Some By Virtue Fall (Sheppard/Weir) [PG]
Title: Some By Virtue Fall
Author: havocthecat
Rating: PG
Warnings: Canon character death. Gosh, guess who?
Spoilers: General season three & four SGA.
Pairing: John Sheppard/Elizabeth Weir.
Beta: miera_c
Summary: The development of trust.
Author's Notes: This story is a backup for the 2008 swficathon, written for phrenitis, with the following prompt: "'tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall." --Shakespeare, Measure For Measure.
Hot Zone
She's not sure when these feelings start. Looking back, she thinks the first hint comes when she reviews his file for the first time. He's a rakish, reluctant hero, assigned to McMurdo as punishment for disobeying orders in favor of his conscience. He's everything she tells herself she's not attracted to. At the time, she can tell herself her interest is piqued by his wasted potential. He can help the expedition. He can discover who he's supposed to be. She can help him soar to the heights of his unrealized dreams. Elizabeth's got experience handling difficult personalities. Look at Rodney.
She believes the lies she tells herself. They're familiar, intimate companions, the falsehoods she whispers over and over, until they become truth. Or, at least, until she believes them.
John is able to cut right through the distance she keeps between herself and her subordinates. He doesn't even have to try. She knows it's part of the reason she's so frustrated - so infuriated - when he countermands her orders to Sergeant Bates. The nanites are a risk to everyone in the city he's supposed to protect. Everyone that she's supposed to protect. Even John himself, even when he makes foolish choices.
His lack of trust in her abilities, in her leadership, is a violation of his trust in her. She realizes that she doesn't know if he trusts her at all, or if the idea is something he pays lip service to.
The first time they encounter nanites isn't the worst, of course. Right then, with multiple fatalities and radioactive fallout, she doesn't realize that.
The Real World
The second time they encounter nanites, it's almost three years later. Her trust in him is, by now, unshakable, reciprocal, and their city - their people - look to them both for protection and leadership. Elizabeth's trust in herself is more fallible.
What if they're right? What if Atlantis doesn't exist? She doesn't think that she's delusional. She doesn't feel delusional, but she's just been told that the only psychiatrist she trusts isn't real.
Dr. Fletcher looks at her with cold calculation. She's an agenda to him, not a patient. She thinks, at first, that he wants to use her as a case study. It's not until she's in the common room of Willoughby, playing solitaire, that she realizes she's right. The 'gate address to Atlantis pops up, one card at a time, and a tide of longing floods through her. She wants to go home. She's certain, with every fiber of her being, that this planet - this solitary planet, caught up in its petty internal squabbles - isn't her home any longer. This particular iteration of Earth is all an illusion anyway.
Dr. Fletcher, General O'Neill, all of them. They're all facets of Niam. Everyone except John is an artificial construct, created by the Replicators.
She knows she needs to escape. She fights with all the strength she has at her disposal. There's one small moment where she doubts herself, but then she sees John. His trust in her is unshakable, and his faith in her is absolute. It's all she needs to remember the way back to Atlantis. She's been trying to tell herself that all along.
Elizabeth squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and strides through the shimmering blue of the event horizon with her head held high. Her doubts and fears fall away as the nanites in her system shut down.
Later, Carson tells her he doesn't know how she's managed the feat. Elizabeth smiles and demurs, knowing he won't press her for an answer.
In the dark of Atlantis' night, when she stares at the sky from her balcony, John joins her. Hours later, they see the dawn lighten the view from Elizabeth's quarters. They smile. She doesn't know it's the beginning of the end.
Lifeline
The last time they encounter nanites together, Elizabeth tells him to go. They trust in each other, and they trust in themselves. She knows he won't risk Atlantis for her safety. She sees it in the last look she shares with John. He knows that the right thing to do is to sacrifice their desires for the greater good. This is something she taught him. She's so proud of John, of everything he is. She's proud of everything they've both grown to be.
What they have is unshakable. They are separate and alone, but it still sustains her, this connection with John that Oberoth and the Replicators can neither understand, nor sever. Through a thousand hallucinations, her faith in John never wavers. They can copy her body as many times as they want. They can hand out her memories, parcel them out among the Asuran collective, and distribute them wholesale to clones, and her strength, her humanity, throws chaos into the carefully ordered programming of the Ancients every time. Their unity begins to fragment.
When the time comes, and Oberoth gives the order for her death, a smile curves at the edges of her mouth. There's nothing else they can do. She's defeated them. Elizabeth's vision darkens around the edges, and her breathing grows more labored, but she's at peace. She knows. She lets go.
The world dissolves into a bright, pure white glow. Oberoth screams with rage as he tries to pull her from the brink of Ascension, but she leaves him behind. She leaves all of them behind.
outside of time
The others leave her in peace. She doesn't want to interact with them. Elizabeth is content to watch Atlantis, to save those she can. Once, they warn her not to interfere, until she points out that helping the Ascension of those about to die is a crime more of them are guilty of than not. Hypocrisy, it seems, is a failing shared by both the first and second evolutions of the human race.
There's a sense of despair in John these days. He mourns her loss. She longs to reach out and comfort him, but that would bring her to a line she's not prepared to cross. Not yet. She bides her time until she can't bear it any longer. They've been separated too many years. He's taken one too many risks.
It's when he uncovers a picture of them together that she comes to a decision. He can't stop staring at the two of them, smiling and happy, and it's then that Elizabeth knows existence without him is no longer an option.
A gentle breeze ruffles his hair, and John looks around. The hair at his temples is gray, and his face is more deeply lined then when they were together.
She appears in front of him, and he smiles. "Elizabeth," he breathes.
"I know it's not what you expected," she says, holding one hand out to him, "but it's the best I can do."
He takes it without hesitation.
Give me your hand, and say you will be mine. --Vincentio to Isabella, Measure For Measure
--end--
Author: havocthecat
Rating: PG
Warnings: Canon character death. Gosh, guess who?
Spoilers: General season three & four SGA.
Pairing: John Sheppard/Elizabeth Weir.
Beta: miera_c
Summary: The development of trust.
Author's Notes: This story is a backup for the 2008 swficathon, written for phrenitis, with the following prompt: "'tis one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall." --Shakespeare, Measure For Measure.
Hot Zone
She's not sure when these feelings start. Looking back, she thinks the first hint comes when she reviews his file for the first time. He's a rakish, reluctant hero, assigned to McMurdo as punishment for disobeying orders in favor of his conscience. He's everything she tells herself she's not attracted to. At the time, she can tell herself her interest is piqued by his wasted potential. He can help the expedition. He can discover who he's supposed to be. She can help him soar to the heights of his unrealized dreams. Elizabeth's got experience handling difficult personalities. Look at Rodney.
She believes the lies she tells herself. They're familiar, intimate companions, the falsehoods she whispers over and over, until they become truth. Or, at least, until she believes them.
John is able to cut right through the distance she keeps between herself and her subordinates. He doesn't even have to try. She knows it's part of the reason she's so frustrated - so infuriated - when he countermands her orders to Sergeant Bates. The nanites are a risk to everyone in the city he's supposed to protect. Everyone that she's supposed to protect. Even John himself, even when he makes foolish choices.
His lack of trust in her abilities, in her leadership, is a violation of his trust in her. She realizes that she doesn't know if he trusts her at all, or if the idea is something he pays lip service to.
The first time they encounter nanites isn't the worst, of course. Right then, with multiple fatalities and radioactive fallout, she doesn't realize that.
The Real World
The second time they encounter nanites, it's almost three years later. Her trust in him is, by now, unshakable, reciprocal, and their city - their people - look to them both for protection and leadership. Elizabeth's trust in herself is more fallible.
What if they're right? What if Atlantis doesn't exist? She doesn't think that she's delusional. She doesn't feel delusional, but she's just been told that the only psychiatrist she trusts isn't real.
Dr. Fletcher looks at her with cold calculation. She's an agenda to him, not a patient. She thinks, at first, that he wants to use her as a case study. It's not until she's in the common room of Willoughby, playing solitaire, that she realizes she's right. The 'gate address to Atlantis pops up, one card at a time, and a tide of longing floods through her. She wants to go home. She's certain, with every fiber of her being, that this planet - this solitary planet, caught up in its petty internal squabbles - isn't her home any longer. This particular iteration of Earth is all an illusion anyway.
Dr. Fletcher, General O'Neill, all of them. They're all facets of Niam. Everyone except John is an artificial construct, created by the Replicators.
She knows she needs to escape. She fights with all the strength she has at her disposal. There's one small moment where she doubts herself, but then she sees John. His trust in her is unshakable, and his faith in her is absolute. It's all she needs to remember the way back to Atlantis. She's been trying to tell herself that all along.
Elizabeth squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and strides through the shimmering blue of the event horizon with her head held high. Her doubts and fears fall away as the nanites in her system shut down.
Later, Carson tells her he doesn't know how she's managed the feat. Elizabeth smiles and demurs, knowing he won't press her for an answer.
In the dark of Atlantis' night, when she stares at the sky from her balcony, John joins her. Hours later, they see the dawn lighten the view from Elizabeth's quarters. They smile. She doesn't know it's the beginning of the end.
Lifeline
The last time they encounter nanites together, Elizabeth tells him to go. They trust in each other, and they trust in themselves. She knows he won't risk Atlantis for her safety. She sees it in the last look she shares with John. He knows that the right thing to do is to sacrifice their desires for the greater good. This is something she taught him. She's so proud of John, of everything he is. She's proud of everything they've both grown to be.
What they have is unshakable. They are separate and alone, but it still sustains her, this connection with John that Oberoth and the Replicators can neither understand, nor sever. Through a thousand hallucinations, her faith in John never wavers. They can copy her body as many times as they want. They can hand out her memories, parcel them out among the Asuran collective, and distribute them wholesale to clones, and her strength, her humanity, throws chaos into the carefully ordered programming of the Ancients every time. Their unity begins to fragment.
When the time comes, and Oberoth gives the order for her death, a smile curves at the edges of her mouth. There's nothing else they can do. She's defeated them. Elizabeth's vision darkens around the edges, and her breathing grows more labored, but she's at peace. She knows. She lets go.
The world dissolves into a bright, pure white glow. Oberoth screams with rage as he tries to pull her from the brink of Ascension, but she leaves him behind. She leaves all of them behind.
outside of time
The others leave her in peace. She doesn't want to interact with them. Elizabeth is content to watch Atlantis, to save those she can. Once, they warn her not to interfere, until she points out that helping the Ascension of those about to die is a crime more of them are guilty of than not. Hypocrisy, it seems, is a failing shared by both the first and second evolutions of the human race.
There's a sense of despair in John these days. He mourns her loss. She longs to reach out and comfort him, but that would bring her to a line she's not prepared to cross. Not yet. She bides her time until she can't bear it any longer. They've been separated too many years. He's taken one too many risks.
It's when he uncovers a picture of them together that she comes to a decision. He can't stop staring at the two of them, smiling and happy, and it's then that Elizabeth knows existence without him is no longer an option.
A gentle breeze ruffles his hair, and John looks around. The hair at his temples is gray, and his face is more deeply lined then when they were together.
She appears in front of him, and he smiles. "Elizabeth," he breathes.
"I know it's not what you expected," she says, holding one hand out to him, "but it's the best I can do."
He takes it without hesitation.
Give me your hand, and say you will be mine. --Vincentio to Isabella, Measure For Measure
--end--