We, the Sparky Army, decree 2008 to be the Year of the Spark. We pledge to post a new sparky story or chapter of a sparky story every day from January 1, 2008 to December 31, 2008. Though the Powers That Be have removed Elizabeth Weir from the regular cast of Stargate Atlantis, we feel that she remains an integral part of the show, and that the relationship between her and John Sheppard is too obvious to be ignored. We hope that you, and anyone might happen to read these works, agree.

And if that isn't official enough for you, we don't know what is. Seriously, guys, we're just trying to have some fun--and show TPTB that Sparky is the way to go. So sit back and enjoy the 366 stories coming your way!

Note from Author (sparkly): ok, so it's an angsty one, the only one I could get myself to write. So, spoilers for This Mortal Coil, enjoy!


Glass

By sparklyshimmer2010

John stared silently at the paper, unwilling to write. He felt that if he did, he'd be admitting to what his head told him was true, but what his heart raged against. The fact that she wasn't coming back…that she was dead.

He put down the pen and moved over to look sadly at Elizabeth's belongings. The small box on top held all the things that had been in her office. He reached in to touch the silver watch and memories flooded through his mind. He remembered watching her work through the glass walls.

Glass. That's what he always came to for some reason when thinking of her. The clear walls of her office, the small shape of the necklace she had stopped wearing, the shattered pieces that had jaggedly cut his life apart; had taken the one woman he found himself really caring for. After all they had been through together, he couldn't believe, didn't want to believe that she was gone. And here came another glassy comparison. Elizabeth had stood strong, giving a true picture, but unfortunately was not unbreakable.

He sighed and left the unbearable room. He stepped out onto the balcony, leaning his hand on the railing. His green eyes looked out at the new ocean, expressing all that he found hard to say in words. He didn't know why he had come out here. He used to meet Elizabeth often here. Being here now somehow offered a small amount of comfort but also devastated him.

Elizabeth's and his relationship had grown as the few years passed. He wondered how far it would have gotten had they had a chance, if it could have prospered to more than friendship, because he knew now that he had loved her. Still did. But there had always been a slight barrier between them, brought up when they both feared they were getting too close already. A clear shield John could see straight through.

He sighed as he realized he was back to glass. That matter that was pretty and smooth, but oh so dangerous. He wondered briefly when he had started thinking deeper thoughts than his care free persona had had had when they first arrived in the galaxy.

He heard the door swish open and waited for whoever it was to come up next to him, wishing beyond anything that it could have been one certain brunette.

"Are her things ready for the Daedalus. It should be here soon." Sam asked.

"Almost. I'll get back to it in a minute. Just needed a little time to myself." He said quietly, voice soft.

"Of course." She said and left.

He looked up at the sky, noticing the shadows of the two unlit moons. He should get back and authorize her things to be shipped…how could she not be coming back? He really had thought they were going to find her.

His hope had left after the news came. He had no idea how to save Elizabeth even if she were alive, which most likely she was not. It was easier to think that she had died valiantly, giving a fight, than to think that he had failed her. He used to think he could save almost everyone, it was his job. But he let the most important person slip through and now the one person who supported him was gone. The office was now empty of a great leader, and the glass wasn't even half empty, but completely as well. If only that beam hadn't quite made it…

Glass: a hard, brittle substance. It fit her life well. Glass was strong, but could still break the true picture into a million tiny pieces.