Warning: Major charater death.
Note: Written from the same bunny as FCOL's fic, Dead Weir, which I highly recommend, cause FCOL rocks, and she mixes the very unsettling premise with some very hot porn so very well.
They hadn't been answering her comms, and any other day she might have sent Lorne or Radek or anyone else, but she was restless, and needed the walk. Dr. Zelenka placed their lifesigns in the east wing, the only two away from all the rest, exploring probably; thinking up new schemes to talk her into, new adventures she could only approve to sit and watch.
The hallway wound into a large room, the lights all dimmed, tinted blue. It had an echo, and she could hear their laughter the moment she stepped inside. She followed it in, but there was something strange about the sounds. In all of her naivety, she couldn't place what was off until she caught sight of them through an open doorway on the other side of the room.
John was leaning back against a counter, his hands in Rodney's hair; his fingers spreading and griping and loosening as he moaned into a kiss. Rodney had his own fingers wrapped in the belt loops of John's pants as he moved to kiss the skin behind John's ear. They were whispering something to each other, quiet hurried words she couldn't quite make out, and she felt she was being held in place.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. This couldn't be happening. John flirted with every woman he could get within three feet of and Rodney, Rodney who could talk about Samantha Carter for hours was dropping to kneel on the floor. His knees hit with a dull sort of thud, and a moment later there was a louder crash as he let loose John's thigh holster without bothering to catch the gun before it hit the floor.
"We shouldn't be doing this," John said, but he was breathless, and making no move to pull away. This was the imaginary John she saw when she closed her eyes, easy to smile as usual but genuinely for once; like pretense had been washed away along with control, and there was nothing left but him. "I've got a reputation to think of, you know."
She was supposed to bring him to this point; she'd been planning it for nearly two years, biding her time with smiles and hints while John played along, played his part, flirted back just like he was supposed to.
"I hate to break it to you, but your reputation includes just these kinds of things," Rodney told him.
She shouldn't be watching this, didn't want to, but couldn't stop. It was all so wrong, and for all the amazing things she had seen, nothing had ever frozen her like this. She was caught between screaming and crying, stopping them and just walking away.
She would have almost forgiven him if it had been anyone else, but Rodney was
supposed to her friend too and he'd been playing along in the ruse. She'd never even suspected, never seen it, and when Rodney starts on the buckle of John's pants, says, "John" the way he never does, the way he isn't supposed to, she can't stop the "no" that slips past her own lips.
They both paused, froze just like her, and she felt a moment of satisfaction that they were going to feel a little of what she was feeling. Rodney went red, his hands falling away as he looked at the floor and got to his feet. John wasn't meeting her eyes either as he did up his pants again, and then leaned down to grab his holster.
She took a deep breath, deciding to be the one that spoke first. "What the hell are you two thinking?" she snapped. "You could both be sent back to Earth for this. John, you'll be discharged."
He finally looks at her then, and he doesn't look upset at all. His stare was calm and it unnerved her. "Not if they don't know about it," he said, shrugging. "If you don't ask, I won't tell."
Elizabeth didn't give a damn about don't ask don't tell, she cared that he was here with someone that wasn't her, and if John couldn't even see that, she'd misjudged him more than she'd thought. "You don't need to say a thing," she said. "I've seen enough to draw my own conclusions."
"Elizabeth," Rodney started, and his voice sounded strained. At least he had the sense to be frightened. He should be.
"I don't care about the military's archaic rules, but this is fraternization, and you're both on the same team. It's inappropriate, and it's not going unreported." She turned on her heel and started walking, moving as fast as she could.
Everything she said was true, it was inappropriate. The only person on Atlantis John could in good conscience be with was her, they were both in this together, they were supposed to get through it together. She heard their footsteps as they started after her, heard Rodney plead for her to stop, and then she heard a door slam shut.
She turned around, frowning. The door had just closed, locking John and Rodney inside. She turned around as the door on the other side of her slammed shut as well. There was a kind of pop, a change in the air, and then Rodney and John were pounding on the door demanding she let them out.
She opened her mouth to scream, but all of the air was sucked from room before she could make a sound.
Radek would find her an hour later, laid out dead on the floor, with Rodney and John begging her to talk to them from the other side of a door.
They put her in the incinerator and spread her ashes on the sea.
They tried not to dwell on what strange foresight had let them see exactly how she'd want to be put to rest, or about the fact that ashes from two different Elizabeth Weir's were mixing in the water as they sunk to the rocky floor. Things were hard enough.
Rodney had been over the city three times, and he couldn't find an explanation. He still continued to search for one without sleeping, and John stayed at his shoulder, refilling his coffee every time it got low and not saying a thing.
They were both thinking the same thing, anyway.
They say to be careful what you wish for, and Rodney had been pleading as she ran out of the room, begging a God he didn't really believe in or whoever might be listening to make her stop. To just stop her, because if she got where she was going nothing would ever be the same.
One look at John had told him his lover had been thinking the same thing, and Rodney was worried something had been listening to them; it just hadn't been God.
They had both been thinking about how desperately they'd wanted Weir to stop and listen to them, and now they were both thinking maybe the city had listened a little too well. Living here as they did, they got spoiled, and sometimes they forgot that Ancient technology could read minds.
He gave up on the fourth day, because there was nothing rational to explain it. Radek told him that it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing that could be done, nothing that could have foreseen it. John told him to stop, too, but Rodney had a feeling that was because he knew he wouldn't find what he was looking for.
They ended up in John's quarters, sitting side by side on the bed. There was no reason to be cautious at the moment and they were too tired to care, the city was in John's hands for now anyway. Rodney watched him as he stared at his hands, the wall, anywhere but at him. Thinking back on it, Rodney doesn't think John's looked him in the eyes since it happened.
He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes, and asks the question John is waiting for him to ask. "Do you think maybe we...?"
John stopped him by grabbing his wrist, and pulling him closer. John leaned into him like he'd lost the strength to hold himself up, and placed his cheek against Rodney's neck so he could feel his pulse.
"It was just a malfunction," he whispered.
Rodney's always known John was an exceptional liar; he almost believes him himself.