Slide Into the Night: Chapter Eleven
Title: Slide Into the Night
Rating:T
Warning(s): Language; Implied Violence
Disclaimer: Other than being a fan, I have nothing to do with Stargate:Atlantis
Prompt: This was written for the Season 4/5 Fix-It ficathon at john_elizabeth with the prompt: BASMR alternate ending: The away team on Asura finds and rescues Elizabeth. How does she deal/recover from her imprisonment?
Spoilers: Everything up to “Be All My Sins Remembered"
Summary: Janos Arany once wrote, "In love and dreams, there are no impossibilities." It's a faith that Atlantis is clinging to when the Pegasus Galaxy throws another curveball at them.
Beta: The amazing bluewillowtree who was invaluable with her input and generous with her time.
~*~*~*~*~
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. ~ Confucius
“It is Elizabeth’s birthday soon, is it not?”
At Teyla’s unexpected question, John nearly dropped the slender vase he was studying as the two of them stood in the open air market. He had been considering it has a birthday gift for Dr. Brown.
Katie, John corrected himself, now that she and Rodney were dating…sort of? He wasn’t sure about the precise details and Rodney had been surprisingly private lately about what was going on in his relationship with the botanist. What John did know was that Katie’s birthday was coming up next month, and knowing Rodney, the man wouldn’t even think about finding a gift until three missions before the date. Knowing the team’s luck, chances were high that those three missions would be to either grassy uninhabited worlds or planets with hostile natives. Since he only put up with Rodney’s flailing fits when he had to, John figured that he would head off this social crisis at the root by simply being prepared. Of course, he’d have to come up with some way to present the vase to Rodney as a possible gift for Katie without the genius actually realizing it…Maybe he could enlist Teyla’s help?
“Do you think this would make a good gift for Dr. Brown?” he asked, holding the object out to Teyla who took it from him with careful hands. She studied the spring-green vase, rotating it slowly in the morning light to examine its imperfections. When she found imaginary flaws in the beautiful clay vessel, Teyla mock-frowned in disapproval. Finished seeing to her latest customers, the merchant hurried over to Teyla’s side, eager to make another sale, and the two women instantly fell to haggling over the vase-Teyla pointing out the flaws in its craftsmanship, the woman refuting every claim that she could. John became a spectator at the edge of the conversation, reduced to the role of a dumb male security guard for a skilled negotiator. He didn’t mind being ignored; it freed him to pay full attention to their surroundings.
All around them, merchants hawked their wares-earthen pots, farming tools, hand-woven fabrics, livestock, food and so on-to the throngs of people that roamed the wide open space. It was unusual to see hundreds, if not thousands of people, gathered in one spot, unconcernedly drifting from one stall to the next, their main worry being the price of the goods they sought to obtain or the profits they hoped to make. The scene around him could have easily been the same as market-day on Earth during the medieval age, and he allowed himself to relax as he waited for Teyla to conclude the transaction.
The people’s sense of security came from a confluence of factors: mainly that their Stargate sat at the bottom of a very narrow canyon with high walls, facing the foot of a steep mountain that was prone to massive rockslides and avalanches. Dezia was a world of rock-hewn paths and sheer drop-offs, known for its terraced rice-farming, hand-woven sheia-wool fabrics and quarry mining of precious metals. Its people lived in the solid stone, chiseling out tunnels and hidden chambers to provide storage areas and sanctuary from nature’s fury and the Wraith.
Because of its rugged terrain, Dezia was a natural site to host a biannual trade fair that attracted merchants from all over the known network of Stargates to congregate and conduct massive business transactions. Through generations of trust and connections, what had begun with the assembly of a handful of Dezia’s most trusted trading partners had turned into a mass gathering of merchants from worlds all over Pegasus. People came to find exotic wares and view rare objects on display in various stalls, alongside the mundane and necessary items needed to survive in a harsh galaxy. For security reasons, attendance was always by invitation only from an already-participating world, and the date of the next trade fair was moved by days, weeks or months to avoid a noticeable pattern. John and his team had come last year due to Teyla’s knowledge of such an opportunity to find allies and willingness to vouch for the “homeless Lanteans” to the Dezian people.
There was also another reason for the traders and shoppers’ sense of safety, and that was in the location of the market itself. It wasn’t quite an “open space” in the traditional sense. The area was surrounded on three sides by towering solid cliff-faces. During the mission briefing, Teyla had told them that the hard rock concealed an extensive tunnel system that served as an evacuation route in case of unwanted visitors. It was thanks to this hidden network that more people survived than died at these fairs when the Wraith came. In Pegasus, that was no minor miracle.
Teyla and the merchant woman bowed to each other with polite smiles. She walked to his side, her hands cradling the vase’s cloth-wrapped form. Tucking the item away in her pack, she remarked, “You did not answer my question.”
“What question?” he asked innocently, as the two of them began moving through the crowd again. He randomly picked a stall at the far end of the row to drift towards. She gave him a distinctly unimpressed look when she repeated herself, “Elizabeth’s birthday.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s soon, isn’t it?” He tried to go for casual, but judging by Teyla’s expression, she wasn’t buying it. Instead, she said matter-of-factly, “If you were to select a gift for Elizabeth, I for one, would say nothing of it to Rodney, nor to anyone else.”
He knew he had said nothing about it to anyone, not even a hint, so he stared at her for a moment before he blurted out, “How did you know?”
She smiled that smile-the secretly pleased grin, her version of the Cheshire Cat’s smirk-and he knew he wasn’t going to get an answer out of her. So he guided her through the crowds of people until they were at a stall tastefully decorated with an understated elegance. That same simplicity of beauty was found in its wares-necklaces, bracelets, earrings and other assorted pieces of intricately-made jewelry were neatly laid out on a table. When he saw them, the proprietor of the stall stood up from his stool, pressed his palms together and bowed. “Colonel Sheppard, the sword has been kind to you.”
Ignoring Teyla’s questioning look, John mimicked the gestures as he responded in greeting, “Eris, the fire has been kind to you as well.” Recalling that the Wainan people were followers of a strict set of rituals governing introductions, he gestured to his teammate, “This is my fellow sword-wielder, Teyla Emmagan of Athos.”
She gracefully copied the craftsman’s movements, saying, “Blessed greetings to you, Artisan Eris.”
“Blessed greetings to you as well, Teyla of Athos,” the middle-aged man responded with perfect solemnity and politeness as he bowed again. Eris turned to John and said with approval, “You choose your allies well. The people of Athos are wise beyond measure.”
Recalling all the times that Teyla and the Athosians had stepped in to save the city from starvation or to prevent a fatal misunderstanding, John nodded in agreement, “Yes, they are. We are very thankful to have them as friends.”
Gesturing toward the table of jewelry, Eris turned his attention back to Teyla. “Please, feel free to look at what we have to offer. If anything pleases you, we will speak of a trade then.” She nodded, her attention drifting toward several bracelets that dangled from a display stand.
The artisan motioned for John to step around the main table, and he felt, more than saw, Teyla’s surprise when Eris turned to his traveling chest and carefully drew out a flat box wrapped in silken cloth. Undoing the leather strap and unfolding the fabric, he revealed a container of polished dark wood. Offering the jewelry box with both hands and another bow, Eris transferred the intricately hand-carved item into John’s possession. With trembling fingers, he opened the lid and this time, he heard Teyla’s low gasp of surprise. John turned to her and asked nervously, “What do you think?”
“May I?” she asked quietly, coming around the display table to stand next to him, and he nodded, passing the jewelry box into her hands. She stared at the elegant necklace nestled on a piece of silken cloth, admiring the perfect silvery-blue jewel that sat in the center of a stylized version of Atlantis’ home symbol. After a moment of silence, she looked at him and smiled approvingly. “She will be speechless.”
“You think so?” he asked, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. Teyla nodded, with a shy smile at Eris, “The artisans of Waina are widely known for their skills in the craft. Every commissioned piece is forged from the soul. Might I ask what was folded into this necklace?”
Eris smiled tranquilly. “There are not many who are as learned as you are, Teyla of Athos, and therefore, fewer to speak of such secrets. However, you are Colonel Sheppard’s fellow sword-wielder, so I may tell you. My son carved for Safety, my daughter set for Peace, my wife linked for Love, and I forged for Wisdom, all for a woman dearly cherished by her people.” He looked at John, “It was possible to tell, you see, from your drawing.”
John stared at the other man, because while he had designed the necklace, he hadn’t seriously thought it was that obvious he was the one who’d drawn the rough sketch he had given to Eris. The artisan looked at him knowingly, “It was the thought you put into every line that gave you away. You care deeply for this woman, do you not?”
“Yes,” he said carefully, not wanting to say more than he wanted to confess, even to himself. Eris nodded. “Then you should know, for the future, that many a man has given his love a gift such as yours: a gift of the heart.”
John swallowed past a suddenly dry throat and nodded. “Thank you, Eris, for the advice.” He wordlessly reached out for the jewelry box and Teyla carefully closed the case before handing it back to him. Eris stepped forward and, with practiced, economical movements, rewrapped the box into its snug travel wrappings before handing it back to John. Perhaps sensing that he had crossed an invisible line with his words, Eris pressed his palms together in front of his chest again, “You are always welcome in my home and to my family.”
“Thank you,” said John sincerely, relaxing slightly since they were drifting away from dangerous emotional waters. “The same goes for you; you’re always welcome to contact the Athosians if there is trouble. They know how to reach us.”
Eris shrugged in quasi-acceptance of the repeated offer and then looked curiously at them when John’s watched chirped once in warning. Teyla and he exchanged a look; they had promised Ronon that he would only be stuck babysitting their techno-genius for three hours and it was going to take time to make their way back to the Dezians’ main living tunnel systems. John quickly slipped the cloth-wrapped box into his own pack. There no need to pay Eris, since all commissioned jewelry had to be paid when the request was first made.
“Artisan Eris,” said Teyla regretfully, “I am afraid we must rejoin our teammates and meet with the Dezian elders for the noonday meal.”
Escorting them to the edge of his stall, Eris smiled benevolently and inclined his head. “I understand. My sister-son is a councilor’s apprentice for my people as well. There are duties that must supersede our fondest wishes.” He pressed his palms together again, this time in a cue for farewell. “May we meet again soon; until then, your swords be kind to you, Colonel Sheppard and Teyla of Athos.”
“May your family and you remain in safekeeping within the flames of your forge,” said John, hoping that he had gotten the traditional farewell correct, as all three of them bowed to each other. Judging by the gratified look on Eris’ face, John felt certain that he had, for once, gotten all the diplomatic moves right with a trade partner. With a quick wave, John and Teyla merged into the crowd of people and the Wainan stall vanished from sight.
Until the pendent was gone, John hadn’t realized how accustomed he was to having the light weight in his pocket. It had become a talisman for him, a piece of her that he kept close as a reminder of what she needed him to do in her absence. He hadn’t realized that in the months she had been gone, he had gotten used to randomly slipping a hand in his pocket to tangle the silver links of the necklace’s chain in his fingers. He missed that small comfort now as he stood watch yet again over Elizabeth.
The two-way radio crackled to life and the Marine guard on duty said respectfully, “Sir, Dr. Heightmeyer is requesting permission to enter.”
Although John suspected that the other man must have been bored out of his mind on such a dull detail, the younger man kept his tone professional over the open radio channel. Silently grateful, John responded briskly, “Permission granted.”
Without any ceremony, he cut the audio feed from the isolation room, leaving only the visual feed running. John sat down on a high stool, radio in hand, watching as the pair of Marine guards withdrew from the isolation room, leaving Heightmeyer alone with Elizabeth. Until the counseling session was over, he would stay in his spot as a monitor, always at the ready to summon the medical staff or Elizabeth’s security detail if needed. He didn’t like the job, but he’d rather it was him than someone else doing this. It felt voyeuristic, maintaining visual surveillance over something that was supposed to be highly private, but it was a necessary part of the compromise that he and Lorne had hammered out with Heightmeyer when she had raised the issue of doctor-patient confidentiality for Elizabeth’s sessions.
No one had been comfortable with the idea when Heightmeyer had first brought up the fact that she needed to be alone with Elizabeth for extended periods of time. Even Keller, a staunch advocate for Elizabeth’s well-being, had given their staff psychologist a look that John had interpreted to be the medical profession’s equivalent of the “what the hell?” expression that he occasionally caught on new Marines’ faces when a patently unorthodox battle strategy was laid out in pre-briefing.
No one seriously thought that Elizabeth was a threat to Atlantis, or to any of them, but they all agreed that she was a terrified woman who was buried in justified paranoia about anything and everything around her. Until they could break Elizabeth out of her “fight or flight” mentality, they had to treat her as a danger to herself and others. That meant the restraints had to stay on until Heightmeyer was sure that Elizabeth was aware enough of her surroundings to not harm herself or anyone else. Keller had agreed to cycle the doses of Elizabeth’s medications, gradually weaning her patient off the heavy sedatives. In return for being left alone with Elizabeth, Heightmeyer agreed to a security detail at the ready in the hallway and a visual observer in the observation area above the isolation room, just in case anything went wrong. No matter how much any of them hated the precautions they were taking, John knew that he had to prioritize Heightmeyer’s safety over Elizabeth’s at all costs. Their emotions didn’t matter when it came to their responsibility to protect each other from danger.
Of course, in Heightmeyer’s tenth session, the psychologist had released her patient’s restraints and was promptly shoved to the floor when Elizabeth suddenly bolted for the door. Lorne had been on-duty at that time, and the younger man had quickly called in everyone to subdue Elizabeth by essentially overwhelming her with unyielding force. Once she was back under sedation and in restraints, Heightmeyer had retreated to her temporary quarters with Karen for about an hour. Keller had then been called into the room, and all John could swear to was that there were spurts of intense conversation between the three women for the next two hours or so. By the time all three medical professionals had come out to talk with everyone else, Heightmeyer had managed to convince her colleagues that the day’s event was only a minor setback and that nothing would change. When she had stressed the need for no repercussions on Elizabeth’s situation, John could have sworn that Heightmeyer’s eyes were fixed on him, asking him to back her up.
So he did.
With everyone motivated by the best of intentions, the resulting argument among the senior staff over what to do next had been passionate. John had never thought that Heightmeyer had the core of sheer willpower that she had demonstrated during the course of the debate; she had always presented a neutral personality to him in the past. To see her passionately make a case to keep Elizabeth on the same regime of medication, continuing the sedative reduction plan as if nothing had happened…that was a revelation of sorts. John had chosen to trust her that day on the balcony, when she had promised that she would do her best to help Elizabeth. After that argument in the crowded back room of the infirmary, John believed Heightmeyer when she insisted that progress was being made-incrementally yes, but it was still happening. He held onto the hope Heightmeyer had offered that day, and he knew that they all were.
John watched as Heightmeyer settled herself on the high stool next to Elizabeth’s bed, having already made her opening greeting to a silent Elizabeth. It was the same routine, over and over. Heightmeyer had explained to him that it was vital to provide Elizabeth with a world of stability, where her life became predictable to the point that when changes happened, it was because Elizabeth chose to change the situation and no one else. It would allow her to draw the clear correlation between her own, self-motivated action and the change in her routine. The treatment of C-PTSD, Heightmeyer had explained in more detail than he had been expecting from her (especially since it was verging on breaking doctor-patient confidentiality), focused strongly on giving the patient back a sense of control over her life. If Elizabeth was convinced that she lived in a construct, then she had to be convinced that either she controlled the mental reality she was stuck in or that she wasn’t trapped in a false reality. Either option would give Elizabeth a temporary sense of safety until Heightmeyer could securely ease her into the knowledge that she was safe and living in the real world.
He leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the two-way radio, and settled in to watch the rest of the silent counseling session. It looked like it was going to be a long one. That didn’t matter. He had the patience to wait for Elizabeth to realize that she was safe and forever free from Oberoth.
John just prayed that he wouldn’t have to wait forever.
~
She was here again.
There was no telling how much time, or how little, had passed between one visit and the next, but the vivid hallucination was back, walking into the spacious prison cell with the same imperturbable serenity that Elizabeth remembered surrounding the blond-haired woman. Elizabeth wished that Oberoth hadn’t managed to get his hands on her memories of Kate, managed to capture the other woman’s professional warmth, which had coaxed and tugged some of her deepest fears and thoughts out into the light of day. She fought to remind herself that this was an illusion, created to break her down and lull her into false security. She wasn’t going to fall for it. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply it upset her to see Kate’s face every time and know that it wasn’t real, that she wasn’t safe and never would be again, so she stayed stubbornly silent. Whatever happened, whatever he did to her, Elizabeth vowed never to utter a single sound.
She wished she could return to the darkness where there was no time. The lights in the room brightened and dimmed on a diurnal cycle, mimicking the natural light patterns of a planet. Her body was falling into the rhythm of waking and sleeping to a sky she couldn’t see. There was nothing she could really do about that small physical betrayal of weakness, but she tried to stay up as late as she could and faked sleep for as long as she could. It was easier that way, ignoring the same rotations of nurses who spoke quietly with her, putting on smiles and kind words to confuse her, who pleaded with her even as they did things that hurt. But then there would be darkness afterward, where she was safe, until she woke up again, still trapped in the same false dream that would not fade.
The hallucination perched itself on the high stool by her bedside and loosely folded its hands in its lap, its serene expression an exact copy of Kate’s comforting gaze. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, trying to wrest control away from him, the puppet master, and take charge of this messed-up reality for even just a moment. She willed the hallucination to vanish. Time faded to a slow trickle before she heard the soft footsteps of a woman sliding down a stool to stand on a smooth floor. The firm pressure against her right wrist came a moment later, followed by the sounds of leather being drawn through metal. The padded restraint slackened and the pressure disappeared. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know where the hallucination was, moving around her in a wide circle, methodically releasing her bonds before taking the same path back to its original seat.
It was only then that she dared to move, opening her eyes and sitting up, drawing herself into a ball on the bed. She didn’t press the advantage-she had tried once before and failed, miserably. Guards and nurses had flooded the room before she even had a chance to hit the main player in his delusion, yanking her away from fake-Kate’s prone form, and pinning her roughly to the floor. She had fought in silence, furious and desperate to get free, but no matter how hard she threw herself against the illusion, not one of her imaginary captors disappeared. In the tussle, she had blacked out in a wave of ice and woken up where she had started-tied to the bed, staring up at the high ceiling.
Thinking about the attempt in the following days, when she wasn’t steeling herself for the retaliatory attack that was sure to come, she remembered two things: one was false-Kate’s voice, stubbornly insisting above the chaos that they not hurt her, and the second…that they had been gentle in their handling of her. There was a control in their motions that spoke of dedication to a higher cause, the way they treated her hinting at a commitment of doing no harm. It almost made her believe that it was real, that the people around her were her people, that she was back on Atlantis. Almost. She wasn’t that weak, not yet. Soon, yes, but not yet.
So she continued to live in a world that was mostly spent chained to a gurney, unable to move, visited regularly by nurses who never touched her unless absolutely necessary, and the main actress in his little drama. In the barricaded corner of her mind that he had not yet breached, she fretted over the lack of consequences. It was a surprise that nothing had come of her gross miscalculation other than bruises where they had held her down and medicines that made her feel constantly exhausted, and even those two consequences were fading. She had noticed that before it appeared, the nurses were giving her an increasingly weaker dose of sedatives-or maybe she was gaining some control over this scenario. It made for clearer thought processes, but did nothing to help her figure out how to best him at his own sick game.
Her arms and legs now free, she immediately pulled herself into a ball on the gurney, twisting the sheets uncomfortably around her ankles. She rested her face against her kneecaps and stared at fake-Kate, daring it to make a mistake. The mirage took no offense at her anger; it merely sat there, serenely staring back at her with a carefully non-judgmental expression on its face. It looked and behaved so much like Kate.
It was getting harder and harder to ignore the hallucination, to believe that this was just another twisted ploy. She was so tired of games. She longed to let her guard down, but she knew the moment she faltered, he would have won. She couldn’t let him win; she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. So she had to fight, but now…she was beginning to doubt, to wonder if she could stop, and that was her one weakness. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to believe that this rescue was real, to take the chance that it wasn’t just another clever trick to wear her down and break her. It would be easy to believe, but the disappointment…she was terrified it would crush her and she wasn’t sure she could handle the despair without surrendering herself. She couldn’t take that risk.
She had to admit, though, if this was false, then this reality was the most elaborate one she had encountered in the course of her games with him. He had never been patient with her: always pushing, sometimes stalling, never retreating. In this place, however, the hallucinations never demanded anything of her, not in terms of information. What demands they made of her usually ran along the lines of coaxing her to eat more than the mouthfuls of food and drink she allowed herself. The nurses were polite and talkative, telling her what they were going to do, warning her if they were going to touch her, smiling sympathetically at her when they finished their duties before leaving her bedside. Fake-Kate had all the patience of real Kate, and the two of them-prisoner and mirage-had spent more time together in silence than in actual conversation. Come to think of it, fake-Kate had only spoken a handful of words, and most of them had been during her disastrous breakout attempt. She wondered if she was going slowly insane.
Fake-Kate reached out with one hand, extending palm up and leaving it hovering a few inches away from Elizabeth’s bare forearm. It was an unspoken offer to let her react, to push away or to accept whatever sort of help (poisoned or not) from the hallucination. She knew if she didn’t do anything, it would carefully rest its warm fingers against her arm and they would stay there until it decided it had stayed long enough to make her think that Atlantis was real around her, before drawing away. Still, there was always that pause, those seconds of a tantalizing opportunity to change the rules of the game. What would happen when she finally reached out? What would be the consequences?
~
“Good morning Elizabeth,” said Kate, moving unhurriedly into the room. She ignored the shuffle as the Marine guards vacated the room, leaving her alone with her patient. Instead, she approached the bed in the middle of the room as if she were looking for a seat in the cafeteria, drifting toward her destination without actually hurrying. She sat down on the high stool next to the gurney and folded her hands in her lap. Keeping her breathing slow and even, she fixed her eyes on the far wall, letting Elizabeth adjust to her presence in the room.
One, two, three…
In the beginning, Elizabeth reacted violently whenever Kate stepped into the private, secluded area, struggling almost frantically against the reinforced restraints, her movements uncoordinated from the high doses of sedatives running through her system. While Jennifer guessed that her voice had probably healed within the first three weeks of her recovery, Elizabeth’s efforts to get free were always soundless except for the incessant rattling of the gurney’s safety railings. Elizabeth would strain against her restraints until her strength was exhausted. Then she simply glared at Kate, a bitter challenge in her eyes. It hurt every time Kate had to watch her friend wear herself out, fighting even when there was no longer a reason to fear.
…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…
Jennifer and Karen fretted for her safety whenever Kate did it, and had put up one hell of a fight when she’d first brought it up again, but she insisted that once her patient calmed down, the restraints came off. The less time Elizabeth spent feeling helpless, the faster she was going to be able to adjust to the possibility that she was safe. Oberoth probably had her tied down, doing God knew what to her, during her imprisonment; the last thing they wanted, as medical professionals and as Elizabeth’s friends, was to recreate that torture chamber in Elizabeth’s mind. The restraints had to be a “use only when necessary” part of Elizabeth’s treatment plan, not something that stayed in place until they were absolutely sure their patient was stable. Yes, the older woman was technically non compos mentis, but Kate knew they had to take the risk that underneath all that pain and fear, Elizabeth was still there, still aware of what was going on around her, and still capable of rational thought.
It was going to take a long time for Kate to forget the looks that her colleagues leveled at her when she made that argument. Still, she had remained steadfast in her convictions, even after Elizabeth had attacked her. It had taken a lot of fast talking on Kate’s part to keep her own counselor from stripping her of her work clearance and throwing her into a padded room for an involuntary psychiatric evaluation. Perhaps Kate had played dirty, or maybe she was just making sure she could continue doing her job, but she had used everything she knew about Karen to get the other psychologist on her side. The core of her message-besides the fact that keeping the restraints on for longer than strictly necessary did more damage in the long run-was that after having been declared clinically dead twice in her life, Kate wasn’t afraid of a few bruises or broken bones if Elizabeth managed to attack her. The blonde was pretty sure that if she said those words to anyone who had never lived on Atlantis, or even to Karen three months ago, she would have been immediately sedated, committed and placed on suicide watch. But this was Atlantis, where people looked out for each other at all costs. Statements like that, while rarely so bluntly said, were an unspoken facet of life in the city.
Still, Kate knew that the night nurse who brought the next dose of medications would probably have to put Elizabeth back in restraints again. It was a vicious little cycle that none of the medical staff had any idea how to stop. They had learned quickly that Elizabeth did not accept being drugged with any degree of passivity. Any procedures that involved skin contact or syringes usually resulted in a short, but furious struggle. Elizabeth always lost, and Kate had no idea if her patient’s constant failure in her attempts at independence was detrimental to her efforts.
… thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two…
There was rage in the icy stares that her friend leveled at her, a furious defiance that Kate had rarely encountered in her years of practice. It was unnerving, the level of hate directed at her, but Kate didn’t take it personally. If Elizabeth thought she was trapped in a game of Oberoth’s, then she had to see Kate as a hallucination, the enemy. It meant that Elizabeth felt like she could trust no one, which was a problem only time could resolve.
Still, the passive, yet venomous, resistance Elizabeth put up against what she thought was a mind game gave Kate hope that her patient was going to pull through this struggle. If Elizabeth was still angry about being manipulated, it meant that she was still fighting, still defiant in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. There would be productive ways Kate could help Elizabeth channel that anger when the time was right, but that time was far into the future. Right now, it was a game of waiting, of patience. Kate had called on her training, on the serenity she had earned through long hours of meditation, to let herself remain unruffled, even in the face of Elizabeth’s anguished pain.
…fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven…
Nowadays, Elizabeth simply ignored her when she walked in. There might be little giveaways-a sideways glance, a small twitch, or a slight tremor-that she was paying attention, but nothing more. That could be counted as progress, even though she still wasn’t interacting with her environment. Elizabeth was aware of the routines that had been established in her life-that had been the first step. Now they all had to wait for her to take the next step, to do something that would break the regular schedule for her. But that step had to happen on Elizabeth’s own time. All she and Jennifer could do was to be patient and wait. Kate had to have faith that it would happen.
She sternly reminded herself of that every time the doubt crept in. That statement had become her calming mantra throughout these weeks, and Kate hung onto her knowledge of the stubborn woman Elizabeth Weir was, and still had to be. They would get through this-doctor, patient and city-together. There was no other choice.
… seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six….
There was also the issue of Elizabeth’s physical recovery. That had been slow. The only explanation that Rodney and Radek could come up with was that the nanites functioning within her now were also older and thus slower to work. Kate didn’t really care to know the technical details; all she cared about was the general health of her patient. Elizabeth had a look of sheer desperation about her, stubbornly clinging to her defiance as her last line of defense. She seemed to grow frailer with each passing day, and it wasn’t just in terms of psychological health, but physical as well.
Kate would have asked that Jennifer stop her tests and monitoring, but she saw Elizabeth’s chart for herself every day and she knew there was no escaping the need to watch her physical health closely. Their patient was hovering very close to a line etched in concrete; the moment she crossed it, Kate’s protestations and concerns would be secondary to Jennifer’s orders. Kate was afraid that she was running out of time.
…eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one…
There were murmurs about putting in a feeding tube if Elizabeth’s condition continued to deteriorate. She rarely ate, and when she did, it was in bites and sips, barely enough to sustain any sort of normal metabolism. If Kate didn’t make a breakthrough, get Elizabeth to trust them at least enough to eat, and do it soon…
The psychologist forced herself away from that train of thought before her emotions could spill over into her demeanor. If Kate panicked, then she might as well just slap Elizabeth and get the subsequent breakdown over with. She had to stay calm, no matter what. If Elizabeth’s inner reality was still in chaos, then Kate had to do her best to keep the outer reality around them both as stable and tranquil as possible.
…ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.
Carefully telegraphing her motions, she leaned forward with her left hand and gently trapped Elizabeth’s wrist against the railing. With her right hand, she undid the Velcro and padded buckles, loosening the contraption. She moved around the bed, never going out of Elizabeth’s line of sight, releasing her from the four-point restraints that kept her from moving freely about the room. She returned to her seat by Elizabeth’s bedside, settling her hands loosely in her lap as before.
As always, Elizabeth did not move at all until Kate sat back down. The dark-haired woman carefully pulled her freed hand back, warily watching Kate for any sudden movement. The psychologist had lost count of how many times they had sat in this room and repeated this ritual, but still, every time, Elizabeth showed the same degree of passive watchfulness, as if she was afraid that Kate would lash out at her violently.
When Elizabeth was completely free, she immediately pushed herself into a sitting position, pulling her knees up under the covers. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her forehead on her kneecaps, tucking herself into a little ball. In the beginning, at this stage, they would simply sit like that for hours, the silence between them stark yet cloistering.
For the past month or so, Kate had gently pushed the boundaries between them, carefully testing what her patient could and couldn’t handle. The first was touch, with a gesture that was completely innocent and non-threatening. She always made sure that her hands were warm when she reached out to Elizabeth and, furthermore she never moved her hand toward Elizabeth’s face. If there were latent associations with Asuran mind-probes (and there had to be), Kate didn’t want to even try to start dealing with that mess.
So once Elizabeth was settled, Kate counted to ten before she leaned forward, offering her right hand to her patient. It was passive encouragement for her patient to interact with the people around her without applying any sort of pressure. The gesture lingered in interpretation between a brief pause and an open-ended offer. So far, Elizabeth had never taken the silent opportunity to initiate contact, but she never resisted when Kate then slowly rested her fingers on the back of her hand or arm. The two of them would then sit in stony silence until Kate felt that she was pushing Elizabeth too far. The signs would be physical-a slight lean away from Kate’s hand, Elizabeth’s fingers tightening on her own arm, increased tension in her shoulders. When Kate saw those indicators, she knew the session was over. So she would leave Elizabeth’s personal space, verbally thanking Elizabeth for the session. There was never a visible reaction from Elizabeth-positive or negative-about any of this. Kate hoped that it didn’t mean there was no significance for Elizabeth, just that she didn’t show it.
Today, as she always did, Kate offered her hand gracefully, hovering a few inches from actually touching Elizabeth’s skin. What she didn’t expect was for Elizabeth to release her death grip on herself and reach out, fingers trembling in the air. She held herself still until she felt Elizabeth’s cold skin against hers. Unsure of how skittish her friend was, Kate slowly curled her fingers until she was holding her patient’s hand in a loose grip. To an outsider, merely holding hands with another person was a trivial gesture, but in Elizabeth’s case, it was progress, positive progress that she was going to be okay.
Kate was filled with silent triumph and relief, but outwardly, all she did was smile slightly. This was a wonderful sign, but she didn’t want to make a false assumption and push too fast.
“Thank you,” she whispered in a low voice once she was sure that Elizabeth wasn’t panicking. The other woman didn’t react, just curled herself smaller on the bed, and oddly enough, tightened her grip on Kate’s hand. It was as if Elizabeth was clinging onto her as a lifeline, and Kate squeezed back as hard as she could, trying to communicate the fact that no one was going to leave Elizabeth again, that everyone on Atlantis was there for her, and that she wasn’t alone in her struggle.
They sat there, doctor and patient, fingers interlaced as the minutes ticked on. Kate didn’t dare do anything other than breathe and wait; she didn’t want to break the spell. It seemed a little surreal that her plan had paid off after weeks of waiting. Yes, this was a small step forward, but it was still forward, and that counted.
Eventually Elizabeth eased her grip and Kate felt the tingling in her fingers at the restored blood flow. Her patient also leaned slightly away and it was clear that Elizabeth wanted the session to end. So Kate slowly slipped her hand from Elizabeth’s, sitting back in her chair for a moment and taking a breath to savor the breakthrough. She didn’t want to linger too long, though, afraid of breaking the fragile foundations that had just been laid.
So with her usual grace, Kate stepped down from her high stool by Elizabeth’s bedside, folded her hands in front of her, and said quietly, “I’ll be back later, Elizabeth. If you need me, just call the nurse on duty.”
Elizabeth stared blankly ahead of her, her shuttered eyes giving nothing away, but for the briefest of moments, the psychologist thought she might have spotted a hint of uncertainty in her friend’s eyes. As she walked out of the room, Kate hoped that her patient was beginning to question the faulty axioms of her constructed reality, for all their sakes.
Rating:T
Warning(s): Language; Implied Violence
Disclaimer: Other than being a fan, I have nothing to do with Stargate:Atlantis
Prompt: This was written for the Season 4/5 Fix-It ficathon at john_elizabeth with the prompt: BASMR alternate ending: The away team on Asura finds and rescues Elizabeth. How does she deal/recover from her imprisonment?
Spoilers: Everything up to “Be All My Sins Remembered"
Summary: Janos Arany once wrote, "In love and dreams, there are no impossibilities." It's a faith that Atlantis is clinging to when the Pegasus Galaxy throws another curveball at them.
Beta: The amazing bluewillowtree who was invaluable with her input and generous with her time.
~*~*~*~*~
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. ~ Confucius
“It is Elizabeth’s birthday soon, is it not?”
At Teyla’s unexpected question, John nearly dropped the slender vase he was studying as the two of them stood in the open air market. He had been considering it has a birthday gift for Dr. Brown.
Katie, John corrected himself, now that she and Rodney were dating…sort of? He wasn’t sure about the precise details and Rodney had been surprisingly private lately about what was going on in his relationship with the botanist. What John did know was that Katie’s birthday was coming up next month, and knowing Rodney, the man wouldn’t even think about finding a gift until three missions before the date. Knowing the team’s luck, chances were high that those three missions would be to either grassy uninhabited worlds or planets with hostile natives. Since he only put up with Rodney’s flailing fits when he had to, John figured that he would head off this social crisis at the root by simply being prepared. Of course, he’d have to come up with some way to present the vase to Rodney as a possible gift for Katie without the genius actually realizing it…Maybe he could enlist Teyla’s help?
“Do you think this would make a good gift for Dr. Brown?” he asked, holding the object out to Teyla who took it from him with careful hands. She studied the spring-green vase, rotating it slowly in the morning light to examine its imperfections. When she found imaginary flaws in the beautiful clay vessel, Teyla mock-frowned in disapproval. Finished seeing to her latest customers, the merchant hurried over to Teyla’s side, eager to make another sale, and the two women instantly fell to haggling over the vase-Teyla pointing out the flaws in its craftsmanship, the woman refuting every claim that she could. John became a spectator at the edge of the conversation, reduced to the role of a dumb male security guard for a skilled negotiator. He didn’t mind being ignored; it freed him to pay full attention to their surroundings.
All around them, merchants hawked their wares-earthen pots, farming tools, hand-woven fabrics, livestock, food and so on-to the throngs of people that roamed the wide open space. It was unusual to see hundreds, if not thousands of people, gathered in one spot, unconcernedly drifting from one stall to the next, their main worry being the price of the goods they sought to obtain or the profits they hoped to make. The scene around him could have easily been the same as market-day on Earth during the medieval age, and he allowed himself to relax as he waited for Teyla to conclude the transaction.
The people’s sense of security came from a confluence of factors: mainly that their Stargate sat at the bottom of a very narrow canyon with high walls, facing the foot of a steep mountain that was prone to massive rockslides and avalanches. Dezia was a world of rock-hewn paths and sheer drop-offs, known for its terraced rice-farming, hand-woven sheia-wool fabrics and quarry mining of precious metals. Its people lived in the solid stone, chiseling out tunnels and hidden chambers to provide storage areas and sanctuary from nature’s fury and the Wraith.
Because of its rugged terrain, Dezia was a natural site to host a biannual trade fair that attracted merchants from all over the known network of Stargates to congregate and conduct massive business transactions. Through generations of trust and connections, what had begun with the assembly of a handful of Dezia’s most trusted trading partners had turned into a mass gathering of merchants from worlds all over Pegasus. People came to find exotic wares and view rare objects on display in various stalls, alongside the mundane and necessary items needed to survive in a harsh galaxy. For security reasons, attendance was always by invitation only from an already-participating world, and the date of the next trade fair was moved by days, weeks or months to avoid a noticeable pattern. John and his team had come last year due to Teyla’s knowledge of such an opportunity to find allies and willingness to vouch for the “homeless Lanteans” to the Dezian people.
There was also another reason for the traders and shoppers’ sense of safety, and that was in the location of the market itself. It wasn’t quite an “open space” in the traditional sense. The area was surrounded on three sides by towering solid cliff-faces. During the mission briefing, Teyla had told them that the hard rock concealed an extensive tunnel system that served as an evacuation route in case of unwanted visitors. It was thanks to this hidden network that more people survived than died at these fairs when the Wraith came. In Pegasus, that was no minor miracle.
Teyla and the merchant woman bowed to each other with polite smiles. She walked to his side, her hands cradling the vase’s cloth-wrapped form. Tucking the item away in her pack, she remarked, “You did not answer my question.”
“What question?” he asked innocently, as the two of them began moving through the crowd again. He randomly picked a stall at the far end of the row to drift towards. She gave him a distinctly unimpressed look when she repeated herself, “Elizabeth’s birthday.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s soon, isn’t it?” He tried to go for casual, but judging by Teyla’s expression, she wasn’t buying it. Instead, she said matter-of-factly, “If you were to select a gift for Elizabeth, I for one, would say nothing of it to Rodney, nor to anyone else.”
He knew he had said nothing about it to anyone, not even a hint, so he stared at her for a moment before he blurted out, “How did you know?”
She smiled that smile-the secretly pleased grin, her version of the Cheshire Cat’s smirk-and he knew he wasn’t going to get an answer out of her. So he guided her through the crowds of people until they were at a stall tastefully decorated with an understated elegance. That same simplicity of beauty was found in its wares-necklaces, bracelets, earrings and other assorted pieces of intricately-made jewelry were neatly laid out on a table. When he saw them, the proprietor of the stall stood up from his stool, pressed his palms together and bowed. “Colonel Sheppard, the sword has been kind to you.”
Ignoring Teyla’s questioning look, John mimicked the gestures as he responded in greeting, “Eris, the fire has been kind to you as well.” Recalling that the Wainan people were followers of a strict set of rituals governing introductions, he gestured to his teammate, “This is my fellow sword-wielder, Teyla Emmagan of Athos.”
She gracefully copied the craftsman’s movements, saying, “Blessed greetings to you, Artisan Eris.”
“Blessed greetings to you as well, Teyla of Athos,” the middle-aged man responded with perfect solemnity and politeness as he bowed again. Eris turned to John and said with approval, “You choose your allies well. The people of Athos are wise beyond measure.”
Recalling all the times that Teyla and the Athosians had stepped in to save the city from starvation or to prevent a fatal misunderstanding, John nodded in agreement, “Yes, they are. We are very thankful to have them as friends.”
Gesturing toward the table of jewelry, Eris turned his attention back to Teyla. “Please, feel free to look at what we have to offer. If anything pleases you, we will speak of a trade then.” She nodded, her attention drifting toward several bracelets that dangled from a display stand.
The artisan motioned for John to step around the main table, and he felt, more than saw, Teyla’s surprise when Eris turned to his traveling chest and carefully drew out a flat box wrapped in silken cloth. Undoing the leather strap and unfolding the fabric, he revealed a container of polished dark wood. Offering the jewelry box with both hands and another bow, Eris transferred the intricately hand-carved item into John’s possession. With trembling fingers, he opened the lid and this time, he heard Teyla’s low gasp of surprise. John turned to her and asked nervously, “What do you think?”
“May I?” she asked quietly, coming around the display table to stand next to him, and he nodded, passing the jewelry box into her hands. She stared at the elegant necklace nestled on a piece of silken cloth, admiring the perfect silvery-blue jewel that sat in the center of a stylized version of Atlantis’ home symbol. After a moment of silence, she looked at him and smiled approvingly. “She will be speechless.”
“You think so?” he asked, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. Teyla nodded, with a shy smile at Eris, “The artisans of Waina are widely known for their skills in the craft. Every commissioned piece is forged from the soul. Might I ask what was folded into this necklace?”
Eris smiled tranquilly. “There are not many who are as learned as you are, Teyla of Athos, and therefore, fewer to speak of such secrets. However, you are Colonel Sheppard’s fellow sword-wielder, so I may tell you. My son carved for Safety, my daughter set for Peace, my wife linked for Love, and I forged for Wisdom, all for a woman dearly cherished by her people.” He looked at John, “It was possible to tell, you see, from your drawing.”
John stared at the other man, because while he had designed the necklace, he hadn’t seriously thought it was that obvious he was the one who’d drawn the rough sketch he had given to Eris. The artisan looked at him knowingly, “It was the thought you put into every line that gave you away. You care deeply for this woman, do you not?”
“Yes,” he said carefully, not wanting to say more than he wanted to confess, even to himself. Eris nodded. “Then you should know, for the future, that many a man has given his love a gift such as yours: a gift of the heart.”
John swallowed past a suddenly dry throat and nodded. “Thank you, Eris, for the advice.” He wordlessly reached out for the jewelry box and Teyla carefully closed the case before handing it back to him. Eris stepped forward and, with practiced, economical movements, rewrapped the box into its snug travel wrappings before handing it back to John. Perhaps sensing that he had crossed an invisible line with his words, Eris pressed his palms together in front of his chest again, “You are always welcome in my home and to my family.”
“Thank you,” said John sincerely, relaxing slightly since they were drifting away from dangerous emotional waters. “The same goes for you; you’re always welcome to contact the Athosians if there is trouble. They know how to reach us.”
Eris shrugged in quasi-acceptance of the repeated offer and then looked curiously at them when John’s watched chirped once in warning. Teyla and he exchanged a look; they had promised Ronon that he would only be stuck babysitting their techno-genius for three hours and it was going to take time to make their way back to the Dezians’ main living tunnel systems. John quickly slipped the cloth-wrapped box into his own pack. There no need to pay Eris, since all commissioned jewelry had to be paid when the request was first made.
“Artisan Eris,” said Teyla regretfully, “I am afraid we must rejoin our teammates and meet with the Dezian elders for the noonday meal.”
Escorting them to the edge of his stall, Eris smiled benevolently and inclined his head. “I understand. My sister-son is a councilor’s apprentice for my people as well. There are duties that must supersede our fondest wishes.” He pressed his palms together again, this time in a cue for farewell. “May we meet again soon; until then, your swords be kind to you, Colonel Sheppard and Teyla of Athos.”
“May your family and you remain in safekeeping within the flames of your forge,” said John, hoping that he had gotten the traditional farewell correct, as all three of them bowed to each other. Judging by the gratified look on Eris’ face, John felt certain that he had, for once, gotten all the diplomatic moves right with a trade partner. With a quick wave, John and Teyla merged into the crowd of people and the Wainan stall vanished from sight.
Until the pendent was gone, John hadn’t realized how accustomed he was to having the light weight in his pocket. It had become a talisman for him, a piece of her that he kept close as a reminder of what she needed him to do in her absence. He hadn’t realized that in the months she had been gone, he had gotten used to randomly slipping a hand in his pocket to tangle the silver links of the necklace’s chain in his fingers. He missed that small comfort now as he stood watch yet again over Elizabeth.
The two-way radio crackled to life and the Marine guard on duty said respectfully, “Sir, Dr. Heightmeyer is requesting permission to enter.”
Although John suspected that the other man must have been bored out of his mind on such a dull detail, the younger man kept his tone professional over the open radio channel. Silently grateful, John responded briskly, “Permission granted.”
Without any ceremony, he cut the audio feed from the isolation room, leaving only the visual feed running. John sat down on a high stool, radio in hand, watching as the pair of Marine guards withdrew from the isolation room, leaving Heightmeyer alone with Elizabeth. Until the counseling session was over, he would stay in his spot as a monitor, always at the ready to summon the medical staff or Elizabeth’s security detail if needed. He didn’t like the job, but he’d rather it was him than someone else doing this. It felt voyeuristic, maintaining visual surveillance over something that was supposed to be highly private, but it was a necessary part of the compromise that he and Lorne had hammered out with Heightmeyer when she had raised the issue of doctor-patient confidentiality for Elizabeth’s sessions.
No one had been comfortable with the idea when Heightmeyer had first brought up the fact that she needed to be alone with Elizabeth for extended periods of time. Even Keller, a staunch advocate for Elizabeth’s well-being, had given their staff psychologist a look that John had interpreted to be the medical profession’s equivalent of the “what the hell?” expression that he occasionally caught on new Marines’ faces when a patently unorthodox battle strategy was laid out in pre-briefing.
No one seriously thought that Elizabeth was a threat to Atlantis, or to any of them, but they all agreed that she was a terrified woman who was buried in justified paranoia about anything and everything around her. Until they could break Elizabeth out of her “fight or flight” mentality, they had to treat her as a danger to herself and others. That meant the restraints had to stay on until Heightmeyer was sure that Elizabeth was aware enough of her surroundings to not harm herself or anyone else. Keller had agreed to cycle the doses of Elizabeth’s medications, gradually weaning her patient off the heavy sedatives. In return for being left alone with Elizabeth, Heightmeyer agreed to a security detail at the ready in the hallway and a visual observer in the observation area above the isolation room, just in case anything went wrong. No matter how much any of them hated the precautions they were taking, John knew that he had to prioritize Heightmeyer’s safety over Elizabeth’s at all costs. Their emotions didn’t matter when it came to their responsibility to protect each other from danger.
Of course, in Heightmeyer’s tenth session, the psychologist had released her patient’s restraints and was promptly shoved to the floor when Elizabeth suddenly bolted for the door. Lorne had been on-duty at that time, and the younger man had quickly called in everyone to subdue Elizabeth by essentially overwhelming her with unyielding force. Once she was back under sedation and in restraints, Heightmeyer had retreated to her temporary quarters with Karen for about an hour. Keller had then been called into the room, and all John could swear to was that there were spurts of intense conversation between the three women for the next two hours or so. By the time all three medical professionals had come out to talk with everyone else, Heightmeyer had managed to convince her colleagues that the day’s event was only a minor setback and that nothing would change. When she had stressed the need for no repercussions on Elizabeth’s situation, John could have sworn that Heightmeyer’s eyes were fixed on him, asking him to back her up.
So he did.
With everyone motivated by the best of intentions, the resulting argument among the senior staff over what to do next had been passionate. John had never thought that Heightmeyer had the core of sheer willpower that she had demonstrated during the course of the debate; she had always presented a neutral personality to him in the past. To see her passionately make a case to keep Elizabeth on the same regime of medication, continuing the sedative reduction plan as if nothing had happened…that was a revelation of sorts. John had chosen to trust her that day on the balcony, when she had promised that she would do her best to help Elizabeth. After that argument in the crowded back room of the infirmary, John believed Heightmeyer when she insisted that progress was being made-incrementally yes, but it was still happening. He held onto the hope Heightmeyer had offered that day, and he knew that they all were.
John watched as Heightmeyer settled herself on the high stool next to Elizabeth’s bed, having already made her opening greeting to a silent Elizabeth. It was the same routine, over and over. Heightmeyer had explained to him that it was vital to provide Elizabeth with a world of stability, where her life became predictable to the point that when changes happened, it was because Elizabeth chose to change the situation and no one else. It would allow her to draw the clear correlation between her own, self-motivated action and the change in her routine. The treatment of C-PTSD, Heightmeyer had explained in more detail than he had been expecting from her (especially since it was verging on breaking doctor-patient confidentiality), focused strongly on giving the patient back a sense of control over her life. If Elizabeth was convinced that she lived in a construct, then she had to be convinced that either she controlled the mental reality she was stuck in or that she wasn’t trapped in a false reality. Either option would give Elizabeth a temporary sense of safety until Heightmeyer could securely ease her into the knowledge that she was safe and living in the real world.
He leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the two-way radio, and settled in to watch the rest of the silent counseling session. It looked like it was going to be a long one. That didn’t matter. He had the patience to wait for Elizabeth to realize that she was safe and forever free from Oberoth.
John just prayed that he wouldn’t have to wait forever.
~
She was here again.
There was no telling how much time, or how little, had passed between one visit and the next, but the vivid hallucination was back, walking into the spacious prison cell with the same imperturbable serenity that Elizabeth remembered surrounding the blond-haired woman. Elizabeth wished that Oberoth hadn’t managed to get his hands on her memories of Kate, managed to capture the other woman’s professional warmth, which had coaxed and tugged some of her deepest fears and thoughts out into the light of day. She fought to remind herself that this was an illusion, created to break her down and lull her into false security. She wasn’t going to fall for it. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply it upset her to see Kate’s face every time and know that it wasn’t real, that she wasn’t safe and never would be again, so she stayed stubbornly silent. Whatever happened, whatever he did to her, Elizabeth vowed never to utter a single sound.
She wished she could return to the darkness where there was no time. The lights in the room brightened and dimmed on a diurnal cycle, mimicking the natural light patterns of a planet. Her body was falling into the rhythm of waking and sleeping to a sky she couldn’t see. There was nothing she could really do about that small physical betrayal of weakness, but she tried to stay up as late as she could and faked sleep for as long as she could. It was easier that way, ignoring the same rotations of nurses who spoke quietly with her, putting on smiles and kind words to confuse her, who pleaded with her even as they did things that hurt. But then there would be darkness afterward, where she was safe, until she woke up again, still trapped in the same false dream that would not fade.
The hallucination perched itself on the high stool by her bedside and loosely folded its hands in its lap, its serene expression an exact copy of Kate’s comforting gaze. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, trying to wrest control away from him, the puppet master, and take charge of this messed-up reality for even just a moment. She willed the hallucination to vanish. Time faded to a slow trickle before she heard the soft footsteps of a woman sliding down a stool to stand on a smooth floor. The firm pressure against her right wrist came a moment later, followed by the sounds of leather being drawn through metal. The padded restraint slackened and the pressure disappeared. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know where the hallucination was, moving around her in a wide circle, methodically releasing her bonds before taking the same path back to its original seat.
It was only then that she dared to move, opening her eyes and sitting up, drawing herself into a ball on the bed. She didn’t press the advantage-she had tried once before and failed, miserably. Guards and nurses had flooded the room before she even had a chance to hit the main player in his delusion, yanking her away from fake-Kate’s prone form, and pinning her roughly to the floor. She had fought in silence, furious and desperate to get free, but no matter how hard she threw herself against the illusion, not one of her imaginary captors disappeared. In the tussle, she had blacked out in a wave of ice and woken up where she had started-tied to the bed, staring up at the high ceiling.
Thinking about the attempt in the following days, when she wasn’t steeling herself for the retaliatory attack that was sure to come, she remembered two things: one was false-Kate’s voice, stubbornly insisting above the chaos that they not hurt her, and the second…that they had been gentle in their handling of her. There was a control in their motions that spoke of dedication to a higher cause, the way they treated her hinting at a commitment of doing no harm. It almost made her believe that it was real, that the people around her were her people, that she was back on Atlantis. Almost. She wasn’t that weak, not yet. Soon, yes, but not yet.
So she continued to live in a world that was mostly spent chained to a gurney, unable to move, visited regularly by nurses who never touched her unless absolutely necessary, and the main actress in his little drama. In the barricaded corner of her mind that he had not yet breached, she fretted over the lack of consequences. It was a surprise that nothing had come of her gross miscalculation other than bruises where they had held her down and medicines that made her feel constantly exhausted, and even those two consequences were fading. She had noticed that before it appeared, the nurses were giving her an increasingly weaker dose of sedatives-or maybe she was gaining some control over this scenario. It made for clearer thought processes, but did nothing to help her figure out how to best him at his own sick game.
Her arms and legs now free, she immediately pulled herself into a ball on the gurney, twisting the sheets uncomfortably around her ankles. She rested her face against her kneecaps and stared at fake-Kate, daring it to make a mistake. The mirage took no offense at her anger; it merely sat there, serenely staring back at her with a carefully non-judgmental expression on its face. It looked and behaved so much like Kate.
It was getting harder and harder to ignore the hallucination, to believe that this was just another twisted ploy. She was so tired of games. She longed to let her guard down, but she knew the moment she faltered, he would have won. She couldn’t let him win; she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. So she had to fight, but now…she was beginning to doubt, to wonder if she could stop, and that was her one weakness. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to believe that this rescue was real, to take the chance that it wasn’t just another clever trick to wear her down and break her. It would be easy to believe, but the disappointment…she was terrified it would crush her and she wasn’t sure she could handle the despair without surrendering herself. She couldn’t take that risk.
She had to admit, though, if this was false, then this reality was the most elaborate one she had encountered in the course of her games with him. He had never been patient with her: always pushing, sometimes stalling, never retreating. In this place, however, the hallucinations never demanded anything of her, not in terms of information. What demands they made of her usually ran along the lines of coaxing her to eat more than the mouthfuls of food and drink she allowed herself. The nurses were polite and talkative, telling her what they were going to do, warning her if they were going to touch her, smiling sympathetically at her when they finished their duties before leaving her bedside. Fake-Kate had all the patience of real Kate, and the two of them-prisoner and mirage-had spent more time together in silence than in actual conversation. Come to think of it, fake-Kate had only spoken a handful of words, and most of them had been during her disastrous breakout attempt. She wondered if she was going slowly insane.
Fake-Kate reached out with one hand, extending palm up and leaving it hovering a few inches away from Elizabeth’s bare forearm. It was an unspoken offer to let her react, to push away or to accept whatever sort of help (poisoned or not) from the hallucination. She knew if she didn’t do anything, it would carefully rest its warm fingers against her arm and they would stay there until it decided it had stayed long enough to make her think that Atlantis was real around her, before drawing away. Still, there was always that pause, those seconds of a tantalizing opportunity to change the rules of the game. What would happen when she finally reached out? What would be the consequences?
~
“Good morning Elizabeth,” said Kate, moving unhurriedly into the room. She ignored the shuffle as the Marine guards vacated the room, leaving her alone with her patient. Instead, she approached the bed in the middle of the room as if she were looking for a seat in the cafeteria, drifting toward her destination without actually hurrying. She sat down on the high stool next to the gurney and folded her hands in her lap. Keeping her breathing slow and even, she fixed her eyes on the far wall, letting Elizabeth adjust to her presence in the room.
One, two, three…
In the beginning, Elizabeth reacted violently whenever Kate stepped into the private, secluded area, struggling almost frantically against the reinforced restraints, her movements uncoordinated from the high doses of sedatives running through her system. While Jennifer guessed that her voice had probably healed within the first three weeks of her recovery, Elizabeth’s efforts to get free were always soundless except for the incessant rattling of the gurney’s safety railings. Elizabeth would strain against her restraints until her strength was exhausted. Then she simply glared at Kate, a bitter challenge in her eyes. It hurt every time Kate had to watch her friend wear herself out, fighting even when there was no longer a reason to fear.
…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…
Jennifer and Karen fretted for her safety whenever Kate did it, and had put up one hell of a fight when she’d first brought it up again, but she insisted that once her patient calmed down, the restraints came off. The less time Elizabeth spent feeling helpless, the faster she was going to be able to adjust to the possibility that she was safe. Oberoth probably had her tied down, doing God knew what to her, during her imprisonment; the last thing they wanted, as medical professionals and as Elizabeth’s friends, was to recreate that torture chamber in Elizabeth’s mind. The restraints had to be a “use only when necessary” part of Elizabeth’s treatment plan, not something that stayed in place until they were absolutely sure their patient was stable. Yes, the older woman was technically non compos mentis, but Kate knew they had to take the risk that underneath all that pain and fear, Elizabeth was still there, still aware of what was going on around her, and still capable of rational thought.
It was going to take a long time for Kate to forget the looks that her colleagues leveled at her when she made that argument. Still, she had remained steadfast in her convictions, even after Elizabeth had attacked her. It had taken a lot of fast talking on Kate’s part to keep her own counselor from stripping her of her work clearance and throwing her into a padded room for an involuntary psychiatric evaluation. Perhaps Kate had played dirty, or maybe she was just making sure she could continue doing her job, but she had used everything she knew about Karen to get the other psychologist on her side. The core of her message-besides the fact that keeping the restraints on for longer than strictly necessary did more damage in the long run-was that after having been declared clinically dead twice in her life, Kate wasn’t afraid of a few bruises or broken bones if Elizabeth managed to attack her. The blonde was pretty sure that if she said those words to anyone who had never lived on Atlantis, or even to Karen three months ago, she would have been immediately sedated, committed and placed on suicide watch. But this was Atlantis, where people looked out for each other at all costs. Statements like that, while rarely so bluntly said, were an unspoken facet of life in the city.
Still, Kate knew that the night nurse who brought the next dose of medications would probably have to put Elizabeth back in restraints again. It was a vicious little cycle that none of the medical staff had any idea how to stop. They had learned quickly that Elizabeth did not accept being drugged with any degree of passivity. Any procedures that involved skin contact or syringes usually resulted in a short, but furious struggle. Elizabeth always lost, and Kate had no idea if her patient’s constant failure in her attempts at independence was detrimental to her efforts.
… thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two…
There was rage in the icy stares that her friend leveled at her, a furious defiance that Kate had rarely encountered in her years of practice. It was unnerving, the level of hate directed at her, but Kate didn’t take it personally. If Elizabeth thought she was trapped in a game of Oberoth’s, then she had to see Kate as a hallucination, the enemy. It meant that Elizabeth felt like she could trust no one, which was a problem only time could resolve.
Still, the passive, yet venomous, resistance Elizabeth put up against what she thought was a mind game gave Kate hope that her patient was going to pull through this struggle. If Elizabeth was still angry about being manipulated, it meant that she was still fighting, still defiant in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. There would be productive ways Kate could help Elizabeth channel that anger when the time was right, but that time was far into the future. Right now, it was a game of waiting, of patience. Kate had called on her training, on the serenity she had earned through long hours of meditation, to let herself remain unruffled, even in the face of Elizabeth’s anguished pain.
…fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven…
Nowadays, Elizabeth simply ignored her when she walked in. There might be little giveaways-a sideways glance, a small twitch, or a slight tremor-that she was paying attention, but nothing more. That could be counted as progress, even though she still wasn’t interacting with her environment. Elizabeth was aware of the routines that had been established in her life-that had been the first step. Now they all had to wait for her to take the next step, to do something that would break the regular schedule for her. But that step had to happen on Elizabeth’s own time. All she and Jennifer could do was to be patient and wait. Kate had to have faith that it would happen.
She sternly reminded herself of that every time the doubt crept in. That statement had become her calming mantra throughout these weeks, and Kate hung onto her knowledge of the stubborn woman Elizabeth Weir was, and still had to be. They would get through this-doctor, patient and city-together. There was no other choice.
… seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six….
There was also the issue of Elizabeth’s physical recovery. That had been slow. The only explanation that Rodney and Radek could come up with was that the nanites functioning within her now were also older and thus slower to work. Kate didn’t really care to know the technical details; all she cared about was the general health of her patient. Elizabeth had a look of sheer desperation about her, stubbornly clinging to her defiance as her last line of defense. She seemed to grow frailer with each passing day, and it wasn’t just in terms of psychological health, but physical as well.
Kate would have asked that Jennifer stop her tests and monitoring, but she saw Elizabeth’s chart for herself every day and she knew there was no escaping the need to watch her physical health closely. Their patient was hovering very close to a line etched in concrete; the moment she crossed it, Kate’s protestations and concerns would be secondary to Jennifer’s orders. Kate was afraid that she was running out of time.
…eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one…
There were murmurs about putting in a feeding tube if Elizabeth’s condition continued to deteriorate. She rarely ate, and when she did, it was in bites and sips, barely enough to sustain any sort of normal metabolism. If Kate didn’t make a breakthrough, get Elizabeth to trust them at least enough to eat, and do it soon…
The psychologist forced herself away from that train of thought before her emotions could spill over into her demeanor. If Kate panicked, then she might as well just slap Elizabeth and get the subsequent breakdown over with. She had to stay calm, no matter what. If Elizabeth’s inner reality was still in chaos, then Kate had to do her best to keep the outer reality around them both as stable and tranquil as possible.
…ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.
Carefully telegraphing her motions, she leaned forward with her left hand and gently trapped Elizabeth’s wrist against the railing. With her right hand, she undid the Velcro and padded buckles, loosening the contraption. She moved around the bed, never going out of Elizabeth’s line of sight, releasing her from the four-point restraints that kept her from moving freely about the room. She returned to her seat by Elizabeth’s bedside, settling her hands loosely in her lap as before.
As always, Elizabeth did not move at all until Kate sat back down. The dark-haired woman carefully pulled her freed hand back, warily watching Kate for any sudden movement. The psychologist had lost count of how many times they had sat in this room and repeated this ritual, but still, every time, Elizabeth showed the same degree of passive watchfulness, as if she was afraid that Kate would lash out at her violently.
When Elizabeth was completely free, she immediately pushed herself into a sitting position, pulling her knees up under the covers. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her forehead on her kneecaps, tucking herself into a little ball. In the beginning, at this stage, they would simply sit like that for hours, the silence between them stark yet cloistering.
For the past month or so, Kate had gently pushed the boundaries between them, carefully testing what her patient could and couldn’t handle. The first was touch, with a gesture that was completely innocent and non-threatening. She always made sure that her hands were warm when she reached out to Elizabeth and, furthermore she never moved her hand toward Elizabeth’s face. If there were latent associations with Asuran mind-probes (and there had to be), Kate didn’t want to even try to start dealing with that mess.
So once Elizabeth was settled, Kate counted to ten before she leaned forward, offering her right hand to her patient. It was passive encouragement for her patient to interact with the people around her without applying any sort of pressure. The gesture lingered in interpretation between a brief pause and an open-ended offer. So far, Elizabeth had never taken the silent opportunity to initiate contact, but she never resisted when Kate then slowly rested her fingers on the back of her hand or arm. The two of them would then sit in stony silence until Kate felt that she was pushing Elizabeth too far. The signs would be physical-a slight lean away from Kate’s hand, Elizabeth’s fingers tightening on her own arm, increased tension in her shoulders. When Kate saw those indicators, she knew the session was over. So she would leave Elizabeth’s personal space, verbally thanking Elizabeth for the session. There was never a visible reaction from Elizabeth-positive or negative-about any of this. Kate hoped that it didn’t mean there was no significance for Elizabeth, just that she didn’t show it.
Today, as she always did, Kate offered her hand gracefully, hovering a few inches from actually touching Elizabeth’s skin. What she didn’t expect was for Elizabeth to release her death grip on herself and reach out, fingers trembling in the air. She held herself still until she felt Elizabeth’s cold skin against hers. Unsure of how skittish her friend was, Kate slowly curled her fingers until she was holding her patient’s hand in a loose grip. To an outsider, merely holding hands with another person was a trivial gesture, but in Elizabeth’s case, it was progress, positive progress that she was going to be okay.
Kate was filled with silent triumph and relief, but outwardly, all she did was smile slightly. This was a wonderful sign, but she didn’t want to make a false assumption and push too fast.
“Thank you,” she whispered in a low voice once she was sure that Elizabeth wasn’t panicking. The other woman didn’t react, just curled herself smaller on the bed, and oddly enough, tightened her grip on Kate’s hand. It was as if Elizabeth was clinging onto her as a lifeline, and Kate squeezed back as hard as she could, trying to communicate the fact that no one was going to leave Elizabeth again, that everyone on Atlantis was there for her, and that she wasn’t alone in her struggle.
They sat there, doctor and patient, fingers interlaced as the minutes ticked on. Kate didn’t dare do anything other than breathe and wait; she didn’t want to break the spell. It seemed a little surreal that her plan had paid off after weeks of waiting. Yes, this was a small step forward, but it was still forward, and that counted.
Eventually Elizabeth eased her grip and Kate felt the tingling in her fingers at the restored blood flow. Her patient also leaned slightly away and it was clear that Elizabeth wanted the session to end. So Kate slowly slipped her hand from Elizabeth’s, sitting back in her chair for a moment and taking a breath to savor the breakthrough. She didn’t want to linger too long, though, afraid of breaking the fragile foundations that had just been laid.
So with her usual grace, Kate stepped down from her high stool by Elizabeth’s bedside, folded her hands in front of her, and said quietly, “I’ll be back later, Elizabeth. If you need me, just call the nurse on duty.”
Elizabeth stared blankly ahead of her, her shuttered eyes giving nothing away, but for the briefest of moments, the psychologist thought she might have spotted a hint of uncertainty in her friend’s eyes. As she walked out of the room, Kate hoped that her patient was beginning to question the faulty axioms of her constructed reality, for all their sakes.