Fic: The Way It Is
Title: The Way It Is
Rating: PG
Summary: A part of him can almost hear his grandmother's voice, admonishing him and wondering when he will make an honest woman of her.
Genre: Future Fic, Romance
She’s a heavy sleeper, far more so than he’d originally thought when they first started sleeping together. At the time, she’d had only a small standard issue bed, so when he fell out of it after that first night and she didn’t so much as twitch, he knew.
Now, though, he’s used to it. It’s even useful on days like this. He can easily slip out from their bed - now a much larger one thank God - and not have to worry about her waking up. He knows she doesn’t sleep well when he’s off-world, so he isn’t eager to interrupt what rest she gets now.
He slips through the mostly silent halls of the city, easily avoiding the few people that he encounters. The only people who are awake at this time of the morning are the Marines and technicians on duty, as well as the scientists who haven’t even been to bed yet. And given that Lorne’s team just brought back some Ancient-looking machine, he’s willing to bet Rodney’s still in his lab, on his sixth or seventh cup of coffee.
He reaches the mess hall and is relieved to see that it’s empty. It doesn’t open for breakfast for another hour, so Sergeant Nelson, the unofficially-appointed cook, should be the only one present back in the kitchen. He knows he can count on the man’s ability to keep his mouth shut about what he asked the man to do the previous evening.
He walks in and is relieved to find that he was correct. Nelson is there waiting for him, busy at the stoves preparing breakfast for the early morning rush. Sitting on the enormous island in the center, however, is a tray covered in food. Eggs, bacon, sausage, muffins, even what looks like freshly-squeezed orange juice. He grins.
“Thanks, Nelson.”
“Anytime, sir.”
The exchange is brief, but it says everything that needs to be said. Balancing the tray in his hands, he leaves the mess hall and retraces his steps back to their quarters. It’s a little more difficult to avoid anyone passing him with the tray, but he manages it.
When he enters the room, he finds that she’s shifted over onto her side and is clutching his pillow tightly to her chest. He sets the tray down on his desk (which he had carefully cleaned off for this purpose the night before), stifling a laugh.
After glancing at the food one last time, he slowly crosses over to the bed and sits down in front beside her. She doesn’t move, even when the bed shifts to accommodate his weight.
He doesn’t normally make a habit of watching her sleep. That’s usually something she likes to do, and since, unlike her, he is a fairly light sleeper, he is often aware of when she sits up and stares at him.
When they first came together like this, it felt almost like a relief, as though they had been together the entire time and had only then recalled that they could stay with one another after work hours. In those early days, they would wrap themselves around one another in the bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes staring out the enormous picture window she has. It has a gorgeous view of the city, the ocean beyond, and even the area where the sky and water meet. It’s a beautiful thing to see, night or day.
Right now, though, the sun is beginning to spill over the horizon and bathe their room in a soft golden glow that will only increase in time.
He slowly takes one of her hands in his own larger ones and gazes at it. He’s seen these hands trembling from fear and cold, clasped tightly together in anger and frustration (often enough directed at him), and grasping tightly to his shoulders as their mutual passion mounts.
A part of him can almost hear his grandmother’s voice, admonishing him and wondering when he will make an honest woman of her. Oddly enough, he then hears his father’s voice, saying that it’s hard enough to find happiness in this world and that people can only take it where they can find it.
A part of him, what little is left of the idealist within him, wants to do exactly as his grandmother says. He would love to see a gold band on her ring finger and a matching one on his. But he knows that it can’t be. That has never been in the cards for them. Most likely, it never will be. Hell, what they have now was never supposed to be in the plans.
But despite that, he’s happier now than he has been in a long, long time. Waking up to find her nestled up against him or him holding her close, it’s an amazing thing in itself. And he doesn’t have a problem with that.
Resting her hand on the pillow she’s still clutching tightly, he slowly leans down and brushes his lips over her cheek, then her nose, and then her forehead. He moves back slightly to glimpse her face and sees her beginning to stir. A slow smile creeps across his lips and he repeats the movements. When he looks again, two sleepy green eyes peer up at him.
“Good morning,” he murmurs quietly.
She yawns tiredly, replying softly, “Good morning.”
“Know what day it is?”
The look she gives him is one of bewilderment, at least at first. But when she breathes deeply, comprehension fills her eyes and they immediately dart about the room, no doubt looking for the source of what she smells.
During their first year in the city, she tried to allow her birthday to pass by quietly, with no one taking notice. He nixed that by giving her the small urn made by one of the Athosians at his request. She tried for days after the fact to find out how he discovered that it was her birthday, but as far as he knew, she never did find out.
The second year, he and his team had been stuck on that planet of Lord-Protectors and crazy bloodline schemes. They’d brought home drones and jumpers, but he’d still felt like he should have gotten her something more for the occasion. She had just smiled and told him that bringing himself back unharmed was present enough for her.
In the successive years, however, he was always sure to have something for her. Their fourth year was the first time he’d done this. Unable to look through some of the stuff the Athosians made, he’d settled for breakfast in bed. Sergeant Nelson had been his partner in crime then, just as he was now.
Now grinning, he leans down again and kisses her gently.
“Happy Birthday, Elizabeth.”
No, living happily ever after in the conventional sense may never happen for them, but what they have now… he thinks it’s enough for them both.
Rating: PG
Summary: A part of him can almost hear his grandmother's voice, admonishing him and wondering when he will make an honest woman of her.
Genre: Future Fic, Romance
She’s a heavy sleeper, far more so than he’d originally thought when they first started sleeping together. At the time, she’d had only a small standard issue bed, so when he fell out of it after that first night and she didn’t so much as twitch, he knew.
Now, though, he’s used to it. It’s even useful on days like this. He can easily slip out from their bed - now a much larger one thank God - and not have to worry about her waking up. He knows she doesn’t sleep well when he’s off-world, so he isn’t eager to interrupt what rest she gets now.
He slips through the mostly silent halls of the city, easily avoiding the few people that he encounters. The only people who are awake at this time of the morning are the Marines and technicians on duty, as well as the scientists who haven’t even been to bed yet. And given that Lorne’s team just brought back some Ancient-looking machine, he’s willing to bet Rodney’s still in his lab, on his sixth or seventh cup of coffee.
He reaches the mess hall and is relieved to see that it’s empty. It doesn’t open for breakfast for another hour, so Sergeant Nelson, the unofficially-appointed cook, should be the only one present back in the kitchen. He knows he can count on the man’s ability to keep his mouth shut about what he asked the man to do the previous evening.
He walks in and is relieved to find that he was correct. Nelson is there waiting for him, busy at the stoves preparing breakfast for the early morning rush. Sitting on the enormous island in the center, however, is a tray covered in food. Eggs, bacon, sausage, muffins, even what looks like freshly-squeezed orange juice. He grins.
“Thanks, Nelson.”
“Anytime, sir.”
The exchange is brief, but it says everything that needs to be said. Balancing the tray in his hands, he leaves the mess hall and retraces his steps back to their quarters. It’s a little more difficult to avoid anyone passing him with the tray, but he manages it.
When he enters the room, he finds that she’s shifted over onto her side and is clutching his pillow tightly to her chest. He sets the tray down on his desk (which he had carefully cleaned off for this purpose the night before), stifling a laugh.
After glancing at the food one last time, he slowly crosses over to the bed and sits down in front beside her. She doesn’t move, even when the bed shifts to accommodate his weight.
He doesn’t normally make a habit of watching her sleep. That’s usually something she likes to do, and since, unlike her, he is a fairly light sleeper, he is often aware of when she sits up and stares at him.
When they first came together like this, it felt almost like a relief, as though they had been together the entire time and had only then recalled that they could stay with one another after work hours. In those early days, they would wrap themselves around one another in the bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes staring out the enormous picture window she has. It has a gorgeous view of the city, the ocean beyond, and even the area where the sky and water meet. It’s a beautiful thing to see, night or day.
Right now, though, the sun is beginning to spill over the horizon and bathe their room in a soft golden glow that will only increase in time.
He slowly takes one of her hands in his own larger ones and gazes at it. He’s seen these hands trembling from fear and cold, clasped tightly together in anger and frustration (often enough directed at him), and grasping tightly to his shoulders as their mutual passion mounts.
A part of him can almost hear his grandmother’s voice, admonishing him and wondering when he will make an honest woman of her. Oddly enough, he then hears his father’s voice, saying that it’s hard enough to find happiness in this world and that people can only take it where they can find it.
A part of him, what little is left of the idealist within him, wants to do exactly as his grandmother says. He would love to see a gold band on her ring finger and a matching one on his. But he knows that it can’t be. That has never been in the cards for them. Most likely, it never will be. Hell, what they have now was never supposed to be in the plans.
But despite that, he’s happier now than he has been in a long, long time. Waking up to find her nestled up against him or him holding her close, it’s an amazing thing in itself. And he doesn’t have a problem with that.
Resting her hand on the pillow she’s still clutching tightly, he slowly leans down and brushes his lips over her cheek, then her nose, and then her forehead. He moves back slightly to glimpse her face and sees her beginning to stir. A slow smile creeps across his lips and he repeats the movements. When he looks again, two sleepy green eyes peer up at him.
“Good morning,” he murmurs quietly.
She yawns tiredly, replying softly, “Good morning.”
“Know what day it is?”
The look she gives him is one of bewilderment, at least at first. But when she breathes deeply, comprehension fills her eyes and they immediately dart about the room, no doubt looking for the source of what she smells.
During their first year in the city, she tried to allow her birthday to pass by quietly, with no one taking notice. He nixed that by giving her the small urn made by one of the Athosians at his request. She tried for days after the fact to find out how he discovered that it was her birthday, but as far as he knew, she never did find out.
The second year, he and his team had been stuck on that planet of Lord-Protectors and crazy bloodline schemes. They’d brought home drones and jumpers, but he’d still felt like he should have gotten her something more for the occasion. She had just smiled and told him that bringing himself back unharmed was present enough for her.
In the successive years, however, he was always sure to have something for her. Their fourth year was the first time he’d done this. Unable to look through some of the stuff the Athosians made, he’d settled for breakfast in bed. Sergeant Nelson had been his partner in crime then, just as he was now.
Now grinning, he leans down again and kisses her gently.
“Happy Birthday, Elizabeth.”
No, living happily ever after in the conventional sense may never happen for them, but what they have now… he thinks it’s enough for them both.