The true power in Atlantis isn't found in the splashy glow of a ZPM, or the pull of rank. It lies in the little things. Having a book no one's read, a movie no one else owns. A stash of candy, liquor.
Sarah clicks a pair of scissors, listening to the crunch of metal. They're getting blunt... Weir sits down, gives her an anxious, hopeful smile, and Sarah smiles back.
No one else in the city can do this. Cut, yes; hack and slash, definitely, but style? Create? Leave someone looking and feeling better?
Power. In her hands.
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