Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis or its characters…
Author's Note: I've been playing with what seems like dozens of fics since I started watching this program just a few months ago. This one doesn't seem as in character as would probably be desirable, but I'm not sure I would be able to capture their brilliance. Anyway, I'm toying with ways that this can be a longer fic, but it may have to settle as standing on its own.
(PS. I don't think it's of particular significance in this short piece, but if further chapters are added, you may realize that my knowledge is limited by the fact that I am only familiar with the first season).
The loud penetrating beeping of her alarm clock jolted her into the waking world. She moved her hand instinctively to turn it off. In the few seconds it took her to silence the device, reality came rushing back to her with a vengeance. She felt the despair fill her heart and the tears begin to flow. She rolled over and pressed her face into her pillow, not bothering to stem the sobs, only stifling them. She had been greeting the day in this manner for several months now.
It was all because of the dreams. If she didn't have the dreams, perhaps she wouldn't greet everyday with tears. And at the same time, she did not want them to stop. She needed them to continue. If they didn't, she might begin to forget, forget him. And that was frightening. But nevertheless, they were the reason for her overwhelming sense of despair. Every night she dreamed of him. Oddly, she never dreamed of losing him. She only dreamed of him being there, being alive. The reality of the day, which engulfed her like an avalanche every single morning, was the devastating part. The reality was that he wasn't there. He was dead.
Dead and gone.
And Dr. Elizabeth Weir had other things to worry about. There were other people, living people, she was responsible for. And that was why she forced herself to get up out of bed, despite how heavy her body felt, despite how hard it was to continue breathing. At first a shower had served well enough to wash away the misery, but lately it did nothing to lift the weight she felt bearing down upon her soul. She shouldn't miss him this much. Others had lost their lives here, so many others. None of them deserved to die. They were all good people. So why did their deaths fail to cause her such pain, to feel such loss, such a hole in her heart?
John Sheppard had just been a man.
A good man? Yes. Her friend? She'd like to think so. But he was not her man. She had no right to mourn him so. She had no right to dream of him. She had no right to cry over him every morning for months after his death. She was not worthy of being so melodramatic at his expense. She had to get past this. Others relied on her. The John Sheppard she knew would not have wanted her to fail others on account of him, especially when he was no longer around to tell her to suck it up and get over it.
The shower didn't seem to help at all this morning.
Elizabeth struggled to remember exactly what the dream was about as she dressed. She never could seem to grasp the details. They were always at the edge of her mind. She knew her dreams were vivid, but as soon as she woke, they vanished, leaving only misery and despair to fill the void. She could always remember that John had been there, alive and well, giving her that smirk of his. The memory of his smiling faced lifted her spirit for moment, but only for a moment before it was replaced by the knowledge that she'd never see it again.
"Stop it Elizabeth!" she hissed at her image in the mirror. "You have work to do. There are people who rely on you. Stop doing this!"
She had to look away, unable to face her own sad eyes staring back at her. She took a deep breath before leaving her room, praying for the strength to survive the day.