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Divergent Revolutions by akire [Reviews - 85] 
Divergent Revolutions The first time he saw her again, she was standing in a shard of sunlight coming down from the open bay doors, head bowed over a pad, hair glowing gold like it was caught in a spotlight. The sound of her voice alone was enough to send him tumbling back into the ocean, down to where the sunlight did not reach, to where a discarded jumper lay like a toy for Lassie to swim around. That his better nature wore her face was an irony he had shared with no one since he had surfaced. That he had left her down there, with only the whales and a dead man for company, was something he didn’t let himself think about anymore. “McKay!” She’s walking towards him like all of Atlantis should come out for her. A bitter smirk pastes itself onto his face, and he dismisses from his mind a vision in pink. “Look, they’re letting the blondes out to play with the big boys.” His arms snake across his chest as she stops right in front of him. “I’m sure we can find you an etch-a-sketch or something else suitable for your skill level.” He sounds sufficiently condescending to himself, but he needs more time, it’s too soon. The words ‘go away go away go away’ are looping through his brain, derailing his thought processes. Another way she’s wormed herself under his skin, another reason he should hate her. Her smile is tart like a lemon, and that’s yet another irony he will now forever associate with her. “Keep your tinker toys, McKay, and show me what the hell you’re doing with my new generators.” They’re falling into step before he’s even thought about it, already leading them down the corridor, away from the scramble of the Daedalus’ unloading. Sam fits herself into the flows of his science team like a missing piece, making the whole work smoother, better. He refuses to think about what it could mean for him, for his place here. Just having her here tasted too much like a defeat as it was. So he worked beside her and sniped at her, and fought the urge to apologize for leaving her a thousand times a day. He would never admit it, and he didn’t have to. He knew she knew he thought her solution to the generator problem elegant, clean in its simplicity. Instead he made snide comments about waiting for explosions and catastrophe and painful death, and watched her as his team bundled her out of the labs, each talking over the other as they went off to a shared meal. He stayed alone, watched the numbers tick over and waited, practicing all the things he would never, could never say. The last time he saw her was in the dark. Her hair was a sibilant flicker of silver as it caught the faint moonlight through his open window. There were no words, only the soft counter-beat of their breathing. Her eyes flashed open, staring through him as they came. He couldn’t speak, didn’t want to know what she saw, didn’t want to remind her of where she was. Instead, he kissed her while he could, then fell asleep. She left with the Daedalus before he woke. No note, nothing but a set of finished equations on his computer and an empty coffee pot. He filed away the memories of her, silent in a warm darkness, and resumed cursing her name to anyone who would listen. He understood why it always happened this way; he was after all a genius, and by now he had plenty of data to draw on. Stolen moments were all she would give and all he could take. Neither one of them would ever surrender on the other’s terms. |
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