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She dreams.
Death. Destruction. The Wraith. Atlantis in shambles.
Then she dreams some more.
Of being saved. Of going home.
She’s not sure how much time has passed, or if it really matters, but she’s tired. She doesn’t expect to be, not with all the nanites in her body, but she is so very very tired.
There is a thin line between reality and fantasy, and her grip on both is rapidly fading. She’s not sure what’s real and what’s not. It doesn’t matter, she supposes, not with her fate looming. They have given up on her—both the Asurans and her people.
The Asurans have condemned her to a fate worse than death. She’s a lab rat, nothing more. Something (not someone) to experiment with. They have poked and prodded, deemed her inferior for holding on to her humanity when in truth there is nothing left.
Her people -- god, her people, she thinks -- are done looking for her. She held on for those few months (years?) thinking they would come. That they would get her back. But time passed by, the pain—she remembers the pain—the torture, the mind tricks—it all got to her and she had given up hope.
Then something changed.
“Elizabeth. Elizabeth, wake up. Please.”
She opens her eyes and the first thing she sees is light, and John’s face, smiling down at her.
********
His gaze follows her as she climbs up the steps from the gateroom (he still expects her to turn right, to the hallway that leads to the office— she doesn’t, of course), her head buried in a heap of papers. She walks briskly; he watches her until she is out of sight.
He feels guilty, all the time; more so now that they have her back. He sees her and feels her resignation-- like she doesn’t even know what else to do, other than translate the work she’s been given.
He tries sometimes to get her to come to a few social gatherings. A festival on the mainland; a party thrown to celebrate a new alliance; to movie night. She always declines with a sad expression, with a shake of the head and an offhanded remark that she’d rather work. She works herself into exhaustion, he thinks.
It’s been six months since they got her back. It’s been a slow process, but John thinks it’s getting better. She is still withdrawn , but the few times he manages to drag her out of her office for half an hour for lunch is enough for him to consider it a victory.
She still doesn’t smile. He supposes that’s only fair.
********
Christmas falls on a Sunday-- and of course there’s going to be a party. They decide to hold the party Saturday night, on Christmas Eve. John keeps trying to get her to come. No excuses, he says. It’s the weekend.
She is sitting in her office (her new one—her brain supplies) trying to analyze the latest inscriptions on an artifact Major Donner (it surprises her, that she can still remember all their names) found on their last mission. The task is easy, familiar.
Her office is bare. No photos, no artifacts. No masks hanging on the wall. No little trinkets littering her table. No frames standing in the corner.
She still doesn’t know what to feel, or if she feels anything at all. There is this vague sense of happiness that she’s alive and back in Atlantis, but she fears that she might only think she feels that way.
She knows she’s not herself anymore. She’s not the Elizabeth that used to walk these halls and command the respect of everybody on the base. The Elizabeth that used to worry herself to death when a team was overdue. The Elizabeth who stayed up late talking and laughing with John in the mess hall. She knew this, that she wouldn’t be the same-- and yet she didn’t expect it to be this different. It’s like being in someone else’s skin; like the Elizabeth of before is someone else entirely. She remembers (everything) and yet, all these memories, all of them—feel like they belong to somebody else.
Panic rises deep within her—Oh god, I can’t be one of those… things— Can I?
She dismisses the thought. Jennifer assures her she’s the real thing (as real as she can be, she supposes).
She breathes a long sigh and goes back to work.
********
He dreams too.
Of her. Of her fate in the hands of the Asurans. Over and over he dreams. He dreams of that day he left her in the hands of the enemy, her eyes full of determination and fear. That’s what he always sees when he closes his eyes—that day, that moment. He has to live with that choice everyday.
Sometimes though -- not often -- the dream changes, and he pulls her. Just grabs her and through some miracle of fate manages to get her back to Atlantis alive.
He can’t sleep for days after that. He supposes it’s only fair.
********
“I’m sorry I—we”, he corrects “couldn’t get your stuff back. The SGC just thinks…”
She finishes the thought for him. “Till they think I’m no longer a threat. You can say it John, I’ve been debriefed,” she sneers.
She straitens herself up and wills away the anger.
“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter”, she adds tiredly
He’s quiet, and she knows he is trying to gather his thoughts on how to respond.
She walks away before he has the chance.
*******
When they found her, John feared it was too late.
He still dreams about that too.
********
“Fine John, I’ll go to the party.”
John beams; his smile is wide, his face feeling like it might break in half.
********
She gets this look in her eyes sometimes, when she thinks nobody is watching. This look that says she’s not quite sure if all of this is real. That she’s back in Atlantis.
He knows she dreams. Dreams of times when they saved her, but it all turned out to be an illusion. He curses himself for not finding her sooner. For not looking for her.
*********
They’re out on her balcony, staring out into the ocean. It’s late. The sky is dark. John remembers spending his nights just like this, when she was gone.
The breeze hits her face. She closes her eyes and savors the feel of the wind.
“Do you blame me?” he asks suddenly.
For a moment she contemplates about feigning ignorance. But she thinks, after all this time, the question needs to be answered. Not just for him, but for both their sakes.
“Yes. Yes I did,” she answers softly, still not looking at him.
“But not anymore?” There’s a slight shiver in his voice that she can’t miss.
Not anymore, John. Not anymore.”
**********
At the party, they’re celebrating what the year has brought for them, and what they are all thankful for, out here in the Pegasus Galaxy.
“To Dr. Weir’s return! It’s good have you back ma’am,” a scientist toasts in her direction.
“Here, here!” Rodney chimes in.
Elizabeth raises her drink in recognition, but doesn’t move from her place in the far corner of the room.
Good food, overflowing wine and an overabundance of nostalgia fill the air. Dancing occurs an hour or so into the party. She watches Rodney try to dance with Jennifer, indulging her request. Rodney smiles and Elizabeth thinks he has never looked happier.
The festivities continue, and she manages to talk to some scientists and Major Lorne; to Rodney, Teyla and even Ronon. They talk about her job (translating endless texts), how she’s settling in (“Good, I’m doing good.”) and all the other things she’s heard from almost everyone the past few months. No one has asked her what she went through. No one dares.
She steals herself away towards the balcony.
*********
“I knew you’d be here.”
Elizabeth turns around at the sound of his voice. “John,” she breathes out, her gaze returning to the ocean, her body leaning against the balcony rail.
John settles in beside her. He shifts his stance and looks anxious. She narrows her eyes at him. He smiles at the familiar gesture.
He opens a bag she didn’t realize he was carrying.
“Here. I got them back from the SGC.”
She’s confused for a moment, but then she sees what’s inside the bag.
She takes out the photo of Sedge.
“How did you--? I thought the SGC said no personal effects until—“
“Merry Christmas, Elizabeth.”
For the first time since she came back, Elizabeth smiles.