No More To Leave It by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mercurial_wit (R)
May. 1st, 2007 10:49 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
irony-rocks.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
stargateficrecRec Category: Sheppard/Weir
Pairing: John Sheppard/Elizabeth Weir, Sheppard/Atlantis/Weir
Category: Sheppard/Weir/Atlantis, dark!fic,
Warning: dark!fic, implied character death
Author on LJ:mercurial_wit
Author's Website: Unknown
Link: No More To Leave It
Why This Must Be Read: Because the language and flow of this fic is as beautiful and haunting as the storyline. It's a fantastic little look at the dark potential of Atlantis, and how it has deep ties to both leaders. The city as a sentient entity has always kinda fascinated me, and this one has a more chilling take than most. After all, you try being abandoned for ten thousand years and see how well adjusted you are.
This story throws me back to the best parts of "Before I Sleep" a lot, because it echoes the level of love and sarcrifice. And I absolutely admire how it's John/Elizabeth/Atlantis and every permutation thereof. Great, great stuff. Well written.
--
John is there but someone else is too, someone you know.
You pull back.
“You’re not John Sheppard.”
“No,” comes the voice that you know, you know, like you know the scratches in the floor under your bare feet in the morning, like you know the number of steps it takes you to reach the meeting room, both on a normal day and when you’re pissed off. “But one way or another, John Sheppard has always been part of me.”
“Then you –”
His hands combing gently through your hair, his lips – “Elizabeth.” Faintly annoyed, just as you’d imagined John would be. “Stop talking.”
This is the story of your life; you end up in the place that is expected of you, always, inevitably, even though the reasons for the journey may be completely different to those that others assume. So when you open your mouth against his you know it’s because you’re accepting, not ignoring; and because in the face of death, this is what you do. When his hands slip under your shirt and tug it upwards you know it’s not because Elizabeth Weir has wanted John Sheppard for a long, long time. When he presses you against the wall it’s oh oh metal against your back and the solidity of him against your chest – heady, the symmetry of it – and maybe it’s because Elizabeth Weir knows how to gamble with her own life as well as the lives of others. When you lie back on the bed that’s been yours alone for so long, it’s got nothing to do with surrender; but you know how to act decisively even when you’re still uncertain, deep within yourself.
“I thought you’d, you know. Mind.”
“You should know me better than that,” you whisper against his mouth, “by now.”
Pairing: John Sheppard/Elizabeth Weir, Sheppard/Atlantis/Weir
Category: Sheppard/Weir/Atlantis, dark!fic,
Warning: dark!fic, implied character death
Author on LJ:
mercurial_witAuthor's Website: Unknown
Link: No More To Leave It
Why This Must Be Read: Because the language and flow of this fic is as beautiful and haunting as the storyline. It's a fantastic little look at the dark potential of Atlantis, and how it has deep ties to both leaders. The city as a sentient entity has always kinda fascinated me, and this one has a more chilling take than most. After all, you try being abandoned for ten thousand years and see how well adjusted you are.
This story throws me back to the best parts of "Before I Sleep" a lot, because it echoes the level of love and sarcrifice. And I absolutely admire how it's John/Elizabeth/Atlantis and every permutation thereof. Great, great stuff. Well written.
--
John is there but someone else is too, someone you know.
You pull back.
“You’re not John Sheppard.”
“No,” comes the voice that you know, you know, like you know the scratches in the floor under your bare feet in the morning, like you know the number of steps it takes you to reach the meeting room, both on a normal day and when you’re pissed off. “But one way or another, John Sheppard has always been part of me.”
“Then you –”
His hands combing gently through your hair, his lips – “Elizabeth.” Faintly annoyed, just as you’d imagined John would be. “Stop talking.”
This is the story of your life; you end up in the place that is expected of you, always, inevitably, even though the reasons for the journey may be completely different to those that others assume. So when you open your mouth against his you know it’s because you’re accepting, not ignoring; and because in the face of death, this is what you do. When his hands slip under your shirt and tug it upwards you know it’s not because Elizabeth Weir has wanted John Sheppard for a long, long time. When he presses you against the wall it’s oh oh metal against your back and the solidity of him against your chest – heady, the symmetry of it – and maybe it’s because Elizabeth Weir knows how to gamble with her own life as well as the lives of others. When you lie back on the bed that’s been yours alone for so long, it’s got nothing to do with surrender; but you know how to act decisively even when you’re still uncertain, deep within yourself.
“I thought you’d, you know. Mind.”
“You should know me better than that,” you whisper against his mouth, “by now.”
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