Fic: Sleep isn't a forte
Title: Sleep isn't a forte.
Pairing/Character: John/Elizabeth
Rating PG
Summary: John thinks that i don't sleep.
Warnings: None really, no spoilers either that i noticed.
Beta: Her royal Kyness.
Disclaimer: Any of the characters, places or television shows depicted in this fic are not owned by me. I am using them simply for the means to entertain and in no way make a profit from the distribution of this story.
Author's Notes: It's short.
Feedback: Is Teh love
John thinks that I don’t sleep.
He thinks that I don’t want to and that the fact I barely eat is due to some overwhelming need to work all of the time, day and night. He doesn’t know that I’m afraid, no one does.
He only knows that I’m not healthy. I’m thin and I can feel that my skin may not be as warm as it should be.
He doesn’t know what it’s like; he can’t possibly understand what I feel.
He wants me to eat, he wants me to sleep. So badly that, some nights, he will wrap his arms around me and hold me firmly to the bed as if it would make me find some peace. But I can’t sleep.
Sometimes I do my best to distract him, with kisses and touches, hoping that maybe, he’ll forget why he’s here.
Sometimes that works.
Other times I’m forced to pretend.
I lay there, staring into the darkened ocean outside my window, wondering what it would be like to feel the comfort that he feels. His presence helps when I’m feeling down, his soft snoring helps me relax, but I still cannot sleep.
One day I’ll admit that I have a problem, one day I’ll tell him about my dreams and he’ll fix them.
But I can’t do it yet, to be an insomniac I cannot admit.
Not yet.
***
Elizabeth thinks that I don’t know.
She thinks that when we lie together in her bed and I listen to her heart beating against my chest, that I don’t hear it remaining constantly steady. I know that she works hard, day and night she does her job the best that she can. I know that it’s not always easy but we try, she tries.
She doesn’t know that I’m afraid. She doesn’t know that I’m scared of what is happening to her, that I know she isn’t healthy and I hate myself for keeping it from Carson.
She doesn’t understand that, just maybe, I might understand how she feels.
I want her to eat, I want her to sleep. Some nights I let her distract me, simply because it pains me so much to watch her pretend. I don’t think she knows that I watch her, that sometimes I lie awake waiting for her to fall asleep. She does eventually, though she may not know it. She sleeps in small fits between waking and the way she squirms makes me think that perhaps it is beyond me to help her.
Then she wakes and she smiles and she runs her fingers through my hair as if she never slept at all and I worry again, because she can’t go on like this.
I’ve convinced myself that being there for her is the best I can do and if that is all I am capable of, I will do it every single night that I can. One day she’ll talk, one dark night she’ll look up at me with those deep green eyes shining in the moonlight and she’ll tell me that she’s afraid.
I’ll tell her that she’s not alone and we’ll work through it together. But I can’t go first. This is her burden and all I can do is guide her way. She’ll tell me, that’s the one thing I am sure of in our future together.
Whether our future will be happy or short, I don’t know, but I do know that she will tell me, when she is ready.
***
They think I don’t see it.
They think that, just because I’m stuck down here in the infirmary all day without so much as a single sign of un-injured civilisation, that I am ignorant to what’s going on. They are both so withdrawn, happy on the outside but churning within. If only they knew that they had the power to help each other.
I know that she doesn’t cry. I know that he doesn’t talk. It’s a rough path to walk when I know that if they could just let go, everything would be different.
Silent conversation is a gift, one that they share and that they use above all other languages that she has mastered. I know that in a briefing, much more is said between the two of them than what is written down in the notes. But that’s not what they need, not for this.
She’s tired a lot; I can see that every time she comes to the infirmary or when she calls me to her office.
She’s told me several times that she just didn’t sleep all that well the previous night, but when it’s four weeks in a row and her beautiful eyes are still tainted with a darkness that should not be, I do not believe her.
He’s told me that he’s tried helping her, tried talking to her, but in the end he’s not very good at that kind of thing. I think I’m the only one that they have told outright about their relationship, heavens knows why. I’m sure that perhaps Teyla knows something, not much slips beneath her radar.
But they confide in me and for that I am very easily confused and humbled.
I tried to give her some sedatives, she promised me that she would try and use them to find some sleep, eventually. I prescribed an eating regimen for her; I’ve seen that she sticks to it. The very rare times that I see her eat.
John’s asked me if it’s causing her damage, if she’s wearing herself out and I really don’t want to break his heart, but I know that if she doesn’t wake up to it soon, she’s going to break. Not only herself but her partner as well.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried for a living person before. I cried when my father died, when my sister was killed in that car accident in Glasgow. But never for a friend who was slowly being destroyed by her nightmares.
That’s all it is, I know that’s what it is.
She’s told me before that she can’t sleep because the faces haunt her. Faces like young Lieutenant Ford, or Dr. Grodin, Dumea or even Colonel Sumner. I know that their faces attack her, that they tell her horrible things that make her fear to sleep.
John’s told me that she tosses and turns, waking several times in the night and he has taken to staying with her. I don’t blame him; he wants her to get passed it as much, if not more, than I do.
I watched them this morning.
They left the briefing together and I wanted to follow, I wanted to know that she was doing better. But his eyes sent me back. I don’t think I’ve even seen a man so…afraid.
It’s not something that will kill her, we both know this and I think she does too, that’s partly why she’s giving in to it. But it’s not helping her. I could use the idea that Atlantis survived 10,000 years without her, 10 hours wouldn’t hurt. But the flaw in that is that Atlantis didn’t survive 10,000 years without her. She was there the entire time, looking over her city the way she does now.
She may not remember it, but a part of her was there, with that other version of her.
She needs to cry, she needs to really cry and I hope that he gives her that chance. He needs to talk to her with more than his eyes and I think he knows that. I’ll keep sending food to her office, I’ll give her sedatives and I’ll make sure he sees her take them and she’ll get better, with time.
She’ll learn to deal, we all will.
She may say she’s not cut out for this, but who really is when it’s all said and done? Who can really prepare themselves for a world like ours?
She’ll be fine.
I know it and even if she’s not, no one else will ever know.
The End.
Pairing/Character: John/Elizabeth
Rating PG
Summary: John thinks that i don't sleep.
Warnings: None really, no spoilers either that i noticed.
Beta: Her royal Kyness.
Disclaimer: Any of the characters, places or television shows depicted in this fic are not owned by me. I am using them simply for the means to entertain and in no way make a profit from the distribution of this story.
Author's Notes: It's short.
Feedback: Is Teh love
John thinks that I don’t sleep.
He thinks that I don’t want to and that the fact I barely eat is due to some overwhelming need to work all of the time, day and night. He doesn’t know that I’m afraid, no one does.
He only knows that I’m not healthy. I’m thin and I can feel that my skin may not be as warm as it should be.
He doesn’t know what it’s like; he can’t possibly understand what I feel.
He wants me to eat, he wants me to sleep. So badly that, some nights, he will wrap his arms around me and hold me firmly to the bed as if it would make me find some peace. But I can’t sleep.
Sometimes I do my best to distract him, with kisses and touches, hoping that maybe, he’ll forget why he’s here.
Sometimes that works.
Other times I’m forced to pretend.
I lay there, staring into the darkened ocean outside my window, wondering what it would be like to feel the comfort that he feels. His presence helps when I’m feeling down, his soft snoring helps me relax, but I still cannot sleep.
One day I’ll admit that I have a problem, one day I’ll tell him about my dreams and he’ll fix them.
But I can’t do it yet, to be an insomniac I cannot admit.
Not yet.
***
Elizabeth thinks that I don’t know.
She thinks that when we lie together in her bed and I listen to her heart beating against my chest, that I don’t hear it remaining constantly steady. I know that she works hard, day and night she does her job the best that she can. I know that it’s not always easy but we try, she tries.
She doesn’t know that I’m afraid. She doesn’t know that I’m scared of what is happening to her, that I know she isn’t healthy and I hate myself for keeping it from Carson.
She doesn’t understand that, just maybe, I might understand how she feels.
I want her to eat, I want her to sleep. Some nights I let her distract me, simply because it pains me so much to watch her pretend. I don’t think she knows that I watch her, that sometimes I lie awake waiting for her to fall asleep. She does eventually, though she may not know it. She sleeps in small fits between waking and the way she squirms makes me think that perhaps it is beyond me to help her.
Then she wakes and she smiles and she runs her fingers through my hair as if she never slept at all and I worry again, because she can’t go on like this.
I’ve convinced myself that being there for her is the best I can do and if that is all I am capable of, I will do it every single night that I can. One day she’ll talk, one dark night she’ll look up at me with those deep green eyes shining in the moonlight and she’ll tell me that she’s afraid.
I’ll tell her that she’s not alone and we’ll work through it together. But I can’t go first. This is her burden and all I can do is guide her way. She’ll tell me, that’s the one thing I am sure of in our future together.
Whether our future will be happy or short, I don’t know, but I do know that she will tell me, when she is ready.
***
They think I don’t see it.
They think that, just because I’m stuck down here in the infirmary all day without so much as a single sign of un-injured civilisation, that I am ignorant to what’s going on. They are both so withdrawn, happy on the outside but churning within. If only they knew that they had the power to help each other.
I know that she doesn’t cry. I know that he doesn’t talk. It’s a rough path to walk when I know that if they could just let go, everything would be different.
Silent conversation is a gift, one that they share and that they use above all other languages that she has mastered. I know that in a briefing, much more is said between the two of them than what is written down in the notes. But that’s not what they need, not for this.
She’s tired a lot; I can see that every time she comes to the infirmary or when she calls me to her office.
She’s told me several times that she just didn’t sleep all that well the previous night, but when it’s four weeks in a row and her beautiful eyes are still tainted with a darkness that should not be, I do not believe her.
He’s told me that he’s tried helping her, tried talking to her, but in the end he’s not very good at that kind of thing. I think I’m the only one that they have told outright about their relationship, heavens knows why. I’m sure that perhaps Teyla knows something, not much slips beneath her radar.
But they confide in me and for that I am very easily confused and humbled.
I tried to give her some sedatives, she promised me that she would try and use them to find some sleep, eventually. I prescribed an eating regimen for her; I’ve seen that she sticks to it. The very rare times that I see her eat.
John’s asked me if it’s causing her damage, if she’s wearing herself out and I really don’t want to break his heart, but I know that if she doesn’t wake up to it soon, she’s going to break. Not only herself but her partner as well.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried for a living person before. I cried when my father died, when my sister was killed in that car accident in Glasgow. But never for a friend who was slowly being destroyed by her nightmares.
That’s all it is, I know that’s what it is.
She’s told me before that she can’t sleep because the faces haunt her. Faces like young Lieutenant Ford, or Dr. Grodin, Dumea or even Colonel Sumner. I know that their faces attack her, that they tell her horrible things that make her fear to sleep.
John’s told me that she tosses and turns, waking several times in the night and he has taken to staying with her. I don’t blame him; he wants her to get passed it as much, if not more, than I do.
I watched them this morning.
They left the briefing together and I wanted to follow, I wanted to know that she was doing better. But his eyes sent me back. I don’t think I’ve even seen a man so…afraid.
It’s not something that will kill her, we both know this and I think she does too, that’s partly why she’s giving in to it. But it’s not helping her. I could use the idea that Atlantis survived 10,000 years without her, 10 hours wouldn’t hurt. But the flaw in that is that Atlantis didn’t survive 10,000 years without her. She was there the entire time, looking over her city the way she does now.
She may not remember it, but a part of her was there, with that other version of her.
She needs to cry, she needs to really cry and I hope that he gives her that chance. He needs to talk to her with more than his eyes and I think he knows that. I’ll keep sending food to her office, I’ll give her sedatives and I’ll make sure he sees her take them and she’ll get better, with time.
She’ll learn to deal, we all will.
She may say she’s not cut out for this, but who really is when it’s all said and done? Who can really prepare themselves for a world like ours?
She’ll be fine.
I know it and even if she’s not, no one else will ever know.
The End.