Title: Beauty in the Breakdown
Author: Christi (email@example.com)
Rating: Uh, let’s say somewhere between a hard R and a soft NC-17.
Pairing: Weir/Lorne, potential Weir/Caldwell, very brief and barely mentioned Weir/Jack (*falls over in shock*) and despite the fact that Sheppard isn’t even IN this fic, I kind of think that at its heart, it’s Weir/Sheppard, if you squint and sort of read between the lines. Oh, plus Weir/Cadman friendship.
Spoilers: Scattered through Season Two and the front of Season Three.
Specifically, The Lost Boys, Cond
Disclaimer: Sadly, no, they’re really not mine.
Author’s Note: Just an idea that my brain’s been toying with for awhile. I needed a break from some of my other projects, so control_freak80 insisted I try sitting down and writing something completely different. I don’t think you can get much different in tone and subject than this, so I feel accomplished. Thanks as always to control_freak80 and kate98 for the betas.
She knows that she shouldn’t be here. But somehow, with his strong fingers digging into her hips and his hot mouth working its way up her shoulder, it’s hard to care about shoulds and shouldn’ts.
The black of the storage closet is almost oppressive, her only points of
reference tactile – the rasp of his BDUs against the
too sensitive skin of her inner thighs and the wash of his gasping breath
across her skin. But as overload is half the point of this little exercise,
She is always silent when they do this. And no matter how hard she tries to convince herself, she can never really believe that it’s because they are less than fifty feet from the control room.
After all is said and done,
Still, she never regrets the moment he slides inside, because at that moment there can’t be overwhelming responsibility or oppressive worry – there’s just this, and it’s needy and real and so good that her head falls back against the wall.
When he moves, she finds it easy to pull him closer, as though wrapping herself around him as much as she can will make this something other than what she’s forced it to be. Absently, it occurs to her that she had thought her sex-against-the-wall days were behind her – she and Simon had always had a perfectly polite kind of sex.
But then he hits just the right spot and
Finally, thankfully, she stops thinking entirely. After all, that was why she dragged him in here in the first place.
As cliché as it is, it’s the aftermath that always proves probl
Now the dark
Unfortunately, it se
His voice is joking, but there’s a crack just under the surface as he begins to speak. “Not that I’m complaining,” he starts, “Because really, I’m not. But you do realize that this is the fourth time, right?”
Of course she knows.
His voice gets stronger, more determined. “And while again, definitely not complaining, if you’re going to continue to pull me into this closet every time Sheppard’s team has gone missing off world, I’m thinking we should make an effort to keep this hallway clear.”
She can’t reply, because that would mean speaking and that’s a level of
In spite of herself, she laughs, because the image is just a little too mortifying not to. And he laughs with her and brushes a quick kiss against her cheek before pulling away.
“I’m just saying,” he reiterates before she’s blinded by the light of
the door swinging open. Major Lorne’s silhouette almost se
When she feels the weight of it in her hand, cold and final,
It is a dislike fueled not by some blindly liberal, anti-military
stance, but rather because guns r
Holding a gun now forces her to realize that there are probl
But then, what they had seen on Olesia had
Lieutenant Cadman is watching her silently, and the aura of concern she gives off is disconcerting. “Are you sure you want to do this, ma’am?”
She considers the question carefully, because to be honest, she’s not
sure at all. There are some things she had rather never learn. But then she r
So she nods and lifts the gun. “Show me.”
Cadman takes the request like the order it really was, launching into a
lecture about stance and aim and bracing for impact. Still, the first time
So instead, Laura patiently corrects all of the many things that were
It doesn’t really help,
Minutes turn into hours and
Which is why the pleading, almost desperate tone that she vocalizes comes as such a surprise. Even Cadman looks a bit astounded by it, although she tries to hide her shock.
“It’s just…I’m still missing the target more often than not,”
“Sure, but you’re getting better,” Cadman assures her. “Maybe starting tomorrow, Colonel Sheppard could….”
She doesn’t finished her sentence because something immediately sits wrong with asking John for this, and Elizabeth suspects that it’s painfully clear.
Without another word passing between th
By dawn, she is hitting the target more often than she misses. She still hates the gun, but somehow, she doesn’t fear it quite so much.
As they gather their things and leave the training room,
Laura smiles back.
The image of her face – or rather, lack thereof – stays focused in
It’s frightening – downright terrifying, actually – but more than that, it’s disappointing. She had somehow managed to convince herself that she was moving past this.
When she thinks too hard,
She can still picture every detail of John’s charming, self-deprecating smile.
But they’re not here, and as she stares at her face, too drawn and pale
for a woman her age,
So after one more moment of hesitation, she picks her pills back up and
She goes to bed, resolved.
Back in Atlantis, the real Elizabeth Weir never wakes up.
But Niam does.
His face is understandably blank for a moment, and she feels fleetingly
bad about that. But if there was ever a time that she needed a drink, it was
right now. She knows John has the r
So she had come to the one other person who might understand what the last few hours had been like, because she couldn’t handle the questioning looks and the tentative questions. Coincidentally, he also happened to be one of the few other people who might actually have their own stash of liquor.
“I don’t drink bourbon,” he answered finally. “I drink scotch.”
This surprises her, though she’s not really certain why. But no matter. She just stays standing there, and she
imagines that she looks more than a little pathetic and knows something’s
really wrong when she can’t find it in herself to care. “Would you like some of
Two and a half generous glasses later, she’s still upset. The only difference is that now she’s drunk and upset, which has never been a good combination. Eyeing the glass, she wonders what in the world possessed her to do this.
Then she r
Sitting across from her,
“It wasn’t your fault,” he finally says.
She wants to believe him. Rationally,
Not just anyone else. John. Thalen. The lines blur along with her sobriety.
She says nothing, taking another sip.
Her head is pounding and she’s still a little too raw to absorb all of this.
So she leaves – quietly, because it se
When John walks back into Atlantis looking better than ever, she doesn’t
question it. She greets him warmly and there’s a debriefing. Getting through it
all is long and hard, but looking at
She is calm. More than that, she is relieved. Grateful. Amazed. Everything that she is supposed to be.
It’s late before she gets back to her quarters, but she can feel it all catching up to her and this needs to be dealt with before it gets any worse. Everyone else had been allowed their grief, their pain, their anger.
As their leader, she routinely allows herself only what she cannot possibly hide. Which is never, ever enough.
She has to struggle out of her clothes, because by now the door is locked and her hands are shaking and in reality, her breaking point had been reached about twelve hours ago. But somehow, she makes it to the bathroom, where the shower is turned on as hard and as hot as it will go.
The water hurts as it pelts her skin and she knows she should adjust it,
that this is really quite bad for you. But
Now finally, finally, she lets it all go. With great, heaving sobs, she slides down the walls of the shower, pulling her legs close and being as loud as she likes – she knows from experience that the sound of the water will shield her from discovery.
It’s self-indulgent and silly and sentimental because he’s fine now – back where he belongs. But she can still hear the echo of his screams as she watched him die, one horrible piece at a time, all the while knowing that she could save her friend, her right hand – but that really, she couldn’t do anything at all.
She’ll stop in a minute. Really, she will.
In just a minute.