Kylie Lee | Slash fan fiction

She hadn't known it would happen.

When Carson Beckett had come to the door of her room in the barracks with his duffle bag, clearly dead on his feet and annoyed beyond words, she had simply said, "Carson, it's all right. Just come in."

"The entire expedition team is sharing a room," Carson said, as if that explained everything. "Ronon and Teyla sleep on the floor."

Elizabeth smiled. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"I'm so sorry to disturb you, but there's no room for me there. When I came off shift, I found my things outside the room." Carson lifted his duffle bag. His hair stood straight up, making him look wild. "My roommates must be making a point. But it's the middle of the night! Where am I to go? I ought to go back to hospital, but then I would be put to work."

Elizabeth stood aside so he could enter. "Here is fine," she said. As one of the team leaders for the relief effort, she had her own quarters, as Carson well knew. "We can find you a new room tomorrow."

"Thank you, Elizabeth." Carson set his duffle down and suddenly seemed to see her, wearing a ratty red T-shirt, sweat pants, and socks. She suspected that her hair was a mess and resisted the urge to smooth it. "I've woken you."

"Yes, you have." Elizabeth gestured to the bathroom door. "Why don't you take a shower, then get some sleep?" She thought he'd take the hint: he smelled bad, like sweat and blood and vomit. "Soap and shampoo are in there. Do you have a towel?"

"Aye, I do." Carson unzipped his duffle and rummaged. "Have you blankets? A pillow? I can sleep on the floor."

"Not really—just what's on the bed." Speaking of beds—Elizabeth headed back to it. She'd put in sixteen hours straight and was so tired that she had had trouble getting to sleep. She tugged the Atlantis-issue lightweight silver blanket up to her chin. "Sleep wherever you like—on the floor, in the bed. I'm sure my virtue is safe. Good night."

"Good night. Thank you."

Elizabeth pulled a pillow over her head and grunted in response. A minute or so later, the lights went out, and then she heard the shower.

Virtue, she thought muzzily an eon later, when the mattress moved and a heavy body lay next to her. After a moment of confusion, she remembered and said, "Carson."

"Aye," Carson said. "Go to sleep, Elizabeth."

The all-too-familiar feeling of a body next to hers kept her from being able to slide back into oblivion. She was too aware of him. His weight dipped the mattress so she inclined toward him, and his breathing seemed loud and heavy. She thought she could feel the warmth of his body, even though they weren't touching. She lay on her side, facing him, the way she'd been lying before he joined her in the bed, curled up, and tried to slide back into exhaustion. She couldn't. She was too aware of him. She only had to reach out a hand to touch him.

"I had four amputations today," Carson said after a long time, as if he were aware that she wasn't asleep. "No anesthesia. Did you know they used to do amputations in less than thirty seconds?"

"Frontier medicine," Elizabeth said when Carson had fallen silent. "How long did it take you to do an amputation?"

"I have managed just under two minutes for a leg," Carson said. "A personal record. As you can imagine, I'm quite proud." He sounded bitter. "But a minute and a half too long."

"We do what we can," Elizabeth said inadequately.

"Aye." Carson sighed. "First, do no harm," he said. There was no irony in his voice. He reached over and took one of her hands. "You've seen it before," he said as her heart began to pound.

"Yes," she managed. "In Pakistan, a few years ago, after an earthquake. I directed the a relief field office. That's why I volunteered to come to Matera." She shut her eyes briefly when he entwined his fingers with hers, because of the strong rush of desire that swept over her. She was glad of the dark. "Have you seen—" she began, but she had to stop, because he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"No," he murmured, and she said "oh" softly, because he took her thumb in his mouth and gently sucked. "I always thought I would like to go to Africa to help there. But I came here instead."

"Africa," Elizabeth managed as Carson rolled to face her.

"Africa," he agreed. "Now, we're much farther away. Much more alone."

Alone, she thought crazily as he took her thumb into his warm mouth again, sending a twist of warmth through her stomach. He gazed at her steadily in the half-light as he brushed her hair back with his other hand.

"I find I don't want to be alone tonight," he said, echoing her own thoughts, and he kissed her on the lips, still gentle. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

"No," she managed. She didn't want to be alone either.

He didn't smell like himself. Instead, he smelled like shampoo—her shampoo, she realized, sharp and floral. When he gathered her close, a brief moment of wild panic was followed by desire so sudden and sharp that she gasped. It was night; it was dark; and it was Carson, dear Carson, which somehow made everything safe. He tasted of toothpaste, and then, after a while, he tasted of himself. His hair was just starting to dry. When he finally slid into her, after they managed to wrestle their clothes off, she moaned because he filled her completely. She thrust against him, trying to get him deeper, trying to get him to push harder, until she exploded.

She didn't realize he hadn't come until he slid out and tugged at her waist. He turned her onto all fours and sheathed himself easily, in one solid movement. He thrust powerfully, and at the top of each stroke, Elizabeth felt a jolt of sharp pleasure. She shoved back as he pushed in until they found a rhythm, until the shocks of red pleasure strung together into another orgasm, this one deeper, shaking her from the inside out, just as Carson lost control of his breathing as he pulled her onto him so he could pour himself into her. She couldn't stop her voice from crying out—it had been so long, and the release was so profound, like something had broken free inside her.

She held herself on all fours until he slid out. Then she fell forward bonelessly onto the pillow. She felt Carson like next to her and adjust himself. He put an arm around her, his solid bulk reassuring. "Beautiful Elizabeth," he murmured, lazily tracing circles on her stomach. Dear Carson, she thought, as she'd thought of him since the beginning, but she didn't say it out loud.

She listened to his breathing as it slowed, until she fell asleep, her body warm and tingling and sated.

***

They'd both taken something they needed. That was it. She felt certain that Carson had come to her room with no agenda other than finding a place to sleep. But considering what he had to deal with all day—death, horrible burns, amputations, all the result of an earthquake that had come just after a Wraith culling—it didn't surprise her that he would reach out for human contact.

Well, she needed human contact too. It didn't feel like all that long since Simon had told her he'd found someone new. Here she'd been thinking marriage. She'd actually thought that Simon would come to Atlantis and they could be together. She'd ignored all the signs when they were together, like his coldness and distance. She'd told herself that it was because he hadn't seen her for a year. Then there had been the hideous realization that she'd behaved like a fool, and the even more hideous realization that no matter how much she wanted it, he didn't return her feelings. Everything had been coming together: she had managed to get home, and she was in charge of selecting new team members for Atlantis. She could swing it. It wouldn't even be an abuse of her authority, because Simon was more than qualified to join the expedition. It had all clicked into place, only it had clicked into place for her. Simon didn't want to leave Earth.

Simon had found someone new.

How could she feel something so strongly, and yet have those emotions be one-sided?

Simon would never turn to her in the dark and take her. He would never need her that much. He would never use her body to find solace, or to affirm the fact that they were alive while so many others died around them.

So distant. So...civilized. Sex with Simon had been all about equality, a meeting of two people on the same footing. He had never pushed her onto all fours and taken her from behind, just taken her, because she was what he needed on some primal level.

Elizabeth felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She hadn't realized she was capable of such a profound physical response. She'd woken up right before her alarm went off, and she'd immediately reset it so Carson could make his shift. He didn't wake up when she'd taken a shower, soaping herself thoroughly, washing off the heavy scent of sex, and he didn't wake up when she'd let herself out.

It had been dark. She knew she should feel guilty about it all, but she didn't, because she had needed human touch so much—she didn't, until she stood at the door, ready to head for the administration center. She looked at Carson, deeply asleep in her bed, his stubble settling into a beard because he hadn't had time to shave lately, and of course it was her colleague, Dr. Carson Beckett, not some anonymous stranger to fuck, no strings attached—not that she would do that, because she had never had picked anybody up. She'd never had a one-night stand.

He had been amputating legs in under two minutes. What was her excuse?

It had been dark.

They were offworld.

She didn't have an excuse.

She ran into him later that day, when she dropped by the hospital to check on supplies. They talked business. Neither of them said anything about him moving into another room, and Elizabeth found that she could meet his eyes as though nothing had happened. She thought he seemed more reserved, but he smiled when he saw her, just like always.

When she left, she remembered sobbing as she came, her body shivering apart. And she remembered Carson losing control behind her, the intensely erotic, ragged sound of his breath hitching. The contrast between last night and now took her breath away—distance, where none had been before.

She wanted it to happen again. Dear lord, she wanted it.

***

It happened in the dark.

Was it becoming a pattern? Did twice make it a kind of ritual? He would come in after her, while she was asleep. He would take a shower. He would crawl into bed next to her. And he would reach out for her and take her.

The second time, after he'd warmed her with kisses, he took her clothes off and touched her body. Their fingers entwined, and he kissed her neck, her breasts, the crook of her arm. He rubbed his beard against her stomach.

"No," she said when she felt Carson's mouth trail down and down, a kind of terror touching her in her stomach, because she didn't like to be kissed there. It didn't arouse her. Instead, it made her feel uncomfortable and faintly unclean. "I don't like that."

"Mmm. I do."

He pushed her legs apart, and she lay back. She knew that if she protested, if she pushed him aside, he would stop. But she didn't, because it was dark, and because until now, it had not occurred to her that a man would do this because he enjoyed it. It seemed to be the kind of thing a man would do only because she was supposed to enjoy it—only she didn't. When his tongue opened her, she tried to relax. All she needed to do was lie there, she told herself, and in a few minutes, he would kiss his way back up. But he wanted this, and it didn't hurt anything to give it to him.

Carson curved a hand around her leg as he settled between her legs. She felt fingers slide into her, and his mouth moved up to envelop her. His tongue found her clit after a few moments of exploration. He stroked her as he sucked, and although she didn't find it arousing, exactly, she felt herself grow relaxed and wet. She was more interested in Carson—the sounds he made as he went down on her, the little moans, the changing pressure of his hand on her leg as his head dipped and his mouth and tongue and fingers moved.

He played with her for a long time, sometimes using his tongue on her clit and sometimes pushing it inside her while his thumb gently rubbed. She found herself able to unclench. Her body opened, and she felt muted pleasure, although it was the pleasure of touch, not the overtly sexual desire she thought she was supposed to feel. When she felt his body move, she thought he would crawl on top of her and finish inside her, but he didn't. Instead, his fingers slid in deep, and she felt his breathing hitch even as he sucked hard. He ground himself into the bed. He was coming, she realized, from tasting her, and that aroused her more than his touch. She felt her nipples harden.

"Carson," she whispered when his mouth lifted and his fingers withdrew, only to gently trail around her opening.

"Beautiful Elizabeth," Carson murmured, sliding up. She found herself absurdly pleased. He'd said that last night too. She hadn't known that he thought she was beautiful. He stopped to kiss her breasts, making her body tighten with desire. "Here."

He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him, indicating that she ought to straddle his leg. She understood what he was offering as fingers slid into her from behind. Pleasure sparked at the novel sensation. She ground into him, masturbating against his leg, wide open and wet, sensitive clit throbbing. Carson, hard and unyielding beneath her, gave her something solid to move against. It didn't take long: she remembered Carson coming, and she felt his fingers pushing against the back of her opening as she stimulated herself against him. She fell into orgasm as she frantically rode him, feeling herself flutter deep inside, satisfying and hard and rhythmic and oh dear god—

"Oh," she said inadequately a few minutes later, barely aware that she had collapsed against him. Wet fingers trailed idly along her buttock.

"Oh," Carson repeated. She heard the smile in his voice.

"That was very messy," Elizabeth said drowsily. She felt sticky and wonderful, and she imagined that she'd find a wet spot with her knees or feet, from where Carson had come onto the sheets. The thought of that made her heart leap.

"Aye." Carson smoothed her hair, then dug his fingers in and kissed her, long and deep. "We can clean up tomorrow. Go to sleep."

Sleep was a good idea, but her position was too uncomfortable, even though it felt wonderful, her cheek on his chest, the coarse hair tickling her nose. She could feel the flex of his strong arm under her head, and she liked that as well. Although she hated to, Elizabeth rolled off Carson and onto her side. To her pleasure, Carson adjusted the blanket and put his arm around her. He wanted touch too.

She fell asleep, utterly sated, Carson's body warm and faintly prickly against her back, his breath tickling the nape of her neck.

***

"No." Elizabeth raised her voice. "Carson, I said no."

John Sheppard lifted his hands placatingly. "Dr. Beckett, Dr. Weir has a point," he said. "We can't save the world."

"I bloody well know that," Carson snapped. "But we can save the lives of a few poor souls. Gloves, and simple bandages, and plasma, and antibiotics." When Elizabeth opened her mouth, he rode over her, not giving her an opening to speak. "You cannot give me a job to do, and then fail to give me the means to do it. While you lot are safe in the administration building, or patrolling, or maintaining a perimeter or whatever it is you do—"

"Or, and maybe this is crucial for you doctor types, keeping the lights on," Rodney McKay put in.

Carson ignored him. "—I'm doing triage, as though we were at war. You, you can live." He jabbed a finger at Teyla. "You can live because you have only had a leg crushed when a building collapsed during the earthquake, and I can do an amputation. I've become a bloody master of amputation. But you—" Now he indicated Ronon. "You must die because you have sepsis, and I have no drugs to treat you."

"I refuse to permit more supplies to be diverted," Elizabeth said loudly. "We budgeted supplies. Carson, you agreed to it. And I'm sticking to it. What we've brought is all there is. Personnel—fine. We can talk about personnel. But no more supplies. Do you understand?" She pinned him with her eyes. "No more supplies."

Carson glared at her, and she glared back. "Aye," he said at last. "I understand." He turned and stomped out. The door slammed behind him.

"He didn't take that very well," Ronon observed after a second.

Elizabeth huffed out a breath and sank into a chair. She had never seen mild-mannered Carson so upset before. The fact that he had a point wasn't lost on her. They really hadn't been aware that things were so bad. "We can't," she said hopelessly. "It's—it's too much. We have got to keep some supplies back for ourselves. We simply can't help everyone who asks at the expense of our own well-being and safety."

"I know the Materans are grateful for all our help," Teyla interposed. She'd been the go-between who had brought the request for help from the Materans, who were longtime trading partners of the Athosians. In addition to working with the expedition team, she also acted as liaison with the Athosians who had volunteered to help with the relief effort. "And I believe that personnel may provide the most help—more than supplies. Expertise is more valuable."

"I agree." Elizabeth rubbed her face. "John, could you please detail fifteen more military personnel to the Materan relief effort. It would help if maybe half of them had field medical training."

"No problem," John said. "I'll have to pull personnel off maintenance and probably security to do it, though."

"Fine," Elizabeth said. "I only anticipate being here for a few more days."

John nodded. "I'll work up a list and send it through the Gate to Major Lorne during tonight's data feed."

"No," Elizabeth said firmly. Carson deserved her support. "Do it sooner. He's still doing triage. We didn't fully appreciate the scale of the disaster when we agreed to help." She looked around her "office" in the administration building, which she shared with her Materan counterparts. The walls were decorated with charts and graphs illustrating the deployment of resources. Carson's face smiled at her from a mug-shot picture, one among many photos of the medical personnel. Although the Atlantis team, the three ethnic groups of Materans, and the Athosians could understand each other's spoken language, they couldn't read each other's writing, and so they made copious use of photographs. Everything was so different from the earthquake relief work she had done several years ago in Pakistan, but strangely, it felt the same: the lack of sleep, the terrified people, the shocking injuries, and, most strangely to her, the smell. "Rodney, how's the power holding up?"

"Oh, just peachy, considering," Rodney said. "We're almost done repairing the dam, and once that's fixed, we'll have hydropower. We're running low on fuel. I put out a request the other day for the search-and-rescue teams to keep their eye out for barrels of fuel, and that's helped some. Although Colonel—if you could spare a few of those new men for fuel runs, that would be great."

"That's for me to decide, not Colonel Sheppard," Elizabeth reminded him. "And I'll make a note."

Rodney shrugged. "I just figure that my dazzling intellect is better used keeping the power on, not running around town."

"Speaking of search and rescue." John, pointedly ignoring Rodney, dug through the pockets of his vest and pulled out a digital camera. "Can I swap out the memory card for this?" He flipped open the camera's top. "And we need a bunch more tags to mark the dead."

"Ask Dr. L'al for more tags," Elizabeth said as she sifted through a box for another memory card. "Here. I wiped this one clean." She would print out all the photos of the dead and post them in the foyer. "Is that it? Does anybody else have anything?"

"Yeah, one thing," Ronon said. "Where is Dr. Beckett sleeping? I went by his room yesterday and he's not there any more. I think his roommates threw him out. They weren't very friendly."

"Oh, he's in my room," Elizabeth said, trying for matter-of-fact, even as her heart started beating faster at the admission. Unfortunately, knowing where everybody was was of paramount importance. She couldn't withhold this information. "Our shifts don't overlap much. He'll probably move out today or tomorrow, when another room becomes available. I'll keep you posted when I find out where he goes."

"Okay then," Ronon said, seemingly uncurious. "I need to get something to eat before I walk perimeter."

"Oooh," Rodney said, getting up. "Yeah, I need a snack too. Got to keep that blood sugar up before I do my packhorse act."

"I'll get you your grunts, McKay," John said.

Rodney shot John a look. "Promises, promises."

"Check in tomorrow, please," Elizabeth called as they straggled out, and John lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

***

She awoke at the slightest sound, every shift of the building as it settled, every heavy thud from the hallway outside. She knew why: she was waiting for Carson. She wanted to know if he would take her again, even though she'd yelled at him today. She had come to learn that things looked different at night.

His things were scattered about, as though they were permanent roommates. His toothbrush sat next to hers in the bathroom, next to the half-empty bottles of water they used to brush their teeth, because they couldn't drink the water. They had lost track of whose water was whose. When she got ready for bed, she saw his kit lying open on the bathroom floor and had peered in: a razor, a bunch of refill blades, shaving gel, hair wax, little bottles of shampoo and hand lotion stolen from hotels, a short blue strip of condoms. The absolute mundanity of it somehow pleased her, even as she fingered the condoms and wondered if he ever got a chance to use them. She rather thought not. They somehow implied that he would have sex with offworlders: like all the women on the expedition, she had had an IUD inserted, although some women had taken the opportunity to be sterilized, all expenses paid. She hadn't done that because she thought she wanted children someday, even as she deliberately left behind the man she loved for the opportunity of a lifetime, perhaps never to return.

No wonder Simon had left. She hadn't prioritized him. Her life had changed, and she had changed with it. She understood that that was why she'd wanted Simon to come to Atlantis with her: so they could take this journey together.

Or so he would follow her.

It was all so long ago.

The door scraped open, and Carson came in. She closed her eyes, feigning sleep, as he padded around the room, trying not to trip over the objects scattered on the floor—her laptop, now useless because she'd drained the battery and there was no way to recharge it; some printouts, piles of clothes. She thought he stood and looked at her. The weight of his eyes, imagined or real, made it hard for her to keep her eyes shut, her breathing deep and rhythmic.

Then the bathroom door closed and the shower came on with a thud. So civilized, the people who had once lived here, who had left their city behind, only to see it colonized by the Materans, then partially destroyed in an earthquake. The toilet was a hole in the ground; the sink was a half-moon of smooth stone extending from the wall, with water coming out of a line of holes; and to get into the shower, doorless and curtainless but also half-moon-shaped, you had to step over a knee-high barrier that kept the water out of the room.

For two nights, they'd come together in darkness. Elizabeth wanted the light. She wanted to see Carson's eyes.

She slid out of bed and opened the bathroom door. Carson stood under the spray of the lukewarm water—it never got warmer than lukewarm. His head was down, and he held himself braced against the wall with both arms. The water made rivulets down his body, matting his hair. Elizabeth watched him as she imagined he'd watched her, trying to find meaning there. He looked defeated. She'd played a part in that by withholding supplies, and perhaps more importantly, her support. But she couldn't have done it differently, and she knew it.

She turned and lifted her T-shirt over her head. By the time she'd slid out of her panties, Carson, sensing movement, had turned to watch her. She stepped over the knee-high barrier to join him in the shower.

"I wanted to see your eyes," she said in explanation, right before she wove her fingers in his wet hair and kissed him.

They soaped each other, then rinsed off. She hadn't seen him nude before, all the parts that made the whole, but now she touched them. His penis was uncircumcised, which didn't surprise her, because he was, after all, not American, and she had felt the slide of the foreskin in bed. He grew hard at her touch, at the feeling of her hand against him, slick with soap. He leaned against the wall when she took him in her mouth. He filled her mouth like he filled her body, the glans round and soft. His balls felt tight when she cupped them and pulled them back so she could run her mouth down his shaft. Oddly, there was no scent, because of the soap and water, and she had to gasp for breath through her mouth, huffing out water. But there was taste: the sharp taste of his come, seeping out of the slit at the tip of his penis. She discovered that he liked to have the foreskin pulled back tight, fully exposing the head, so she could nibble and tongue at the juncture of his shaft and the glans. She felt stretched, wet, and aroused when he said, "Elizabeth," and tugged her up.

She had wanted to take him, to make him come uncontrollably in her mouth, but on the third night, in the light, he took her again. He shoved her against the wall and lifted one of her legs, and he slid in easily because she was so ready. She threw her head back and panted as he thrust powerfully. His eyes locked with hers when he came, all barriers dropped, and everything dissolved into blue as her body responded.

They slept curled together, body against body.

***

"I don't think they're the same guys," John's voice said over the radio. He was talking too loudly—the excitement of battle. "The Materans said the Wraith who attacked them last week came through the Gate, and these guys are coming from a mother ship."

"The food supply has diminished," Teyla reminded him.

"And how," John agreed, and a sudden burst of static made Elizabeth flinch. "Whoa! Okay. That was close. I've got it under control, but evacuate. You hear me? More are incoming. ETA—let's call it twenty minutes, max. Jumper Three out."

Elizabeth pressed her radio to deactivate it. "You heard him," she told Teyla. "Delegate the Athosian relief workers to clear out the administration building. I'll take care of the hospital. Gate everybody to the emergency point. We'll sort everything out later."

Teyla nodded sharply and left.

"Ronon."

"Yeah." The big man looked alert.

"Get all the search-and-rescue teams out."

Ronon nodded. "Okay."

As he left, Elizabeth hit her earpiece. "Rodney," she said, and the radio routed automatically. "Rodney, we've got Wraith."

"I noticed!" Rodney yelled. "Because they're right above me!"

Elizabeth frowned. "Where are you? You're supposed to be at the plant."

"Well, I'm not. I'm at the dam."

Why hadn't he informed her of his location? Well, too late now. "Take cover, and get to the Gate as soon as you can."

"A good plan. A very good plan. You got it," Rodney assured her, and Elizabeth signed off.

She ran to the hospital, just a few blocks away. Inside was the controlled chaos she'd come to associate with disasters: people stacked in the hallways, the sound of screams or sobbing, the stench of burned flesh. She found the administrator on duty and informed her that a Wraith attack was forthcoming, and then she went in search of Carson.

She found him in a surgical suite. "You turned off your radio," she accused him from just inside the doorway.

"Aye," he said blandly, squinting down at his patient. She couldn't tell what he was doing, but there was a lot of torn flesh and quite a bit of blood. "I find it affects my concentration when I'm performing delicate surgery."

"There's a Wraith attack imminent," Elizabeth told him. "John says we have twenty minutes before the rest of the darts get here. He's holding off the first wave. I'm ordering everyone evacuated to the Gate. And that includes you."

Carson didn't look up. She couldn't read his face under its surgical mask, but he seemed completely calm. "As soon as I'm done," he said.

"Which will be when?"

"In less than twenty minutes, if you would kindly stop talking, please."

"It takes five minutes to get to the Gate from here."

Carson leaned in toward his patient and deployed his forceps. "Well, in less than fifteen minutes, then."

"I'll get our things and see you on the other side," she said, because she couldn't stand and wait for him. "I had better see you in Atlantis in two hours, Dr. Beckett." She didn't dare say more than that. She needed to see him in the light again. "And yes, I will help evacuate the patients who can be moved."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Carson called after her as she left, and behind her, she heard the sharp clink of something metal against a bowl: shrapnel.

***

She came back to Atlantis on schedule.

She heard from John that Carson had come through with the last wave, with the last of the patients. He was staying at the rendezvous site for another day to care for patients and perform triage. The relief she felt was so profound that she felt ill.

She heard from Teyla that Halling, one of her Athosian colleagues, had stayed behind to observe the Wraith attack. He reported that Wraith on foot had burned what was left of the city, after dragging all the survivors out of the hospital and the two other buildings that had been used to hold refugees, so they could be scooped up by darts.

She spent the fourth night alone, in the dark. Carson came back the next day, but she spent the fifth night alone too.

***

Everything seemed hard-edged at Atlantis. The six days she'd spent offworld, three with Carson in her bed, seemed misty and distant, a haze of exhaustion. She couldn't believe what she'd done. It had been fueled by the despair she'd seen around her. She knew that. But she hadn't realized how ready she was to move on, or how much she wanted love. She had come intensely alive at Carson's touch. That had never happened before. Although she would characterize all her past relationships as the meeting of equals, with Carson, she gave him what he wanted, and that submission gave her a kind of pleasure that was new to her. She would remember Carson's faint murmur of "Beautiful Elizabeth" and her breath would catch. They had slept entwined. She had let herself go with him, given herself over to pleasure, let him see how much she needed and wanted his touch.

Dear Carson—she hadn't known he could be a lover. She knew his every fault, from his annoying tendency to timidity when he wasn't in control of a situation to his arrogance in the operating suite. But she equally knew his every virtue. He was a damned good doctor, and he cared passionately for his patients. Three nights together had transmuted her feelings—the sick feeling she'd had when she hadn't known whether or not he'd gotten offworld was sign enough of that. It wasn't touch or sex she needed. It was him. He opened her up. He made her better.

During the debriefing, Carson had made his report, and she'd tried to look at him clinically, as the leader she was, assessing one of her assets. He had shaved, and his hair had returned to its usual state. But she couldn't see him without thinking of what he looked like nude, soaking wet, his chest hair full of soap. She tried not to broadcast her relief, or her fear, or her desire, because she was in charge and in control. Carson had come to her because he needed relief, and, well, she had needed it too, and maybe that was all it was. Simon had taught her that it was possible that powerful feelings could go unreturned, and Elizabeth found herself wary. On Atlantis, everything was different. She couldn't expect that Carson would come to her again, and when he didn't come on the fifth night, she thought she knew. They would go back to the way they were before. It had been a human reaction to the disaster, nothing more. "First, do no harm," he had said. Despite all his training, he'd been powerless in the face of suffering and death. He'd made up for it by taking her. It had been an attempt to annihilate death by embracing life.

She decided she thought about things too much.

On the sixth night, the knock on her door came very late at night. She'd been curled up in bed, reading personnel reports, and when she heard it, her heart came into her mouth. She'd been waiting for it, even though she shouldn't have been.

"Carson," she said, because of course it was him. "I think you'd better come in."

"I won't apologize," Carson said, eyes clear and blue in the light.

"I wouldn't want you to," Elizabeth said, because if he did, she might cry. It would affirm her every fear: it would mean that he'd taken something he needed, and he didn't want her. She wanted him to want her, because she needed him. "And I won't either. It was—" She struggled for words. "It was horrible. Intense and horrible. And you were in the thick of it at the hospital, with inadequate supplies—all that injury and death." She gave him all the reasons, all the excuses, for what they'd done.

"I don't—" Carson started, and then, after a long pause, "It wasn't like that. I don't know what I want. I don't know what—what you'll let me have."

Elizabeth crossed her arms. They stood in the middle of the room, the tension and awkwardness between them palpable. The fact that it was there saddened her. "When I came to Atlantis, I was in love with a man," she said. "When we managed to get home, I still loved him, but he'd moved on. He found someone new while I was gone. And it struck me, you know? It struck me that I could love him, that I could feel something powerful, and he didn't return it." She took a deep breath. Carson watched her, intent, not interrupting, as though he knew how difficult it was for her to speak of this. "I feel something powerful for you. What we did wasn't—wasn't trivial to me. When you didn't come last night—" Carson opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head and rushed on. "I'm scared that what I feel is one-sided. I want to see your eyes in the light. Every night. Is that—?" Is that too much to ask? She couldn't say the words. Take me, she begged. I'm yours.

And Carson took her hands in his. "Oh, yes," he said, answering the question in her eyes. He raised one hand and kissed it. "Beautiful Elizabeth. Yes."