[stargate: atlantis fic] this is the place where your heart stands still (1/3), pg
this is the place where your heart stands still (1/3)
- stargate: atlantis
- elizabeth weir, others, john/elizabeth
- 3838
- pg
- thanks to anuna_81 for the read-through! ♥
Every morning and every night, she stands on the porch and waits.
--
It has been five years.
There will be five more.
--
As a child, Kate understands perfectly her mother's fascination with the stars. Bright and pretty and scattered like marbles, it makes sense to her, to find her mother out on the front porch swing, connecting the dots.
'I can connect them, too,' she tells her mother proudly, and points out rabbits and elephants and little boys and girls. Her mother always smiles, and strokes her hair, and asks if she's given them names.
Together, they write stories in the sky.
--
Elizabeth puts the star at the top of the Christmas tree and smiles, like she always does, when her fingers linger against the glass just a moment too long. She clasps her hands together and turns; announces, 'Merry Christmas!' with a bright enthusiasm that is too perfect, too genuine. Eric punches Julian and Sarah climbs into Mr. Reynolds' lap; Derrek only makes it solo through the first two bars of Jingle Bells and then everyone's joined in.
In the kitchen, Elizabeth ices a dry cake with too much frosting and apologizes for the burnt edges, but Katie doesn't care. It's Christmas time, and there are presents, and her mother is smiling.
--
'Mommy,' Kate asks sometimes, head in her mother's lap, staring up at the sharp line of her jaw and long, soft hair. 'What are you looking for?'
Maybe a horse, Kate surmises, or a country. She knows her mother likes Ireland. Maybe a dog.
But her mother always smiles (later, in the fourth grade, Kate will learn the word enigmatically, and place it like a puzzle piece in the fractured picture she has of her mother's life) and says nothing; just kisses her forehead and asks for more tales of Herb, her pet bumblebee in the stars.
--
It has been eight years.
There will be eight more.
--
She constructs a life.
Out of newspapers and job interviews and next-door neighbors, she constructs a life as Elizabeth Jackson, a community college professor and single PTA mom. She meets some people, but not too many; she befriends some, but not too well. It has been eight years and Kate loves her school and her teachers and her best friend Allie, but Elizabeth doesn't think there will be eight more.
--
Everywhere she walks, she sees ghosts.
--
'Mommy,' Kate asks, 'How come Allie has a daddy and I don't?'
Elizabeth closes her eyes, and stops, and turns, and crouches in front of her daughter. 'You have a daddy, Katie,' she says softly. 'He's just not here right now.'
Katie frowns, a bit angry and a bit confused. 'Well, when's he coming back?'
Abruptly, Elizabeth stands and turns away; she squeezes Kate's hand a little tighter than necessary, and keeps her back to her as she says, 'As soon as he can.'
They make a detour after the park for a pastry from Katie's favourite shop.
--
Twelve years pass.
There will be twelve more.
--
Katie blows the candles out on her birthday cake, and wishes for her father to come home.
--
Alan Parker is a physics teacher at the same college, and Julian's dad. 'Single dad,' one of her friends reminds her frequently. Elizabeth nods and smiles and jokes back because she should. They're at the same teachers' conference when Alan approaches and asks her out. Elizabeth's stomach knots, but her smile doesn't falter as she demurely declines.
'Oh,' he says, his expression flitting from surprise to slight embarrassment. 'I'm sorry. I didn't know you were involved with someone.'
'I-' she starts, but she thinks of John, and Atlantis, and warm hands over hers on the railing, and hesitates. 'Yes,' she says finally, 'It's alright,' and possibly 'thank you' before making a quick and obvious exit.
In the back alley behind the school, she leans her head against the cold brick and tries to calm her breathing. It has been twelve years but there won't be twelve more, there won't be, there can't be, he'll come, they'll come, there won't be twelve more and 'God damn it, John,' she whispers harshly, 'Where are you?'
--
Sixteen years.
Sixteen more.
--
When she was little, her mother used to vanish for days at a time.
She'd drop her off at the neighbor's, kiss her forehead and say 'Be good for Mrs. Reynolds' or 'Don't tease Derrek too much' and then she'd be gone, and Kate would hold the curtains in one hand and clutch her rabbit in the other and wait.
--
There is no SGC. No Jack O'Neill. No Stargate. Daniel Jackson teaches archeology in England and Captain Carter was honorably discharged after a third tour in Afghanistan, when a piece of shrapnel from an exploding shell embedded itself in her thigh. Elizabeth stares at the faces of the people she's supposed to recognize and know and love.
She doesn't look for her team.
--
Kate slams the door and throws her bag and the couch and yells 'I hate you!' before stomping up the stairs to her room. Another door slams and the stereo comes on and Elizabeth silently breaks. Knees to her chest and back against the wall, she stares at a spot on the floor and tries to pretend the bright spots dancing in her vision don't look like Atlantis.
When the music finally stops, and the sun goes down, she drags herself to her feet and makes dinner. She doesn't eat, but leaves a plate out for her daughter; she hates that she can still hear Carson's admonishing tones, like the whistle of the wind through the front porch chimes.
She's grading papers in the living room when Kate finally descends. She grabs a coke from the refrigerator and pokes at the food. When she turns, she finds her mother in the doorway - long, awkward limbs and uncertain silence. It's dark - the only light filtering in from the other room and the moon outside, and her mother looks gaunt and frail - ugly, almost. Guilt stirs in her stomach, and she looks away.
'You know, you really should take a cooking class,' she offers - a joke. An apology. She fiddles with the tab on the can.
Elizabeth softens; almost smiles. 'Yeah. I probably should, shouldn't I?'
Kate winces. 'Look, Mom, I-'
There's a long silence.
Then: 'Is this really about the concert, or is there something else?' she asks quietly.
Kate stares at the floor. 'You're so protective.'
'You make it sounds like a bad thing.'
'It is,' Kate groans. 'I'm sixteen years old. I should be allowed to go out with my friends.'
'I let you go out.'
Kate rolls her eyes. 'Barely.'
Elizabeth smiles. Kate frowns, 'What?' and Elizabeth almost laughs. 'You look like your father when you do that.'
The statement throws her, and for a long moment Kate just stares. Elizabeth moves into the kitchen and wraps the dinner plate in aluminum foil, and puts it in the refrigerator. Pours herself a glass of water. Stares out through the slitted blinds.
'Mom?' She hesitates. Elizabeth turns. 'You never talk about him,' she finally manages. It's half a question.
Elizabeth looks at her glass. 'I miss him,' she says quietly.
The honesty catches her off-guard. 'How long were you guys...?' She trails off; makes a motion with her hands. Elizabeth smiles softly.
'It's complicated. It was...' And then she's gone. Not that she doesn't want to finish the thought, but because she can't - she's disappeared, back into her mind someplace Kate's never been able to follow, and she hates it a little bit; hates the silence that hangs suspended - her mother's secret life, her secret lover, standing between them.
Kate stares at the rim of her can. 'It's been so long,' she says, just a touch too harshly. Elizabeth's expression falters, but Kate doesn't see it in time; still asks: 'Did he love you?'
The air sinks. Kate holds her breath; worries that she's pushed too far too fast. The silence rings, and from within it, Elizabeth nods.
--
It has been twenty-three years.
There will be thirteen more.
--
Kate wraps her arm around her mother's and leans into her shoulder. It is fall, and the trees are red and orange. Her mother's hair is turning grey, but the lines around her eyes are still the same. 'So,' she grins, 'you and Alan, huh?'
Elizabeth gives her an admonishing glance. 'We're friends.'
Kate snorts. 'He's been asking you out since I was twelve. You're not friends.'
Elizabeth smirks, 'Are you questioning my chastity?' and Kate laughs, long and loud. A couple on a nearby park-bench look up, and Kate smothers her amusement in a grin.
--
At a computer console on campus, Elizabeth sits down, takes a deep breath, and types 'John Sheppard' into the search engine. On the first page, there's a real estate agent from Kentucky, a journalist, and an actor. On the second page there's an artist, a lawyer, and a sailing instructor based out of Seattle. She scans the websites, looking for pictures and clues.
On the third page, there's an obituary.
John Sheppard, 38
Air Force, Major: Colorado Springs
455th Expeditionary Security Forces Squadron
Supporting: Operation Enduring Freedom
Died: June 11, 2006
Kandahar, Afghanistan
Married
Gender: Male
Hometown: San Francisco, CA
High School: Balboa High School
Burial: Arlington National Cemetery
Next to it is a photograph.
Elizabeth stares.
--
Kate falls in love.
--
The clock becomes a countdown, but neither of them know it.
Ten years.
--
It is Christmas. Kate is twenty-six and happy, smiling absently every time the light catches her engagement ring.
As always, Elizabeth puts a star on top of the tree. As always, her serene expression never falters. Alan is gone, this time for good, and Kate tries to put it out of her head as she sets the table. Jeremy's family (two brothers and their wives and kids) is small but lively, and in addition to the neighbors Elizabeth always hosts, it almost sounds like a real celebration. There is music and laughter in the front room, and Kate watches as her mother frosts a cake with burnt edges.
'Cooking classes,' she says, pointing a spoon at her.
Elizabeth smiles. 'I don't think that would have saved me.'
'Alan was a good cook,' Kate says. She regrets it instantly. The pause is acidic. 'Anyway. Thanks for inviting Jeremy's family,' she says, trying to make nice.
Elizabeth nods. 'They're a nice group,' she says. She doesn't say family.
'Yeah.'
'Kate-'
'I just don't get it.'
'I don't want to have this conversation again.'
Kate scoffs. 'We've never had this conversation.'
Elizabeth wipes her hands on a towel. 'We've been having this conversation for years, Katie-'
'So don't you think it's about time we finish it?' She arches an eyebrow. Elizabeth looks away. 'Mom-'
'Don't.'
Kate blinks at the sudden intensity, the sudden bitterness in her mother's tone.
'He loved you,' she sneers, but Elizabeth doesn't flinch; doesn't move. Even her hair is perfectly still. 'He probably still loves you, even after all you've put him through. He'd do anything for you and you just-'
'Katie-'
'Dad's gone. He's not coming back.'
Elizabeth says nothing.
'Are you ever going to accept that?'
The silence is so cold. Elizabeth doesn't look like she's breathing. Kate inhales, and wonders if she should take it back; wonders, for a moment, if maybe it isn't true, if it's all in her head - the distance. She waits, but her mother says nothing - doesn't move, doesn't blink for the longest, hardest moment. It takes another breath, a backwards count from five and then -
'No.'
--
In February, Elizabeth leaves for Washington, D.C. She only stays three days - just long enough to visit the cemetery, and the grave of a man who bears no resemblance save in name to one she remembers.
She walks down M Street, past her old university; past the brick and ivy-covered buildings; past a life she only hazily remembers.
The first ten years, she stayed in their small town out of hope. That's where she fell, that's where she'd be found. After that, it became habit. No reason to stay; no reason to leave. A small house in Connecticut on Scarborough Road, where her heart and everything else came to a stand-still.
Feeling unchanged, Elizabeth boards the plane back to New Haven. She makes it home - through the front door, keys in the bowl, purse on the table, almost to the kitchen - before she collapses.
--
It has been thirty years.
There will be six more.
--
Her mother is always outside. On the front porch, sitting on the swing with her legs tucked beside her and a book in her lap; or in the back-yard, writing, or talking with the gardener. Her mother likes flowers, but can't grow them. Kate brings her new seeds whenever she visits, and expensive parchment and books about diplomats and foreign countries, sometimes in foreign languages.
When she was growing up, articles in Arabic, French and German always littered the coffee table. Sometimes her mother would take students, tutoring late into the evenings, and Kate would listen from the top of the stairs to her mother's smooth voice, dictating gently the Russian alphabet or Italian grammar.
Sometimes, her mother greets her in a language that doesn't sound human. It's routine, now, and sometimes Kate wonders if she does it on purpose, just so they can have their moment: a raised eyebrow, a laugh, a click of her mother's tongue. 'Too much time spent in books,' she muses.
Kate nods, and holds up a bag. 'I brought gardenias.'
Elizabeth smiles and gives the bag to the gardner, then disappears into the house, only to return with presents for the kids. 'Mom,' Kate protests, but Tay and Daniel are already attacking her with hugs and joyous laughter, and Kate rolls her eyes. 'You're spoiling them.'
'It's my job,' she replies cheekily.
'Then you get to deal with the post-sugar crankiness.'
Her mother laughs, and smiles, and kisses her cheek tenderly.
--
When Elizabeth collapses for the third time in a year, Kate takes off work for a month.
--
The clock ticks backwards.
--
Her mother is seventy-five years old, and dying. She's too young, Kate thinks desperately. I'm too young.
Kate knows she doesn't take very good care of herself. She takes her vitamins and goes for long walks, but she forgets to eat, sometimes; doesn't sleep. She can't count the number of times she's seen her mother standing at the window, watching the sun come up.
'Come on, Mom,' Kate begs. Jeremy puts a hand on her shoulder and says, 'Maybe you should let her go.'
But Kate shakes her head and squeezes her mother's hand.
--
Six months later Kate hires a nurse, and moves back in. 'Temporarily,' she warns her mother, who smiles and jokes back and acts as if everything is fine, even though somedays she can't stand and somedays she can't speak; sometimes she coughs so hard she can't breathe; somedays she barely breathes at all.
Through the fall, Kate takes her for long, slow walks in the park. She wraps her mother's shoulders with extra blankets and curls next to her on the swing, head resting gently in her lap, staring up at the stars.
'You remember Herb?' her mother asks.
Kate laughs. 'My bumblebee. And Walter, the elephant.'
'And Meredith, the bunny.'
'You named that one,' she reminds her.
Elizabeth nods, and smiles wistfully. 'It seemed fitting.'
'Mom,' she asks, peering up at the sharp outline of her mother's jaw; her long curls. 'What are you looking for?'
Elizabeth runs her fingers through her daughter's hair. The pause drags, and Kate sighs, resigning herself to the silence.
'Atlantis,' Elizabeth says finally.
The word is so soft, so breakable, that Kate doesn't dare ask what she means.
--
It has been thirty-six years.
There will be no more.
--
When Elizabeth can't get out of bed, Kate finally makes phone calls.
Alan visits, and smiles at her and kisses her cheek and tells her she looks beautiful. Her mother laughs and shakes her head and tells him to be happy. Julian brings her a book and a drawing his daughter made; the next-door neighbors filter in and out; Jeremy and his sisters; each wave of laughter and smiles like the twist of a knife.
Daniel is oblivious - he grins and chatters and drives his race car up and down her leg. Elizabeth ruffles his hair and kisses his temple and interjects in his stories only when he demands it. Tay is more reticent, and Kate wonders if she knows. She stays on the floor for a long time, drawing picture after picture with her coloured pencils.
Eventually Danny's hunger wins out over his new toy-induced excitement, and Jeremy takes him downstairs; Tay shakes her head, though, says she's not hungry, that she wants to stay. She gives her grandmother her drawings, and Kate watches as Elizabeth's eyes fill with tears.
'Grandma?'
'They're beautiful. I love them.' She kisses her cheek. 'And you.'
Tay smiles and climbs on the bed and tucks herself under Elizabeth's arm. 'Tay, sweetie, you shouldn't-' Kate starts, but Elizabeth shakes her head.
Kate waits until they're both asleep before she lets her own tears fall.
--
While her mother slips in and out of consciousness, Kate sits by her bedside and reads her Dickens and Woolf and Gatsby.
' 'But her voice was wrung of its old ravishing richness; her eyes not aglow as they used to be, when she smoked cigars, when she ran down the passage to fetch her sponge bag without a stitch of clothing on her, and Ellen Atkins asked'- '
There's a knock on the door.
Kate frowns and sets the book on the dresser. She goes out into the hallway; opens the door.
Standing on the porch are two men she's never seen before - both of them awkward, both dressed in some kind of uniform. They look military, maybe, but she's never met a serviceman in her life.
The shorter one says excuse me, hello, good afternoon; the taller one stares.
'Who are you?' she demands.
'We're-' the shorter one starts; he fumbles. 'That's complicated. We're friends. Is Elizabeth here?' Under his breath: 'Of course she is, this is where we left her. Accidentally, mind you,' he corrects quickly. 'We'd never leave her on purpose, obviously. Kinda hard to run a city without a leader, you know? Anyway, is she here? Can we-'
He starts to slip by, and the movement jars her senses. Kate grabs the door and slams her hand against the frame, blocking his entrance. The taller man's hand goes for his hip; there's a gun in a holster. Her mind races.
'What do you want?'
'We just need to see Elizabeth,' the other one says - calmer, slower. He moves his hand away from his weapon. 'We're not here to hurt anyone.'
Kate tightens her jaw. 'She's not here right now.'
The shorter one blinks. 'Wh- well, where is she? When's she coming back?'
'I-' Kate starts.
The taller one breathes, 'Elizabeth?'
Kate blinks - 'What do you-' - before she realizes he isn't looking at her, isn't seeing her; rather, his gaze is fixed over her shoulder, at her mother, standing at the edge of the hallway, her hand white-knuckled around the corner of the wall.
'John?'
The shorter man stutters.
Kate gapes. 'Mom, what-'
And then he's past her, into their house and into their lives and if Elizabeth crumples and Kate yells it doesn't matter, because there's this man with his arms around her back and his face pressed against her neck and he's holding her like a lover, like a dream. 'I'm sorry,' he says, over and over, 'I'm sorry I took so long.'
Kate stares and the short man fidgets and Elizabeth's fingers are tangled in the taller man's hair. 'It's okay,' she breathes, 'you're here now. You're here.'
'What is going on?'
Elizabeth turns slightly, but John still takes her weight, still holds her close. 'Kate-' Elizabeth starts.
This man is her father. She knows that, somehow. But it doesn't make sense. He's too young. Far too young.
'Mom-'
Something beeps, and the man at the door curses. 'Uh, we gotta go.'
Elizabeth looks up at him weakly. 'John?'
His throat catches. 'Temporal fold. We only have a short amount of time to get in and out.'
'You shouldn't have risked-'
John rolls his eyes. 'You can yell at me later. After we're back on Atlantis.'
'Atlantis?'
Elizabeth pulls her eyes away from John. Kate looks small and helpless in the middle of the room. 'Katie, I-' Her mother has no words, and no strength. 'There's a letter, in my desk.' Her voice catches. 'I wish I-'
Something beeps again. 'Okay, 'gotta go' just became 'gotta go now'.'
'Elizabeth,' John murmurs. His eyes flicker back and forth between her face, Kate's, and Rodney's.
'I know,' she breathes.
'Mom?'
Kate doesn't remember moving closer, or her mother winding one arm around her back, but suddenly she's warm and safe and she doesn't want to let go. Elizabeth kisses her cheek, her forehead, and holds her close once more.
'Is she coming with us? 'Cause if so, I have to recalculate and that's gonna take time that we don't have and-'
'No,' Elizabeth murmurs, pulling back. Her legs shake, but John hasn't moved or given any indication that he'll let her fall. 'She has a family.'
'Mom?'
Elizabeth smiles. 'This is the other half of mine.'
'Rodney,' John says. The other man moves quickly, coming to stand behind them and typing something on what looks like a data-pad.
'This is going to look very strange,' Elizabeth says with a smile, touching Kate's cheek. 'Someday it'll make sense.'
'What-'
'I love you.'
Instinctively, Kate steps back. 'I know.'
And then they're gone.
--
It isn't a letter so much as a book. Wrapped in heavy paper, the stacks - three of them - are bound tight with string. Each page is filled from top to bottom with notes, written in her mother's delicate scrawl. Scattered throughout the entries are symbols she doesn't recognize, but look vaguely like astrological signs. Dots connected to make shapes.
'I can connect them, too, Mommy.'
Kate shudders and swipes the back of her hand across her cheek. Confused and angry, she rifles through the pages, looking for something, anything -
Atlantis.
The word jumps off the page. Kate stares.
--
Later, she lays in the grass in the back-yard and stares up at the sky. She hears the front door close, and Jeremy call her name, but she can't be bothered to move. A few minutes later the screen door opens, and little feet hurry across the lawn. There's a thump, a sigh, and then a head of hair in her lap.
The stars are bright like polka-dots, and Tay points out constellations - real ones and those in her imagination. Kate nods and tries to play, but everything looks so vast from down here, and she feels so small.
'Mommy,' Tay asks, sitting up and peering down at her curiously. 'What are you looking for?'
There's a long silence.
Kate never answers, but she finally manages a smile.
- stargate: atlantis
- elizabeth weir, others, john/elizabeth
- 3838
- pg
- thanks to anuna_81 for the read-through! ♥
Every morning and every night, she stands on the porch and waits.
--
It has been five years.
There will be five more.
--
As a child, Kate understands perfectly her mother's fascination with the stars. Bright and pretty and scattered like marbles, it makes sense to her, to find her mother out on the front porch swing, connecting the dots.
'I can connect them, too,' she tells her mother proudly, and points out rabbits and elephants and little boys and girls. Her mother always smiles, and strokes her hair, and asks if she's given them names.
Together, they write stories in the sky.
--
Elizabeth puts the star at the top of the Christmas tree and smiles, like she always does, when her fingers linger against the glass just a moment too long. She clasps her hands together and turns; announces, 'Merry Christmas!' with a bright enthusiasm that is too perfect, too genuine. Eric punches Julian and Sarah climbs into Mr. Reynolds' lap; Derrek only makes it solo through the first two bars of Jingle Bells and then everyone's joined in.
In the kitchen, Elizabeth ices a dry cake with too much frosting and apologizes for the burnt edges, but Katie doesn't care. It's Christmas time, and there are presents, and her mother is smiling.
--
'Mommy,' Kate asks sometimes, head in her mother's lap, staring up at the sharp line of her jaw and long, soft hair. 'What are you looking for?'
Maybe a horse, Kate surmises, or a country. She knows her mother likes Ireland. Maybe a dog.
But her mother always smiles (later, in the fourth grade, Kate will learn the word enigmatically, and place it like a puzzle piece in the fractured picture she has of her mother's life) and says nothing; just kisses her forehead and asks for more tales of Herb, her pet bumblebee in the stars.
--
It has been eight years.
There will be eight more.
--
She constructs a life.
Out of newspapers and job interviews and next-door neighbors, she constructs a life as Elizabeth Jackson, a community college professor and single PTA mom. She meets some people, but not too many; she befriends some, but not too well. It has been eight years and Kate loves her school and her teachers and her best friend Allie, but Elizabeth doesn't think there will be eight more.
--
Everywhere she walks, she sees ghosts.
--
'Mommy,' Kate asks, 'How come Allie has a daddy and I don't?'
Elizabeth closes her eyes, and stops, and turns, and crouches in front of her daughter. 'You have a daddy, Katie,' she says softly. 'He's just not here right now.'
Katie frowns, a bit angry and a bit confused. 'Well, when's he coming back?'
Abruptly, Elizabeth stands and turns away; she squeezes Kate's hand a little tighter than necessary, and keeps her back to her as she says, 'As soon as he can.'
They make a detour after the park for a pastry from Katie's favourite shop.
--
Twelve years pass.
There will be twelve more.
--
Katie blows the candles out on her birthday cake, and wishes for her father to come home.
--
Alan Parker is a physics teacher at the same college, and Julian's dad. 'Single dad,' one of her friends reminds her frequently. Elizabeth nods and smiles and jokes back because she should. They're at the same teachers' conference when Alan approaches and asks her out. Elizabeth's stomach knots, but her smile doesn't falter as she demurely declines.
'Oh,' he says, his expression flitting from surprise to slight embarrassment. 'I'm sorry. I didn't know you were involved with someone.'
'I-' she starts, but she thinks of John, and Atlantis, and warm hands over hers on the railing, and hesitates. 'Yes,' she says finally, 'It's alright,' and possibly 'thank you' before making a quick and obvious exit.
In the back alley behind the school, she leans her head against the cold brick and tries to calm her breathing. It has been twelve years but there won't be twelve more, there won't be, there can't be, he'll come, they'll come, there won't be twelve more and 'God damn it, John,' she whispers harshly, 'Where are you?'
--
Sixteen years.
Sixteen more.
--
When she was little, her mother used to vanish for days at a time.
She'd drop her off at the neighbor's, kiss her forehead and say 'Be good for Mrs. Reynolds' or 'Don't tease Derrek too much' and then she'd be gone, and Kate would hold the curtains in one hand and clutch her rabbit in the other and wait.
--
There is no SGC. No Jack O'Neill. No Stargate. Daniel Jackson teaches archeology in England and Captain Carter was honorably discharged after a third tour in Afghanistan, when a piece of shrapnel from an exploding shell embedded itself in her thigh. Elizabeth stares at the faces of the people she's supposed to recognize and know and love.
She doesn't look for her team.
--
Kate slams the door and throws her bag and the couch and yells 'I hate you!' before stomping up the stairs to her room. Another door slams and the stereo comes on and Elizabeth silently breaks. Knees to her chest and back against the wall, she stares at a spot on the floor and tries to pretend the bright spots dancing in her vision don't look like Atlantis.
When the music finally stops, and the sun goes down, she drags herself to her feet and makes dinner. She doesn't eat, but leaves a plate out for her daughter; she hates that she can still hear Carson's admonishing tones, like the whistle of the wind through the front porch chimes.
She's grading papers in the living room when Kate finally descends. She grabs a coke from the refrigerator and pokes at the food. When she turns, she finds her mother in the doorway - long, awkward limbs and uncertain silence. It's dark - the only light filtering in from the other room and the moon outside, and her mother looks gaunt and frail - ugly, almost. Guilt stirs in her stomach, and she looks away.
'You know, you really should take a cooking class,' she offers - a joke. An apology. She fiddles with the tab on the can.
Elizabeth softens; almost smiles. 'Yeah. I probably should, shouldn't I?'
Kate winces. 'Look, Mom, I-'
There's a long silence.
Then: 'Is this really about the concert, or is there something else?' she asks quietly.
Kate stares at the floor. 'You're so protective.'
'You make it sounds like a bad thing.'
'It is,' Kate groans. 'I'm sixteen years old. I should be allowed to go out with my friends.'
'I let you go out.'
Kate rolls her eyes. 'Barely.'
Elizabeth smiles. Kate frowns, 'What?' and Elizabeth almost laughs. 'You look like your father when you do that.'
The statement throws her, and for a long moment Kate just stares. Elizabeth moves into the kitchen and wraps the dinner plate in aluminum foil, and puts it in the refrigerator. Pours herself a glass of water. Stares out through the slitted blinds.
'Mom?' She hesitates. Elizabeth turns. 'You never talk about him,' she finally manages. It's half a question.
Elizabeth looks at her glass. 'I miss him,' she says quietly.
The honesty catches her off-guard. 'How long were you guys...?' She trails off; makes a motion with her hands. Elizabeth smiles softly.
'It's complicated. It was...' And then she's gone. Not that she doesn't want to finish the thought, but because she can't - she's disappeared, back into her mind someplace Kate's never been able to follow, and she hates it a little bit; hates the silence that hangs suspended - her mother's secret life, her secret lover, standing between them.
Kate stares at the rim of her can. 'It's been so long,' she says, just a touch too harshly. Elizabeth's expression falters, but Kate doesn't see it in time; still asks: 'Did he love you?'
The air sinks. Kate holds her breath; worries that she's pushed too far too fast. The silence rings, and from within it, Elizabeth nods.
--
It has been twenty-three years.
There will be thirteen more.
--
Kate wraps her arm around her mother's and leans into her shoulder. It is fall, and the trees are red and orange. Her mother's hair is turning grey, but the lines around her eyes are still the same. 'So,' she grins, 'you and Alan, huh?'
Elizabeth gives her an admonishing glance. 'We're friends.'
Kate snorts. 'He's been asking you out since I was twelve. You're not friends.'
Elizabeth smirks, 'Are you questioning my chastity?' and Kate laughs, long and loud. A couple on a nearby park-bench look up, and Kate smothers her amusement in a grin.
--
At a computer console on campus, Elizabeth sits down, takes a deep breath, and types 'John Sheppard' into the search engine. On the first page, there's a real estate agent from Kentucky, a journalist, and an actor. On the second page there's an artist, a lawyer, and a sailing instructor based out of Seattle. She scans the websites, looking for pictures and clues.
On the third page, there's an obituary.
John Sheppard, 38
Air Force, Major: Colorado Springs
455th Expeditionary Security Forces Squadron
Supporting: Operation Enduring Freedom
Died: June 11, 2006
Kandahar, Afghanistan
Married
Gender: Male
Hometown: San Francisco, CA
High School: Balboa High School
Burial: Arlington National Cemetery
Next to it is a photograph.
Elizabeth stares.
--
Kate falls in love.
--
The clock becomes a countdown, but neither of them know it.
Ten years.
--
It is Christmas. Kate is twenty-six and happy, smiling absently every time the light catches her engagement ring.
As always, Elizabeth puts a star on top of the tree. As always, her serene expression never falters. Alan is gone, this time for good, and Kate tries to put it out of her head as she sets the table. Jeremy's family (two brothers and their wives and kids) is small but lively, and in addition to the neighbors Elizabeth always hosts, it almost sounds like a real celebration. There is music and laughter in the front room, and Kate watches as her mother frosts a cake with burnt edges.
'Cooking classes,' she says, pointing a spoon at her.
Elizabeth smiles. 'I don't think that would have saved me.'
'Alan was a good cook,' Kate says. She regrets it instantly. The pause is acidic. 'Anyway. Thanks for inviting Jeremy's family,' she says, trying to make nice.
Elizabeth nods. 'They're a nice group,' she says. She doesn't say family.
'Yeah.'
'Kate-'
'I just don't get it.'
'I don't want to have this conversation again.'
Kate scoffs. 'We've never had this conversation.'
Elizabeth wipes her hands on a towel. 'We've been having this conversation for years, Katie-'
'So don't you think it's about time we finish it?' She arches an eyebrow. Elizabeth looks away. 'Mom-'
'Don't.'
Kate blinks at the sudden intensity, the sudden bitterness in her mother's tone.
'He loved you,' she sneers, but Elizabeth doesn't flinch; doesn't move. Even her hair is perfectly still. 'He probably still loves you, even after all you've put him through. He'd do anything for you and you just-'
'Katie-'
'Dad's gone. He's not coming back.'
Elizabeth says nothing.
'Are you ever going to accept that?'
The silence is so cold. Elizabeth doesn't look like she's breathing. Kate inhales, and wonders if she should take it back; wonders, for a moment, if maybe it isn't true, if it's all in her head - the distance. She waits, but her mother says nothing - doesn't move, doesn't blink for the longest, hardest moment. It takes another breath, a backwards count from five and then -
'No.'
--
In February, Elizabeth leaves for Washington, D.C. She only stays three days - just long enough to visit the cemetery, and the grave of a man who bears no resemblance save in name to one she remembers.
She walks down M Street, past her old university; past the brick and ivy-covered buildings; past a life she only hazily remembers.
The first ten years, she stayed in their small town out of hope. That's where she fell, that's where she'd be found. After that, it became habit. No reason to stay; no reason to leave. A small house in Connecticut on Scarborough Road, where her heart and everything else came to a stand-still.
Feeling unchanged, Elizabeth boards the plane back to New Haven. She makes it home - through the front door, keys in the bowl, purse on the table, almost to the kitchen - before she collapses.
--
It has been thirty years.
There will be six more.
--
Her mother is always outside. On the front porch, sitting on the swing with her legs tucked beside her and a book in her lap; or in the back-yard, writing, or talking with the gardener. Her mother likes flowers, but can't grow them. Kate brings her new seeds whenever she visits, and expensive parchment and books about diplomats and foreign countries, sometimes in foreign languages.
When she was growing up, articles in Arabic, French and German always littered the coffee table. Sometimes her mother would take students, tutoring late into the evenings, and Kate would listen from the top of the stairs to her mother's smooth voice, dictating gently the Russian alphabet or Italian grammar.
Sometimes, her mother greets her in a language that doesn't sound human. It's routine, now, and sometimes Kate wonders if she does it on purpose, just so they can have their moment: a raised eyebrow, a laugh, a click of her mother's tongue. 'Too much time spent in books,' she muses.
Kate nods, and holds up a bag. 'I brought gardenias.'
Elizabeth smiles and gives the bag to the gardner, then disappears into the house, only to return with presents for the kids. 'Mom,' Kate protests, but Tay and Daniel are already attacking her with hugs and joyous laughter, and Kate rolls her eyes. 'You're spoiling them.'
'It's my job,' she replies cheekily.
'Then you get to deal with the post-sugar crankiness.'
Her mother laughs, and smiles, and kisses her cheek tenderly.
--
When Elizabeth collapses for the third time in a year, Kate takes off work for a month.
--
The clock ticks backwards.
--
Her mother is seventy-five years old, and dying. She's too young, Kate thinks desperately. I'm too young.
Kate knows she doesn't take very good care of herself. She takes her vitamins and goes for long walks, but she forgets to eat, sometimes; doesn't sleep. She can't count the number of times she's seen her mother standing at the window, watching the sun come up.
'Come on, Mom,' Kate begs. Jeremy puts a hand on her shoulder and says, 'Maybe you should let her go.'
But Kate shakes her head and squeezes her mother's hand.
--
Six months later Kate hires a nurse, and moves back in. 'Temporarily,' she warns her mother, who smiles and jokes back and acts as if everything is fine, even though somedays she can't stand and somedays she can't speak; sometimes she coughs so hard she can't breathe; somedays she barely breathes at all.
Through the fall, Kate takes her for long, slow walks in the park. She wraps her mother's shoulders with extra blankets and curls next to her on the swing, head resting gently in her lap, staring up at the stars.
'You remember Herb?' her mother asks.
Kate laughs. 'My bumblebee. And Walter, the elephant.'
'And Meredith, the bunny.'
'You named that one,' she reminds her.
Elizabeth nods, and smiles wistfully. 'It seemed fitting.'
'Mom,' she asks, peering up at the sharp outline of her mother's jaw; her long curls. 'What are you looking for?'
Elizabeth runs her fingers through her daughter's hair. The pause drags, and Kate sighs, resigning herself to the silence.
'Atlantis,' Elizabeth says finally.
The word is so soft, so breakable, that Kate doesn't dare ask what she means.
--
It has been thirty-six years.
There will be no more.
--
When Elizabeth can't get out of bed, Kate finally makes phone calls.
Alan visits, and smiles at her and kisses her cheek and tells her she looks beautiful. Her mother laughs and shakes her head and tells him to be happy. Julian brings her a book and a drawing his daughter made; the next-door neighbors filter in and out; Jeremy and his sisters; each wave of laughter and smiles like the twist of a knife.
Daniel is oblivious - he grins and chatters and drives his race car up and down her leg. Elizabeth ruffles his hair and kisses his temple and interjects in his stories only when he demands it. Tay is more reticent, and Kate wonders if she knows. She stays on the floor for a long time, drawing picture after picture with her coloured pencils.
Eventually Danny's hunger wins out over his new toy-induced excitement, and Jeremy takes him downstairs; Tay shakes her head, though, says she's not hungry, that she wants to stay. She gives her grandmother her drawings, and Kate watches as Elizabeth's eyes fill with tears.
'Grandma?'
'They're beautiful. I love them.' She kisses her cheek. 'And you.'
Tay smiles and climbs on the bed and tucks herself under Elizabeth's arm. 'Tay, sweetie, you shouldn't-' Kate starts, but Elizabeth shakes her head.
Kate waits until they're both asleep before she lets her own tears fall.
--
While her mother slips in and out of consciousness, Kate sits by her bedside and reads her Dickens and Woolf and Gatsby.
' 'But her voice was wrung of its old ravishing richness; her eyes not aglow as they used to be, when she smoked cigars, when she ran down the passage to fetch her sponge bag without a stitch of clothing on her, and Ellen Atkins asked'- '
There's a knock on the door.
Kate frowns and sets the book on the dresser. She goes out into the hallway; opens the door.
Standing on the porch are two men she's never seen before - both of them awkward, both dressed in some kind of uniform. They look military, maybe, but she's never met a serviceman in her life.
The shorter one says excuse me, hello, good afternoon; the taller one stares.
'Who are you?' she demands.
'We're-' the shorter one starts; he fumbles. 'That's complicated. We're friends. Is Elizabeth here?' Under his breath: 'Of course she is, this is where we left her. Accidentally, mind you,' he corrects quickly. 'We'd never leave her on purpose, obviously. Kinda hard to run a city without a leader, you know? Anyway, is she here? Can we-'
He starts to slip by, and the movement jars her senses. Kate grabs the door and slams her hand against the frame, blocking his entrance. The taller man's hand goes for his hip; there's a gun in a holster. Her mind races.
'What do you want?'
'We just need to see Elizabeth,' the other one says - calmer, slower. He moves his hand away from his weapon. 'We're not here to hurt anyone.'
Kate tightens her jaw. 'She's not here right now.'
The shorter one blinks. 'Wh- well, where is she? When's she coming back?'
'I-' Kate starts.
The taller one breathes, 'Elizabeth?'
Kate blinks - 'What do you-' - before she realizes he isn't looking at her, isn't seeing her; rather, his gaze is fixed over her shoulder, at her mother, standing at the edge of the hallway, her hand white-knuckled around the corner of the wall.
'John?'
The shorter man stutters.
Kate gapes. 'Mom, what-'
And then he's past her, into their house and into their lives and if Elizabeth crumples and Kate yells it doesn't matter, because there's this man with his arms around her back and his face pressed against her neck and he's holding her like a lover, like a dream. 'I'm sorry,' he says, over and over, 'I'm sorry I took so long.'
Kate stares and the short man fidgets and Elizabeth's fingers are tangled in the taller man's hair. 'It's okay,' she breathes, 'you're here now. You're here.'
'What is going on?'
Elizabeth turns slightly, but John still takes her weight, still holds her close. 'Kate-' Elizabeth starts.
This man is her father. She knows that, somehow. But it doesn't make sense. He's too young. Far too young.
'Mom-'
Something beeps, and the man at the door curses. 'Uh, we gotta go.'
Elizabeth looks up at him weakly. 'John?'
His throat catches. 'Temporal fold. We only have a short amount of time to get in and out.'
'You shouldn't have risked-'
John rolls his eyes. 'You can yell at me later. After we're back on Atlantis.'
'Atlantis?'
Elizabeth pulls her eyes away from John. Kate looks small and helpless in the middle of the room. 'Katie, I-' Her mother has no words, and no strength. 'There's a letter, in my desk.' Her voice catches. 'I wish I-'
Something beeps again. 'Okay, 'gotta go' just became 'gotta go now'.'
'Elizabeth,' John murmurs. His eyes flicker back and forth between her face, Kate's, and Rodney's.
'I know,' she breathes.
'Mom?'
Kate doesn't remember moving closer, or her mother winding one arm around her back, but suddenly she's warm and safe and she doesn't want to let go. Elizabeth kisses her cheek, her forehead, and holds her close once more.
'Is she coming with us? 'Cause if so, I have to recalculate and that's gonna take time that we don't have and-'
'No,' Elizabeth murmurs, pulling back. Her legs shake, but John hasn't moved or given any indication that he'll let her fall. 'She has a family.'
'Mom?'
Elizabeth smiles. 'This is the other half of mine.'
'Rodney,' John says. The other man moves quickly, coming to stand behind them and typing something on what looks like a data-pad.
'This is going to look very strange,' Elizabeth says with a smile, touching Kate's cheek. 'Someday it'll make sense.'
'What-'
'I love you.'
Instinctively, Kate steps back. 'I know.'
And then they're gone.
--
It isn't a letter so much as a book. Wrapped in heavy paper, the stacks - three of them - are bound tight with string. Each page is filled from top to bottom with notes, written in her mother's delicate scrawl. Scattered throughout the entries are symbols she doesn't recognize, but look vaguely like astrological signs. Dots connected to make shapes.
'I can connect them, too, Mommy.'
Kate shudders and swipes the back of her hand across her cheek. Confused and angry, she rifles through the pages, looking for something, anything -
Atlantis.
The word jumps off the page. Kate stares.
--
Later, she lays in the grass in the back-yard and stares up at the sky. She hears the front door close, and Jeremy call her name, but she can't be bothered to move. A few minutes later the screen door opens, and little feet hurry across the lawn. There's a thump, a sigh, and then a head of hair in her lap.
The stars are bright like polka-dots, and Tay points out constellations - real ones and those in her imagination. Kate nods and tries to play, but everything looks so vast from down here, and she feels so small.
'Mommy,' Tay asks, sitting up and peering down at her curiously. 'What are you looking for?'
There's a long silence.
Kate never answers, but she finally manages a smile.