[ Too little, too late, Elizabeth. That's always the story in some way or another. It was worth trying, though, just on that off chance that she could get away with it. Keep him from realizing.
There's no hesitation whatsoever before she wraps her arms around him. She could really use a hug. She could really use this hug in particular. It's tight, unrelenting. Like she's waiting for the floor to fall out again, to blink and wake up and find that it's over. He already knows, might have lived it.
Carson already knows, might have lived it, and because he's Carson he's still reaching out to her. For longer than she'd care to admit, realizing that, Elizabeth verges on the edge of crying. She can feel it, throat aching, eyes burning, the tremble in her jawline.
He doesn't deserve that. Later, maybe. And it's always later. There's so little time to stop and let things hit home, and the waves are always so powerful when they finally do hit.
She wants to say she's sorry, but she doesn't know for what. It wasn't anybody's fault. It wouldn't change what happened, wouldn't change where they are, or that look of realization that crossed his face. Elizabeth tries to steady herself with a breath that's anything but. ]
God, we've missed you. [ Every single person in Atlantis. Every last one. Then, fiercely, for all that it's slightly muffled: ] And I am-- I have always been so proud of you.
[ And she isn't leaving this city without him. However long it takes to get back home. He's coming home, too. Consequences be damned. ]
sadgate atlantis
There's no hesitation whatsoever before she wraps her arms around him. She could really use a hug. She could really use this hug in particular. It's tight, unrelenting. Like she's waiting for the floor to fall out again, to blink and wake up and find that it's over. He already knows, might have lived it.
Carson already knows, might have lived it, and because he's Carson he's still reaching out to her. For longer than she'd care to admit, realizing that, Elizabeth verges on the edge of crying. She can feel it, throat aching, eyes burning, the tremble in her jawline.
He doesn't deserve that. Later, maybe. And it's always later. There's so little time to stop and let things hit home, and the waves are always so powerful when they finally do hit.
She wants to say she's sorry, but she doesn't know for what. It wasn't anybody's fault. It wouldn't change what happened, wouldn't change where they are, or that look of realization that crossed his face. Elizabeth tries to steady herself with a breath that's anything but. ]
God, we've missed you. [ Every single person in Atlantis. Every last one. Then, fiercely, for all that it's slightly muffled: ] And I am-- I have always been so proud of you.
[ And she isn't leaving this city without him. However long it takes to get back home. He's coming home, too. Consequences be damned. ]