[stargate: atlantis fic] Five Shore Leaves John and Elizabeth Take (2/2), pg13
five shore leaves john and elizabeth take by krisrussel and hihoplastic
- stargate: atlantis
- john/elizabeth, rodney
- 11200 (9000 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.
IV. The one in which there are wookies, space-panties, and events are omitted on the grounds the author could incriminate herself.
The hotel is bustling with activity. Large tables line the halls, stacked with merchandise - everything from knives in cases to t-shirts to posters. Elizabeth stops dead just inside the entrance, staring open-mouthed at her surroundings.
John makes it a few feet past her, then stops and returns to her side. His expression is deceptively casual.
"John," she questions lowly, watching closely as he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.
"Yes?"
Her eyes narrow dangerously. "This had better be a pit-stop."
Across the lobby, two men (at least, she assumes they're men) dressed in near-perfect replicas of Star Trek officers' uniforms are bickering loudly. Hundreds of people are milling about, pointing and smiling stupidly and occasionally flailing their arms for, from what Elizabeth can tell, absolutely no reason.
Her eyes swing back to his. "John."
He tries a charming grin. "…on the way to the Q&A?"
Turning on her heel, Elizabeth makes a somewhat mad dash for the exit. John startles, then hurries to catch up, grabbing her arm before she can escape. "Elizabeth."
She glowers at him, pulling her arm gently but firmly out of his grasp. "You said we were going someplace relaxing."
John forces a wide smile. "What's not relaxing about this?"
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, a man nearly a foot and a half taller than him, broad-shouldered and dressed as a Klingon walks by. His arm grazes Elizabeth's, and he looks her up and down provocatively before moving on.
Elizabeth shudders slightly, then affixes her narrowed eyes on John, who tries to shrug. "They just think you're dressed funny."
She almost sputters. "I'm dressed funny?"
"You can't tell me you don't like science fiction," he says, just a small hint of begging under his tone. He's hiding something. She knows it.
"I live in a science fiction," she retorts, "I don't need to dally with it on my time off."
"Did you just say dally?"
"John."
The facade collapses and his body language and tone turn to full-out whining. "Oh, come on, it'll be fun!" Elizabeth stares at him, arms folded, and refuses to budge. John looks around frantically. "Look, they've even got a Wookie statue!"
Flatly: "That's not a statue."
John turns back just in time to see the "statue" move, make a growling noise, and walk away with a guy dressed as Han Solo. Grasping for straws, John waves his hands and stumbles over, "Well, some people are just more enthusiastic than others! You can't fault them for that."
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow while simultaneously holding her glare, in the look he's come to recognize easily as, Yes. I can. Watch me.
"Come on, Elizabeth," he begs. "Shatner's supposed to be here! And Cat Woman! And… they sell…swords and…squares of clothing and…Sigourney Weaver's space-underwear…come on!"
If possible, her eyebrow just arches higher, and John folds.
"I lost a bet."
"A bet," she repeats.
"To Cameron." John sighs and looks way, scrubbing the back of his hand over his neck. "And now I have to-"
Before he can finish the sentence, a loud, obnoxious, and familiar voice erupts from somewhere down the hall - "Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Don't you people understand that the ratio between the-" - and an equally loud, obnoxious voice, arguing with him.
Wincing, John looks back at Elizabeth. "…babysit Rodney."
Elizabeth drops her arm to her sides. "And you dragged me along on this little adventure because…?"
"It'll be fun?" he guesses. Wrong answer. "It's a three day convention, Elizabeth," he moans, "I'm gonna kill him in the first three hours."
Down the hall, another voice joins the argument, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Rodney waving his arms and hollering back angrily.
"Please?" he begs, with his absolute best, I swear I'll make it up to you pretty pretty please? expression.
He holds his breath while Elizabeth deliberates, then releases it when she closes her eyes and groans. "You owe me so big for this."
Grinning, John grabs her arm and steers her back into the convention, in the direction of their wailing scientist. Not three feet through the front doors, a guy dressed like Hercules double-takes to stare at her ass. John stifles a smirk, and Elizabeth glowers.
"So. Big," she grits out.
Behind her back, John gives a mocking salute and grins.
--
Having finally subdued Rodney with lunch and ditched him in the middle of a rant on theoretical physics, John and Elizabeth wander around the tables aimlessly. Elizabeth seems a little calmer, if still annoyed, and John watches her closely while pretending to be interested in the pictures of hot half-naked women. He notices what she looks at, what jewelry her fingers linger over and what makes her wrinkle her nose, and files away the information for future use.
And something to get him out of the dog-house.
They pass an array of posters, everything from shows he's never heard of (Farscape, Futurama and some weird book-gone-series thing called TekWar. He decides not to ask.) to a massive collection of Star Wars paraphernalia that almost catches his interest.
Almost.
Elizabeth gives him a look and John shrugs. "What? They blow a lot of stuff up. I'm a guy."
She rolls her eyes - "You realize that's a specious argument, right?" - and continues to the next table, which is stacked high with t-shirts. " 'Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the--' " She stops reading and her cheeks turn pink. John grins widely and waggles his eyebrows at her suggestively.
"I'll buy it for you."
Elizabeth sneers in response, and the lady behind the counter remains oblivious.
"T-shirts are two for thirty dollars, sweatshirts are forty-five."
"Thank you," she replies diplomatically, averting her gaze from the other shirts.
The woman behind the counter, about Elizabeth's age, pops her gum and smiles. "We've also got some back here if you need a different size."
"I'm just looking," she assures her, trying to move away.
"We've also got it in red," the woman offers.
John barely conceals a snort of amusement, and Elizabeth grabs his arm and drags him away.
--
Elizabeth blinks. "You weren't kidding."
John stands beside her, arms folded, appraising the display. "Nope." He shrugs. "I read about it on the internet."
Elizabeth opens her mouth a few times, but can't think of anything to say besides, "That's just wrong."
John smirks and takes a step forward. "I don't know," he muses, "I think it's kinda classy."
Elizabeth gives him her best you had better be joking glower, but it's brief. Her attention is still fixated on the large picture frame in front of her, encasing a small plaque, a signed photograph, and - true to John's word - Sigourney Weaver's underwear from the film Alien. On a table off to the side, to Elizabeth's disbelief, are packaged copies of Ripley's attire - or lack thereof - in small, medium and large. Complete set of underwear and tank-top for twenty-five dollars.
The line goes halfway down the hall.
"People actually pay for this stuff?" she asks incredulously.
A few people turn and glare, but she remains morbidly fixated on the display in front of her. John can't help it - his smirk turns into a grin and he moves back to her side, leaning in close.
"What'd you think?" he teases, "Should we get it for your office?"
--
Thankfully, John arranged for rooms in a separate hotel away from the action.
"A little presumptuous, don't you think?" she teases, when he opens the door to a room with only one bed and an enormous mini-bar.
John throws her a dirty look and she laughs. She's barely closed the door behind her when he pins her against it, body pressed to hers, noses bumping. Her laughter fades to a quiet smile, and John laces their fingers together.
"Hi," he murmurs.
Her gaze is soft and sweet. "Hi," she whispers back.
John grins - just a bit stupidly - and Elizabeth rolls her eyes before craning her neck up for a kiss.
--
[And then they have sex. Please feel free to take a moment to insert your porn of choice here. We have a wide selection to choose from, including but not limited to missionary, doggy-style, 69, wall-sex, bathroom-sex, floor-sex, window-sex, etc. If you like voyeurism with your porn, please relocate this scene to the pool and sauna area on the tenth floor. If you require witty dialogue with your porn, leave a comment to the author in the designated area below, with excessive details about your porn, and she will attempt to provide you with said conversation. If you like threesomes or moresomes, please check the bar downstairs in the lobby for hot, desperate individuals; more than likely, they will be overjoyed to accommodate your wishes.
When you have completed your trip to the gutter, please check back for the rest of the work-safe fic. Thank you.]
--
"So," John murmurs, falling to the side breathlessly, "does this mean you aren't mad at me for dragging you along?"
"Hmm," she ponders, curling up against his chest. "Depends."
"On?"
"Do all three days end like this?"
John smiles, and runs a hand over her arm and shoulder, back and forth. "I think something can be arranged."
He feels her lips curve up against his skin as she burrows closer to him. "Good."
--
"Oh god, you did it last night, didn't you?"
Elizabeth chokes on her coffee and Rodney wrinkles his nose at them like they've fed him moldy food. The lobby of the hotel is relatively quiet, and John is still pouting over Elizabeth's decision to eat downstairs instead of calling in room-service. (He's fairly certain she's regretting that choice now.)
"Rodney," Elizabeth warns, but he just shudders and takes a gulp from his own mug.
"What? It's not my fault it's all over your faces. God, they call this coffee? I've had better stuff than this in Pegasus."
"McKay," John says lowly, but Rodney just rolls his eyes.
"What? It's not like anyone here is going to think I'm nuts."
John throws a glance at Elizabeth and shrugs. "He's got a point."
"Speaking of which, I want to be there for the Q&A with Katee Sackoff, so if we could get a move on that would be great," he says, simultaneously shoving a piece of bagel in his mouth and waving his arms in a "speed-it-up" motion. Elizabeth doesn't budge except for her eyebrow, which raises just slightly. John smirks, and Rodney sighs. "Fine, fine, take your time. I guess I don't have to get there early to reorganize my thoughts on the probability of space travel within the time frame of biomechnoids and machine-"
Elizabeth holds up her hand. "We'll go as soon as I'm done," she caves, gesturing with her mug.
Rodney smiles smugly. "Excellent! I'll just run up to my room and get my notes."
He's off before either of them can say a word, and John shrugs.
--
"I still can't believe people fall for this stuff," Rodney groans, filing out of the main room that held the Q&A. "I mean really! There's absolutely no way a fleet the size of the one on BSG could sustain life for that long, and don't even get me started on that jumping every 38 minutes thing - what a load of - Oh my god is that Kevin Sorbo? I used to love him on Hercules." Rodney waves his arms and hurries away. "Hey, Kevin!"
Elizabeth stares, slack-jawed after him.
John smirks. "You hired him."
"I-" she starts. Her mouth open and closes.
"Wanna get a drink?" he grins.
Elizabeth exhales and replies (a little too enthusiastically), "God, yes."
--
The bar is surprisingly - or not - packed for two in the afternoon. There's a football game on the television, and Elizabeth watches in amusement as a hoard of people gather around the mounted set, taking gleeful shots every time their team scores a goal.
"Wanna buy a dragon?"
Elizabeth starts when a large, sculpted dragon is thrust into her field of vision, and looks up at the somewhat mangy, heavily intoxicated man standing over her table.
"Excuse me?" she asks politely, shying away just slightly.
"Hand-made," he slurs, "only a hundred and sixty bucks."
Elizabeth smiles uncomfortably, eyes scanning the bar for John. "No, thank you," she declines, attempting to meet his gaze.
The man doesn't budge, just leans closer into her personal space and waves the dragon under her nose. "Hundred and fifty for a pretty lady like you."
"No, really, I'm fine," she says firmly, at the same time the man stumbles a little closer and says, "You wanna touch it?"
"No, thank you."
"You know my friend made it," the guy drawls. His breath smells like alcohol and his eyes are unfocused. He stumbles every so often, and the dragon sculpture wavers precariously in his grasp. "Worked on it for years."
"It's lovely," Elizabeth offers.
He grins toothily at her. "Yours for one-sixty."
"I'm really not interested."
Waving the dragon in the direction of the bar, he grins salaciously. "Well then how about a drink?"
"I think you've had enough already," Elizabeth states, but he remains unfazed. Instead, shoves the dragon in her face and points to its wings.
"You know the colors in this are all hand-mixed? My friend…" He points the dragon across the room, in the direction of another man talking with a small group of people. "worked hard on it."
"Then don't drop it," she snaps.
The guy stumbles back slightly - "I'm not gonna drop - whoa." - and comes face to face with John.
"Can I help you?" John asks, two drinks in hand and a dangerous smile on his face.
The man frowns momentarily, then pushes the figure towards John. "You wanna buy a dragon?"
He loses the smile abruptly. "No."
Stuttering: "You- you could buy it for your girlfriend. It's got pretty colors." He turns back to Elizabeth. "You know the paint is-"
"Yes, we know," she says. The guy stumbles and almost drops it. Elizabeth's hands dart out undernearth his, ready to catch the fragile statue. "Careful!"
"I'm not gonna drop it," he slurs, "I paid for it. Now I gotta sell it for my friend. A hundred and eighty bucks." He stretches his other hand towards Elizabeth's arm. "One-sixty for a pretty girl like-"
Before he can make contact, John's hand closes tightly around his wrist. The guy blinks slowly and looks at him with surprise (and a little bit of fear).
"You're going to go away now," John says lowly.
"You know what?" the guy mutters, "I'mma go now." He steps away clumsily. "I'll come back later and see if you're interested."
"I wouldn't," Elizabeth smirks.
The guy frowns in confusion, but eventually settles on backing away, and heads across the bar to find another victim.
"Jedi mind trick?" Elizabeth inquires as John sits down across from her.
"i've been practicing," he grins.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes, amused. She's about to say something else when a blur of color appears in front of her face. Startled, she looks up.
"You wanna buy a dragon?"
Looking across the table at John, who appears as though he can't decide whether to be worried, entertained or protective, Elizabeth sighs and stares forlornly down at the orange cocktail he brought her.
"I think I'm gonna need a bigger drink."
--
Thankfully, Rodney stays rather calm and thoroughly occupied with the autograph lines - "Do you know how much these things sell for on eBay?" as his defense - and John sneaks Elizabeth away to one of the quieter floors.
"John," she protests when he corners her against the wall and teases kisses down her throat.
"What? It's not like we've got anything better to do," he retorts, hands holding firmly to her hips.
Elizabeth bites her lip and tries to turn away, succeeding only in providing John with more skin to torment. "We're in public."
He grins against her neck. "Your point?"
"I-" she starts, but he silences her with a deep, breathless kiss. That seems to distract her well enough, and John smirks in triumph when her fingers snake through his hair.
"Damn you," she whispers, chest heaving and eyes wild.
"I think you mean, 'thank you, John'," he murmurs back, claiming her lips again. His hands drift, around her waist and down her back before settling on her ass, squeezing tight enough to make her jump. She gasps, he grins, and she smacks his arm.
"Cheeky."
He's about to lean in for another kiss when a group of five or six people rush by excitedly. "Going at it-" he hears, "Oh, I so want to see this!" "They're in the lobby!" "Let's go!"
John blinks, turning his head in the direction of the crowd while keeping Elizabeth pinned between himself and the wall.
"You don't think that's-"
"It better not be," she mutters.
John sighs heavily and steps back. "Let's go make sure Rodney isn't getting himself thrown out."
"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" Elizabeth retorts.
John smirks, takes her hand and drags her back downstairs.
--
Thankfully, Rodney has nothing to do with it. He's standing clear of the fight, for once, watching amusedly as two groups of people yell loudly back and forth. There's an equally large crowd watching, and Rodney seems content to observe, snacking on what Elizabeth's sure is his fourth or fifth bag of chips in the last few hours.
"What's going on?" John asks.
Rodney looks over, sees their hands and groans. John's ears turn pink and Elizabeth tries not to blush, but neither let go. Rodney ignores them and points toward the groups. "Star Wars," he indicates, "Star Trek."
"They're fighting over movies?" Elizabeth asks, frowning at the intensity of the argument before her.
"Oh no," Rodney supplies, "They're fighting for dominance - the endless battle of wits and superiority over the sci-fi genre. Classic," he grins, "Better than Jeopardy."
Between the two groups stands a small, gangly man in a suit, trying desperately to keep the two sides from throwing punches. He appears to be succeeding, for the most part, but the commotion is growing and Elizabeth can tell from across the room that he has absolutely no control over either side.
Rodney pops a chip in his mouth and nudges her. "You should go help him."
Elizabeth blinks. "Me?"
"Yeah. You're a diplomat." He waves his hand. "Go diplomicize."
Elizabeth glares. "That isn't a word."
"Whatever. Seriously, they're gonna come to blows soon."
"I don't know the first thing about…" she looks at John helplessly.
"Star Wars and Star Trek."
Rodney huffs. "You've seen them, haven't you?"
"Yes, years ago, but-"
And before she can stop him, Rodney is marching across the room, grabbing the hotel staffer by the arm and pointing in her direction.
"Son of a b-" Elizabeth groans, and John tries desperately not to laugh as the man races over, wiping sweat off his face with his sleeve and begging her with his eyes before he even opens his mouth.
"They've been at it for twenty minutes, and they're beginning to annoy the other guests. I can't stop them. I'm going to get fired. I've never been good at conflict management, I failed speech in high school and I don't even like sci-fi." His eyes widen in terror. "Please don't tell them. I mean really, they can't take much more - I can't take much - you're a negotiator right?"
The man looks so desperate, so shaken, that Elizabeth can't lie. "Yes," she admits. "I…have some experience."
"Please," the staffer whimpers. "I don't want to get fired."
--
"No, you don't get it!" the Trek leader, a 20-something guy with dark hair and a captain's uniform shouts angrily, "If it weren't for the genius of Roddenberry there'd be no Star Wars! Star Trek has eight years on that junk and has six series! Plus movies!"
Star Wars Fan, a 30-something year old in a logo t-shirt, glowers back smugly. "And Star Wars has achieved more fame and recognition for six movies alone-"
"Oh please, it's not a real movie if it's got Hayden Christensen is in it!" Loud calls of concurrence, and shouts from the back of the group.
"Well, at least we don't have incest!" The Star Trek crowd hollers in agreement, and the baffled and offended group of Star Wars fans gasp and rave.
"They didn't know!"
"They had The Force," someone shoots back sarcastically, "they should have USED IT!"
Elizabeth takes a deep breath, tosses a quick look at John and throws herself into the fray. "Hey! What the hell is going on here?"
The two leaders turn to her, shocked, then immediately launch into their campaigns.
"He said that Trek is a immature facsimile of Star Wars when obviously- "
"They believe the Federation is stronger than the Alliance, despite the fact that they-"
"Stop it!" she snaps, fed up. "Honestly, what the hell is wrong with you people?"
John leans in close and mutters quickly, "Don't say it's just TV. Seriously," he warns when she looks at him disbelievingly. "Don't."
Elizabeth takes a deep breath and looks from one group to the other. "This is important to you, right? These…universes." A quick look out of her corner of her eye at John; he nods in approval.
The bands keep arguing.
"It's only the greatest science fiction story ever told of course it's-"
"Second only to the mastery of-"
"Gentlemen!" she interrupts firmly. "How about you take five minutes to put aside your differences and find some commonalities between you."
The two leaders stare at her as if she's spoken another language - one not prominent in science-fiction.
"Like what?" the Star Wars leader demands.
Elizabeth grapples for something to say. "They're both in space?"
John winces, and the two sides go at it again.
"In an impossible world where they don't even have microtranslators and-"
"Oh, and the Federation just happened, huh - of course, with wealthy, white, Americans at the top of the-"
"Oh, cause Han Solo's just SO BLACK-"
"Hey!" Elizabeth raises her voice angrily and narrows her eyes at both of them. "You think this is worth it?" she demands. "Your incessant bickering over something so-" To her left, she sees John make a slicing motion across his neck, and she switches tracks. "Why don't you think about it this way," she tries instead, addressing the Star Trek leader. "What would Picard do, if he encountered a peaceful race who maybe had different perspectives than his own? Wouldn't he still try to represent the Federation to the best of his abilities and forge an alliance?"
The kid hesitates, then nods slowly. "I guess so…" he admits warily. Elizabeth nods and turns to the other group.
"And what do you think…"
"Luke Skywalker," John provides.
"Luke Skywalker would do?" she continues. "Behead everyone with his lightsword?"
"Saber," he corrects.
"Lightsaber?" Elizabeth inserts. "You both live in worlds striving so desperately for peace between different races. How can we ever do that if we can't establish peace among ourselves?"
The groups begin to murmur among themselves, looking from her to their leaders and back again.
Hesitantly, the Star Wars leader nods. " I guess they do have some similar themes…" he tells her, shooting glances at the Trek leader, waiting for reciprocation.
"And the lightsaber and the phaser do have similar technological components…" he offers.
A young girl in the Trek group pipes up, "And the ewoks are pretty cool…"
"You know," a Star War fan adds, "given their physiology and taking into account parallel universes and hormonal development, it is possible that tribbles are the next evolutionary stage of the ewok…give or take a millennia."
The groups nod in agreement and slowly, carefully, begin mingling in the lobby. Elizabeth hears a small group discussing something about the difference between governmental structures in the Federation verses the Alliance, and another going on excitedly about the possibility of something called a "crossover fan-fiction." Elizabeth decides not to ask, and instead makes as smooth and quick a get-away as possible.
The hotel staffer approaches her before she can escape, babbling excitedly and grasping her hands tightly. "Thank you. Thank you so much. This - this is wonderful. I've been working here for years and I've never seen - I mean they're actually talking! I don't even - I don't know how we can repay you-"
"Can you open the bar?" Elizabeth interrupts. Beside her, John stifles a laugh.
"Certainly," he nods, "certainly ma'am. Drinks are on the house for the rest of the weekend. I'll see to it right away!"
With that, he hurries off and Elizabeth takes a deep breath.
"Not bad," John offers, inclining his head in the direction of the crowd. "You actually got them to set aside their differences."
"Please," she snorts. "Star Trek is obviously superior." John raises an eyebrow, surprised, and Elizabeth shrugs. "Luke Skywalker's a pansy."
Laughing, John can't resist stealing a quick kiss. "Have I ever told you how cool you are?"
"No."
He grins. "Remind me to prove it to you later."
Rodney makes a gagging noise behind them, and Elizabeth turns over her shoulder to glare. "You shouldn't have done that, Rodney. What if I hadn't been able to get them to stop?"
Rodney snorts. "Please. This is a cake-walk for you."
Elizabeth blinks in surprise. "I didn't realize you had such confidence in diplomacy."
"Not diplomacy; political science is a scam. There's no science involved; it's just theories that are impossible to prove and most of those are based on superstition."
"McKay," John snaps.
Rodney shoots him a look but cuts himself off. "Your…negotiating fu."
"My what?"
"Your skills, technique, whatever you want to - look, it's a compliment, okay, so just stop raising your eyebrow at me and take it, okay?"
Elizabeth's expression softens into a smile. "Thank you, Rodney."
"Whatever. Can we go now? I'm hungry. I think I saw a Chlie's a ways back and they have this fantastic fajitas…"
--
Elizabeth sighs heavily and drops back onto the bed with an oomph.
"That is the last time I ever let Rodney drive," John groans in agreement, collapsing next to her.
"Or ask for directions?" Elizabeth inquires.
John rubs a hand over his face. "You mean 'demand'?"
She laughs - softly at first and then slightly louder in exhausted, semi-hysterical amusement. "I thought you were going to lose it the fifth time he passed it."
"There was a giant sign!" John moans.
Elizabeth smirks, and John rolls suddenly, pinning her underneath his body. "What?" he challenges.
She laughs. "Nothing," she murmurs, reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair. "You're just cute when you're pouting."
John affects insult at first, then seems to consider her words. "I'll have to keep that in mind, actually," he mummers, nuzzling his face against her neck. "Might come in handy in the near future."
"Near future, huh?" she murmurs back, gasping slightly as he shifts lower, nipping at the skin over her collar bone. Switching most of his weight to one arm, John uses his other hand to undo the buttons of her blouse. When his task is complete, he pushes her shirt aside and, with a happy sigh, buries his face between her breasts.
Elizabeth laughs, and the sound reverberates along her skin and bones, and he smiles even wider, kissing just above her bra.
--
The last day of the convention is the busiest.
Rodney starts no less than five arguments, and embroils John and Elizabeth in no less than four. They wind up shadowing him most of the day, ignoring his whining in favor of warning glares and threats of violence to keep him quiet. Or quieter.
When Elizabeth looks like she's only a step away from firing him, John decides to drag him off in search of food, and then cleverly loses him in the sea of people waiting in line for hamburgers at a stand the convention (randomly) has set up on the lower level of the hotel.
Finally spotting her across the foyer on the floor above, he starts to make his way toward her when the sounds of crying reach him. Frowning, John turns to find a small child in the corner, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her mother crouching in front of her with a handkerchief.
"Can I help you?" John asks carefully, keeping a few feet of distance between himself and the crying child.
The mother starts and looks up. "Oh, no, thank you," she says, rising and putting her arm around the little girl. "She's just upset. One of the actors was pretty rude to her." She sends a withering glare in the direction of the autograph tables. "Honestly," she fumes, "I don't know who these people think they are."
John nods awkwardly in sympathy, and the little girl wipes a hand under her nose and sniffles.
"She's not a princess after all," she says, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Oh, sweetheart." The mom hugs her tighter and bends to dab her face with a tissue. More to herself than to John, she murmurs angrily. "I never should have brought her."
John shakes his head. "You couldn't have known."
"She plays this heroine on TV. Hannah loves her. When I saw she was coming, I thought…" She shakes her head in disgust. "Stupid."
John hesitates, then crouches down next to them and address the little girl gently. "Hannah, right?"
The mother frowns at him, but says nothing. The little girl bites her lip and looks from her mother to John and back again. John catches the woman's gaze and nods, and eventually the woman murmurs something to the little girl, who nods in affirmation.
John smiles. "Can you keep a secret, Hannah?"
"A secret?"
"Yeah. A big one." He lowers his voice. "You can't tell anybody."
Hannah hesitates, then covers her mouth with her fist and nods.
Leaning just a little closer, John whispers, "I know a princess."
Hannah's eyes widen and her hand falls away to grip the bottom of her dress. "A real princess?"
"Yup."
Hannah considers him for a moment. "Does she live in a castle?"
"No," John admits, "but she lives in a big, glass city."
Hannah frowns, and shakes her head. "All princesses live in castles," she says firmly. Her mother smiles and brushes a hand through her daughter's hair.
John nods in agreement. "Most of them do," he says, "But she's a very special princess. And guess what? She's here right now." Turning slightly, John points across the hall. "See that lady over there?"
Hannah bites her lip again and looks from the woman to John and back again. "She doesn't look like a princess."
"She can't," John tells her, "Otherwise everyone here would want to talk to her. And she's taking a break right now. But she told me she's making an exception, just for you." He smiles broadly. "You want to talk to her?"
Hannah thinks about it for a long moment, then turns to her mother with bright eyes. "Can I?"
John stands, and hears the mother murmur something like, "Sure, sweetie" before he starts leading them across the lobby. Leaning closer, the woman looks at John worriedly.
"Does your friend know about this?" she whispers.
John shakes his head. "Not a clue."
"Maybe we shouldn't-"
"No, it's okay," he assures her, "I promise."
The mother starts to protest, but John closes the last few feet quickly and touches Elizabeth's arm.
"Hey."
Her smile is bright. "John, where have you-"
"Elizabeth, I'd like you to meet someone," he says seriously. She frowns slightly, and looks down as John steps to the side to reveal a small, blonde girl in a pink dress. Elizabeth's eyes widen, and she throws a brief, confused look at John, who inclines his head toward the girl and nods.
Elizabeth forces a smile. "Hi," she addresses Hannah, just a touch awkwardly.
Hannah looks up at her with wide eyes, then looks at the floor, wringing her fingers together. "Hi," she mumbles back.
"I told Hannah how much you wanted to talk to her," John says to Elizabeth, catching her gaze.
"Of course," she says slowly, not entirely understanding but trusting John to fill her in later. Crouching down, Elizabeth tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "How are you, Hannah?"
"It's okay, sweetie," her mother murmurs.
Hannah bites the inside of her lip and struggles to meet Elizabeth's gaze. "Are you really a princess?" she asks. Her eyes are still watering and she sniffles occasionally, and Elizabeth melts under the innocent, hopeful gaze.
"Yes, I am," she says quietly. She looks up quickly to catch John's gaze, then adds, "But you can't tell anyone, okay?"
Hannah nods. "'Cause then they'll all want to talk to you."
Elizabeth smiles. "Yes. And I'd rather spend my time with you."
Hannah looks up. "Really?"
Elizabeth nods, and looks her in the eye. "Really."
While they talk, John stands back and watches her closely. She's uncomfortable, if the fluttering motions of her hands are anything to go by, but she keep smiling gently and never once looks away from the little girl, focusing all her attention on whatever it is she's saying.
John tries not let his brain wander too far down that road, but he can't help it if he likes kids and he loves Elizabeth and kids with Elizabeth doesn't sound like a bad idea in his brain.
Slow down, John, he reminds himself. But he can't help the wide, stupid smile from spreading across his face as he watches them.
Out of nowhere, Rodney appears at his side. "Could you be any more obvious?" he grouses, stuffing his face with what has only a vague resemblance to a hot-dog.
John spares him a side-long glare. "Shut up, McKay."
--
It isn't much longer before Hannah's mother starts to wrap things up, exchanging nods with Elizabeth as they carefully orchestrate a goodbye. Without warning, Hannah throws her arms around Elizabeth's shoulders and kisses her cheek. Elizabeth freezes, completely stunned, then slowly and awkwardly returns the hug.
"Come on, sweetie, we should go."
Hannah pulls back reluctantly, then grins and leans forward to whisper in her ear. "Bye, Princess Elizabeth."
Elizabeth smiles and whispers back, "Bye Princess Hannah."
Hannah giggles and grins and takes her mother's hand, chattering excitedly. Elizabeth stands and exchanges a knowing glance and nod with the other woman, before they take off and disappear into the throngs of people still milling about.
Elizabeth watches them until John appears at her side, sliding a hand across her back subtly. She looks up at him with a slightly worried gaze. "You took a big risk, John," she tells him seriously.
"What?"
She looks away. "I'm terrible with kids. I could have-"
"Rodney is terrible with kids," John interrupts. "You did great."
There must be something in his tone, or his gaze, or the way his hand lingers on the base of her spine, because Elizabeth's expression changes from self-consciousness to confusion.
"What?"
"Nothing," he says quickly.
Behind them, Rodney lets out a moan of exaggerated disgust and despair.
--
"So."
"Yes, John?"
"You, uh. You had an okay time, right?"
Elizabeth frowns and shrugs off her jacket, laying it over the back of a chair. "At the convention?"
"Yeah," he says, a little too quickly, as if seizing on the idea. "At the convention."
"It was…an enlightening experience, that's for sure." She turns to face him, arms folded, and shrugs. "And Rodney didn't set fire to the place, so I'm relieved."
The moment she says it she regrets it. John's face falls just slightly, just enough for her - but probably no one else - to notice. "Right," he nods, and forces a smile, and turns away, pretending to be preoccupied with the television set.
Elizabeth considers him for a moment as he flips aimlessly through muted channels. "That wasn't the answer you were looking for, was it?" she asks, dropping her arms to her sides and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him.
John starts, eyes wide, and quickly shakes his head. "No! I mean, I wasn't looking for anything."
It's a lie, and a horrible one at that. Elizabeth tries to hold his gaze, but he shifts uncomfortably and stares down at the remote in his hand. He looks so uncomfortable, so insecure and awkward and endearing that she can hardly stand it.
"Hey," she mummers, touching his shoulder gently. "look at me." He does, reluctantly, and she smiles fondly to reassure him. "John, the fact that I had even a remotely decent time at a science-fiction convention - with Rodney McKay, of all people - says a lot less about the location and a lot more about you. We aren't dating. You don't have to try to impress me at every turn, or…" She waves her other hand and shrugs. His gaze is so intense that she hesitates, self-conscious. "You wanted me to come with you, so I did. May not have been my first choice for a vacation spot, but. No one tried to kill us." She smiles, the movement just a touch self-deprecating. "And I got to be a princess."
"You are a princess," he says, and she can tell by the semi-startled look on his face that he didn't actually intend the words to be vocalized. She laughs, and his expression morphs into one of, well, what're you gonna do?
She shakes her head and taps his nose with her finger. "And you are a hopeless romantic."
He gives her a look but doesn't deny it. And then he waits, one hand on her knee, silent and patient, as if he knows. Knows what she wants to say and can't; can never find words for. But he deserves it, so she tries.
"I…" she hesitates, trying to parse together words from her head instead of her heart. "I like being with you," she says finally, a little too quickly, like she meant to say something else and covered it up at the last second. John nods, and looks at her like he gets it; like he knows. Elizabeth shifts under his gaze and smiles, tries to make it less important than it is. "Whether it's here or Atlantis or…whatever that thing was called. I…" she tries, fails, and settles awkwardly on, "like this."
John smiles back. "I like this, too," he murmurs.
Elizabeth tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, notices the motion, and settles her hands awkwardly in her lap. A second later she stands abruptly - "Oh! I got you something." - and moves across the room to her purse.
John rises hesitantly, takes a few steps toward her and stops. After a moment of digging she turns around and holds out a small paper bag.
"What is it?" he asks, taking it from her slowly.
She rolls her eyes and makes a just open it gesture. John grins and opens the bag, reaches in and pulls out a thin card encased in plastic. He frowns at first, then flips it over and his eyes go wide.
"Johnny Cash?"
Elizabeth smirks. "A true piece of mildly creepy fan paraphernalia."
John stares at the snatch of clothing on the card a little to reverently. "He wore this suit at Folsom Prison in '68. This is one of his most famous concerts-" He meets her gaze suddenly and breaks off sheepishly. Elizabeth laughs, shakes her head, and arches up on her toes to kiss him sweetly.
When they break away, John has a twinkle in his eye that she knows far too well. "I got you something, too," he says, a failed attempt at casual.
Elizabeth eyes him warily, her distrust proven when it turns around with cloth-shaped package wrapped in tissue paper. One look tells her everything she needs to know, and she takes the package out of his hands, amused and exasperated.
"You bought me space-panties, didn't you?" she groans, opening the paper to reveal said 'costume'.
"Exact replica from Alien," he grins.
"I've never even seen Alien."
He shrugs. "This basically sums it up."
"John-" she starts, but he kisses her suddenly, too passionate and a little too awkward to be fully intended. He grins and adjusts his stance, crowding her back towards the bed, one hand tangling in her hair and the other gripping her ass. Elizabeth squeaks slightly, and he laughs and she grabs the back of his neck and kisses him fiercely to shut him up.
His hand snakes under her shirt to play across her ribs, and she breaks away on a gasp. "John-"
"Screw the space panties," he growls, taking them from her weakened grasp and throwing them across the room. "I've got a better idea."
V. The one in which John and Elizabeth say "fuck it" and stay in bed all day.
8:40am
"Elizabeeeeeeeth." John sits on the edge of the bed and runs a hand gently down her arm. "It's almost nine," he murmurs.
Elizabeth strains to open her eyes and glare, gives up, and buries her face in the pillow with an emphatic, "Nrmph."
John tries not to laugh. "Was that English?" he teases. Elizabeth mumbles something else, but otherwise doesn't move. John smiles at the sight--her hair in disarray, arms hugging the pillow, displaying absolutely no desire to get out of bed. "It's our last day here for a while," he reminds her, absent-mindedly running his fingers through her hair. "Thought you wanted to go out."
There's a pause. John waits with his eyebrows raised, then bites down on a grin at her muffled, "Nu-uh. Smpfh."
This time, he can't hold back a soft chuckle. "What?" No answer. "Elizabeth…" he asks slowly, "are you playing hooky?"
Her only response is to open one eyelid, half-glower, and declare: "Mmnf."
--
9:55am
"Hey. Good morning."
Elizabeth smiles, stretches and curls up against his chest.
"Still no speech?" he teases, trailing his fingertips up and down her arm.
Tilting her head, Elizabeth shifts upwards and kisses him. "No need," she murmurs, grinning against his lips as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her on top of his chest.
--
11:10am
When John comes out of the bathroom, he expects her to be dressed and downing a cup of coffee. Instead, she's curled up against the headboard, nursing a cup of tea.
John blinks at the cart near the foot of the bed. "You ordered lunch?"
She shrugs. "Didn't want to get dressed."
John quickly defends himself. "I'm not complaining."
Elizabeth smirks. "I didn't think you were."
Making sure the towel is secure around his waist, John lifts one of the lids and almost balks; looks from the tray to Elizabeth to the tray and back again. Elizabeth smirks.
John clears his throat and tries to hide an impending grin. "Isn't that a little…"
"Cliche?" she offers.
"Obvious?"
Elizabeth sets her tea on the night-stand and slips off the bed, padding towards him. Peering into the bowl, she picks out a strawberry and dips it in the side of whipped cream. "It's strawberry shortcake," she says. "There's nothing suspicious about that."
She holds out the strawberry.
John throws her a naughty look and leans forward; overestimating, he bites into her finger.
"Ow!" Elizabeth pulls her hand back, dropping the piece of fruit. Half of it falls to the floor and the other half gets caught in John's teeth momentarily, before tracking down his chin and somehow ending up bouncing off his chest to join the other piece on the floor.
Elizabeth blinks at him, then bursts into laughter.
"I don't think food is our forte," John smirks, amused and a bit self-conscious as he picks up the fallen strawberry and throws it in the trash.
"Oh, I don't know," Elizabeth muses. Closing the distance between them, she presses a quick kiss to his lips before tracking her way across his chin and down his neck. "I think we could make it work for us."
John groans as her tongue swipes across his chest. Tugging at the tie on her robe distractedly, he backs her clumsily toward the bed--right into the cart of food.
There's a clink, a crash, and Elizabeth freezes. Straightening slowly, she turns to peer over her shoulder at the cake, creme and strawberries spread Pollock-style over the floor.
"Or not," she shrugs.
John laughs and kisses her.
--
12:45pm
Elizabeth sighs contentedly and leans back against his chest, closing her eyes and letting the water stream over her. Dropping her head, she moans as John finds a particularly tight knot in her muscle, kneading it out with firm but gentle touches, peppering her neck with open mouthed kisses.
They stay in the shower until the water runs cold, content to exchange slow, lazy kisses; wandering hands tracing, mapping, exploring--scares and lines and hollows still new enough, and yet somehow familiar.
Now, wrapping a towel around her frame, Elizabeth gives him a reluctant glance. "We should probably get dressed. Go out." She runs her fingers through her hair. "It's our last day on Earth for a while, and we probably shouldn't spend it in- mphft-"
John silences that thought with a deep, passionate kiss, pinning her suddenly to the bathroom sink and tugging away the towel. She lets out a high-pitched squeak when he grabs her around the waist and hoists her up to sit on the countertop.
"John!"
"I have a better idea," he announces, and with a wicked grin, proceeds to attack every inch of skin with his hands and teeth and tongue.
"You realize," she gasps, fingers curling into her hair, "That we just…oh…showered?"
John smirks against her chest. "I do," he informs her, and between kisses: "But you" - kiss - "need to be" - kiss - "more impulsive."
Elizabeth tugs at his hair sharply when he licks at her collarbone. "And this is…your idea of a…lesson?"
Against her lips: "Pretty informative, huh?"
Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth surprises him by suddenly wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, tugging him flush against her. "Something like that?" she murmurs teasingly.
John swallows tightly, but somehow manages to recover long enough to hook one arm under her leg and the other around her back and lift her off the counter. Gasping, Elizabeth clings tighter and John laughs, stumbling backwards into the bedroom.
"Something" - kiss - "like this."
--
3:30pm
Incessant pounding at the door forces John out of bed and - for the first time that day - into a pair of pants. Elizabeth chuckles at his cursing and follows him out of the bedroom, shrugging on the previous discarded robe and cinching it tight at the waist.
John barely has the door open before Rodney's voice filters in, loud and demanding. "It's almost four, I'm hungry, let's go." Pause. "Why aren't you dressed?" Shorter pause. "Don't answer that."
"I think you're on your own today-" John manages, before Rodney begins whining.
"What? No. We were gonna try that new Asian restaurant--it's supposed to be the best in the state!"
"We…already had lunch," John says, and coughs. Elizabeth covers a laugh.
"You already--do you have leftovers?" he demands, pushing past John and scanning the room for food. "I'm starved. Where is it?"
Elizabeth leans against the doorframe adjoining the bedroom and smirks. "Sorry to disappoint, but we didn't know you'd be joining us."
"Oh, ha ha," Rodney drawls. Then: "Seriously, you ate it all?"
"You can pick the leftovers off the floor if you like," Elizabeth says innocently.
John chokes and Rodney frowns. "Pick it up off the-" He shakes his head violently. "I don't want to know. Ooh, nuts," he says suddenly, diving for a container on the mini-bar. "I ate all mine. And you have popcorn! I didn't get any..."
John and Elizabeth exchange a glance before surrendering, moving to the couch to sit and wait out Rodney's destruction of their snacks and rambling tale of his morning encounter with the guy across the hall, the woes of cold breakfast and the woman who flirted with him in the elevator.
"She may or may not have been a hooker," he says, as if he's still deliberating.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes and curls her toes under her robe as much as possible. "Cold?" John murmurs under Rodney's monologue. Elizabeth shakes her head and nestles closer, resting her head on John's shoulder and catching his hand in hers.
John isn't sure how much time passes; just listens to Rodney's monologue and makes sure to punctuate it with a few sarcastic comments here and there between zoning out. He's thinking about what he might get Elizabeth to agree to in Vegas when Rodney's comment snaps him back.
"Is that really necessary?"
"What?"
"The…" He gestures with a cracker. "petting."
The moment he says it, John feels Elizabeth tense and start to shift away. He hadn't noticed before that his fingers were brushing through her hair, or that she'd been drawing soft spirals against his palm.
"I'm sorry, Rodney," Elizabeth murmurs, pulling her hands into her lap and sitting up straighter. "We weren't trying to make you uncomfortable."
"We weren't?" John says smartly, but there's an undertone of reprimand aimed in Rodney's direction, and John can tell by the look in his face that he regrets his tone if not his words.
"Look, it's- you're not bothering me," Rodney covers. "It's actually kind of..."
"Of what?" John dares.
Rodney winces. "…cute." Pause. "In a horrifically nauseating kind of way."
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow to cover a self-conscious smirk, and Rodney feels his chest tighten. "I'm uh, I'm glad you trust me," he says finally. "You know. Enough to…" He waves the cracker again. "Do that. And stuff."
John snorts, but he gives a slight nod of thanks. Elizabeth smiles and opens her mouth to vocalize the sentiment when Rodney shakes his head furiously. "I want absolutely no details."
She laughs. "I wasn't going to give you any."
Rodney sighs in relief. "Good," he says, at the same time John raises his eyebrows suggestively and says, "I might."
Elizabeth slaps John's arm and Rodney shudders, abandoning his crackers in favor of the door. "I can't believe I sat down in here," he mutters. "God only knows what you've been-" He makes a disgusted face, then turns to both of them with a glare. "As far as I'm concerned, you're playing checkers," he says resolutely.
"Checkers?" Elizabeth asks.
He nods emphatically. "Checkers. All day." Pause. "I'm going." Longer pause. "You didn't do it on the sofa, did you, 'cause really that would-"
"Leave, McKay."
"Gone," he announces.
The door clicks shut behind him. John turns to Elizabeth and smirks. "At least we know how to get rid of him now." She nods, but her smile doesn't last very long, and John sighs. "He was just being Rodney."
"What?" She blinks, pulling herself from her thoughts. "No, I know that."
"Then what is it?" he asks softly; almost afraid of her answer.
"Nothing. It's just…" She stares at his hand, resting absently on her knee. So familiar in such a short period of time. It terrifies her. "It's easy here."
He nods. "We'll be okay. No one's said anything so far on Atlantis, so…" He shrugs. When she still doesn't look at him, he crooks a finger under her chin and coaxes her gently, watching her face as his hand slides across her skin to cup her cheek, smiling as she tilts her face into his palm.
--
5:55pm
Somehow, John manages to convince Elizabeth that staying in bed, naked, and watching a five-hour Lone Ranger marathon is the perfect way to spend an afternoon.
Somehow, curled against his chest, his fingers trailing up and down her spine, Elizabeth can't really bring herself to disagree.
--
9:15pm
She falls asleep about six episodes in. John doesn't mind; he takes the opportunity to study her, to memorize the lines on her face and the sounds she makes in her sleep. She's moved slightly so that she's draped over him, using his chest as a pillow, legs tangled and her arm thrown across his shoulder. She snores slightly, and he supposes he should probably find it irritating; instead, he's positive it's one of the cutest things he's ever seen. Elizabeth had glared at him when he informed her of his conviction, but the blush the crept across her face had belied her anger. (Even still, he decided not to tell her how endearing he found that as well.)
It fascinates and confuses him, how confident and poised she is on Atlantis - in her office, facing off everyone from Kavanaugh to the IOA to the Wraith - in contrast to how nervous she seems at times when it's just them, as if she recognizes the dance but doesn't know the steps. He's a little grateful that they're on the same page in that respect, but at the same time he wishes he knew how to tell her, how to show her and make her understand that he doesn't care if she leaves dirty socks on the floor, or if she snores, or if she takes up too much of his cabinet with her things. He doesn't care if she gets too busy sometimes, doesn't care that she doesn't always know what to say or how to say it, that she isn't as graceful here as she is professionally. He wants to tell her that he doesn't care if she isn't perfect; that he likes her that way. Loves her.
"You're staring again," she murmurs against his chest.
John starts, smiling as he feels her laugh softly. "How did you know?"
She shrugs and tilts her head to look at him. "Just do."
"Yeah," he murmurs - understands - and meets her half-way for a kiss.
- stargate: atlantis
- john/elizabeth, rodney
- 11200 (9000 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.
IV. The one in which there are wookies, space-panties, and events are omitted on the grounds the author could incriminate herself.
The hotel is bustling with activity. Large tables line the halls, stacked with merchandise - everything from knives in cases to t-shirts to posters. Elizabeth stops dead just inside the entrance, staring open-mouthed at her surroundings.
John makes it a few feet past her, then stops and returns to her side. His expression is deceptively casual.
"John," she questions lowly, watching closely as he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.
"Yes?"
Her eyes narrow dangerously. "This had better be a pit-stop."
Across the lobby, two men (at least, she assumes they're men) dressed in near-perfect replicas of Star Trek officers' uniforms are bickering loudly. Hundreds of people are milling about, pointing and smiling stupidly and occasionally flailing their arms for, from what Elizabeth can tell, absolutely no reason.
Her eyes swing back to his. "John."
He tries a charming grin. "…on the way to the Q&A?"
Turning on her heel, Elizabeth makes a somewhat mad dash for the exit. John startles, then hurries to catch up, grabbing her arm before she can escape. "Elizabeth."
She glowers at him, pulling her arm gently but firmly out of his grasp. "You said we were going someplace relaxing."
John forces a wide smile. "What's not relaxing about this?"
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, a man nearly a foot and a half taller than him, broad-shouldered and dressed as a Klingon walks by. His arm grazes Elizabeth's, and he looks her up and down provocatively before moving on.
Elizabeth shudders slightly, then affixes her narrowed eyes on John, who tries to shrug. "They just think you're dressed funny."
She almost sputters. "I'm dressed funny?"
"You can't tell me you don't like science fiction," he says, just a small hint of begging under his tone. He's hiding something. She knows it.
"I live in a science fiction," she retorts, "I don't need to dally with it on my time off."
"Did you just say dally?"
"John."
The facade collapses and his body language and tone turn to full-out whining. "Oh, come on, it'll be fun!" Elizabeth stares at him, arms folded, and refuses to budge. John looks around frantically. "Look, they've even got a Wookie statue!"
Flatly: "That's not a statue."
John turns back just in time to see the "statue" move, make a growling noise, and walk away with a guy dressed as Han Solo. Grasping for straws, John waves his hands and stumbles over, "Well, some people are just more enthusiastic than others! You can't fault them for that."
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow while simultaneously holding her glare, in the look he's come to recognize easily as, Yes. I can. Watch me.
"Come on, Elizabeth," he begs. "Shatner's supposed to be here! And Cat Woman! And… they sell…swords and…squares of clothing and…Sigourney Weaver's space-underwear…come on!"
If possible, her eyebrow just arches higher, and John folds.
"I lost a bet."
"A bet," she repeats.
"To Cameron." John sighs and looks way, scrubbing the back of his hand over his neck. "And now I have to-"
Before he can finish the sentence, a loud, obnoxious, and familiar voice erupts from somewhere down the hall - "Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Don't you people understand that the ratio between the-" - and an equally loud, obnoxious voice, arguing with him.
Wincing, John looks back at Elizabeth. "…babysit Rodney."
Elizabeth drops her arm to her sides. "And you dragged me along on this little adventure because…?"
"It'll be fun?" he guesses. Wrong answer. "It's a three day convention, Elizabeth," he moans, "I'm gonna kill him in the first three hours."
Down the hall, another voice joins the argument, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Rodney waving his arms and hollering back angrily.
"Please?" he begs, with his absolute best, I swear I'll make it up to you pretty pretty please? expression.
He holds his breath while Elizabeth deliberates, then releases it when she closes her eyes and groans. "You owe me so big for this."
Grinning, John grabs her arm and steers her back into the convention, in the direction of their wailing scientist. Not three feet through the front doors, a guy dressed like Hercules double-takes to stare at her ass. John stifles a smirk, and Elizabeth glowers.
"So. Big," she grits out.
Behind her back, John gives a mocking salute and grins.
--
Having finally subdued Rodney with lunch and ditched him in the middle of a rant on theoretical physics, John and Elizabeth wander around the tables aimlessly. Elizabeth seems a little calmer, if still annoyed, and John watches her closely while pretending to be interested in the pictures of hot half-naked women. He notices what she looks at, what jewelry her fingers linger over and what makes her wrinkle her nose, and files away the information for future use.
And something to get him out of the dog-house.
They pass an array of posters, everything from shows he's never heard of (Farscape, Futurama and some weird book-gone-series thing called TekWar. He decides not to ask.) to a massive collection of Star Wars paraphernalia that almost catches his interest.
Almost.
Elizabeth gives him a look and John shrugs. "What? They blow a lot of stuff up. I'm a guy."
She rolls her eyes - "You realize that's a specious argument, right?" - and continues to the next table, which is stacked high with t-shirts. " 'Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the--' " She stops reading and her cheeks turn pink. John grins widely and waggles his eyebrows at her suggestively.
"I'll buy it for you."
Elizabeth sneers in response, and the lady behind the counter remains oblivious.
"T-shirts are two for thirty dollars, sweatshirts are forty-five."
"Thank you," she replies diplomatically, averting her gaze from the other shirts.
The woman behind the counter, about Elizabeth's age, pops her gum and smiles. "We've also got some back here if you need a different size."
"I'm just looking," she assures her, trying to move away.
"We've also got it in red," the woman offers.
John barely conceals a snort of amusement, and Elizabeth grabs his arm and drags him away.
--
Elizabeth blinks. "You weren't kidding."
John stands beside her, arms folded, appraising the display. "Nope." He shrugs. "I read about it on the internet."
Elizabeth opens her mouth a few times, but can't think of anything to say besides, "That's just wrong."
John smirks and takes a step forward. "I don't know," he muses, "I think it's kinda classy."
Elizabeth gives him her best you had better be joking glower, but it's brief. Her attention is still fixated on the large picture frame in front of her, encasing a small plaque, a signed photograph, and - true to John's word - Sigourney Weaver's underwear from the film Alien. On a table off to the side, to Elizabeth's disbelief, are packaged copies of Ripley's attire - or lack thereof - in small, medium and large. Complete set of underwear and tank-top for twenty-five dollars.
The line goes halfway down the hall.
"People actually pay for this stuff?" she asks incredulously.
A few people turn and glare, but she remains morbidly fixated on the display in front of her. John can't help it - his smirk turns into a grin and he moves back to her side, leaning in close.
"What'd you think?" he teases, "Should we get it for your office?"
--
Thankfully, John arranged for rooms in a separate hotel away from the action.
"A little presumptuous, don't you think?" she teases, when he opens the door to a room with only one bed and an enormous mini-bar.
John throws her a dirty look and she laughs. She's barely closed the door behind her when he pins her against it, body pressed to hers, noses bumping. Her laughter fades to a quiet smile, and John laces their fingers together.
"Hi," he murmurs.
Her gaze is soft and sweet. "Hi," she whispers back.
John grins - just a bit stupidly - and Elizabeth rolls her eyes before craning her neck up for a kiss.
--
[And then they have sex. Please feel free to take a moment to insert your porn of choice here. We have a wide selection to choose from, including but not limited to missionary, doggy-style, 69, wall-sex, bathroom-sex, floor-sex, window-sex, etc. If you like voyeurism with your porn, please relocate this scene to the pool and sauna area on the tenth floor. If you require witty dialogue with your porn, leave a comment to the author in the designated area below, with excessive details about your porn, and she will attempt to provide you with said conversation. If you like threesomes or moresomes, please check the bar downstairs in the lobby for hot, desperate individuals; more than likely, they will be overjoyed to accommodate your wishes.
When you have completed your trip to the gutter, please check back for the rest of the work-safe fic. Thank you.]
--
"So," John murmurs, falling to the side breathlessly, "does this mean you aren't mad at me for dragging you along?"
"Hmm," she ponders, curling up against his chest. "Depends."
"On?"
"Do all three days end like this?"
John smiles, and runs a hand over her arm and shoulder, back and forth. "I think something can be arranged."
He feels her lips curve up against his skin as she burrows closer to him. "Good."
--
"Oh god, you did it last night, didn't you?"
Elizabeth chokes on her coffee and Rodney wrinkles his nose at them like they've fed him moldy food. The lobby of the hotel is relatively quiet, and John is still pouting over Elizabeth's decision to eat downstairs instead of calling in room-service. (He's fairly certain she's regretting that choice now.)
"Rodney," Elizabeth warns, but he just shudders and takes a gulp from his own mug.
"What? It's not my fault it's all over your faces. God, they call this coffee? I've had better stuff than this in Pegasus."
"McKay," John says lowly, but Rodney just rolls his eyes.
"What? It's not like anyone here is going to think I'm nuts."
John throws a glance at Elizabeth and shrugs. "He's got a point."
"Speaking of which, I want to be there for the Q&A with Katee Sackoff, so if we could get a move on that would be great," he says, simultaneously shoving a piece of bagel in his mouth and waving his arms in a "speed-it-up" motion. Elizabeth doesn't budge except for her eyebrow, which raises just slightly. John smirks, and Rodney sighs. "Fine, fine, take your time. I guess I don't have to get there early to reorganize my thoughts on the probability of space travel within the time frame of biomechnoids and machine-"
Elizabeth holds up her hand. "We'll go as soon as I'm done," she caves, gesturing with her mug.
Rodney smiles smugly. "Excellent! I'll just run up to my room and get my notes."
He's off before either of them can say a word, and John shrugs.
--
"I still can't believe people fall for this stuff," Rodney groans, filing out of the main room that held the Q&A. "I mean really! There's absolutely no way a fleet the size of the one on BSG could sustain life for that long, and don't even get me started on that jumping every 38 minutes thing - what a load of - Oh my god is that Kevin Sorbo? I used to love him on Hercules." Rodney waves his arms and hurries away. "Hey, Kevin!"
Elizabeth stares, slack-jawed after him.
John smirks. "You hired him."
"I-" she starts. Her mouth open and closes.
"Wanna get a drink?" he grins.
Elizabeth exhales and replies (a little too enthusiastically), "God, yes."
--
The bar is surprisingly - or not - packed for two in the afternoon. There's a football game on the television, and Elizabeth watches in amusement as a hoard of people gather around the mounted set, taking gleeful shots every time their team scores a goal.
"Wanna buy a dragon?"
Elizabeth starts when a large, sculpted dragon is thrust into her field of vision, and looks up at the somewhat mangy, heavily intoxicated man standing over her table.
"Excuse me?" she asks politely, shying away just slightly.
"Hand-made," he slurs, "only a hundred and sixty bucks."
Elizabeth smiles uncomfortably, eyes scanning the bar for John. "No, thank you," she declines, attempting to meet his gaze.
The man doesn't budge, just leans closer into her personal space and waves the dragon under her nose. "Hundred and fifty for a pretty lady like you."
"No, really, I'm fine," she says firmly, at the same time the man stumbles a little closer and says, "You wanna touch it?"
"No, thank you."
"You know my friend made it," the guy drawls. His breath smells like alcohol and his eyes are unfocused. He stumbles every so often, and the dragon sculpture wavers precariously in his grasp. "Worked on it for years."
"It's lovely," Elizabeth offers.
He grins toothily at her. "Yours for one-sixty."
"I'm really not interested."
Waving the dragon in the direction of the bar, he grins salaciously. "Well then how about a drink?"
"I think you've had enough already," Elizabeth states, but he remains unfazed. Instead, shoves the dragon in her face and points to its wings.
"You know the colors in this are all hand-mixed? My friend…" He points the dragon across the room, in the direction of another man talking with a small group of people. "worked hard on it."
"Then don't drop it," she snaps.
The guy stumbles back slightly - "I'm not gonna drop - whoa." - and comes face to face with John.
"Can I help you?" John asks, two drinks in hand and a dangerous smile on his face.
The man frowns momentarily, then pushes the figure towards John. "You wanna buy a dragon?"
He loses the smile abruptly. "No."
Stuttering: "You- you could buy it for your girlfriend. It's got pretty colors." He turns back to Elizabeth. "You know the paint is-"
"Yes, we know," she says. The guy stumbles and almost drops it. Elizabeth's hands dart out undernearth his, ready to catch the fragile statue. "Careful!"
"I'm not gonna drop it," he slurs, "I paid for it. Now I gotta sell it for my friend. A hundred and eighty bucks." He stretches his other hand towards Elizabeth's arm. "One-sixty for a pretty girl like-"
Before he can make contact, John's hand closes tightly around his wrist. The guy blinks slowly and looks at him with surprise (and a little bit of fear).
"You're going to go away now," John says lowly.
"You know what?" the guy mutters, "I'mma go now." He steps away clumsily. "I'll come back later and see if you're interested."
"I wouldn't," Elizabeth smirks.
The guy frowns in confusion, but eventually settles on backing away, and heads across the bar to find another victim.
"Jedi mind trick?" Elizabeth inquires as John sits down across from her.
"i've been practicing," he grins.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes, amused. She's about to say something else when a blur of color appears in front of her face. Startled, she looks up.
"You wanna buy a dragon?"
Looking across the table at John, who appears as though he can't decide whether to be worried, entertained or protective, Elizabeth sighs and stares forlornly down at the orange cocktail he brought her.
"I think I'm gonna need a bigger drink."
--
Thankfully, Rodney stays rather calm and thoroughly occupied with the autograph lines - "Do you know how much these things sell for on eBay?" as his defense - and John sneaks Elizabeth away to one of the quieter floors.
"John," she protests when he corners her against the wall and teases kisses down her throat.
"What? It's not like we've got anything better to do," he retorts, hands holding firmly to her hips.
Elizabeth bites her lip and tries to turn away, succeeding only in providing John with more skin to torment. "We're in public."
He grins against her neck. "Your point?"
"I-" she starts, but he silences her with a deep, breathless kiss. That seems to distract her well enough, and John smirks in triumph when her fingers snake through his hair.
"Damn you," she whispers, chest heaving and eyes wild.
"I think you mean, 'thank you, John'," he murmurs back, claiming her lips again. His hands drift, around her waist and down her back before settling on her ass, squeezing tight enough to make her jump. She gasps, he grins, and she smacks his arm.
"Cheeky."
He's about to lean in for another kiss when a group of five or six people rush by excitedly. "Going at it-" he hears, "Oh, I so want to see this!" "They're in the lobby!" "Let's go!"
John blinks, turning his head in the direction of the crowd while keeping Elizabeth pinned between himself and the wall.
"You don't think that's-"
"It better not be," she mutters.
John sighs heavily and steps back. "Let's go make sure Rodney isn't getting himself thrown out."
"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" Elizabeth retorts.
John smirks, takes her hand and drags her back downstairs.
--
Thankfully, Rodney has nothing to do with it. He's standing clear of the fight, for once, watching amusedly as two groups of people yell loudly back and forth. There's an equally large crowd watching, and Rodney seems content to observe, snacking on what Elizabeth's sure is his fourth or fifth bag of chips in the last few hours.
"What's going on?" John asks.
Rodney looks over, sees their hands and groans. John's ears turn pink and Elizabeth tries not to blush, but neither let go. Rodney ignores them and points toward the groups. "Star Wars," he indicates, "Star Trek."
"They're fighting over movies?" Elizabeth asks, frowning at the intensity of the argument before her.
"Oh no," Rodney supplies, "They're fighting for dominance - the endless battle of wits and superiority over the sci-fi genre. Classic," he grins, "Better than Jeopardy."
Between the two groups stands a small, gangly man in a suit, trying desperately to keep the two sides from throwing punches. He appears to be succeeding, for the most part, but the commotion is growing and Elizabeth can tell from across the room that he has absolutely no control over either side.
Rodney pops a chip in his mouth and nudges her. "You should go help him."
Elizabeth blinks. "Me?"
"Yeah. You're a diplomat." He waves his hand. "Go diplomicize."
Elizabeth glares. "That isn't a word."
"Whatever. Seriously, they're gonna come to blows soon."
"I don't know the first thing about…" she looks at John helplessly.
"Star Wars and Star Trek."
Rodney huffs. "You've seen them, haven't you?"
"Yes, years ago, but-"
And before she can stop him, Rodney is marching across the room, grabbing the hotel staffer by the arm and pointing in her direction.
"Son of a b-" Elizabeth groans, and John tries desperately not to laugh as the man races over, wiping sweat off his face with his sleeve and begging her with his eyes before he even opens his mouth.
"They've been at it for twenty minutes, and they're beginning to annoy the other guests. I can't stop them. I'm going to get fired. I've never been good at conflict management, I failed speech in high school and I don't even like sci-fi." His eyes widen in terror. "Please don't tell them. I mean really, they can't take much more - I can't take much - you're a negotiator right?"
The man looks so desperate, so shaken, that Elizabeth can't lie. "Yes," she admits. "I…have some experience."
"Please," the staffer whimpers. "I don't want to get fired."
--
"No, you don't get it!" the Trek leader, a 20-something guy with dark hair and a captain's uniform shouts angrily, "If it weren't for the genius of Roddenberry there'd be no Star Wars! Star Trek has eight years on that junk and has six series! Plus movies!"
Star Wars Fan, a 30-something year old in a logo t-shirt, glowers back smugly. "And Star Wars has achieved more fame and recognition for six movies alone-"
"Oh please, it's not a real movie if it's got Hayden Christensen is in it!" Loud calls of concurrence, and shouts from the back of the group.
"Well, at least we don't have incest!" The Star Trek crowd hollers in agreement, and the baffled and offended group of Star Wars fans gasp and rave.
"They didn't know!"
"They had The Force," someone shoots back sarcastically, "they should have USED IT!"
Elizabeth takes a deep breath, tosses a quick look at John and throws herself into the fray. "Hey! What the hell is going on here?"
The two leaders turn to her, shocked, then immediately launch into their campaigns.
"He said that Trek is a immature facsimile of Star Wars when obviously- "
"They believe the Federation is stronger than the Alliance, despite the fact that they-"
"Stop it!" she snaps, fed up. "Honestly, what the hell is wrong with you people?"
John leans in close and mutters quickly, "Don't say it's just TV. Seriously," he warns when she looks at him disbelievingly. "Don't."
Elizabeth takes a deep breath and looks from one group to the other. "This is important to you, right? These…universes." A quick look out of her corner of her eye at John; he nods in approval.
The bands keep arguing.
"It's only the greatest science fiction story ever told of course it's-"
"Second only to the mastery of-"
"Gentlemen!" she interrupts firmly. "How about you take five minutes to put aside your differences and find some commonalities between you."
The two leaders stare at her as if she's spoken another language - one not prominent in science-fiction.
"Like what?" the Star Wars leader demands.
Elizabeth grapples for something to say. "They're both in space?"
John winces, and the two sides go at it again.
"In an impossible world where they don't even have microtranslators and-"
"Oh, and the Federation just happened, huh - of course, with wealthy, white, Americans at the top of the-"
"Oh, cause Han Solo's just SO BLACK-"
"Hey!" Elizabeth raises her voice angrily and narrows her eyes at both of them. "You think this is worth it?" she demands. "Your incessant bickering over something so-" To her left, she sees John make a slicing motion across his neck, and she switches tracks. "Why don't you think about it this way," she tries instead, addressing the Star Trek leader. "What would Picard do, if he encountered a peaceful race who maybe had different perspectives than his own? Wouldn't he still try to represent the Federation to the best of his abilities and forge an alliance?"
The kid hesitates, then nods slowly. "I guess so…" he admits warily. Elizabeth nods and turns to the other group.
"And what do you think…"
"Luke Skywalker," John provides.
"Luke Skywalker would do?" she continues. "Behead everyone with his lightsword?"
"Saber," he corrects.
"Lightsaber?" Elizabeth inserts. "You both live in worlds striving so desperately for peace between different races. How can we ever do that if we can't establish peace among ourselves?"
The groups begin to murmur among themselves, looking from her to their leaders and back again.
Hesitantly, the Star Wars leader nods. " I guess they do have some similar themes…" he tells her, shooting glances at the Trek leader, waiting for reciprocation.
"And the lightsaber and the phaser do have similar technological components…" he offers.
A young girl in the Trek group pipes up, "And the ewoks are pretty cool…"
"You know," a Star War fan adds, "given their physiology and taking into account parallel universes and hormonal development, it is possible that tribbles are the next evolutionary stage of the ewok…give or take a millennia."
The groups nod in agreement and slowly, carefully, begin mingling in the lobby. Elizabeth hears a small group discussing something about the difference between governmental structures in the Federation verses the Alliance, and another going on excitedly about the possibility of something called a "crossover fan-fiction." Elizabeth decides not to ask, and instead makes as smooth and quick a get-away as possible.
The hotel staffer approaches her before she can escape, babbling excitedly and grasping her hands tightly. "Thank you. Thank you so much. This - this is wonderful. I've been working here for years and I've never seen - I mean they're actually talking! I don't even - I don't know how we can repay you-"
"Can you open the bar?" Elizabeth interrupts. Beside her, John stifles a laugh.
"Certainly," he nods, "certainly ma'am. Drinks are on the house for the rest of the weekend. I'll see to it right away!"
With that, he hurries off and Elizabeth takes a deep breath.
"Not bad," John offers, inclining his head in the direction of the crowd. "You actually got them to set aside their differences."
"Please," she snorts. "Star Trek is obviously superior." John raises an eyebrow, surprised, and Elizabeth shrugs. "Luke Skywalker's a pansy."
Laughing, John can't resist stealing a quick kiss. "Have I ever told you how cool you are?"
"No."
He grins. "Remind me to prove it to you later."
Rodney makes a gagging noise behind them, and Elizabeth turns over her shoulder to glare. "You shouldn't have done that, Rodney. What if I hadn't been able to get them to stop?"
Rodney snorts. "Please. This is a cake-walk for you."
Elizabeth blinks in surprise. "I didn't realize you had such confidence in diplomacy."
"Not diplomacy; political science is a scam. There's no science involved; it's just theories that are impossible to prove and most of those are based on superstition."
"McKay," John snaps.
Rodney shoots him a look but cuts himself off. "Your…negotiating fu."
"My what?"
"Your skills, technique, whatever you want to - look, it's a compliment, okay, so just stop raising your eyebrow at me and take it, okay?"
Elizabeth's expression softens into a smile. "Thank you, Rodney."
"Whatever. Can we go now? I'm hungry. I think I saw a Chlie's a ways back and they have this fantastic fajitas…"
--
Elizabeth sighs heavily and drops back onto the bed with an oomph.
"That is the last time I ever let Rodney drive," John groans in agreement, collapsing next to her.
"Or ask for directions?" Elizabeth inquires.
John rubs a hand over his face. "You mean 'demand'?"
She laughs - softly at first and then slightly louder in exhausted, semi-hysterical amusement. "I thought you were going to lose it the fifth time he passed it."
"There was a giant sign!" John moans.
Elizabeth smirks, and John rolls suddenly, pinning her underneath his body. "What?" he challenges.
She laughs. "Nothing," she murmurs, reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair. "You're just cute when you're pouting."
John affects insult at first, then seems to consider her words. "I'll have to keep that in mind, actually," he mummers, nuzzling his face against her neck. "Might come in handy in the near future."
"Near future, huh?" she murmurs back, gasping slightly as he shifts lower, nipping at the skin over her collar bone. Switching most of his weight to one arm, John uses his other hand to undo the buttons of her blouse. When his task is complete, he pushes her shirt aside and, with a happy sigh, buries his face between her breasts.
Elizabeth laughs, and the sound reverberates along her skin and bones, and he smiles even wider, kissing just above her bra.
--
The last day of the convention is the busiest.
Rodney starts no less than five arguments, and embroils John and Elizabeth in no less than four. They wind up shadowing him most of the day, ignoring his whining in favor of warning glares and threats of violence to keep him quiet. Or quieter.
When Elizabeth looks like she's only a step away from firing him, John decides to drag him off in search of food, and then cleverly loses him in the sea of people waiting in line for hamburgers at a stand the convention (randomly) has set up on the lower level of the hotel.
Finally spotting her across the foyer on the floor above, he starts to make his way toward her when the sounds of crying reach him. Frowning, John turns to find a small child in the corner, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her mother crouching in front of her with a handkerchief.
"Can I help you?" John asks carefully, keeping a few feet of distance between himself and the crying child.
The mother starts and looks up. "Oh, no, thank you," she says, rising and putting her arm around the little girl. "She's just upset. One of the actors was pretty rude to her." She sends a withering glare in the direction of the autograph tables. "Honestly," she fumes, "I don't know who these people think they are."
John nods awkwardly in sympathy, and the little girl wipes a hand under her nose and sniffles.
"She's not a princess after all," she says, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Oh, sweetheart." The mom hugs her tighter and bends to dab her face with a tissue. More to herself than to John, she murmurs angrily. "I never should have brought her."
John shakes his head. "You couldn't have known."
"She plays this heroine on TV. Hannah loves her. When I saw she was coming, I thought…" She shakes her head in disgust. "Stupid."
John hesitates, then crouches down next to them and address the little girl gently. "Hannah, right?"
The mother frowns at him, but says nothing. The little girl bites her lip and looks from her mother to John and back again. John catches the woman's gaze and nods, and eventually the woman murmurs something to the little girl, who nods in affirmation.
John smiles. "Can you keep a secret, Hannah?"
"A secret?"
"Yeah. A big one." He lowers his voice. "You can't tell anybody."
Hannah hesitates, then covers her mouth with her fist and nods.
Leaning just a little closer, John whispers, "I know a princess."
Hannah's eyes widen and her hand falls away to grip the bottom of her dress. "A real princess?"
"Yup."
Hannah considers him for a moment. "Does she live in a castle?"
"No," John admits, "but she lives in a big, glass city."
Hannah frowns, and shakes her head. "All princesses live in castles," she says firmly. Her mother smiles and brushes a hand through her daughter's hair.
John nods in agreement. "Most of them do," he says, "But she's a very special princess. And guess what? She's here right now." Turning slightly, John points across the hall. "See that lady over there?"
Hannah bites her lip again and looks from the woman to John and back again. "She doesn't look like a princess."
"She can't," John tells her, "Otherwise everyone here would want to talk to her. And she's taking a break right now. But she told me she's making an exception, just for you." He smiles broadly. "You want to talk to her?"
Hannah thinks about it for a long moment, then turns to her mother with bright eyes. "Can I?"
John stands, and hears the mother murmur something like, "Sure, sweetie" before he starts leading them across the lobby. Leaning closer, the woman looks at John worriedly.
"Does your friend know about this?" she whispers.
John shakes his head. "Not a clue."
"Maybe we shouldn't-"
"No, it's okay," he assures her, "I promise."
The mother starts to protest, but John closes the last few feet quickly and touches Elizabeth's arm.
"Hey."
Her smile is bright. "John, where have you-"
"Elizabeth, I'd like you to meet someone," he says seriously. She frowns slightly, and looks down as John steps to the side to reveal a small, blonde girl in a pink dress. Elizabeth's eyes widen, and she throws a brief, confused look at John, who inclines his head toward the girl and nods.
Elizabeth forces a smile. "Hi," she addresses Hannah, just a touch awkwardly.
Hannah looks up at her with wide eyes, then looks at the floor, wringing her fingers together. "Hi," she mumbles back.
"I told Hannah how much you wanted to talk to her," John says to Elizabeth, catching her gaze.
"Of course," she says slowly, not entirely understanding but trusting John to fill her in later. Crouching down, Elizabeth tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "How are you, Hannah?"
"It's okay, sweetie," her mother murmurs.
Hannah bites the inside of her lip and struggles to meet Elizabeth's gaze. "Are you really a princess?" she asks. Her eyes are still watering and she sniffles occasionally, and Elizabeth melts under the innocent, hopeful gaze.
"Yes, I am," she says quietly. She looks up quickly to catch John's gaze, then adds, "But you can't tell anyone, okay?"
Hannah nods. "'Cause then they'll all want to talk to you."
Elizabeth smiles. "Yes. And I'd rather spend my time with you."
Hannah looks up. "Really?"
Elizabeth nods, and looks her in the eye. "Really."
While they talk, John stands back and watches her closely. She's uncomfortable, if the fluttering motions of her hands are anything to go by, but she keep smiling gently and never once looks away from the little girl, focusing all her attention on whatever it is she's saying.
John tries not let his brain wander too far down that road, but he can't help it if he likes kids and he loves Elizabeth and kids with Elizabeth doesn't sound like a bad idea in his brain.
Slow down, John, he reminds himself. But he can't help the wide, stupid smile from spreading across his face as he watches them.
Out of nowhere, Rodney appears at his side. "Could you be any more obvious?" he grouses, stuffing his face with what has only a vague resemblance to a hot-dog.
John spares him a side-long glare. "Shut up, McKay."
--
It isn't much longer before Hannah's mother starts to wrap things up, exchanging nods with Elizabeth as they carefully orchestrate a goodbye. Without warning, Hannah throws her arms around Elizabeth's shoulders and kisses her cheek. Elizabeth freezes, completely stunned, then slowly and awkwardly returns the hug.
"Come on, sweetie, we should go."
Hannah pulls back reluctantly, then grins and leans forward to whisper in her ear. "Bye, Princess Elizabeth."
Elizabeth smiles and whispers back, "Bye Princess Hannah."
Hannah giggles and grins and takes her mother's hand, chattering excitedly. Elizabeth stands and exchanges a knowing glance and nod with the other woman, before they take off and disappear into the throngs of people still milling about.
Elizabeth watches them until John appears at her side, sliding a hand across her back subtly. She looks up at him with a slightly worried gaze. "You took a big risk, John," she tells him seriously.
"What?"
She looks away. "I'm terrible with kids. I could have-"
"Rodney is terrible with kids," John interrupts. "You did great."
There must be something in his tone, or his gaze, or the way his hand lingers on the base of her spine, because Elizabeth's expression changes from self-consciousness to confusion.
"What?"
"Nothing," he says quickly.
Behind them, Rodney lets out a moan of exaggerated disgust and despair.
--
"So."
"Yes, John?"
"You, uh. You had an okay time, right?"
Elizabeth frowns and shrugs off her jacket, laying it over the back of a chair. "At the convention?"
"Yeah," he says, a little too quickly, as if seizing on the idea. "At the convention."
"It was…an enlightening experience, that's for sure." She turns to face him, arms folded, and shrugs. "And Rodney didn't set fire to the place, so I'm relieved."
The moment she says it she regrets it. John's face falls just slightly, just enough for her - but probably no one else - to notice. "Right," he nods, and forces a smile, and turns away, pretending to be preoccupied with the television set.
Elizabeth considers him for a moment as he flips aimlessly through muted channels. "That wasn't the answer you were looking for, was it?" she asks, dropping her arms to her sides and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him.
John starts, eyes wide, and quickly shakes his head. "No! I mean, I wasn't looking for anything."
It's a lie, and a horrible one at that. Elizabeth tries to hold his gaze, but he shifts uncomfortably and stares down at the remote in his hand. He looks so uncomfortable, so insecure and awkward and endearing that she can hardly stand it.
"Hey," she mummers, touching his shoulder gently. "look at me." He does, reluctantly, and she smiles fondly to reassure him. "John, the fact that I had even a remotely decent time at a science-fiction convention - with Rodney McKay, of all people - says a lot less about the location and a lot more about you. We aren't dating. You don't have to try to impress me at every turn, or…" She waves her other hand and shrugs. His gaze is so intense that she hesitates, self-conscious. "You wanted me to come with you, so I did. May not have been my first choice for a vacation spot, but. No one tried to kill us." She smiles, the movement just a touch self-deprecating. "And I got to be a princess."
"You are a princess," he says, and she can tell by the semi-startled look on his face that he didn't actually intend the words to be vocalized. She laughs, and his expression morphs into one of, well, what're you gonna do?
She shakes her head and taps his nose with her finger. "And you are a hopeless romantic."
He gives her a look but doesn't deny it. And then he waits, one hand on her knee, silent and patient, as if he knows. Knows what she wants to say and can't; can never find words for. But he deserves it, so she tries.
"I…" she hesitates, trying to parse together words from her head instead of her heart. "I like being with you," she says finally, a little too quickly, like she meant to say something else and covered it up at the last second. John nods, and looks at her like he gets it; like he knows. Elizabeth shifts under his gaze and smiles, tries to make it less important than it is. "Whether it's here or Atlantis or…whatever that thing was called. I…" she tries, fails, and settles awkwardly on, "like this."
John smiles back. "I like this, too," he murmurs.
Elizabeth tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, notices the motion, and settles her hands awkwardly in her lap. A second later she stands abruptly - "Oh! I got you something." - and moves across the room to her purse.
John rises hesitantly, takes a few steps toward her and stops. After a moment of digging she turns around and holds out a small paper bag.
"What is it?" he asks, taking it from her slowly.
She rolls her eyes and makes a just open it gesture. John grins and opens the bag, reaches in and pulls out a thin card encased in plastic. He frowns at first, then flips it over and his eyes go wide.
"Johnny Cash?"
Elizabeth smirks. "A true piece of mildly creepy fan paraphernalia."
John stares at the snatch of clothing on the card a little to reverently. "He wore this suit at Folsom Prison in '68. This is one of his most famous concerts-" He meets her gaze suddenly and breaks off sheepishly. Elizabeth laughs, shakes her head, and arches up on her toes to kiss him sweetly.
When they break away, John has a twinkle in his eye that she knows far too well. "I got you something, too," he says, a failed attempt at casual.
Elizabeth eyes him warily, her distrust proven when it turns around with cloth-shaped package wrapped in tissue paper. One look tells her everything she needs to know, and she takes the package out of his hands, amused and exasperated.
"You bought me space-panties, didn't you?" she groans, opening the paper to reveal said 'costume'.
"Exact replica from Alien," he grins.
"I've never even seen Alien."
He shrugs. "This basically sums it up."
"John-" she starts, but he kisses her suddenly, too passionate and a little too awkward to be fully intended. He grins and adjusts his stance, crowding her back towards the bed, one hand tangling in her hair and the other gripping her ass. Elizabeth squeaks slightly, and he laughs and she grabs the back of his neck and kisses him fiercely to shut him up.
His hand snakes under her shirt to play across her ribs, and she breaks away on a gasp. "John-"
"Screw the space panties," he growls, taking them from her weakened grasp and throwing them across the room. "I've got a better idea."
V. The one in which John and Elizabeth say "fuck it" and stay in bed all day.
8:40am
"Elizabeeeeeeeth." John sits on the edge of the bed and runs a hand gently down her arm. "It's almost nine," he murmurs.
Elizabeth strains to open her eyes and glare, gives up, and buries her face in the pillow with an emphatic, "Nrmph."
John tries not to laugh. "Was that English?" he teases. Elizabeth mumbles something else, but otherwise doesn't move. John smiles at the sight--her hair in disarray, arms hugging the pillow, displaying absolutely no desire to get out of bed. "It's our last day here for a while," he reminds her, absent-mindedly running his fingers through her hair. "Thought you wanted to go out."
There's a pause. John waits with his eyebrows raised, then bites down on a grin at her muffled, "Nu-uh. Smpfh."
This time, he can't hold back a soft chuckle. "What?" No answer. "Elizabeth…" he asks slowly, "are you playing hooky?"
Her only response is to open one eyelid, half-glower, and declare: "Mmnf."
--
9:55am
"Hey. Good morning."
Elizabeth smiles, stretches and curls up against his chest.
"Still no speech?" he teases, trailing his fingertips up and down her arm.
Tilting her head, Elizabeth shifts upwards and kisses him. "No need," she murmurs, grinning against his lips as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her on top of his chest.
--
11:10am
When John comes out of the bathroom, he expects her to be dressed and downing a cup of coffee. Instead, she's curled up against the headboard, nursing a cup of tea.
John blinks at the cart near the foot of the bed. "You ordered lunch?"
She shrugs. "Didn't want to get dressed."
John quickly defends himself. "I'm not complaining."
Elizabeth smirks. "I didn't think you were."
Making sure the towel is secure around his waist, John lifts one of the lids and almost balks; looks from the tray to Elizabeth to the tray and back again. Elizabeth smirks.
John clears his throat and tries to hide an impending grin. "Isn't that a little…"
"Cliche?" she offers.
"Obvious?"
Elizabeth sets her tea on the night-stand and slips off the bed, padding towards him. Peering into the bowl, she picks out a strawberry and dips it in the side of whipped cream. "It's strawberry shortcake," she says. "There's nothing suspicious about that."
She holds out the strawberry.
John throws her a naughty look and leans forward; overestimating, he bites into her finger.
"Ow!" Elizabeth pulls her hand back, dropping the piece of fruit. Half of it falls to the floor and the other half gets caught in John's teeth momentarily, before tracking down his chin and somehow ending up bouncing off his chest to join the other piece on the floor.
Elizabeth blinks at him, then bursts into laughter.
"I don't think food is our forte," John smirks, amused and a bit self-conscious as he picks up the fallen strawberry and throws it in the trash.
"Oh, I don't know," Elizabeth muses. Closing the distance between them, she presses a quick kiss to his lips before tracking her way across his chin and down his neck. "I think we could make it work for us."
John groans as her tongue swipes across his chest. Tugging at the tie on her robe distractedly, he backs her clumsily toward the bed--right into the cart of food.
There's a clink, a crash, and Elizabeth freezes. Straightening slowly, she turns to peer over her shoulder at the cake, creme and strawberries spread Pollock-style over the floor.
"Or not," she shrugs.
John laughs and kisses her.
--
12:45pm
Elizabeth sighs contentedly and leans back against his chest, closing her eyes and letting the water stream over her. Dropping her head, she moans as John finds a particularly tight knot in her muscle, kneading it out with firm but gentle touches, peppering her neck with open mouthed kisses.
They stay in the shower until the water runs cold, content to exchange slow, lazy kisses; wandering hands tracing, mapping, exploring--scares and lines and hollows still new enough, and yet somehow familiar.
Now, wrapping a towel around her frame, Elizabeth gives him a reluctant glance. "We should probably get dressed. Go out." She runs her fingers through her hair. "It's our last day on Earth for a while, and we probably shouldn't spend it in- mphft-"
John silences that thought with a deep, passionate kiss, pinning her suddenly to the bathroom sink and tugging away the towel. She lets out a high-pitched squeak when he grabs her around the waist and hoists her up to sit on the countertop.
"John!"
"I have a better idea," he announces, and with a wicked grin, proceeds to attack every inch of skin with his hands and teeth and tongue.
"You realize," she gasps, fingers curling into her hair, "That we just…oh…showered?"
John smirks against her chest. "I do," he informs her, and between kisses: "But you" - kiss - "need to be" - kiss - "more impulsive."
Elizabeth tugs at his hair sharply when he licks at her collarbone. "And this is…your idea of a…lesson?"
Against her lips: "Pretty informative, huh?"
Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth surprises him by suddenly wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, tugging him flush against her. "Something like that?" she murmurs teasingly.
John swallows tightly, but somehow manages to recover long enough to hook one arm under her leg and the other around her back and lift her off the counter. Gasping, Elizabeth clings tighter and John laughs, stumbling backwards into the bedroom.
"Something" - kiss - "like this."
--
3:30pm
Incessant pounding at the door forces John out of bed and - for the first time that day - into a pair of pants. Elizabeth chuckles at his cursing and follows him out of the bedroom, shrugging on the previous discarded robe and cinching it tight at the waist.
John barely has the door open before Rodney's voice filters in, loud and demanding. "It's almost four, I'm hungry, let's go." Pause. "Why aren't you dressed?" Shorter pause. "Don't answer that."
"I think you're on your own today-" John manages, before Rodney begins whining.
"What? No. We were gonna try that new Asian restaurant--it's supposed to be the best in the state!"
"We…already had lunch," John says, and coughs. Elizabeth covers a laugh.
"You already--do you have leftovers?" he demands, pushing past John and scanning the room for food. "I'm starved. Where is it?"
Elizabeth leans against the doorframe adjoining the bedroom and smirks. "Sorry to disappoint, but we didn't know you'd be joining us."
"Oh, ha ha," Rodney drawls. Then: "Seriously, you ate it all?"
"You can pick the leftovers off the floor if you like," Elizabeth says innocently.
John chokes and Rodney frowns. "Pick it up off the-" He shakes his head violently. "I don't want to know. Ooh, nuts," he says suddenly, diving for a container on the mini-bar. "I ate all mine. And you have popcorn! I didn't get any..."
John and Elizabeth exchange a glance before surrendering, moving to the couch to sit and wait out Rodney's destruction of their snacks and rambling tale of his morning encounter with the guy across the hall, the woes of cold breakfast and the woman who flirted with him in the elevator.
"She may or may not have been a hooker," he says, as if he's still deliberating.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes and curls her toes under her robe as much as possible. "Cold?" John murmurs under Rodney's monologue. Elizabeth shakes her head and nestles closer, resting her head on John's shoulder and catching his hand in hers.
John isn't sure how much time passes; just listens to Rodney's monologue and makes sure to punctuate it with a few sarcastic comments here and there between zoning out. He's thinking about what he might get Elizabeth to agree to in Vegas when Rodney's comment snaps him back.
"Is that really necessary?"
"What?"
"The…" He gestures with a cracker. "petting."
The moment he says it, John feels Elizabeth tense and start to shift away. He hadn't noticed before that his fingers were brushing through her hair, or that she'd been drawing soft spirals against his palm.
"I'm sorry, Rodney," Elizabeth murmurs, pulling her hands into her lap and sitting up straighter. "We weren't trying to make you uncomfortable."
"We weren't?" John says smartly, but there's an undertone of reprimand aimed in Rodney's direction, and John can tell by the look in his face that he regrets his tone if not his words.
"Look, it's- you're not bothering me," Rodney covers. "It's actually kind of..."
"Of what?" John dares.
Rodney winces. "…cute." Pause. "In a horrifically nauseating kind of way."
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow to cover a self-conscious smirk, and Rodney feels his chest tighten. "I'm uh, I'm glad you trust me," he says finally. "You know. Enough to…" He waves the cracker again. "Do that. And stuff."
John snorts, but he gives a slight nod of thanks. Elizabeth smiles and opens her mouth to vocalize the sentiment when Rodney shakes his head furiously. "I want absolutely no details."
She laughs. "I wasn't going to give you any."
Rodney sighs in relief. "Good," he says, at the same time John raises his eyebrows suggestively and says, "I might."
Elizabeth slaps John's arm and Rodney shudders, abandoning his crackers in favor of the door. "I can't believe I sat down in here," he mutters. "God only knows what you've been-" He makes a disgusted face, then turns to both of them with a glare. "As far as I'm concerned, you're playing checkers," he says resolutely.
"Checkers?" Elizabeth asks.
He nods emphatically. "Checkers. All day." Pause. "I'm going." Longer pause. "You didn't do it on the sofa, did you, 'cause really that would-"
"Leave, McKay."
"Gone," he announces.
The door clicks shut behind him. John turns to Elizabeth and smirks. "At least we know how to get rid of him now." She nods, but her smile doesn't last very long, and John sighs. "He was just being Rodney."
"What?" She blinks, pulling herself from her thoughts. "No, I know that."
"Then what is it?" he asks softly; almost afraid of her answer.
"Nothing. It's just…" She stares at his hand, resting absently on her knee. So familiar in such a short period of time. It terrifies her. "It's easy here."
He nods. "We'll be okay. No one's said anything so far on Atlantis, so…" He shrugs. When she still doesn't look at him, he crooks a finger under her chin and coaxes her gently, watching her face as his hand slides across her skin to cup her cheek, smiling as she tilts her face into his palm.
--
5:55pm
Somehow, John manages to convince Elizabeth that staying in bed, naked, and watching a five-hour Lone Ranger marathon is the perfect way to spend an afternoon.
Somehow, curled against his chest, his fingers trailing up and down her spine, Elizabeth can't really bring herself to disagree.
--
9:15pm
She falls asleep about six episodes in. John doesn't mind; he takes the opportunity to study her, to memorize the lines on her face and the sounds she makes in her sleep. She's moved slightly so that she's draped over him, using his chest as a pillow, legs tangled and her arm thrown across his shoulder. She snores slightly, and he supposes he should probably find it irritating; instead, he's positive it's one of the cutest things he's ever seen. Elizabeth had glared at him when he informed her of his conviction, but the blush the crept across her face had belied her anger. (Even still, he decided not to tell her how endearing he found that as well.)
It fascinates and confuses him, how confident and poised she is on Atlantis - in her office, facing off everyone from Kavanaugh to the IOA to the Wraith - in contrast to how nervous she seems at times when it's just them, as if she recognizes the dance but doesn't know the steps. He's a little grateful that they're on the same page in that respect, but at the same time he wishes he knew how to tell her, how to show her and make her understand that he doesn't care if she leaves dirty socks on the floor, or if she snores, or if she takes up too much of his cabinet with her things. He doesn't care if she gets too busy sometimes, doesn't care that she doesn't always know what to say or how to say it, that she isn't as graceful here as she is professionally. He wants to tell her that he doesn't care if she isn't perfect; that he likes her that way. Loves her.
"You're staring again," she murmurs against his chest.
John starts, smiling as he feels her laugh softly. "How did you know?"
She shrugs and tilts her head to look at him. "Just do."
"Yeah," he murmurs - understands - and meets her half-way for a kiss.