Title: What If?


Author: Christi (christim@comcast.net)


Rating: 17+


Timeline: During Intruder, after Simon’s exit but before they leave Earth.


Pairing: Elizabeth/Daniel


Author’s Note: Um, I have no idea why, but even though I do adore Sparky and all its inherent perkiness, I’ve had a super sekrit kink for Elizabeth/Daniel since New Order Part 1. And since I find it practically impossible to ‘ship Daniel with ANYONE (I’ve written Daniel/Janet by great threat and cajoling only, Daniel/Sam gives me nightmares, and Daniel/Vala is just…well, it’s not BAD and it makes me smile, but I just don’t see it working on some basic level <s>besides, Cameron would be SO much better with her</s>), I figured I’d best write something down so that my fic page stops giving people the misconception that I hate Daniel. Because I don’t. Seriously. Not even a little.


My apologies to any languages that have been butchered in the writing of this fic. And any languages that are based in different alphabets have been translated phonetically. I hope. And no, I’m not going to include translations after the story or something. Because uh, that’s so not the point of the story.




His mouth was deliciously warm, tracing a path across the expanse of her stomach with Italian endearments, the whisper of bellissima branding her skin until she almost believed it. In response, she twined her fingers in his short hair and struggled to catch her breath, wondering why this had never occurred to her before.


They had been friends all those months ago, while they were teetering between desperation and disaster and both trying to project an air of confidence that had no real foundation. But in those tense weeks between the end of the world and the discovery of a new one, there had been no single moment when Elizabeth Weir had looked at Daniel Jackson and seen him as more than a partner in cosmic crime.


This kind of partnership was something else entirely.




Lukewarm coffee and commissary food was a far cry from the romantic evening she had been anticipating. But then, fresh from the break-up of a relationship that had probably dragged on entirely too long, Elizabeth was beginning to realize that planning ahead was a somewhat useless undertaking in her life.


Still, she wished Simon would have said something before she had finished cooking. Ever the gentleman, he had been perfectly willing to share the meal, but she had never been one to linger when words failed her.


Which left her here, picking at what she suspected was meant to resemble meatloaf and mourning the loss of one more link to a world that was quickly moving on without her.


“Care for some company?” a friendly voice asked, interrupting her thoughts. Looking up, she couldn’t help but smile.


“Of course, Dr. Jackson.”


“Please, I’ve told you before. Call me Daniel.”




Because his mouth was quickly becoming too much, too fast, she pushed him away and slid over him, her tongue and fingers tracing Chinese symbols down his chest—Bold. Brilliant. And, as afterthought because her fingers were fascinated by the unexpected stark lines of contrast in his chest—Built.


His response was a good-natured laugh that ended with a groan as she quickly scratched her teeth over his nipple. The clear change in the pace of his breathing made her smile and feel more than a little smug—after being dumped with seemingly little thought, there was something to be said for having the reaffirming reality of a wanting male underneath her.


So when he sat up and kissed her with sweet but exasperated lips, she wasn’t bothered by his German admonishment, even though the harsh consonants felt strident when contrasted with the smooth sheets—Unmögliche frau.


After all, she supposed she was being a bit impossible. But she had been official and commanding for over a year now, and everyone needed to let loose at some point.




Forty minutes later and her coffee was officially undrinkable. Luckily, Elizabeth was too busy enjoying herself to notice. Talking to Daniel was like stumbling across someone eager to look at baby photos and listen to endless anecdotes, except in this case the newborn was Atlantis.


In her experience, the Lost City signified something different for everyone. Redemption, progress, haven, hope—all perfectly valid in their own way. For Elizabeth, though, Atlantis had always been about discovery, the assurance and exploration of an existence bigger than her own. And if there was one person who understood that, it was Daniel.


She found comfort in that knowledge because she could reflect and wax poetic and instead of skepticism, he offered only a burning desire to know more.


It was a feeling she could relate to.


When he asked her what feeling about Atlantis stood out the most, only one answer came to mind.


“Right now, I just feel homesick.”




Daniel’s hands slid up her torso, stealing her thoughts as he weighed her breasts in slightly calloused palms. He laid kisses along her collarbone, brushed his thumbs across her nipples, and spoke Spanish sentiments that echoed in her ears. “Me traes alegría,” Daniel claimed, and for a moment, Elizabeth wanted to believe him.


But she couldn’t, because she had enough to worry about and picking up the pieces of a dozen what-might-have-beens was something she couldn’t afford to waste energy on right now. So instead, she trailed her tongue inside his ear and joked, “You just want to get to the good part.”


An almost feral expression crossed his face, and with the skill he’d picked up after nearly a decade in the field, she found herself on her back once more. “Sometimes, I forget that really, you don’t know me that well.”




As he refilled her mug some time later, Elizabeth found herself telling him things that this conversation had yet to cover—the personal rather than the professional.


“More often than I’d like to admit,” she admitted, “I find it hard to remember that I had a life before all of this. I lost someone today, someone who had been important to me, because I’m so wrapped up in all of this that he became incidental and he knew it. And the trick of it is, I don’t think that I would change things if I could.”


His blue eyes held understanding rather than condemnation. “I lost my wife to the Stargate,” he said instead, his voice heavy with the weight of the dead. “But then, I never would have met her in the first place without it. I wonder—which is worse?” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “There’s no easy answer. Just the one that makes sense to you.”




With his fingers buried deep inside her and his mouth working its way up her left thigh, the only words that came to her fractured and frenzied mind were Russian.








None of them were particularly polite, but as his tongue hit just the right spot, one slipped out anyway.


A few breathless moments later and she could sense the smirk Daniel was trying desperately to keep under wraps. Just a typical man after all, it seemed.


With a roll of her eyes, she pulled him up, kissing him hard and rolling them back over, because when it came down to it, she really had gotten accustomed to being in charge.


Zatknis’,” she ordered fondly, before finally sliding onto him.




Because he was Daniel, he walked her to her room on base, an easy saunter and silence filling the space between them.


When they reached her door, she found that she had to ask—and even suspected that he wouldn’t mind.


“Do you regret it at all?”


He smiled—sad and sweet and perfect. “How could I?”


Somehow, kissing him seemed like the only logical reply.




When it was over, Elizabeth had a hard time finding words. Or breath. Or really, the energy to move. Whether it was just the post-coital exhaustion of a too long celibate life or it was a particular reaction to Daniel, she didn’t know. 


Either way, this was not where she had seen the night ending. It was better.


And, simultaneously, worse.


Because now, only one question echoed in her mind, and it was the very one she had been avoiding all night.


Quis si?” she wondered in Ancient as she shifted closer, burrowed deeper.


He drew her palm close, pressing a kiss there with a sad sigh of resignation. “If only.”