Full Circle (12/23)
Title: Full Circle (12/23)
Author: neensz
Word Count: ~32,300 so far
Pairing: Eliot/Shawn pre-slash
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, violence, kid!fic, un-beta’d
Disclaimer: Psych and Leverage and SG:A do not belong to me, nor do any of the characters or places or quotes I'm borrowing for my nefarious slashing purposes. I make no profit from the aforesaid borrowing, or only in the currency of sqeeing fangirly joy.
A/N: I’ve only just realized how many acronyms the Stargate ‘verse actually uses. It’s slightly ridiculous. Also, I’m going to be road-tripping down to AZ and back for the next week, and I don’t know how much posting or writing will be happening during that time. Sorry for the delays 8[
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11
***
Jesse loved Atlantis, almost as much as she loved him. Not only did he have John’s supersized ATA gene and then some, but he’d been born here. John tried to prevent the sappy smile from spreading across his face as he watched Jesse run off down the corridors, perfectly secure in the knowledge that this was the one place in two galaxies that his son was completely safe. Atlantis wouldn’t let anything hurt Jesse--not even John. And that had been a really annoying two hours he’d been stuck in that force field last year when he’d tried to give Jesse a swat on the ass for leaping from one of the upper story balcony railings before McKay had gotten him out. Sure, Atlantis hadn’t let him fall, but what if Jesse had tried to fly back at the ranch where there weren’t mother-henning force fields to keep him from splatting all over the goddamned place on landing? Jesse was his father’s son--he’d do anything to fly. And that scared the shit out of John.
John forced back the besotted grin, because really, no one needed to see that on the face of their Commanding Officer and the newly reinstated military head of Atlantis, and nodded to Richard Woolsey, the civilian director of the expedition, when he caught his eye. The man was hovering over the technician’s shoulder up by the DHD on the second level of the gate room, as if his presence would actually speed up the technician‘s work. The gate repairs/modifications must be taking longer than Carter had predicted--but at least they were on Earth and had access to the SGC’s gate for backup. He made a mental note to see about getting McKay in on the repairs, despite the fact that the scientist would probably rant and complain that he had so many other more important things to do (which was really just a cover for how he didn‘t want to work with Carter since she‘d recently torn apart one of the few papers he’d managed to get through the censor board to publish), because having to gate through the SGC was such a goddamn hassle. Besides, McKay could probably have the stargate back up and running in a couple of minutes with both hands tied behind his back.
It was ridiculous, really, how long it had taken for some brass-hat to give the okay to just fly Atlantis between the two galaxies, what with the wormhole drive and PX-983’s ZPM stash and all, rather than having to pick one galaxy and stick with it. Especially since the Daedalus had better things to do than coast between two galaxies making supply runs. But maybe he could put off putting McKay on the gate repairs and use Woolsey’s being at loose ends to his advantage. He tapped his radio to switch to the command staff frequency and asked, “Woolsey, could I have a minute? Got something I want to ask you about.” The man had been with the NID and the IOA through the whole initial discovery of the Trust thing, after all. Maybe, if John asked nicely, he’d pull a few strings for him. Might as well make use of the fact that his son had the whole expedition wrapped around his little finger, after all.
“Of course, Colonel. I’ll see you in my office after the debriefing.”
***
Eliot wasn’t exactly refusing to believe what he’d just seen, but if there was one thing he’d learned in his life, it was that denial and willful ignorance made it possible to deal with a whole lot of shit. So he was determinedly not thinking about the fact that five people had just disappeared into thin fucking air right in front of his eyes. Hardison, however, didn’t seem to follow the same philosophy; he’d scrounged up a pair of sunglasses and was wearing them inside--at night--while hunched over his laptop sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner of the kitchen, muttering to himself and typing furiously. Shawn was… Eliot looked around. Shawn was gone. What the fuck? He made a quick sweep of the cabin, but Shawn was nowhere to be found. He’d still been here after… after, so John hadn’t …taken him with them. Eliot forced down the memory and ignored the part of his brain that thought Hardison had the right idea, cowering in the corner. Not that Hardison would admit to cowering, he knew.
Well, at least this would take his mind off whatever the fuck just happened. He had a purpose now to distract him--find Shawn. Eliot hoped this wasn’t the start of a pattern their relationshi- Okay, now his brain wanted to dwell hysterically on the fact that he’d kissed Shawn earlier. Admittedly, a better substitute than the people disappearing into thin air while he watched thing, but Eliot didn’t do hysterics. So, first off, find Shawn. Then, find enough alcohol to wipe this whole day from his memory. It was a good plan. He slipped out the front door quietly, not that Hardison was paying attention to anything other than his computer screen. For all the paranoia, he’d be screwed if some G-man wanted to take him out, but Eliot was highly doubting the likelihood of that possibility.
Calmly, he surveyed the footprints in the snow, compartmentalizing everything but his present task into little padlocked shut, six-inch thick steel boxes in the back of his mind. The snow in front of the cabin was disturbed, to say the least, from Jesse and his watchers playing in it. He blinked momentarily at the blobby snowman that loomed in the southeastern corner of the yard--how had they gotten it so big in so little time? He ignored it after deciding it looked more like a giant crouching frog than anything human. There were two sets of footprints leading west away from the mess of tracks in front of the cabin. He crouched briefly by them, noting in the back of his mind that he probably should have put on a coat before slipping out of the cabin, and determined from the scuff pattern on the snow that one set led to the cabin, and one away from it. There were no other tracks outside the mess in front of the cabin, so John and his team must have appeared either in the yard or on the porch. He shyed away from that thought.
Both sets of tracks were Shawn’s then, one from when he arrived, and one from just now. He followed the tracks leading away, not that they diverged much from the ones leading here, focusing his attention on the trail to the exclusion of all else, though he kept an ear out for misplaced sounds in case someone was following him. The same part of his mind that had commented on the need for a coat tried to point out to him that he was exhibiting signs of shock--also known as being severely fucked in the head--but he ignored it. Shawn and alcohol, that was the mission. Once he had those, he’d be able to get through till tomorrow, and deal with it all then. The part of his mind that was providing annoying commentary wanted to know when Shawn had become necessary for Eliot’s continued sanity. He ignored that, too.
***
When Eliot stalked into his cabin, Shawn wasn’t really surprised. He didn’t even really know why he’d left Eliot and Hardison’s cabin in the first place--well, other than the fact that Hardison had been starting to make him seriously paranoid, what with the sunglasses and the message boards and muttering about Area 51 and government conspiracies. He’d gotten enough of that from Dennis to last a lifetime.
Eliot beelined for where he was sprawled on the couch and sat down next to him, grabbing the bottle of vodka from the coffee table where Shawn had left it that morning and taking a huge swig as he relaxed into the couch. Shawn could feel a line of heat down the side of his body where Eliot was pressed up against him. True, it wasn’t a very big couch, but it wasn’t that tiny either. But the king of mixed messages just sat there silently and took another long gulp of vodka straight from the bottle held loosely in his right hand. His arm had draped itself around Shawn’s shoulders when he sat down and the entire left side of his body pressed up against Shawn’s. Eliot’s body heat was burning through Shawn’s clothes to scorch Shawn’s skin, despite the fact dude had just come from a ten minute hike in the snow without a jacket.
Shawn had been staring at the blank screen of the cabin’s cheap little TV set before Eliot had barged in and… sat at him. But hey, Shawn could be quiet too, it just took--he leaned out of Eliot’s arm for a moment to palm the bowl from the table. He lit up as he rested back against Eliot’s arm, holding the smoke deep in his lungs before he exhaled. He could be quiet too.
***
John could never really get over the feeling of having been called to the principal’s office when Woolsey was behind his desk doing that finger-steepling thing, but he sucked it up. He’d been the one to ask for the meeting, after all. Sure enough, Woolsey was already sitting behind the desk and doing the finger-steepling thing when Atlantis opened the door for John as soon as he got close. He stepped into the room and caught himself slipping into parade rest--he covered it by sitting in one of the guest chairs in front of the desk, slouching down to sit on his spine. Though that did nothing to negate the whole ‘called to the principal’s office’ mood, so he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees instead.
“What is it, Colonel?” Woolsey prompted after John hadn’t said anything for a few seconds.
John gathered his thoughts. “It’s about the Trust,” he started, then paused, not quite sure where to go from there. Woolsey sat up a little straighter, and put his hands flat on the desk. Which was good, because John always had to struggle not to call him Mr. Burns when he did the finger-steepling thing, and that really wouldn’t help his cause.
“What about the Trust? Is this in relation to your last mission--they can’t possibly have expanded to other planets? Their Al’kesh was destroyed years ago, and they don’t have access to the stargates…”
“Not exactly. It’s not from the mission, it’s from... After. You know, when we picked up Jesse.” Woolsey nodded for him to go on, his posture easing a little. John briefly considered whether or not to lay it all out for him, but while he trusted Woolsey, a lot of it wasn‘t his to tell. “Tom, the guy who’s been looking after Jesse for me, is on the run from one of their big players. Has been for a while. He… can take care of himself. I think that if we give him some help, he could even maybe--no, he could--take down this guy that’s after him. It’s a win-win for us too, because we’d be down one less Trust operative and wouldn’t have to spend time or resources on it.”
Woolsey looked at him steadily for a moment, and John could almost see the gears turning in the man’s head. Finally, he gave John a small nod and stood up. “I’ll think about it.” John easily read the nonverbal ‘dismissed,’ and left the room with an answering nod to Woolsey. Sure, it wasn’t an unequivocal yes, but it wasn’t a no either. Woolsey had to know that John wasn’t giving him all the facts, but after all this time working together, he knew Woolsey trusted him. The question was, how far?
***
Eliot woke up with a crick in his neck, a hangover the size of Texas, and a taste in his mouth like something had crawled in there and just up and died during the night. He groaned and tried to crack his neck, clenching his jaw at the nausea that surged through him at moving even that much. And then the electric blanket covering most of his left side twitched. He was across the room practically before he’d opened his eyes, leaving Shawn collapsed across the couch and grumbling in his sleep.
“Shit,” he said calmly. What had he--Oh. His memories of the previous day came flooding back, rushing though his mind like some sort of tsunami. “Goddamn,” he muttered after it’d all hit him again. Eliot looked at Shawn again to make sure he was out of it, not that he’d really looked away, and noticed the glass pipe dangling precariously from his fingers. Gingerly, not wanting to wake Shawn up, he made his way quietly back over to the couch and rescued the pipe. Eliot briefly considered just trashing the damn thing, but resisted the urge long enough to put it on the coffee table. Sure, the last thing he needed was Shawn stoned, but it wasn’t really any of his business how Shawn coped with shit, especially considering Eliot‘s own methods. He tossed the afghan from the back of the couch over Shawn, because the cabin was fairly chilly now that he wasn’t sharing body heat, and left.
Hopefully Hardison hadn’t had some sort of psychotic break while he’d been gone.
After a long, fucking freezing walk, the blast of warm air from his and Hardison’s cabin when he opened the front door was pure bliss. Hardison was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, looking perfectly unfazed and well rested despite yesterday’s… trauma. Eliot wished his freakouts had an off switch like Hardison’s apparently did.
He ignored Hardison’s greeting in favor of the bathroom, where he was going to worship the porcelain god and shower and dear Lord brush his teeth. The shock of remembering yesterday and the freezing temperatures outside had helped him ignore his nausea on the walk to the cabin, but now that he was back his hangover was reasserting itself and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and die on the nice cold bathroom tile next to the toilet.
***
When Shawn woke up, his nose was freezing and Eliot had done that thing he did so well and disappeared. Shawn fingered the afghan draped over him though, and felt a tiny smirk grow on his lips. “Well, shucks, El,” he muttered to the empty cabin, “someone might start thinkin’ you actually cared.” The smirk turned to a frown. Yeah, he was never pulling that attempt at Eliot’s drawl out in front of anyone, ever. Even he could tell it was awful.
Shawn flung the afghan back and stumbled sleepily to the bathroom and then to the kitchen, still working on waking up. The previous day’s events hadn’t faded from memory or anything, but sleeping on it had transitioned his opinion from Holy shit! to Holy shit, that was cool! He was definitely heading back over to Eliot’s cabin as soon as he had had enough caffeine to function. And a shower, he amended when a sniff check to his pits had him pulling back with a grimace. There was no way in hell he was missing a chance to see Scotty beam the Vulcan down from the Enterprise in real life. Real-life Star Trek--seriously. Best day ever. And then there was always the chance that Mixed Message Man--a.k.a. Eliot--would kiss Shawn again. He wasn’t gonna chance missing that, either.
***
Chapter 13
Author: neensz
Word Count: ~32,300 so far
Pairing: Eliot/Shawn pre-slash
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, violence, kid!fic, un-beta’d
Disclaimer: Psych and Leverage and SG:A do not belong to me, nor do any of the characters or places or quotes I'm borrowing for my nefarious slashing purposes. I make no profit from the aforesaid borrowing, or only in the currency of sqeeing fangirly joy.
A/N: I’ve only just realized how many acronyms the Stargate ‘verse actually uses. It’s slightly ridiculous. Also, I’m going to be road-tripping down to AZ and back for the next week, and I don’t know how much posting or writing will be happening during that time. Sorry for the delays 8[
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11
***
Jesse loved Atlantis, almost as much as she loved him. Not only did he have John’s supersized ATA gene and then some, but he’d been born here. John tried to prevent the sappy smile from spreading across his face as he watched Jesse run off down the corridors, perfectly secure in the knowledge that this was the one place in two galaxies that his son was completely safe. Atlantis wouldn’t let anything hurt Jesse--not even John. And that had been a really annoying two hours he’d been stuck in that force field last year when he’d tried to give Jesse a swat on the ass for leaping from one of the upper story balcony railings before McKay had gotten him out. Sure, Atlantis hadn’t let him fall, but what if Jesse had tried to fly back at the ranch where there weren’t mother-henning force fields to keep him from splatting all over the goddamned place on landing? Jesse was his father’s son--he’d do anything to fly. And that scared the shit out of John.
John forced back the besotted grin, because really, no one needed to see that on the face of their Commanding Officer and the newly reinstated military head of Atlantis, and nodded to Richard Woolsey, the civilian director of the expedition, when he caught his eye. The man was hovering over the technician’s shoulder up by the DHD on the second level of the gate room, as if his presence would actually speed up the technician‘s work. The gate repairs/modifications must be taking longer than Carter had predicted--but at least they were on Earth and had access to the SGC’s gate for backup. He made a mental note to see about getting McKay in on the repairs, despite the fact that the scientist would probably rant and complain that he had so many other more important things to do (which was really just a cover for how he didn‘t want to work with Carter since she‘d recently torn apart one of the few papers he’d managed to get through the censor board to publish), because having to gate through the SGC was such a goddamn hassle. Besides, McKay could probably have the stargate back up and running in a couple of minutes with both hands tied behind his back.
It was ridiculous, really, how long it had taken for some brass-hat to give the okay to just fly Atlantis between the two galaxies, what with the wormhole drive and PX-983’s ZPM stash and all, rather than having to pick one galaxy and stick with it. Especially since the Daedalus had better things to do than coast between two galaxies making supply runs. But maybe he could put off putting McKay on the gate repairs and use Woolsey’s being at loose ends to his advantage. He tapped his radio to switch to the command staff frequency and asked, “Woolsey, could I have a minute? Got something I want to ask you about.” The man had been with the NID and the IOA through the whole initial discovery of the Trust thing, after all. Maybe, if John asked nicely, he’d pull a few strings for him. Might as well make use of the fact that his son had the whole expedition wrapped around his little finger, after all.
“Of course, Colonel. I’ll see you in my office after the debriefing.”
***
Eliot wasn’t exactly refusing to believe what he’d just seen, but if there was one thing he’d learned in his life, it was that denial and willful ignorance made it possible to deal with a whole lot of shit. So he was determinedly not thinking about the fact that five people had just disappeared into thin fucking air right in front of his eyes. Hardison, however, didn’t seem to follow the same philosophy; he’d scrounged up a pair of sunglasses and was wearing them inside--at night--while hunched over his laptop sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner of the kitchen, muttering to himself and typing furiously. Shawn was… Eliot looked around. Shawn was gone. What the fuck? He made a quick sweep of the cabin, but Shawn was nowhere to be found. He’d still been here after… after, so John hadn’t …taken him with them. Eliot forced down the memory and ignored the part of his brain that thought Hardison had the right idea, cowering in the corner. Not that Hardison would admit to cowering, he knew.
Well, at least this would take his mind off whatever the fuck just happened. He had a purpose now to distract him--find Shawn. Eliot hoped this wasn’t the start of a pattern their relationshi- Okay, now his brain wanted to dwell hysterically on the fact that he’d kissed Shawn earlier. Admittedly, a better substitute than the people disappearing into thin air while he watched thing, but Eliot didn’t do hysterics. So, first off, find Shawn. Then, find enough alcohol to wipe this whole day from his memory. It was a good plan. He slipped out the front door quietly, not that Hardison was paying attention to anything other than his computer screen. For all the paranoia, he’d be screwed if some G-man wanted to take him out, but Eliot was highly doubting the likelihood of that possibility.
Calmly, he surveyed the footprints in the snow, compartmentalizing everything but his present task into little padlocked shut, six-inch thick steel boxes in the back of his mind. The snow in front of the cabin was disturbed, to say the least, from Jesse and his watchers playing in it. He blinked momentarily at the blobby snowman that loomed in the southeastern corner of the yard--how had they gotten it so big in so little time? He ignored it after deciding it looked more like a giant crouching frog than anything human. There were two sets of footprints leading west away from the mess of tracks in front of the cabin. He crouched briefly by them, noting in the back of his mind that he probably should have put on a coat before slipping out of the cabin, and determined from the scuff pattern on the snow that one set led to the cabin, and one away from it. There were no other tracks outside the mess in front of the cabin, so John and his team must have appeared either in the yard or on the porch. He shyed away from that thought.
Both sets of tracks were Shawn’s then, one from when he arrived, and one from just now. He followed the tracks leading away, not that they diverged much from the ones leading here, focusing his attention on the trail to the exclusion of all else, though he kept an ear out for misplaced sounds in case someone was following him. The same part of his mind that had commented on the need for a coat tried to point out to him that he was exhibiting signs of shock--also known as being severely fucked in the head--but he ignored it. Shawn and alcohol, that was the mission. Once he had those, he’d be able to get through till tomorrow, and deal with it all then. The part of his mind that was providing annoying commentary wanted to know when Shawn had become necessary for Eliot’s continued sanity. He ignored that, too.
***
When Eliot stalked into his cabin, Shawn wasn’t really surprised. He didn’t even really know why he’d left Eliot and Hardison’s cabin in the first place--well, other than the fact that Hardison had been starting to make him seriously paranoid, what with the sunglasses and the message boards and muttering about Area 51 and government conspiracies. He’d gotten enough of that from Dennis to last a lifetime.
Eliot beelined for where he was sprawled on the couch and sat down next to him, grabbing the bottle of vodka from the coffee table where Shawn had left it that morning and taking a huge swig as he relaxed into the couch. Shawn could feel a line of heat down the side of his body where Eliot was pressed up against him. True, it wasn’t a very big couch, but it wasn’t that tiny either. But the king of mixed messages just sat there silently and took another long gulp of vodka straight from the bottle held loosely in his right hand. His arm had draped itself around Shawn’s shoulders when he sat down and the entire left side of his body pressed up against Shawn’s. Eliot’s body heat was burning through Shawn’s clothes to scorch Shawn’s skin, despite the fact dude had just come from a ten minute hike in the snow without a jacket.
Shawn had been staring at the blank screen of the cabin’s cheap little TV set before Eliot had barged in and… sat at him. But hey, Shawn could be quiet too, it just took--he leaned out of Eliot’s arm for a moment to palm the bowl from the table. He lit up as he rested back against Eliot’s arm, holding the smoke deep in his lungs before he exhaled. He could be quiet too.
***
John could never really get over the feeling of having been called to the principal’s office when Woolsey was behind his desk doing that finger-steepling thing, but he sucked it up. He’d been the one to ask for the meeting, after all. Sure enough, Woolsey was already sitting behind the desk and doing the finger-steepling thing when Atlantis opened the door for John as soon as he got close. He stepped into the room and caught himself slipping into parade rest--he covered it by sitting in one of the guest chairs in front of the desk, slouching down to sit on his spine. Though that did nothing to negate the whole ‘called to the principal’s office’ mood, so he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees instead.
“What is it, Colonel?” Woolsey prompted after John hadn’t said anything for a few seconds.
John gathered his thoughts. “It’s about the Trust,” he started, then paused, not quite sure where to go from there. Woolsey sat up a little straighter, and put his hands flat on the desk. Which was good, because John always had to struggle not to call him Mr. Burns when he did the finger-steepling thing, and that really wouldn’t help his cause.
“What about the Trust? Is this in relation to your last mission--they can’t possibly have expanded to other planets? Their Al’kesh was destroyed years ago, and they don’t have access to the stargates…”
“Not exactly. It’s not from the mission, it’s from... After. You know, when we picked up Jesse.” Woolsey nodded for him to go on, his posture easing a little. John briefly considered whether or not to lay it all out for him, but while he trusted Woolsey, a lot of it wasn‘t his to tell. “Tom, the guy who’s been looking after Jesse for me, is on the run from one of their big players. Has been for a while. He… can take care of himself. I think that if we give him some help, he could even maybe--no, he could--take down this guy that’s after him. It’s a win-win for us too, because we’d be down one less Trust operative and wouldn’t have to spend time or resources on it.”
Woolsey looked at him steadily for a moment, and John could almost see the gears turning in the man’s head. Finally, he gave John a small nod and stood up. “I’ll think about it.” John easily read the nonverbal ‘dismissed,’ and left the room with an answering nod to Woolsey. Sure, it wasn’t an unequivocal yes, but it wasn’t a no either. Woolsey had to know that John wasn’t giving him all the facts, but after all this time working together, he knew Woolsey trusted him. The question was, how far?
***
Eliot woke up with a crick in his neck, a hangover the size of Texas, and a taste in his mouth like something had crawled in there and just up and died during the night. He groaned and tried to crack his neck, clenching his jaw at the nausea that surged through him at moving even that much. And then the electric blanket covering most of his left side twitched. He was across the room practically before he’d opened his eyes, leaving Shawn collapsed across the couch and grumbling in his sleep.
“Shit,” he said calmly. What had he--Oh. His memories of the previous day came flooding back, rushing though his mind like some sort of tsunami. “Goddamn,” he muttered after it’d all hit him again. Eliot looked at Shawn again to make sure he was out of it, not that he’d really looked away, and noticed the glass pipe dangling precariously from his fingers. Gingerly, not wanting to wake Shawn up, he made his way quietly back over to the couch and rescued the pipe. Eliot briefly considered just trashing the damn thing, but resisted the urge long enough to put it on the coffee table. Sure, the last thing he needed was Shawn stoned, but it wasn’t really any of his business how Shawn coped with shit, especially considering Eliot‘s own methods. He tossed the afghan from the back of the couch over Shawn, because the cabin was fairly chilly now that he wasn’t sharing body heat, and left.
Hopefully Hardison hadn’t had some sort of psychotic break while he’d been gone.
After a long, fucking freezing walk, the blast of warm air from his and Hardison’s cabin when he opened the front door was pure bliss. Hardison was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, looking perfectly unfazed and well rested despite yesterday’s… trauma. Eliot wished his freakouts had an off switch like Hardison’s apparently did.
He ignored Hardison’s greeting in favor of the bathroom, where he was going to worship the porcelain god and shower and dear Lord brush his teeth. The shock of remembering yesterday and the freezing temperatures outside had helped him ignore his nausea on the walk to the cabin, but now that he was back his hangover was reasserting itself and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and die on the nice cold bathroom tile next to the toilet.
***
When Shawn woke up, his nose was freezing and Eliot had done that thing he did so well and disappeared. Shawn fingered the afghan draped over him though, and felt a tiny smirk grow on his lips. “Well, shucks, El,” he muttered to the empty cabin, “someone might start thinkin’ you actually cared.” The smirk turned to a frown. Yeah, he was never pulling that attempt at Eliot’s drawl out in front of anyone, ever. Even he could tell it was awful.
Shawn flung the afghan back and stumbled sleepily to the bathroom and then to the kitchen, still working on waking up. The previous day’s events hadn’t faded from memory or anything, but sleeping on it had transitioned his opinion from Holy shit! to Holy shit, that was cool! He was definitely heading back over to Eliot’s cabin as soon as he had had enough caffeine to function. And a shower, he amended when a sniff check to his pits had him pulling back with a grimace. There was no way in hell he was missing a chance to see Scotty beam the Vulcan down from the Enterprise in real life. Real-life Star Trek--seriously. Best day ever. And then there was always the chance that Mixed Message Man--a.k.a. Eliot--would kiss Shawn again. He wasn’t gonna chance missing that, either.
***
Chapter 13