Memory
by Noelle - naushika@periapsis.net

RATING: R

CATEGORGY: Angst, Sex (can I make that a category?)

PAIRING: McKay/Weir with hints to Sheppard/Weir

WARNINGS: Character death, which takes place in the past

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On days when she felt okay with the way she'd handled things, she let herself enjoy the sex. Enjoy the sensations- fingernails, lips, tongue on her skin. The days she didn't feel so guilty or responsible or depressed about the way things ended up, her orgasms were waves of pleasure, making her close her eyes, arch her back, and moan quietly into the air above his shoulder, behind his back.

The other days, some days, it wasn't like that. The days when the image of the broken bodies being carried back through the Stargate was burned into her eyelids and flashed to life every time she blinked; those were the days where the sex was anything but pleasurable. She would cry, bite, and slam. Work herself until she had no breath left and purple dots filled her vision. And when it was over, he would hold her as she cried, pretend he understood.

In the night, once he'd fallen asleep at her side - turned away from her, curled into the fetal position - she'd get up and wander through the deserted hallways of Atlantis. She'd relive every moment of that day: the order to send the team through the Stargate to the planet (ZPMs were worth any risk), the fractured radio transmission with the spotty incoming message, and by the time she'd reach that balcony where they often met late at night, the tears on her cheeks would resemble the rivulets of blood from under the bodies.

She would walk from one end of the balcony to the other, trailing her fingers through the dew on the railing. Thinking about his slightly stubbly cheek scraping against hers, about his lips on her neck, about the rumble of his laugh in his chest. She would allow herself the self-indulgence of the memories until the first light of the foreign sun began to rise over the ocean. Taking a deep breath of the cold morning air, she would quickly head back to her quarters.

Today, by the time she slides into bed and warms her feet up against his legs, she is back to thinking about the day's work - of reviewing reports and planning missions. Sliding her hands around his midsection, she whispers his name in his ear: Rodney.

He grins as he wakes up a little and snuggles back against her. He knows that she disappears in the night after one of her episodes, and knows that she is back to herself when she returns.

*I don't love him,* she thinks as she slips a hand underneath his shirt. She's a little guilty about it because she knows he doesn't know, but she can't bear to not have him. She kisses the back of his neck and lets herself get lost in the man who makes her forget the memory.

***

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