fic: Share
This is a sequel to Collide which was a sequel to "Meetings" all of which is sort of S4 denial!fic/comfort!fic and with this part has possibly made a jump to crack!fic as well.
Now we get to the light R rating and the overt Weir/Shep stuff.
It was so damn frustrating.
The clumsy axe thudded into the wood - how did he know it was clumsy? Where had he seen a better axe than this that he would make that comparison? - and he stood up and stretched his back, scowling at the darkening sky.
He could pick up the axe and use it. But he didn't know his own name. He sat down at the table and saw a bowl and a spoon and knew what they were for. The thought of the spoon sparked a ghost of a memory of someone, somewhere, but it was gone too fast to catch. He could use the spoon and feed himself and help with the cooking. But he didn't remember where he'd been born.
How could this be possible? How could his memories be gone but only the ones that told him who he was? Or who she was? Or where they had come from, how they had both ended up on Palinar suffering the same thing?
It was maddening. Especially when he got those fleeting impressions of things he'd known, because it seemed like the memories were in there somewhere. Just out of reach. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch.
The rain began and the wind kicked up. He bent and began to pile the wood for the fire into his arms. She should be back soon, and they would eat, and likely spend another fruitless evening struggling with awkward silences and fragments of memories.
The Palinar called them the "sky-strangers." Some feared they would bring the Wraith. Others believed they were protectors, sent by the Ancestors to keep the Wraith away. The people watched them, whispered, wondered, but he had no answers to give to their questions. Neither did she.
Even without knowing her name or her birthplace or how he met her, he knew she was important. His body seemed not to care that he didn't remember the details. When they first woke up on Palinar, in the healer's house, his heart had started pounding when he saw her face, although he had no idea why. When the villagers wanted to take her to live with the other unmarried women, because neither of them could say for sure whether they were married or not, he grabbed a knife from a table and threatened them.
She hadn't protested his actions. In fact, her fingers had been digging into his other arm in terror.
They shared the small hut on the outskirts of the village. She slept in the rough-hewn cot while he slept in a pile of straw near the fire. They ate their meals together and worked in the village, but whenever she was out of his sight, he felt a tension in his shoulders that he couldn't explain.
In the night, lying awake, he thought she must have been his. Or he was hers. Because she shared his fear of being separated. She seemed to need him close by as badly as he needed her. Had something happened to them? Had they been pulled apart for some reason before?
As he set the wood down near the fireplace, it occurred to him for the first time since waking up here that maybe it would be better not to remember. What if they had been living peacefully somewhere like this, only to be taken? By the Wraith or someone else, someone who took their memories and then cast them off here. Did he even want to remember that? Was it easier not having to face whatever awful things had been done to them?
Restless, he paced to the window and looked out into the evening. She was nowhere in sight.
Then again, what if there were others? What if they had families waiting for them?
The word "family" made another whisper go through him. He froze, shutting his eyes and trying with all his might to concentrate. He could see... faces. Eyes. Blue eyes, brown ones. Green, but not green like hers were. And he felt an enormous wave of homesickness hit him.
A wave?
Water. Oceans. Wind. Rain.
The door banged open and she came in hurriedly as if blown by the heavy wind. She shot him an apologetic smile as she began to take off her cloak. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was getting."
Wind. Rain. Her hair was wet, curling around her neck and her shoulders and shock rolled over him. He remembered her, standing somewhere, her hair wet and her eyes wide and terrified, pleading with him for help. And someone was trying to take her away...
He crossed the room without thinking, grabbing her into a fierce hug. She looked at him, startled, for the brief second before his mouth descended on hers.
He hadn't kissed her, not since they woke up, although the desire to do it had been almost omnipresent. Now, though, it felt like the most natural act in the world.
She kissed him back, her arms sliding around his shoulders. He pushed her cloak the rest of the way off so he could wrap his arms around her back, holding her tightly against his body. He didn't hesitate and she didn't hold back, mouths opening and tongues fusing and he groaned as the heat flared in his groin.
He angled his head, tasting her slowly, knowing without thought that it was the way she liked to be kissed.
Her fingernails trailed down over the nape of his neck, making him shudder, like she already knew him.
He didn't know how long they stayed like that, kissing furiously, hands roaming, until her leg wound around his so she could press herself closer. He lifted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. They tumbled onto the bed, their lips parting only long enough to remove their clothes. He found the exact right spot on her neck and suckled and bit her there until she was moaning. He nearly lost control of himself when her hands found him and her touch pushed him almost over the edge.
He was too aroused to think or even consider stopping and she made no protest as he settled between her legs and they came together. He buried himself in her taste and her smell and the storm raged outside as they rocked smoothly on the bed like familiar lovers, not new ones.
He just barely caught himself, using his elbows to keep from collapsing fully on top of her. "God, Elizabeth..."
She stiffened underneath him and it took a moment for his fogged brain to realize what he'd said. He reared up to find her staring in shock.
"Elizabeth..." He drew the name out slowly, the syllables feeling wonderfully familiar. "Your name is Elizabeth."
For a long moment she didn't seem to breathe, then she gasped, "John."
"John Sheppard." His name. That was his name. He laughed, because it was just such an enormous relief to have at least that much. He knew his own name again.
She beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling slightly from unshed tears. "Elizabeth... Weir."
"Nice to meet you," he quipped and she rolled her eyes.
He settled onto the small pallet next to her and Elizabeth turned to face him. He pulled the blanket up over them.
"Do you remember anything else?" she asked, the happy glow fading a little from her expression.
He bit his lower lip. "I don't... I can see you. You're at a desk in a small room somewhere. It's not here," he added before she could say anything. "The walls aren't right. I think they're metal? But I don't know where that is."
"I can see you near one of the ancestral rings. I think you're coming through it, but it's indoors, not outside."
"And you don't know-?"
Elizabeth sighed. "No."
Damn it, he cursed silently.
Her palm pressed gently against his chest. "John, this is a good thing, isn't it? I mean, it's a start. At least we know that our memories are there. With more time..."
More time. He nodded to her, hooking an arm around her waist and cuddling her closer, but he felt a strange sense of foreboding. Like they didn't have the luxury of time.
***
Two days later, they were getting ready for bed. The previous night she had fallen asleep early and John had gone back to his bed on the floor, even though he really hadn't wanted to. Elizabeth sat down on the edge of her cot and sighed loudly. "This is ridiculous. I haven't remembered anything else, have you?"
"No." John admitted to himself that he had been having trouble concentrating on anything but picturing Elizabeth's naked body intertwined with his in a variety of creative ways. And because he'd spent two straight days thinking about that, he continued, "What if we remembered because we were... you know..." He trailed off, slightly sheepish at the knowing look in her eyes.
"You think we need that sense of connection to remember?"
He sidled a little closer, feeling ridiculous but also a little too horny to even try to play this cool. "I'm willing to give it a shot if you are."
"For as long as it takes?" she teased, her lips quirking in a smile that made him ache to kiss her again.
***
Elizabeth buried her face in his neck and John stroked his hands up and down her bare back as he got his breathing under control again.
Her voice was muffled. "I remember flying."
"I remember a dog. Big, white, fluffy tail. Did I have a dog?"
She pulled away and propped herself up over him. They frowned at each other.
"That's not right," they said in unison, although neither of them could explain why.
Now we get to the light R rating and the overt Weir/Shep stuff.
It was so damn frustrating.
The clumsy axe thudded into the wood - how did he know it was clumsy? Where had he seen a better axe than this that he would make that comparison? - and he stood up and stretched his back, scowling at the darkening sky.
He could pick up the axe and use it. But he didn't know his own name. He sat down at the table and saw a bowl and a spoon and knew what they were for. The thought of the spoon sparked a ghost of a memory of someone, somewhere, but it was gone too fast to catch. He could use the spoon and feed himself and help with the cooking. But he didn't remember where he'd been born.
How could this be possible? How could his memories be gone but only the ones that told him who he was? Or who she was? Or where they had come from, how they had both ended up on Palinar suffering the same thing?
It was maddening. Especially when he got those fleeting impressions of things he'd known, because it seemed like the memories were in there somewhere. Just out of reach. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch.
The rain began and the wind kicked up. He bent and began to pile the wood for the fire into his arms. She should be back soon, and they would eat, and likely spend another fruitless evening struggling with awkward silences and fragments of memories.
The Palinar called them the "sky-strangers." Some feared they would bring the Wraith. Others believed they were protectors, sent by the Ancestors to keep the Wraith away. The people watched them, whispered, wondered, but he had no answers to give to their questions. Neither did she.
Even without knowing her name or her birthplace or how he met her, he knew she was important. His body seemed not to care that he didn't remember the details. When they first woke up on Palinar, in the healer's house, his heart had started pounding when he saw her face, although he had no idea why. When the villagers wanted to take her to live with the other unmarried women, because neither of them could say for sure whether they were married or not, he grabbed a knife from a table and threatened them.
She hadn't protested his actions. In fact, her fingers had been digging into his other arm in terror.
They shared the small hut on the outskirts of the village. She slept in the rough-hewn cot while he slept in a pile of straw near the fire. They ate their meals together and worked in the village, but whenever she was out of his sight, he felt a tension in his shoulders that he couldn't explain.
In the night, lying awake, he thought she must have been his. Or he was hers. Because she shared his fear of being separated. She seemed to need him close by as badly as he needed her. Had something happened to them? Had they been pulled apart for some reason before?
As he set the wood down near the fireplace, it occurred to him for the first time since waking up here that maybe it would be better not to remember. What if they had been living peacefully somewhere like this, only to be taken? By the Wraith or someone else, someone who took their memories and then cast them off here. Did he even want to remember that? Was it easier not having to face whatever awful things had been done to them?
Restless, he paced to the window and looked out into the evening. She was nowhere in sight.
Then again, what if there were others? What if they had families waiting for them?
The word "family" made another whisper go through him. He froze, shutting his eyes and trying with all his might to concentrate. He could see... faces. Eyes. Blue eyes, brown ones. Green, but not green like hers were. And he felt an enormous wave of homesickness hit him.
A wave?
Water. Oceans. Wind. Rain.
The door banged open and she came in hurriedly as if blown by the heavy wind. She shot him an apologetic smile as she began to take off her cloak. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was getting."
Wind. Rain. Her hair was wet, curling around her neck and her shoulders and shock rolled over him. He remembered her, standing somewhere, her hair wet and her eyes wide and terrified, pleading with him for help. And someone was trying to take her away...
He crossed the room without thinking, grabbing her into a fierce hug. She looked at him, startled, for the brief second before his mouth descended on hers.
He hadn't kissed her, not since they woke up, although the desire to do it had been almost omnipresent. Now, though, it felt like the most natural act in the world.
She kissed him back, her arms sliding around his shoulders. He pushed her cloak the rest of the way off so he could wrap his arms around her back, holding her tightly against his body. He didn't hesitate and she didn't hold back, mouths opening and tongues fusing and he groaned as the heat flared in his groin.
He angled his head, tasting her slowly, knowing without thought that it was the way she liked to be kissed.
Her fingernails trailed down over the nape of his neck, making him shudder, like she already knew him.
He didn't know how long they stayed like that, kissing furiously, hands roaming, until her leg wound around his so she could press herself closer. He lifted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. They tumbled onto the bed, their lips parting only long enough to remove their clothes. He found the exact right spot on her neck and suckled and bit her there until she was moaning. He nearly lost control of himself when her hands found him and her touch pushed him almost over the edge.
He was too aroused to think or even consider stopping and she made no protest as he settled between her legs and they came together. He buried himself in her taste and her smell and the storm raged outside as they rocked smoothly on the bed like familiar lovers, not new ones.
He just barely caught himself, using his elbows to keep from collapsing fully on top of her. "God, Elizabeth..."
She stiffened underneath him and it took a moment for his fogged brain to realize what he'd said. He reared up to find her staring in shock.
"Elizabeth..." He drew the name out slowly, the syllables feeling wonderfully familiar. "Your name is Elizabeth."
For a long moment she didn't seem to breathe, then she gasped, "John."
"John Sheppard." His name. That was his name. He laughed, because it was just such an enormous relief to have at least that much. He knew his own name again.
She beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling slightly from unshed tears. "Elizabeth... Weir."
"Nice to meet you," he quipped and she rolled her eyes.
He settled onto the small pallet next to her and Elizabeth turned to face him. He pulled the blanket up over them.
"Do you remember anything else?" she asked, the happy glow fading a little from her expression.
He bit his lower lip. "I don't... I can see you. You're at a desk in a small room somewhere. It's not here," he added before she could say anything. "The walls aren't right. I think they're metal? But I don't know where that is."
"I can see you near one of the ancestral rings. I think you're coming through it, but it's indoors, not outside."
"And you don't know-?"
Elizabeth sighed. "No."
Damn it, he cursed silently.
Her palm pressed gently against his chest. "John, this is a good thing, isn't it? I mean, it's a start. At least we know that our memories are there. With more time..."
More time. He nodded to her, hooking an arm around her waist and cuddling her closer, but he felt a strange sense of foreboding. Like they didn't have the luxury of time.
***
Two days later, they were getting ready for bed. The previous night she had fallen asleep early and John had gone back to his bed on the floor, even though he really hadn't wanted to. Elizabeth sat down on the edge of her cot and sighed loudly. "This is ridiculous. I haven't remembered anything else, have you?"
"No." John admitted to himself that he had been having trouble concentrating on anything but picturing Elizabeth's naked body intertwined with his in a variety of creative ways. And because he'd spent two straight days thinking about that, he continued, "What if we remembered because we were... you know..." He trailed off, slightly sheepish at the knowing look in her eyes.
"You think we need that sense of connection to remember?"
He sidled a little closer, feeling ridiculous but also a little too horny to even try to play this cool. "I'm willing to give it a shot if you are."
"For as long as it takes?" she teased, her lips quirking in a smile that made him ache to kiss her again.
***
Elizabeth buried her face in his neck and John stroked his hands up and down her bare back as he got his breathing under control again.
Her voice was muffled. "I remember flying."
"I remember a dog. Big, white, fluffy tail. Did I have a dog?"
She pulled away and propped herself up over him. They frowned at each other.
"That's not right," they said in unison, although neither of them could explain why.