Let's Go Down to the Water's Edge
Title: Let's Go Down to the Water's Edge
Author: Smitty
Rating: PG-13, theme
Wordcount: 729
Prompt: Ronon/Elizabeth, leather bonds, "killing me softly"
Warnings: This is one of those, "Good for one week only" fics because it spoilers for SGA 4x01: Adrift but contains conjecture that likely won't survive 4x02.
A/N: Thanks to omglawdork for helping me play with the wording and character motivations. The title was taken from a line of Annie Lennox's "Why?"
Let's Go Down to the Water's Edge
"Take off your shoes," Elizabeth said, stopping at the edge of the loose, soft sand and sitting down. She was as graceful as always, despite the broken bones and bruises and strained muscles. Ronon thought the little robots inside her might have fixed all those things, too, the same way they fixed the damage to her face and regrew her hair. As he watched, she leaned over and untied the laces on her short boots and pulled them off. She wore socks underneath and she pulled them off, too, to reveal slender, delicate feet, pale arches and toes that hadn't seen sun in months.
"Why?" Ronon asked, his words lost now that hers were back.
She turned her face up to him, the sunlight painting her beautiful. "It's a beach," she said. "Shoes, clothes, they just...they keep you safe, protected, but they also keep the world out. They tie you to yourself."
He sat down next to her and fumbled with his own boots. Elizabeth was right. The leather felt constrictive and hot, keeping his feet from joining hers in the approaching surf. He hadn't let himself accept her wisdom before, never opened his horizons to her foreign point of view, not before it was a fleeting and fragile scent on the wind.
"These too," she said, running her finger around his wrist, just under the leather bracers on his forearms.
Ronon plunged his feet into the damp sand in front of him, letting it cake between his toes as he forced up cracks and eruptions in the smooth, hard-packed sand left by the salt water. Elizabeth's fingers danced around his as they unlaced his bracers together and then he removed his vest, too, letting the sun glow hot on the skin of his chest and of his shoulders, where his scars had once prickled and ached before McKay had healed them.
McKay had fixed him and Elizabeth both, but only Ronon had thanked him, only Ronon had been grateful, only Ronon had been saved.
"Why?" he asked again, the question thrumming in his pulse, in his heart, prickling on his skin, and tasting like the bitter-salty-sweet taste of the licorice one of the scientists had given him a while back. "Why me?"
"Because Rodney doesn't understand," Elizabeth said after a moment. "Because John does. Because Teyla wants to understand...." She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip and turned her face away.
Ronon remembered Rodney talking about things called prosthetics and pacemakers, and John not talking at all, face drawn and tight, and he remembered holding the tip of a knife to his own throat and bracing to sacrifice himself to save his team, his friends, his comrades. It wasn't about dying. It was about living on your own terms and he supposed he could understand that now.
"The jumper's out of sight," he said. "If you want to be free...you should."
She turned back to him, a question in her eyes and again, he had the words she did not.
"I won't let them see," he said steadily and then watched the sun dance yellow and orange and red over the water as Elizabeth pulled her shirt and tank top over her head, then lay back and lifted her hips to kick her pants down her legs. From the corner of his eye, Ronon could see her arch toward the sun, her body seeking its warmth like a green plant. She stretched her arms over her head and he said, "You're beautiful."
Elizabeth smiled with her eyes closed and reached for him, finding his arm, his wrist, his fingers, and tangling them with hers. "Stay with me," she whispered. "They're going to start soon."
Ronon squeezed her hand and leaned over her, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, her soft mouth. "Thank you," he breathed into her skin, wanting her to know, to understand that he'd do anything she asked, before the pain began, before she slipped away, before she died in the surf on a sandy beach.
Before, back on Atlantis, they shut down the nanites keeping her alive.
Author: Smitty
Rating: PG-13, theme
Wordcount: 729
Prompt: Ronon/Elizabeth, leather bonds, "killing me softly"
Warnings: This is one of those, "Good for one week only" fics because it spoilers for SGA 4x01: Adrift but contains conjecture that likely won't survive 4x02.
A/N: Thanks to omglawdork for helping me play with the wording and character motivations. The title was taken from a line of Annie Lennox's "Why?"
Let's Go Down to the Water's Edge
"Take off your shoes," Elizabeth said, stopping at the edge of the loose, soft sand and sitting down. She was as graceful as always, despite the broken bones and bruises and strained muscles. Ronon thought the little robots inside her might have fixed all those things, too, the same way they fixed the damage to her face and regrew her hair. As he watched, she leaned over and untied the laces on her short boots and pulled them off. She wore socks underneath and she pulled them off, too, to reveal slender, delicate feet, pale arches and toes that hadn't seen sun in months.
"Why?" Ronon asked, his words lost now that hers were back.
She turned her face up to him, the sunlight painting her beautiful. "It's a beach," she said. "Shoes, clothes, they just...they keep you safe, protected, but they also keep the world out. They tie you to yourself."
He sat down next to her and fumbled with his own boots. Elizabeth was right. The leather felt constrictive and hot, keeping his feet from joining hers in the approaching surf. He hadn't let himself accept her wisdom before, never opened his horizons to her foreign point of view, not before it was a fleeting and fragile scent on the wind.
"These too," she said, running her finger around his wrist, just under the leather bracers on his forearms.
Ronon plunged his feet into the damp sand in front of him, letting it cake between his toes as he forced up cracks and eruptions in the smooth, hard-packed sand left by the salt water. Elizabeth's fingers danced around his as they unlaced his bracers together and then he removed his vest, too, letting the sun glow hot on the skin of his chest and of his shoulders, where his scars had once prickled and ached before McKay had healed them.
McKay had fixed him and Elizabeth both, but only Ronon had thanked him, only Ronon had been grateful, only Ronon had been saved.
"Why?" he asked again, the question thrumming in his pulse, in his heart, prickling on his skin, and tasting like the bitter-salty-sweet taste of the licorice one of the scientists had given him a while back. "Why me?"
"Because Rodney doesn't understand," Elizabeth said after a moment. "Because John does. Because Teyla wants to understand...." She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip and turned her face away.
Ronon remembered Rodney talking about things called prosthetics and pacemakers, and John not talking at all, face drawn and tight, and he remembered holding the tip of a knife to his own throat and bracing to sacrifice himself to save his team, his friends, his comrades. It wasn't about dying. It was about living on your own terms and he supposed he could understand that now.
"The jumper's out of sight," he said. "If you want to be free...you should."
She turned back to him, a question in her eyes and again, he had the words she did not.
"I won't let them see," he said steadily and then watched the sun dance yellow and orange and red over the water as Elizabeth pulled her shirt and tank top over her head, then lay back and lifted her hips to kick her pants down her legs. From the corner of his eye, Ronon could see her arch toward the sun, her body seeking its warmth like a green plant. She stretched her arms over her head and he said, "You're beautiful."
Elizabeth smiled with her eyes closed and reached for him, finding his arm, his wrist, his fingers, and tangling them with hers. "Stay with me," she whispered. "They're going to start soon."
Ronon squeezed her hand and leaned over her, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, her soft mouth. "Thank you," he breathed into her skin, wanting her to know, to understand that he'd do anything she asked, before the pain began, before she slipped away, before she died in the surf on a sandy beach.
Before, back on Atlantis, they shut down the nanites keeping her alive.