Sparky bunnies attack!
I'm having serious Sparky fic withdrawal with all the working on SGARising and trying to stifle my urge to put Elizabeth in every scene. Gaack! So I had this little bunny attack.
Actually it came from hearing this song, which is one of my all time favorites of all time.
And the fic is called
Get Here If You Can
She knew it must be day because of the warmth of the sun on her face, but the tight covering over her eyes made it impossible to know anything more about her environment. They had grabbed her roughly and secured her hands behind her with some sort of scratchy rope before tying a cloth tightly around her head to cover her eyes. The blindfold was so tight she began to see sparks of color, and whenever she moved her head, the few strands of hair that were caught in it pulled against her scalp.
Elizabeth Weir was in trouble. So much trouble. A trip to meet with potential new allies had ended badly when she refused to concede to their unreasonable demands. They wanted a union of leaders between her and the local chief, or chancellor, or whatever he called himself. It seemed to change depending on who was talking. On this planet, evidently, being allies meant a physical joining between this chief and the visiting leader. Needless to say, they didn't seem to have many friends in the Pegasus Galaxy. Too bad someone hadn't thought to tell the 'Lanteans about this little fact before they made the trip.
Of course, Elizabeth had refused him, but no amount of explaining that this just wasn't how things were done where they were from did any good. And now, she was in trouble. So very much trouble.
The last thing she had seen before they dragged her away was the furious face of her second in command. On a good day, John Sheppard was not the most patient man on any planet. On this day, he had murder in his eyes. Elizabeth was afraid that he would get himself killed before any attempt at rescuing her would ever come about. By the shouting and rattle of weapons that followed her as she was lifted and carried forcefully out of the room, Elizabeth guessed that the rest of her party had suffered a fate similar to hers.
She had spent the night locked in a foul smelling cell with no food or water and only a rusty bucket in which to relieve herself. Shortly after dawn, a quartet of burly men, that smelled almost as bad as her surroundings, came and brought her to her present location.
Somewhere outside with the sun in her face and the sound of many people at some distance in front of her, Elizabeth tried to make out what the voices were saying. None of them sounded very friendly.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice made scratchy by her dry throat. “Release me, at once.”
Her answer was to be shoved against a wall. Elizabeth's hands made contact with the stone behind her at the same time her head bounced off the rock against which she had come to rest. They had taken her shoes, and her bare toes now dug into the dirt trying to find purchase so she wouldn't fall to the ground. It hadn't rained recently, and her efforts created a little whirlwind of dust that caught in her throat and made her cough. The soles of her feet were tender and bruised from being forced to walk the distance from her cell to where she was now without shoes. Sharp-edged stones and, who knew what else, had cut her feet and left a trail of blood in her wake. Her uniform was soiled and disheveled from the rough handling she had endured, but Elizabeth Weir still pulled herself erect and lifted her chin in defiance.
“My people are going to destroy you if you don't let us go,” she declared in a steady voice.
“Your people are not here, Doctor Weir,” a voice Elizabeth recognized as that of the leader said close to her ear.
She jerked away from him and almost fell. Bracing herself against the wall, Elizabeth continued to defy them. “But they will be. Oh, they will be.”
“But not before it is too late.” As soon as these ominous words were spoken, the man moved away, and Elizabeth could detect movement and several muted voices a distance in front of her.
Before too long, the voices stopped, and there was a moment of stillness.
“Doctor Elizabeth Weir of Atlantis,” the leader's voice called out loudly, “you have been convicted of the crime of resistance for which you will be executed.”
Executed? So that's what this was all about. The blindfold. The wall. A firing squad?
Elizabeth tried harder to scrape the blindfold off, but it was just tied too tight. She turned to run away, but large calloused hands pushed her back into position.
The voice rang out again. “Take aim!”
“Fire on my command!”
“Do it and die!” A louder voice, that was like music to Elizabeth's ears, cut across the yard and everyone fell silent for a heartbeat. Then chaos erupted.
The sound of automatic weapons fire was deafening, and Elizabeth curled herself into a ball on the ground, trying to escape being hit. It was impossible to determine who was shooting whom. She could only wait until it was over to learn her fate and the fate of her team.
Finally, after an interminable length of time, the gunfire stopped. Rough male voices could be heard shouting and cursing, but Elizabeth couldn't distinguish those voices she was so hoping to hear. She curled in on herself, still trying without success to loosen her bonds. The blindfold was as tight as ever, and she could feel the tender skin tearing and bleeding around the ropes that held her hands.
“Elizabeth.” A voice she thought never to hear again spoke close to her ear. “Elizabeth, stop struggling so I can untie you.”
Warm tender hands on her face, pushing the blindfold aside. Painful sunlight that made it hard to keep her eyes open. And that voice again, soothing her and telling her she would be okay. And somehow she knew it was over.
“John?” Barely able to focus, Elizabeth was able to confirm the identity of her rescuer. “You're alive?”
“Very much so, and it looks like I got here just in time.” There was almost a chuckle in his voice. Almost, but not quite.
There was dirt on John's face and blood in a sort of spray pattern on the front of his shirt. “It's not mine,” he said, when her eyes flew up to his in alarm.
John tossed the last of her restraints away and helped her to sit upright, holding her steady with one strong arm around her shoulders. Something burned in his eyes that Elizabeth had never seen there before, making it impossible to look away.
“The rest of the team?”
“All here. Can't you hear Rodney giving everybody who will listen a piece of his mind?”
Elizabeth coughed and managed a small laugh before being content to just look around in wonder at how the captors were now the captives. Willing to wait as long as necessary for details of how that was accomplished, she let her eyes wander back to John's face.
She knew the deceptively casual look in his eye was meant to reassure her, as he looked her over from the bruises on her face to her torn and bleeding feet. “Are you sure you're okay?” The last word came out in a hoarse whisper, full of meaning beyond what had been spoken. Did they put their hands on you? Who else will I have to kill today?
Elizabeth put her hand over John's tightly clenched fist and shook her head, unable to verbalize a denial. He seemed to relax a fraction and was able to move again, for he slid one arm around her back and the other hand under her knees and rose to his feet. Instinctively, she raised her arms and held on tightly to his neck as he settled her more comfortably against him and strode forward.
The crowd parted as they passed. Residents of the planet dropped their eyes in shame or glared in defiance, but no one stepped forward to challenge them. The look in John's eyes would have been enough to stop the most dedicated follower of their recently deposed leader, even if it had not been for the sight of the automatic weapons pointed at them by the other members of the team.
Ronon bent to pick up John's discarded P90 and gestured for the others to precede him toward the Stargate.
“What do you say we go home?” John asked.
“I thought you'd never ask.” Elizabeth relaxed a bit in his arms, feeling truly safe for the first time as Rodney rushed to begin the dialing sequence.
Actually it came from hearing this song, which is one of my all time favorites of all time.
Click to viewAnd the fic is called
Get Here If You Can
She knew it must be day because of the warmth of the sun on her face, but the tight covering over her eyes made it impossible to know anything more about her environment. They had grabbed her roughly and secured her hands behind her with some sort of scratchy rope before tying a cloth tightly around her head to cover her eyes. The blindfold was so tight she began to see sparks of color, and whenever she moved her head, the few strands of hair that were caught in it pulled against her scalp.
Elizabeth Weir was in trouble. So much trouble. A trip to meet with potential new allies had ended badly when she refused to concede to their unreasonable demands. They wanted a union of leaders between her and the local chief, or chancellor, or whatever he called himself. It seemed to change depending on who was talking. On this planet, evidently, being allies meant a physical joining between this chief and the visiting leader. Needless to say, they didn't seem to have many friends in the Pegasus Galaxy. Too bad someone hadn't thought to tell the 'Lanteans about this little fact before they made the trip.
Of course, Elizabeth had refused him, but no amount of explaining that this just wasn't how things were done where they were from did any good. And now, she was in trouble. So very much trouble.
The last thing she had seen before they dragged her away was the furious face of her second in command. On a good day, John Sheppard was not the most patient man on any planet. On this day, he had murder in his eyes. Elizabeth was afraid that he would get himself killed before any attempt at rescuing her would ever come about. By the shouting and rattle of weapons that followed her as she was lifted and carried forcefully out of the room, Elizabeth guessed that the rest of her party had suffered a fate similar to hers.
She had spent the night locked in a foul smelling cell with no food or water and only a rusty bucket in which to relieve herself. Shortly after dawn, a quartet of burly men, that smelled almost as bad as her surroundings, came and brought her to her present location.
Somewhere outside with the sun in her face and the sound of many people at some distance in front of her, Elizabeth tried to make out what the voices were saying. None of them sounded very friendly.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice made scratchy by her dry throat. “Release me, at once.”
Her answer was to be shoved against a wall. Elizabeth's hands made contact with the stone behind her at the same time her head bounced off the rock against which she had come to rest. They had taken her shoes, and her bare toes now dug into the dirt trying to find purchase so she wouldn't fall to the ground. It hadn't rained recently, and her efforts created a little whirlwind of dust that caught in her throat and made her cough. The soles of her feet were tender and bruised from being forced to walk the distance from her cell to where she was now without shoes. Sharp-edged stones and, who knew what else, had cut her feet and left a trail of blood in her wake. Her uniform was soiled and disheveled from the rough handling she had endured, but Elizabeth Weir still pulled herself erect and lifted her chin in defiance.
“My people are going to destroy you if you don't let us go,” she declared in a steady voice.
“Your people are not here, Doctor Weir,” a voice Elizabeth recognized as that of the leader said close to her ear.
She jerked away from him and almost fell. Bracing herself against the wall, Elizabeth continued to defy them. “But they will be. Oh, they will be.”
“But not before it is too late.” As soon as these ominous words were spoken, the man moved away, and Elizabeth could detect movement and several muted voices a distance in front of her.
Before too long, the voices stopped, and there was a moment of stillness.
“Doctor Elizabeth Weir of Atlantis,” the leader's voice called out loudly, “you have been convicted of the crime of resistance for which you will be executed.”
Executed? So that's what this was all about. The blindfold. The wall. A firing squad?
Elizabeth tried harder to scrape the blindfold off, but it was just tied too tight. She turned to run away, but large calloused hands pushed her back into position.
The voice rang out again. “Take aim!”
“Fire on my command!”
“Do it and die!” A louder voice, that was like music to Elizabeth's ears, cut across the yard and everyone fell silent for a heartbeat. Then chaos erupted.
The sound of automatic weapons fire was deafening, and Elizabeth curled herself into a ball on the ground, trying to escape being hit. It was impossible to determine who was shooting whom. She could only wait until it was over to learn her fate and the fate of her team.
Finally, after an interminable length of time, the gunfire stopped. Rough male voices could be heard shouting and cursing, but Elizabeth couldn't distinguish those voices she was so hoping to hear. She curled in on herself, still trying without success to loosen her bonds. The blindfold was as tight as ever, and she could feel the tender skin tearing and bleeding around the ropes that held her hands.
“Elizabeth.” A voice she thought never to hear again spoke close to her ear. “Elizabeth, stop struggling so I can untie you.”
Warm tender hands on her face, pushing the blindfold aside. Painful sunlight that made it hard to keep her eyes open. And that voice again, soothing her and telling her she would be okay. And somehow she knew it was over.
“John?” Barely able to focus, Elizabeth was able to confirm the identity of her rescuer. “You're alive?”
“Very much so, and it looks like I got here just in time.” There was almost a chuckle in his voice. Almost, but not quite.
There was dirt on John's face and blood in a sort of spray pattern on the front of his shirt. “It's not mine,” he said, when her eyes flew up to his in alarm.
John tossed the last of her restraints away and helped her to sit upright, holding her steady with one strong arm around her shoulders. Something burned in his eyes that Elizabeth had never seen there before, making it impossible to look away.
“The rest of the team?”
“All here. Can't you hear Rodney giving everybody who will listen a piece of his mind?”
Elizabeth coughed and managed a small laugh before being content to just look around in wonder at how the captors were now the captives. Willing to wait as long as necessary for details of how that was accomplished, she let her eyes wander back to John's face.
She knew the deceptively casual look in his eye was meant to reassure her, as he looked her over from the bruises on her face to her torn and bleeding feet. “Are you sure you're okay?” The last word came out in a hoarse whisper, full of meaning beyond what had been spoken. Did they put their hands on you? Who else will I have to kill today?
Elizabeth put her hand over John's tightly clenched fist and shook her head, unable to verbalize a denial. He seemed to relax a fraction and was able to move again, for he slid one arm around her back and the other hand under her knees and rose to his feet. Instinctively, she raised her arms and held on tightly to his neck as he settled her more comfortably against him and strode forward.
The crowd parted as they passed. Residents of the planet dropped their eyes in shame or glared in defiance, but no one stepped forward to challenge them. The look in John's eyes would have been enough to stop the most dedicated follower of their recently deposed leader, even if it had not been for the sight of the automatic weapons pointed at them by the other members of the team.
Ronon bent to pick up John's discarded P90 and gestured for the others to precede him toward the Stargate.
“What do you say we go home?” John asked.
“I thought you'd never ask.” Elizabeth relaxed a bit in his arms, feeling truly safe for the first time as Rodney rushed to begin the dialing sequence.