the waves crashing against the stationary outpost. All blending into a usually innocuous mixture of notes that was ignored in favor of the more obvious ones.
Beth lay there and enjoyed the smell of her clean sheets and the sound of the water moving against stone and wind. "I'm not hungry."
"I'll be back then. I'll send Gordy over to keep you company."
She could hear his steps move farther away, heavy steps that were oddly punctuated, reflecting the light grace with which Shalimar moved. As the door opened the rumble of passersby filtered through the marginal space the large warrior left in the doorway. Laughter, conversation, a small argument too far away to make out. Friendship and love and some wars all found in the crowd out there. A crowd she was not part of, and she was beginning to think she never had been.
Sight.
Since sleep was elusive and ignorance was not bliss, Beth slid from the covers to stand in the morning light deliciously rumpled and heavy-eyed. Her hair was curled around her face, no longer the relaxed waves she'd tumbled into bed with. Her nightmares brought her to a sweat so often that she looked like Curly Sue when she left the dreams behind.
There was art on the wall. At least, she assumed it was art. Masks and maps and paintings, all beautiful in their own way, she mused as she padded over to the coffee table that bore the fruit basket. One framed picture in particular drew her attention every time she passed.
It was a family, small but obviously loving. A mother, a father, a daughter, and a dog; holding each other with large smiles on their faces as they faced the painter. Beth wondered if it'd been done from a photo, or if they'd actually posed for it.
Though she didn't know it, the little girl was she and the parents her's. The dog had been named Columbus, for his penchant to explore their neighbors' yards. The picture had been done for her eighth birthday, a belated gift from her grandparents. Elizabeth had cherished it, enough to risk bringing it with her when she journeyed to this place.
Beth didn't know that. She just thought it was a pretty picture.
Touch.
The wood of the table was smooth under her hands, cool from the night air but hot in the spot where Shal had kept his morning tea. The small fruit she chose from the lot was also cool in her hand, and she threw it into the air only to catch is just as it began to fall. Her mood was quickly lightening as she left the bad dreams behind her, and her step was light as she started for the balcony.
Gods, the sun was bright when it came off the water. Blinding even, but she didn't mind; she sat in the small chair out there and relaxed into a slouch, still rubbing the fruit with her fingers. It was smooth but waxy, causing the rough patterns of her fingers to catch on the skin in several places.
She let the fruit fall to her lap and stared at her palms. She'd seen pictures and knew that her hands hadn't looked like this before her kidnapping. She'd had artists' fingers, long and tapered with smooth skin that looked soft as silk.
Now, there were scratches and small scars puckering the pads and palm, no doubt a result of the long hard run she'd taken from Kolya's camp. A few cuts in particular had been quite deep and she'd had to have bandages kept on for several days to allow them to heal. One had been right across the fingerprint on her right index finger, slicing the pattern there right in half. Even now healed the entire thing was skewed and uneven. Both sides of the print no longer syncing up quite right.
It wasn't permanent, Beth knew, but it reflected her mood and personality of the moment. The same but not; twisted just a bit so that it's different. Sooner or later, the scar would fade and the print would be the same, but for now Elizabeth was gone, and Beth of the scarred hands was here.
Taste.
The fruit held no appeal, and Shalimar had yet to reappear, and Gordy to appear at all. The wind was blowing through her tank and she got the chills, so she abandoned her post at the balcony and returned inside to wait.
Returning the fruit to the basket, Beth walked slowly to the dresser. She hadn't looked through it, feeling a bit invasive of Elizabeth's things. She was alone, however, and though a bit nervous about looking, her curiosity was the better of it.
The bottom drawers, appropriately, held bottoms; pants, shorts, even a skirt or two, all done in various unimaginative colors. Browns and greens, with some tans thrown in for variety. Also a lot of grays. Beth hated the color gray.
The middle level drawers held tops; tanks, short-sleeves, long-sleeves, and several blouses, again much the same color scheme, though there were several reds and whites thrown in.
Elizabeth was turning out to have very little sense of adventure, clothing-wise.
With a sigh, Beth turned to the top drawers, surprised to find a drawer of practical underclothing...and a drawer not so practical. She may not remember how some of these garments were put on (and some looked complicated indeed), but she could imagine how a man might react if seeing her in them.
Beth was instantly fond of a pair of bright pink shorts, lacy in texture and a bit see-through, and very short. She was reaching for the underwear, intent on trying out just how comfy they might be when her fingers hit something hard in a drawer of soft things.
Brushing aside the wispy panties and bras, she took out the long thin block brightly-wrapped. It was a small thing really, not much bigger than her hand. She was tempted to put it back, to ignore that she'd found it.
It was her's, though, now wasn't it?
Retreating to the sofa, she placed it on the table and stared at the thing for a few moments. There was lots of writing on it, though she didn't know what much of it said. It was a case of the 'almost', as most of her time lately had been.
She almost remembered what it was.
Almost remembered what she was supposed to do with it.
Almost doesn't really count.
With a grim smile and a determined glint in her eye, she unwrapped the bright outer paper, only to find golden foil beneath. Unwrapping that as well, she found herself holding a small bar of brown substance. Hard, but not unbreakable, so she experimented with breaking it into pieces first.
She smelled it, but there was really nothing to smell. The vague scent of aluminum foil was on it, but she knew that wasn't its scent.
She felt the texture of it, smooth and rough on the edges. Writing had been pressed into it, a branding maybe?
It made no sound, and wasn't much to look at. She didn't know what it was, and it frustrated her.
She started to set it down, to ask Ronon about it when he and Shalimar eventually came to retrieve her, like the errant child everyone so often treated her as. On a last second whim, she licked a small piece, already moving to set it back down when it struck her, a thought.
She put a whole piece in her mouth, chewing slowly.
She began to cry.
It wasn't an 'almost', not this thing. She remembered it. She remembered its taste, it's texture, the many ways it could be made, the many tastes, the many mixtures, the many times she'd eaten this as comfort in a too stressful life.
Gordy walked through the door, immediately concerned because he saw his best girl sitting there quietly smiling and crying at the same time.
He kneeled at her side, his hands taking her and looking into her large blue eyes. "Who hurt you? I'll kill them. You want me to kill them? I'll do it violently, I promise."
Beth smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, so grateful to have someone to hold in that moment, someone who might understand this momentous thing. She leaned back and pressed a kiss against his lips. "Want some chocolate?"
It was only later that she thought to herself that she'd certainly been right. Ronon's eyes were the color of chocolate.
