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,

To make up for the delay in fics (which is partly my fault...but I just started college and my schedule has thrown me off so much), I've decided to take on both the 29th and the 30th (which was my day anyway). It's a two-parter based on the part in "Ghost in the Machine" when "Liz" looks at John for the last time before walking through the gate. Chapter one is in Liz's POV. Hope you enjoy. (I highly suggest listening to "One Last Look" from the soundtrack of Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events or any other music composed by Thomas Newman while reading this, since it really fits the mood and I got the title from the LSSUE track).

Best Regards from a Bookworm (and SAVE SGA fanatic),

Miss Pookamonga ;-P and her muses

One Last Look

Part I

One last look.

One final glance, one final smile before she walked into darkness, nothing, a void. One last time to give him peace, reassurance, before it all spiraled downward.

One last time to speak without words.

The eyes were not hers, nor was the face on which the smile curved, transmitting unspoken desires, unfulfilled wishes. It felt foreign. She felt as if some part of her identity had been withheld from her, although it was merely a body. Maybe it was difficult for her to adjust because she had been without one for so long. It was odd, finally having something tangible to connect to her mind, something to will to move and act, to use to put into practice what she had held so long inside that abstract consciousness.

She wanted to hold him again.

But it wasn't her.

It was her mind, her soul, her love. But the love could never be manifested in the same way. At least, he wouldn't be able to sense it. She would, but because of that tragic discrepancy between body and soul, he would never understand, not if this was not a real part of her.

But eyes were a different matter. Windows to the soul. They weren't her eyes, she knew, but if one opened a window wide enough, sufficient light could shine through. And she knew he would understand that.

So it was all she could do. Open the windows and let the light glow upon him, passing love from one to the other. His face remained stern, unmoving, guilty, angry. But she could see the small flicker of peace ignite in his own eyes before she turned and walked through, carrying the rest of the light with her.

But at the same time, she had given all the light to him. It was the only thing that would keep him alive through the drudgery of a world without her.

So she gave him one last look.

One last look before she ripped her face away from his, leaving him to carry the light on his own.