Fic: follow you until you love me
Title: follow you until you love me
Series: born this way
Summary: Training, chess, intergalactic profiteering, and, of course, love.
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Word Count: 4479
Rating/Contents: NC-17, D/s AU, AMTDI (of a sort)
Pairing: Weir/Caldwell
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Even more of the OTT D/s AU. Possibly the last bit, because idk if I have any more ideas for this little verse, except maybe a little of Ronon and Teyla. We will see.
From the ages of thirteen to eighteen, inclusive, Elizabeth spent six hours a week in the care of miss anne and mister jeff at Carraway's Finishing School. Her grandmother- whose age and demeanor suggested to Elizabeth that she had not only known Queen Victoria but thought of her as loose- orchestrated the whole affair, paying what had to be exorbitant fees to keep Elizabeth on the straight and narrow.
It wasn't as if Elizabeth hadn't gotten anything out of the experience. She could run a full tea service, English and Japanese; she was fully qualified as a bootblack; she could negotiate a contract, slave or otherwise; and on a good day, she could kneel for almost all six of those hours and still stand up at the end. The school prided itself on the thoroughness of its curriculum; on a tense, rainy afternoon, she'd even been shown a flogger, the use of which mister jeff had very awkwardly and euphemistically explained.
Unfortunately, it hadn't quite been enough for Elizabeth. It hadn't been enough to stop her from rabbit punching Jen Sanders when she tried to put her hand up Elizabeth's dress on prom night; it hadn't been enough to keep her at home when colleges started making offers, and most importantly, it hadn't convinced her that there was any reason why she shouldn't forget the entire experience and never speak of it again.
But, of course, the damage was already done.
--
Personally, Elizabeth hated the notion of "subs' intuition." It was archaic, the idea that subs were just naturally more in tune with their environment and the emotional states of those around them; even if she hadn't repeatedly seen it not work, Elizabeth would have rejected it on general principle.
Except that when she walked into the conference room for the morning meeting, there was something different, something she couldn't put her finger on or a name to, something that stuck in the back of her mind as she brought her staff to order.
"Doctor McKay," she said, shuffling her notes in front of her. "Why don't you start us off?"
"Thank you, Doctor Weir," he said, standing in front of his whiteboard. "We've made some significant advancements in the last few days, ones that will be vital to our continued struggle to not die horribly. I've sent you all an email about most of this, but since no one ever reads my emails, I'll just start from the beginning, hmm?"
Elizabeth was as attentive as always, but after ten or fifteen minutes of Rodney's lecturing, even her concentration flagged. She looked around, gauging the temperature of the room. Teyla's attention was fixed on Rodney, but she was drumming her fingers on her knee under the table, a habit she'd almost certainly picked up from Rodney himself; Ronon was openly working on his latest macrame project; Caldwell sat with his arms crossed, two fingers against his temple, and he rolled his eyes upward in annoyance when Lorne looked over at him.
John was right beside her, looking towards Rodney and playing with his pen; as he turned his head, the collar of his shirt rode down just enough for her to see the bite mark on his throat. He caught her watching when he looked back; he gave her a secretive smile, one that could only mean he'd won.
She was happy for him, but it stung at the same time, the idea that she really was alone in this. She couldn't articulate it, why things were different now that John had someone around to bite him on the neck, but they really, really were.
Caldwell clearly noticed their wordless interaction; his face held the "Why are these Lanteans so fucking strange" expression that it usually did during staff meetings. Elizabeth tried not to look at him apologetically, instead giving him a look that hopefully said nothing at all.
"And that's how we know the Earth to be banana shaped," Rodney concluded, snapping her out of it.
"Rodney, what are you on about?" Carson asked, baffled.
"Give the good doctor a prize," Rodney said, pointing at him, "because he is the only person at the table paying attention to me."
"Of course we're paying attention, Rodney," John said, in a placating voice.
"Oh?" he said snippily. "Then what was I talking about?"
John looked at him like a deer in the headlights. "You were explaining, uh, that the cooling system in the current generators is inadequate, but you've got a new plan for improved heat sinks."
"And after that I was talking about?" Rodney coached.
"Um," John said, looking at Elizabeth for support.
"The weather," Elizabeth said, trying to sound confident; there had been something in there about clouds and atmospheric effects, hadn't there?
Rodney looked down at his notes. "Yes, actually," he said, looking a little shocked. "But my point still stands. Stop making eyes at each other, or so help me god I will make this meeting last until midnight."
"I think we've all heard enough, Doctor McKay," Caldwell said, displaying his usual attitude towards anything Rodney had to say. Elizabeth had a sinking feeling that, now that John and Rodney were doing whatever it was that Elizabeth was going to officially pretend to ignore, it would only get worse between the two of them; she didn't envy John, not when he'd be getting orders from both sides.
As predicted, Rodney looked incredibly indignant; Elizabeth took advantage of his wordless rage to break it up. "Speaking of the weather, Carson, didn't you have some observations about the coming rainy season and its impact on the city's health?"
Carson looked pleased to be remembered. "That I do, actually." As he launched into his spiel, Rodney sat down, looking daggers at Caldwell before turning his attention to the doctor. John looked between Caldwell and Rodney for a long moment, his lips pursed and his expression unhappy; that lasted until Rodney rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers in John's face and pointing at Carson.
That was the moment that Elizabeth realized she really didn't have to ignore or excuse anything they did; Rodney had been bossing them all around for so long that it barely even registered as toppy.
After some input from the military contingent, the meeting broke up. "My crew is just finishing preparations for takeoff," Caldwell told her. "We'll be ready to go at 1300 hours, as scheduled." He grinned, in that secretive way of his that never failed to do something to her. "I thought, before I left-"
"If everything is in order, I don't see the harm in taking an early lunch," she said.
"Meet you in the mess in twenty?"
She smiled. "You're on."
There was food, but it wasn't the point. The point was the board between them, the pieces arrayed carefully, waiting for their orders.
Elizabeth stretched, getting her head in the game. "Age before beauty?" she suggested, smirking.
He rolled his eyes. "Go ahead and start." She carefully considered her options before moving a pawn forward. "Bird's Opening?" he remarked.
She shrugged playfully. "I feel lucky today."
He moved in response. "We'll see about that."
Their whole relationship was, more or less, like a chess game; the analogy kind of bothered Elizabeth in its accuracy. When they played it, chess was slow and cunning at first, but it escalated quickly, neither of them having the patience for drawing it out. Chess was about working through others rather than directly, subterfuge and feints; but, at its heart, it was a game of attrition.
On the whole, Elizabeth would have preferred Texas hold'em- strategic but direct, everyone dependant on the same cards.
Or maybe strip poker.
"Check and mate," she said, some time later.
He smiled, knocking over his king. "Well played," he told her. He glanced at his watch. "It's time for my final inspection. Until we meet again," he said formally, shaking her hand; he looked like he wanted to kiss it instead, and Elizabeth's heart jumped.
And then he got on his spaceship and left her, and it was never not going to be amazing to be able to make statements like that.
--
It didn't hit her until he was long gone, when she was in bed and nearly asleep; she was almost certainly being courted.
She panicked. There was so much she wasn't doing right; they need a chaperone, she needed a whole new wardrobe, there were so many things to consider that she hadn't been. miss anne's voice was screaming in her head again, reminding her what an absolute mess she could be sometimes. Everything else in her fought back against it- this wasn't 1890, and she was a perfectly liberated sub, capable of handling everything on her own.
It was exhausting, but it was still dawn before she finally fell asleep.
--
How it happened was patently ridiculous, completely unexpected, and somehow par for the course as far as life in the Pegasus galaxy went.
"They've got the medicine, we need it," John said hoarsely, and Elizabeth couldn't tell whether it was from the first stages of the sickness or from sheer weariness; he hadn't left the infirmary for more than five minutes since their aborted mission. "They won't talk to you and they won't talk to me. It's Carson or Caldwell, and that's it."
"We can't even spare Carson long enough for a meeting," Lorne reminded them.
"I'll do it," Caldwell said; he didn't sound happy about it, which was somehow reassuring.
"I'm going with you," Elizabeth said firmly.
"Doctor Weir," he said, and he sounded more scandalized than anything. "I don't know if you've considered-"
"I am well aware of the risks and the responsibilities, Colonel," she said over him. "My decision is final."
"With all due respect, Doctor," he replied, and now he was just annoyed, "if anyone's going to accompany me, Colonel Sheppard-"
"I'm sorry, was I somehow unclear?" she snapped. "I'm not sending both the ranking military officers on this mission with no civilian support, and I'm certainly not sending Colonel Sheppard when he's obviously too exhausted to be expected to go."
Caldwell snorted in frustration. "It's your funeral," he said tightly.
Elizabeth stood up from the table; as far as she was concerned, this discussion was over. "It's everyone's funeral if we don't," she said. "I'll meet you in the gateroom in fifteen minutes. Be ready."
She walked briskly back to her room, ignoring the urge to check on every hospital bed that she passed. The door closed behind her, and she fell back against it, rubbing her face with her hands. She had about five minutes to slap on some makeup and find the subbiest clothes she owned.
Today was fucking ridiculous.
There was nothing in her closet that didn't scream "authority figure"; she settled for one of the traditional Athosian garments that Halling had gifted her with and tried not to think about what that said about her perception of the Other- this was no time for grad school flashbacks. She only had a mostly-used tube of lip gloss and an eyeliner pen, but she made do, hoping she looked at least a little bit like she was trying.
She cut it close, but in fifteen minutes she was standing in the gateroom, letting Lorne fit her with a boot holster and a concealed radio. She looked up and her breath caught in her throat; Caldwell had clearly had the same thought process she had, only in the other direction. He wore his full dress uniform, something she didn't even know he had here; it clashed with the bandolier and gun belt he'd clearly borrowed off of Ronon, but the whole thing screamed power.
She kind of wanted to go to her knees already.
The only thing that didn't match was his face, which was drawn and pale; he looked at her with grim determination. "I hope you know what you're doing," he told her.
"Let's all hope I do," she said, sighing.
Lorne withdrew, leaving them alone. The wormhole had already been activated, and they stood looking at it. "Follow me," he said.
"Seven steps behind and one to the right," she said, mostly to herself.
He huffed a laugh. "Didn't expect you to be so old school."
"Shall we?" she said, and he stepped through.
She drew a breath, stepping out of Atlantis and onto Ysildra. It really was a gorgeous place, despite its inhabitants; it was fall, and the leaves of the trees were painted in fiery red and gold. Elizabeth only looked at her surroundings long enough to process exactly how much danger they were in before she snapped her eyes to the ground, keeping Caldwell's heels in her line of sight. It didn't look dangerous here, but she knew it was an illusion; when she'd come here last, warriors had emerged from the tree line, forcing her and John back through the gate.
She heard someone approaching, their footsteps unhurried on the beaten ground. "You people have returned," a voice said- the leader of the community, who had never bothered to give Elizabeth her name.
"I am Colonel Caldwell of Atlantis," he said, his voice hard. "Who am I addressing?"
"Your slave was here unaccompanied," she said, ignoring him. Elizabeth quietly seethed, but a lifetime of reinforcement, positive and negative, had taught her how to keep her head down and her mouth shut.
"My apologies," Caldwell said. "I've dealt with her personally."
"I do hope you used one of our fine veltra canes," she said. "They are renowned for their strength."
"I prefer the whip," he told her, which sounded like it was probably the truth; Elizabeth couldn't decide if she never wanted to cross him or if she wanted to do so at the next opportunity.
"I am Melna," she said, pushing back her hood. "Be welcomed, friend."
"Thank you," Caldwell said. "I'm afraid I have to be blunt, but we need dragsil powder, and we need it as soon as possible."
"Ahh," she said. "We are always happy to trade for this most necessary product." She swept an arm towards the city in the distance. "You will enjoy our hospitality while negotiations proceed."
"Of course," he said, and Elizabeth carefully watched his steps, moving in tandem with him. She hadn't tried for years; it was oddly like dancing, and once she got into the rhythm of it, it was suddenly simple again.
They reached the city and were shown in to a large hall; the design was thoroughly medieval, which was somehow appropriate to this whole mess. "Please, be seated," Melna said, and Caldwell took her up on it, sitting down on the wide, backless chair she offered him.
He snapped and pointed at the floor next to him, and Elizabeth stepped forward. Get on your knees and think of Atlantis, she thought to herself, trying to sink gracefully to the floor. She didn't get so much as a rug, let alone a pillow; she flexed her toes and settled in, ignoring the cold stone beneath her.
"I'll be brief," Caldwell said, waving off their offers of food and wine; Elizabeth was both disappointed and grateful at that- grateful that they weren't wasting more time than strictly necessary, but, despite herself, disappointed that her service wasn't needed. "Our people have been exposed to the sickness."
"It is a sad fate," Melna drawled, not looking the least bit worried about it.
"We're prepared to trade in kind for your goods," he said, holding his hand out for the bag Elizabeth carried. "We have medications-"
She lazily waved a hand at him. "We are known as an unusually healthy people, Colonel Caldwell," she said, "and regrettably, the dragsil harvest was quite thin this year."
"Then I'm willing to negotiate other terms," he said calmly. He put his hand on Elizabeth's shoulder as he spoke; it was shaking, and somehow that made everything okay, just the fact that he knew how much it really, really wasn't, just the fact that she wasn't alone. Elizabeth dared to reach up and put her hand over his; he clenched her shoulder, reassuring both of them without words.
"Your slave is very willful," Melna said disapprovingly.
"She's just spoiled," Caldwell said, jerking his hand away, and even despite all the artifice, it still hurt. Elizabeth's face burned; she bowed her head, trying to look appropriately chastised. She only had to fake it a little bit, and she hated herself for that. This wasn't about her and it wasn't about him; it was only for Atlantis, for her people, and she was painfully aware of that fact. At the same time, she was also painfully aware that this was the most intimate thing she and Caldwell had ever done, the closest they'd ever been; there was a drive inside her to do well, to gain his approval, and there was nothing artificial about it at all.
Unsurprisingly, Caldwell made for a hard negotiator, but they were both well aware that the clock was ticking. They got completely screwed on the trade, giving up far more than they wanted for only a few bags of powder. Elizabeth bit her lip and bore it, because she knew she couldn't have done any better, even if they had deigned to listen to her.
"We accept your terms," Caldwell said, through gritted teeth, when it was finally over. "We'll begin the trade immediately. Come, slave," he snapped, and Elizabeth stood, her heart doing flips and desire coiling in the pit of her stomach; she forced it down, once again following his lead. He didn't mean it, and she wasn't even sure what to do if he did.
She was more than glad to get the hell off of Ysildra and back in command, coordinating the trade from the Atlantis side. It took most of the functional members of the expedition to bring Melna's exorbitant demands through the gate; Elizabeth's heart didn't stop pounding until Caldwell and Lorne stepped through carrying sacks of the precious medication.
Carson and John pulled a last minute Hail Mary; John disabled the city's air purifiers from the control chair while Carson stuffed handfuls of the powder into the air intakes, spreading it to all the sufferers at once. It was stupid and dangerous and ingenious; it shouldn't have worked and it was perfect. No one even had to die, and it was depressing how good of a day that meant it was.
And as soon as he recovered, Rodney was back in the lab. "I'm synthesizing that fucking dragsil," he said bitterly, when Elizabeth went to check on him.
"We will distribute it freely at every market," Teyla said, handing him a beaker. "If their unrealistic demands do not improve, they will no longer be able to hold the health of their trading partners over their heads to reinforce their ridiculous abuses of power."
"What she means is fuck Ysildra," Ronon said.
"Amen to that," John sighed.
"I'll leave you to it, then," she said, suddenly feeling all the day's events rush over her at once. She should have been exhausted, but as she returned to her room, a tense, edgy energy still buzzed inside her.
She settled in with her laptop and waited for Caldwell to come, to put an end to the game they'd been playing all day long. She'd spent the whole day terrified and on point and aching for his touch; she hadn't been imagining the way he'd looked at her, want always there, mixed into all the pain and strife. She waited and waited, trying to anticipate what he'd need from her, how she should approach him. She waited and waited and waited.
And then she went to bed alone.
--
It wasn't easy to ignore Caldwell and what had happened the next day, not when her heart and knees were still aching and Rodney kept running in talking about his experiments with dragsil every half-hour, but Elizabeth managed it anyway. He almost certainly noticed the way she kept avoiding his eyes; it was fine by her, because that was mostly the point.
She got through the whole day like that, the pain starting to fade by degrees. She retired early, content to avoid everyone and nurse her wounds, but, of course, there was a knock on her door not long after she'd come back. She opened the door to find him standing there, just like she'd somehow known she would.
"Colonel," she said stiffly.
"May I come in?" he asked, and, as much as she wanted to say no, she stepped back to let him pass.
"I wanted to apologize for yesterday," he said.
"There's nothing to apologize for," she replied, though she wanted to scream at him instead. "The mission was completely necessary, and I-"
"That's not what I'm sorry for," he said, stepping closer to her, his meaning obvious.
She turned her face away. "You had your chance last night."
When she dared to look back, his face was somber. "There are a lot of things I want to do to you, but taking advantage of you isn't one of them."
"I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions."
"And I'm perfectly capable of helping you make bad ones."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "If you came here just to argue, you can leave."
"I think you know that's not what I came for," he said, and the way his voice dropped made her want to give up and fall to her knees. "Tell me to go, and I'll go."
"I know that you're well aware that it's not that simple," she said. "Even without the potential professional ramifications, there are in-depth negotiations to undertake, most of which I need a witness here for."
He gave her a bemused look. "I'm not planning on collaring you tonight."
She started to speak, but stopped before she could. "I was raised very traditionally."
He smiled. "Did it screw you up as bad as it did me?"
She let out a sigh. "Obviously."
"All I want to do is push you down on that bed and fuck you," he said, stepping into her space. "If that's not what you want, then I probably need to go. We're wasting time either way."
And in the end, it was her that did it, that reached up and pulled his face down so she could kiss him. It didn't take him long to turn the tables on her, lacing his fingers into her hair and holding her close by it. She melted against him, letting him do whatever he wanted to her- and she hoped he wanted everything.
True to his word, he grabbed her by the shoulders and bore her down, pressing her hard against the mattress. It was a little awkward, hanging halfway off the bed like that, but then he took her legs and put them over his shoulders, and Elizabeth kind of forgot to worry about it.
It hurt a little when he pushed into her, but it was so worth it for the way it felt with him buried all the way inside. His cock was big and so hard and when he moved it was even better and something in the back of her head clicked off, something that was always on.
She bit her lip and made choked off noises as he fucked her; she was so used to being perfectly silent that even those whimpers and half-moans sounded loud and so dirty in her ears. His hands were all over her, palming her breasts, curling around her hips, reaching down to stroke her. He hadn't told her not to come, so she decided on the letter over the spirit and did it noisily, arching up off the bed. He didn't seem to mind, if the way he buried his face in her neck and fucked her faster was any indication.
She was practically on the edge again when he pushed into her hard, swearing and groaning, and there was something about it, the way he pulsed inside of her, filling her up, that sent her flying all over again. He leaned down and kissed her desperately, lost somehow.
It was a long time before he pulled himself away from her, standing up. She didn't realize until she was lying there looking at the ceiling that he hadn't given her a single verbal order at all.
She didn't really miss it.
He took her by the wrist, and she let him move her, pulling her further up the bed and against his chest. She curled up, leaning into his hand as he stroked her hair. "If you want this to happen again," he said gently, "it's not always going to be like this. I'm not going to put you on your knees in front of your staff, but I do expect protocol."
"Thank god," Elizabeth said, before she could stop herself. "Old habits die hard," she explained, at his amused smirk.
"You know the cliche: they make it hard so it'll be easy," he said.
"You have no idea," she replied. "Without protocol, it can get very-"
"Complicated?" he offered.
She snorted. "I don't think it could get more complicated than it is already," she pointed out. "I was going to say 'disorienting.'"
He hugged her close. "I can do orientation."
She closed her eyes and nodded. "I'm sure you can."
"Get some rest," he told her, reaching for the blanket and pulling it over her.
"You're going to say something like, 'You're going to need it," aren't you?"
"No, I wasn't," he said, which was clearly a lie.
And there were no bite marks on her neck, no signs at all, but when she looked over at John during the morning meeting, he smiled.
And she was pretty sure Caldwell still thought they were all strange, but she couldn't find it in herself to care.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/336456.html.
comments over there.
Series: born this way
Summary: Training, chess, intergalactic profiteering, and, of course, love.
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Word Count: 4479
Rating/Contents: NC-17, D/s AU, AMTDI (of a sort)
Pairing: Weir/Caldwell
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Even more of the OTT D/s AU. Possibly the last bit, because idk if I have any more ideas for this little verse, except maybe a little of Ronon and Teyla. We will see.
From the ages of thirteen to eighteen, inclusive, Elizabeth spent six hours a week in the care of miss anne and mister jeff at Carraway's Finishing School. Her grandmother- whose age and demeanor suggested to Elizabeth that she had not only known Queen Victoria but thought of her as loose- orchestrated the whole affair, paying what had to be exorbitant fees to keep Elizabeth on the straight and narrow.
It wasn't as if Elizabeth hadn't gotten anything out of the experience. She could run a full tea service, English and Japanese; she was fully qualified as a bootblack; she could negotiate a contract, slave or otherwise; and on a good day, she could kneel for almost all six of those hours and still stand up at the end. The school prided itself on the thoroughness of its curriculum; on a tense, rainy afternoon, she'd even been shown a flogger, the use of which mister jeff had very awkwardly and euphemistically explained.
Unfortunately, it hadn't quite been enough for Elizabeth. It hadn't been enough to stop her from rabbit punching Jen Sanders when she tried to put her hand up Elizabeth's dress on prom night; it hadn't been enough to keep her at home when colleges started making offers, and most importantly, it hadn't convinced her that there was any reason why she shouldn't forget the entire experience and never speak of it again.
But, of course, the damage was already done.
--
Personally, Elizabeth hated the notion of "subs' intuition." It was archaic, the idea that subs were just naturally more in tune with their environment and the emotional states of those around them; even if she hadn't repeatedly seen it not work, Elizabeth would have rejected it on general principle.
Except that when she walked into the conference room for the morning meeting, there was something different, something she couldn't put her finger on or a name to, something that stuck in the back of her mind as she brought her staff to order.
"Doctor McKay," she said, shuffling her notes in front of her. "Why don't you start us off?"
"Thank you, Doctor Weir," he said, standing in front of his whiteboard. "We've made some significant advancements in the last few days, ones that will be vital to our continued struggle to not die horribly. I've sent you all an email about most of this, but since no one ever reads my emails, I'll just start from the beginning, hmm?"
Elizabeth was as attentive as always, but after ten or fifteen minutes of Rodney's lecturing, even her concentration flagged. She looked around, gauging the temperature of the room. Teyla's attention was fixed on Rodney, but she was drumming her fingers on her knee under the table, a habit she'd almost certainly picked up from Rodney himself; Ronon was openly working on his latest macrame project; Caldwell sat with his arms crossed, two fingers against his temple, and he rolled his eyes upward in annoyance when Lorne looked over at him.
John was right beside her, looking towards Rodney and playing with his pen; as he turned his head, the collar of his shirt rode down just enough for her to see the bite mark on his throat. He caught her watching when he looked back; he gave her a secretive smile, one that could only mean he'd won.
She was happy for him, but it stung at the same time, the idea that she really was alone in this. She couldn't articulate it, why things were different now that John had someone around to bite him on the neck, but they really, really were.
Caldwell clearly noticed their wordless interaction; his face held the "Why are these Lanteans so fucking strange" expression that it usually did during staff meetings. Elizabeth tried not to look at him apologetically, instead giving him a look that hopefully said nothing at all.
"And that's how we know the Earth to be banana shaped," Rodney concluded, snapping her out of it.
"Rodney, what are you on about?" Carson asked, baffled.
"Give the good doctor a prize," Rodney said, pointing at him, "because he is the only person at the table paying attention to me."
"Of course we're paying attention, Rodney," John said, in a placating voice.
"Oh?" he said snippily. "Then what was I talking about?"
John looked at him like a deer in the headlights. "You were explaining, uh, that the cooling system in the current generators is inadequate, but you've got a new plan for improved heat sinks."
"And after that I was talking about?" Rodney coached.
"Um," John said, looking at Elizabeth for support.
"The weather," Elizabeth said, trying to sound confident; there had been something in there about clouds and atmospheric effects, hadn't there?
Rodney looked down at his notes. "Yes, actually," he said, looking a little shocked. "But my point still stands. Stop making eyes at each other, or so help me god I will make this meeting last until midnight."
"I think we've all heard enough, Doctor McKay," Caldwell said, displaying his usual attitude towards anything Rodney had to say. Elizabeth had a sinking feeling that, now that John and Rodney were doing whatever it was that Elizabeth was going to officially pretend to ignore, it would only get worse between the two of them; she didn't envy John, not when he'd be getting orders from both sides.
As predicted, Rodney looked incredibly indignant; Elizabeth took advantage of his wordless rage to break it up. "Speaking of the weather, Carson, didn't you have some observations about the coming rainy season and its impact on the city's health?"
Carson looked pleased to be remembered. "That I do, actually." As he launched into his spiel, Rodney sat down, looking daggers at Caldwell before turning his attention to the doctor. John looked between Caldwell and Rodney for a long moment, his lips pursed and his expression unhappy; that lasted until Rodney rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers in John's face and pointing at Carson.
That was the moment that Elizabeth realized she really didn't have to ignore or excuse anything they did; Rodney had been bossing them all around for so long that it barely even registered as toppy.
After some input from the military contingent, the meeting broke up. "My crew is just finishing preparations for takeoff," Caldwell told her. "We'll be ready to go at 1300 hours, as scheduled." He grinned, in that secretive way of his that never failed to do something to her. "I thought, before I left-"
"If everything is in order, I don't see the harm in taking an early lunch," she said.
"Meet you in the mess in twenty?"
She smiled. "You're on."
There was food, but it wasn't the point. The point was the board between them, the pieces arrayed carefully, waiting for their orders.
Elizabeth stretched, getting her head in the game. "Age before beauty?" she suggested, smirking.
He rolled his eyes. "Go ahead and start." She carefully considered her options before moving a pawn forward. "Bird's Opening?" he remarked.
She shrugged playfully. "I feel lucky today."
He moved in response. "We'll see about that."
Their whole relationship was, more or less, like a chess game; the analogy kind of bothered Elizabeth in its accuracy. When they played it, chess was slow and cunning at first, but it escalated quickly, neither of them having the patience for drawing it out. Chess was about working through others rather than directly, subterfuge and feints; but, at its heart, it was a game of attrition.
On the whole, Elizabeth would have preferred Texas hold'em- strategic but direct, everyone dependant on the same cards.
Or maybe strip poker.
"Check and mate," she said, some time later.
He smiled, knocking over his king. "Well played," he told her. He glanced at his watch. "It's time for my final inspection. Until we meet again," he said formally, shaking her hand; he looked like he wanted to kiss it instead, and Elizabeth's heart jumped.
And then he got on his spaceship and left her, and it was never not going to be amazing to be able to make statements like that.
--
It didn't hit her until he was long gone, when she was in bed and nearly asleep; she was almost certainly being courted.
She panicked. There was so much she wasn't doing right; they need a chaperone, she needed a whole new wardrobe, there were so many things to consider that she hadn't been. miss anne's voice was screaming in her head again, reminding her what an absolute mess she could be sometimes. Everything else in her fought back against it- this wasn't 1890, and she was a perfectly liberated sub, capable of handling everything on her own.
It was exhausting, but it was still dawn before she finally fell asleep.
--
How it happened was patently ridiculous, completely unexpected, and somehow par for the course as far as life in the Pegasus galaxy went.
"They've got the medicine, we need it," John said hoarsely, and Elizabeth couldn't tell whether it was from the first stages of the sickness or from sheer weariness; he hadn't left the infirmary for more than five minutes since their aborted mission. "They won't talk to you and they won't talk to me. It's Carson or Caldwell, and that's it."
"We can't even spare Carson long enough for a meeting," Lorne reminded them.
"I'll do it," Caldwell said; he didn't sound happy about it, which was somehow reassuring.
"I'm going with you," Elizabeth said firmly.
"Doctor Weir," he said, and he sounded more scandalized than anything. "I don't know if you've considered-"
"I am well aware of the risks and the responsibilities, Colonel," she said over him. "My decision is final."
"With all due respect, Doctor," he replied, and now he was just annoyed, "if anyone's going to accompany me, Colonel Sheppard-"
"I'm sorry, was I somehow unclear?" she snapped. "I'm not sending both the ranking military officers on this mission with no civilian support, and I'm certainly not sending Colonel Sheppard when he's obviously too exhausted to be expected to go."
Caldwell snorted in frustration. "It's your funeral," he said tightly.
Elizabeth stood up from the table; as far as she was concerned, this discussion was over. "It's everyone's funeral if we don't," she said. "I'll meet you in the gateroom in fifteen minutes. Be ready."
She walked briskly back to her room, ignoring the urge to check on every hospital bed that she passed. The door closed behind her, and she fell back against it, rubbing her face with her hands. She had about five minutes to slap on some makeup and find the subbiest clothes she owned.
Today was fucking ridiculous.
There was nothing in her closet that didn't scream "authority figure"; she settled for one of the traditional Athosian garments that Halling had gifted her with and tried not to think about what that said about her perception of the Other- this was no time for grad school flashbacks. She only had a mostly-used tube of lip gloss and an eyeliner pen, but she made do, hoping she looked at least a little bit like she was trying.
She cut it close, but in fifteen minutes she was standing in the gateroom, letting Lorne fit her with a boot holster and a concealed radio. She looked up and her breath caught in her throat; Caldwell had clearly had the same thought process she had, only in the other direction. He wore his full dress uniform, something she didn't even know he had here; it clashed with the bandolier and gun belt he'd clearly borrowed off of Ronon, but the whole thing screamed power.
She kind of wanted to go to her knees already.
The only thing that didn't match was his face, which was drawn and pale; he looked at her with grim determination. "I hope you know what you're doing," he told her.
"Let's all hope I do," she said, sighing.
Lorne withdrew, leaving them alone. The wormhole had already been activated, and they stood looking at it. "Follow me," he said.
"Seven steps behind and one to the right," she said, mostly to herself.
He huffed a laugh. "Didn't expect you to be so old school."
"Shall we?" she said, and he stepped through.
She drew a breath, stepping out of Atlantis and onto Ysildra. It really was a gorgeous place, despite its inhabitants; it was fall, and the leaves of the trees were painted in fiery red and gold. Elizabeth only looked at her surroundings long enough to process exactly how much danger they were in before she snapped her eyes to the ground, keeping Caldwell's heels in her line of sight. It didn't look dangerous here, but she knew it was an illusion; when she'd come here last, warriors had emerged from the tree line, forcing her and John back through the gate.
She heard someone approaching, their footsteps unhurried on the beaten ground. "You people have returned," a voice said- the leader of the community, who had never bothered to give Elizabeth her name.
"I am Colonel Caldwell of Atlantis," he said, his voice hard. "Who am I addressing?"
"Your slave was here unaccompanied," she said, ignoring him. Elizabeth quietly seethed, but a lifetime of reinforcement, positive and negative, had taught her how to keep her head down and her mouth shut.
"My apologies," Caldwell said. "I've dealt with her personally."
"I do hope you used one of our fine veltra canes," she said. "They are renowned for their strength."
"I prefer the whip," he told her, which sounded like it was probably the truth; Elizabeth couldn't decide if she never wanted to cross him or if she wanted to do so at the next opportunity.
"I am Melna," she said, pushing back her hood. "Be welcomed, friend."
"Thank you," Caldwell said. "I'm afraid I have to be blunt, but we need dragsil powder, and we need it as soon as possible."
"Ahh," she said. "We are always happy to trade for this most necessary product." She swept an arm towards the city in the distance. "You will enjoy our hospitality while negotiations proceed."
"Of course," he said, and Elizabeth carefully watched his steps, moving in tandem with him. She hadn't tried for years; it was oddly like dancing, and once she got into the rhythm of it, it was suddenly simple again.
They reached the city and were shown in to a large hall; the design was thoroughly medieval, which was somehow appropriate to this whole mess. "Please, be seated," Melna said, and Caldwell took her up on it, sitting down on the wide, backless chair she offered him.
He snapped and pointed at the floor next to him, and Elizabeth stepped forward. Get on your knees and think of Atlantis, she thought to herself, trying to sink gracefully to the floor. She didn't get so much as a rug, let alone a pillow; she flexed her toes and settled in, ignoring the cold stone beneath her.
"I'll be brief," Caldwell said, waving off their offers of food and wine; Elizabeth was both disappointed and grateful at that- grateful that they weren't wasting more time than strictly necessary, but, despite herself, disappointed that her service wasn't needed. "Our people have been exposed to the sickness."
"It is a sad fate," Melna drawled, not looking the least bit worried about it.
"We're prepared to trade in kind for your goods," he said, holding his hand out for the bag Elizabeth carried. "We have medications-"
She lazily waved a hand at him. "We are known as an unusually healthy people, Colonel Caldwell," she said, "and regrettably, the dragsil harvest was quite thin this year."
"Then I'm willing to negotiate other terms," he said calmly. He put his hand on Elizabeth's shoulder as he spoke; it was shaking, and somehow that made everything okay, just the fact that he knew how much it really, really wasn't, just the fact that she wasn't alone. Elizabeth dared to reach up and put her hand over his; he clenched her shoulder, reassuring both of them without words.
"Your slave is very willful," Melna said disapprovingly.
"She's just spoiled," Caldwell said, jerking his hand away, and even despite all the artifice, it still hurt. Elizabeth's face burned; she bowed her head, trying to look appropriately chastised. She only had to fake it a little bit, and she hated herself for that. This wasn't about her and it wasn't about him; it was only for Atlantis, for her people, and she was painfully aware of that fact. At the same time, she was also painfully aware that this was the most intimate thing she and Caldwell had ever done, the closest they'd ever been; there was a drive inside her to do well, to gain his approval, and there was nothing artificial about it at all.
Unsurprisingly, Caldwell made for a hard negotiator, but they were both well aware that the clock was ticking. They got completely screwed on the trade, giving up far more than they wanted for only a few bags of powder. Elizabeth bit her lip and bore it, because she knew she couldn't have done any better, even if they had deigned to listen to her.
"We accept your terms," Caldwell said, through gritted teeth, when it was finally over. "We'll begin the trade immediately. Come, slave," he snapped, and Elizabeth stood, her heart doing flips and desire coiling in the pit of her stomach; she forced it down, once again following his lead. He didn't mean it, and she wasn't even sure what to do if he did.
She was more than glad to get the hell off of Ysildra and back in command, coordinating the trade from the Atlantis side. It took most of the functional members of the expedition to bring Melna's exorbitant demands through the gate; Elizabeth's heart didn't stop pounding until Caldwell and Lorne stepped through carrying sacks of the precious medication.
Carson and John pulled a last minute Hail Mary; John disabled the city's air purifiers from the control chair while Carson stuffed handfuls of the powder into the air intakes, spreading it to all the sufferers at once. It was stupid and dangerous and ingenious; it shouldn't have worked and it was perfect. No one even had to die, and it was depressing how good of a day that meant it was.
And as soon as he recovered, Rodney was back in the lab. "I'm synthesizing that fucking dragsil," he said bitterly, when Elizabeth went to check on him.
"We will distribute it freely at every market," Teyla said, handing him a beaker. "If their unrealistic demands do not improve, they will no longer be able to hold the health of their trading partners over their heads to reinforce their ridiculous abuses of power."
"What she means is fuck Ysildra," Ronon said.
"Amen to that," John sighed.
"I'll leave you to it, then," she said, suddenly feeling all the day's events rush over her at once. She should have been exhausted, but as she returned to her room, a tense, edgy energy still buzzed inside her.
She settled in with her laptop and waited for Caldwell to come, to put an end to the game they'd been playing all day long. She'd spent the whole day terrified and on point and aching for his touch; she hadn't been imagining the way he'd looked at her, want always there, mixed into all the pain and strife. She waited and waited, trying to anticipate what he'd need from her, how she should approach him. She waited and waited and waited.
And then she went to bed alone.
--
It wasn't easy to ignore Caldwell and what had happened the next day, not when her heart and knees were still aching and Rodney kept running in talking about his experiments with dragsil every half-hour, but Elizabeth managed it anyway. He almost certainly noticed the way she kept avoiding his eyes; it was fine by her, because that was mostly the point.
She got through the whole day like that, the pain starting to fade by degrees. She retired early, content to avoid everyone and nurse her wounds, but, of course, there was a knock on her door not long after she'd come back. She opened the door to find him standing there, just like she'd somehow known she would.
"Colonel," she said stiffly.
"May I come in?" he asked, and, as much as she wanted to say no, she stepped back to let him pass.
"I wanted to apologize for yesterday," he said.
"There's nothing to apologize for," she replied, though she wanted to scream at him instead. "The mission was completely necessary, and I-"
"That's not what I'm sorry for," he said, stepping closer to her, his meaning obvious.
She turned her face away. "You had your chance last night."
When she dared to look back, his face was somber. "There are a lot of things I want to do to you, but taking advantage of you isn't one of them."
"I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions."
"And I'm perfectly capable of helping you make bad ones."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "If you came here just to argue, you can leave."
"I think you know that's not what I came for," he said, and the way his voice dropped made her want to give up and fall to her knees. "Tell me to go, and I'll go."
"I know that you're well aware that it's not that simple," she said. "Even without the potential professional ramifications, there are in-depth negotiations to undertake, most of which I need a witness here for."
He gave her a bemused look. "I'm not planning on collaring you tonight."
She started to speak, but stopped before she could. "I was raised very traditionally."
He smiled. "Did it screw you up as bad as it did me?"
She let out a sigh. "Obviously."
"All I want to do is push you down on that bed and fuck you," he said, stepping into her space. "If that's not what you want, then I probably need to go. We're wasting time either way."
And in the end, it was her that did it, that reached up and pulled his face down so she could kiss him. It didn't take him long to turn the tables on her, lacing his fingers into her hair and holding her close by it. She melted against him, letting him do whatever he wanted to her- and she hoped he wanted everything.
True to his word, he grabbed her by the shoulders and bore her down, pressing her hard against the mattress. It was a little awkward, hanging halfway off the bed like that, but then he took her legs and put them over his shoulders, and Elizabeth kind of forgot to worry about it.
It hurt a little when he pushed into her, but it was so worth it for the way it felt with him buried all the way inside. His cock was big and so hard and when he moved it was even better and something in the back of her head clicked off, something that was always on.
She bit her lip and made choked off noises as he fucked her; she was so used to being perfectly silent that even those whimpers and half-moans sounded loud and so dirty in her ears. His hands were all over her, palming her breasts, curling around her hips, reaching down to stroke her. He hadn't told her not to come, so she decided on the letter over the spirit and did it noisily, arching up off the bed. He didn't seem to mind, if the way he buried his face in her neck and fucked her faster was any indication.
She was practically on the edge again when he pushed into her hard, swearing and groaning, and there was something about it, the way he pulsed inside of her, filling her up, that sent her flying all over again. He leaned down and kissed her desperately, lost somehow.
It was a long time before he pulled himself away from her, standing up. She didn't realize until she was lying there looking at the ceiling that he hadn't given her a single verbal order at all.
She didn't really miss it.
He took her by the wrist, and she let him move her, pulling her further up the bed and against his chest. She curled up, leaning into his hand as he stroked her hair. "If you want this to happen again," he said gently, "it's not always going to be like this. I'm not going to put you on your knees in front of your staff, but I do expect protocol."
"Thank god," Elizabeth said, before she could stop herself. "Old habits die hard," she explained, at his amused smirk.
"You know the cliche: they make it hard so it'll be easy," he said.
"You have no idea," she replied. "Without protocol, it can get very-"
"Complicated?" he offered.
She snorted. "I don't think it could get more complicated than it is already," she pointed out. "I was going to say 'disorienting.'"
He hugged her close. "I can do orientation."
She closed her eyes and nodded. "I'm sure you can."
"Get some rest," he told her, reaching for the blanket and pulling it over her.
"You're going to say something like, 'You're going to need it," aren't you?"
"No, I wasn't," he said, which was clearly a lie.
And there were no bite marks on her neck, no signs at all, but when she looked over at John during the morning meeting, he smiled.
And she was pretty sure Caldwell still thought they were all strange, but she couldn't find it in herself to care.
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