Dancing With Our Hands Tied
In theme only, not literally. "Dancing with our hands tied" prompt from @odakota-rose
This takes place in the Noise Between Signals universe. So slight spoilers, I guess, lol.
Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/Elizabeth Weir
~~~
John had forgotten what peace felt like. Not the tactical kindāquiet hallways, stable power grids, no active threatsābut the human kind. Laughter drifting across an open field. Children chasing each other through long grass. Firelight painting wide arcs through the dusk like someone had decided the universe needed softer edges for a night.
Theyād been invited to the Athosian harvest ceremony, a celebration Teyla promised would feel ālike breathing again.ā
John hadnāt known what she meant.
Then he saw Elizabeth in the crowd. Not the Elizabeth who woke gasping in a hospital bed from nanite feedback loops. Not the one who steadied herself on a console when a spike of code hit wrong. Not the woman who carried Oberothās ghost in the corners of her vision like a bruise. This Elizabeth was sitting under a canopy woven with gold thread, hair loose around her shoulders, face tipped up toward the firelight. SomeoneāTeyla, probablyāhad braided a small silver charm into her hair. It glinted when she laughed.
And she was laughing. An unguarded, full sound he hadnāt heard in months.
It hit him harder than any Replicator or Wraith weapon ever had.
The Athosians moved in slow spirals around the central fire, a dance meant for community, not skill. Elizabeth watched them with a soft curiosity, hands folded, posture easy in a way John had almost convinced himself heād imagined from the old days.
She noticed him about three steps before he reached her, her smile settling right under his ribs like a warm hand.
āColonel Sheppard,ā she said lightly, and God, her voice had color again. āYou look like youāre thinking too hard.ā
āIām undercover as someone functional,ā he said. āDonāt blow it.ā
She laughed again. Softer. Warmer. Real.
Teyla drifted by, giving Elizabeth an encouraging tilt of her head toward the dancers. āYou will join us?ā she asked.
Elizabeth hesitated. āIā¦ I don't know the steps.ā
āIt is not about steps,ā Teyla said gently. āIt is about being present.ā
Her hand brushed Elizabethās arm, reassuring, and then she slipped into the circle of dancers, leaving space behind her.
Elizabeth let out a small breath. āI havenāt danced in years.ā
āMe neither,ā John said. āBut I hear the trick is to justā¦ move.ā
She glanced at the dancers, at the fire, at him.
John swallowed, throat suddenly too tight. He held out a hand before thinking it through. āYou want to try?ā
Elizabethās eyes widened, the fire reflected in them. āJohnāā
āIāll make sure you donāt step on anyone,ā he deadpanned. āIncluding me.ā
A beat of silence stretched. She looked around, at the dancers, at the flames, at the children shrieking with joy, and something in her posture uncoiled.
āJust for a moment,ā she murmured.
She placed her hand in his. Not tentative. Not brittle. Justā¦ trusting. The world around them seemed to shift to accommodate it.
They stepped into the circle. The Athosians parted seamlessly, welcoming them with smiles, as though theyād always been meant to be there. Elizabeth moved closer so she wouldnāt get separated, her fingers finding the fabric of his sleeve, curling there for balance. For grounding. For something neither of them named aloud.
John felt the small contact like a shock. The drums pulsed under their feet. Fire cracked. Someone called out a blessing in Athosian. Elizabeth breathed in, slow, steady, learning the pattern. And he watched her. Not her steps. Her.
She wasn't braced for a fight, or listening for a disturbance in the network, or waking up disoriented from integration echoes.
She was just moving. Alive. Her hair caught in the firelight, silver charm shimmering like a heartbeat at her temple. She smiled wide, unguarded and John felt something in his chest loosen, like a knot heād been carrying since Asuras finally let go.
āThis isā¦ nice,ā she whispered, almost surprised by it.
āYeah,ā he said, voice low. āIt is.ā
Her fingers brushed the back of his hand in the next turn of the dance. She met his eyes, a softness reaching and retreating in the same heartbeat like two people moving to a rhythm they werenāt sure they were allowed to follow.
John swallowed. The world felt balanced on a very fine thread.
āWeāreā¦ doing okay,ā she murmured, voice thinned with something tender. āEven like this.ā
He understood what this meant: the boundaries, the restraint, the things unsaid. Everything they carried, and everything they werenāt quite ready to reach for.
āYeah,ā he said softly. āWe are.ā
A breath left her, the kind that sounded like relief. The kind that sounded healing. For the first time in months, she looked entirely herself.
Firelight wrapped around them. Athosians swayed. The drums carried their steps in slow arcs; and John held her hand like it was something sacred.
