x. late christmas presents. [sparky]
pixilove66
pixilove66: Erm ... fic please. Something seasonal and fluffy and sparky :D
so then. Fic, that is semi-fluffy, definitely seasonal, and Sparky.
untitled
Sparky, AU-ish. [Goes AU from "First Strike" and assumes that Elizabeth was left severely injured and partially paralyzed from her injuries during the Asuran attack and was ordered back to Earth to recover. This is roughly months later or so.]
a/n: This was meant to be posted at Christmas, but I suck because it was only half ready then, my Sparky muse is a little lethargic *pout*. It's still not beta'd, I wasn't sure who to poke about that.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
At the soft noise, Elizabeth Weir looked up from the soft leather bound journal she was writing in. From the easy chair she was curled up in, she could just catch a glimpse of swirling whiteness outside her window. Snowflakes fell to the ground in a chaotic dance, blowing in several directions seemingly at once. But the window was fine. Perhaps the noise had only been her imagination, a product of wishful thinking and a desire to believe in Christmas miracles.
Her eyes dropped back to the book she held, pen hesitating on a letter yet to be written. The journal was already filled with most of her Christmas letters to be sent along with the next mail delivery to Atlantis, but this last one made her pause and wonder what she could say to its recipient without sounding melancholy and homesick.
And what to say to the one person you trust with your life, your heart, and everything else. John Sheppard had been her rock, her confidante, and her protector; even when she hadn't needed one, it had been nice to know someone cared enough to want to.
They had been somewhere close to more than even that when Atlantis was attacked.
Being recalled to Earth after the Asuran strike was difficult, even more so than the first time. Despite having distanced herself from the others and trying to move on back then, it had been comforting to know that they were at least on the same planet and in the same galaxy.
This time she was alone, recovering from her injuries and still receiving physical therapy twice a week at the mountain to help her regain mobility. She suspected it was Colonel O'Neill's way of keeping tabs on her, if discreetly, for her people back in Atlantis.
She missed her home though. And its people- one in particular, whose letter was currently a blank page with a rapidly growing ink spot on it. It was a familiar dilemma for her- in the months since she'd been earthside, a steady stream of letters went between them that she grew to appreciate as a lifeline. She still didn't know what to write, though.
Another few seconds and she flipped to a new page and started, albeit slowly.
John,
(See? I didn't say "Dear John." It would be cliché anyways, so I'm refraining. Now stop smirking.)
I hope this letter finds you happy and well. I can’t lie to you very well, so I won’t say that things are going exactly the way I want them to, but I’m slowly adjusting to the changes. Did you know that I'm having to relearn the constellations? It's confusing, but it gives me something to do.
That sounds so very melancholy doesn't it? I don't want you to worry. The truth is, I'm doing alright, or as well as can be. I'm past the crutches and using a cane now, it's progress. Tell everyone-
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She paused mid-sentence and looked up.
Fwump. A snowball, or what was left of one, slid down the window.
Counting her blessings that at least she'd managed to start the letter, she set the journal down and stood, leaning heavily on the dark wooden cane as she limped her way to the window.
She didn't know what exactly she'd been expecting. She knew who she wished it might be, hoped really. But when Elizabeth looked outside, the last person she actually expected to see was John Sheppard standing in the ankle deep snow in front of her building and looking far too pleased with himself. Well, second to last, maybe- there was always Santa Claus, Elizabeth thought, smiling. She blinked, almost not believing her eyes, but he was still standing there afterwards, and motioning wildly at her.
Opening the window let in an icy gust of air, and she shivered slightly and peered down at him.
"John, what...?"
"Merry Christmas," he called, grinning and hiding one arm behind his back and waving with the other. She couldn't help but smile- Christmas was starting to look up. He met her eyes for a few seconds, and then faltered, rather adorably.
"Uhh, Elizabeth? I know you've got your 'cone of silence' thing going up there, but can you buzz me up? I'm freezing out here," he added sheepishly.
Suddenly nudged out of her shocked silence, Elizabeth nodded apologetically.
"Of course, I’ll go..." she trailed off, gesturing towards the entrance.
Elizabeth suspected John must’ve ran up the stairs instead of taking the elevator to the third floor, as he was knocking restlessly on her door less than a minute after she pressed the small button next to the intercom.
She swung the door open and John was right there, holding a small, wrapped box and standing on the threshold of her apartment with half melted snowflakes in his predictably unruly hair, and a ridiculously bright red sweater for protection against the cold. On closer inspection, there were dancing reindeer and green snowflakes on it and slightly dark spots where large snowflakes had melted. The sweater was definitely the tipping point. She hadn’t been entirely sure she wasn’t imagining it all until then, but... there was no way her imagination would’ve put him in something that absurd looking.
He grinned, the same familiar smile that slipped into her thoughts far more often than she would ever admit. "Hi."
"John," she started, planning on a ‘Merry Christmas,’ or a ‘how on earth are you on earth?’ or even just a simple ‘hello.’
Instead, a curiously amused "Who the hell’s fault is that sweater?" came out.
John shook his head, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
"Rodney," he grumbled, as if that explained everything and set the small wrapped box he'd hid behind his back earlier on the table.
Turning, he smirked at her. "And hi to you too, Elizabeth."
"I was getting to that. The sweater is a little... ‘distracting,’" she pointed out, picking up on his playful mood.
"I told you- blame Rodney."
Since that was his standard answer for a lot of things, she asked one of the other questions on her mind. "How are you even here, John?"
"It's Christmas," he answered simply, and pulled her into a hug. Letting the cane fall to the ground, Elizabeth returned it, leaning into him and finally relaxing for the first time in far too long. A minute later she backed up and met his gaze.
"Hello."
He nodded almost hesitantly and leaned down to kiss her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, offering a soft smile.
"Merry Christmas."
eta the "dear John" thing? It's kinda just part of my mental canon for this AU, the idea of John telling her to stay in touch and not write anything that came close to starting with "Dear John".
pixilove66: Erm ... fic please. Something seasonal and fluffy and sparky :D
so then. Fic, that is semi-fluffy, definitely seasonal, and Sparky.
untitled
Sparky, AU-ish. [Goes AU from "First Strike" and assumes that Elizabeth was left severely injured and partially paralyzed from her injuries during the Asuran attack and was ordered back to Earth to recover. This is roughly months later or so.]
a/n: This was meant to be posted at Christmas, but I suck because it was only half ready then, my Sparky muse is a little lethargic *pout*. It's still not beta'd, I wasn't sure who to poke about that.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
At the soft noise, Elizabeth Weir looked up from the soft leather bound journal she was writing in. From the easy chair she was curled up in, she could just catch a glimpse of swirling whiteness outside her window. Snowflakes fell to the ground in a chaotic dance, blowing in several directions seemingly at once. But the window was fine. Perhaps the noise had only been her imagination, a product of wishful thinking and a desire to believe in Christmas miracles.
Her eyes dropped back to the book she held, pen hesitating on a letter yet to be written. The journal was already filled with most of her Christmas letters to be sent along with the next mail delivery to Atlantis, but this last one made her pause and wonder what she could say to its recipient without sounding melancholy and homesick.
And what to say to the one person you trust with your life, your heart, and everything else. John Sheppard had been her rock, her confidante, and her protector; even when she hadn't needed one, it had been nice to know someone cared enough to want to.
They had been somewhere close to more than even that when Atlantis was attacked.
Being recalled to Earth after the Asuran strike was difficult, even more so than the first time. Despite having distanced herself from the others and trying to move on back then, it had been comforting to know that they were at least on the same planet and in the same galaxy.
This time she was alone, recovering from her injuries and still receiving physical therapy twice a week at the mountain to help her regain mobility. She suspected it was Colonel O'Neill's way of keeping tabs on her, if discreetly, for her people back in Atlantis.
She missed her home though. And its people- one in particular, whose letter was currently a blank page with a rapidly growing ink spot on it. It was a familiar dilemma for her- in the months since she'd been earthside, a steady stream of letters went between them that she grew to appreciate as a lifeline. She still didn't know what to write, though.
Another few seconds and she flipped to a new page and started, albeit slowly.
John,
(See? I didn't say "Dear John." It would be cliché anyways, so I'm refraining. Now stop smirking.)
I hope this letter finds you happy and well. I can’t lie to you very well, so I won’t say that things are going exactly the way I want them to, but I’m slowly adjusting to the changes. Did you know that I'm having to relearn the constellations? It's confusing, but it gives me something to do.
That sounds so very melancholy doesn't it? I don't want you to worry. The truth is, I'm doing alright, or as well as can be. I'm past the crutches and using a cane now, it's progress. Tell everyone-
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She paused mid-sentence and looked up.
Fwump. A snowball, or what was left of one, slid down the window.
Counting her blessings that at least she'd managed to start the letter, she set the journal down and stood, leaning heavily on the dark wooden cane as she limped her way to the window.
She didn't know what exactly she'd been expecting. She knew who she wished it might be, hoped really. But when Elizabeth looked outside, the last person she actually expected to see was John Sheppard standing in the ankle deep snow in front of her building and looking far too pleased with himself. Well, second to last, maybe- there was always Santa Claus, Elizabeth thought, smiling. She blinked, almost not believing her eyes, but he was still standing there afterwards, and motioning wildly at her.
Opening the window let in an icy gust of air, and she shivered slightly and peered down at him.
"John, what...?"
"Merry Christmas," he called, grinning and hiding one arm behind his back and waving with the other. She couldn't help but smile- Christmas was starting to look up. He met her eyes for a few seconds, and then faltered, rather adorably.
"Uhh, Elizabeth? I know you've got your 'cone of silence' thing going up there, but can you buzz me up? I'm freezing out here," he added sheepishly.
Suddenly nudged out of her shocked silence, Elizabeth nodded apologetically.
"Of course, I’ll go..." she trailed off, gesturing towards the entrance.
Elizabeth suspected John must’ve ran up the stairs instead of taking the elevator to the third floor, as he was knocking restlessly on her door less than a minute after she pressed the small button next to the intercom.
She swung the door open and John was right there, holding a small, wrapped box and standing on the threshold of her apartment with half melted snowflakes in his predictably unruly hair, and a ridiculously bright red sweater for protection against the cold. On closer inspection, there were dancing reindeer and green snowflakes on it and slightly dark spots where large snowflakes had melted. The sweater was definitely the tipping point. She hadn’t been entirely sure she wasn’t imagining it all until then, but... there was no way her imagination would’ve put him in something that absurd looking.
He grinned, the same familiar smile that slipped into her thoughts far more often than she would ever admit. "Hi."
"John," she started, planning on a ‘Merry Christmas,’ or a ‘how on earth are you on earth?’ or even just a simple ‘hello.’
Instead, a curiously amused "Who the hell’s fault is that sweater?" came out.
John shook his head, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
"Rodney," he grumbled, as if that explained everything and set the small wrapped box he'd hid behind his back earlier on the table.
Turning, he smirked at her. "And hi to you too, Elizabeth."
"I was getting to that. The sweater is a little... ‘distracting,’" she pointed out, picking up on his playful mood.
"I told you- blame Rodney."
Since that was his standard answer for a lot of things, she asked one of the other questions on her mind. "How are you even here, John?"
"It's Christmas," he answered simply, and pulled her into a hug. Letting the cane fall to the ground, Elizabeth returned it, leaning into him and finally relaxing for the first time in far too long. A minute later she backed up and met his gaze.
"Hello."
He nodded almost hesitantly and leaned down to kiss her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, offering a soft smile.
"Merry Christmas."
eta the "dear John" thing? It's kinda just part of my mental canon for this AU, the idea of John telling her to stay in touch and not write anything that came close to starting with "Dear John".