calleigh_j (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
calleigh_j) wrote2007-02-18 09:17 am
calleigh_j) wrote2007-02-18 09:17 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Home Is Where I Want To Be
Title: Losing Atlantis I: Home Is Where I Want To Be
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
calleigh_j
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: AU from ‘The Return I’, so no spoilers for the second half of Season Three, but anything up to there is fair game
Pairings: Sparky (John/Elizabeth)
Word Count: 1425
Disclaimer: Don’t own Atlantis or anything related to it; also, don’t own the quote which makes up the title of this chapter – it’s from the Talking Heads song ‘This Must Be The Place’
Summary: Losing Atlantis nearly kills her
A/N inside cut at end of fic
Feedback is always appreciated
Losing Atlantis nearly kills her.
She spends the first six weeks, as soon as the debriefings are over, essentially locked in her Colorado apartment, living off take-out and junk food. She watches some of the TV she missed in the two and a half years she was gone and sleeps on the couch. She doesn’t read, because every time she picks up a book, she sees herself in her office, or her quarters, or on the balcony with half an hour to herself, trying to get through one of the many novels she brought with her.
Her memoirs write themselves, once she gathers the courage to put pen to paper. She relives every moment in Technicolor, and wishes she could do it all again. She knows it’s unlikely she’ll be able to actually publish her life story any time soon, but this way she’ll never forget any of it, and the idea of losing even one memory of her city and her people makes her stomach ties itself in knots.
It’s not surprising that it’s Carson who finally comes to drag her out of her misery – their relationship is easy and comfortable with nothing lurking in the corners to make things awkward. Seeing his face again is at once wonderful and heartbreaking, and she agrees to the dinner mostly so he’ll leave. As the door shuts behind him, she goes and locks herself in the bathroom – the only room in the small apartment that’s even remotely like anywhere in Atlantis. She emerges an hour later and starts getting ready to go out.
By the time she’s dressed, she’s almost looking forward to it, but then the phone rings. It’s Carson: there’s an emergency at the SGC, and he’s so sorry but dinner will have to be postponed. She feigns nonchalance and surprises herself by being as upset as she is. In the morning she returns one of the numerous e-mails she’s received since being back and finds herself on the next plane to D.C., bound for Georgetown and the Poli. Sci. department she left so many lifetimes ago.
Rumours abound as to where she’s been the past few years. Questions are answered with a shadowy smile and a vague mention of something classified. Her lectures are full to bursting – she was well liked the first time round and the intrigue only increases her popularity. As the weeks pass, featureless anecdotes begin to find their way into her notes, all the details removed so as not to alert anyone to the fact that she spent more than two years living in another galaxy. She likes sharing what she can of Atlantis with them; with these people who aren’t likely to ever see her city.
It’s been exactly four months since they left Atlantis when John turns up to a lecture. As she answers questions from some of the students at the end – there’s always a small crowd of people wanting to speak to her after lectures and she always makes time for them, whether they have questions about essays and exams or just want to ask her opinion on something – she sees him make his way down to the front of the lecture theatre and take a seat in the first row. She completely loses her train of thought and ends up just staring at him. The students she’s talking to stare at her in confusion before following her gaze and, seeing the unfamiliar face, they back away quickly to pack up their belongings. They hover around their bags though; curiosity overwhelming the traditional desire not to spend any more time than is strictly necessary in lecture theatres.
Speechlessness isn’t something with which Elizabeth is very familiar. The sensation wraps itself around her mind and her heart, and eventually she resorts to simply picking up her bag and books, and assuming that he’ll follow her out (he does, he would follow her anywhere). The corridors are virtually empty as they make their way to her office
“You wouldn’t believe how many papers I have to grade.” The comment is apropos of nothing and startles her as much as it does him.
“Papers?” He can’t quite believe that this is what she wants to talk about – grading papers – when they haven’t seen one another in four months.
“Yeah. I suppose it’s my own fault, for setting questions to all my classes at the same time.” She’s going for casual, but the slight tremor in her voice gives her away as much as her rifling through her files because she’s clearly forgotten what she’s looking for.
“Um, Elizabeth…”
“Did you have a good flight? I always seem to get stuck in front of some kids whose parents have no idea how to control them – it drives me insane. The last time…”
He tries again to interrupt her but she seems hell-bent on not letting him get a word in edgeways so he reaches for her hand as she goes to pick up a book. This stops her dead in her tracks. She looks straight up at him and he feels incredibly guilty that it took him so long to come and visit her when he thought…when he knew that, out of all of them, she would be the one taking the loss of Atlantis the hardest. He can read her like a book – it wasn’t always that easy, but he’s spent enough time now by her side to understand her moods and expressions as well as he understands his own – and she’s breaking and he should’ve been there.
“Do you want to get some food?” The tremor is gone now, by sheer force of will, and the look in her eyes is hopeful. It takes him a minute to compose a reply because in all their time in Atlantis, he’s not sure she ever asked him to get some food; it was always him doing the asking, and they’d both been perfectly happy with that.
“Sure.”
***
The evening passes quickly and soon it’s past midnight.
“I should get going,” he suggests, pushing himself up off the couch and starting towards the door.
“I have a spare room.” It’s another comment that catches both off-guard and he’s about to thank her for the offer but decline when she speaks again. “John…” It’s the first time she’s called him by his name since they got back from Atlantis, though he doesn’t realise that until the word falls from her lips, “John, I can’t…I don’t…what I mean is…I have a spare room,” she repeats, shooting him a smile that’s nowhere close to reaching her eyes.
“If you’re sure.” She nods and goes upstairs to make the bed and find some clean towels. He stands in her lounge for a second, feeling awkward, and then heads into the kitchen to wash up. He’s just putting away the last of the plates when she comes back down.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Hey, I come fully house-trained,” he jokes. She smiles a little and shakes her head.
“The spare room’s just on your left at the top of the stairs; bathroom’s next door.” She busies herself turning off the TV and locking up. When she goes up to her own room, she almost walks into him at the top of the stairs. They wish one another goodnight and he’s closing the door behind him when she speaks again.
“I’m really glad you’re here.” He turns around and she’s just standing there in the hallway and for that second, it’s like they never left Atlantis.
“It’s the least I can do,” he replies and she smiles, tentative but real. It’s the first sign that she really might be ok that he’s seen from her all evening and he wants to push it, but she holds his gaze and he knows that she’s not ready. He watches her turn and go into her room, then mirrors her actions, shutting the door behind him.
She’s dreading it, this conversation that she knows they have to have, but she knows he’ll understand. She’s never been very good at expressing her personal feelings when they’re not related to a treaty or negotiation, but it’s not his strong point either. They don’t demand too much of one another that way. This sharing of feelings will be a little awkward, that much she knows, but it’s not work – he doesn’t have to agree with her or be cajoled into a compromise: he just has to listen and to understand, and whatever happens after that, it will be enough.
*Fin*
Author's Note: This is my first finished piece of ‘lantis fic, though by no means my first fic. Inspired by multiple watchings of ‘The Return I’ combined with listening to ‘This Must Be The Place’. Thanks tocassandra_dane for looking through this for me, and for chiarahhue for doing an excellent job of telling me exactly what was wrong with this and prodding me enough that I actually got it written. This is Part I of a trilogy in the works.
Author:
calleigh_j Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: AU from ‘The Return I’, so no spoilers for the second half of Season Three, but anything up to there is fair game
Pairings: Sparky (John/Elizabeth)
Word Count: 1425
Disclaimer: Don’t own Atlantis or anything related to it; also, don’t own the quote which makes up the title of this chapter – it’s from the Talking Heads song ‘This Must Be The Place’
Summary: Losing Atlantis nearly kills her
A/N inside cut at end of fic
Feedback is always appreciated
Losing Atlantis nearly kills her.
She spends the first six weeks, as soon as the debriefings are over, essentially locked in her Colorado apartment, living off take-out and junk food. She watches some of the TV she missed in the two and a half years she was gone and sleeps on the couch. She doesn’t read, because every time she picks up a book, she sees herself in her office, or her quarters, or on the balcony with half an hour to herself, trying to get through one of the many novels she brought with her.
Her memoirs write themselves, once she gathers the courage to put pen to paper. She relives every moment in Technicolor, and wishes she could do it all again. She knows it’s unlikely she’ll be able to actually publish her life story any time soon, but this way she’ll never forget any of it, and the idea of losing even one memory of her city and her people makes her stomach ties itself in knots.
It’s not surprising that it’s Carson who finally comes to drag her out of her misery – their relationship is easy and comfortable with nothing lurking in the corners to make things awkward. Seeing his face again is at once wonderful and heartbreaking, and she agrees to the dinner mostly so he’ll leave. As the door shuts behind him, she goes and locks herself in the bathroom – the only room in the small apartment that’s even remotely like anywhere in Atlantis. She emerges an hour later and starts getting ready to go out.
By the time she’s dressed, she’s almost looking forward to it, but then the phone rings. It’s Carson: there’s an emergency at the SGC, and he’s so sorry but dinner will have to be postponed. She feigns nonchalance and surprises herself by being as upset as she is. In the morning she returns one of the numerous e-mails she’s received since being back and finds herself on the next plane to D.C., bound for Georgetown and the Poli. Sci. department she left so many lifetimes ago.
Rumours abound as to where she’s been the past few years. Questions are answered with a shadowy smile and a vague mention of something classified. Her lectures are full to bursting – she was well liked the first time round and the intrigue only increases her popularity. As the weeks pass, featureless anecdotes begin to find their way into her notes, all the details removed so as not to alert anyone to the fact that she spent more than two years living in another galaxy. She likes sharing what she can of Atlantis with them; with these people who aren’t likely to ever see her city.
It’s been exactly four months since they left Atlantis when John turns up to a lecture. As she answers questions from some of the students at the end – there’s always a small crowd of people wanting to speak to her after lectures and she always makes time for them, whether they have questions about essays and exams or just want to ask her opinion on something – she sees him make his way down to the front of the lecture theatre and take a seat in the first row. She completely loses her train of thought and ends up just staring at him. The students she’s talking to stare at her in confusion before following her gaze and, seeing the unfamiliar face, they back away quickly to pack up their belongings. They hover around their bags though; curiosity overwhelming the traditional desire not to spend any more time than is strictly necessary in lecture theatres.
Speechlessness isn’t something with which Elizabeth is very familiar. The sensation wraps itself around her mind and her heart, and eventually she resorts to simply picking up her bag and books, and assuming that he’ll follow her out (he does, he would follow her anywhere). The corridors are virtually empty as they make their way to her office
“You wouldn’t believe how many papers I have to grade.” The comment is apropos of nothing and startles her as much as it does him.
“Papers?” He can’t quite believe that this is what she wants to talk about – grading papers – when they haven’t seen one another in four months.
“Yeah. I suppose it’s my own fault, for setting questions to all my classes at the same time.” She’s going for casual, but the slight tremor in her voice gives her away as much as her rifling through her files because she’s clearly forgotten what she’s looking for.
“Um, Elizabeth…”
“Did you have a good flight? I always seem to get stuck in front of some kids whose parents have no idea how to control them – it drives me insane. The last time…”
He tries again to interrupt her but she seems hell-bent on not letting him get a word in edgeways so he reaches for her hand as she goes to pick up a book. This stops her dead in her tracks. She looks straight up at him and he feels incredibly guilty that it took him so long to come and visit her when he thought…when he knew that, out of all of them, she would be the one taking the loss of Atlantis the hardest. He can read her like a book – it wasn’t always that easy, but he’s spent enough time now by her side to understand her moods and expressions as well as he understands his own – and she’s breaking and he should’ve been there.
“Do you want to get some food?” The tremor is gone now, by sheer force of will, and the look in her eyes is hopeful. It takes him a minute to compose a reply because in all their time in Atlantis, he’s not sure she ever asked him to get some food; it was always him doing the asking, and they’d both been perfectly happy with that.
“Sure.”
***
The evening passes quickly and soon it’s past midnight.
“I should get going,” he suggests, pushing himself up off the couch and starting towards the door.
“I have a spare room.” It’s another comment that catches both off-guard and he’s about to thank her for the offer but decline when she speaks again. “John…” It’s the first time she’s called him by his name since they got back from Atlantis, though he doesn’t realise that until the word falls from her lips, “John, I can’t…I don’t…what I mean is…I have a spare room,” she repeats, shooting him a smile that’s nowhere close to reaching her eyes.
“If you’re sure.” She nods and goes upstairs to make the bed and find some clean towels. He stands in her lounge for a second, feeling awkward, and then heads into the kitchen to wash up. He’s just putting away the last of the plates when she comes back down.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Hey, I come fully house-trained,” he jokes. She smiles a little and shakes her head.
“The spare room’s just on your left at the top of the stairs; bathroom’s next door.” She busies herself turning off the TV and locking up. When she goes up to her own room, she almost walks into him at the top of the stairs. They wish one another goodnight and he’s closing the door behind him when she speaks again.
“I’m really glad you’re here.” He turns around and she’s just standing there in the hallway and for that second, it’s like they never left Atlantis.
“It’s the least I can do,” he replies and she smiles, tentative but real. It’s the first sign that she really might be ok that he’s seen from her all evening and he wants to push it, but she holds his gaze and he knows that she’s not ready. He watches her turn and go into her room, then mirrors her actions, shutting the door behind him.
She’s dreading it, this conversation that she knows they have to have, but she knows he’ll understand. She’s never been very good at expressing her personal feelings when they’re not related to a treaty or negotiation, but it’s not his strong point either. They don’t demand too much of one another that way. This sharing of feelings will be a little awkward, that much she knows, but it’s not work – he doesn’t have to agree with her or be cajoled into a compromise: he just has to listen and to understand, and whatever happens after that, it will be enough.
*Fin*
Author's Note: This is my first finished piece of ‘lantis fic, though by no means my first fic. Inspired by multiple watchings of ‘The Return I’ combined with listening to ‘This Must Be The Place’. Thanks to
cassandra_dane for looking through this for me, and for chiarahhue for doing an excellent job of telling me exactly what was wrong with this and prodding me enough that I actually got it written. This is Part I of a trilogy in the works.