Good Morning Part One
This is offered as a journal warming present. It's something I wrote a while ago, and yes it has McBeckLa! and Shep/Weir and some S/T friendship too which if you want to read as romantic on ya go.. Title: Good Morning Rating: pg-13 Disclaimer: no they're not mine, I know that. Season 1 Atlantis so no spoilers Dedicated to Torri Higgison, for the idea in the first place. Teaser: "Bed-head. She’d give him a case of bed-head the city would be talking about for months..."
Good Morning
Trying to ignore the rising feeling of… the rising feeling of something that was welling up from her stomach, Elizabeth Weir steadied herself and took a deep breath. Then wished she hadn’t as her sides protested at the expansion of her lungs. She felt like she’d done ten rounds with a wrestler. She walked gently but sideways into the room. She’d worked out that if she kept her neck absolutely rigid, her head didn’t feel like it’d fall off and roll across the floor.
“How is everybody today?” she said, before easing herself into her seat, as carefully as if she had hemorrhoids.
Then she belched, quietly, but belched nevertheless. She covered her mouth with her hand and looked quickly round the table to see if anyone had noticed. Then she wished she hadn’t moved her head. Fortunately her head appeared to stay on her neck.
Major Sheppard’s team was sitting around the table, waiting for their briefing. That wasn’t strictly true, she thought vaguely through the foggy mess that was her brain. McKay looked like someone had superglued his forehead and nose to the table. He was sprawled across the table like someone had crucified him face down. He wasn’t moving. Elizabeth wasn’t even sure he was alive. John Sheppard slouched in his chair, avatar sunglasses on, hair akimbo and blindly fumbling for the coffee mug in front of him. Tey’la, her face a curious shade of green, pushed it toward him, wincing as the cup scraped across the table. Ford was… Ford was asleep in his chair, mouth hanging open. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Elizabeth leant forward… was that drool or a trick of the light?
Her stomach did that rising feeling thing again. She belched. This time Sheppard noticed. He looked up from his coffee and smirked at her across the rim of the mug. Then the sunlight streaming into the room reminded him he couldn’t see and he growled in pain.
“Major,” She turned to Sheppard. “Given the status of you and your team today, I suggest we postpone this briefing.”
Sheppard opened his mouth, thought for a moment and then remembered why his mouth was open.
“Aw, come on!” he said finally, sounding like someone had smacked him in the mouth. “You had as much to drink as the rest of us…”
“Unlike you and the rest of your team, I can hold my liquor, Major,” she said primly, shuffling her papers, and then belched again.
There was a groan from McKay. Apparently he was still alive and sentient. “Could you talk any louder?” he muttered into the table. “I don’t think my ears have bled enough this morning.”
“Yes,” Tey’la spoke. “The noise in this room this morning appears to be extremely painful" At that Ford slid in his seat next to Tey’la and his head dropped onto her shoulder. Tey’la winced again as Ford snuggled into her neck and muttered “mommy.”
Tey’la pushed Ford off her. He flopped forward in his seat, head wilting like a dehydrated plant. Elizabeth wondered how he managed to stay upright but he seemed to be perfectly balanced on the fulcrum of his ass.
Intrigued by the fact that he could do such a feat and remain soundly unconscious Elizabeth didn’t realise she had been staring at Ford’s amazing balancing talents until Sheppard remarked “I’m surprised at you, Tey’la. I thought you would’ve been used to Athosian liquor”
At that, Tey’la stood up suddenly and swayed. “Please excuse me, Dr Weir. Major Sheppard,” she said and ran out the room.
“What did I say?” Sheppard asked the ceiling.
“I don’t know, Major” Elizabeth was amused despite the ever present rising feeling in her gut. “Perhaps you reminded her about how she sank ten Athosian gins and drank Carson Beckett under the table.”
“That reminds me, ” he said, leaning over the table and wagging a finger at her “You owe me. I told you Tey’la could drink any man under the table.”
“Ah,” said Elizabeth, her mind struggling to find a way to avoid paying out the bet she’d made with Sheppard during the previous nights festivities. It was too much effort. With a sigh, she reached into her pocket, took out her last chocolate bar and looked at it wistfully. It was small, but it was her last one.
Then she tore off the wrapper, and stuffed the whole bar into her mouth.
“Hey! That was mine!” Sheppard got out of his chair, but then his knees buckled. She smirked and flicked the wrapper across the table at him. Rising feeling be damned, she thought, it was worth it to see the look on his face. She belched. Again.
“People! My ears!” Rodney moaned into the table again. Elizabeth looked around her. Major Sheppard was sitting opposite her, with hair that looked like it’d had a herd of cows trampling through it and sporting stubble that would have put Long John Silver to shame, Rodney McKay was sprawled out face down on the table like some bizarre sacrifice and Aiden Ford was balanced just so, head in chest - was that drool or was it a trick of the light?
The surrealness of the situation suddenly struck her and she began to laugh. Then wished she hadn’t because her sides hurt so goddamn much. She winced.
“I am going to retire to my quarters, Major.” She stood up, a little too quickly, but when the world steadied itself, she found Sheppard looking at her with a puzzled expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Are you okay?” he said, peering at her. “Your face, it’s all … blotchy.”
Chapter 2 I apologise for the West of Scotland references in this chapter. Irn Bru ™ is a popular, if not cult-like soft drink in the region that Beckett comes from. Tunnocks caramel logs are also a local delicacy. I don’t own them, I don’t own anything in this story… Never get between the man and his can
Carson Beckett stared at the aluminum can in front of him. It was pristine, it was untouched. It hadn’t even been dented. It had survived being ripped apart to quarks and put back together again by the unnaturalness of wormhole travel. He shivered deep into his soul. Wormhole travel wasn’t right, but miraculously his can of Irn Bru had made it through intact.
It was the only one in the Pegasus galaxy, in fact.
The trouble was, did the circumstances justify its use?
Well, his head felt like a clootie dumpling, it had to admit. But it had been a great night, and well worth the aftereffects. Even if he couldn’t remember past the drinking competition with Teyla. However, he wasn’t the only one who’d had overindulged, judging by the number of visitors he’d had this morning complaining about headaches, upset stomachs and lack of memory.
The Athosians had informed the residents of the city that their first crop had been ready for consumption, gin - well, at least that was the nearest Sheppard had managed to define it. Judging by its potent effects calling it gin wasn’t far off the mark either. After some persuasion Dr Weir had been convinced of the need for the beleaguered residents of the city to have a party.
Leaving a skeleton crew manning the control room, the rest of the Atlanteans had crowded into the mess room. It had been a great night. Beckett had finally got round to meeting some members of the expedition; he’d found another two Scots, one of which, Heather, a tall, curly red-haired astronomer from near his home town had given him an odd look when he’d told her about his secret haggis stash. Heather, it had to be admitted, had spent most of the night giggling in the corner with her friend Mel, an American physicist, and who, at one point were trying to convince Major Sheppard to sing. The other Scot, Susan, from Archaeology, a lassie from Loch Lomond no less. Small and dark haired with the face of an angel he’d quite taken to her. Then there was Michelle, the petite, dark haired English girl - he smiled to himself, a bonny lassie as well. Life in Atlantis was now looking up! Perhaps it had been worth coming through that godforsaken wormhole.
That can of Irn Bru looked beautiful, he mused. Cold, he could see the condensation dulling the vibrant orange and blue colours. He really, really wanted it. He swallowed hard, imagining the bubbles of the orange liquid hitting the back of his dry throat, And that taste, uniquely Irn Bru, of sugary nails, he’d heard it said “More watery than water itself”, rushing past his taste buds
Picking up the can he appreciated the coldness of the metal and he turned it so he could read the nutritional information: water, sugar, carbon dioxide, citric acid, flavorings, preservatives. His mouth watered. Aye, he’d open it, it was just a shame he didn’t have a nice big bag of salt and vinegar crisps and a Tunnocks caramel log and he’d be laughing goodbye to his hangover.
He inserted his finger under the metal tab, and pulled it back. There was that expulsion of sound - the onomatopoeic sound of relief, and he place the can to his lips inhaling that smell, his mouth watering in sweet, sweet anticipation…
“Dr Beckett?” A soft voice whispered in his ear. Sweet Mother of God! Beckett jumped and the arm holding the can jerked sending the can and its contents all over his desk. “Oh bloody hell!” he wailed as he watched the precious orange liquid spilling out over his papers.
“Look what you made me do, Major!”
“Oh my god, I’m sorry, Carson!” Dr Weir was with the evil Major. Weir quickly ran off to find some tissue to clean up the mess, while Sheppard picked up the can.
“What the hell is this stuff?” Sheppard asked, his fingers stained virulent orange. “It’s sticky!”
“Give me that Major!” snapped Beckett and he snatched the can off Sheppard, raising it to his lips trying desperately to drain the last few drops. Two drops, a measly two drops, fell onto his tongue. Beckett felt like crying.
Weir came back with the tissue, and started to mop up the mess, which was considerable, the Irn Bru was running over the edge of the desk and pooling on the floor.
“Carson, what is this?” she asked. “It’s sticky”
“Only the elixir of life,” he intoned, suddenly seriously depressed. He slumped against the wall.
Weir threw the roll of tissue at Sheppard. “Here, Major,” she ordered. “You can finish up here, and make sure you get it all.” She glared at Sheppard, Beckett was pleased to note. Just wait until the Major was back from his next mission, he’d give him a bit more than the standard mission physical.
Weir took Beckett by the arm and led him into the examination room. “I’m sorry about your drink, Carson.” Weir said. “What was it?”
“I was taking it for medicinal purposes,” said Beckett “It’s the best damn hangover cure in Scotland.”
Weir nodded sympathetically “You too?”
“And most of Atlantis” Beckett replied. “I’ve had about twenty people in this morning already. Still…” He looked at Weir for the first time. “Jings, what is that rash on your face?”
“Yes, I know” Weir said, scowling, “I’m sure it’s nothing, but Major Sheppard insisted that you examine me.”
“Sit down there, Dr Weir, and I’ll take a wee look at it.” He sat her down on one of the infirmary beds and popped a thermometer into her mouth. “Let’s have a look.” He leant into Weir’s face, peering at the rash closely. It was concentrated on the lower part of her face, and was red and blotchy in nature.
“Is it itchy?” he asked.
“Not really,” she mumbled thorough the thermometer.
Beckett took Weir's chin in his hand, and turned her face into the light. “Well, there’s no sign of blistering. It looks like a slight case of contact dermatitis.” He took out the thermometer. “Well that’s normal,” he said. Smiling slightly, he asked, “Have you been rubbing your face against something noxious in the last few hours?”
“Not that I can remember.” Weir frowned. “There’s a lot I can’t remember about last night.”
“Aye, said Beckett, turning to put down the thermometer and picking up the flashlight. “I’ve had a lot of folk in here today complaining of the same thing.”
“Really? That concerns me, Doctor,” said Weir. “Ow,” She winced as he shone the flashlight in her eyes.
“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured. “Well, your eyes look fine too, no sign of irritation” He turned to his table and put the flashlight down. “Aye, it’s a wee bit worrying”, he continued.“I was thinking of doing some analysis of the liquor and asking Teyla a wee bit about its usual effects.”
“Good idea,” said Weir. “Let me know if you find anything interesting.”
Sheppard strolled into the room at that point, and punted the pile of soggy, orange tissue into the nearest bin. “So, doc,” he said, coming to stand next to Beckett and peering at the Weir’s face, “What’s the diagnosis?”
“Well, it looks like some kind of contact dermatitis. I’m going to give you some antihistamine cream to clear it up.” Weir made a face.“ But I would advise you not to go rubbing your face against whatever you rubbed it against again.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” said Weir.
Sheppard’s eyebrows went through the roof. “Rubbing your face.. what have you been rubbing your face against, Dr Weir?”
“I have no idea,” said Weir shortly, as Beckett handed her the cream. “I’m sure it will clear up. Thank you, Carson. Major, I will be in my office.” She arched an eyebrow at Sheppard. “I’m sure you have duties to attend to.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Sheppard smirked.
“Carson, I would be very interested to hear the results of your analysis.” With that Weir jumped off the bed and walked out of the infirmary, passing as she did so Rodney, who staggered in clutching his head.
“Carson, my ears,” he bleated. Beckett sighed. It was going to be a long, long day.
Chapter 3 A Bad Case of Intergalactic Bed-Head
Elizabeth couldn’t find the damn control panel that would let her get into her room. Where the hell was it? For the hundredth time she cursed the lack of lighting in the hallway, however, it was extremely late, she didn’t want to raise the lights just to find it and disturb the other occupants of the corridor.
It didn’t help that she was having trouble keeping her eyes focused or that her arms and legs were not quite doing as she would have wished them to. She also found her mind kept wandering off and she’d suddenly find herself staring at the floor. Gathering her thoughts, again, she looked up and ran her hands along the sides of the door. “Bugger” she swore.
She froze as she heard a low chuckle behind her. She straightened and turned round. Major Sheppard was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smirking at her. She scowled. How long had he been standing there smirking?
Damn him and his smirking. In fact, she wished he would just keep his smirking to himself. And his eyes, which were currently twinkling at her, in a way that should be definitely outlawed. In fact, she’d pass a rule tomorrow, that Major John Sheppard was to desist smirking and twinkling forthwith. And his hair. That hair was far too distracting. She’d bet her last buck he spent hours in front of the mirror trying to get it to stick out like that. The man had a bad case of intergalactic bed-head. The hair had to be sorted. And he had to shave more. That day-old bristle couldn’t possibly comply with Air Force Regulations and all it did was emphasize those so-soft lips. Those lips that were now smirking at her. Curse him!
She hated him. What was he doing here, outside her quarters anyway?
“Major?” She pulled herself straight. Well as straight as she could manage, given that she wasn’t quite in control of her body. Perhaps he was lost. “Are you lost?”
He continued smirking and shook his head.
Then to her complete shock, he started to sing.
“Fly me to the moon” he crooned, his voice surprisingly low and husky, and well, sexy. Her knees suddenly felt a bit on the weak side. To hide that fact, she steadied herself against the wall. He wasn’t going to put her off her stride that easily. She arched an eyebrow and marshaled her face into her “I am so going to fry your butt,” expression.
It didn’t work. “Let me sing amongst the stars” he continued, raising his eyebrows and opening his eyes, giving him a curious look of hopeful innocence.
Elizabeth refused to soften, she’d seen that look too many times before, but a small feeling of panic started to flutter in her stomach, mixed with another feeling she tried to suppress.
“Well, yes Major” she injected as much ice as she could into the words considering her lower abdomen was trying to melt “you have an excellent singing voice. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Let me see what spring is like,” why, she swallowed hard, he was… looking her up and down, in a way that made her feel... She wasn’t going to go there dammit! She sank back against the wall, her hands scrabbling trying desperately to find that elusive door control.
“Major?” she squeaked.
“On Jupiter and Mars” She couldn’t ignore the rush of heat that suffused her whole body. She lifted her hair off the back of her neck with her hand, the movement accidentally thrusting her breasts forward and arching her back from the wall.
He must have liked what he had seen, because he grinned suddenly. He advanced forward, “In other words” he sang. Oh by god, she knew what was coming. She was doomed. There was no escape.
“Hold my hand” he took the hand that had been wrapped round her neck, looking deep into her eyes with his "you can have me if you want" expression, his pupils dark and dilated. Elizabeth couldn’t help but be mesmerized, even though she knew that the man was a complete flirt-god and she should know better.
He was inches from her. She could feel his heat along her skin, and he smelt, of Sheppard, just edible. She moaned, as he softly kissed the palm of her hand, his lips incredibly soft.
“In other words,” he suddenly jerked her forward and she fell against his body, solid and firm. If she’d been melting before, she was now just a puddle. “Baby kiss me” he dipped his head towards her mouth, she closed her eyes, she could feel his breath against her lips and…
The evil bastard just hovered there.
Elizabeth was beyond thinking reasonably. She finished it for him, grabbing the back of his neck with her free hand and kissing him. He released the hand he’d been holding and pulled her into him, his hand finding itself suddenly underneath her shirt.
She gasped into his mouth as his thumb slowly and lazily stroked her overheated skin, raising goosebumps and a thousand thrills along her nerve endings.
God he was an excellent kisser, his lips were full and soft with just the right amount of teasing and pressure on her lips so that they parted to allow him to.. oh god he tasted good. Elizabeth contented herself with running her hands through his hair, which if she had been being honest with herself, she’d been dying to do for ages. Bed-head. She’d give him a case of bed-head the city would be talking about for months.
They thudded against the wall, their kissing suddenly becoming more heated. Sheppard’s body was pressed her into the wall, his hands roaming in areas where they shouldn’t be, and his leg had somehow inserted itself between hers. She found herself pulling the shirt out from his pants, and toying with his belt buckle.
Elizabeth suddenly realized that the little grunts of pleasure she could hear were coming from him, she must have been doing something right, she thought in a rare second of coherent thought. She tugged at his hair, as he moved his mouth to that area just under her right ear and nuzzled into her neck, his hand trying to undo her bra. She was eagerly kissing the area under his ear and trying to hook her right leg around his leg when she suddenly lost her balance slightly.
Her hand shot out and by pure chance found the release for the door control mechanism. The door to her quarters opened.
This chapter is dedicated to the posters in the Beckett’s Haggis thread in Gateworld
Good Morning
Trying to ignore the rising feeling of… the rising feeling of something that was welling up from her stomach, Elizabeth Weir steadied herself and took a deep breath. Then wished she hadn’t as her sides protested at the expansion of her lungs. She felt like she’d done ten rounds with a wrestler. She walked gently but sideways into the room. She’d worked out that if she kept her neck absolutely rigid, her head didn’t feel like it’d fall off and roll across the floor.
“How is everybody today?” she said, before easing herself into her seat, as carefully as if she had hemorrhoids.
Then she belched, quietly, but belched nevertheless. She covered her mouth with her hand and looked quickly round the table to see if anyone had noticed. Then she wished she hadn’t moved her head. Fortunately her head appeared to stay on her neck.
Major Sheppard’s team was sitting around the table, waiting for their briefing. That wasn’t strictly true, she thought vaguely through the foggy mess that was her brain. McKay looked like someone had superglued his forehead and nose to the table. He was sprawled across the table like someone had crucified him face down. He wasn’t moving. Elizabeth wasn’t even sure he was alive. John Sheppard slouched in his chair, avatar sunglasses on, hair akimbo and blindly fumbling for the coffee mug in front of him. Tey’la, her face a curious shade of green, pushed it toward him, wincing as the cup scraped across the table. Ford was… Ford was asleep in his chair, mouth hanging open. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Elizabeth leant forward… was that drool or a trick of the light?
Her stomach did that rising feeling thing again. She belched. This time Sheppard noticed. He looked up from his coffee and smirked at her across the rim of the mug. Then the sunlight streaming into the room reminded him he couldn’t see and he growled in pain.
“Major,” She turned to Sheppard. “Given the status of you and your team today, I suggest we postpone this briefing.”
Sheppard opened his mouth, thought for a moment and then remembered why his mouth was open.
“Aw, come on!” he said finally, sounding like someone had smacked him in the mouth. “You had as much to drink as the rest of us…”
“Unlike you and the rest of your team, I can hold my liquor, Major,” she said primly, shuffling her papers, and then belched again.
There was a groan from McKay. Apparently he was still alive and sentient. “Could you talk any louder?” he muttered into the table. “I don’t think my ears have bled enough this morning.”
“Yes,” Tey’la spoke. “The noise in this room this morning appears to be extremely painful" At that Ford slid in his seat next to Tey’la and his head dropped onto her shoulder. Tey’la winced again as Ford snuggled into her neck and muttered “mommy.”
Tey’la pushed Ford off her. He flopped forward in his seat, head wilting like a dehydrated plant. Elizabeth wondered how he managed to stay upright but he seemed to be perfectly balanced on the fulcrum of his ass.
Intrigued by the fact that he could do such a feat and remain soundly unconscious Elizabeth didn’t realise she had been staring at Ford’s amazing balancing talents until Sheppard remarked “I’m surprised at you, Tey’la. I thought you would’ve been used to Athosian liquor”
At that, Tey’la stood up suddenly and swayed. “Please excuse me, Dr Weir. Major Sheppard,” she said and ran out the room.
“What did I say?” Sheppard asked the ceiling.
“I don’t know, Major” Elizabeth was amused despite the ever present rising feeling in her gut. “Perhaps you reminded her about how she sank ten Athosian gins and drank Carson Beckett under the table.”
“That reminds me, ” he said, leaning over the table and wagging a finger at her “You owe me. I told you Tey’la could drink any man under the table.”
“Ah,” said Elizabeth, her mind struggling to find a way to avoid paying out the bet she’d made with Sheppard during the previous nights festivities. It was too much effort. With a sigh, she reached into her pocket, took out her last chocolate bar and looked at it wistfully. It was small, but it was her last one.
Then she tore off the wrapper, and stuffed the whole bar into her mouth.
“Hey! That was mine!” Sheppard got out of his chair, but then his knees buckled. She smirked and flicked the wrapper across the table at him. Rising feeling be damned, she thought, it was worth it to see the look on his face. She belched. Again.
“People! My ears!” Rodney moaned into the table again. Elizabeth looked around her. Major Sheppard was sitting opposite her, with hair that looked like it’d had a herd of cows trampling through it and sporting stubble that would have put Long John Silver to shame, Rodney McKay was sprawled out face down on the table like some bizarre sacrifice and Aiden Ford was balanced just so, head in chest - was that drool or was it a trick of the light?
The surrealness of the situation suddenly struck her and she began to laugh. Then wished she hadn’t because her sides hurt so goddamn much. She winced.
“I am going to retire to my quarters, Major.” She stood up, a little too quickly, but when the world steadied itself, she found Sheppard looking at her with a puzzled expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Are you okay?” he said, peering at her. “Your face, it’s all … blotchy.”
Chapter 2 I apologise for the West of Scotland references in this chapter. Irn Bru ™ is a popular, if not cult-like soft drink in the region that Beckett comes from. Tunnocks caramel logs are also a local delicacy. I don’t own them, I don’t own anything in this story… Never get between the man and his can
Carson Beckett stared at the aluminum can in front of him. It was pristine, it was untouched. It hadn’t even been dented. It had survived being ripped apart to quarks and put back together again by the unnaturalness of wormhole travel. He shivered deep into his soul. Wormhole travel wasn’t right, but miraculously his can of Irn Bru had made it through intact.
It was the only one in the Pegasus galaxy, in fact.
The trouble was, did the circumstances justify its use?
Well, his head felt like a clootie dumpling, it had to admit. But it had been a great night, and well worth the aftereffects. Even if he couldn’t remember past the drinking competition with Teyla. However, he wasn’t the only one who’d had overindulged, judging by the number of visitors he’d had this morning complaining about headaches, upset stomachs and lack of memory.
The Athosians had informed the residents of the city that their first crop had been ready for consumption, gin - well, at least that was the nearest Sheppard had managed to define it. Judging by its potent effects calling it gin wasn’t far off the mark either. After some persuasion Dr Weir had been convinced of the need for the beleaguered residents of the city to have a party.
Leaving a skeleton crew manning the control room, the rest of the Atlanteans had crowded into the mess room. It had been a great night. Beckett had finally got round to meeting some members of the expedition; he’d found another two Scots, one of which, Heather, a tall, curly red-haired astronomer from near his home town had given him an odd look when he’d told her about his secret haggis stash. Heather, it had to be admitted, had spent most of the night giggling in the corner with her friend Mel, an American physicist, and who, at one point were trying to convince Major Sheppard to sing. The other Scot, Susan, from Archaeology, a lassie from Loch Lomond no less. Small and dark haired with the face of an angel he’d quite taken to her. Then there was Michelle, the petite, dark haired English girl - he smiled to himself, a bonny lassie as well. Life in Atlantis was now looking up! Perhaps it had been worth coming through that godforsaken wormhole.
That can of Irn Bru looked beautiful, he mused. Cold, he could see the condensation dulling the vibrant orange and blue colours. He really, really wanted it. He swallowed hard, imagining the bubbles of the orange liquid hitting the back of his dry throat, And that taste, uniquely Irn Bru, of sugary nails, he’d heard it said “More watery than water itself”, rushing past his taste buds
Picking up the can he appreciated the coldness of the metal and he turned it so he could read the nutritional information: water, sugar, carbon dioxide, citric acid, flavorings, preservatives. His mouth watered. Aye, he’d open it, it was just a shame he didn’t have a nice big bag of salt and vinegar crisps and a Tunnocks caramel log and he’d be laughing goodbye to his hangover.
He inserted his finger under the metal tab, and pulled it back. There was that expulsion of sound - the onomatopoeic sound of relief, and he place the can to his lips inhaling that smell, his mouth watering in sweet, sweet anticipation…
“Dr Beckett?” A soft voice whispered in his ear. Sweet Mother of God! Beckett jumped and the arm holding the can jerked sending the can and its contents all over his desk. “Oh bloody hell!” he wailed as he watched the precious orange liquid spilling out over his papers.
“Look what you made me do, Major!”
“Oh my god, I’m sorry, Carson!” Dr Weir was with the evil Major. Weir quickly ran off to find some tissue to clean up the mess, while Sheppard picked up the can.
“What the hell is this stuff?” Sheppard asked, his fingers stained virulent orange. “It’s sticky!”
“Give me that Major!” snapped Beckett and he snatched the can off Sheppard, raising it to his lips trying desperately to drain the last few drops. Two drops, a measly two drops, fell onto his tongue. Beckett felt like crying.
Weir came back with the tissue, and started to mop up the mess, which was considerable, the Irn Bru was running over the edge of the desk and pooling on the floor.
“Carson, what is this?” she asked. “It’s sticky”
“Only the elixir of life,” he intoned, suddenly seriously depressed. He slumped against the wall.
Weir threw the roll of tissue at Sheppard. “Here, Major,” she ordered. “You can finish up here, and make sure you get it all.” She glared at Sheppard, Beckett was pleased to note. Just wait until the Major was back from his next mission, he’d give him a bit more than the standard mission physical.
Weir took Beckett by the arm and led him into the examination room. “I’m sorry about your drink, Carson.” Weir said. “What was it?”
“I was taking it for medicinal purposes,” said Beckett “It’s the best damn hangover cure in Scotland.”
Weir nodded sympathetically “You too?”
“And most of Atlantis” Beckett replied. “I’ve had about twenty people in this morning already. Still…” He looked at Weir for the first time. “Jings, what is that rash on your face?”
“Yes, I know” Weir said, scowling, “I’m sure it’s nothing, but Major Sheppard insisted that you examine me.”
“Sit down there, Dr Weir, and I’ll take a wee look at it.” He sat her down on one of the infirmary beds and popped a thermometer into her mouth. “Let’s have a look.” He leant into Weir’s face, peering at the rash closely. It was concentrated on the lower part of her face, and was red and blotchy in nature.
“Is it itchy?” he asked.
“Not really,” she mumbled thorough the thermometer.
Beckett took Weir's chin in his hand, and turned her face into the light. “Well, there’s no sign of blistering. It looks like a slight case of contact dermatitis.” He took out the thermometer. “Well that’s normal,” he said. Smiling slightly, he asked, “Have you been rubbing your face against something noxious in the last few hours?”
“Not that I can remember.” Weir frowned. “There’s a lot I can’t remember about last night.”
“Aye, said Beckett, turning to put down the thermometer and picking up the flashlight. “I’ve had a lot of folk in here today complaining of the same thing.”
“Really? That concerns me, Doctor,” said Weir. “Ow,” She winced as he shone the flashlight in her eyes.
“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured. “Well, your eyes look fine too, no sign of irritation” He turned to his table and put the flashlight down. “Aye, it’s a wee bit worrying”, he continued.“I was thinking of doing some analysis of the liquor and asking Teyla a wee bit about its usual effects.”
“Good idea,” said Weir. “Let me know if you find anything interesting.”
Sheppard strolled into the room at that point, and punted the pile of soggy, orange tissue into the nearest bin. “So, doc,” he said, coming to stand next to Beckett and peering at the Weir’s face, “What’s the diagnosis?”
“Well, it looks like some kind of contact dermatitis. I’m going to give you some antihistamine cream to clear it up.” Weir made a face.“ But I would advise you not to go rubbing your face against whatever you rubbed it against again.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” said Weir.
Sheppard’s eyebrows went through the roof. “Rubbing your face.. what have you been rubbing your face against, Dr Weir?”
“I have no idea,” said Weir shortly, as Beckett handed her the cream. “I’m sure it will clear up. Thank you, Carson. Major, I will be in my office.” She arched an eyebrow at Sheppard. “I’m sure you have duties to attend to.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Sheppard smirked.
“Carson, I would be very interested to hear the results of your analysis.” With that Weir jumped off the bed and walked out of the infirmary, passing as she did so Rodney, who staggered in clutching his head.
“Carson, my ears,” he bleated. Beckett sighed. It was going to be a long, long day.
Chapter 3 A Bad Case of Intergalactic Bed-Head
Elizabeth couldn’t find the damn control panel that would let her get into her room. Where the hell was it? For the hundredth time she cursed the lack of lighting in the hallway, however, it was extremely late, she didn’t want to raise the lights just to find it and disturb the other occupants of the corridor.
It didn’t help that she was having trouble keeping her eyes focused or that her arms and legs were not quite doing as she would have wished them to. She also found her mind kept wandering off and she’d suddenly find herself staring at the floor. Gathering her thoughts, again, she looked up and ran her hands along the sides of the door. “Bugger” she swore.
She froze as she heard a low chuckle behind her. She straightened and turned round. Major Sheppard was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smirking at her. She scowled. How long had he been standing there smirking?
Damn him and his smirking. In fact, she wished he would just keep his smirking to himself. And his eyes, which were currently twinkling at her, in a way that should be definitely outlawed. In fact, she’d pass a rule tomorrow, that Major John Sheppard was to desist smirking and twinkling forthwith. And his hair. That hair was far too distracting. She’d bet her last buck he spent hours in front of the mirror trying to get it to stick out like that. The man had a bad case of intergalactic bed-head. The hair had to be sorted. And he had to shave more. That day-old bristle couldn’t possibly comply with Air Force Regulations and all it did was emphasize those so-soft lips. Those lips that were now smirking at her. Curse him!
She hated him. What was he doing here, outside her quarters anyway?
“Major?” She pulled herself straight. Well as straight as she could manage, given that she wasn’t quite in control of her body. Perhaps he was lost. “Are you lost?”
He continued smirking and shook his head.
Then to her complete shock, he started to sing.
“Fly me to the moon” he crooned, his voice surprisingly low and husky, and well, sexy. Her knees suddenly felt a bit on the weak side. To hide that fact, she steadied herself against the wall. He wasn’t going to put her off her stride that easily. She arched an eyebrow and marshaled her face into her “I am so going to fry your butt,” expression.
It didn’t work. “Let me sing amongst the stars” he continued, raising his eyebrows and opening his eyes, giving him a curious look of hopeful innocence.
Elizabeth refused to soften, she’d seen that look too many times before, but a small feeling of panic started to flutter in her stomach, mixed with another feeling she tried to suppress.
“Well, yes Major” she injected as much ice as she could into the words considering her lower abdomen was trying to melt “you have an excellent singing voice. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Let me see what spring is like,” why, she swallowed hard, he was… looking her up and down, in a way that made her feel... She wasn’t going to go there dammit! She sank back against the wall, her hands scrabbling trying desperately to find that elusive door control.
“Major?” she squeaked.
“On Jupiter and Mars” She couldn’t ignore the rush of heat that suffused her whole body. She lifted her hair off the back of her neck with her hand, the movement accidentally thrusting her breasts forward and arching her back from the wall.
He must have liked what he had seen, because he grinned suddenly. He advanced forward, “In other words” he sang. Oh by god, she knew what was coming. She was doomed. There was no escape.
“Hold my hand” he took the hand that had been wrapped round her neck, looking deep into her eyes with his "you can have me if you want" expression, his pupils dark and dilated. Elizabeth couldn’t help but be mesmerized, even though she knew that the man was a complete flirt-god and she should know better.
He was inches from her. She could feel his heat along her skin, and he smelt, of Sheppard, just edible. She moaned, as he softly kissed the palm of her hand, his lips incredibly soft.
“In other words,” he suddenly jerked her forward and she fell against his body, solid and firm. If she’d been melting before, she was now just a puddle. “Baby kiss me” he dipped his head towards her mouth, she closed her eyes, she could feel his breath against her lips and…
The evil bastard just hovered there.
Elizabeth was beyond thinking reasonably. She finished it for him, grabbing the back of his neck with her free hand and kissing him. He released the hand he’d been holding and pulled her into him, his hand finding itself suddenly underneath her shirt.
She gasped into his mouth as his thumb slowly and lazily stroked her overheated skin, raising goosebumps and a thousand thrills along her nerve endings.
God he was an excellent kisser, his lips were full and soft with just the right amount of teasing and pressure on her lips so that they parted to allow him to.. oh god he tasted good. Elizabeth contented herself with running her hands through his hair, which if she had been being honest with herself, she’d been dying to do for ages. Bed-head. She’d give him a case of bed-head the city would be talking about for months.
They thudded against the wall, their kissing suddenly becoming more heated. Sheppard’s body was pressed her into the wall, his hands roaming in areas where they shouldn’t be, and his leg had somehow inserted itself between hers. She found herself pulling the shirt out from his pants, and toying with his belt buckle.
Elizabeth suddenly realized that the little grunts of pleasure she could hear were coming from him, she must have been doing something right, she thought in a rare second of coherent thought. She tugged at his hair, as he moved his mouth to that area just under her right ear and nuzzled into her neck, his hand trying to undo her bra. She was eagerly kissing the area under his ear and trying to hook her right leg around his leg when she suddenly lost her balance slightly.
Her hand shot out and by pure chance found the release for the door control mechanism. The door to her quarters opened.
This chapter is dedicated to the posters in the Beckett’s Haggis thread in Gateworld