Work Text:
The gala is in full swing when Elizabeth slips out a side door of the Musée Ariana and ducks outside into the night air.
The sounds of an international party are around her, but here on this little side porch, it’s muffled. It’s quiet and peaceful, and despite the numerous security agents she’s seen calmly pacing the hallways (and probably more she can’t see), it feels blissfully solitary. From her seat, she can see the UN administrative building across the immaculately-manicured grounds. She spent this morning there, shaking hands and smiling and reconnecting with former colleagues, and now she’s taking a break from social interaction with the same people she spent the morning charming.
There’s a stone bench along the wall, just barely under the edge of an overhang. Elizabeth sets her heels on the bench beside her and sighs, leaning back against the wall, letting her bare feet brush the paving stones beneath her.
She hears the door creak open behind her, and footsteps. She doesn’t bother turning around; she knows that stride. “Skipping out on the party, Colonel?”
“I could say the same thing to you, Doctor.”
John stands in the doorway watching her, two champagne flutes in his hands. Tonight is black tie, and he’s wearing a mess dress uniform she didn’t even know he owned. It looks good on him. Very good. Even his hair is (somewhat) tidier than usual.
“I just needed some air,” she explains, as if he were about to demand an explanation. “I’d forgotten how stuffy these parties get.”
She has to get used to them again, she realizes.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
John settles on the bench beside her, handing over one of the glasses. She clinks it lightly against his before taking a sip, and she can smell the faint whiff of cologne, something light and musky and delicious. She has to fight the impulse to lean closer.
“It’s not exactly our balcony,” she says. John shrugs.
“Good enough.” He tugs at his collar. “Some shindig, huh?”
She nods. “The UN knows how to throw a party.”
“I’m still waiting for the beer pong tournament to start.”
Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “I’m sure the Danish ambassador will suggest it any minute now.”
“You can be on my team.”
“Oh, thank you.”
The stars have come out above them, with wisps of clouds drifting in. The sunset was glorious; Switzerland is beautiful, as it always has been. But it lacks the barely-noticeable sway of the city moving on the water, the salty air, the winds off the sea.
The champagne is good, but nothing is the same.
“I, uh–” John looks down at his hands. “I like your dress.”
“Thanks.”
It was a bit of an impulse purchase. She never would have picked this out herself; normally, she’d stick with her tried-and-true black or navy. But she was all alone in the little dress boutique in DC, and the sales associate suggested she try this one, a long gown in a soft, cool, muted blue with a hint of silvery sheen to it. The fabric was the color of the waves around Atlantis in the early morning sun. It felt cool and glowing, something she couldn’t quite explain, but as soon as she put it on, she knew: this was the one.
Even the careful network of undergarments it takes to keep everything smooth and line-free was worth it, the moment she walked into the hotel lobby and saw the way John looked at her in a dress the color of the sea.
She doesn’t know if he’s thinking about the home they lost, but she certainly is.
She takes a sip of champagne. “So what brings you out here?”
“Well, my date came out here.” Before she can react to my date spoken so casually, John continues, “Besides, I had to escape. That Italian woman was eyeing me.” He grimaces. “She looks like my great-aunt Ruth.”
Elizabeth can’t hide her smile. That woman wasn’t the only one stealing appreciative glances at John Sheppard in his formal dress uniform, strolling amid the gilded halls and elegant objets d’art of the museum.
“You’re good at this.” At her questioning look, John shrugs. “This whole scene. Diplomats, politicians. Smooth talkers. You make it look easy.”
Elizabeth smiles faintly. “Part of the job.”
“Well, you’re good at it.”
“You’re not too bad at it yourself.” She taps his hand gently. “You’re more at ease than I would have expected.”
“You think I can’t rub elbows with people like you?”
“No, but I didn’t expect you to enjoy it.”
He nods, smiling ruefully, and hesitates before speaking. “Not my first time.”
John hasn’t spilled his entire life story, but she’s picked up enough stray facts over their time working together to suspect that the Sheppard family lies somewhere between ‘comfortable’ and ‘affluent.’ She’s still not entirely sure if he was born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, but it seems possible. He’s probably spent some time in the dinner party trenches.
“Thanks for being here tonight,” she says, and he shrugs.
“It’s my job.”
“No, it’s not.” She nudges his shoulder with hers. “I know General O’Neill said you didn’t have to come.”
John looks sheepish. Did he really think she wasn’t going to find out? “Yeah, well. He said you didn’t have an escort. Didn’t seem fair to make you deal with this on your own.”
Always protective. That’s John Sheppard. He hovers when she’s offworld, he stays at her back when alien leaders visit, and now he’s protecting her from the worst of a stuffy gala.
She used to have a partner for these events.
Simon never minded being dragged along; she ended up on his arm at plenty of hospital and university events, too. Their relationship was pretty balanced in that regard. She was not at all looking forward to this event, although she knew she had to come, until Jack mentioned that John would be on the flight from DC with her and warned her not to let him get too rowdy in the fancy crowd. Let’s make sure he doesn’t provoke a neutral nation. Sheppard has a knack for ruffling feathers.
“Are you planning to go back in?”
She probably should. They both should. But–“I think we built up enough goodwill for one evening.” She hit her personal quota of smiling politely at bland jokes half an hour ago, and she’s heard enough to know she still has a professional network. Her work here is done. “Congratulations on surviving an official UN event, by the way.”
Was it always this boring?
“After the things we saw out there, I can handle an evening of smiling and being sociable.”
“I’m sure the open bar doesn’t hurt.”
That gets a lopsided smile from him. “Well, it doesn’t suck.”
The wind is starting to pick up. It’s just barely on the cool edge of comfortable, and normally Elizabeth would go back inside, but she finds herself desperate for the fresh air. It feels like the planet’s most high-stakes prom, she thinks. The refreshments are better, and the venue is miles better, but some things don’t change. It’s just as much of a social minefield, and everyone’s keeping score. Right now she’s a novelty; if she wants to stay relevant, she’ll have to jump all the way in if she’s going to return to this line of work.
I miss the Athosian bonfires.
Could she walk away? Right now?
There are trains. There are buses. France is so close. John would come with her, she knows. They could be in Annecy before anyone even knew they were gone. They could find a quiet bed and breakfast, grab the tiniest one-bed corner room available, and spend all weekend making the mistake they’ve been careening towards for months now.
She’s seen it coming for a while. She wonders if he has, too. And right now, there’s no reason not to.
“You want to go back inside?” he asks, setting down his champagne flute.
I want to go home. I miss the sea.
“I think I’m going to call it a night.” She leans down to slip her shoes back on. “I’m going back to the hotel.”
“I can get a taxi.”
“It’s not far. I’d rather walk.”
“Okay.” He nods. “I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You think I want to stay in this crowd alone?” He shakes his head. “Besides, you shouldn’t be wandering around Switzerland by yourself.”
“Because Switzerland is so dangerous?” She raises an eyebrow, and John grins sheepishly.
“Hey, I’m here to protect you from anything. Even chocolate and nice watches.”
It’s exactly the kind of stupid joke he’d make on Atlantis, and that hurts, too. Because–she realizes with a start–it’s really not his job anymore.
As they walk out of the park grounds, John slips his jacket over her shoulders. “Here. It’s chilly.”
It’s a strange contrast: the deep blue of his jacket over the cool silvery blue of her dress. Silver-trimmed shoulder boards and clinking medals covering her bare shoulders. She pulls the satin lapels closer, sinking into the warmth. The jacket smells like his cologne.
He must be chilly, standing there in his crisp white dress shirt, deep blue cummerbund and bowtie, and suspenders that she didn’t realize were hiding under that jacket.
This is a bad idea.
“Thanks.”
They have rooms a floor apart in a nearby hotel overlooking the lake. It’s within easy walking distance, even in their formalwear, and it’s a perfect evening for a stroll.
John walks her to her door, hands in his pockets as he watches her fish her key card out of her clutch. The hallway is quiet; she could almost believe they have the floor to themselves.
“I’ve never seen you wear a bowtie before,” she says. Mess dress uniform is a rare thing. He barely even wears the regular dress blues.
She’d mention the suspenders, too, but the temptation to slide them off his shoulders–
“You like it?”
“It’s very classy.” She slips off his jacket, immediately missing the warmth. “Thanks for this.”
“Looks better on you.”
As she hands over the jacket, her hand brushes his. His skin is warm. His eyes are so bright, so clear, and he’s looking at her like he’s trying to guess what happens next. That’s in her hands right now. She’s not feeling reckless; she has simply made a decision.
It’s all over anyway. I might as well enjoy it.
“Do you want to come in?” she asks.
He waits a beat before answering. He’s never looked at her this way before, and she’s not sure what it means. For a single, terrifying moment, she thinks he’s going to say no.
“Sure.”
He follows her inside.
The door shuts behind them, but instead of grabbing her and going for it the way she was half-hoping he would, John just watches her click on the hall light, his eyes roving over her hotel room. Her toiletries are scattered across the vanity, her suitcase tucked in the corner.
Elizabeth sets her clutch on the desk and slips off her shoes, then finally turns back to John. Two steps, her hand on his chest, and then she’s kissing him.
For one long, glorious moment, he kisses her back, his hands on her hips. He kisses her hungrily, like he’s finally letting himself want it. It’s hot and sudden and even better than she could have imagined.
The kiss ends but he doesn’t go far; his forehead pressed to hers, breathing the same air, John takes a long breath. “Are you sure about this?”
She never thought she’d have to convince John Sheppard to take her to bed.
“Do I have to beg?”
His hand tightens reflexively on her waist, pulling her closer against him, and she catches her breath. His eyes are darker than she’s ever seen them.
“No.”
He breathes her name so gently she can barely hear him. His hand is on her cheek; her eyes flutter shut, and then his lips are on hers again.
It’s the closest she’s felt to right since she got back to Earth, and she can’t possibly stop.
“Elizabeth?”
She draws in a long breath, turns her face into the pillow. She’s too tired. It’s too early.
Who’s in my bedroom?
A careful touch to her shoulder. “Elizabeth.”
John.
It all comes flooding back. The elegant black-tie gala. Champagne outside the Musée Ariana. The walk back to the hotel, his jacket over her shoulders. Inviting him in.
Elizabeth opens her eyes to see the cool walls and dim light of her hotel room, and John Sheppard sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, wearing his undershirt.
She props herself up on one elbow. “Hey.”
“Sorry to wake you, I didn’t want to just disappear.” He glances at the bedside clock. “I have an early flight back. I need to pack.”
“Oh.” Somehow she hadn’t expected that. “Okay.”
“Yeah. I have to report in for duty tonight. It’s already going to be a tight connection.”
Of course. John has to get back to Colorado, because he has a new job at the SGC.
She doesn’t.
“I’m sorry.” He reaches down to grab his wrinkled tuxedo shirt from the floor. “I should have mentioned.”
“It’s okay.” It’s not his fault there’s something for him to go back to. And she wasn’t expecting anything, was she? This was just supposed to be a distraction.
He looks at her with an expression she can’t quite figure out, like he wants to say something but the words just won’t come out.
Don’t feel bad, she wants to tell him. I’m not sure what to say, either.
After a moment of silence that stretches just a few seconds too long, he leans over to kiss her. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.” It’s his second apology, for a morning-after that neither of them seems to have expected.
“It’s okay.”
“Call me when you get home?”
It’s not home.
“Sure.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and Elizabeth draws the duvet closer, curling her body in on itself and shutting her eyes. Maybe it’s better this way.
When she wakes again, it’s daylight. Sunlight spills through the filmy curtains, lighting up the still, silent room.
Elizabeth sits up, rubbing her bleary eyes with one hand. A glance at the clock tells her that it’s just after nine, the latest she has slept in longer than she can remember. She’s still getting used to not immediately reaching for her radio.
The silvery-blue dress is a soft sweep of charmeuse draped over the back of the desk chair. It landed on the floor last night; John must have picked it up before he left.
He’s probably in the air by now.
Elizabeth’s flight is scheduled for the evening, but it doesn’t matter when she gets back. There’s no job waiting for her.
She has a valid passport, a blank calendar, and a bank account brimming with the salary she hasn’t been on Earth to spend for two years. She doesn’t care where she goes; she just needs to go somewhere.
So she changes her flight to the next available departure from Geneva.
Paris is landlocked.
She has always loved Paris, but the moment she exits the Metro station and starts walking towards her hotel in the 5th arrondissement, she feels trapped. Pavement. Pavement everywhere. Paris is a massive, sprawling city, but she feels claustrophobic.
She checks into her room and goes out walking. The Pantheon rises up on her left, the graceful buildings of the Sorbonne on her right as she walks north along the Rue Monge. Ahead, she can see the spires of Notre Dame. It’s a beautiful city. Historic.
After eating a sandwich at a little café on the Quai de Montebello, she stops on the Pont au Double and leans over the railing, looking down at the water. This bridge is 500 years old.
By the time it was built, Atlantis was already–
She stares down at the Seine and wishes she could swim straight to the ocean.
Dublin is colder than Paris.
After forty minutes of tensing every muscle against the bracing wind, she walks into a department store. There’s a cozy-looking red zip-front sweatshirt for sale, almost the exact same shade as the panels on her jacket in Atlantis.
She buys a purple one instead.
Soft, misty rain falls delicately as she walks out along the Great South Wall. It was like this after the Genii left, once the storm lifted. She remembers standing out on the balcony, raindrops trickling down her face as she watched the haze of grey lifting from the Lantean sky. John was beside her; he was hesitant to leave her, even though she was safe and the invading force was gone. She didn’t mind. He made her feel safe.
She stands beneath Poolbeg Lighthouse, arms folded against the gusty wind, and looks east over Dublin Bay, where the water stretches as far as the eye can see.
It’s beautiful. Blustery. Refreshing. But it’s still not right.
Naxos is warm.
She walks along the esplanade, winds off the water swirling her hair over her shoulders as she looks up at the old city. The Aegean glitters blue under the sunlight.
She buys a simple black bathing suit and sunglasses at a tiny shop near the beach and finds a daybed on Plaka Beach to relax. Slathered in SPF, she dozes in and out for a while, breathing in the fresh sea air. It’s beautiful. The weather is perfect, the food is delicious, and every view is more scenic than the last one.
She can’t find a single thing not to like about it, but it’s still not the same.
Elizabeth returns to Colorado a week later than her original plan, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have a job to get back to.
There are two messages on her answering machine. One is from her new landlord, letting her know the maintenance man will be around to replace window screens next week.
There’s one other message.
“Elizabeth–it’s John. Sheppard.” He pauses for a moment. “Just saying hi. I guess you’re not back yet. Give me a call, okay?”
She calls the landlord.
She doesn’t call John, because she doesn’t know how to explain that their night together in Geneva wasn’t hello, it was goodbye. He’s moved on. She’s… drifting.
Elizabeth doesn’t do much.
Colorado Springs is very pretty. Her apartment is perfectly serviceable. Her neighbors must be fine; she never sees or talks to them.
Everything is placid and acceptable and nothing needs her to function, and she doesn’t know how to process any of it. A well-meaning doctor from the SGC leaves a message on her answering machine, asking her to consider scheduling a counseling session.
Maybe she should call back, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t know what that session will fix, because she can’t bring herself to say the words I feel like I’m on the wrong planet out loud to someone in a serious setting.
So she stays home, writes words no one will ever read, and wonders what she should do.
Elizabeth wasn’t exactly expecting it to be Carson who came to drag her out of her lonely apartment, but who else was going to do it? Rodney? No. Teyla would have done it, but Teyla is back in Pegasus.
John? After leaving a few voicemails she never returned, he seems to have accepted that she doesn’t want to talk.
Carson is kind enough to pick her up for dinner, although she’s fairly sure that’s mostly because he doesn’t trust her to show up on her own.
“Traffic’s not bad,” she offers as Carson drives them through Colorado Springs.
“Not at all,” Carson agrees. “Have you been out much?”
“Not since I got back from Switzerland.”
“Switzerland?” Carson glances at her, amused, before looking back at the road. “When did you go there?”
“Not long after we got back.” She folds her hands neatly on her lap. “There was a UN event in Geneva.”
“That sounds pretty exciting.” Carson eases his car to a stop at a red light. “How was it?”
“It was–” Elizabeth hesitates. “It was strange. I used to attend functions like that fairly often, you know? It was just part of work. But it was all wrong. I couldn’t wait to leave.”
“Switzerland, though.” Carson is ever the optimist. “Hopefully that was nice.”
There are several more details she doesn’t feel the need to share, but Carson is just looking for some sign that she’s engaging, and she can at least give him that.
“It was.”
John is the last one to arrive at the restaurant, and sure enough, he walks in looking as handsome as ever.
I’m an adult. I can deal with this.
“Colonel!” Carson beams. “So glad you could make it.”
“Good to see everyone.” John hesitates for just a second before taking the empty seat next to her. “Elizabeth.”
It’s the first time she’s seen him since he left her bed in Switzerland, and she’s embarrassed at how hot her cheeks are.
“Hi,” she says.
Rodney immediately starts a litany of complaints, Carson tries in vain to cut in, and when Elizabeth steals a glance at John, he’s watching her, his expression guarded. “It’s good to see you,” he says quietly. Neutral. Testing the waters.
“You, too.” She means it.
His face relaxes into a smile, something she didn’t realize she missed so much until this very moment.
Something tight and heavy dissolves in her chest, something that’s been weighing her down since the first morning she woke up and couldn’t hear the ocean.
“Since when do you sleep?”
It’s a teasing question that would sound perfectly innocent to anyone who doesn’t know, and she realizes with a pang: she missed this. No one else teases her quite like he does, and she has missed it terribly.
If he’s still willing to tease her, he can’t be too angry at her. That’s a relief.
If not for the others at their table, she could reply Easier to sleep without you keeping me up all night.
They kissed for a long time that night, before any clothes came off.
It wasn’t what she expected.
Elizabeth had anticipated something wild, something quick and rough. But instead, John kissed her until she didn’t know where she ended and he began.
They kissed and kissed and kissed, like they had all the time in the world. They kissed until the moon came up over the lake outside, and by the time John finally unzipped her dress, her breath was coming fast and her body felt so warm and soft and liquid, she shivered when his fingertips trailed over her bare skin.
He wound her up with his mouth and fingers until she was a trembling, sweaty mess, grasping blindly at the sheets. It was every guilty, illicit fantasy she never let herself indulge in. She came hard under his clever tongue, then again, her back arched against the sheets and her legs wrapped around his waist. Then again, hours later, straddling his hips, her body rolling against his as he gripped her thighs and groaned, deep and ragged.
Falling into bed with him was easier than she ever could have imagined. He was patient. So, so patient. It was slow and deep and overwhelming.
And for that one night, she forgot about everything she had lost.
If nothing else, dinner is delicious, and it’s refreshing to be out in the world. Elizabeth engages in the conversation, asking the others about their various job placements, carefully steering the talk away from herself with the tact she’d almost forgotten she has.
She doesn’t mention Paris or Dublin or Naxos to anyone. There’s no reason to hide her spontaneous, wandering vacation, but she feels like keeping it to herself, at least for now.
By the time they’re winding down, Elizabeth is starting to feel more like herself again. Maybe it’s just temporary, it’s just one dinner, but it’s better than nothing. She’ll take the escape for a few hours, and at least this way Carson might give her some space.
John’s looking at her with more and more interest as the evening wears on. It’s flattering, and it’s tempting, but she knows there’s no future here.
Sure, there’s no reason they can’t sleep together. She’s a civilian now. But here on Earth, there’s no intersection. She has an email inbox full of guest lecture and sabbatical replacement inquiries, and the closest one she’s seen so far is in St. Louis. He’s staying in Colorado; she’s going to have to leave, and the only question is where she’s going. Their lives don’t connect here in the Milky Way.
They simply don’t belong together anymore.
It’s best not to drag this out. A nice dinner, pleasant conversation, another good memory to pack into the boxes she’ll inevitably have to drag with her to whatever university she ends up teaching at. But her path leads somewhere else. She’s been ignoring it, but there’s no denying reality. She’s caught in a different current, a leaf swept out into the ocean away from them, and it’s time to cut the line.
It’s time to move on.
She begins to make polite excuses, and it’s a bittersweet relief to see John taking the bait to tease her again. “We should thank you. You’re taking us to dinner, right?”
He looks like he’s thinking about what happened the last time she left an evening event early, and she wishes, so hard, that this wasn’t the end of something. “Cheeky.”
And then all three cell phones start ringing within seconds of each other.
Things escalate quickly.
The moment Landry says the word nuke, she feels a chill down her spine, and a glance at John shows that he’s just as perturbed. It was one thing to leave their adopted home; they would gladly fight for it, even now. The thought of destroying it is a sobering one. Richard Woolsey and Jack O’Neill will simply be reduced to collateral damage. Unfortunate, but unavoidable. What kind of fate is that?
They try to offer other options, but Landry has already decided.
“How do I get a nuke past their shield?”
John meets her eyes, his face dark.
After Rodney and John explain to Landry that they need time to discuss the situation and figure out an effective way to sneak in the bomb, the general dismisses them next door.
The moment Landry leaves them alone, Rodney turns to Elizabeth. “Seriously? A nuke?”
She shrugs. “Apparently.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Rodney waves his hands helplessly, like he’s going to conjure up a solution. “Can’t you call someone?”
He’s acting like I’m still in charge. If not for the situation, she’d laugh. Right now, she’s just a tourist. She still has to get a visitor’s pass to walk in here.
“I don’t think that’s going to work.”
John sits on the desk beside her, folding his arms. “If Landry’s got approval for a nuclear strike, it means he’s already talked to the president. We can’t change that.”
“Can they get a nuke past the shield?” Carson asks. “Did anyone ever think about it?”
“I’m sure I can figure it out.” Rodney waves a hand dismissively. “That’s not the issue.”
It’s a clumsy sledgehammer of a solution that might not even solve the problem. Elizabeth knows Landry well enough to know that this strategy wouldn’t be his first choice. If O’Neill and Woolsey are still hiding out somewhere, it will certainly kill them. As if that weren’t bad enough, there is no guarantee of success, and it may certainly cause more problems than it solves.
Landry must really be worried if this is all they’ve come up with.
“You know, uh. Hypothetically.” John slouches against the desk with exaggerated casualness. “Teyla and Ronon would be more than willing to help, if we asked.”
Is he thinking what she thinks he’s thinking?
“We would need to gate into Atlantis,” she points out. Might as well see how well he’s thought this through. “All they would need to do to keep us out is activate the Gate shield.”
Rodney, it turns out, has an ace that’s been hidden up his sleeve since the Genii invasion: a backdoor into the shield programming. And if anyone can reprogram the bridge system to land them somewhere safe in the Pegasus Galaxy, it’s Rodney McKay.
He and John make a shopping list (a jumper and weapons), and she feels the need to remind them of one more necessity. “And someone to make sure Landry doesn’t close the iris on us. Hypothetically.”
She wasn’t expecting that to be her job, but if distracting Bill is the way they make this work, then she’ll do what must be done.
Elizabeth has the strange realization, as she hastily pulls on black tac gear in the otherwise-empty women’s locker room, that this is the most normal she has felt since leaving Atlantis. She has purpose. The team is together, and they have a plan. Sure, it’s a stupid plan. But at least she’s doing something.
In another life, she spent ten thousand years watching over Atlantis. She won’t give up on it now.
Outside the locker room, she finds John, Rodney and Carson waiting for her. What a crew. A pilot, a doctor, a physicist, and a diplomat. Motley, indeed.
Rodney and Carson are ready to head towards the hangar; Elizabeth moves to follow them, but John stops her. “Hang on a sec.”
“Is something wrong?”
“You’re inside out.”
He reaches for a strap on the side of her tac vest. Unclips it, twists it back the right way, and clips it again, giving it a careful tug to make sure it’s properly in place.
His hand lingers on her shoulder, and even now, even amid all this, she can’t help remembering. The last time he touched her–
“Thanks,” she says.
John squeezes her shoulder, so brief and light she almost misses it, but her whole body relaxes. He cracks a small smile, gesturing with one hand.
“After you.”
They get out of the SGC. They make it to Pegasus. They find Teyla and Ronon, and they enact a stupid, stupid plan.
And against all odds, in the end, they succeed.
By the time the Daedalus sends down security teams and Elizabeth finally gets to stop moving, she’s so exhausted she can barely stand. She doesn’t know how long it’s been since the last time she slept–it was on Earth, anyway–and the lack of sleep combined with the adrenaline crash has her whole body feeling like a sandbag.
Steven has graciously stepped in to coordinate the security officers–no one is satisfied until they know the city is totally safe–and he tells her, in no uncertain terms, that she needs to get some rest. For once, she doesn’t feel inclined to argue.
She’s looking around the mess hall for a place to curl up when she hears one of the airmen calling for her in the hallway. “Doctor Weir? Doctor Weir, ma’am, over here.”
Next to the mess hall, she finds one of the little side rooms. They used to use it as a general entertainment room; it’s smaller than the media center where they put the television screen, but big enough for people to play cards or just talk.
Two crewmen from the Daedalus are setting out a bedroll for her along one side of the room, near the windows. “Colonel Caldwell sent us, ma’am. He figured you wouldn’t want to leave the city,” the lieutenant says. “Is this an okay spot?”
She lets out a breath. Caldwell was right; now that she’s here, she never wants to leave. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Elizabeth sleeps, deeply and soundly, for hours. She wakes to the soft, distant sounds of the ocean.
A glance at her watch reveals that she has, in fact, slept for seven hours. Seven entire hours. She can’t believe it. She hears soft voices and footsteps outside, but it seems the security teams have decided to give her a chance to rest.
When she finally sits up, she can’t help but laugh. The room has become a dormitory. Stretched out on their own bedrolls on the floor around her, she sees John, Rodney, Carson, Teyla, and Ronon, all as fast asleep as she was. Not one of them woke her up.
John is just two feet away, lying on his own bedroll. His rifle is propped carefully against the wall nearby, as if he’s ready to rouse from sleep in an instant at the first sign of danger.
Hey, I’m here to protect you from anything. Even chocolate and nice watches.
No one else so much as twitches as Elizabeth arches her back, stretching out the soreness in her neck, and takes a deep breath. Her back aches. Her neck aches. Her knee is sore. She’s famished. Her joints are stiff from hours asleep on a bedroll on the floor.
It’s the happiest she’s been since they left Atlantis in the first place.
“You needed it,” General O’Neill tells her when she walks into her old office and asks why she was left to sleep for so long. “You were exhausted. One of the Daedalus crewmen felt terrible because he accidentally kicked your leg when he walked past, but he said you didn’t even move.”
That makes her chuckle. “I believe it. I was out.”
“Everyone else still asleep?”
“They were when I left.”
“Good.” Jack folds his arms. “Caldwell’s teams have been sweeping the city. They’re doing a full recon of the perimeter just to be safe, but so far, no sign of Replicator holdouts.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Jack looks around. “So, your old office. Ready to be back?”
“Absolutely.” She cocks her head. “You ready to go back to Earth?”
“Very.”
He doesn’t elaborate, but Elizabeth knows enough to read the look on his face. The SGC staff have an enduring loyalty she’s never seen equaled, and she has noticed that no one bats an eye, or says a word, when the general and Colonel Carter file for the same weeks of leave.
He must miss her.
But it’s speculation, and it’s none of her business to begin with, so Elizabeth doesn’t press the point.
“There is one thing you might miss,” she points out. “Out here.”
She leads him out to the balcony. The sky is glorious blue, waves lapping gently around the city. She leans on the railing and takes in a deep lungful of salty sea air. Jack leans beside her.
“I do envy this,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong, the bleak, unending concrete of Cheyenne Mountain certainly has its charms. But this is one hell of a view.”
“It really is.”
“So–this is really it for you, isn’t it?” he asks, curious. “You had a whole career on Earth. But you’d rather be here, herding scientists and convincing people not to punch Rodney MacKay?”
She just smiles. “This is where I belong.”
The balcony doors swish open behind them, and Elizabeth and Jack both turn to see John Sheppard, awake and alert. “Hello, sir. Elizabeth.”
“Morning, Sheppard,” Jack greets him. “Looking a little unkempt there, Colonel. Do you own a comb?”
Elizabeth tries vainly not to smile as John sheepishly runs a hand over his hair. It is, of course, useless. “Ah–yes, sir. Didn’t have a chance to grab it.”
“Hmph.” Jack seems to accept it. “Well, good work, Sheppard. I’ll tell Hank not to fire you.”
“Thank you, sir. He wasn’t very happy when we stole the jumper.”
“Considering how narrowly you saved my six, I’ve got your back on this one.”
Elizabeth can’t help but think that based on the files she’s read about SG-1’s early exploits, then-Colonel Jack O’Neill probably would have done the exact same thing.
A gust of wind lifts her hair off her shoulders and she shuts her eyes, taking in a deep breath. As much as she felt left out of the SGC, the thought of going back to the concrete bunker was maddening. No windows, no fresh air. She did it once, but she doesn’t know if she could have gone back.
“You know,” Jack says, “now that I think about it, I never did ask. How was the UN thing in Switzerland? The one–you know, right when you got back?”
She hopes the flush in her cheeks isn’t obvious.
“It was better than I thought it would be.”
“I trust Sheppard here didn’t cause too much trouble.”
“None at all.” She steals a glance at John, who’s studiously looking down at the railing. His ears are red. “He was the perfect gentleman.”
That makes him look up, and for just a moment, his face is filled with such unguarded, honest longing that it makes her chest ache. And for that moment, they’re all alone, just the two of them, kissing in the moonlight in Geneva while the world passes them by.
“Good.” Jack yawns. “Well, kids, this has been fun, but you’re both awake and alive, so I’m going to go lie my tired ass down and get some rest. Good work, you two. And welcome home.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
“Thank you, sir.” John snaps a sharp salute, which Jack returns before leaving.
As the doors close behind the general, John looks back at Elizabeth. It’s the first time they’ve really been alone since that morning. Just them, the ocean, and the wind under the warmth of an alien sun.
He won’t bring anything up. She knows him: if she doesn’t address it, he’ll let it go.
But she messed up. Elizabeth knows that. It wasn’t fair to him, even if she was struggling to hold on to something she knew was already gone. She dropped him with no explanation, and he deserved better. She left him to think he’d done something wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“For what?”
“For–after.” Vanishing. Abandoning him. “It wasn’t you.”
“I thought maybe–” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t sure.”
“I mean it.” She sets a hand on his, waiting for him to meet her eyes. “It wasn’t you. You were wonderful.”
When he looks at her like this, she wishes, more than anything, that she could hear his thoughts. This is how he looked at her that night, she remembers. His eyes are dark and intense, his hand warm under her fingertips, and he’s never, ever been more handsome.
We can’t. Not here. Not like this.
“I had a lot of trouble adjusting,” she admits. “It was rough. It wasn’t fair of me to invite you in that night.”
“You think it was a mistake?”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
His answer is immediate, and her heart flips in her chest. “You don’t regret it?”
“I just regret leaving. I should have stayed.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” He had orders, and he couldn’t have known she’d retreat the way she did. She needs him to know that. “I needed time. And–I don’t know. I needed something I wasn’t ready to find.”
He nods slowly. “I get it.”
“Nothing compares to this.” She looks out at the horizon. “Not even Geneva, as beautiful as it is.”
John smiles at that. “I’d never been there before.”
“Geneva? Really?” Somehow that’s surprising. John likes skiing, doesn’t he? It seems like somewhere he would have gone.
“Yeah. First time.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“It is.” He shrugs, looking much less casual than he thinks he is, and adds, “It’d be nice to go back someday.”
She shouldn’t encourage this, no matter how tempting. She should make it clear that it was a one-time thing, it was a unique situation, and she’s not–
“Yeah. It would.”
She can’t kiss him right now. It’s a bad idea, even if now she knows exactly what she’s missing. Kissing him is the one thing she absolutely cannot do, and they both know it, but when he looks at her like this–
The balcony doors swish open behind them, and Elizabeth looks back to see Teyla. Teyla, who despite having slept on the floor like the rest of the team, looks relaxed, fresh-faced and tidy. Even her hair is smooth. “I trust you are both rested.”
“We’re fine, thank you, Teyla,” Elizabeth tells her. “You and Ronon?”
“Ronon is snoring very loudly back in the side room, but I find myself feeling much more awake.”
“Good,” John nods. “Anything going on right now?”
If Teyla notices Elizabeth’s hand still resting on John’s, she ignores it. “I spoke to Colonel Caldwell on my way here, and he would like to discuss the personnel situation with both of you whenever you are available. I believe his security teams have confirmed the city is once again free of Replicators.”
Elizabeth is quickly, quietly glad that Steven didn’t come looking for them himself. “We’ll be inside soon.”
Teyla ducks back out, and as the doors shut behind her, Elizabeth lets out a breath. “Ready?”
We can pretend it never happened, right?
“Ready,” John agrees.
She turns away from the ocean with one last, longing look. But then again–they’re back. She’s home.
It’s her view again.
“You know,” John says as they walk through her office, “I really did like that dress.”
She lets herself smile at that. One last indulgence, before they leave it behind.
It can’t hurt, right?
“I liked the uniform.”