Drifting on a lonely sea
Two weeks later I have finally completed an entry to turn in *throws confetti*
Hope it works for ya :)
Title: Drifting On A Lonely Sea
Author: icarus_abides
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Nothing major I think, and nothing beyond Season 2
Author’s Note: Bad Icarus and your procrastination! *slaps hand* Written for swficathon, if a wee bit late, for dirty_diana who requested Atlantians losing the war, a first-time, and angst. Hope this, err, works for ya. Much thanks to my betas familyarchives and chiarahhue and their awesome turnaround on the job :) Lastly, I got the title from a spectacular JAG fanfic by Tracy because I thought it fit really well, but the similarities end there ;)
“For you I’d wait, till kingdom come.
Until my days, my days are done.
So say you’ll come, and set me free.
Just say you’ll wait, you’ll wait for me.”
- Coldplay “Kingdom Come”
i/
When the Wraith empire comes crashing down, he realizes that there is no feeling but a dull numbness permeating his body.
He muses that opposing forces of utter relief and sheer terror have balanced themselves out into some sort of emotional equilibrium.
They may not even know how to function at this point without the constant threat of Wraith domination looming over them, but John’s sure that Atlantis, and hundreds of other worlds, will find a way. He should find it easier to smile, to enjoy things, now that they’re to this point. But, if anything, his insides knot just a bit tighter. The presence of this unknown new superpower who had, literally, exterminated such a dominant species as the Wraith overnight, weighed heavily on his mind.
Their greatest weakness is the unknown enemy. Years of military situations have taught John a valuable lesson and, while the civilians and soldiers of Atlantis celebrate with an almost giddy ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ type of mindset, John is well aware that it does not hold as a universal theory.
He doesn’t know how to protect them now, a realization that hits him with a nauseating blow to the gut as he stands on the inside control room balcony overlooking the Atlantis Stargate. Music dances through the festivities as a small group of Athosian men sit playing various string and piped instruments in the middle of the stone ring. At one point, several years ago, the Athosian wine (which John is certain that other societies use as a sort of paint thinner) was the only intoxicating substance to imbibe. Now, a myriad of liquor bottles sit around the room, another reminder of their connection to Earth.
Of how far they have come.
Of how much they have to lose.
He sighs, bending over slightly to rest his forehead between his two hands against the cool metal of the handrail. A movement to the left catches his eye, and he turns to catch a flash of her as she stands leaning casually against the back wall of her office. She’s bathed shades of grey, the shadows hiding most of her, save for the soft lightness of her face. It is a stark contrast to the gayety downstairs, and he is immediately drawn to it.
To her.
He rightens himself and realizes a split second too late that he should not straighten up that quickly, and grasps the rail tighter in one hand even as he sways lightheadedly and takes one hard, jerky step to retain his balance.
She starts at that, jumping at the unknown presence. He knows that she can’t have been there long, he can always tell when she’s nearby.
‘Something about the hair on the back of my neck and the warmth in the bottom of my stomach and the smile that I can never quite get completely rid of.’ He shakes his head lightly as the unencumbered inner monologue of a drunk seeps into his consciousness, hoping that its influence disappears before he decides to open his mouth.
She’s still looking at him, an expression on her face that he just can’t seem to be able to decipher. Which is odd, he thinks, because he can usually read her so easily. It isn’t until he has taken a few steps towards her, much steadier now on only slightly drunken legs, that he fully recognizes it.
And he should, because it’s like looking into a mirror.
He has never wanted to touch her so badly, to wrap his arms around her and squeeze, to convince himself that she is real and she is here with him. She knows exactly what he feels and he immediately feels stronger for it.
Here, in this sea of celebration and naive joy, they are the island, staying solid for the others to rely upon if need be.
The happy sounds of the swarm in the room beneath them filter up through her open office door as he swiftly closes the distance between them, pulling her body into his as she slides her arms around his waist. Two breaths release almost simultaneously. He can feel the tell tale burning of tears on his neck (which he ignores) and she is beyond grateful for that (which he knows and she knows he knows).
The floor almost slides up to meet them, rather than them to the floor, and they end with his back up against it, arms gently encircling her shoulders. Her warm breaths puff a steady rhythm against the bare skin of the side of his neck as his heartbeat becomes a soothing lullaby. Together, they drift, floating on the cusp of consciousness as the partygoers carry on.
It is only when she’s soundly asleep against his chest that he finds enough strength to relax, and in the pale light the silent tear leaves a silver river down his cheek as he clings to her.
His lifeline.
ii/
The Genii have said that negotiations with this new power, the Ta’leesh, are straightforward and ‘simple enough for even a human to understand’. John takes this with a grain of salt, cautiously optimistic as he waits the return of the diplomatic party which deployed two days prior.
They arrive within the hour, exhausted but happy with decidedly less stress among the group than when they had left. He stands at the bottom of the gate room steps, eyes eagerly searching the crowd of formal negotiators and uniformed soldiers until he finally spots her. Hovering on the outskirts, only half-focusing on the excited talk of two tall colorfully cloaked black men, she catches his eye with hers and he can feel a worried tension that he didn’t even know was there melt from between his shoulder blades.
She is safe now, returned to Atlantis. Returned to him.
He had not realized how little the outcome of their meeting had mattered to him. And when she steps towards him, crossing the distance of the floor between them with quick certain steps, he does not ask the standard question of how the peace talks went. Instead, all he wants to know is if she is okay and she answers him with a shaky laugh in the affirmative.
He reaches out for her, pulling her lips to his before either has a chance to think.
Thinking too much has always been a problem of theirs.
He prefers to analyze other things instead - the feel of her tongue sneaking into his mouth, the light taste of her in his mouth, her fingers running through his hair to trace his hairline, her upper body pressing firmly into his as she seeks more contact. It’s like a bit of heaven here, as he tastes this forbidden fruit truly for the first time (excluding occurrences of alien possession, innocent drunken flirtation, and strategically placed mistletoe).
The others in the room, a interesting mix of Atlantian civilians, military soldiers, and high ranking officials, either don’t notice or are choosing to ignore the blatant breach of regulations taking place mere feet from them. For their part, the two Atlantian leaders do the same to them, the only thing really registering in John’s mind being the light chuckling nearby of what sounds suspiciously like General O’Neill.
They break apart after minutes which seem like hours, panting slightly and when she laughs breathlessly at his expression (which he can only imagine is somewhere between stunned and exuberant), he thinks that this is the moment he wants to remember forever.
Less than an hour later, as they abandon everyone for their own company, he feels the need to revise that statement as the sweat drips down his forehead onto her, she twists beneath him, sliding her legs higher up over the curve of his hips, and pleading with him for more.
She tastes of salt and sweat and Elizabeth and he wants to cry as he wonders, for just a second, how he has gone so long without this. How he has gone so long without her.
Moments later, he does cry, but with a harsh groan of her name rather than stinging tears. Her moans subside as they come down, slowly finding their way back to the tangible world as they collapse among the cotton sheets of his bed.
He rolls over, pulling her with him so that they lie side-to-side facing one another.
She talks in whispers, the verbal autobiography of a book he never wants to finish.
He listens, learns, and when she stops, he does the same, wondering how it is so easy to do this with her and not anyone else.
Two tales become one as the hours wear on. Atlantis settles into a peaceful slumber and, as the sun gives the first hints of its oncoming rise, the two lovers finally sleep. Clinging to one another tightly, possessively, as the ocean waves crash below.
iii/
There are days now where he prays for the return of the Wraith.
The successors of the species which once plagued entire galaxies, the Ta’leesh, have proven themselves to be infinitely more dangerous. If one could compare the Wraith to something of a virus, replicating themselves over and over again by sucking the life out of others, the Ta’leesh are a cancer, infecting everything that it touches, not by destroying, but transforming until the victims become the enemy.
John has never thought that there would be a time where he would be forced to kill so many of his own people. Disturbingly vivid dreams haunt him on a nightly basis, running a grim parallel between the pre-Atlantian life that he had been trying to escape and the more recent transgressions on his own people.
She has tried to reason with him, to convince him that these... zombies (the term that Carson had initially attributed to the Ta’leesh; which probably freaked him out more than anything else seeing as how it was coming from an honest to god doctor) are no longer human. Ortiz is not Ortiz, Browne is not Browne, Lorne is no longer Lorne. ‘These are not our people!’ She screams at him, a theory which he refuses to believe until he has pumped a dozen rounds into the former Captain Santiago of the Daedalus crew as the creature corners her in the Atlantis gate room.
Captain Santiago had been a good man. But John knows immediately that it was no longer his bloody body that slumps to the floor. And John also knows that it didn’t matter whether it had really been the Captain or not, he would have shot anyway.
She stands facing him now, back firmly against the wall, finger finally releasing its grip on the trigger of the firearm in her hand. The clip has long since been emptied into one of the half dozen of so former Atlantis members littering the floor, and the hollow click-click-click of the empty weapon echoes painfully loud in her ears, like a temporarily postponed cadence of death.
Wide, tearful eyes meet his gaze and he is almost amused at the sense of deja vu which creeps over him as he questions if she’s okay and she shakes her head, answering him with a dazed, honest ‘No’. He reaches for her hand again, urging her to come with him, just as he did years ago. Just as before, she grabs for him with no hesitation, but this time their fingers slide together with a slick coating of warm blood.
They run for the gate together, sprinting around the corner to see the last human Atlantis expedition members flee Ta’leesh infected bodies of people that had once considered the closest of friends. Corporals Blake and Thompson lay the last line of defense as, together, they flee Atlantis.
She does not even have the chance for a final look at the city which they had rediscovered, rebuilt, and then destroyed in the span of three years.
Instead, she grabs him, clinging to safety as they are thrown together through the event horizon into the warm saltiness of an ocean she has never seen on a planet she has never visited.
When they break through to the surface, they buoy one another, gasping for breath as their run from hell subsides. Around them, others start to surface, immediately heading for the nearby shoreline where about a dozen other refugees stand calling to them.
They make no move to swim, just float. And he leans his face to hers, kissing her hard, as she kisses him back. Teeth scrape against skin and she can taste the bitter copper of blood on her tongue; a scant sacrifice compared to the amount of blood spilled today in Atlantis.
In what used to be ‘home’.
The thought makes her sob, deep down in the back of her throat where it burns dully. He swallows the sound, keeping himself firmly attached to her, and she thinks that she hears a small similar noise from him.
Now when she tastes the salt on his lips, she cannot tell whether they’re from her, him, or the ocean dancing around them.
iv/
There was once when he truly thought he had lost her. Lost her to this demon species hellbent on their destruction.
Now he knows that he is losing her.
But at least he is here with her; and she with him.
And, somehow in all this madness, that is at least some small bit of consolation that he is eternally grateful for.
She looks at him steadily, telling him how she isn’t afraid. He’s not sure whether the reassurance is more for his benefit, or for hers.
Either way, he thinks that it helps the both of them, as he repeats her sentiments and reaches down to brush a stray lock of brunette hair out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. I used to do that, in bed, naked, her staring up at me, laughing, relaxed, kissing, touching, feeling, the way her pillow smells when she’s gone, that groan deep in her throat as she says my name, the swell of her breast right here and curve of her hip right there, oh god. He swallows hard, closing his eyes and looking away from her.
She reaches for his hand, silently begging for him to come back, and he cannot deny her. Fingers weaving with one another, he opens watery eyes to look at her face again. She is crying and he feels enormously guilty for making her. They slide down her cheeks, cutting paths through the dry blood caked there. His fingers fall to the bond of their hands between them, choosing to ignore the gaping wound winding down her forearm, the blood dripping steadily to the sand beneath them. He doesn’t want to remember her with that. He bypasses the awkward angle her right knee lies at and the large crimson stain spreading over the left side of her abdomen.
She is doing the same, reaching up with her other hand as best she can (holding back the hiss of pain that the movement incites) to run it through his dark unruly hair. I could make him purr with that, wiggle underneath my fingers as I hit justtherightspot, until teasing led to wrestling, and I was on the bottom, his weight pushing me down, pushing me all over, smelling the dark sweat of him, the light in his eyes when he whispered my name.
This will be the last time for this.
They sit together on the beach that they have called home for the past two months, able to live here undetected for that long at least, all the while knowing that their enemy was steadily creeping up to their front door. This planet was basically an unknown, with no inhabitants and no DHD to provide a usable Stargate. The fourteen survivors of the Atlantis expedition had heard nothing of Earth, or any other civilization that had encountered.
The apocalypse had arrived just after sunrise this morning.
Almost as if they had been able to sense it, the pair of Atlantian commanders had awoken earlier than usual. The last of the stars had been fading in the velvet sky as John had led her down to a beach, pulled her back to his front and sat them under the shelter of one of the island’s turquoise-tinged palm tree equivalents. The first sun had peeked over the edge of the world less than half an hour later, climbing gradually higher until its younger brother arrived. The world changed from midnight to purple to streaks of red and orange and yellow, before finally deciding to calm back down to a gentle deep, clear blue.
Elizabeth whispered that it was perfect, and he felt the light vibration of her voice shiver through his chest. He agreed, brushing his lips against her ear as her told her, then laying his chin on her lightly clothed shoulder.
Looking back now, he knows that they both knew.
Mere hours since they watched the sunrise this morning, they gather beneath the same tree. Miles behind them, far deeper into the land’s interior, their makeshift camp burns. The invaders had allowed them to escape, knowing full well that the duo would not last very long. Of fourteen, only the two remain human.
That will change as the infection spreads within them.
They don’t bother to attempt to patch themselves up, both knowing full well the futility of such a gesture. Instead they sit, back to front, as she relaxes between his legs, forearms resting on his strong thighs. His fingers, dry and blistered, yet still somehow more tender than she can imagine, run smoothly over her hand to wrists and around.
The poison is working in their bodies right now.
Not just that of the Ta’leesh infection, but one of human design. And they are both fully aware the the Earth based will produce faster results.
They will not allow themselves to be used as puppets.
They will not be responsible for more death, more suffering.
The energy is leaving his body faster now and he nuzzles his face into the dark curls of her hair, kissing her lovingly behind her ear as he grips her tightly to him with one arm around her waist and the other around her chest.
“I love you, Elizabeth,” he whispers, the first time he has said it out loud to her rather than just tell her with a smile or a wink or a kiss as he usually did.
He can’t see her smile, but he knows she is and can picture it in his mind.
It’s absolutely beautiful as he hears her say “I love you too, John.”
Her body relaxes into him and, as he feels her full weight against him, he immediately knows that she is gone.
Clinging to her, he closes his eyes tightly, choking back the sobs that threaten to escape. His last memories are now. He can smell her hair, feel her around him, hear the waves crashing on the beach in front of them.
He remembers Atlantis, lying naked next to her with open windows carrying in the soft distant sounds of an Atlantian lullaby as the ocean lapped at the sides of their great city.
On the sandy beach of planet no one knows exists, he holds her. His now cold cheek chills the solitary tear that has fallen, the ghost of a smile frozen on his features.
He will find her again, his lifeline.
Hope it works for ya :)
Title: Drifting On A Lonely Sea
Author: icarus_abides
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Nothing major I think, and nothing beyond Season 2
Author’s Note: Bad Icarus and your procrastination! *slaps hand* Written for swficathon, if a wee bit late, for dirty_diana who requested Atlantians losing the war, a first-time, and angst. Hope this, err, works for ya. Much thanks to my betas familyarchives and chiarahhue and their awesome turnaround on the job :) Lastly, I got the title from a spectacular JAG fanfic by Tracy because I thought it fit really well, but the similarities end there ;)
“For you I’d wait, till kingdom come.
Until my days, my days are done.
So say you’ll come, and set me free.
Just say you’ll wait, you’ll wait for me.”
- Coldplay “Kingdom Come”
i/
When the Wraith empire comes crashing down, he realizes that there is no feeling but a dull numbness permeating his body.
He muses that opposing forces of utter relief and sheer terror have balanced themselves out into some sort of emotional equilibrium.
They may not even know how to function at this point without the constant threat of Wraith domination looming over them, but John’s sure that Atlantis, and hundreds of other worlds, will find a way. He should find it easier to smile, to enjoy things, now that they’re to this point. But, if anything, his insides knot just a bit tighter. The presence of this unknown new superpower who had, literally, exterminated such a dominant species as the Wraith overnight, weighed heavily on his mind.
Their greatest weakness is the unknown enemy. Years of military situations have taught John a valuable lesson and, while the civilians and soldiers of Atlantis celebrate with an almost giddy ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ type of mindset, John is well aware that it does not hold as a universal theory.
He doesn’t know how to protect them now, a realization that hits him with a nauseating blow to the gut as he stands on the inside control room balcony overlooking the Atlantis Stargate. Music dances through the festivities as a small group of Athosian men sit playing various string and piped instruments in the middle of the stone ring. At one point, several years ago, the Athosian wine (which John is certain that other societies use as a sort of paint thinner) was the only intoxicating substance to imbibe. Now, a myriad of liquor bottles sit around the room, another reminder of their connection to Earth.
Of how far they have come.
Of how much they have to lose.
He sighs, bending over slightly to rest his forehead between his two hands against the cool metal of the handrail. A movement to the left catches his eye, and he turns to catch a flash of her as she stands leaning casually against the back wall of her office. She’s bathed shades of grey, the shadows hiding most of her, save for the soft lightness of her face. It is a stark contrast to the gayety downstairs, and he is immediately drawn to it.
To her.
He rightens himself and realizes a split second too late that he should not straighten up that quickly, and grasps the rail tighter in one hand even as he sways lightheadedly and takes one hard, jerky step to retain his balance.
She starts at that, jumping at the unknown presence. He knows that she can’t have been there long, he can always tell when she’s nearby.
‘Something about the hair on the back of my neck and the warmth in the bottom of my stomach and the smile that I can never quite get completely rid of.’ He shakes his head lightly as the unencumbered inner monologue of a drunk seeps into his consciousness, hoping that its influence disappears before he decides to open his mouth.
She’s still looking at him, an expression on her face that he just can’t seem to be able to decipher. Which is odd, he thinks, because he can usually read her so easily. It isn’t until he has taken a few steps towards her, much steadier now on only slightly drunken legs, that he fully recognizes it.
And he should, because it’s like looking into a mirror.
He has never wanted to touch her so badly, to wrap his arms around her and squeeze, to convince himself that she is real and she is here with him. She knows exactly what he feels and he immediately feels stronger for it.
Here, in this sea of celebration and naive joy, they are the island, staying solid for the others to rely upon if need be.
The happy sounds of the swarm in the room beneath them filter up through her open office door as he swiftly closes the distance between them, pulling her body into his as she slides her arms around his waist. Two breaths release almost simultaneously. He can feel the tell tale burning of tears on his neck (which he ignores) and she is beyond grateful for that (which he knows and she knows he knows).
The floor almost slides up to meet them, rather than them to the floor, and they end with his back up against it, arms gently encircling her shoulders. Her warm breaths puff a steady rhythm against the bare skin of the side of his neck as his heartbeat becomes a soothing lullaby. Together, they drift, floating on the cusp of consciousness as the partygoers carry on.
It is only when she’s soundly asleep against his chest that he finds enough strength to relax, and in the pale light the silent tear leaves a silver river down his cheek as he clings to her.
His lifeline.
ii/
The Genii have said that negotiations with this new power, the Ta’leesh, are straightforward and ‘simple enough for even a human to understand’. John takes this with a grain of salt, cautiously optimistic as he waits the return of the diplomatic party which deployed two days prior.
They arrive within the hour, exhausted but happy with decidedly less stress among the group than when they had left. He stands at the bottom of the gate room steps, eyes eagerly searching the crowd of formal negotiators and uniformed soldiers until he finally spots her. Hovering on the outskirts, only half-focusing on the excited talk of two tall colorfully cloaked black men, she catches his eye with hers and he can feel a worried tension that he didn’t even know was there melt from between his shoulder blades.
She is safe now, returned to Atlantis. Returned to him.
He had not realized how little the outcome of their meeting had mattered to him. And when she steps towards him, crossing the distance of the floor between them with quick certain steps, he does not ask the standard question of how the peace talks went. Instead, all he wants to know is if she is okay and she answers him with a shaky laugh in the affirmative.
He reaches out for her, pulling her lips to his before either has a chance to think.
Thinking too much has always been a problem of theirs.
He prefers to analyze other things instead - the feel of her tongue sneaking into his mouth, the light taste of her in his mouth, her fingers running through his hair to trace his hairline, her upper body pressing firmly into his as she seeks more contact. It’s like a bit of heaven here, as he tastes this forbidden fruit truly for the first time (excluding occurrences of alien possession, innocent drunken flirtation, and strategically placed mistletoe).
The others in the room, a interesting mix of Atlantian civilians, military soldiers, and high ranking officials, either don’t notice or are choosing to ignore the blatant breach of regulations taking place mere feet from them. For their part, the two Atlantian leaders do the same to them, the only thing really registering in John’s mind being the light chuckling nearby of what sounds suspiciously like General O’Neill.
They break apart after minutes which seem like hours, panting slightly and when she laughs breathlessly at his expression (which he can only imagine is somewhere between stunned and exuberant), he thinks that this is the moment he wants to remember forever.
Less than an hour later, as they abandon everyone for their own company, he feels the need to revise that statement as the sweat drips down his forehead onto her, she twists beneath him, sliding her legs higher up over the curve of his hips, and pleading with him for more.
She tastes of salt and sweat and Elizabeth and he wants to cry as he wonders, for just a second, how he has gone so long without this. How he has gone so long without her.
Moments later, he does cry, but with a harsh groan of her name rather than stinging tears. Her moans subside as they come down, slowly finding their way back to the tangible world as they collapse among the cotton sheets of his bed.
He rolls over, pulling her with him so that they lie side-to-side facing one another.
She talks in whispers, the verbal autobiography of a book he never wants to finish.
He listens, learns, and when she stops, he does the same, wondering how it is so easy to do this with her and not anyone else.
Two tales become one as the hours wear on. Atlantis settles into a peaceful slumber and, as the sun gives the first hints of its oncoming rise, the two lovers finally sleep. Clinging to one another tightly, possessively, as the ocean waves crash below.
iii/
There are days now where he prays for the return of the Wraith.
The successors of the species which once plagued entire galaxies, the Ta’leesh, have proven themselves to be infinitely more dangerous. If one could compare the Wraith to something of a virus, replicating themselves over and over again by sucking the life out of others, the Ta’leesh are a cancer, infecting everything that it touches, not by destroying, but transforming until the victims become the enemy.
John has never thought that there would be a time where he would be forced to kill so many of his own people. Disturbingly vivid dreams haunt him on a nightly basis, running a grim parallel between the pre-Atlantian life that he had been trying to escape and the more recent transgressions on his own people.
She has tried to reason with him, to convince him that these... zombies (the term that Carson had initially attributed to the Ta’leesh; which probably freaked him out more than anything else seeing as how it was coming from an honest to god doctor) are no longer human. Ortiz is not Ortiz, Browne is not Browne, Lorne is no longer Lorne. ‘These are not our people!’ She screams at him, a theory which he refuses to believe until he has pumped a dozen rounds into the former Captain Santiago of the Daedalus crew as the creature corners her in the Atlantis gate room.
Captain Santiago had been a good man. But John knows immediately that it was no longer his bloody body that slumps to the floor. And John also knows that it didn’t matter whether it had really been the Captain or not, he would have shot anyway.
She stands facing him now, back firmly against the wall, finger finally releasing its grip on the trigger of the firearm in her hand. The clip has long since been emptied into one of the half dozen of so former Atlantis members littering the floor, and the hollow click-click-click of the empty weapon echoes painfully loud in her ears, like a temporarily postponed cadence of death.
Wide, tearful eyes meet his gaze and he is almost amused at the sense of deja vu which creeps over him as he questions if she’s okay and she shakes her head, answering him with a dazed, honest ‘No’. He reaches for her hand again, urging her to come with him, just as he did years ago. Just as before, she grabs for him with no hesitation, but this time their fingers slide together with a slick coating of warm blood.
They run for the gate together, sprinting around the corner to see the last human Atlantis expedition members flee Ta’leesh infected bodies of people that had once considered the closest of friends. Corporals Blake and Thompson lay the last line of defense as, together, they flee Atlantis.
She does not even have the chance for a final look at the city which they had rediscovered, rebuilt, and then destroyed in the span of three years.
Instead, she grabs him, clinging to safety as they are thrown together through the event horizon into the warm saltiness of an ocean she has never seen on a planet she has never visited.
When they break through to the surface, they buoy one another, gasping for breath as their run from hell subsides. Around them, others start to surface, immediately heading for the nearby shoreline where about a dozen other refugees stand calling to them.
They make no move to swim, just float. And he leans his face to hers, kissing her hard, as she kisses him back. Teeth scrape against skin and she can taste the bitter copper of blood on her tongue; a scant sacrifice compared to the amount of blood spilled today in Atlantis.
In what used to be ‘home’.
The thought makes her sob, deep down in the back of her throat where it burns dully. He swallows the sound, keeping himself firmly attached to her, and she thinks that she hears a small similar noise from him.
Now when she tastes the salt on his lips, she cannot tell whether they’re from her, him, or the ocean dancing around them.
iv/
There was once when he truly thought he had lost her. Lost her to this demon species hellbent on their destruction.
Now he knows that he is losing her.
But at least he is here with her; and she with him.
And, somehow in all this madness, that is at least some small bit of consolation that he is eternally grateful for.
She looks at him steadily, telling him how she isn’t afraid. He’s not sure whether the reassurance is more for his benefit, or for hers.
Either way, he thinks that it helps the both of them, as he repeats her sentiments and reaches down to brush a stray lock of brunette hair out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. I used to do that, in bed, naked, her staring up at me, laughing, relaxed, kissing, touching, feeling, the way her pillow smells when she’s gone, that groan deep in her throat as she says my name, the swell of her breast right here and curve of her hip right there, oh god. He swallows hard, closing his eyes and looking away from her.
She reaches for his hand, silently begging for him to come back, and he cannot deny her. Fingers weaving with one another, he opens watery eyes to look at her face again. She is crying and he feels enormously guilty for making her. They slide down her cheeks, cutting paths through the dry blood caked there. His fingers fall to the bond of their hands between them, choosing to ignore the gaping wound winding down her forearm, the blood dripping steadily to the sand beneath them. He doesn’t want to remember her with that. He bypasses the awkward angle her right knee lies at and the large crimson stain spreading over the left side of her abdomen.
She is doing the same, reaching up with her other hand as best she can (holding back the hiss of pain that the movement incites) to run it through his dark unruly hair. I could make him purr with that, wiggle underneath my fingers as I hit justtherightspot, until teasing led to wrestling, and I was on the bottom, his weight pushing me down, pushing me all over, smelling the dark sweat of him, the light in his eyes when he whispered my name.
This will be the last time for this.
They sit together on the beach that they have called home for the past two months, able to live here undetected for that long at least, all the while knowing that their enemy was steadily creeping up to their front door. This planet was basically an unknown, with no inhabitants and no DHD to provide a usable Stargate. The fourteen survivors of the Atlantis expedition had heard nothing of Earth, or any other civilization that had encountered.
The apocalypse had arrived just after sunrise this morning.
Almost as if they had been able to sense it, the pair of Atlantian commanders had awoken earlier than usual. The last of the stars had been fading in the velvet sky as John had led her down to a beach, pulled her back to his front and sat them under the shelter of one of the island’s turquoise-tinged palm tree equivalents. The first sun had peeked over the edge of the world less than half an hour later, climbing gradually higher until its younger brother arrived. The world changed from midnight to purple to streaks of red and orange and yellow, before finally deciding to calm back down to a gentle deep, clear blue.
Elizabeth whispered that it was perfect, and he felt the light vibration of her voice shiver through his chest. He agreed, brushing his lips against her ear as her told her, then laying his chin on her lightly clothed shoulder.
Looking back now, he knows that they both knew.
Mere hours since they watched the sunrise this morning, they gather beneath the same tree. Miles behind them, far deeper into the land’s interior, their makeshift camp burns. The invaders had allowed them to escape, knowing full well that the duo would not last very long. Of fourteen, only the two remain human.
That will change as the infection spreads within them.
They don’t bother to attempt to patch themselves up, both knowing full well the futility of such a gesture. Instead they sit, back to front, as she relaxes between his legs, forearms resting on his strong thighs. His fingers, dry and blistered, yet still somehow more tender than she can imagine, run smoothly over her hand to wrists and around.
The poison is working in their bodies right now.
Not just that of the Ta’leesh infection, but one of human design. And they are both fully aware the the Earth based will produce faster results.
They will not allow themselves to be used as puppets.
They will not be responsible for more death, more suffering.
The energy is leaving his body faster now and he nuzzles his face into the dark curls of her hair, kissing her lovingly behind her ear as he grips her tightly to him with one arm around her waist and the other around her chest.
“I love you, Elizabeth,” he whispers, the first time he has said it out loud to her rather than just tell her with a smile or a wink or a kiss as he usually did.
He can’t see her smile, but he knows she is and can picture it in his mind.
It’s absolutely beautiful as he hears her say “I love you too, John.”
Her body relaxes into him and, as he feels her full weight against him, he immediately knows that she is gone.
Clinging to her, he closes his eyes tightly, choking back the sobs that threaten to escape. His last memories are now. He can smell her hair, feel her around him, hear the waves crashing on the beach in front of them.
He remembers Atlantis, lying naked next to her with open windows carrying in the soft distant sounds of an Atlantian lullaby as the ocean lapped at the sides of their great city.
On the sandy beach of planet no one knows exists, he holds her. His now cold cheek chills the solitary tear that has fallen, the ghost of a smile frozen on his features.
He will find her again, his lifeline.