Compulsion
Author: wanderingsmith
aug 2008
Summary: Of needs; and other delusions
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me
for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I
play with 'em.
AN: these words just started appearing while I was trying to
create candy icons... well? what was I supposed to do with them? it has
a weird dark undertone for me. and no form or reason... but I never can
resist putting this kind of stuff out there... lol, your bad luck
Some days, he could fool himself until noon. Worked away the
hours keeping his people in tip-top shape. Keeping *himself* in
tip-top shape. But then, sooner or later, he'd start to itch,
start
to twitch. At first unconsciously, annoying everyone around
him. And then he'd see something, hear something. And she
would be there. His fiddling fingers would freeze as the itch of
wrongness would finally register; and her image associate itself with
it.
If it took too long for that realization to break through denial, the
need
would be full-blown and sharp-edged, and sometimes he was moving before
he made the choice. He had to see her. Now. Every
cell of
his body was aligned in her direction, a physical pain.
He just needed her in *one* of his senses. But calling her
without
an excuse.. would make questions be asked. And that left going to
her.
There were days when it wasn't so urgent. When he thought of her
first, and the compulsion only grew slowly. But then when it
finally reached the point of needing more than mere memory, he had no
way to deny to himself the reality. No overwhelming sensations
allowing
him to not think of the fact that he needed her.
And then there she was, walking back and forth in front of a
meeting-full of scientist, forearms expressing her optimism and
conviction as much as the jaunt in her steps did. Wide smile and
shining
eyes making everyone believe her, follow her. Come to her.
People saw him as a lazy sod when he was in the city because he spent
so much time hanging about. It wasn't as often as they thought of
course, they just always looked up when he appeared -stranger in their
midst- and so to their perception, he was always there.
But they didn't say anything. Self-defence training could be good
exercise.. or it could be agonizing hell. He'd demonstrated
that enough, early on, with the people that he knew had given Elizabeth
trouble... now people avoided doing things that would make John
*notice*
them.
Which left him free to stand in the control room, pretending to look
at a screen over someone's shoulder while he actually stared at
Elizabeth through the glass walls.
Filling his senses, his soul, with her existence. Just a couple
minutes to restore his sanity for a while. A few hours at
least. The closer the contact, the longer he lasted.
Missions were a world of their own of course. Filled with
awareness that he was away from home. Which naturally enough made
everything from home hover at the edge of his mind. But there was
nothing wrong with wanting to be home. Everyone did that.
So he didn't need to 'admit' anything before letting himself
focus. Could spend every second with a part of his thoughts
focused on Elizabeth... and just tell himself that she represented
Atlantis and that was OK. Didn't mean anything. Really!
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