&fic;

 

Like Wounds on Her Back

by sugargroupie

R, 1962 words

Summary: where is your love?

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership to Stargate: Atlantis or its characters.

Notes: post-Lifeline AU. It's been about... *checks fic tag* wow, two years since I've written an Elizabeth-centric story. I am just as surprised about the existence of this story as you are. Thanks to Ladyjax for the glance over, all mistakes are mine.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

The first voice floats around her, sounding absurdly distorted to her freshly regained consciousness.

"This one still loves."

She can't tell if it's male or female, but the tone of disgust is unmistakable, and directed at her.

The distortion fades from her ears and Elizabeth is suddenly very aware of her surroundings. Two Asurans stand above her as she lies prone, arms and legs bound so tightly that even with her newfound strength she can't break free.

They continue to speak over her as if she doesn't exist.

"Have patience, Maija," the second Asuran says wryly. "We will disabuse her of that emotion in due time."

Elizabeth coaches her body into stillness. They have certainly tried to disabuse her of many notions since her capture. She has been tortured repeatedly, and yet they won't kill her, won't put an end to a life they so despise.

She supposes that too is a form of torture.

Breathing deeply, she sinks inside her own conscious to find most of her energy reserves still depleted -- weakened by the constant invasions of her mind. She feels the overwhelming pressure of another presence entering once again and braces for the next round. Fingers clenching tight, teeth biting down, blood filling her mouth.

Pain.

"Now tell me Doctor Weir," the first voice demands, "where is your love?"

Elizabeth holds her tongue until the scream is wretched from her throat.

* * *

They give her pieces of herself in cycles, parts doled out in exchange for her progress. The goal is to assimilate, and she has performed admirably.

Oberoth's voice is soft with praise: "Very good, Doctor Weir. What is your pleasure for this day?" and Elizabeth can hardly deny such human fantasies still linger.

During the first encounter she'd clung to memories of Earth; the smell of her mother's hair and the sense memory of her father's embrace; Simon, cooking in their kitchen and Sedge's tail going thump thump against the floor. A thousand faces and sounds and smells, all indistinguishable but familiar, and she'd guarded each possessively.

When she began to lose count, each session thereafter became that time at the lake when she was 15, or that night of her sophomore year of college; vague descriptions of moments in her life, a past she could no longer claim.

They were stealing her humanity, and she was forced to watch.

Elizabeth avoided Atlantis for as long as she could, until they'd stripped the last vestiges of denial from her mind, leaving her overwhelmed with emotion (love) for her city and its people. Now, Atlantis is never far from her thoughts. It's as much a part of her as the nanites that keep her alive.

And as punishment for the humanity that remains, she relives sacrificing her life for Atlantis, over and over again.

* * *

Sometimes, Elizabeth awakens with a hunger that frightens her with its intensity. A shadow presses against her mind, heavy like a weight on her back, but it's an intangible thing and she can't reach out to remove it, can't make it real.

That the hunger is directed towards the Wraith is a detail she tells no one.

* * *

Elizabeth knows she is only alive because of the nanites, even if the pain all over her body suggests otherwise.

When she has a reprieve from her lessons (torture), she allows thoughts of Atlantis to filter through, soothing her frayed nerves.

It goes like this --

Sheppard and his team organizes a rescue mission, and her injuries are already healed by the time she's back on Atlantis. The silence on the puddle jumper is awkward when she informs them of this development but she refuses to keep it a secret; not when they are still unaware of the danger of which she's capable.

Once they exit the jumper bay she is escorted to the infirmary, anyway. Just to be safe. Elizabeth feels the weight of John's gaze at her back and she catches his eyes over her shoulder. "You're gonna be fine, Elizabeth," he says, as though it's her health they should be worried about.

Doctor Keller is amazed, and wary of her presence. Rodney keeps a safe distance, for once, sensing when to give her space, and she is grateful. It will take a long while before she's at a place where she can forgive what they did to her and for her, she admits but she has time. With the nanites in her system she may very well live forever.

*

After being released from the infirmary, Teyla directs Elizabeth to her new quarters.

(She wonders briefly if her old room is still vacant or if it's yet another space the new expedition leader has filled in her absence. She doesn't wonder enough to ask.)

Elizabeth sinks onto the mattress with a deep sigh. "Will you stay for a while?" she asks gently, only glancing up when Teyla squeezes her hand.

"Of course, Elizabeth. I can stay for as long as you need." The other woman bows her head briefly in mutual understanding and Elizabeth nods. Teyla's presence grounds her and she can't help but latch onto the relief it provides.

They pass the time alternately chatting quietly and saying nothing at all. Teyla makes her laugh for the first time in months, she thinks, but it eventually gives way to cleansing sobs that Elizabeth knows she doesn't have to explain. Through it all, Teyla's warmth and companionship remind her that she is home, and the taste of her salty tears are proof that she is still human.

*

Ronon is her shadow around Atlantis.

He takes his title in stride, of course. Every so often she glances out the corner of her eye to study the outward appearance of boredom on his face, recognizing that he is taking his responsibility of staying by her side very seriously. He's always done his best to protect the people here, willing to sacrifice himself if possible.

They have never been as different from one another as she once assumed.

She tries to cajole conversation from his lips, and slowly, they exchange small details about their respective experiences with the Wraith and Asurans.

"You're safe here, Doctor Weir," he tells her, and she wonders if her paranoia has reached the surface, or if it's something else entirely. "Trust in that."

"I'll try," she answers. "By the way," she continues, a weak smile on her face, "if you're going to make it a habit of reading me so well you should call me Elizabeth."

Ronon grins. "I'll try."

*

John is waiting for her when she and Ronon return to the control room. As they stare at Ronon's retreating back, John turns to her slowly and suggests taking another walk.

They complete the journey to her quarters in silence.

Since Elizabeth's return their topics of conversation have been polite, safe. How are you?, and Was the mission successful?, and Are you bored yet?

She vaguely remembers his whispered I missed you when he thought she was asleep. She gave the words back to him as he walked out the door, but now she finds she wants to tell him to his face, wants to erase any doubts about what's been left unsaid between them for so long.

Entering her room first, Elizabeth waits until the door slides shut behind him and she has his full attention.

They meet each other halfway, fingers lacing together with ease. John smiles, "Elizabeth..."

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," she interrupts, a hint of surprise in her voice at how easily the confession slips free. "All of you, I mean... but especially you."

"I know," he utters in amazement. "I knew we'd see each other again," he says, pulling her into a hug. She wraps her arms tightly around his waist, fitting her body against him until their breathing is in sync.

John buries his face in her hair, his breath warm against her ear. "'Lizabeth, I don't want to take this slow... do you?"

Elizabeth drops her forehead to his chest, already shaking her head before he completes the sentence. Her answer is quiet but firm. "No. Not after --" she lets the rest of her response hang between them. Not after losing so much; not after losing the city, you, nearly myself. "No," she repeats and tilts her head back to meet his gaze.

They've waited years for this; for him to press his mouth against hers, to immediately coax his tongue between her lips and kiss her so deeply that the wait no longer mattered.

John slides his hands from her hips to her ass, cupping her there as he pulls her even closer. Then his cock is right there; solid and heavy, and it's been so long for her, and never for them.

Elizabeth occupies her hands with removing first his jacket and then hers, fingers moving frantically along buttons and zippers, and still they can't divest with their clothes fast enough.

*

She has to remind herself that his human flesh bruises easily.

He likes her aggression; tells her so as he flicks his tongue along the line of her neck. Elizabeth sits atop his lap, cock cushioned between her sticky thighs, flooding her senses with his increased arousal when she tightens her grip on his fingers and presses his hand down against the mattress.

John settles his free hand on the curve of her hip, guiding her to rock against him, to tease them both into submission. She slips her free hand behind his neck and pulls gently until he sits up, flushed face so close to her own that she steals another kiss. He tugs his other hand free from her grasp against the bed to frame both around her face, staring so intently that she wonders what he sees there, what's drawn him so fiercely that he can't look away.

"John," she murmurs, and sets her thumb to the corner of his mouth. She kisses him before he can answer, and then his fingers are gentle between them, gliding against her sex as she continues to rock her hips.

Elizabeth rises to her knees as he takes his cock in hand and shifts down until she's tight around him. "Yes, yes, yes," he chants softly as they move together, mouthing kisses down her throat to her breasts; his lips constantly touching her skin, never silent.

She makes love to him because she is still capable, and she has never lacked such emotion when it came to John.

* * *

It ends when the Asurans pull her abruptly from her safe haven, and she reacts by instinct accordingly.

Using fists and feet, she puts her entire weight into her punches. Soon there are too many hands reaching for her, holding her wrists. She fights back harder when a voice commends her for her spirit.

Later, there are more bruises decorating her skin. Worth it, she thinks, as she eases back down to her cot.

Still, it's the first and only time she allows the fantasy to endure for such a length of time.

* * *

Sometimes she still visits Atlantis, but never for very long. She can sense it as her time grows shorter. Assimilation.

* * *

Oberoth's voice is soft with praise. "Well done, Elizabeth. What is your pleasure for this day?"

Her gaze is steady as she stands tall. The part of her humanity that still remains tells the Asurans what they want to hear. "I want to kill Wraith."

The part that is changing, has changed, is growing stronger and the truth of her statement stings; lingering like the pain from salt in the wounds on her back.

*

end