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!

Dear Readers,

Once again, I apologize profusely (did I use that word correctly?) for my forgetfulness on Feb. 29th. But, lo and behold, because of that mishap, I remembered very clearly that today was my day to post! So I have posted (duh). Anyhoo, this is once again what the poet Wordsworth would call a "spontaneous overflow of emotions recollected in tranquility." I.E.: this fic was totally a random spawn of my...um...randomness? In other words, it just came to me. Thank the Lord :) It takes place post-S4, in which I imagine Liz will somehow return to Atlantis, but as the leader of that Replicator ship (but not having turned evil--she's still a goody :D). I hope that makes sense. Anyway, I'll shut up now. Enjoy!

Best Regards from a Bookworm (and SGA SPARKY! fan),

Miss Pookamonga ;-P



He turns slowly, apprehensively, as if he is afraid of what he will encounter. His eyes flicker from one spot to another before giving in and finally settling on hers, and when they finally do, she can see the fear, the heavy burden of the pain of responsibility burning in them. But behind all that, she perceives a thread of longing, an unquenchable thirst trying desperately to push its way past every wall he's set up before her.

She knows he needs her. She knows he's needed her all this time, but has painstakingly made sure not to let that need show, hiding it almost to the point where he's consciously forgotten that it is still there, still pushing to be let free.

He wants to trust her. But he's believed that she's been dead for so long a time that the shock has sent an overpowering doubt crashing down upon him rather than the relief he had hoped he would feel under such a miraculous circumstance. She can see that in his eyes too. She can see every tiny piece of his spirit being reflected in the reluctant gaze that he is futilely attempting to make look stern, cold, unreadable. But she can read him ten times over and backwards, can read what he is subconsciously trying to say to her but would have never dared tell her in words.

"I'm still the same person, John."

He continues giving her that stare for a few more seconds. She fears that he will never be able to trust her again, that he'll never see her the same way. But without warning, he suddenly moves forward and envelops her in a tight hug before she has a chance to speak again.

He doesn't say anything, but it's not as if he needs to. She wraps her arms around him and holds him as tightly as he is holding her. So tightly as if each of them is afraid of losing the other again...for forever this time. She feels the warm tears drip onto her head from his chin as her own smear onto his jacket.

And for the first time in over a year, she is finally happy again. And so is he.