Pattern Recognition, by mspooh (PG-13)
Jun. 10th, 2006 01:36 pmRec Category: Sheppard/Weir
Pairing: Sheppard/Weir
Category: Angst
Author on LJ:
mspooh
Author's Website: unknown
Link: Pattern Recognition.
Author's Summery: "This, too, is a routine."
Why This Must Be Read: If you wanna know the real reason why Sheppard/Weir appeals to so many people, then look no further. This fic describes exactly why I fell for Sheppard/Weir (except, obviously, so much better). I'm a fan of mspooh for her hilarious and off-the-wall
zeropointsnark reviews of Atlantis episodes, but she can obviously right anything she sets her mind to. This short serious piece is wonderfully written, and entirely plausible. I love John's POV, and his insight into the evolution of his relationship with Elizabeth is just . . . wow. No words. I don't need any, because she uses them just fine.
Their feet pound the corridors in harmonic dissonance, legs scissoring just half a step out of sync. Even her ragged wheezing refuses to blend evenly with his harsh breathing. His arms are a hand span longer than hers, and there's a purpose in the aggressive pumping of his arms, as he tries to take out his frustrations against the crackling tension enveloping them. She's inscrutable as her arms fly gracefully, floating through the air; her controlled facade never once breaks or wavers.
He swings left. She swings right.
Half a mile later, they wordlessly break off down different corridors. Apart.
Pairing: Sheppard/Weir
Category: Angst
Author on LJ:
Author's Website: unknown
Link: Pattern Recognition.
Author's Summery: "This, too, is a routine."
Why This Must Be Read: If you wanna know the real reason why Sheppard/Weir appeals to so many people, then look no further. This fic describes exactly why I fell for Sheppard/Weir (except, obviously, so much better). I'm a fan of mspooh for her hilarious and off-the-wall
Their feet pound the corridors in harmonic dissonance, legs scissoring just half a step out of sync. Even her ragged wheezing refuses to blend evenly with his harsh breathing. His arms are a hand span longer than hers, and there's a purpose in the aggressive pumping of his arms, as he tries to take out his frustrations against the crackling tension enveloping them. She's inscrutable as her arms fly gracefully, floating through the air; her controlled facade never once breaks or wavers.
He swings left. She swings right.
Half a mile later, they wordlessly break off down different corridors. Apart.