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swficathonTitle: Comfort and Clothing
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
driftingatdusk
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: 'The Real World'.
Written For:kwayera, who requested: fluffy humour, non-established relationship.
Involving clothes stealing (okay so it's my kink), a coffee shortage and (optional) Ronon/Teyla on the side *or* apocafic or abduction/hurt-comfort/angst fic. ;D
Notes: I wrote this while away from the computer and got the two requests muddled in my head so… You've got a combination of the two and I hope that's okay. Mass apologies for the lateness - real life and personal circumstances have conspired against me and my muse. I know this isn't one of my best pieces of writing - inspiration isn't very forthcoming at the moment. *insert lots of apologetic grovelling here*
===
It started shortly after her extended daydream - nightmare, really - courtesy of Niam. She would lie in bed at night and move restlessly from side to stomach to side to back, eventually conceding defeat and staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the alarm to go off unnecessarily.
On the rare occasion she managed to sleep, Elizabeth couldn't remain so for long. When she slept, she dreamt and when she dreamt - what she dreamt - wasn't pleasant.
She always woke up *there*.
In the white box of a room. A cage without bars but a cage nonetheless.
The faceless people would come back to haunt her but in her dreams they weren't the people of Atlantis trying to reach her. In her dreams, the shadowy figure she followed never turned out to be John Sheppard and he never led her back to Atlantis.
He always led her back to that room. To that box, that cage.
She always woke up with a scream lodged in her throat, a scream she wouldn't let escape, not even in the hazy moments in between sleep and full consciousness.
She told no one, could or wouldn't she didn't really know, about the nightmares.
In one part of her mind, the rational part, she knew they probably all knew anyway. They could no doubt see it in the lines of her face, in the shadows under her eyes, in the way she held herself when she thought no one was looking.
Still, they gave her the pretence of not knowing and, for the time being at least, that was good enough for her.
As leader of Atlantis – her grip on which was tenuous as of late – Elizabeth knew she had to pull herself together or risk losing everything she'd worked for, everything that she held so dear. With that in mind, she got out of bed one cool day at the end of what passed for summer on Atlantis and stepped into her bathroom, staring at herself with resolve.
Today, she told her reflection silently, today it changes.
Today, Doctor Elizabeth Weir takes control. Control of the city, of her people, of her life. She'd had that control once and by God, she wanted it back.
===
Her first plan – not the best, she would later admit – was to rely on the much loved caffeine as a substitute for a good night's sleep. It would help keep her brain ticking, her mind in working order, and it was in ready supply – or so she thought.
Three days into Plan A, McKay knocked on her office door with a somewhat panicked look in his eye. He was, as all visitors to her office seemed to be recently, escorted by Sheppard, who appeared more amused than alarmed which was the only reason the warning bells didn't start ringing in her head.
"Good morning, Rodney, John." She gave them the brightest smile she could muster and motioned them into the chairs opposite her desk.
Neither man sat.
Major John Sheppard lounged against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. The smirk that he had been fighting when they had first arrived faded and she ducked her head to escape the concern she knew would appear in his eyes.
She hated that. The warmth in her stomach blossomed at the knowledge that it was there but she kept telling herself she hated it.
Maybe one day she would believe it was true.
"There's nothing good about it," McKay grumbled.
He paced her office like a caged tiger and, even as the thought occurred to her, Elizabeth willed it away. Cages, of any kind, were an unwelcome reminder of what she'd been through.
"How could this happen?" McKay continued, gesturing as he did. He waved his hands dramatically, clasped them together in anxiety, pacing all the while. "How could we have missed it? All these people, all this way…" He shook his head and stopped directly in front of her desk, one hand on his hip as he fixed her with steely eyes. "We have to send a transmission through the Stargate to Earth. Immediately."
"Immediately?" Intrigued but telling herself not to worry – if it was serious, John wouldn't be lingering in her doorway so casually – Elizabeth leaned forward and crossed her arms on the desk in front of her. "Why the sudden urgency?"
For a moment, McKay just looked at her. In disbelief, in amazement. Then realisation dawned and his gaze dropped momentarily to the cup on her desk. "You don't know yet. You don't know."
"Don't know what, Rodney?" A note of impatience crept into her voice and Elizabeth moved backwards again, taking her barely warm coffee in hand – she didn't like the way his eyes kept moving towards it with a hint of - what was that? Longing? – in them. "I'm sure, whatever it is, we can manage without alerting the SGC…"
"We're out of coffee," John answered quickly, rolling his eyes at the glare he got for his troubles. "No big deal."
"We're out of…?" Elizabeth's voice trailed off and she clutched her coffee mug closer, almost protectively.
"No big deal, he says," McKay scoffed, resuming his pacing. A slightly manic glint appeared in his eyes as he walked backwards and forwards over the small floor space in her office. "You would say that, you rarely drinks the stuff. You doesn't understand how important it is, how vital… Do you know how much coffee one scientist drinks alone? Do you know how much coffee is needed to pull an all nighter, to stay away in the lab when everyone else is asleep…? Do you know how much is needed to come up with a plan to fight the Wraith or the Replicators or any of the other Godforsaken aliens in this galaxy?"
McKay didn't notice her wince but Elizabeth was certain John had. Especially when he stepped in front of the pacing scientist, efficiently blocking his path and ending his tirade in one smooth step.
"McKay. We'll figure it out. Supplies are due in a week. I'm sure you can make do with whatever substitute they can put together in the mess until then. Maybe you can even help them come up with something just as good or even better…?"
"Just as good as a hit of real coffee?" McKay stared at him with the righteous disbelief of a true caffeine addict. "You have no idea what you're taking about. None at all. There is *no* substitute that's even marginally as good as the real thing. As for something that's better… hmph! No idea. None what's so ever…" He turned to Elizabeth, irritation on his features. "What are you going to do?" He demanded.
"What would you suggest I do, Rodney?" Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "Contact the SGC, wasting valuable power and resources, and ask what? You know as well as I do that there's no way they can get our supplies here any faster. Those we're expecting will have already left Earth and will be on their way. There's nothing we can do to rush it."
For a moment, McKay was silent. Then, with the dramatic flair he was known for, he threw his hands up and stormed out of the office, ranting and raving all the way.
Elizabeth watched him go and felt a small smile arrange her lips even as the dread settled in her stomach. Plan A, she knew with a sigh, had failed.
Her amusement was short-lived and faded completely when she realised John was still in her office. The nerves knotted in her stomach, more so when she realised he had closed the door.
"Is there something else?" She congratulated herself on the calm tone of her voice. "We're not out of popcorn, too, are we?"
The comment brought a brief smile to his lips but he shook his head and moved forward. He sat on the edge of her desk, as he was prone to do and stared down at her, his eyes seeing too much despite her best efforts. "You okay?"
"Of course." She managed a small smile she was quite proud of and leaned back in her chair, holding the cup in her hand unwittingly as someone would hold a rock they could throw to defend themselves against harm. "I think I'll survive the coffee drought of '06 better than Rodney if that's what you're asking."
Marginally so, but she would survive.
"It wasn't, but thanks for the reassurance." He smiled but the concern never left his eyes. Elizabeth maintained eye contact for a few seconds more before looking away. "You're not sleeping."
It was said softly but the accusation hit her hard.
She squared her shoulders and tilted her head defiantly, her knuckles white and bloodless where her hand clenched around her cup. "I'm fine."
"I didn’t say you weren't. I said you weren't sleeping." John stared at her intently until she once again found herself looking away. "Have you seen Carson? He could give you something to help…"
"No." The response was immediate and backed up by a shake of her head. Drugs would mean she slept, yes, but they would also mean she lost some control. If she couldn't control when she would wake up, she didn't want to sleep at all. "I'll be fine without them."
His eyes narrowed. "I wish I could believe you."
"So do I, Colonel." Elizabeth's tone was a little sharper than she intended. "If you believe Atlantis is suffering as a result or have doubts about my leadership skills, you can make a formal report to Woolsey and get me removed from command."
The breath hissed through his teeth. "That’s not what I mean and you know it. We're friends, Elizabeth. As your friend, it's my duty to be concerned about you."
"I don't want your concern, thank you. I want to be left alone, if you don't mind."
For several tense moments, he simply stared at her. Then, still in silence, he nodded as an expression she couldn't or wouldn't decipher passed over his features before turning on his heel and stalking out of her office.
The door closed behind him with a finality that made her shudder.
Plan A had failed, Elizabeth thought with a sigh. Now she had to come up with a Plan B.
=*=
Plan B consisted of going to Teyla for help.
The Athosian had made numerous offers to Elizabeth over the years and was pleasantly surprised to have one accepted. She sat with Elizabeth in her quarters and shared the traditional remedy her people used to clear their minds and sink into oblivion: a strange smelling herbal tea and intense meditation.
Although she was grateful for the time Teyla gave her – and the ease and confidentiality in which it was given – Elizabeth found that neither the tea nor the meditation worked for her.
The tea she tried to make herself drink had a strangely distinctive medicinal taste, one she found she couldn't stomach as it reminded her too much of *that* place and the pretty coloured pills she'd been forced to swallow too many times.
As for the meditation…
She tried. She really did. But no matter how long she sat cross legged on her bed or the floor in her quarters, she couldn't get the tension in her neck and shoulders to ease and she couldn't get the thoughts that plagued her near-constantly to fade.
When plan C failed to materialise, she found herself stumbling along the maze of corridors from her quarters to the infirmary, reluctantly ready to admit to defeat to Doctor Beckett and accept the injection of sedatives he had been trying to convince her to take.
It happened when she decided on a detour instead of heading straight for the Doctor's domain, a way of putting off the inevitable for as long as possible.
The laundry room – the nearest thing Atlantis had to a laundry room – seemed to call to her. The door was open and the heat of the machines – manmade on Earth, powered by a generate McKay and his team of scientists had devised – wafted temptingly out into the cool hallway.
Elizabeth almost fell into the room, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply as the familiar, comforting scents of clean clothes wrapped itself around her.
There was something comforting about the scent of freshly laundered clothes, something that reminded her of home, of being a child barely up to her mother's knee. A little girl who had chased nightmares away by falling asleep more than once in a darkened cupboard on top of her mother's newly cleaned – not to mention neatly folded - sheets.
Even while a voce at the back of her mind told her she shouldn't, Elizabeth found herself reaching for a basket of clothes that had been haphazardly emptied from the tumble drier by some over-eager laundry-doer who had obviously decided they couldn't wait until the owner of said clothes had returned to empty them him or herself.
Him, she knew.
She recognised one of the t-shirts lying crumpled on top of the other items of clothing.
She glanced around quickly before reaching out for it, snatching it up to her face so she could inhale the comforting smell of clean clothes and the underlying scent of its owner.
Still warm.
She sighed before she could stop herself, her eyes slipping closed. She was so tired; it was a struggle to keep her eyelids open and when a yawn made her jaw ache, she realised with some desperation that she couldn't stay awake much longer…
The familiar fear flared up inside her, only to be soothed by the scent of the t-shirt in her hands combined with the warmth of the room. It was so tempting, she realised, to curl up into a quiet corner and give in to the urge to sleep…
=*=
… That was how she was found, two hours later, by the owner of said t-shirt, who had come to collect it. John stopped just over the threshold of the room and blinked twice, trying to decide if what he was seeing was real or the result of an over-active imagination brought on by lack of sleep due to concern over the woman lying just a few feet away.
It was definitely Elizabeth. Curled up on top of some freshly laundered sheets, clutching his t-shirt to her chest, the most serene expression on her face he had seen in recent months.
She looked different. Younger, peaceful. The lines of tension and strain had eased in slumber and, as he moved forward ever so slightly, he was able to see the corners of her lips twitch in what appeared to be a small smile.
His first impulse was to wake her and let her move to a more comfortable location. His second thought was no; she would be embarrassed to be caught in such a position and, given how their earlier conversation had gone, he was certain it would only degenerate into another argument.
In the end, after spending a little too long debating about it – and he had been debating, he told himself, not just staring – he decided to leave her be. The only concession he made was to dig out an extra sheet from the bottom of his basket and drape it over her. The room was no longer as warm as he was sure it once had been due to the cycle of the machines having ended and, if he had his way, they wouldn't be restarted again so as not to disturb Elizabeth.
After making sure she was as comfortable as she could be, he slipped out of the room and secured the door behind him. He walked a short distance away before activating his radio, issuing a city-wide announcement that the laundry room was out of order and all personnel would be informed when they could use it once more. A few minutes later, heading to his quarters, he sidetracked the team of engineers who offered to fix whatever was broken, telling them the problem was being taken care of.
If nothing else, he'd bought her a few precious hours. Hours she needed almost as much as the people of Atlantis needed her.
=*=
Waking up after a good night's sleep was a foreign feeling. Waking up without a scream trapped in her throat and sweat stinging her eyes was an experience she wanted to savour.
Waking up in the laundry room of Atlantis, however, was not.
Embarrassment caused her cheeks to flood with heat and colour as Elizabeth scrambled to her feet, stumbling a little as the sheets covering her got tangled around her legs. She ran a hand through her hair and hurriedly collected the sheets, folding them as best she could in her haste, hesitating when she found the t-shirt on the floor after the sheets were discarded of.
For a split second, she considered taking it with her. Surely John wouldn't miss one black t-shirt – she had reason to know that he had several of them, dozens in fact. Still, she couldn't take it. She couldn't risk him realising it was gone and asking questions about its whereabouts.
Questions that would result in too much humiliation if he ever found their answers.
She reluctantly folded the t-shirt and left it on top of the other clothes in the basket, inwardly wondering how long the clean clothing would stay there before their owner came to collect them. Shaking her head to ward off those thoughts – they could only distract her from her enviable task of getting back to her quarters unseen, Elizabeth gathered her wits about her and crept out of the room, glancing cautiously up and down the hallway before starting down it towards staff quarters.
When she ached her quarters, she hurried stepped inside, leaning heavily against the closed door as she exhaled a huge sigh of relief.
Relief that lasted until she discovered Colonel Sheppard's announcement that the laundry room was now available to use again, thanks to all for their patience and cooperation.
Again, she spent the day avoiding him and again, she began to dread going to sleep. It was only when she was slowly making her way to her quarters that their paths crossed again, along the corridor that joined his quarters with hers.
"Good evening." He greeted her politely though uncertainly, his hands in his pockets as he looked at her through lidded eyes. "You look rested."
"I feel it," she responded, allowing a small smile to cross her lips. An olive branch of sorts. Her smile widened when he gave her one of his own, a sign that he accepted her apology and offered one of his own. For a few moments, they said nothing, just stood in the corridor until she became aware of their surroundings – and of the fact that he knew why she looked and felt so much more rested. She chewed her bottom lip, fighting the heat that spread up her neck to her cheeks. "Thank you, John."
His eyebrows lifted in quizzical innocence but she saw the glint in his eye. "I didn't do anything."
She wanted to argue; he could see it on her face. He wondered what she wanted to say, unable to read the thoughts that ran through her mind. If he had, he would have surely broke eye contact, embarrassed at the litany of things going through her mind that she thought she had him to be thankful for.
Saving Atlantis countless times, saving the lives of his teammates, saving her. Rescuing her from Koyla, bringing her back from Niam's world, giving her the strength to fight through the replicator's mind games. Giving her a chance to sleep undisturbed, keeping the rest of the city at bay.
"Thank you anyway." She inclined her head and stepped around him, intending to continue her way to her quarters. She stopped, however, when his hand caught on her arm, turning to face him with a questioning look on her face. "John?"
He looked uncertain, his expression turning from wary to sheepish in an instant. "Sweet dreams," he said eventually, letting go of her so she could pass.
She gave him a wry smile and continued on her way. It was a strange thing for him to say and she puzzled on it as she reached her quarters and stepped inside. She was still wondering about it – about what it could have meant – as she reluctantly got ready for bed.
It was only when she pulled back the sheets of her bed that she understood. Just as she was trying to decide whether to be even more embarrassed or strangely touched, she saw the little scrap of paper peaking out from a neat fold in the black t-shirt.
'Anytime you need a new one, just let me know. Sleep well, Elizabeth. You're safe now. – JS'
A smile spread across her chest and she lifted the t-shirt to her, quickly discarding of the nightshirt she'd put on, donning the unusual gift in its place.
She curled up under the sheets, closing her eyes tightly as she inhaled deeply, breathing in the comforting scent as she slipped once more into a dreamless sleep, content and assured that she would wake up in Atlantis.
At home.
=*=
Author:
driftingatduskRating: PG13
Spoilers: 'The Real World'.
Written For:
kwayera, who requested: fluffy humour, non-established relationship. Involving clothes stealing (okay so it's my kink), a coffee shortage and (optional) Ronon/Teyla on the side *or* apocafic or abduction/hurt-comfort/angst fic. ;D
Notes: I wrote this while away from the computer and got the two requests muddled in my head so… You've got a combination of the two and I hope that's okay. Mass apologies for the lateness - real life and personal circumstances have conspired against me and my muse. I know this isn't one of my best pieces of writing - inspiration isn't very forthcoming at the moment. *insert lots of apologetic grovelling here*
===
It started shortly after her extended daydream - nightmare, really - courtesy of Niam. She would lie in bed at night and move restlessly from side to stomach to side to back, eventually conceding defeat and staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the alarm to go off unnecessarily.
On the rare occasion she managed to sleep, Elizabeth couldn't remain so for long. When she slept, she dreamt and when she dreamt - what she dreamt - wasn't pleasant.
She always woke up *there*.
In the white box of a room. A cage without bars but a cage nonetheless.
The faceless people would come back to haunt her but in her dreams they weren't the people of Atlantis trying to reach her. In her dreams, the shadowy figure she followed never turned out to be John Sheppard and he never led her back to Atlantis.
He always led her back to that room. To that box, that cage.
She always woke up with a scream lodged in her throat, a scream she wouldn't let escape, not even in the hazy moments in between sleep and full consciousness.
She told no one, could or wouldn't she didn't really know, about the nightmares.
In one part of her mind, the rational part, she knew they probably all knew anyway. They could no doubt see it in the lines of her face, in the shadows under her eyes, in the way she held herself when she thought no one was looking.
Still, they gave her the pretence of not knowing and, for the time being at least, that was good enough for her.
As leader of Atlantis – her grip on which was tenuous as of late – Elizabeth knew she had to pull herself together or risk losing everything she'd worked for, everything that she held so dear. With that in mind, she got out of bed one cool day at the end of what passed for summer on Atlantis and stepped into her bathroom, staring at herself with resolve.
Today, she told her reflection silently, today it changes.
Today, Doctor Elizabeth Weir takes control. Control of the city, of her people, of her life. She'd had that control once and by God, she wanted it back.
===
Her first plan – not the best, she would later admit – was to rely on the much loved caffeine as a substitute for a good night's sleep. It would help keep her brain ticking, her mind in working order, and it was in ready supply – or so she thought.
Three days into Plan A, McKay knocked on her office door with a somewhat panicked look in his eye. He was, as all visitors to her office seemed to be recently, escorted by Sheppard, who appeared more amused than alarmed which was the only reason the warning bells didn't start ringing in her head.
"Good morning, Rodney, John." She gave them the brightest smile she could muster and motioned them into the chairs opposite her desk.
Neither man sat.
Major John Sheppard lounged against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. The smirk that he had been fighting when they had first arrived faded and she ducked her head to escape the concern she knew would appear in his eyes.
She hated that. The warmth in her stomach blossomed at the knowledge that it was there but she kept telling herself she hated it.
Maybe one day she would believe it was true.
"There's nothing good about it," McKay grumbled.
He paced her office like a caged tiger and, even as the thought occurred to her, Elizabeth willed it away. Cages, of any kind, were an unwelcome reminder of what she'd been through.
"How could this happen?" McKay continued, gesturing as he did. He waved his hands dramatically, clasped them together in anxiety, pacing all the while. "How could we have missed it? All these people, all this way…" He shook his head and stopped directly in front of her desk, one hand on his hip as he fixed her with steely eyes. "We have to send a transmission through the Stargate to Earth. Immediately."
"Immediately?" Intrigued but telling herself not to worry – if it was serious, John wouldn't be lingering in her doorway so casually – Elizabeth leaned forward and crossed her arms on the desk in front of her. "Why the sudden urgency?"
For a moment, McKay just looked at her. In disbelief, in amazement. Then realisation dawned and his gaze dropped momentarily to the cup on her desk. "You don't know yet. You don't know."
"Don't know what, Rodney?" A note of impatience crept into her voice and Elizabeth moved backwards again, taking her barely warm coffee in hand – she didn't like the way his eyes kept moving towards it with a hint of - what was that? Longing? – in them. "I'm sure, whatever it is, we can manage without alerting the SGC…"
"We're out of coffee," John answered quickly, rolling his eyes at the glare he got for his troubles. "No big deal."
"We're out of…?" Elizabeth's voice trailed off and she clutched her coffee mug closer, almost protectively.
"No big deal, he says," McKay scoffed, resuming his pacing. A slightly manic glint appeared in his eyes as he walked backwards and forwards over the small floor space in her office. "You would say that, you rarely drinks the stuff. You doesn't understand how important it is, how vital… Do you know how much coffee one scientist drinks alone? Do you know how much coffee is needed to pull an all nighter, to stay away in the lab when everyone else is asleep…? Do you know how much is needed to come up with a plan to fight the Wraith or the Replicators or any of the other Godforsaken aliens in this galaxy?"
McKay didn't notice her wince but Elizabeth was certain John had. Especially when he stepped in front of the pacing scientist, efficiently blocking his path and ending his tirade in one smooth step.
"McKay. We'll figure it out. Supplies are due in a week. I'm sure you can make do with whatever substitute they can put together in the mess until then. Maybe you can even help them come up with something just as good or even better…?"
"Just as good as a hit of real coffee?" McKay stared at him with the righteous disbelief of a true caffeine addict. "You have no idea what you're taking about. None at all. There is *no* substitute that's even marginally as good as the real thing. As for something that's better… hmph! No idea. None what's so ever…" He turned to Elizabeth, irritation on his features. "What are you going to do?" He demanded.
"What would you suggest I do, Rodney?" Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "Contact the SGC, wasting valuable power and resources, and ask what? You know as well as I do that there's no way they can get our supplies here any faster. Those we're expecting will have already left Earth and will be on their way. There's nothing we can do to rush it."
For a moment, McKay was silent. Then, with the dramatic flair he was known for, he threw his hands up and stormed out of the office, ranting and raving all the way.
Elizabeth watched him go and felt a small smile arrange her lips even as the dread settled in her stomach. Plan A, she knew with a sigh, had failed.
Her amusement was short-lived and faded completely when she realised John was still in her office. The nerves knotted in her stomach, more so when she realised he had closed the door.
"Is there something else?" She congratulated herself on the calm tone of her voice. "We're not out of popcorn, too, are we?"
The comment brought a brief smile to his lips but he shook his head and moved forward. He sat on the edge of her desk, as he was prone to do and stared down at her, his eyes seeing too much despite her best efforts. "You okay?"
"Of course." She managed a small smile she was quite proud of and leaned back in her chair, holding the cup in her hand unwittingly as someone would hold a rock they could throw to defend themselves against harm. "I think I'll survive the coffee drought of '06 better than Rodney if that's what you're asking."
Marginally so, but she would survive.
"It wasn't, but thanks for the reassurance." He smiled but the concern never left his eyes. Elizabeth maintained eye contact for a few seconds more before looking away. "You're not sleeping."
It was said softly but the accusation hit her hard.
She squared her shoulders and tilted her head defiantly, her knuckles white and bloodless where her hand clenched around her cup. "I'm fine."
"I didn’t say you weren't. I said you weren't sleeping." John stared at her intently until she once again found herself looking away. "Have you seen Carson? He could give you something to help…"
"No." The response was immediate and backed up by a shake of her head. Drugs would mean she slept, yes, but they would also mean she lost some control. If she couldn't control when she would wake up, she didn't want to sleep at all. "I'll be fine without them."
His eyes narrowed. "I wish I could believe you."
"So do I, Colonel." Elizabeth's tone was a little sharper than she intended. "If you believe Atlantis is suffering as a result or have doubts about my leadership skills, you can make a formal report to Woolsey and get me removed from command."
The breath hissed through his teeth. "That’s not what I mean and you know it. We're friends, Elizabeth. As your friend, it's my duty to be concerned about you."
"I don't want your concern, thank you. I want to be left alone, if you don't mind."
For several tense moments, he simply stared at her. Then, still in silence, he nodded as an expression she couldn't or wouldn't decipher passed over his features before turning on his heel and stalking out of her office.
The door closed behind him with a finality that made her shudder.
Plan A had failed, Elizabeth thought with a sigh. Now she had to come up with a Plan B.
=*=
Plan B consisted of going to Teyla for help.
The Athosian had made numerous offers to Elizabeth over the years and was pleasantly surprised to have one accepted. She sat with Elizabeth in her quarters and shared the traditional remedy her people used to clear their minds and sink into oblivion: a strange smelling herbal tea and intense meditation.
Although she was grateful for the time Teyla gave her – and the ease and confidentiality in which it was given – Elizabeth found that neither the tea nor the meditation worked for her.
The tea she tried to make herself drink had a strangely distinctive medicinal taste, one she found she couldn't stomach as it reminded her too much of *that* place and the pretty coloured pills she'd been forced to swallow too many times.
As for the meditation…
She tried. She really did. But no matter how long she sat cross legged on her bed or the floor in her quarters, she couldn't get the tension in her neck and shoulders to ease and she couldn't get the thoughts that plagued her near-constantly to fade.
When plan C failed to materialise, she found herself stumbling along the maze of corridors from her quarters to the infirmary, reluctantly ready to admit to defeat to Doctor Beckett and accept the injection of sedatives he had been trying to convince her to take.
It happened when she decided on a detour instead of heading straight for the Doctor's domain, a way of putting off the inevitable for as long as possible.
The laundry room – the nearest thing Atlantis had to a laundry room – seemed to call to her. The door was open and the heat of the machines – manmade on Earth, powered by a generate McKay and his team of scientists had devised – wafted temptingly out into the cool hallway.
Elizabeth almost fell into the room, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply as the familiar, comforting scents of clean clothes wrapped itself around her.
There was something comforting about the scent of freshly laundered clothes, something that reminded her of home, of being a child barely up to her mother's knee. A little girl who had chased nightmares away by falling asleep more than once in a darkened cupboard on top of her mother's newly cleaned – not to mention neatly folded - sheets.
Even while a voce at the back of her mind told her she shouldn't, Elizabeth found herself reaching for a basket of clothes that had been haphazardly emptied from the tumble drier by some over-eager laundry-doer who had obviously decided they couldn't wait until the owner of said clothes had returned to empty them him or herself.
Him, she knew.
She recognised one of the t-shirts lying crumpled on top of the other items of clothing.
She glanced around quickly before reaching out for it, snatching it up to her face so she could inhale the comforting smell of clean clothes and the underlying scent of its owner.
Still warm.
She sighed before she could stop herself, her eyes slipping closed. She was so tired; it was a struggle to keep her eyelids open and when a yawn made her jaw ache, she realised with some desperation that she couldn't stay awake much longer…
The familiar fear flared up inside her, only to be soothed by the scent of the t-shirt in her hands combined with the warmth of the room. It was so tempting, she realised, to curl up into a quiet corner and give in to the urge to sleep…
=*=
… That was how she was found, two hours later, by the owner of said t-shirt, who had come to collect it. John stopped just over the threshold of the room and blinked twice, trying to decide if what he was seeing was real or the result of an over-active imagination brought on by lack of sleep due to concern over the woman lying just a few feet away.
It was definitely Elizabeth. Curled up on top of some freshly laundered sheets, clutching his t-shirt to her chest, the most serene expression on her face he had seen in recent months.
She looked different. Younger, peaceful. The lines of tension and strain had eased in slumber and, as he moved forward ever so slightly, he was able to see the corners of her lips twitch in what appeared to be a small smile.
His first impulse was to wake her and let her move to a more comfortable location. His second thought was no; she would be embarrassed to be caught in such a position and, given how their earlier conversation had gone, he was certain it would only degenerate into another argument.
In the end, after spending a little too long debating about it – and he had been debating, he told himself, not just staring – he decided to leave her be. The only concession he made was to dig out an extra sheet from the bottom of his basket and drape it over her. The room was no longer as warm as he was sure it once had been due to the cycle of the machines having ended and, if he had his way, they wouldn't be restarted again so as not to disturb Elizabeth.
After making sure she was as comfortable as she could be, he slipped out of the room and secured the door behind him. He walked a short distance away before activating his radio, issuing a city-wide announcement that the laundry room was out of order and all personnel would be informed when they could use it once more. A few minutes later, heading to his quarters, he sidetracked the team of engineers who offered to fix whatever was broken, telling them the problem was being taken care of.
If nothing else, he'd bought her a few precious hours. Hours she needed almost as much as the people of Atlantis needed her.
=*=
Waking up after a good night's sleep was a foreign feeling. Waking up without a scream trapped in her throat and sweat stinging her eyes was an experience she wanted to savour.
Waking up in the laundry room of Atlantis, however, was not.
Embarrassment caused her cheeks to flood with heat and colour as Elizabeth scrambled to her feet, stumbling a little as the sheets covering her got tangled around her legs. She ran a hand through her hair and hurriedly collected the sheets, folding them as best she could in her haste, hesitating when she found the t-shirt on the floor after the sheets were discarded of.
For a split second, she considered taking it with her. Surely John wouldn't miss one black t-shirt – she had reason to know that he had several of them, dozens in fact. Still, she couldn't take it. She couldn't risk him realising it was gone and asking questions about its whereabouts.
Questions that would result in too much humiliation if he ever found their answers.
She reluctantly folded the t-shirt and left it on top of the other clothes in the basket, inwardly wondering how long the clean clothing would stay there before their owner came to collect them. Shaking her head to ward off those thoughts – they could only distract her from her enviable task of getting back to her quarters unseen, Elizabeth gathered her wits about her and crept out of the room, glancing cautiously up and down the hallway before starting down it towards staff quarters.
When she ached her quarters, she hurried stepped inside, leaning heavily against the closed door as she exhaled a huge sigh of relief.
Relief that lasted until she discovered Colonel Sheppard's announcement that the laundry room was now available to use again, thanks to all for their patience and cooperation.
Again, she spent the day avoiding him and again, she began to dread going to sleep. It was only when she was slowly making her way to her quarters that their paths crossed again, along the corridor that joined his quarters with hers.
"Good evening." He greeted her politely though uncertainly, his hands in his pockets as he looked at her through lidded eyes. "You look rested."
"I feel it," she responded, allowing a small smile to cross her lips. An olive branch of sorts. Her smile widened when he gave her one of his own, a sign that he accepted her apology and offered one of his own. For a few moments, they said nothing, just stood in the corridor until she became aware of their surroundings – and of the fact that he knew why she looked and felt so much more rested. She chewed her bottom lip, fighting the heat that spread up her neck to her cheeks. "Thank you, John."
His eyebrows lifted in quizzical innocence but she saw the glint in his eye. "I didn't do anything."
She wanted to argue; he could see it on her face. He wondered what she wanted to say, unable to read the thoughts that ran through her mind. If he had, he would have surely broke eye contact, embarrassed at the litany of things going through her mind that she thought she had him to be thankful for.
Saving Atlantis countless times, saving the lives of his teammates, saving her. Rescuing her from Koyla, bringing her back from Niam's world, giving her the strength to fight through the replicator's mind games. Giving her a chance to sleep undisturbed, keeping the rest of the city at bay.
"Thank you anyway." She inclined her head and stepped around him, intending to continue her way to her quarters. She stopped, however, when his hand caught on her arm, turning to face him with a questioning look on her face. "John?"
He looked uncertain, his expression turning from wary to sheepish in an instant. "Sweet dreams," he said eventually, letting go of her so she could pass.
She gave him a wry smile and continued on her way. It was a strange thing for him to say and she puzzled on it as she reached her quarters and stepped inside. She was still wondering about it – about what it could have meant – as she reluctantly got ready for bed.
It was only when she pulled back the sheets of her bed that she understood. Just as she was trying to decide whether to be even more embarrassed or strangely touched, she saw the little scrap of paper peaking out from a neat fold in the black t-shirt.
'Anytime you need a new one, just let me know. Sleep well, Elizabeth. You're safe now. – JS'
A smile spread across her chest and she lifted the t-shirt to her, quickly discarding of the nightshirt she'd put on, donning the unusual gift in its place.
She curled up under the sheets, closing her eyes tightly as she inhaled deeply, breathing in the comforting scent as she slipped once more into a dreamless sleep, content and assured that she would wake up in Atlantis.
At home.
=*=
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Date: 2007-02-18 06:14 pm (UTC)Oh, and just to let you know, near the beginning you called John a Major ;)
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Date: 2007-06-06 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2007-02-19 10:19 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2007-02-19 01:17 pm (UTC)This is awesome.
SO MUCH AWESOME! *glee*
Don't worry about the lateness, I'm late too :(
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Date: 2007-06-06 05:06 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2007-02-19 06:53 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2007-03-21 07:42 pm (UTC)So sweet! And John leaving her a T-shirt at the end... where can I find me a guy like that?
~BelovedOne
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Date: 2007-06-06 05:07 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2007-06-07 07:18 am (UTC)