He'd watched her often, since they'd gone to Atlantis, from his first meeting with her onward. He learned some things she loved, things she enjoyed, things she had trouble doing without...

He'd seen her light on one night when he'd turned in, as many times before. When he woke to find her office still brightly lit in the early hours, he didn't make "good morning" his first words to her. He simply headed to the mess hall, returning to greet her with a mug of sweetened chicory.

Her smile of thanks was all he needed to make it a habit.

They didn't clash a great deal after the first few months.

He thinks, idly, that that might have had a little to do with his letting her know what a big kid he gets around domestic animals. The conversation came up, somehow, after he'd spied the photograph she keeps on her desk, and told her the dog was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as its owner, he'd thought, but didn't dare to say it just then.

John knows she misses Sedge, and if chatting about their past family pets (never people) makes Elizabeth feel better then he's willing to talk his throat dry.

The day that Elizabeth tells him, in casual conversation, "I don't like to fly in aircraft," his first thought is one of incredulity. His reaction is to turn big hazel eyes on her face and ask her why.

Her answer surprises him, an imaginative, beautiful description of what she dreamed it might be like to fly among birds, to feel thermals guiding oneself higher into the air with so little effort, and to say that not even a helicopter would ever come close to the concept of that.

It's at that point he realises that maybe he has found a kindred spirit.

Elizabeth remembered her sense of wonder that first day in Atlantis with great clarity; gazing up through glass from beneath the water line. She wasn't sure what the city had come to define for her. She didn't know what she'd do if they made her leave, now that she knew what it was like.

She loved Atlantis. Did she love him enough to risk losing her command?


John communed with the city, trying to ask for guidance. He was sure, on some level, she was sentient.

If the other woman in his heart wouldn't give him a sign, maybe Atlantis would.

She falls asleep on him in the rec room. He lifts her easily, carrying her to her quarters, treasuring the way she looks in sleep.

She stirs when the door opens, settling against his chest with a sigh, eyes still closed. He lays her down and draws back the blanket before edging her body into her bed and pulling the cover over her, pulling off her boots as gently as he can.

Those pretty eyes flicker open for a moment and she smiles drowsily at him. "Come to bed," she yawns.

"Nowhere I'd rather be, 'Lizabeth," John replies softly, sliding in beside her.



~fin