#simon wallace

Elizabeth steps away from the counter, gaping at him in shock. She holds up a hand for a clarifying point, but Simon shakes his head. “No. Don’t say it.”

“Technically—“

“There are no polar bears in Antarctica, I know!”

“You’re thinking of penguins.”

“Why do you have to be right all the time?” Simon groans, shoving his hands through his hair. “Why is everything all about you? Your research, your expedition, you get everything you want, well what happened to my girlfriend?”

Elizabeth folds her arms with a frown, hoping he can’t see how much his words sting. That’s the thing about Simon, though, he almost certainly can— he always knows just what to say, and what she usually thinks of as a blessing is turning into a barbed weapon right now. “I’m still here—“ but she’s not. “I’m still yours, Simon, I still love you—“

“Bullshit!”

His shout is so loud and unexpected that Elizabeth jumps, retreating to the doorway back to the living room. “Jesus, Simon, you can’t talk to me like that.”

“Oh, fuck off, Elizabeth.” He sighs like he’s so tired, like she’s studying glyphs from ten thousand years ago just as an excuse to get away from him.

Her anger bubbles up, refusing to be trapped under the surface. “Fuck you. You’re being selfish and unreasonable.”

“There is no way I’m the selfish one here!”

Elizabeth is shaking, either from anger or from shock that Simon is actually speaking all this aloud, her Simon, who loves nothing more than the status quo. “If you try to give me an ultimatum,” she says slowly, “you’re not going to like the answer. So I would suggest perhaps we call it a night.”

He follows her as she turns to leave the room, one hand heavy against her back. “Come on, Lizzie, let’s not go to bed angry.”

Elizabeth grits her teeth to keep from snapping at him about the nickname. “Just give me some space, Simon.”

Six weeks later, everything has changed. But the last night before she’d left still rings in Elizabeth’s mind. They all have a week off, military and civilians alike. It feels like a luxury for most of them, sure, but facing weeks or months or even years without seeing Earth again, let alone their loved ones, it seems rather paltry.

Elizabeth sighs into her cup of coffee. “I think I’m going to miss Sedgewick the most. No offense, mother.”

Her mom laughs quietly. “I’m not offended, but I think a certain doctor might be.”

All the diplomatic muscle memory in the world couldn’t stop Elizabeth from frowning then. “I haven’t been to see him yet. I haven’t told him I’m going.”

Her mother raises both eyebrows in an incredibly familiar way. “You’re going somewhere I’ve probably never heard of, you hardly know when you’re coming back, and you haven’t even said goodbye?”

Elizabeth thinks wryly that she’s absolutely certain her mother hasn’t heard of her next posting. “I… don’t want him to ask me not to go.” The ghost of that confusion, humiliation, and anger sweeps through her mind once more.

“It sounds like you need to let him go, Elizabeth,” her mother responds, worry piercing her tone.

But in the end, all Elizabeth can spare the energy for is one meager message left on Simon’s answering machine. It contains more apologies than explanations, and a very thin promise that she’ll explain herself someday soon. Lying in the dark, with hardly twelve hours before the Atlantis expedition leaves, Elizabeth can’t help but laugh to herself, a harsh sound in the late night silence. Wrapped up with Stargate Command and the IOA… she’s never going to be able to explain anything again. Not with security clearances and matters of international security and being lightyears away from Earth.

The closer she gets to dreams she never thought would see the light of day, the further she gets from Simon.