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wisdomeagleTitle: "Three Delicious Moments"
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Sheppard/Weir
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nope
Disclaimer: In no way whatsoever for profit.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bethsheppard in the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
swficathon. Her requests are at the end. Thanks to inlovewithnight for a quick and dirty beta.
Summary: Elizabeth's nightmares.
Words: 1363
Three Delicious Moments
I.
In her nightmares, she is lost in the middle of a forest. Sometimes strange animals come to greet her, and she pats them gently, as she's been taught, but they say nothing, and the words she says just aggravate them further. The animals in her dreams are three-horned and fierce, tiny and helpless, and they live in the middle of the forest where the people don't go. She knows the names of all the animals, and their habitats, the vital facts of their existence. This is the year of the diorama, the four-page report on the arctic wolf. If an arctic wolf lived in the center of the forest, she would put her hand on its muzzle, tell it that she was sorry its habitat was in danger from big oil and human thoughtlessness.
In her waking hours, Elizabeth is a tiny environmentalist, barely five feet, but growing like the weeds she wants to protect. She makes her parents laugh, but they toss their orange rinds in a compost pile on their way out the door to the classy cars that will take them away to the big city and its business, to the suburban mall and its fancy clothes. Elizabeth contents herself with this. When she lets herself in with the key that hides in a hanging outdoor plant, she is satisfied that they are living as best as they are able. She locks herself in her bedroom with a handful of sunflower seeds and her homework, and considers that, for the first time in her life, she has a crush.
She is twelve, which isn't too old for a first crush, but dangerously close. She is, in the words of her health teacher, a late bloomer, not even menstruating yet. But there is a boy, and she loves him. She watches him from the sidelines in gym class, imagines how his big hands would fit around hers, how it would feel for him to tousle her hair as intimately, as carelessly, as he does his own. In French class, she's taken to slipping him answers, and while she feels vaguely guilty about it, the shrug of his shoulder will always convince her, and she'll copy down nouns and verb forms for him.
"Thanks, Liz," he'll say, and she doesn't bother to correct him. Having a crush isn't like drowning, she decides; it's like being locked in a cage in the middle of the forest, and when the animal tamers come, they don't know what her name is. The cage's bars constrict around her heart, and she know what it means to be trapped, legs tucked under her, homework and sunflower seeds balanced on her lap.
II.
In her nightmares the city disintegrates, falling apart faster than Rodney and Radek can put it back together. They're holding it together with duct tape, with staples and with tiny tacks. John leans against the walls, and she's not sure whether he's holding the city up or contributing to its disintegration. His weight makes strange shapes in the city's breaking walls, man-shaped holes signifying the truth that it's their fault, that they've broken this lovely thing and cannot fix it.
In her waking hours, the city pounds with the lifeforce of hundreds of scientists and soldiers and civilians whose thinking, breathing being floods Atlantis with ideas, flowing too fast for Elizabeth to understand, overwhelming her. In her second most frequent nightmare, she dreams of drowning, water filling her lungs and choking her as she struggles to scream for assistance that never comes from the city's inhabitants rushing past her, whirls of air icing over the water on her skin, rising above her, killing her.
If everyone's dreams are half as frightening as hers, it's no wonder they've all got insomnia. It's no wonder they're running out of coffee.
It's no wonder she and John aren't alone anymore in the mess when they have their late-night cheese and coffee session. The sound of conversations not pertaining to city-life is everywhere, whispers and hints of the lives they left behind. This is welcome relief from the intensity that their shared nights used to be; they can relax a little now, sink back into the freeflowing conversation of their colleagues and subordinates.
John pushes himself back from the table in an extravagant slouch that Elizabeth can only imagine he must practice when he's not flying Puddle Jumpers or reading Russian novels. Everything about John is too casual to be unpremeditated, but she can't see past the façade if he won't let her in. She grips her coffee cup more tightly and becomes intently aware of the veins on the hand she's wrapped around an unbreakable military issue mug.
"Going back to bed?"
She's made no indication that she's doing anything, but John looks at her as if she's already on her feet. She slowly relaxes into a smile. "Eventually. I want a few more minutes of your time, though."
"Not a problem." He stretches even further, and Elizabeth marvels that he even fits into the chair. There is something so perfectly ordinary about this moment that she almost gasps with it. Coffee and companionship and waking nightmares -- her fingers go rigid. "Doctor?"
"I'm fine. Maybe we should go to bed, after all."
"Sure." He swivels so easily and effortlessly, the same way he flies, the same way he touches Ancient technology. If he leaned back against the walls of Atlantis, he would plummet through them, turning over and over and over again, somersaulting to a perfectly stuck landing. That's the way John flies; that's the way he falls.
III.
In her nightmares, she is a little girl again, reaching up her hand to adults who swat her away, telling her that big girls can cross the street on their own. She walks boldly into the crosswalk, but stops short to look behind her, and sees them following her, thousands of people, children and grown-ups and women old enough to be her great-great-grandmother. They all look at her expectantly, and no one will take her hand. The crosswalk goes on forever, and her reach becomes shorter and shorter, till she is like a bug in the vast universe of asphalt it is her destiny to walk across, forever and forever.
In her waking hours, she does not know what this nightmare means. She knows small things -- a baby curled against her breast, a tiny creature that relies on her and whom she loves more than she thought possible. She knows the familiar hand that rests on her shoulder, that tousles her hair.
"John," she sighs, and leans back into his solid chest. He's not going anywhere, rests his hands on her thighs. "We used to be leaders."
"Sure," he says. "Long time ago."
She adjusts the baby in her arms. "Do you miss it?"
"Nah," he says. "Food's better here. So's the company."
"It's the same company," she reminds him, falling into his trap.
"Plus him," John reminds her, reaching up to touch their child. "I'm going out."
"Hunting?" She arches an eyebrow, but he can't see her sarcasm.
"Just hiking. Reminds me of the old days."
"You'd think we were ancient," she tells him, realizes her pun before he can say anything. "Old, I mean. The way we talk about it. Last night at townhall, Rodney was talking like it was centuries ago that the brave Earthlings conquered a new galaxy." Her voice gets a bit dreamy at the end. It's a good myth. "We struck gold at Atlantis and oil at Outpost One. He's got a whole history of us."
"I thought Ben was the history of us," John says, trying to hug both wife and baby at once.
"He'll know a true history, I hope."
"Nothing about how I slew a Wraith wolf single-handed?"
"Maybe with a few embellishments," she grants, smiling. "Are you going, or not?"
"Give me a minute," he tells her, and as she switches her baby to the other breast, she doesn't know whether she feels trapped or enwombed by her boys. Ben grabs at her face, hands closing helplessly around air, and she knows only this.
+++
bethsheppard requested: "Mention of children, look into Elizabeth's past, a trip in the jumper."
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Sheppard/Weir
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nope
Disclaimer: In no way whatsoever for profit.
Notes: For
bethsheppard in the swficathon. Her requests are at the end. Thanks to inlovewithnight for a quick and dirty beta.Summary: Elizabeth's nightmares.
Words: 1363
Three Delicious Moments
I.
In her nightmares, she is lost in the middle of a forest. Sometimes strange animals come to greet her, and she pats them gently, as she's been taught, but they say nothing, and the words she says just aggravate them further. The animals in her dreams are three-horned and fierce, tiny and helpless, and they live in the middle of the forest where the people don't go. She knows the names of all the animals, and their habitats, the vital facts of their existence. This is the year of the diorama, the four-page report on the arctic wolf. If an arctic wolf lived in the center of the forest, she would put her hand on its muzzle, tell it that she was sorry its habitat was in danger from big oil and human thoughtlessness.
In her waking hours, Elizabeth is a tiny environmentalist, barely five feet, but growing like the weeds she wants to protect. She makes her parents laugh, but they toss their orange rinds in a compost pile on their way out the door to the classy cars that will take them away to the big city and its business, to the suburban mall and its fancy clothes. Elizabeth contents herself with this. When she lets herself in with the key that hides in a hanging outdoor plant, she is satisfied that they are living as best as they are able. She locks herself in her bedroom with a handful of sunflower seeds and her homework, and considers that, for the first time in her life, she has a crush.
She is twelve, which isn't too old for a first crush, but dangerously close. She is, in the words of her health teacher, a late bloomer, not even menstruating yet. But there is a boy, and she loves him. She watches him from the sidelines in gym class, imagines how his big hands would fit around hers, how it would feel for him to tousle her hair as intimately, as carelessly, as he does his own. In French class, she's taken to slipping him answers, and while she feels vaguely guilty about it, the shrug of his shoulder will always convince her, and she'll copy down nouns and verb forms for him.
"Thanks, Liz," he'll say, and she doesn't bother to correct him. Having a crush isn't like drowning, she decides; it's like being locked in a cage in the middle of the forest, and when the animal tamers come, they don't know what her name is. The cage's bars constrict around her heart, and she know what it means to be trapped, legs tucked under her, homework and sunflower seeds balanced on her lap.
II.
In her nightmares the city disintegrates, falling apart faster than Rodney and Radek can put it back together. They're holding it together with duct tape, with staples and with tiny tacks. John leans against the walls, and she's not sure whether he's holding the city up or contributing to its disintegration. His weight makes strange shapes in the city's breaking walls, man-shaped holes signifying the truth that it's their fault, that they've broken this lovely thing and cannot fix it.
In her waking hours, the city pounds with the lifeforce of hundreds of scientists and soldiers and civilians whose thinking, breathing being floods Atlantis with ideas, flowing too fast for Elizabeth to understand, overwhelming her. In her second most frequent nightmare, she dreams of drowning, water filling her lungs and choking her as she struggles to scream for assistance that never comes from the city's inhabitants rushing past her, whirls of air icing over the water on her skin, rising above her, killing her.
If everyone's dreams are half as frightening as hers, it's no wonder they've all got insomnia. It's no wonder they're running out of coffee.
It's no wonder she and John aren't alone anymore in the mess when they have their late-night cheese and coffee session. The sound of conversations not pertaining to city-life is everywhere, whispers and hints of the lives they left behind. This is welcome relief from the intensity that their shared nights used to be; they can relax a little now, sink back into the freeflowing conversation of their colleagues and subordinates.
John pushes himself back from the table in an extravagant slouch that Elizabeth can only imagine he must practice when he's not flying Puddle Jumpers or reading Russian novels. Everything about John is too casual to be unpremeditated, but she can't see past the façade if he won't let her in. She grips her coffee cup more tightly and becomes intently aware of the veins on the hand she's wrapped around an unbreakable military issue mug.
"Going back to bed?"
She's made no indication that she's doing anything, but John looks at her as if she's already on her feet. She slowly relaxes into a smile. "Eventually. I want a few more minutes of your time, though."
"Not a problem." He stretches even further, and Elizabeth marvels that he even fits into the chair. There is something so perfectly ordinary about this moment that she almost gasps with it. Coffee and companionship and waking nightmares -- her fingers go rigid. "Doctor?"
"I'm fine. Maybe we should go to bed, after all."
"Sure." He swivels so easily and effortlessly, the same way he flies, the same way he touches Ancient technology. If he leaned back against the walls of Atlantis, he would plummet through them, turning over and over and over again, somersaulting to a perfectly stuck landing. That's the way John flies; that's the way he falls.
III.
In her nightmares, she is a little girl again, reaching up her hand to adults who swat her away, telling her that big girls can cross the street on their own. She walks boldly into the crosswalk, but stops short to look behind her, and sees them following her, thousands of people, children and grown-ups and women old enough to be her great-great-grandmother. They all look at her expectantly, and no one will take her hand. The crosswalk goes on forever, and her reach becomes shorter and shorter, till she is like a bug in the vast universe of asphalt it is her destiny to walk across, forever and forever.
In her waking hours, she does not know what this nightmare means. She knows small things -- a baby curled against her breast, a tiny creature that relies on her and whom she loves more than she thought possible. She knows the familiar hand that rests on her shoulder, that tousles her hair.
"John," she sighs, and leans back into his solid chest. He's not going anywhere, rests his hands on her thighs. "We used to be leaders."
"Sure," he says. "Long time ago."
She adjusts the baby in her arms. "Do you miss it?"
"Nah," he says. "Food's better here. So's the company."
"It's the same company," she reminds him, falling into his trap.
"Plus him," John reminds her, reaching up to touch their child. "I'm going out."
"Hunting?" She arches an eyebrow, but he can't see her sarcasm.
"Just hiking. Reminds me of the old days."
"You'd think we were ancient," she tells him, realizes her pun before he can say anything. "Old, I mean. The way we talk about it. Last night at townhall, Rodney was talking like it was centuries ago that the brave Earthlings conquered a new galaxy." Her voice gets a bit dreamy at the end. It's a good myth. "We struck gold at Atlantis and oil at Outpost One. He's got a whole history of us."
"I thought Ben was the history of us," John says, trying to hug both wife and baby at once.
"He'll know a true history, I hope."
"Nothing about how I slew a Wraith wolf single-handed?"
"Maybe with a few embellishments," she grants, smiling. "Are you going, or not?"
"Give me a minute," he tells her, and as she switches her baby to the other breast, she doesn't know whether she feels trapped or enwombed by her boys. Ben grabs at her face, hands closing helplessly around air, and she knows only this.
+++
bethsheppard requested: "Mention of children, look into Elizabeth's past, a trip in the jumper."
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-29 09:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-29 09:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-29 09:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-29 09:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-30 01:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-30 01:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-30 01:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-30 02:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-30 03:43 am (UTC)"You'd think we were ancient," she tells him, realizes her pun before he can say anything.
Just wonderful. :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-30 12:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-30 06:16 am (UTC)OMG. Best. Elizabeth. Line. Ever. Especially the and no one will take her hand. part. Very nice story, but I think I'm in love with that line :D
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-02 02:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-30 07:03 am (UTC)This is just so lovely. There's so much there, and all of it feels so right. I will need to sleep on it and read it again, for sure. :)
Wow. Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-30 07:04 am (UTC)But dude, so totally beautiful.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-02 02:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-02 02:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-01 11:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-02 02:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-04 06:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-04 07:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-06 04:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-06 07:20 pm (UTC)