Revelations, by etben
Title: Revelations
Author: etben
Challenge: Amnesty / Abandonment
Rating: R. DARK. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Character: Elizabeth Weir
This is the way of things:
Teyla never speaks on her own behalf. My people, she says, my people need this; my people want that; my people have seen this happen before. She is slender and dark and earnest, and Elizabeth believes her when she says, my people will fight for you in this war. Because war is coming, and they both know it. They are leaders: they have learned to see the storm when it is still the flap of a tiny wing, and to think on it, and to prepare. Teyla comes to Elizabeth, and does not smile, and says, my people will stand by you. Elizabeth thanks her, and smiles, and sleeps better that night (although not well, never well). If Teyla says she will be there, then there she will be; Elizabeth knows this.
When Teyla disappears, she does not worry. Teyla can be trusted - Elizabeth has her word as a leader, and knows that word is good. She does not worry, and she does not worry, and then Radek Zelenka comes to her office, one morning, and he is worried. He shows her - Teyla loading her packs, Teyla slipping through the halls, Teyla dialing the gate and jumping through. He says that he is sorry, and that they never suspected it, not of her. He says that they still have the address she dialed, and they’re assembling a team to go through and look for her. He says he would not have told her this, not this way, but he could not find Colonel -
She cuts him off, standing. In the gateroom, she finds the team about to dial, and tells them to stand down. They stare, but they do it. Zelenka is sputtering, next to her, but she smiles at him.
She never promised us anything, she says. We should be grateful she stayed as long as she did.
They go to the mainland, later that day, but Elizabeth is not surprised to find the camp packed up and gone, even the charred earth scattered in a nearly-random pattern. True, Teyla had said her people would stand with them, but what good would a leaderless people have been?
And so it goes.
***
It happens like this:
John says yes, Elizabeth; sure, Dr Weir; no problem. Sometimes he doesn’t, of course - sometimes he says no, Elizabeth, and I can’t, Dr Weir, and I have to, don’t you see? Still, that doesn’t bother Elizabeth. They may not always agree, but she has his respect, and she knows it. She has faith in that.
Of course, faith isn’t everything. There’s a situation - there so often is, these days. Zelenka explains it: a room, at the lowest level of the city, a crack in the floor, water seeping up from below. John wants to go, of course. There's a way, he says, and Zelenka explains. All we need to do is get past the -
He keeps talking, something about primary retention doors, but Elizabeth is no fool, and she sees through his attempts to distract her, sees to the heart of it. There's a door, a door that Atlantis has shut to protect them, but it's not enough. They need to dam the water further up, at the source, but to do that, they need to get that door open.
She sees John's plan, all at once, and tells him no. It's too dangerous, and he's too important to the expedition. There has to be another way, and he has to find it, because she can't let him do this. Please, John, she says, give us time, let us figure something else out. John!
As he walks down the hallway, glancing sadly back toward her, she realizes that it’s not enough, not nearly enough. She has his respect, but Atlantis has his love and his joy and the breath in his body. He may fight for her, but he’ll die for Atlantis, and she can’t ask him to do anything else. They’re living at the edges of what she has the right to expect of him. This far, this far they can go, but the world falls aside and no, no farther, not this, she hears.
She never sees John again, although the water stops flowing, eventually.
This is how it goes, now.
***
It works like this:
Rodney says doom, doom and gloom, death destruction and despair, but he always saves them, in the end. It’s just Rodney, his way. He needs to say things to lay them out and make them real, so the best thing they all can do is just let him do it. Left to his own devices, he’ll talk himself out of the panic and into a solution. All they have to do is wait, and then to let him do what he needs to. In his language, it can't be done means I haven't figured out how to do it yet, so just give me a minute.
She doesn't even listen to him, any more - instead, she watches. There's a period of hand-waving, and a period of yelling, and usually a period of pacing angrily in circles, but then there's always a shift. He'll freeze, tension easing only to return with a different focus, a new orientation. He'll turn to her, and there will be an indefinable something in his eyes, a spark that she thinks is genius, or maybe hope. When she sees that spark, she knows they'll be fine; all she needs to do is get out of his way and let him do what he's already planning to.
So Rodney’s yelling, as usual, about the latest crisis - and when did they become crises, and not problems? - and how this is bad, the worst, how he doesn’t think he’ll be able to fix it, this time. Elizabeth, he says, and his mouth turns down as he says it, I don't - I'm not - I just - look, I really don't know. I mean, I have ideas, sure, and he gives a little laugh, dry as recycled air, I always I have ideas, but now - this - look, I really think - I can't think - I can't, I can't -
She cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder and a sad smile, the one she’s perfected for this sort of occasion. She tells him she trusts him, and that she’s sure he can do this. Do what you have to, she tells him, and pats him on the shoulder, and pretends not to notice the look in his eyes.
She hears the explosion from her office, but she doesn't join the crowd on the pier, the people who watch, silently, as the jumper drifts down over Atlantis in a haze of ash.
They find the explanation easily enough; it's the first thing they see when Zelenka manages to stop his hands shaking long enough to override the security on McKay's computer. In it, McKay details his plan, telling them what he did so that it can be repeated, if necessary. She would laugh - Rodney McKay, explaining everything ad nauseum, even his death - but the Marines would be frightened, and anyways, it’s not that funny.
I should have listened to him, she almost says, but then she doesn’t. Because she should have, but she’s still not sure that she would have. Things are like that, now.
***
It ends like this:
Ronon Dex never has said much, but Elizabeth’s always known she could trust him. He’s quiet, but there’s a look in his eyes, a look that she knows and respects. Sometimes, she even thinks she sees something more in his eyes, something that might be respect, or might be - but no. That’s silly.
When he rapes her, holding her head against a table in the mess, she doesn’t scream. Why would she?
Zelenka finds her, curled against the wall, and sits beside her, running his hand through her hair. It's fine, she wants to say, so don't worry.
It’s nothing she couldn’t have seen coming, if she’d known to look.
Then again, isn't that always the way?
***
And then, like this:
Simon says shhh, and hush, and don’t worry, it’s all fine now, you’re home. He says I’m sorry. He tells her stories about what will come, the life they’ll lead together. He helps her to the bathroom, brushes her hair away from her face, feeds her soft foods and clear fluids. He pulls her hands gently away from Zelenka's, and wheels her down the hallways of the SGC. He sets her up in his bedroom, in his big house, and sleeps on the couch, or in a chair next to his bed.
I love you, Liz, he says.
Sometimes, late at night when he thinks she’s asleep, he tells her other things: how he hadn’t thought he’d see her again, how frightened he was when he’d gotten the call from the SGC, how glad he was that she hadn’t taken his name off her health forms. I’m just - Liz, darling, I’m just so glad they got you out in time, away from that place, from - .
He falls asleep with his face in her lap, her hands wrapped in his. She lies awake, eyes closed, and thinks about Atlantis.
In the morning, he decides that she’s finally well enough to move downstairs and sit on the couch. As he arranges a blanket around her feet, she starts to talk, slowly, telling him what she realized last night, about Atlantis. At first, he’s so, so glad to hear her voice - so worried, he’d said, that first week, so worried, but they say your voice is fine, no reason you can’t, so please, Liz, just say something, anything, please. Please, darling.
When he realizes what she’s trying to say, though, his eyes go wide and fill with tears. She realizes, too late, that she’s miscalculated, that he can’t cope with this, that he’s not ready. She should have waited, but oh well. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, she thinks, and does what she can to fix her errors.
I love you, she tells him, and he smiles, and kisses her forehead, but he still hides his car keys.
She tells him she loves him often, the next few days, as she gradually builds up her strength, bolstered on his love and lots of chicken noodle soup, homemade, better than anything they’d eaten on Atlantis. She means it, too - he’s a wonderful man, a sweet man, and he’s done so much for her. How could she not love him?
As she watches his blood spread across the kitchen floor, though, she knows the truth: love isn’t enough. It’s never been enough. Still, she does love him, and that does count for something, and so she wipes off the knife before she leaves.
Author: etben
Challenge: Amnesty / Abandonment
Rating: R. DARK. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Character: Elizabeth Weir
This is the way of things:
Teyla never speaks on her own behalf. My people, she says, my people need this; my people want that; my people have seen this happen before. She is slender and dark and earnest, and Elizabeth believes her when she says, my people will fight for you in this war. Because war is coming, and they both know it. They are leaders: they have learned to see the storm when it is still the flap of a tiny wing, and to think on it, and to prepare. Teyla comes to Elizabeth, and does not smile, and says, my people will stand by you. Elizabeth thanks her, and smiles, and sleeps better that night (although not well, never well). If Teyla says she will be there, then there she will be; Elizabeth knows this.
When Teyla disappears, she does not worry. Teyla can be trusted - Elizabeth has her word as a leader, and knows that word is good. She does not worry, and she does not worry, and then Radek Zelenka comes to her office, one morning, and he is worried. He shows her - Teyla loading her packs, Teyla slipping through the halls, Teyla dialing the gate and jumping through. He says that he is sorry, and that they never suspected it, not of her. He says that they still have the address she dialed, and they’re assembling a team to go through and look for her. He says he would not have told her this, not this way, but he could not find Colonel -
She cuts him off, standing. In the gateroom, she finds the team about to dial, and tells them to stand down. They stare, but they do it. Zelenka is sputtering, next to her, but she smiles at him.
She never promised us anything, she says. We should be grateful she stayed as long as she did.
They go to the mainland, later that day, but Elizabeth is not surprised to find the camp packed up and gone, even the charred earth scattered in a nearly-random pattern. True, Teyla had said her people would stand with them, but what good would a leaderless people have been?
And so it goes.
***
It happens like this:
John says yes, Elizabeth; sure, Dr Weir; no problem. Sometimes he doesn’t, of course - sometimes he says no, Elizabeth, and I can’t, Dr Weir, and I have to, don’t you see? Still, that doesn’t bother Elizabeth. They may not always agree, but she has his respect, and she knows it. She has faith in that.
Of course, faith isn’t everything. There’s a situation - there so often is, these days. Zelenka explains it: a room, at the lowest level of the city, a crack in the floor, water seeping up from below. John wants to go, of course. There's a way, he says, and Zelenka explains. All we need to do is get past the -
He keeps talking, something about primary retention doors, but Elizabeth is no fool, and she sees through his attempts to distract her, sees to the heart of it. There's a door, a door that Atlantis has shut to protect them, but it's not enough. They need to dam the water further up, at the source, but to do that, they need to get that door open.
She sees John's plan, all at once, and tells him no. It's too dangerous, and he's too important to the expedition. There has to be another way, and he has to find it, because she can't let him do this. Please, John, she says, give us time, let us figure something else out. John!
As he walks down the hallway, glancing sadly back toward her, she realizes that it’s not enough, not nearly enough. She has his respect, but Atlantis has his love and his joy and the breath in his body. He may fight for her, but he’ll die for Atlantis, and she can’t ask him to do anything else. They’re living at the edges of what she has the right to expect of him. This far, this far they can go, but the world falls aside and no, no farther, not this, she hears.
She never sees John again, although the water stops flowing, eventually.
This is how it goes, now.
***
It works like this:
Rodney says doom, doom and gloom, death destruction and despair, but he always saves them, in the end. It’s just Rodney, his way. He needs to say things to lay them out and make them real, so the best thing they all can do is just let him do it. Left to his own devices, he’ll talk himself out of the panic and into a solution. All they have to do is wait, and then to let him do what he needs to. In his language, it can't be done means I haven't figured out how to do it yet, so just give me a minute.
She doesn't even listen to him, any more - instead, she watches. There's a period of hand-waving, and a period of yelling, and usually a period of pacing angrily in circles, but then there's always a shift. He'll freeze, tension easing only to return with a different focus, a new orientation. He'll turn to her, and there will be an indefinable something in his eyes, a spark that she thinks is genius, or maybe hope. When she sees that spark, she knows they'll be fine; all she needs to do is get out of his way and let him do what he's already planning to.
So Rodney’s yelling, as usual, about the latest crisis - and when did they become crises, and not problems? - and how this is bad, the worst, how he doesn’t think he’ll be able to fix it, this time. Elizabeth, he says, and his mouth turns down as he says it, I don't - I'm not - I just - look, I really don't know. I mean, I have ideas, sure, and he gives a little laugh, dry as recycled air, I always I have ideas, but now - this - look, I really think - I can't think - I can't, I can't -
She cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder and a sad smile, the one she’s perfected for this sort of occasion. She tells him she trusts him, and that she’s sure he can do this. Do what you have to, she tells him, and pats him on the shoulder, and pretends not to notice the look in his eyes.
She hears the explosion from her office, but she doesn't join the crowd on the pier, the people who watch, silently, as the jumper drifts down over Atlantis in a haze of ash.
They find the explanation easily enough; it's the first thing they see when Zelenka manages to stop his hands shaking long enough to override the security on McKay's computer. In it, McKay details his plan, telling them what he did so that it can be repeated, if necessary. She would laugh - Rodney McKay, explaining everything ad nauseum, even his death - but the Marines would be frightened, and anyways, it’s not that funny.
I should have listened to him, she almost says, but then she doesn’t. Because she should have, but she’s still not sure that she would have. Things are like that, now.
***
It ends like this:
Ronon Dex never has said much, but Elizabeth’s always known she could trust him. He’s quiet, but there’s a look in his eyes, a look that she knows and respects. Sometimes, she even thinks she sees something more in his eyes, something that might be respect, or might be - but no. That’s silly.
When he rapes her, holding her head against a table in the mess, she doesn’t scream. Why would she?
Zelenka finds her, curled against the wall, and sits beside her, running his hand through her hair. It's fine, she wants to say, so don't worry.
It’s nothing she couldn’t have seen coming, if she’d known to look.
Then again, isn't that always the way?
***
And then, like this:
Simon says shhh, and hush, and don’t worry, it’s all fine now, you’re home. He says I’m sorry. He tells her stories about what will come, the life they’ll lead together. He helps her to the bathroom, brushes her hair away from her face, feeds her soft foods and clear fluids. He pulls her hands gently away from Zelenka's, and wheels her down the hallways of the SGC. He sets her up in his bedroom, in his big house, and sleeps on the couch, or in a chair next to his bed.
I love you, Liz, he says.
Sometimes, late at night when he thinks she’s asleep, he tells her other things: how he hadn’t thought he’d see her again, how frightened he was when he’d gotten the call from the SGC, how glad he was that she hadn’t taken his name off her health forms. I’m just - Liz, darling, I’m just so glad they got you out in time, away from that place, from - .
He falls asleep with his face in her lap, her hands wrapped in his. She lies awake, eyes closed, and thinks about Atlantis.
In the morning, he decides that she’s finally well enough to move downstairs and sit on the couch. As he arranges a blanket around her feet, she starts to talk, slowly, telling him what she realized last night, about Atlantis. At first, he’s so, so glad to hear her voice - so worried, he’d said, that first week, so worried, but they say your voice is fine, no reason you can’t, so please, Liz, just say something, anything, please. Please, darling.
When he realizes what she’s trying to say, though, his eyes go wide and fill with tears. She realizes, too late, that she’s miscalculated, that he can’t cope with this, that he’s not ready. She should have waited, but oh well. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, she thinks, and does what she can to fix her errors.
I love you, she tells him, and he smiles, and kisses her forehead, but he still hides his car keys.
She tells him she loves him often, the next few days, as she gradually builds up her strength, bolstered on his love and lots of chicken noodle soup, homemade, better than anything they’d eaten on Atlantis. She means it, too - he’s a wonderful man, a sweet man, and he’s done so much for her. How could she not love him?
As she watches his blood spread across the kitchen floor, though, she knows the truth: love isn’t enough. It’s never been enough. Still, she does love him, and that does count for something, and so she wipes off the knife before she leaves.