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beth writing 30 days without

FIC: "In Twos" (1/1) PG - Written for LFWS #3 - Round 3

Since we are getting ready to voting on stories for LFWS #4, I thought I should post my entries for LFWS #3!  I wasn't able to stay in this competition and ended up dropping out for lack of skips.  A little too much RL.  I was only able to finish three stories.  Hopefully, that won't be a problem this time around.   With that said here is my entry for the third round of LFWS #3.

Title:  In Twos
Author:   maddie_amber
Rating PG
Disclaimer : Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwin-Meyer Studios, Inc., no infringement of any rights is intended
Spoilers:  Tag to “Ghost in the Machine”
Prompt for Round:  The story must be related to the word ‘dark’.  It must have at least one member of the team, one secondary character or OC. and it must contain either H/C or angst, or both. 
Word Count: 650






A soft whisper of air slipped through the door as it slid silently aside.  McKay sniffed, expecting to catch the soft scent of perfume, but instead he smelled odor free, sterile, recycled air.  It had been too long for even a lingering whisper of her fragrance to remain.  Taking a deep breath he stepped through the bulkhead, his skin prickling as he did.  He felt like an intruder slipping into her quarters at this late hour.  A hint of light from the city spires penetrated a few feet into the dark interior. One corner was lit by the glow of a computer screen.  From it a woman’s voice could be heard.  A shadowy figure leaned against the casement of one great window. 

“Someone needs to deal with her things.”  Sheppard’s sounded distant and pre-occupied.

McKay nodded, even though Sheppard could not see the gesture. 

“Woolsey suggested….that I…”  McKay stammered uncertainly.

“He said the same to me.”

“He thought it was time.”

“Time,” Sheppard whispered.  “Time to officially declare her dead.  Clean up the paperwork.  Deal with the personal effects.”  Sheppard scrubbed his hand across his eyes. 

McKay stepped further into the dark room glancing at the computer screen. 

Elizabeth’s mother.  ”Sheppard said before McKay could ask the question.

“Should we be listening?  This stuff was private.”  Still his eyes were drawn to the screen. 

The older woman had Elizabeth’s twinkling eyes and wide smile, framed with soft brown hair.  She laughed as she spoke.  “Come on, Elizabeth, tell me.  What’s he like?  Has he noticed you’re anything other than ‘the boss’?  I can tell by your letters and by the sound of your voice that he means more to you than just a co-worker.  Is he charming, funny, smart?  Give girl.”  The question ended in a youthful giggle. 

“Who do you think she was talking about?” McKay asked absently. 

“I guess we’ll never know.”

McKay cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the ache he found difficult to ignore.  “I     I should…Woolsey wanted me to remove any sensitive data from her personal computer.”

There was a long silence.

Sheppard’s response was a ragged whisper.  “We never had a memorial service.”

“We never declared her dead before.”  The words seemed to shatter the darkness as they escaped McKay’s lips.  He could feel the tension ripple off Sheppard.

“Is she now?”  Sheppard turned slightly towards McKay, his half lit face a mask of anguish.  “Is she dead or is she a living mind trapped in a frozen artificial body adrift in space for eternity?” 

McKay fought to keep his voice level, to remain calm.  He needed to remain calm, because he sensed Sheppard might not. “She made the choice.”  God, the words sounded hollow and trite.

Sheppard’s jaw worked, but when he spoke his voice was controlled.  “She sacrificed herself to prove she was who she claimed.  Would we <i>ever</i> have allowed Elizabeth to commit suicide under any circumstances?

McKay looked away. 

Sheppard drew himself up as though he had made a decision.  “We need to go to Earth.  If we’ve declared her officially dead, we have a responsibility,” he nodded toward the computer screen where the smiling older version of Elizabeth had continued talking, ”to her.”


Angela Weir patted her hair into place, and reached for her sweater just as the door bell rang.  She glanced at the clock and wondered who would be calling at ten in the morning.  She walked to the door and looked through the window.  Outside stood two men, one in uniform.  She felt a sudden chill as her heart began to pound.  Two.  An old friend once told her that the military always sent two when the news was not good.  With a shaking hand she reached for the door knob.  The tall officer removed his hat, his face solemn.

“Mrs. Weir, my name is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard.  I’m sorry…”