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 the author (SenseOfTime): This is just a quick look at something that I know has been suggested on various Sparky forums at one point or another, so I though I'd borrow the idea and write it down.
He'd waited until most of the city was asleep before going back to her office. Chances were that people would ask questions sooner or later, but for now he couldn't face them, just as he hadn't been able to face clearing out her things earlier; he'd asked Ronon and Teyla to do it and, much to his relief, they hadn't made any comments, they understood what he was going through, perhaps more than anyone else did, with the possible exception of Rodney.
It had been strange walking across the bridge and into the room and he almost didn't want to do it because he knew that the moment he saw the bare desk and the carefully labelled boxes on the floor it would become more real. It had been starting to solidify in his mind ever since they'd left her behind, little things that would mean nothing to anyone else, but meant the world to him. He had gone to the mess hall and got himself two cups of coffee without realising it; one for himself and one for her; he had gotten into the habit recently of grabbing some for her at different points in the day, trying to give her a bit of an energy boost. He'd tipped the spare one away this time; it wasn't needed.
Or the fact that he had wondered out onto the balcony earlier that day and, when he'd heard the door open, had expected it to be her who came and stood beside him; it had shocked him when it had been Carter.
Walking into her office had helped him to get used to the shock, but it had done nothing to quell the grief; it had made it worse, so much worse, because the whole room had reminded him of her and yet she wasn't there; her things were packed, the walls were bare and she was not sat at her desk, pouring over files while the rest of the city slept.
He hadn't lingered there, he had found what he came for and practically ran back to his room, wanting to escape from the gazes of others, from all the places that reminded him of her, but he had clutched his reminder tightly under his arm, handling it with the greatest care and affection, because it was one thing that he could take without anyone questioning him; it couldn't be sent back to Earth, if and when the time came for her belongings to be transported, and he refused to let it be thrown away, not when it had meant something to her and to him.
He remembered handing it to her; the surprise on her face, the suspicion and then the gratitude. He had only meant it as a small gift, but her reaction had changed it into something else, something that spoke of a deeper relationship than what they presented to the rest of the expedition. A deep friendship, an understanding, a promise that they had each other to rely on, to make decisions with and he had tried his hardest to honour that, just as she had.
The emotions and memories and affections that were held within the simple object meant everything to John and he was not going to let that be lost; he would keep those things alive for her.
Now he walked into his quarters and placed the pot gently on his bedside table. He didn't switch his light off that night and his gaze remained on the small object until he fell asleep.