Indelible Stains (2/4)
Indelible Stains (2/4)
Author:
hope_tang
Rating: T
Spoilers: First Strike
Disclaimer: Other than being a fan, I have nothing to do with Stargate: Atlantis in any way, shape or form.
Author’s Note: As part of a color fic meme, I was given the prompt John/Elizabeth, blood-red. Thank you for the reviews.
Part I
~*~*~*~*~
He stares at the crimson pool that covers the floor, and wonders if it would be possible to ask anyone to clean it up before it stains the tiles. The starlight that dances into the debris-strewn Control Room does little to soften the harshness of the sight before him. His worst nightmare has come true. There has been so much blood spilled for the sake of their expedition, for the sake of their people, for the sake of their survival…maybe it had only before a matter of time before it was her blood being spilled. He knows that she bleeds alongside every person she sends into danger, yet now the universe seems to be taking perverse pleasure in exacting its revenge, drop for drop, ruthlessly staining her scarlet blouse an even darker shade of burgundy.
Aside from a few brief instances in their first year in the city, she has always worn bright crimson when she’s on-duty. It’s her way of making herself easily identifiable among the masses of military gray, science blues and medical yellows that populate the expedition. She’s explained to him that this is a tactical decision, so that people can find her quickly in emergencies and chaos. It’s a color that catches the eye, and as the leader of the city, she needs to be readily seen when all hell breaks loose. There’s no point in blending into her surroundings when she needs to be able to rally the troops on a moment’s notice, or get people to obey her without question. She’s worked at making crimson synonymous with her leadership.
He’s argued with her, over and over again, that she can’t wear red. The benefit she derives from wearing crimson is also a danger. It makes her too visible in the crowd, too easy a target for an attacker to pick out and focus on. He can’t protect her adequately if she insists on wearing a giant bull’s-eye on her back. She always volleys back that she only wears red on Atlantis; she blends in with her escort when she’s off-world. Implicit in that argument is her unwavering faith that he will keep the city safe from any invaders, which means that she will also, by logical extension, be safe. When she uses that line of reasoning with him, he hesitates every time before he presses on, because no matter how many times he hears it, it still shakes him to the core at how deeply she trusts him with everything she holds dear. When she tires of arguing with him, she silences him with a curt gesture or an abrupt kiss. The former was before they’d decided to quit dancing around their mutual attraction to one another and the latter was after, when they’ve finally decided that their relationship isn’t anywhere near the casual sex they’ve pretended it is.
He doesn’t know when they went from exclusive stress relief between friends to a relationship that borders on engagement. Long before the two of them kissed for the first time, the lines between professional and personal, friendship and romance blurred, if they had ever existed in the first place. Blood has always run hot between them, from passion, from anger, from concern, from love. It’s never been simple when it comes to them, who they are and what exists between them.
They’ve always known the risks he runs-some of them foolish, most of them necessary-to keep Atlantis safe. He knows it’s her fear that he will leave her behind one day, and she’ll be left to carry on alone. He has always told her that she’s strong enough to endure. On those nights, he swears that he’ll always be with her, even as he holds on to her a little tighter in the darkness as he prays to any powers out there to grant them more time together. Now time has run out for them, but not for him, not for him when, by all measures of possibility, it ought to have been him.
He supposes that he’s always accepted the idea that he will die first-in defense of the city, from old age, in an incredibly idiotic, reckless but necessary act to protect his team-there are a myriad of ways he imagines that he might go. It’s only in his darkest dreams that she dies in his arms, with him powerless to protect her when he should have saved her, kept her safe. But no matter how many times the dream comes, he always has comforted himself with the knowledge that it is only a dream and never a reality. She is safe because the city is safe, and he will do all that he can to ensure it remains that way. That is the vow he makes every morning before he rises and the prayer he makes every night before he sleeps. He’s always had a bargain with the universe that he’ll take whatever it throws at him as long as it leaves her alone. That fragile peace was shattered hours ago when she fell in a hail of glass shards.
Now her blood is staining the ground, and his heart is faltering along with hers.
No miracle can save them now.
~*~*~*~*~
Part III
Author:
hope_tang
Rating: T
Spoilers: First Strike
Disclaimer: Other than being a fan, I have nothing to do with Stargate: Atlantis in any way, shape or form.
Author’s Note: As part of a color fic meme, I was given the prompt John/Elizabeth, blood-red. Thank you for the reviews.
Part I
~*~*~*~*~
He stares at the crimson pool that covers the floor, and wonders if it would be possible to ask anyone to clean it up before it stains the tiles. The starlight that dances into the debris-strewn Control Room does little to soften the harshness of the sight before him. His worst nightmare has come true. There has been so much blood spilled for the sake of their expedition, for the sake of their people, for the sake of their survival…maybe it had only before a matter of time before it was her blood being spilled. He knows that she bleeds alongside every person she sends into danger, yet now the universe seems to be taking perverse pleasure in exacting its revenge, drop for drop, ruthlessly staining her scarlet blouse an even darker shade of burgundy.
Aside from a few brief instances in their first year in the city, she has always worn bright crimson when she’s on-duty. It’s her way of making herself easily identifiable among the masses of military gray, science blues and medical yellows that populate the expedition. She’s explained to him that this is a tactical decision, so that people can find her quickly in emergencies and chaos. It’s a color that catches the eye, and as the leader of the city, she needs to be readily seen when all hell breaks loose. There’s no point in blending into her surroundings when she needs to be able to rally the troops on a moment’s notice, or get people to obey her without question. She’s worked at making crimson synonymous with her leadership.
He’s argued with her, over and over again, that she can’t wear red. The benefit she derives from wearing crimson is also a danger. It makes her too visible in the crowd, too easy a target for an attacker to pick out and focus on. He can’t protect her adequately if she insists on wearing a giant bull’s-eye on her back. She always volleys back that she only wears red on Atlantis; she blends in with her escort when she’s off-world. Implicit in that argument is her unwavering faith that he will keep the city safe from any invaders, which means that she will also, by logical extension, be safe. When she uses that line of reasoning with him, he hesitates every time before he presses on, because no matter how many times he hears it, it still shakes him to the core at how deeply she trusts him with everything she holds dear. When she tires of arguing with him, she silences him with a curt gesture or an abrupt kiss. The former was before they’d decided to quit dancing around their mutual attraction to one another and the latter was after, when they’ve finally decided that their relationship isn’t anywhere near the casual sex they’ve pretended it is.
He doesn’t know when they went from exclusive stress relief between friends to a relationship that borders on engagement. Long before the two of them kissed for the first time, the lines between professional and personal, friendship and romance blurred, if they had ever existed in the first place. Blood has always run hot between them, from passion, from anger, from concern, from love. It’s never been simple when it comes to them, who they are and what exists between them.
They’ve always known the risks he runs-some of them foolish, most of them necessary-to keep Atlantis safe. He knows it’s her fear that he will leave her behind one day, and she’ll be left to carry on alone. He has always told her that she’s strong enough to endure. On those nights, he swears that he’ll always be with her, even as he holds on to her a little tighter in the darkness as he prays to any powers out there to grant them more time together. Now time has run out for them, but not for him, not for him when, by all measures of possibility, it ought to have been him.
He supposes that he’s always accepted the idea that he will die first-in defense of the city, from old age, in an incredibly idiotic, reckless but necessary act to protect his team-there are a myriad of ways he imagines that he might go. It’s only in his darkest dreams that she dies in his arms, with him powerless to protect her when he should have saved her, kept her safe. But no matter how many times the dream comes, he always has comforted himself with the knowledge that it is only a dream and never a reality. She is safe because the city is safe, and he will do all that he can to ensure it remains that way. That is the vow he makes every morning before he rises and the prayer he makes every night before he sleeps. He’s always had a bargain with the universe that he’ll take whatever it throws at him as long as it leaves her alone. That fragile peace was shattered hours ago when she fell in a hail of glass shards.
Now her blood is staining the ground, and his heart is faltering along with hers.
No miracle can save them now.
~*~*~*~*~
Part III