Breach Of Duty by Jen
Title: "Breach Of Duty"
Rating: R
Category: John Sheppard/Elizabeth Weir. Angst.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Owned by others. Pay them.
Author’s Note: Thank you to roothekittykat for being the best beta.
Summary: “Even in this galaxy there are times when negotiations are useless, only hope or acceptance are left to choose from.”
==
“What a silence, when you are here. What
a hellish silence.
You sit and I sit.
You lose and I lose.”
-- Janos Pilinszky, ‘Relationship’
==
John had one rule. It’d been established early and followed.
Do not cross the doorway.
He couldn’t help his nightly stops, needs the peace of her sleep in his sights to calm the tightening in his chest when he wakes abruptly, staring at the darkened depth of his ceiling with hands clenched into fists.
If anyone were to stop him, ask him what Elizabeth would think if she knew, he wouldn’t have an answer. That he doesn’t know how she would react or what she would say somehow makes his reasons stronger, as though these intrusions into her dreams help him understand her that much better.
There is comfort in the familiarity of her doorway, and he refuses to think if others — and how many others? — find solace the way he does.
Her room was not sacred; dawn, daylight, even twilight brought a professional atmosphere to all of Atlantis. It was the night he was wary of, the darkness and shadows that lured, calling to his secrets.
John takes a step inside, just enough to get him past the sensor. The door slides closed behind him with a quiet “whoosh”. Darkness envelops him and he has trouble adjusting his eyes, for a moment blinded by the last images of light that burn a bright white against the blackness in her room.
He’s broken his rule.
Then again, so has she. She was supposed to have been asleep.
He looks in her direction, unable to sense shadows from objects, and waits.
“Good morning,” she says softly, ironically.
John has no response, knowing she’s not waiting for one. There had been no surprise in her eyes when she looked up to see him in the doorway, no indication that she knew he would come, or knew that he’d ever come before.
He can feel the beating of his heart deep in his chest and knows he shouldn’t be here, reckless from his dreams, unprepared to find her awake.
Slowly he makes his way around her bed, managing to find a clear path through the vague outlines that mark the edges of her furniture. He sits beside her, leaning against the wall to mirror her position, feeling the smooth skin of her shoulder where it presses against his arm as he draws his knees up to his chest.
There is stillness throughout the city and even if he tries, he can hear nothing but the sound of her breathing.
He doesn’t think she’s slept. He knew that one day it would come to this, the horror of her nightmares finally overpowering her need for sleep.
Elizabeth shifts slightly, resting her head against the wall, and he loses sight of her profile.
She takes a breath. “Bad dream?”
He’d had a first; she hadn’t been in it at all, and he had died.
“You could say that.”
There is an understanding in her nod that loosens a tension far within him. He defines their relationship through their nightmares, and it feels as though she knows his soul.
Her hands come up to cover her face and he shuffles through his mind in a desperate attempt to find something to say, afraid that if she’s crying he will pull her to him and whisper promises he might never be able to keep.
When she speaks, her voice is calm. “Did you think the expedition would be like this?”
“A one way trip.” He means it to be a question.
She understands him anyway. “I did too.”
Elizabeth brings her hands away from her face, turning her head to look at him. This close to her, even in the dark, he can see her freckles, and the thought makes him smile.
“What?” she asks.
“It could have been worse.”
She smiles slightly. “Not by much.”
Elizabeth was a pessimist by nature, and he knew he was the only one who knew it. Years of training and negotiations had honed her public personality; she had more skills and talents than a year in Atlantis had been able to teach him.
“There’s always the Alpha Site,” he offers.
She shakes her head, refusing to be consoled. “We wouldn’t be able to achieve much from there if Atlantis were destroyed.”
“Elizabeth, sometimes it’s as simple as surviving.”
That stops her for a moment, and he watches her think it over. After so many months of fighting to win, even he doesn’t like the idea of giving up the offensive.
She looks at him, green eyes dark with the room’s shadows. He continues to ignore the impulse to touch her.
As if reading his mind, she turns her body towards him, tucking her knees into the hollow he’s created with his legs.
“Elizabeth…” he warns, wanting to stop her from going any farther, as though his presence in her room, on her bed, isn’t inappropriate enough.
He’s unable to finish, and the thoughts dissipate into the air, swept away from him.
Her body burns where it touches him through her clothes, her breath warm on his cheek, and he can’t turn his head, can’t move to tell her anything, or he’d be kissing her.
Bringing his hand up, he slowly brushes her lips with a finger, convincing himself it is enough. He moves a few inches so he can look at her. She watches him, silent, waiting.
It shouldn’t be like this, a desperate night of sex when it’s covered by the dark and he just needs to feel her against him.
She is trembling lightly, and he realizes she’s scared. Not of him, not of what she offers, but of everything else.
She never says it aloud; he has a year on her, but she has never once given him reason to suspect she has been anything but uncertain, occasionally anxious about the enormity of the situation she faces. He knows this leadership is different from anything she, or any of them, had been prepared for, but he also knows she had never before been responsible for other lives. Even in this galaxy there are times when negotiations are useless, only hope or acceptance are left to choose from.
“It’s not about being strong,” he says softly.
She talks against his finger because he’s fallen in love with the feel of her and she’s content to let him. “I can’t save all of them.”
“No,” he agrees. “That’s my job.”
Her breath shudders like she’s preparing for the worst. “And when you fail?”
He knows the answer, knows what the inevitable end will look like if it comes for them or decides to wait a few more generations, and he slides his finger to her chin, tilting her head up to meet his kiss.
For one lingering moment he’s caught in the awareness of what he’s done.
Then his lips part and she’s encouraging him with a flicker of her tongue, biting his lower lip with an intensity that he matches almost desperately.
It doesn’t matter anymore if he’s succumbed or if she’s prevailed because he needs his fingers sliding over her skin, the heat of her breath in his ear, and he can’t find a way to think of this as anything but right.
She tastes of mint and an unidentifiable flavor he names as hers. His hands are in her hair, moving down her back, while she slides deft fingers into his waistband, finding a way to pull him down, closer against her.
She makes a sound deep in her throat and he lowers his head into her neck, breathing her in as she arches beneath him. He knows how she smells when she’s pressed into him, knows the taste of her skin in the hollow of her throat, and the intimacy of it makes his breath ragged.
They are frenzied, desperate, almost rough as they wrestle with their clothes, unable to accept that they must separate to get them off.
She calls his name only once, an inhale like a gasp, an emotion trying to escape that she manages to pull back in just in time, and it releases the last of his inhibitions, pulling him swiftly into a brilliant ecstasy of thoughtlessness, that as long as it’s with her, he’s willing to live in forever.
--
John wakes from a dreamless infinity when she twitches.
She’s curled towards him, arms fluttering slightly and brow furrowed as she struggles to express whatever catastrophe her subconscious is experiencing.
He pulls her against him, pressing his lips to her forehead, wishing he could offer her safety from her nightmares.
He knows she needs someone. But as the military leader of Atlantis, he has no doubt that he will one day fail, likely killed in the line of duty… or because he knows he would, at any given second, sacrifice himself for her.
And because she is all he needs, he will force her away, into the arms of someone else. Only then can he be sure he’s protecting her from himself.
But morning is still a few hours away, and for the time being, he holds her in his arms.
-Fin
Rating: R
Category: John Sheppard/Elizabeth Weir. Angst.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Owned by others. Pay them.
Author’s Note: Thank you to roothekittykat for being the best beta.
Summary: “Even in this galaxy there are times when negotiations are useless, only hope or acceptance are left to choose from.”
==
“What a silence, when you are here. What
a hellish silence.
You sit and I sit.
You lose and I lose.”
-- Janos Pilinszky, ‘Relationship’
==
John had one rule. It’d been established early and followed.
Do not cross the doorway.
He couldn’t help his nightly stops, needs the peace of her sleep in his sights to calm the tightening in his chest when he wakes abruptly, staring at the darkened depth of his ceiling with hands clenched into fists.
If anyone were to stop him, ask him what Elizabeth would think if she knew, he wouldn’t have an answer. That he doesn’t know how she would react or what she would say somehow makes his reasons stronger, as though these intrusions into her dreams help him understand her that much better.
There is comfort in the familiarity of her doorway, and he refuses to think if others — and how many others? — find solace the way he does.
Her room was not sacred; dawn, daylight, even twilight brought a professional atmosphere to all of Atlantis. It was the night he was wary of, the darkness and shadows that lured, calling to his secrets.
John takes a step inside, just enough to get him past the sensor. The door slides closed behind him with a quiet “whoosh”. Darkness envelops him and he has trouble adjusting his eyes, for a moment blinded by the last images of light that burn a bright white against the blackness in her room.
He’s broken his rule.
Then again, so has she. She was supposed to have been asleep.
He looks in her direction, unable to sense shadows from objects, and waits.
“Good morning,” she says softly, ironically.
John has no response, knowing she’s not waiting for one. There had been no surprise in her eyes when she looked up to see him in the doorway, no indication that she knew he would come, or knew that he’d ever come before.
He can feel the beating of his heart deep in his chest and knows he shouldn’t be here, reckless from his dreams, unprepared to find her awake.
Slowly he makes his way around her bed, managing to find a clear path through the vague outlines that mark the edges of her furniture. He sits beside her, leaning against the wall to mirror her position, feeling the smooth skin of her shoulder where it presses against his arm as he draws his knees up to his chest.
There is stillness throughout the city and even if he tries, he can hear nothing but the sound of her breathing.
He doesn’t think she’s slept. He knew that one day it would come to this, the horror of her nightmares finally overpowering her need for sleep.
Elizabeth shifts slightly, resting her head against the wall, and he loses sight of her profile.
She takes a breath. “Bad dream?”
He’d had a first; she hadn’t been in it at all, and he had died.
“You could say that.”
There is an understanding in her nod that loosens a tension far within him. He defines their relationship through their nightmares, and it feels as though she knows his soul.
Her hands come up to cover her face and he shuffles through his mind in a desperate attempt to find something to say, afraid that if she’s crying he will pull her to him and whisper promises he might never be able to keep.
When she speaks, her voice is calm. “Did you think the expedition would be like this?”
“A one way trip.” He means it to be a question.
She understands him anyway. “I did too.”
Elizabeth brings her hands away from her face, turning her head to look at him. This close to her, even in the dark, he can see her freckles, and the thought makes him smile.
“What?” she asks.
“It could have been worse.”
She smiles slightly. “Not by much.”
Elizabeth was a pessimist by nature, and he knew he was the only one who knew it. Years of training and negotiations had honed her public personality; she had more skills and talents than a year in Atlantis had been able to teach him.
“There’s always the Alpha Site,” he offers.
She shakes her head, refusing to be consoled. “We wouldn’t be able to achieve much from there if Atlantis were destroyed.”
“Elizabeth, sometimes it’s as simple as surviving.”
That stops her for a moment, and he watches her think it over. After so many months of fighting to win, even he doesn’t like the idea of giving up the offensive.
She looks at him, green eyes dark with the room’s shadows. He continues to ignore the impulse to touch her.
As if reading his mind, she turns her body towards him, tucking her knees into the hollow he’s created with his legs.
“Elizabeth…” he warns, wanting to stop her from going any farther, as though his presence in her room, on her bed, isn’t inappropriate enough.
He’s unable to finish, and the thoughts dissipate into the air, swept away from him.
Her body burns where it touches him through her clothes, her breath warm on his cheek, and he can’t turn his head, can’t move to tell her anything, or he’d be kissing her.
Bringing his hand up, he slowly brushes her lips with a finger, convincing himself it is enough. He moves a few inches so he can look at her. She watches him, silent, waiting.
It shouldn’t be like this, a desperate night of sex when it’s covered by the dark and he just needs to feel her against him.
She is trembling lightly, and he realizes she’s scared. Not of him, not of what she offers, but of everything else.
She never says it aloud; he has a year on her, but she has never once given him reason to suspect she has been anything but uncertain, occasionally anxious about the enormity of the situation she faces. He knows this leadership is different from anything she, or any of them, had been prepared for, but he also knows she had never before been responsible for other lives. Even in this galaxy there are times when negotiations are useless, only hope or acceptance are left to choose from.
“It’s not about being strong,” he says softly.
She talks against his finger because he’s fallen in love with the feel of her and she’s content to let him. “I can’t save all of them.”
“No,” he agrees. “That’s my job.”
Her breath shudders like she’s preparing for the worst. “And when you fail?”
He knows the answer, knows what the inevitable end will look like if it comes for them or decides to wait a few more generations, and he slides his finger to her chin, tilting her head up to meet his kiss.
For one lingering moment he’s caught in the awareness of what he’s done.
Then his lips part and she’s encouraging him with a flicker of her tongue, biting his lower lip with an intensity that he matches almost desperately.
It doesn’t matter anymore if he’s succumbed or if she’s prevailed because he needs his fingers sliding over her skin, the heat of her breath in his ear, and he can’t find a way to think of this as anything but right.
She tastes of mint and an unidentifiable flavor he names as hers. His hands are in her hair, moving down her back, while she slides deft fingers into his waistband, finding a way to pull him down, closer against her.
She makes a sound deep in her throat and he lowers his head into her neck, breathing her in as she arches beneath him. He knows how she smells when she’s pressed into him, knows the taste of her skin in the hollow of her throat, and the intimacy of it makes his breath ragged.
They are frenzied, desperate, almost rough as they wrestle with their clothes, unable to accept that they must separate to get them off.
She calls his name only once, an inhale like a gasp, an emotion trying to escape that she manages to pull back in just in time, and it releases the last of his inhibitions, pulling him swiftly into a brilliant ecstasy of thoughtlessness, that as long as it’s with her, he’s willing to live in forever.
--
John wakes from a dreamless infinity when she twitches.
She’s curled towards him, arms fluttering slightly and brow furrowed as she struggles to express whatever catastrophe her subconscious is experiencing.
He pulls her against him, pressing his lips to her forehead, wishing he could offer her safety from her nightmares.
He knows she needs someone. But as the military leader of Atlantis, he has no doubt that he will one day fail, likely killed in the line of duty… or because he knows he would, at any given second, sacrifice himself for her.
And because she is all he needs, he will force her away, into the arms of someone else. Only then can he be sure he’s protecting her from himself.
But morning is still a few hours away, and for the time being, he holds her in his arms.
-Fin