[stargate: atlantis fic] Five Shore Leaves John and Elizabeth Take (1/2), pg13
five shore leaves john and elizabeth take by krisrussel and hihoplastic
- stargate: atlantis
- john/elizabeth, rodney
- 11200 (4200 this section)
- pg13
- for bigdamnxenafan. because we'll always have baltimore. ♥
- an: parts I and II were written by krisrussel! you can leave feedback for her here, or if you like, at her post here (link pending). parts III-V were written by hihoplastic.
I. The one in which John is a poster-boy, Jack plays cupid, and dares are not always kosher.
"I can't believe you convinced me to join you," John huffs as he sits down next to Elizabeth in the limousine.
She gives him a smile. "The one time we're on Earth during an official presidential dinner, we really can't decline the invite."
"I agree. But your invite stated 'Dr. Weir and guest', not 'Dr. Weir and Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard'. You could have dragged Rodney along; I'm sure he would have loved all the free food."
"And listen to him whine all evening about there maybe being citrus in something? No, thank you."
"Ok...you could have brought Teyla along."
"And how would I have explained it to someone when she asks what, oh, I don't know, Starbucks is?"
"General O'Neill?"
"And talk about The Simpsons and beer all evening? I don't think so. Besides, Jack got his own invite."
"Colonel Carter?"
"She's not on Earth."
"Dr. Jackson?"
"He's not in the country."
"Colonel Mitchell?"
"John!" Her voice cuts him off and he casts his eyes away from her. "I prefer your company for tonight."
His eyes slowly travel back to her face and he sees the light blush on her cheeks. "Oh..."
She huffs and rolls her eyes. "Don't get your hopes up, flyboy."
Slightly grinning, he shrugs and takes the jar holding the nuts, presenting it to her before grabbing a few himself.
Taking a couple of nuts in her hand, she gives him a look. "Just promise me you'll behave."
He gives her a small smile. "I'll be an Air Force posterboy."
Laughing, she shakes her head. "You'll never be able to keep that up for very long." The moment she says it, she knows she'll regret it.
"That sounds like a dare, dear Doctor."
But she isn't about to back down. "If it'll keep you on your best behavior, you're on."
He grins and holds out his hand. "If I win, I get to take you somewhere of my choosing."
She takes his hand. "And if I win, you're on kitchen duty for two weeks."
"You're on." His grin grows and they shake hands.
--
Crap. She is losing. Badly.
John is behaving like the picture-perfect poster-boy. Standing straight all evening, getting them drinks, keeping in the background during a conversation and only talking when he's been asked a direct question. Elizabeth can barely believe he's kept up the act for so long. But he has, unwavering.
"Elizabeth!"
"Jack." She smiles and briefly hugs the General. "You're late."
"Stuff was up at the SGC. Nothing important though," he explains briefly and turns to John. "Sheppard."
John stands at attention and curtly salutes. "Sir."
Jack eyes the younger man warily - "At ease, Colonel." - and turns back to Elizabeth. "What's up with him?"
"Let's just say that I'm losing a bet."
"Ah."
--
"Dr. Weir, it's been too long."
"Mr. President." She smiles and shake hands with the most important man in the room and then turns to John. "This is Colonel Sheppard."
John stands at attention and the president waves it off. "At ease, son. I've heard a lot of good things about you."
"Thank you, sir."
"Doctor, I've heard the IOA is giving you trouble again."
She shrugs. "Nothing I can't handle."
"Never doubted that for a second. And believe me, if it was up to me, you and the Colonel here, would be leading the expedition for as long as you seem fit."
John sees her stance change. No one else would have noticed, but he knows her well enough. She seems to stand up more proud than before.
"Thank you. That means a lot to us."
"It does, sir," John agrees.
--
Elizabeth nearly topples over when they walk towards the dinner table and John pulls her chair back.
"Thank you," she says, surprised, and as she sits down he pushes her chair under the table.
Sitting down next to her, he gives her a small grin. "Just being the perfect poster-boy. I'm winning for the moment, aren't I?"
Even though she wants to glare at him, she settles for a mild smile. "For now. Yes. But I know you, Colonel. You won't be able to keep this up all night."
"We already have a bet riding on this. No need to bury yourself in deeper."
She gives him a look and he smiles innocently.
--
After dinner, the party moves back into the bigger hall where a small band is playing live music. Several couples pair off and start swaying on the dance floor.
"I'll get us something to drink," John says, and Elizabeth gives him a nod.
While he's waiting for their drinks, Jack comes and stands next to him. "A true Air Force poster-boy would ask his date to dance."
"This isn't a date, sir."
"Riiiiiight...and Homer Simpson doesn't like beer."
"No sir, he loves it."
Jack gives the younger man a grin. "Good one, Sheppard."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now ask her to dance."
John accepts the drinks from the bartender and gives Jack a long serious look.
"Yes, sir."
--
Elizabeth tries to hide her nervousness as John guides her to the dance floor. The fact that he had asked her in the first place is unnerving her, and the fact that they're now on the dance floor and he has gently wrapped his arms around her, almost takes her breath away. It's the way he's touching her, gently and with so much care, that makes her involuntary wonder if he'd be the same kind of lover. She knows the thought is making her blush, so she turns her face away from him and rest her head on his shoulder. The action makes him hold her closer and she closes her eyes, reveling in the comfort of his arms.
She has no idea how long they stay on the dance floor, wrapped in each other's arms, slowly swaying to the music. But when the music picks up a beat, she reluctantly loosens her grip on him, knowing their slow rhythm would be in contrast to the quicker beat. When she looks up at his face, her breath catches for a second at the intense look of longing in his eyes. For a second they simply stare at each other, conveying emotions that make them both breathless.
--
She barely remembers how they get off the dance floor, let alone back in the limousine. But the entire trek back to their hotel, she feels his eyes on her, almost boring into her. And it makes her think of possibilities. Possibilities she knows she isn't supposed to think about. Not with him; especially not with him.
When they arrive at the hotel, not a word has been said between them yet, not since he had asked her to dance. He follows her to the elevators and to her floor and when they arrived at her door, she turns to him.
"John..."
"I know," he whispers. "I just..."
"I know," she replies softly.
For a moment they just look at each other and when he licks his lips, her eyes slightly widen.
"I should get inside," she whispers, and he nods.
"I'll see you at breakfast."
"Nine?"
He nods again. "And after that I'm taking you along to something I like."
She slightly smiles. "You did win the bet fair and square."
Grinning, he turns, but her hand that suddenly lands on his arm stops him in mid-movement, so he looks back at her. Taking a step toward him, she leans in closer and gently kisses his cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful evening."
The warmth of her breath caressing his cheek makes him close his eyes and swallow.
She steps away from him and he gives her a single nod.
"Always."
II. The one in which John is actually seventeen, Elizabeth thinks it's adorable, and subtext becomes text-text (finally).
"Really? This was the best you could come up with?"
John gives her a non-offended glare. "Oh, don't be like that. You'll love it."
"No, you'll love it. I'll just be bored."
"I'll keep you entertained." He grins and she rolls her eyes.
Extending his hand to her, he wiggles his fingers. "Come on."
She sighs, but puts her hand in his, ignoring the warm feeling the touch gives her. "Lead the way."
His grin grows as he drags her through the crowd towards the nearest plane that's on display at the air-show.
--
Elizabeth can't help but giggle at the way John is gaping.
"A Sea Hurricane," he breathes as his eyes roam over the old fighter plane.
"Sea Hurricane?" Elizabeth asks, and John nods.
"This was a very popular plane during the second World War, but was largely overshadowed by the Supermarine by the time the war was in full force. But this beauty...this beauty..."
Elizabeth looks amused. "Yes?"
"It looks amazing," he breathes, his voice filled with awe.
"You know you're drooling, right?"
"It's the Sea Hurricane! These were adapted from the original Hawker Hurricane to be deployed on ships. I think this is one of the only ones left. Hawker Hurricanes are much more common, but Sea Hurricanes..." He gapes again as his eyes roam over the plane. "I never thought I would get to see one with my own two eyes."
The plane means nothing to her...scraps of metal, wire, and leather. But seeing him, the relaxed, happy expression on his face, she wishes she could see what he sees. So she smiles, teases him, asks him indulgent questions and lets herself catch his contagious excitement. Eventually though, her boredom wins out over her amusement.
"And how long are you going to drool here, or should I find a way to entertain myself?" The tone in her voice is telling and in barely a flash his eyes are on her, roaming over her instead of the plane and they both swallow at the intense look that is suddenly on both their faces.
"I just euhm..." He clears his throat. "I just need to take a few pictures and then it's time for the air-show itself."
"Alright, you go have fun with that."
He grins, takes out his digital camera, and takes a couple of shots of the plane. Then he turns to her and aims the camera her way.
"John!" She laughs as he takes a few pictures. "You know I don't like it when people take pictures of me."
"I know." He smiles and thinks she looks beautiful. He wants to capture that. The simple blue jeans and light-blue shirt make her look stunning.
At that moment the speaker announces the first planes that are ready for lift-off and suddenly he looks like a kid in a candy store again as he takes her hand and drags her along for a better view.
--
It's hours later when the last plane touches down, and luckily he's managed to keep her boredom away by spouting random facts and interesting stories about the planes in the sky. Then Elizabeth suddenly realizes John hadn't let go of her hand yet, and that thought gives her an unexpected warm feeling, but the most unexpected is the sudden feeling of belonging and of how it just feels right.
"There's a Ferris wheel," he says, and brings her out of her thoughts. The grin is back on his face and she can't help but smile at that.
"Lead the way," she says, and he gently tugs her hand and she follows him without hesitation.
--
"It's beautiful up here," she says in awe as she looks at Washington DC, laying in the distance.
"It really is," he agrees, but she can feel that his eyes are on her when he says it and that warm feeling fills her again.
She turns to him with a look of seriousness and determination on her face.
"John..."
"I know..." he assures her.
The look on her face softens and she takes his arm, drapes it over her shoulder and leans against his chest. She can feel his breathing hitch and his heartbeat go faster.
"Why does it have to be so difficult?" she wonders out loud.
He shrugs. "It makes life more interesting."
She smiles at that. "It sure does."
"Now just enjoy the view," he says, and gently kisses the top of her head.
She shivers at the feeling and pushes herself deeper into him, softly tracing the hand and arm that are draped over her shoulder. "I am."
It surprises her how suddenly her life feels complete.
III. The one in which Elizabeth is stressed, John hates parties, and the little black dress had nothing to do with it.
John is anything but thrilled.
She promised them - promised him - that they wouldn't get stuck going to Atlantis' latest shindig. No suits, she'd promised him, no ties. The party was strictly voluntary, thrown in "honor" of their Earth-guests - the Russian Ambassador, liaisons from China, Japan, and Germany, and three senior members of the IOA - and she was certain that enough Atlantis members would be there for the Athosian gin that he'd be able to stay away.
It was about politics, she had promised, and the military could stay home.
Now, an hour before the party, he's shining his shoes with a towel glaring at the dress blues laid out on the bed. Rodney is sitting in his only chair, complaining and cursing and futzing with his tie.
"It's ridiculous. What possible purpose could we serve there? It's just going to be schmoozing and making goo-goo eyes at bureaucrats. That's Elizabeth's job."
"Maybe she just needs the support."
Rodney scoffs. "Please. She could pick these people apart with her pinkie fingernail."
John raises an eye at the analogy, but doesn't disagree. He's about to input his own complaint when his comm chirps.
"John, can you come to my quarters for a minute? I need to discuss something with you before the party."
Rodney snorts and John takes a deep breath. "Sure. I'll be right there."
--
John barely has time to wave his hand in front of the chime before the door opens. He sees a flash of Elizabeth before she disappears into the bathroom, apologizing. "Just a second," she calls. "You can sit down if you want."
John frowns and steps a few feet into her room. Her work clothes are draped over the side of the bed and there's a small jewelry box sitting next to them, and a pair of modestly-high heels lying next to that.
John clears his throat awkwardly and tries not to look around too much. "So, uh, what's up?"
"What?"
John rolls his eyes. "You wanted to talk to me about something."
"Oh," she says, "No, that was just an excuse. I figured you were with Rodney, complaining about having to attend."
"We weren't-" he tries, but Elizabeth chooses that moment to step out of the bathroom, and all thoughts die on the spot. Instead of her usual red shirt/black pants ensemble, or even her dress shirt and jacket/black pants outfit, she's wearing a sleek, black dress that shows most of her shoulders and a lot of leg.
John tries - really, he does - not to stare too much or too obviously, but it's Elizabeth in a dress - a tiny dress - who seems, as far as he can tell with his brain running at barely half, completely oblivious to his open-mouthed and wide-eyed expression. Which makes it worse.
Somehow, he manages to close his mouth and look semi-normal before she turns her attention to him.
"I need your help," she says. There's a pause. John makes what he hopes is a yes, and? face (though he doesn't see how it isn't bordering dangerously on his, I want you to take your clothes off right now face) and Elizabeth takes a deep breath, turns and asks: "Does this look slutty to you?"
John almost chokes. "What?"
"This dress," she says, ducking her head momentarily. She turns back to the mirror, worrying her lip between her teeth and adjusting the straps. "It's not too..." she trails off.
John doesn't even know where to start. "It's, uh...it's nice?"
Elizabeth glares at him over her shoulder.
John scrambles. "I'm not really sure what-"
"Is it too low?"
"Low?" he repeats.
"Yes, John, low," she huffs. "In the front."
John opens and closes his mouth and does everything in his power to keep his eyes on her face. "What? No."
"You're not even looking."
"Of course I'm not-" he starts to defend, but she groans and he frowns and sneaks a quick look at her chest. She doesn't notice. She's turned her attention back to the mirror as she struggles into her high-heels, holding onto the edge of the bed and balancing on one foot.
Once both shoes are on, she continues to ignore him, running fingers through her hair and fixing her dress again. He's never seen her look so uncomfortable.
"Do you always freak out this much before parties?" he asks, wincing even as the words leave his mouth.
Elizabeth doesn't even seem to notice his awkwardness. "Parties for people who essentially hold the deeds to Atlantis?" she mutters, trying to keep an errant strand of hair from falling in her face. "
John frowns. "Deeds?"
If he weren't watching her so closely, he'd never have notice the way she faltered, hands hesitating for just a moment, spine straightening, breathing hitch.
"Elizabeth," he says softly, "what's going on?"
She turns to him with a fake smile. "Nothing," she dismisses. "Thank you; I'll be out in a few minutes."
The words are rushed, and John's worry mounts. He grabs her arm before she can turn away again. "Hey."
He can see the protest, the excuse, form on the tip of her tongue, and raises an eyebrow to intercept. Elizabeth sighs and drops her arms to her sides; John reluctantly lets go.
"It's an evaluation," she says finally.
"Of what?"
Pause. She turns away.
"Me."
John's throat catches. He should have seen this coming. He knew she'd been under a lot of pressure, even more so than usual, but the pieces never clicked. The Ambassador, the liaisons, the IOA, her sudden insistence that senior staff attend the gala, and now this--asking him if her dress gives the impression that she's easy. John shakes his head. Stubborn, he thinks; she should have just told them.
"Damn," she curses, "I'm late."
John steps closer and takes the necklace she's been struggling with. "Here," he offers, "Let me."
Elizabeth eyes him warily, but nods and moves her hair, letting him slip the necklace around her neck, fingers brushing against her skin. She tries not to shiver, and John tries not to let his touch linger too long. Even still, he hesitates to step away, unable to tear his eyes away from the delicate clasp at the nape of her neck, terrified to meet her gaze, to see what she's thinking.
The moment passes too soon, and she steps away and clears her throat quietly. "Thank you."
He nods.
"You'll be there soon?"
"Just have to change."
She offers a small smile, grabs a thin sweater from off the bed and heads for the door.
"Elizabeth," he manages finally. "You, uh, you look perfect."
Her eyes widen slightly. Then her expression softens, and she offers him a grateful smile before she goes.
--
He's never been so bored in his entire life. On the one hand, he figures this is pretty good payback for seven hours at an air-show; on the other, he's fairly convinced even the Genii have more entertaining forms of punishment.
Sighing, he spares a glance at Rodney, who appears to have been saved by the buffet table, and then at Teyla, who has managed to engage one of the liaisons in conversation. Ronon is lurking in a far corner on "security detail", and Elizabeth is smiling brilliantly at the Russian Ambassador.
He can't hear what they're saying from across the room, but he watches her, transfixed on the way her hands flutter occasionally; on her expression. Her smile appears genuine, but he can read the tiredness, the worry. He wishes, not for the first time, that he could help; that he could make her smile for real; for him. He thinks back to the air-show, to the photograph he keeps in the back of his dresser drawer. He thinks back to the way she felt in his arms, swaying softly to the music, her hand clasped in his. He thinks back to the moments he's almost lost her, and something, some previously hidden puzzle piece, suddenly slides into home.
He doesn't ask her to dance. Doesn't try to insinuate himself into any conversation; doesn't get jealous when they pass her around the dance floor; when she laughs at their jokes or listens to their monologues like they're the most fascinating things she's ever heard.
Instead he waits, quiet, observant, for the night to end and the bureaucrats to retire one by one. He waits for the music to die down, for the Control Room to be picked up; he wants until after Lorne's status report and Rodney's tirade about how no one understands theoretical physics; he waits, and all the time he knows that she sees him, knows that she knows that he's been watching her.
He stands by her side as she bids farewell to their guests, watching closely as she exhales once the Daedalus has finally beamed them up.
"Well?" he asks gently, brushing his hand against hers.
Elizabeth inhales shakily, and forces herself to breath out slowly, and meet his gaze. With a tired smile, she nods.
--
She's still wearing her dress when she answers the door.
"Hey." He smiles.
She nods. "Hey," she murmurs, stepping away from the door to let him in. John follows her hesitantly, watching as she removes her jewelry and places it gently in a small, silver box. He tries not to, but he can't stop himself from lingering over her pale, bare skin; slender shoulders, long legs, bare feet. He tears his eyes back to her face, but she hasn't noticed.
"You okay?" he asks, resisting the urge to shove his hands in his pockets.
Elizabeth nods and flashes him a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Thank you," she says instead, tired and sincere. "For your support out there." She waves a hand toward the door.
John nods. "Anytime."
A silence lingers, slightly awkward; hesitant.
"Did you need something?" she asks finally, but he isn't listening, not really. He's wondering--thinking dangerous thoughts like, maybe and what if and almost… "John?"
"What would you do if I kissed you right now?"
Elizabeth's eyes widen. "What?" she asks dumbly. John tries to form the words again, but his throat is dry. He stares and she stares back; all the communication they've ever needed. "We can't," she says, quiet but firm.
John shakes his head. "They know you're the only one who can do this job. You're the only one who belongs here."
"That doesn't change anything," she protests.
He takes a step forward. "It changes a lot."
"John…" She meets his gaze. "Don't. Please."
His voice is low, almost too quiet, too gentle. He steps closer. She doesn't move. "I can't do what you're asking this time. I'm sorry."
"John-"
"Don't hit me," he murmurs, and before she can speak, places a hand on her cheek and kisses her. It's soft and sweet, hesitant, and yet somehow convincing. She murmurs something against his lips, but it's void when she rests a palm against his chest, leaning into him as though by instinct alone.
Emboldened, John wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer, deepens the kiss, almost too wrapped up in the feel and smell and taste of her to notice her fingers winding through his hair, her other arm sliding up around his shoulder to pull him in tighter.
He isn't surprised when she finally pulls away.
"We shouldn't have done that," she murmurs, but the way she's holding him, almost clinging to him instead of letting go, fills him with something akin to hope.
"Too late," he murmurs back, sliding his palm up her spine to cup her shoulder blade.
"Yeah," she breathes.
"You aren't going anywhere, Elizabeth," he says suddenly, fiercely, and she meets his gaze. He doesn't know how to tell her, doesn't know what words will reassure her and which will panic her; so instead he kisses her again, leaving nothing out.
"This is so stupid," she mutters against his lips.
John raises and eyebrow; breathless: "Stupider than denying it for the past two years?"
She looks afraid. "Maybe."
He presses a kiss to her forehead gently. "I warned you I'd get us into trouble," he teases.
Elizabeth stares at him for a long moment. He holds his breath; waits. Finally:
"Shut up," she says.
Against her lips, he grins. "Yes, ma'am."
continued
- stargate: atlantis
- john/elizabeth, rodney
- 11200 (4200 this section)
- pg13
- for bigdamnxenafan. because we'll always have baltimore. ♥
- an: parts I and II were written by krisrussel! you can leave feedback for her here, or if you like, at her post here (link pending). parts III-V were written by hihoplastic.
I. The one in which John is a poster-boy, Jack plays cupid, and dares are not always kosher.
"I can't believe you convinced me to join you," John huffs as he sits down next to Elizabeth in the limousine.
She gives him a smile. "The one time we're on Earth during an official presidential dinner, we really can't decline the invite."
"I agree. But your invite stated 'Dr. Weir and guest', not 'Dr. Weir and Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard'. You could have dragged Rodney along; I'm sure he would have loved all the free food."
"And listen to him whine all evening about there maybe being citrus in something? No, thank you."
"Ok...you could have brought Teyla along."
"And how would I have explained it to someone when she asks what, oh, I don't know, Starbucks is?"
"General O'Neill?"
"And talk about The Simpsons and beer all evening? I don't think so. Besides, Jack got his own invite."
"Colonel Carter?"
"She's not on Earth."
"Dr. Jackson?"
"He's not in the country."
"Colonel Mitchell?"
"John!" Her voice cuts him off and he casts his eyes away from her. "I prefer your company for tonight."
His eyes slowly travel back to her face and he sees the light blush on her cheeks. "Oh..."
She huffs and rolls her eyes. "Don't get your hopes up, flyboy."
Slightly grinning, he shrugs and takes the jar holding the nuts, presenting it to her before grabbing a few himself.
Taking a couple of nuts in her hand, she gives him a look. "Just promise me you'll behave."
He gives her a small smile. "I'll be an Air Force posterboy."
Laughing, she shakes her head. "You'll never be able to keep that up for very long." The moment she says it, she knows she'll regret it.
"That sounds like a dare, dear Doctor."
But she isn't about to back down. "If it'll keep you on your best behavior, you're on."
He grins and holds out his hand. "If I win, I get to take you somewhere of my choosing."
She takes his hand. "And if I win, you're on kitchen duty for two weeks."
"You're on." His grin grows and they shake hands.
--
Crap. She is losing. Badly.
John is behaving like the picture-perfect poster-boy. Standing straight all evening, getting them drinks, keeping in the background during a conversation and only talking when he's been asked a direct question. Elizabeth can barely believe he's kept up the act for so long. But he has, unwavering.
"Elizabeth!"
"Jack." She smiles and briefly hugs the General. "You're late."
"Stuff was up at the SGC. Nothing important though," he explains briefly and turns to John. "Sheppard."
John stands at attention and curtly salutes. "Sir."
Jack eyes the younger man warily - "At ease, Colonel." - and turns back to Elizabeth. "What's up with him?"
"Let's just say that I'm losing a bet."
"Ah."
--
"Dr. Weir, it's been too long."
"Mr. President." She smiles and shake hands with the most important man in the room and then turns to John. "This is Colonel Sheppard."
John stands at attention and the president waves it off. "At ease, son. I've heard a lot of good things about you."
"Thank you, sir."
"Doctor, I've heard the IOA is giving you trouble again."
She shrugs. "Nothing I can't handle."
"Never doubted that for a second. And believe me, if it was up to me, you and the Colonel here, would be leading the expedition for as long as you seem fit."
John sees her stance change. No one else would have noticed, but he knows her well enough. She seems to stand up more proud than before.
"Thank you. That means a lot to us."
"It does, sir," John agrees.
--
Elizabeth nearly topples over when they walk towards the dinner table and John pulls her chair back.
"Thank you," she says, surprised, and as she sits down he pushes her chair under the table.
Sitting down next to her, he gives her a small grin. "Just being the perfect poster-boy. I'm winning for the moment, aren't I?"
Even though she wants to glare at him, she settles for a mild smile. "For now. Yes. But I know you, Colonel. You won't be able to keep this up all night."
"We already have a bet riding on this. No need to bury yourself in deeper."
She gives him a look and he smiles innocently.
--
After dinner, the party moves back into the bigger hall where a small band is playing live music. Several couples pair off and start swaying on the dance floor.
"I'll get us something to drink," John says, and Elizabeth gives him a nod.
While he's waiting for their drinks, Jack comes and stands next to him. "A true Air Force poster-boy would ask his date to dance."
"This isn't a date, sir."
"Riiiiiight...and Homer Simpson doesn't like beer."
"No sir, he loves it."
Jack gives the younger man a grin. "Good one, Sheppard."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now ask her to dance."
John accepts the drinks from the bartender and gives Jack a long serious look.
"Yes, sir."
--
Elizabeth tries to hide her nervousness as John guides her to the dance floor. The fact that he had asked her in the first place is unnerving her, and the fact that they're now on the dance floor and he has gently wrapped his arms around her, almost takes her breath away. It's the way he's touching her, gently and with so much care, that makes her involuntary wonder if he'd be the same kind of lover. She knows the thought is making her blush, so she turns her face away from him and rest her head on his shoulder. The action makes him hold her closer and she closes her eyes, reveling in the comfort of his arms.
She has no idea how long they stay on the dance floor, wrapped in each other's arms, slowly swaying to the music. But when the music picks up a beat, she reluctantly loosens her grip on him, knowing their slow rhythm would be in contrast to the quicker beat. When she looks up at his face, her breath catches for a second at the intense look of longing in his eyes. For a second they simply stare at each other, conveying emotions that make them both breathless.
--
She barely remembers how they get off the dance floor, let alone back in the limousine. But the entire trek back to their hotel, she feels his eyes on her, almost boring into her. And it makes her think of possibilities. Possibilities she knows she isn't supposed to think about. Not with him; especially not with him.
When they arrive at the hotel, not a word has been said between them yet, not since he had asked her to dance. He follows her to the elevators and to her floor and when they arrived at her door, she turns to him.
"John..."
"I know," he whispers. "I just..."
"I know," she replies softly.
For a moment they just look at each other and when he licks his lips, her eyes slightly widen.
"I should get inside," she whispers, and he nods.
"I'll see you at breakfast."
"Nine?"
He nods again. "And after that I'm taking you along to something I like."
She slightly smiles. "You did win the bet fair and square."
Grinning, he turns, but her hand that suddenly lands on his arm stops him in mid-movement, so he looks back at her. Taking a step toward him, she leans in closer and gently kisses his cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful evening."
The warmth of her breath caressing his cheek makes him close his eyes and swallow.
She steps away from him and he gives her a single nod.
"Always."
II. The one in which John is actually seventeen, Elizabeth thinks it's adorable, and subtext becomes text-text (finally).
"Really? This was the best you could come up with?"
John gives her a non-offended glare. "Oh, don't be like that. You'll love it."
"No, you'll love it. I'll just be bored."
"I'll keep you entertained." He grins and she rolls her eyes.
Extending his hand to her, he wiggles his fingers. "Come on."
She sighs, but puts her hand in his, ignoring the warm feeling the touch gives her. "Lead the way."
His grin grows as he drags her through the crowd towards the nearest plane that's on display at the air-show.
--
Elizabeth can't help but giggle at the way John is gaping.
"A Sea Hurricane," he breathes as his eyes roam over the old fighter plane.
"Sea Hurricane?" Elizabeth asks, and John nods.
"This was a very popular plane during the second World War, but was largely overshadowed by the Supermarine by the time the war was in full force. But this beauty...this beauty..."
Elizabeth looks amused. "Yes?"
"It looks amazing," he breathes, his voice filled with awe.
"You know you're drooling, right?"
"It's the Sea Hurricane! These were adapted from the original Hawker Hurricane to be deployed on ships. I think this is one of the only ones left. Hawker Hurricanes are much more common, but Sea Hurricanes..." He gapes again as his eyes roam over the plane. "I never thought I would get to see one with my own two eyes."
The plane means nothing to her...scraps of metal, wire, and leather. But seeing him, the relaxed, happy expression on his face, she wishes she could see what he sees. So she smiles, teases him, asks him indulgent questions and lets herself catch his contagious excitement. Eventually though, her boredom wins out over her amusement.
"And how long are you going to drool here, or should I find a way to entertain myself?" The tone in her voice is telling and in barely a flash his eyes are on her, roaming over her instead of the plane and they both swallow at the intense look that is suddenly on both their faces.
"I just euhm..." He clears his throat. "I just need to take a few pictures and then it's time for the air-show itself."
"Alright, you go have fun with that."
He grins, takes out his digital camera, and takes a couple of shots of the plane. Then he turns to her and aims the camera her way.
"John!" She laughs as he takes a few pictures. "You know I don't like it when people take pictures of me."
"I know." He smiles and thinks she looks beautiful. He wants to capture that. The simple blue jeans and light-blue shirt make her look stunning.
At that moment the speaker announces the first planes that are ready for lift-off and suddenly he looks like a kid in a candy store again as he takes her hand and drags her along for a better view.
--
It's hours later when the last plane touches down, and luckily he's managed to keep her boredom away by spouting random facts and interesting stories about the planes in the sky. Then Elizabeth suddenly realizes John hadn't let go of her hand yet, and that thought gives her an unexpected warm feeling, but the most unexpected is the sudden feeling of belonging and of how it just feels right.
"There's a Ferris wheel," he says, and brings her out of her thoughts. The grin is back on his face and she can't help but smile at that.
"Lead the way," she says, and he gently tugs her hand and she follows him without hesitation.
--
"It's beautiful up here," she says in awe as she looks at Washington DC, laying in the distance.
"It really is," he agrees, but she can feel that his eyes are on her when he says it and that warm feeling fills her again.
She turns to him with a look of seriousness and determination on her face.
"John..."
"I know..." he assures her.
The look on her face softens and she takes his arm, drapes it over her shoulder and leans against his chest. She can feel his breathing hitch and his heartbeat go faster.
"Why does it have to be so difficult?" she wonders out loud.
He shrugs. "It makes life more interesting."
She smiles at that. "It sure does."
"Now just enjoy the view," he says, and gently kisses the top of her head.
She shivers at the feeling and pushes herself deeper into him, softly tracing the hand and arm that are draped over her shoulder. "I am."
It surprises her how suddenly her life feels complete.
III. The one in which Elizabeth is stressed, John hates parties, and the little black dress had nothing to do with it.
John is anything but thrilled.
She promised them - promised him - that they wouldn't get stuck going to Atlantis' latest shindig. No suits, she'd promised him, no ties. The party was strictly voluntary, thrown in "honor" of their Earth-guests - the Russian Ambassador, liaisons from China, Japan, and Germany, and three senior members of the IOA - and she was certain that enough Atlantis members would be there for the Athosian gin that he'd be able to stay away.
It was about politics, she had promised, and the military could stay home.
Now, an hour before the party, he's shining his shoes with a towel glaring at the dress blues laid out on the bed. Rodney is sitting in his only chair, complaining and cursing and futzing with his tie.
"It's ridiculous. What possible purpose could we serve there? It's just going to be schmoozing and making goo-goo eyes at bureaucrats. That's Elizabeth's job."
"Maybe she just needs the support."
Rodney scoffs. "Please. She could pick these people apart with her pinkie fingernail."
John raises an eye at the analogy, but doesn't disagree. He's about to input his own complaint when his comm chirps.
"John, can you come to my quarters for a minute? I need to discuss something with you before the party."
Rodney snorts and John takes a deep breath. "Sure. I'll be right there."
--
John barely has time to wave his hand in front of the chime before the door opens. He sees a flash of Elizabeth before she disappears into the bathroom, apologizing. "Just a second," she calls. "You can sit down if you want."
John frowns and steps a few feet into her room. Her work clothes are draped over the side of the bed and there's a small jewelry box sitting next to them, and a pair of modestly-high heels lying next to that.
John clears his throat awkwardly and tries not to look around too much. "So, uh, what's up?"
"What?"
John rolls his eyes. "You wanted to talk to me about something."
"Oh," she says, "No, that was just an excuse. I figured you were with Rodney, complaining about having to attend."
"We weren't-" he tries, but Elizabeth chooses that moment to step out of the bathroom, and all thoughts die on the spot. Instead of her usual red shirt/black pants ensemble, or even her dress shirt and jacket/black pants outfit, she's wearing a sleek, black dress that shows most of her shoulders and a lot of leg.
John tries - really, he does - not to stare too much or too obviously, but it's Elizabeth in a dress - a tiny dress - who seems, as far as he can tell with his brain running at barely half, completely oblivious to his open-mouthed and wide-eyed expression. Which makes it worse.
Somehow, he manages to close his mouth and look semi-normal before she turns her attention to him.
"I need your help," she says. There's a pause. John makes what he hopes is a yes, and? face (though he doesn't see how it isn't bordering dangerously on his, I want you to take your clothes off right now face) and Elizabeth takes a deep breath, turns and asks: "Does this look slutty to you?"
John almost chokes. "What?"
"This dress," she says, ducking her head momentarily. She turns back to the mirror, worrying her lip between her teeth and adjusting the straps. "It's not too..." she trails off.
John doesn't even know where to start. "It's, uh...it's nice?"
Elizabeth glares at him over her shoulder.
John scrambles. "I'm not really sure what-"
"Is it too low?"
"Low?" he repeats.
"Yes, John, low," she huffs. "In the front."
John opens and closes his mouth and does everything in his power to keep his eyes on her face. "What? No."
"You're not even looking."
"Of course I'm not-" he starts to defend, but she groans and he frowns and sneaks a quick look at her chest. She doesn't notice. She's turned her attention back to the mirror as she struggles into her high-heels, holding onto the edge of the bed and balancing on one foot.
Once both shoes are on, she continues to ignore him, running fingers through her hair and fixing her dress again. He's never seen her look so uncomfortable.
"Do you always freak out this much before parties?" he asks, wincing even as the words leave his mouth.
Elizabeth doesn't even seem to notice his awkwardness. "Parties for people who essentially hold the deeds to Atlantis?" she mutters, trying to keep an errant strand of hair from falling in her face. "
John frowns. "Deeds?"
If he weren't watching her so closely, he'd never have notice the way she faltered, hands hesitating for just a moment, spine straightening, breathing hitch.
"Elizabeth," he says softly, "what's going on?"
She turns to him with a fake smile. "Nothing," she dismisses. "Thank you; I'll be out in a few minutes."
The words are rushed, and John's worry mounts. He grabs her arm before she can turn away again. "Hey."
He can see the protest, the excuse, form on the tip of her tongue, and raises an eyebrow to intercept. Elizabeth sighs and drops her arms to her sides; John reluctantly lets go.
"It's an evaluation," she says finally.
"Of what?"
Pause. She turns away.
"Me."
John's throat catches. He should have seen this coming. He knew she'd been under a lot of pressure, even more so than usual, but the pieces never clicked. The Ambassador, the liaisons, the IOA, her sudden insistence that senior staff attend the gala, and now this--asking him if her dress gives the impression that she's easy. John shakes his head. Stubborn, he thinks; she should have just told them.
"Damn," she curses, "I'm late."
John steps closer and takes the necklace she's been struggling with. "Here," he offers, "Let me."
Elizabeth eyes him warily, but nods and moves her hair, letting him slip the necklace around her neck, fingers brushing against her skin. She tries not to shiver, and John tries not to let his touch linger too long. Even still, he hesitates to step away, unable to tear his eyes away from the delicate clasp at the nape of her neck, terrified to meet her gaze, to see what she's thinking.
The moment passes too soon, and she steps away and clears her throat quietly. "Thank you."
He nods.
"You'll be there soon?"
"Just have to change."
She offers a small smile, grabs a thin sweater from off the bed and heads for the door.
"Elizabeth," he manages finally. "You, uh, you look perfect."
Her eyes widen slightly. Then her expression softens, and she offers him a grateful smile before she goes.
--
He's never been so bored in his entire life. On the one hand, he figures this is pretty good payback for seven hours at an air-show; on the other, he's fairly convinced even the Genii have more entertaining forms of punishment.
Sighing, he spares a glance at Rodney, who appears to have been saved by the buffet table, and then at Teyla, who has managed to engage one of the liaisons in conversation. Ronon is lurking in a far corner on "security detail", and Elizabeth is smiling brilliantly at the Russian Ambassador.
He can't hear what they're saying from across the room, but he watches her, transfixed on the way her hands flutter occasionally; on her expression. Her smile appears genuine, but he can read the tiredness, the worry. He wishes, not for the first time, that he could help; that he could make her smile for real; for him. He thinks back to the air-show, to the photograph he keeps in the back of his dresser drawer. He thinks back to the way she felt in his arms, swaying softly to the music, her hand clasped in his. He thinks back to the moments he's almost lost her, and something, some previously hidden puzzle piece, suddenly slides into home.
He doesn't ask her to dance. Doesn't try to insinuate himself into any conversation; doesn't get jealous when they pass her around the dance floor; when she laughs at their jokes or listens to their monologues like they're the most fascinating things she's ever heard.
Instead he waits, quiet, observant, for the night to end and the bureaucrats to retire one by one. He waits for the music to die down, for the Control Room to be picked up; he wants until after Lorne's status report and Rodney's tirade about how no one understands theoretical physics; he waits, and all the time he knows that she sees him, knows that she knows that he's been watching her.
He stands by her side as she bids farewell to their guests, watching closely as she exhales once the Daedalus has finally beamed them up.
"Well?" he asks gently, brushing his hand against hers.
Elizabeth inhales shakily, and forces herself to breath out slowly, and meet his gaze. With a tired smile, she nods.
--
She's still wearing her dress when she answers the door.
"Hey." He smiles.
She nods. "Hey," she murmurs, stepping away from the door to let him in. John follows her hesitantly, watching as she removes her jewelry and places it gently in a small, silver box. He tries not to, but he can't stop himself from lingering over her pale, bare skin; slender shoulders, long legs, bare feet. He tears his eyes back to her face, but she hasn't noticed.
"You okay?" he asks, resisting the urge to shove his hands in his pockets.
Elizabeth nods and flashes him a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Thank you," she says instead, tired and sincere. "For your support out there." She waves a hand toward the door.
John nods. "Anytime."
A silence lingers, slightly awkward; hesitant.
"Did you need something?" she asks finally, but he isn't listening, not really. He's wondering--thinking dangerous thoughts like, maybe and what if and almost… "John?"
"What would you do if I kissed you right now?"
Elizabeth's eyes widen. "What?" she asks dumbly. John tries to form the words again, but his throat is dry. He stares and she stares back; all the communication they've ever needed. "We can't," she says, quiet but firm.
John shakes his head. "They know you're the only one who can do this job. You're the only one who belongs here."
"That doesn't change anything," she protests.
He takes a step forward. "It changes a lot."
"John…" She meets his gaze. "Don't. Please."
His voice is low, almost too quiet, too gentle. He steps closer. She doesn't move. "I can't do what you're asking this time. I'm sorry."
"John-"
"Don't hit me," he murmurs, and before she can speak, places a hand on her cheek and kisses her. It's soft and sweet, hesitant, and yet somehow convincing. She murmurs something against his lips, but it's void when she rests a palm against his chest, leaning into him as though by instinct alone.
Emboldened, John wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer, deepens the kiss, almost too wrapped up in the feel and smell and taste of her to notice her fingers winding through his hair, her other arm sliding up around his shoulder to pull him in tighter.
He isn't surprised when she finally pulls away.
"We shouldn't have done that," she murmurs, but the way she's holding him, almost clinging to him instead of letting go, fills him with something akin to hope.
"Too late," he murmurs back, sliding his palm up her spine to cup her shoulder blade.
"Yeah," she breathes.
"You aren't going anywhere, Elizabeth," he says suddenly, fiercely, and she meets his gaze. He doesn't know how to tell her, doesn't know what words will reassure her and which will panic her; so instead he kisses her again, leaving nothing out.
"This is so stupid," she mutters against his lips.
John raises and eyebrow; breathless: "Stupider than denying it for the past two years?"
She looks afraid. "Maybe."
He presses a kiss to her forehead gently. "I warned you I'd get us into trouble," he teases.
Elizabeth stares at him for a long moment. He holds his breath; waits. Finally:
"Shut up," she says.
Against her lips, he grins. "Yes, ma'am."
continued