Fic for the Elizabeth Weir Drabble-a-Thon
Title: Untitled because guys suck. I'm not sure how, or why, but I just know that they are directly responsible for the lack of appropriate title. ;)
Pairing: John/Elizabeth
Prompt: "Being a woman is a terribly difficult task since it consists principally in dealing with men."
Rating: PG-15
Length: 3521 words
Notes: I think there was a 4300 character limit - at almost 20,000 characters, I think it's safe to say I busted that. >_< Oh, well...
“Being a woman is a terribly difficult task since it consists principally in dealing with men.”
Sometimes Elizabeth thinks truer words have never been spoken. Especially during days like this...
When dawn breaks, she awakens to find John sitting on the side of her bed, back turned towards her. He's dressed from the waist-down, holding a yet-to-be-donned shirt in his hands. He's silent, which strikes her as unusual, and staring at the floor motionlessly.
“John?” she queries, sitting up.
He doesn't turn to look at her. “Elizabeth,” he says quietly. “What are we doing?”
She blinks. “Well, I was just waking up,” she said in a half-joking tone. As soon as the words are out of her mouth she winces, knowing it won't alleviate the heavy tension between them. The tension that wasn't there last night when they had sex, or the night before that, or the night before that; so Elizabeth's not quite sure where it came from, or how she's supposed to deal with it.
“You know what I mean,” John says, his voice still low but now with an edge. “What are we doing?”
Elizabeth hesitates before answering, licking her lips with a quick swipe of her tongue. “Well,” she begins carefully, “I was under the impression that we were sleeping together. Sex-only, no-strings-attached. That was what we agreed to, after all.”
He finally turns to look at her; his eyes are dark and shaded, but his face betrays nothing; she can't gage what he is feeling. “Sex only, huh?” he intones. “Is that what you want?”
She's taken by surprise, and for a moment, almost answers truthfully. No, John Sheppard, that is not what I want. That is what you want, and I went along and agreed with it because, out of all the men in the universe, you are the one I had to fall in lo-
But she doesn't allow herself to voice that thought aloud, doesn't even dare let herself finish it in her own head. Instead she begins, “John, you know we can't have a romantic relationship, the SGC and IOA would -”
“So what? Who cares what they think?” John cuts her off brusquely, his voice rough with emotion, eyes boring into hers. “We're in another galaxy, for fuck's sake. We should get a little leeway.”
“John, they'd be concerned, and for good reason. A relationship between the expedition leader and military commander could seriously jeopardize Atlantis -”
“And this isn't a relationship?” he demands, gesturing at her, still naked, and himself.
“John -”
“Forget it,” he mutters, standing up and turning away. “Just - forget it.” He pulls on his shirt, grabs his jacket and before she can protest, he's gone.
Elizabeth sighs and wishes she could sink back down under the covers, or maybe go after John; but it's 0600 and a busy city awaits her attention. John and his sudden mood swings will have to wait.
---
One lonely breakfast and two cups of coffee later, Elizabeth is in her office buried in piles of paperwork and the dozens of emails cluttering up her hard drive. It's enough to put any woman in a bad mood - but Elizabeth determinedly clings to any remnants of calm, plowing through the work at a steady rate.
Until Rodney visits, that is.
“Monkeys,” he says, waving his finger as he enters her office.
Elizabeth can already feel a headache threatening to form at the back of her head. “Sorry?” she asks.
“Monkeys,” he repeats. “The new so-called recruits that arrived on the Daedalus. They're monkeys. Specially trained chimpanzees with no other purpose than to make the lives of real scientists miserable.”
Elizabeth resists the urge to rub her temples and decides not to point out that technically, chimpanzees are a kind of ape, not directly related to monkeys. “Rodney -”
“You have to send them back. They're useless. They're imbeciles. I'm not going to waste my time explaining things to them, or Zelenka's time, or Miko's - in fact, I think it's safe to say that anyone with a brain should not have be burdened with the task of monitoring these idiots when we have actual work to do. Do you even know what one of them did yesterday? He almost destroyed sector seven out of complete carelessness, the moron -”
“Rodney...”
“And that's not even the worst part! All of them, they're completely spineless, they'll never be able to go off-world if they can't even deal with a little criticism or stress-”
“Rodney.”
“- and me yelling at them, but it was well deserved, let me tell you -”
“Rodney!”
This got his attention long enough for Elizabeth to lean forward and say, “I know none of the new recruits are perfect. And they'll probably need a little work. But we need more manpower, Rodney. Just keep them for three weeks, that's all I'm asking - and if there are a few who don't make the cut, we'll send them back then.”
Rodney frowns and splutters and insists that three weeks is too long, and that by then they'll have all died because of some stupid mistake a newbie made. Elizabeth spends the next ten minutes trying in vain to convince Rodney to wait three weeks; but he's stubborn, and maintains that it's too long a period.
In the end she looses her temper. “Three weeks, Rodney. Period.”
There's a flash of surprise and hurt on his face at her curt tone; but Rodney mutters his acquiescence and quickly backs out of her office. Elizabeth resists the urge to thud her head against the wall; she didn't mean to snap at him, and she knows she'll have to go make up to him later. Not necessarily because she was in the wrong, but because she knows he'll sulk for days if she doesn't.
Elizabeth wonders if she should get it over with and go talk to Rodney now; but then Chuck announces an unscheduled off-world activation, and all thoughts of apology are swept to the back of her mind. It's Major Lorne's team; they're early, and not happy.
“Major?” she questions as the four men troop in, looking tired, dirty and, above all, irate. “You're early.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Lorne says through gritted teeth, surprising her. Lorne is usually calm and collected, but today his expression is stormy, the anger barely masked. “We had some... trouble.”
She frowns. “What kind of trouble?”
Lieutenant Morrison speaks up before Lorne can reply. “Trouble my ass. Everything was going fine until Parrish decided to lead us tramping around the entire damn planet after some goddamn plant for six freakin hours -”
“It was worth checking out and just because you don't have any appreciation for biology -”
“Morrison! Parrish! Shut. UP,” Lorne snarls.
The reaction causes Elizabeth's eyebrows to raise, and Lorne flinches apologetically. “Sorry, ma'am. They've been going at it for hours now. It's... aggravating.”
“I can see that. You've obviously had a less-than-pleasant mission. Go get checked up; we'll debrief in an hour,” she tells them.
She's barely had time to turn around when a scuffle breaks out between Parrish and Morrison. In a second, Lorne is between them, trying to separate them; but Parrish swings wildly, his fist landing squarely on Lorne's right eye. He reels backward, but gathers his balance and attacks Parrish. The forth member of the team, Captain Richards, joins in, and for a few seconds Elizabeth can only gape in amazement as one of the best teams of Atlantis is reduced to scuffling on the floor like twelve-year-old schoolboys.
“That's enough! STOP IT!” Her yell is loud and commanding enough to make the tussling men freeze in place, panting. “I don't know what's gotten into you four, but you are way out of line. And I don't care how stressful or boring a mission was - it's no excuse to be acting in this way,” she says sternly, still a bit shocked. “Go get checked out by Carson. Then you may spend the rest of the day confined to your individual quarters. Dismissed.”
The men get up and leave; Morrison and Richards are sulking, Parrish is defiant, and Lorne is pissed. Elizabeth rubs at her temples, grimaces when she sees that the entirety of the control room is staring at her, and swiftly heads back into the relative safety of her office.
It's only 0800 hours, and she's already managed to estrange/offend/yell at six men. She doesn't exactly feel that she's living up to her title as a diplomat at the moment. And dear god, the day isn't even halfway through yet.
By 1230 hours, Elizabeth's head is pounding (seemingly ignorant to the fact that she took two aspirins, and should thus not be in so much pain) and she is fervently wishing that she'd stayed in bed. She hasn't seen John all day, and this is the time when he usually drops by to drag her off to the mess hall for lunch. But he doesn't come, and Elizabeth is ashamed to admit that she misses him.
Carson radios her to tell her that Lorne and his men have a foreign substance in their bloodstream that may have been responsible for their uncharacteristic behavior; it doesn't appear to be contagious, but he could be mistaken. Elizabeth thanks him for the update and ends the conversation with a wry sense of resignation. One more thing she has to add to her list of worries.
She skips lunch and has a conference with the leaders of the Kirikin people, a potential ally. They're relatively peaceful, and can offer large amounts of raw materials and supplies to Atlantis; there's only one catch.
Which is that they're a patriarchal people, and are rather reluctant to accept that Elizabeth is the leader of Atlantis.
After two hours of long, torturous negotiations consisting of Elizabeth patiently explaining that she is the Lantien leader, and that women and men have an equal status in their culture, the Kirikin leaders call off the alliance. “I am sorry, Dr. Weir,” one of them says apologetically. “But we believe that a woman's place is in the home. We cannot trade with people who live by ways so contrary and shocking to our own.”
Elizabeth forces herself to nod understandingly, sees the Kirikin delegates out, and resists the urge to scream. Two hours, completely and totally wasted.
Some days, she really hates her job.
Actually, that's not entirely true. Her job, she's fine with. It's the men that make it miserable.
She goes back to her office and immerses herself in paperwork, consoling herself with the idea that her day has already reached an all-time low; so it can't possibly get worse. Unsurprisingly, that sort of thinking doesn't actually make her feel any better - especially when her mind drifts back to last night, remembering the way John held her, as if she was made to fit in his arms. Her entire body aches at the memory, making her long for that same comfort now.
But dinner comes and goes, and John's as absent as ever. Because she knows that Carson will have a fit if she doesn't, Elizabeth goes to the mess hall to eat. She stays there for an hour, but only manages a few spoonfuls of whatever alien soup they're serving (which tastes of carrots, eggplant, and ketchup, all mixed together - yummy). The rest of the time she plays with her food and looses a few solitaire games on her PC tablet.
She's about to leave when Caldwell approaches. “Is this seat taken?” he asks.
“No, go ahead,” Elizabeth says, glancing up from her barely touched food.
He glances at her plate and says, “I assume the food isn't that good.”
She makes a face. “It's not bad, just... not exactly to my taste,” she says, pushing the tray to the side.
“Tactful as always,” Caldwell replies.
“Hmm.” She gives Caldwell a searching glance. “But I'm sure you didn't come here to inquire upon food quality.”
“No, actually,” Caldwell admits. He levels a gaze at her, beginning abruptly, “There's been rumors. About you and Colonel Sheppard.”
Elizabeth raises a single eyebrow and pretends her heart didn't skip a beat. “Colonel, Atlantis is a small, isolated community. There are always rumors. As for whether they are true or not - well, let's just say that a bit of gossip provides an excellent source of distraction in a galaxy where diversions are hard to come by.”
“Perhaps. But the rumors in question have reached all the way to the Milky Way. And to the ears of certain people in the SGC.”
“You're saying the IOA sent you.”
“No. Nothing official has been done yet.”
“So you've taken it upon yourself to investigate.”
He frowns and leans forward. “I'm warning you, Elizabeth. It won't be long before the IOA launches an inquiry. Whatever it is between you and Sheppard -”
“We're friends,” she cut in firmly. “Friends and colleagues. Now I'm sorry to be wasting your time with this issue, but that's all there is to it. I thank you for your concern.” Elizabeth stood. “Good night, Colonel.” She doesn't bother waiting for a reply, striding out of the mess hall without a backward glance.
---
It's 2200 hours, and Elizabeth wants to go to bed, but she's afraid to go back to her quarters only to find that John isn't there. Of course he won't be; he's still angry; but she dreads the thought of returning to an empty, lonely bed tonight. So she stays in her office and works.
She's surprised, to say in the least, when Ronon shows up. “Hey,” he says, coming in and slouching on the chair across from her desk.
“Hello,” Elizabeth says. She's completely burned out, but manages to scrape up a small smile for him. “And to what do I owe this visit?”
“You missed your training session,” Ronon says bluntly.
“With Teyla, you mean? But she's on the mainland for the rest of the week.”
“Yeah. She thought I could take over for her. Sheppard thinks it's a good idea too. Says you need to keep training.”
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. “He does, does he?” She taps her pen against the surface of her desk. “When was this?”
“Yesterday.”
Ah. How typical. Yesterday, when he still cared about her. Elizabeth knows the surge of bitterness she suddenly feels towards John is irrational, but she can't really stop it. She tells Ronon, “Well, you can inform John that I'm perfectly fine, thank you, and will resume my workouts when Teyla returns.” She turns back to her computer, knowing that she's being rude, but is unable to help it; her headache has increased to jackhammers drilling away at her temples, and she's tired beyond belief.
Ronon, however, does not take her cue to leave, staying seated. She ignores him in the hopes that he'll go; but he only picks up an small statuette from her desk and begins to examine it.
Exasperated, she looks up and asks, “Is there anything else I can help you with, Ronon?”
He places the statuette back on the desk. “You're pissed. You need to work it off. Sparring will be good for you.”
“And you're offering to help me because...?”
“Least I can do, after everything you've done for me.” Ronon shrugs, and suddenly Elizabeth feels immensely guilty.
“I'm sorry,” she sighs, putting down her pen and glancing up at him hesitantly. “Maybe you're right. Some exercise might be good for me.”
He nods and stands; she follows him out the door.
---
Thirty minutes later, Elizabeth is cranky, tired, and sore all over. It's not really Ronon's fault; he did go easy on her. (Or tried to.) And she supposes that compared to how he beats up marines, he was quite gentle with her. Under different circumstances, the thought would be enough to send a warm glow of gratitude towards the former runner, or at least a resigned sort of appreciation; but as it is, it only irritates her that he has to be careful with her in the first place. She feels weak, her physical strength (or lack thereof) made puny and pathetic compared to his.
She's perfectly aware that it's ridiculous to be comparing herself, a near-forty-year-old woman with little physical training, to a man in his late twenties who spend seven years of his life running and fighting; but it seems like men in general have been grating on her nerves lately, and she makes the comparison anyway.
After it's over, Elizabeth reigns in her bad mood and graciously thanks Ronon for taking the time to train with her. He's not stupid, and she senses that he knows she's only more unhappy than before; but he wisely accepts it as something he can't change and lets her leave.
As Elizabeth heads to her quarters, she tries not to mull over her irrational emotions. She can't even blame them on PMS, and that doesn't serve to help her mood, which grows more despondent as she nears her room.
When she reaches it, she pauses outside the door for a moment, bracing herself. John is not going to be on the other side to greet her as he has these past few weeks. The prospect sounds unbelievably lonely and cold. Suppressing a sigh, Elizabeth touches the door panel and steps inside.
The bed is empty and room uninhabited, as she expected; but her heart sinks anyway. How is it that one man's absence could make her feel so depressed?
“Hey.”
The quiet drawl of a voice startles Elizabeth, making her whirl around in alarm; John catches her, murmuring, “It's just me, 'Lizbeth.”
She pulls away. “For godssake, John, you scared me.”
“I know. I'm sorry.” He looks sincere, and to her dismay, Elizabeth finds herself softening to him just slightly. But she wants to be angry, angry at this man who (according to the somewhat distorted reasoning of her exhausted mind) is directly responsible for making her day miserable.
So she swallows the longing to just throw herself in his arms and instead replies coolly, “I'm sure you are. Mind telling me what you're doing in my room?”
John looks slightly put out, shuffling his feet in a way that only makes her heart melt further. “Okay. I guess I deserved that.” He comes closer, arms held out in a placating, 'I want to make peace' gesture; Elizabeth has to resist the urge to melt into them.
“I wanted to apologize,” he says. “This morning, I was - well, I was a jerk. I shouldn't have blindsided you like that, or stormed off, either.” He comes closer, coaxing her into a hug.
At first, she resists his advances; but he brushes light, beseeching kisses along her cheek and neck and soon she gives in. Resting her head against his chest, for a few moments she does nothing but enjoy the warmth of his body and the solid security his embrace offers, made all the more blissful by its stark contrast against the day's crappiness. She breathes in his scent - musky, masculine, almost painfully familiar because god, she missed it so much - and knows that this is what she wants. What she can't live without.
“John?” Her throat constricts, causing her voice to catch as she says his name.
“Elizabeth.” He kisses the side of her neck, just a light touch, more tender than sensual.
“I - today - it was hard,” she finally admits. “Not seeing you, not having you around. I missed you. A lot.” She buries her head against his shoulder, not quite believing what she's about to confess, stunned that she's letting out things that she thought would forever be hidden under layers of self-denial. “And - about you question. I don't.”
John is motionless; he seems to have stopped breathing entirely. “You don't what?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“Don't want just sex,” she replies, lifting her head and meeting his eyes. “Don't only want you in my bed a few nights a week. Don't want just your body. I want you, all of you, your mind, your soul, your spirit - your heart. Everything.”
When John replies, his voice is husky and soft. “You already have me. You've had me for a while.” He kisses her, slow and sweet, before adding, “I was never sure if I had you.”
She hears the hesitance in his tone, the slight uncertainty, and wants to drag him to the bed and show him just how much she is his. Instead she smiles, touches the side of his face, and says simply, “You do.” I love you.
The words go unspoken, but John must see them in her eyes; his whole face lights up with a grin, and it sends a thrill of elation through Elizabeth to know she put it there. He kisses her possessively, dragging her into bed.
Later, curled up against John with his arms encircling her, Elizabeth muses that perhaps one of woman's most difficult tasks is dealing with men. But sometimes, sometimes, it's so very worth it.
-Fin-
Pairing: John/Elizabeth
Prompt: "Being a woman is a terribly difficult task since it consists principally in dealing with men."
Rating: PG-15
Length: 3521 words
Notes: I think there was a 4300 character limit - at almost 20,000 characters, I think it's safe to say I busted that. >_< Oh, well...
“Being a woman is a terribly difficult task since it consists principally in dealing with men.”
Sometimes Elizabeth thinks truer words have never been spoken. Especially during days like this...
When dawn breaks, she awakens to find John sitting on the side of her bed, back turned towards her. He's dressed from the waist-down, holding a yet-to-be-donned shirt in his hands. He's silent, which strikes her as unusual, and staring at the floor motionlessly.
“John?” she queries, sitting up.
He doesn't turn to look at her. “Elizabeth,” he says quietly. “What are we doing?”
She blinks. “Well, I was just waking up,” she said in a half-joking tone. As soon as the words are out of her mouth she winces, knowing it won't alleviate the heavy tension between them. The tension that wasn't there last night when they had sex, or the night before that, or the night before that; so Elizabeth's not quite sure where it came from, or how she's supposed to deal with it.
“You know what I mean,” John says, his voice still low but now with an edge. “What are we doing?”
Elizabeth hesitates before answering, licking her lips with a quick swipe of her tongue. “Well,” she begins carefully, “I was under the impression that we were sleeping together. Sex-only, no-strings-attached. That was what we agreed to, after all.”
He finally turns to look at her; his eyes are dark and shaded, but his face betrays nothing; she can't gage what he is feeling. “Sex only, huh?” he intones. “Is that what you want?”
She's taken by surprise, and for a moment, almost answers truthfully. No, John Sheppard, that is not what I want. That is what you want, and I went along and agreed with it because, out of all the men in the universe, you are the one I had to fall in lo-
But she doesn't allow herself to voice that thought aloud, doesn't even dare let herself finish it in her own head. Instead she begins, “John, you know we can't have a romantic relationship, the SGC and IOA would -”
“So what? Who cares what they think?” John cuts her off brusquely, his voice rough with emotion, eyes boring into hers. “We're in another galaxy, for fuck's sake. We should get a little leeway.”
“John, they'd be concerned, and for good reason. A relationship between the expedition leader and military commander could seriously jeopardize Atlantis -”
“And this isn't a relationship?” he demands, gesturing at her, still naked, and himself.
“John -”
“Forget it,” he mutters, standing up and turning away. “Just - forget it.” He pulls on his shirt, grabs his jacket and before she can protest, he's gone.
Elizabeth sighs and wishes she could sink back down under the covers, or maybe go after John; but it's 0600 and a busy city awaits her attention. John and his sudden mood swings will have to wait.
---
One lonely breakfast and two cups of coffee later, Elizabeth is in her office buried in piles of paperwork and the dozens of emails cluttering up her hard drive. It's enough to put any woman in a bad mood - but Elizabeth determinedly clings to any remnants of calm, plowing through the work at a steady rate.
Until Rodney visits, that is.
“Monkeys,” he says, waving his finger as he enters her office.
Elizabeth can already feel a headache threatening to form at the back of her head. “Sorry?” she asks.
“Monkeys,” he repeats. “The new so-called recruits that arrived on the Daedalus. They're monkeys. Specially trained chimpanzees with no other purpose than to make the lives of real scientists miserable.”
Elizabeth resists the urge to rub her temples and decides not to point out that technically, chimpanzees are a kind of ape, not directly related to monkeys. “Rodney -”
“You have to send them back. They're useless. They're imbeciles. I'm not going to waste my time explaining things to them, or Zelenka's time, or Miko's - in fact, I think it's safe to say that anyone with a brain should not have be burdened with the task of monitoring these idiots when we have actual work to do. Do you even know what one of them did yesterday? He almost destroyed sector seven out of complete carelessness, the moron -”
“Rodney...”
“And that's not even the worst part! All of them, they're completely spineless, they'll never be able to go off-world if they can't even deal with a little criticism or stress-”
“Rodney.”
“- and me yelling at them, but it was well deserved, let me tell you -”
“Rodney!”
This got his attention long enough for Elizabeth to lean forward and say, “I know none of the new recruits are perfect. And they'll probably need a little work. But we need more manpower, Rodney. Just keep them for three weeks, that's all I'm asking - and if there are a few who don't make the cut, we'll send them back then.”
Rodney frowns and splutters and insists that three weeks is too long, and that by then they'll have all died because of some stupid mistake a newbie made. Elizabeth spends the next ten minutes trying in vain to convince Rodney to wait three weeks; but he's stubborn, and maintains that it's too long a period.
In the end she looses her temper. “Three weeks, Rodney. Period.”
There's a flash of surprise and hurt on his face at her curt tone; but Rodney mutters his acquiescence and quickly backs out of her office. Elizabeth resists the urge to thud her head against the wall; she didn't mean to snap at him, and she knows she'll have to go make up to him later. Not necessarily because she was in the wrong, but because she knows he'll sulk for days if she doesn't.
Elizabeth wonders if she should get it over with and go talk to Rodney now; but then Chuck announces an unscheduled off-world activation, and all thoughts of apology are swept to the back of her mind. It's Major Lorne's team; they're early, and not happy.
“Major?” she questions as the four men troop in, looking tired, dirty and, above all, irate. “You're early.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Lorne says through gritted teeth, surprising her. Lorne is usually calm and collected, but today his expression is stormy, the anger barely masked. “We had some... trouble.”
She frowns. “What kind of trouble?”
Lieutenant Morrison speaks up before Lorne can reply. “Trouble my ass. Everything was going fine until Parrish decided to lead us tramping around the entire damn planet after some goddamn plant for six freakin hours -”
“It was worth checking out and just because you don't have any appreciation for biology -”
“Morrison! Parrish! Shut. UP,” Lorne snarls.
The reaction causes Elizabeth's eyebrows to raise, and Lorne flinches apologetically. “Sorry, ma'am. They've been going at it for hours now. It's... aggravating.”
“I can see that. You've obviously had a less-than-pleasant mission. Go get checked up; we'll debrief in an hour,” she tells them.
She's barely had time to turn around when a scuffle breaks out between Parrish and Morrison. In a second, Lorne is between them, trying to separate them; but Parrish swings wildly, his fist landing squarely on Lorne's right eye. He reels backward, but gathers his balance and attacks Parrish. The forth member of the team, Captain Richards, joins in, and for a few seconds Elizabeth can only gape in amazement as one of the best teams of Atlantis is reduced to scuffling on the floor like twelve-year-old schoolboys.
“That's enough! STOP IT!” Her yell is loud and commanding enough to make the tussling men freeze in place, panting. “I don't know what's gotten into you four, but you are way out of line. And I don't care how stressful or boring a mission was - it's no excuse to be acting in this way,” she says sternly, still a bit shocked. “Go get checked out by Carson. Then you may spend the rest of the day confined to your individual quarters. Dismissed.”
The men get up and leave; Morrison and Richards are sulking, Parrish is defiant, and Lorne is pissed. Elizabeth rubs at her temples, grimaces when she sees that the entirety of the control room is staring at her, and swiftly heads back into the relative safety of her office.
It's only 0800 hours, and she's already managed to estrange/offend/yell at six men. She doesn't exactly feel that she's living up to her title as a diplomat at the moment. And dear god, the day isn't even halfway through yet.
By 1230 hours, Elizabeth's head is pounding (seemingly ignorant to the fact that she took two aspirins, and should thus not be in so much pain) and she is fervently wishing that she'd stayed in bed. She hasn't seen John all day, and this is the time when he usually drops by to drag her off to the mess hall for lunch. But he doesn't come, and Elizabeth is ashamed to admit that she misses him.
Carson radios her to tell her that Lorne and his men have a foreign substance in their bloodstream that may have been responsible for their uncharacteristic behavior; it doesn't appear to be contagious, but he could be mistaken. Elizabeth thanks him for the update and ends the conversation with a wry sense of resignation. One more thing she has to add to her list of worries.
She skips lunch and has a conference with the leaders of the Kirikin people, a potential ally. They're relatively peaceful, and can offer large amounts of raw materials and supplies to Atlantis; there's only one catch.
Which is that they're a patriarchal people, and are rather reluctant to accept that Elizabeth is the leader of Atlantis.
After two hours of long, torturous negotiations consisting of Elizabeth patiently explaining that she is the Lantien leader, and that women and men have an equal status in their culture, the Kirikin leaders call off the alliance. “I am sorry, Dr. Weir,” one of them says apologetically. “But we believe that a woman's place is in the home. We cannot trade with people who live by ways so contrary and shocking to our own.”
Elizabeth forces herself to nod understandingly, sees the Kirikin delegates out, and resists the urge to scream. Two hours, completely and totally wasted.
Some days, she really hates her job.
Actually, that's not entirely true. Her job, she's fine with. It's the men that make it miserable.
She goes back to her office and immerses herself in paperwork, consoling herself with the idea that her day has already reached an all-time low; so it can't possibly get worse. Unsurprisingly, that sort of thinking doesn't actually make her feel any better - especially when her mind drifts back to last night, remembering the way John held her, as if she was made to fit in his arms. Her entire body aches at the memory, making her long for that same comfort now.
But dinner comes and goes, and John's as absent as ever. Because she knows that Carson will have a fit if she doesn't, Elizabeth goes to the mess hall to eat. She stays there for an hour, but only manages a few spoonfuls of whatever alien soup they're serving (which tastes of carrots, eggplant, and ketchup, all mixed together - yummy). The rest of the time she plays with her food and looses a few solitaire games on her PC tablet.
She's about to leave when Caldwell approaches. “Is this seat taken?” he asks.
“No, go ahead,” Elizabeth says, glancing up from her barely touched food.
He glances at her plate and says, “I assume the food isn't that good.”
She makes a face. “It's not bad, just... not exactly to my taste,” she says, pushing the tray to the side.
“Tactful as always,” Caldwell replies.
“Hmm.” She gives Caldwell a searching glance. “But I'm sure you didn't come here to inquire upon food quality.”
“No, actually,” Caldwell admits. He levels a gaze at her, beginning abruptly, “There's been rumors. About you and Colonel Sheppard.”
Elizabeth raises a single eyebrow and pretends her heart didn't skip a beat. “Colonel, Atlantis is a small, isolated community. There are always rumors. As for whether they are true or not - well, let's just say that a bit of gossip provides an excellent source of distraction in a galaxy where diversions are hard to come by.”
“Perhaps. But the rumors in question have reached all the way to the Milky Way. And to the ears of certain people in the SGC.”
“You're saying the IOA sent you.”
“No. Nothing official has been done yet.”
“So you've taken it upon yourself to investigate.”
He frowns and leans forward. “I'm warning you, Elizabeth. It won't be long before the IOA launches an inquiry. Whatever it is between you and Sheppard -”
“We're friends,” she cut in firmly. “Friends and colleagues. Now I'm sorry to be wasting your time with this issue, but that's all there is to it. I thank you for your concern.” Elizabeth stood. “Good night, Colonel.” She doesn't bother waiting for a reply, striding out of the mess hall without a backward glance.
---
It's 2200 hours, and Elizabeth wants to go to bed, but she's afraid to go back to her quarters only to find that John isn't there. Of course he won't be; he's still angry; but she dreads the thought of returning to an empty, lonely bed tonight. So she stays in her office and works.
She's surprised, to say in the least, when Ronon shows up. “Hey,” he says, coming in and slouching on the chair across from her desk.
“Hello,” Elizabeth says. She's completely burned out, but manages to scrape up a small smile for him. “And to what do I owe this visit?”
“You missed your training session,” Ronon says bluntly.
“With Teyla, you mean? But she's on the mainland for the rest of the week.”
“Yeah. She thought I could take over for her. Sheppard thinks it's a good idea too. Says you need to keep training.”
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. “He does, does he?” She taps her pen against the surface of her desk. “When was this?”
“Yesterday.”
Ah. How typical. Yesterday, when he still cared about her. Elizabeth knows the surge of bitterness she suddenly feels towards John is irrational, but she can't really stop it. She tells Ronon, “Well, you can inform John that I'm perfectly fine, thank you, and will resume my workouts when Teyla returns.” She turns back to her computer, knowing that she's being rude, but is unable to help it; her headache has increased to jackhammers drilling away at her temples, and she's tired beyond belief.
Ronon, however, does not take her cue to leave, staying seated. She ignores him in the hopes that he'll go; but he only picks up an small statuette from her desk and begins to examine it.
Exasperated, she looks up and asks, “Is there anything else I can help you with, Ronon?”
He places the statuette back on the desk. “You're pissed. You need to work it off. Sparring will be good for you.”
“And you're offering to help me because...?”
“Least I can do, after everything you've done for me.” Ronon shrugs, and suddenly Elizabeth feels immensely guilty.
“I'm sorry,” she sighs, putting down her pen and glancing up at him hesitantly. “Maybe you're right. Some exercise might be good for me.”
He nods and stands; she follows him out the door.
---
Thirty minutes later, Elizabeth is cranky, tired, and sore all over. It's not really Ronon's fault; he did go easy on her. (Or tried to.) And she supposes that compared to how he beats up marines, he was quite gentle with her. Under different circumstances, the thought would be enough to send a warm glow of gratitude towards the former runner, or at least a resigned sort of appreciation; but as it is, it only irritates her that he has to be careful with her in the first place. She feels weak, her physical strength (or lack thereof) made puny and pathetic compared to his.
She's perfectly aware that it's ridiculous to be comparing herself, a near-forty-year-old woman with little physical training, to a man in his late twenties who spend seven years of his life running and fighting; but it seems like men in general have been grating on her nerves lately, and she makes the comparison anyway.
After it's over, Elizabeth reigns in her bad mood and graciously thanks Ronon for taking the time to train with her. He's not stupid, and she senses that he knows she's only more unhappy than before; but he wisely accepts it as something he can't change and lets her leave.
As Elizabeth heads to her quarters, she tries not to mull over her irrational emotions. She can't even blame them on PMS, and that doesn't serve to help her mood, which grows more despondent as she nears her room.
When she reaches it, she pauses outside the door for a moment, bracing herself. John is not going to be on the other side to greet her as he has these past few weeks. The prospect sounds unbelievably lonely and cold. Suppressing a sigh, Elizabeth touches the door panel and steps inside.
The bed is empty and room uninhabited, as she expected; but her heart sinks anyway. How is it that one man's absence could make her feel so depressed?
“Hey.”
The quiet drawl of a voice startles Elizabeth, making her whirl around in alarm; John catches her, murmuring, “It's just me, 'Lizbeth.”
She pulls away. “For godssake, John, you scared me.”
“I know. I'm sorry.” He looks sincere, and to her dismay, Elizabeth finds herself softening to him just slightly. But she wants to be angry, angry at this man who (according to the somewhat distorted reasoning of her exhausted mind) is directly responsible for making her day miserable.
So she swallows the longing to just throw herself in his arms and instead replies coolly, “I'm sure you are. Mind telling me what you're doing in my room?”
John looks slightly put out, shuffling his feet in a way that only makes her heart melt further. “Okay. I guess I deserved that.” He comes closer, arms held out in a placating, 'I want to make peace' gesture; Elizabeth has to resist the urge to melt into them.
“I wanted to apologize,” he says. “This morning, I was - well, I was a jerk. I shouldn't have blindsided you like that, or stormed off, either.” He comes closer, coaxing her into a hug.
At first, she resists his advances; but he brushes light, beseeching kisses along her cheek and neck and soon she gives in. Resting her head against his chest, for a few moments she does nothing but enjoy the warmth of his body and the solid security his embrace offers, made all the more blissful by its stark contrast against the day's crappiness. She breathes in his scent - musky, masculine, almost painfully familiar because god, she missed it so much - and knows that this is what she wants. What she can't live without.
“John?” Her throat constricts, causing her voice to catch as she says his name.
“Elizabeth.” He kisses the side of her neck, just a light touch, more tender than sensual.
“I - today - it was hard,” she finally admits. “Not seeing you, not having you around. I missed you. A lot.” She buries her head against his shoulder, not quite believing what she's about to confess, stunned that she's letting out things that she thought would forever be hidden under layers of self-denial. “And - about you question. I don't.”
John is motionless; he seems to have stopped breathing entirely. “You don't what?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“Don't want just sex,” she replies, lifting her head and meeting his eyes. “Don't only want you in my bed a few nights a week. Don't want just your body. I want you, all of you, your mind, your soul, your spirit - your heart. Everything.”
When John replies, his voice is husky and soft. “You already have me. You've had me for a while.” He kisses her, slow and sweet, before adding, “I was never sure if I had you.”
She hears the hesitance in his tone, the slight uncertainty, and wants to drag him to the bed and show him just how much she is his. Instead she smiles, touches the side of his face, and says simply, “You do.” I love you.
The words go unspoken, but John must see them in her eyes; his whole face lights up with a grin, and it sends a thrill of elation through Elizabeth to know she put it there. He kisses her possessively, dragging her into bed.
Later, curled up against John with his arms encircling her, Elizabeth muses that perhaps one of woman's most difficult tasks is dealing with men. But sometimes, sometimes, it's so very worth it.
-Fin-