Full Circle (15/23)
Title: Full Circle (15/23)
Author: neensz
Word Count: ~39,400 so far
Pairing: Eliot/Shawn (OMG finally!)slash(kinda)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, violence, feelings-talk, obliviousness, 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: Apologies for it being shorter than usual, but I really, really wanted to stop with that as the last line, because I’m a horrible person. Also, I noticed I seemed to be maybe writing in a different style, though I can't really tell. But I figure that‘s excusable b/c I’m running on little to no sleep at the moment and still have two more papers to write that are due this week--though, honestly, this is longer than both of them combined. They’re little papers. 8] Also? Splice = win. AND David Hewlett’s in it. No joke. (And he plays a Bad Scientist, which is just funny on so many levels. Though, come to think of it, there’s a lot of Bad Scientists in that movie. I still liked it though.)
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14
***
Shawn scowled at the cheap and oh so very ugly curtains through the dim gloom of his hotel room. They were in Dallas, and had been now for two days, planning and talking and doing computer things and talking some more and Shawn was so bored by now that his brain felt like it was going to explode. So he’d retreated to his hotel room to escape the planny-ness, and while it was just as boring sitting on the scratchy bedspread and flipping through the TV’s pay-per-view menus in the dark, he didn’t feel nearly so useless as he had hovering around the edges of the clusters of competent people doing things he didn’t really understand and talking about things that didn’t seem to make sense. And whenever he’d tried to point out how or why they weren’t making sense, they’d look at him like he was some sort of idiot child, so really, he’d just needed to escape. Because, after all, he wasn’t here because he was needed or anything. He was just here so Eliot could focus. Which, honestly, made him feel more whorish than anything he’d done for money in his misspent youth ever had.
There was a tap at his door, and Shawn obstinately stayed silent. It was obvious he was in the room, seeing as how he didn’t feel the need to turn down the TV or stop flipping through the pay-per-view trailers--oh, Splice… Adrien Brody was pretty hot, and his movies weren‘t half bad either, so he might end up watching that--but that didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for whoever was on the other side of the door. And yeah, maybe he did feel a bit like a pouting five year old, but hey, kids were smart and they knew what worked. That, and sulking in the dark made him feel better in a slightly twisted way.
Eventually, the periodic tapping went away, and Shawn settled on Splice for his mindless entertainment. He began to regret that decision an hour and a half later when Parker dropped onto his bed--where he totally wasn’t clutching a pillow like a scared little girl--from the vent in the ceiling right as Brody got yanked under the surface of the ominously bubbling water.
***
Eliot heard the scream from across the hall and over Sophie’s high pitched list of reasons about why--actually, he hadn’t been paying much attention, so he didn’t really know what she was going on about. But she obviously had a lot to say about it. Eliot had been preoccupied with the way Shawn had slunk out of the room a couple of hours ago, and how Parker had told him Shawn wouldn’t answer the door and then some convoluted reason for why she had to use the ventilation shafts to check on him rather than using a peephole reverser or picking the lock on the door.
Eliot hoped to God it was just surprise that had prompted that blood-curdling scream from Shawn’s room, but he knew that he wasn’t that lucky. Fuck, with his luck, Moreau had snuck in there somehow and was shooting off Shawn’s kneecaps as Eliot wasted time deciding whether or not he should break down the door or not. Which was enough to decide him.
He kicked the door in, knowing from the way the jarring impact buzzed in his knee and hip that he’d be feeling that for the next few days, and burst into the dimly lit room. Flickering light from the TV picked out Parker and Shawn tangled on the bed, and Eliot felt his blood run cold. What the hell? The same blood curdling scream sounded again, and Eliot’s attention snapped to the TV, where someone was possibly getting stabbed by something. Or someone. And being very vocal about it. Shit. Shawn and Parker were staring at him from the bed, and as the scene changed on whatever movie they were watching, the light the TV cast on the bed brightened and Eliot could pick out Shawn’s arm wrapped around Parker as they fucking snuggled while watching a horror movie.
Eliot couldn’t decide whether this was worse than finding Moreau shooting Shawn’s kneecaps off, and he found that a little upsetting. He scowled at the both of them, and turned to stalk back out of the room, but suddenly Parker was in his way and Eliot was regretting all the self-defense moves he’d been teaching her, because she wouldn’t let him past her.
“Nuh uh. You’re not blaming me for this, because you know whatever you’re thinking happened never did because you’re my family Eliot. You know I’d never do that to you. So stop making excuses and ask him to be your Valentine already,” she hissed into his face, and pushed him backwards hard enough that he staggered into the edge of the bed and had to either sit down or fall down as he unbalanced gracelessly.
“It’s the 24th, not the 14th, Parker,” Eliot muttered under his breath, refusing to explain as Parker made her escape and trapped him in with a question-faced Shawn. Not that he was really and truly trapped, seeing as how the doorjamb was splintered out from the wall and there was no way the deadbolt would engage, never mind the door latching, till maintenance or someone got after it with a hammer and a couple pounds of wood glue. Or just installed a new frame.
***
McKay cornered John after Eliot had run out in the middle of their conversation. John could tell from the look on McKay’s face that there was going to be complaining in spades, and John tried to head him off at the pass. “I know you think Eliot needs a more defined plan, but really, recon comes first. It’s a plan to get the information to make a plan, and I know how much you like getting information, so really, you should be completely on board with not going in all planless, which I know from experience you hate-”
“Dude,” McKay interrupted, then immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with horror. He started speaking into his hand, and John reached out to pull it away from his mouth, releasing the torrent of babble. “-God, oh my God, I can feel my IQ dropping--he’s infected me!” McKay yelped, and started hyperventilating. John tried not to laugh at McKay’s pain, but, well, it was fucking hilarious.
He didn’t get how most people didn’t get along with McKay. The man was worth his weight in naquada for entertainment value alone, not to mention the fact he regularly managed to save everyone’s lives at least once a week, and could always be counted on to tell you the truth, even if it came with a heavy dose of ‘verbal irony’ (also known as sarcasm, but since McKay could take it as well as he could dish it out, John didn‘t really mind. He certainly felt like his wits were sharper when he was around McKay because of it, and when you‘re in charge of keeping a couple hundred people alive, sharp wits were a good thing in John‘s opinion). There really wasn’t any better candidate for a best friend, in John’s mind.
He was only starting to realize how much it’d actually sucked not hanging out with the guy for the better part of the five years before this past one. Laura and McKay had never really gotten along, and so John had let their friendship drift a little, and then a lot, especially after Laura had died and John had bumped himself off the active duty roster, and eventually Atlantis, with the excuse that he’d had Jesse to think about. John was glad he’d let McKay talk him into coming back, both to the team and to Atlantis.
McKay was a good friend. (Even when John didn’t deserve it, like when he‘d blown them all off after Laura died.) Maybe someday John would be able to return the favor, somehow.
***
Shawn was the one to break the uncomfortable silence. “Well, as lovely and awkward as this is, I think it’s time for you to leave now.” Eliot felt a pang at the coldness in Shawn’s voice, and was suddenly disgusted with himself for pussyfooting around the whole feelings thing. Because yeah, while suddenly discovering some repressed homosexual tendencies validated a couple freakouts in his book, making the person who made your preconceptions stand on their head feel like a shitheel was stupider than dousing yourself in moonshine and trying to jump a bonfire in a quad (ah, high school), no matter what their gender was. Fuck, if John could navigate DADT for his crotchety scientist, like he oh so obviously was, Eliot could brave the wilds of NOGAD (No One Gives A Damn) for Shawn. What kind of pussy was he, anyway?
***
Shawn fidgeted with the fine weave of the pillowcase pressed against his stomach, and tried not to look at Eliot. He was uncomfortable enough as it was, with the awkward silence and the weird staring thing Eliot had going on, and he really didn’t want to ask again, but geez, was he ever going to leave? Was it too much to ask for some peace and quiet to watch some people be murdered horribly by a crazed genetic mutation?
“No, I don’t think so,” Eliot said decisively, and Shawn had almost forgotten the question by then. He opened his mouth to protest, but Eliot leaned down and snagged the pillow Shawn had been holding against his stomach and lay down next to Shawn on the bed and stuffed the pillow between the headboard and his head so he could see the TV too and now Shawn had absolutely no clue what was going on. Because if Shawn wasn’t totally mistaken, Eliot had just brushed a kiss over his lips and was now holding his hand.
***
Chapter 16.0
Author: neensz
Word Count: ~39,400 so far
Pairing: Eliot/Shawn (OMG finally!)slash(kinda)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, violence, feelings-talk, obliviousness, 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: Apologies for it being shorter than usual, but I really, really wanted to stop with that as the last line, because I’m a horrible person. Also, I noticed I seemed to be maybe writing in a different style, though I can't really tell. But I figure that‘s excusable b/c I’m running on little to no sleep at the moment and still have two more papers to write that are due this week--though, honestly, this is longer than both of them combined. They’re little papers. 8] Also? Splice = win. AND David Hewlett’s in it. No joke. (And he plays a Bad Scientist, which is just funny on so many levels. Though, come to think of it, there’s a lot of Bad Scientists in that movie. I still liked it though.)
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14
***
Shawn scowled at the cheap and oh so very ugly curtains through the dim gloom of his hotel room. They were in Dallas, and had been now for two days, planning and talking and doing computer things and talking some more and Shawn was so bored by now that his brain felt like it was going to explode. So he’d retreated to his hotel room to escape the planny-ness, and while it was just as boring sitting on the scratchy bedspread and flipping through the TV’s pay-per-view menus in the dark, he didn’t feel nearly so useless as he had hovering around the edges of the clusters of competent people doing things he didn’t really understand and talking about things that didn’t seem to make sense. And whenever he’d tried to point out how or why they weren’t making sense, they’d look at him like he was some sort of idiot child, so really, he’d just needed to escape. Because, after all, he wasn’t here because he was needed or anything. He was just here so Eliot could focus. Which, honestly, made him feel more whorish than anything he’d done for money in his misspent youth ever had.
There was a tap at his door, and Shawn obstinately stayed silent. It was obvious he was in the room, seeing as how he didn’t feel the need to turn down the TV or stop flipping through the pay-per-view trailers--oh, Splice… Adrien Brody was pretty hot, and his movies weren‘t half bad either, so he might end up watching that--but that didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for whoever was on the other side of the door. And yeah, maybe he did feel a bit like a pouting five year old, but hey, kids were smart and they knew what worked. That, and sulking in the dark made him feel better in a slightly twisted way.
Eventually, the periodic tapping went away, and Shawn settled on Splice for his mindless entertainment. He began to regret that decision an hour and a half later when Parker dropped onto his bed--where he totally wasn’t clutching a pillow like a scared little girl--from the vent in the ceiling right as Brody got yanked under the surface of the ominously bubbling water.
***
Eliot heard the scream from across the hall and over Sophie’s high pitched list of reasons about why--actually, he hadn’t been paying much attention, so he didn’t really know what she was going on about. But she obviously had a lot to say about it. Eliot had been preoccupied with the way Shawn had slunk out of the room a couple of hours ago, and how Parker had told him Shawn wouldn’t answer the door and then some convoluted reason for why she had to use the ventilation shafts to check on him rather than using a peephole reverser or picking the lock on the door.
Eliot hoped to God it was just surprise that had prompted that blood-curdling scream from Shawn’s room, but he knew that he wasn’t that lucky. Fuck, with his luck, Moreau had snuck in there somehow and was shooting off Shawn’s kneecaps as Eliot wasted time deciding whether or not he should break down the door or not. Which was enough to decide him.
He kicked the door in, knowing from the way the jarring impact buzzed in his knee and hip that he’d be feeling that for the next few days, and burst into the dimly lit room. Flickering light from the TV picked out Parker and Shawn tangled on the bed, and Eliot felt his blood run cold. What the hell? The same blood curdling scream sounded again, and Eliot’s attention snapped to the TV, where someone was possibly getting stabbed by something. Or someone. And being very vocal about it. Shit. Shawn and Parker were staring at him from the bed, and as the scene changed on whatever movie they were watching, the light the TV cast on the bed brightened and Eliot could pick out Shawn’s arm wrapped around Parker as they fucking snuggled while watching a horror movie.
Eliot couldn’t decide whether this was worse than finding Moreau shooting Shawn’s kneecaps off, and he found that a little upsetting. He scowled at the both of them, and turned to stalk back out of the room, but suddenly Parker was in his way and Eliot was regretting all the self-defense moves he’d been teaching her, because she wouldn’t let him past her.
“Nuh uh. You’re not blaming me for this, because you know whatever you’re thinking happened never did because you’re my family Eliot. You know I’d never do that to you. So stop making excuses and ask him to be your Valentine already,” she hissed into his face, and pushed him backwards hard enough that he staggered into the edge of the bed and had to either sit down or fall down as he unbalanced gracelessly.
“It’s the 24th, not the 14th, Parker,” Eliot muttered under his breath, refusing to explain as Parker made her escape and trapped him in with a question-faced Shawn. Not that he was really and truly trapped, seeing as how the doorjamb was splintered out from the wall and there was no way the deadbolt would engage, never mind the door latching, till maintenance or someone got after it with a hammer and a couple pounds of wood glue. Or just installed a new frame.
***
McKay cornered John after Eliot had run out in the middle of their conversation. John could tell from the look on McKay’s face that there was going to be complaining in spades, and John tried to head him off at the pass. “I know you think Eliot needs a more defined plan, but really, recon comes first. It’s a plan to get the information to make a plan, and I know how much you like getting information, so really, you should be completely on board with not going in all planless, which I know from experience you hate-”
“Dude,” McKay interrupted, then immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with horror. He started speaking into his hand, and John reached out to pull it away from his mouth, releasing the torrent of babble. “-God, oh my God, I can feel my IQ dropping--he’s infected me!” McKay yelped, and started hyperventilating. John tried not to laugh at McKay’s pain, but, well, it was fucking hilarious.
He didn’t get how most people didn’t get along with McKay. The man was worth his weight in naquada for entertainment value alone, not to mention the fact he regularly managed to save everyone’s lives at least once a week, and could always be counted on to tell you the truth, even if it came with a heavy dose of ‘verbal irony’ (also known as sarcasm, but since McKay could take it as well as he could dish it out, John didn‘t really mind. He certainly felt like his wits were sharper when he was around McKay because of it, and when you‘re in charge of keeping a couple hundred people alive, sharp wits were a good thing in John‘s opinion). There really wasn’t any better candidate for a best friend, in John’s mind.
He was only starting to realize how much it’d actually sucked not hanging out with the guy for the better part of the five years before this past one. Laura and McKay had never really gotten along, and so John had let their friendship drift a little, and then a lot, especially after Laura had died and John had bumped himself off the active duty roster, and eventually Atlantis, with the excuse that he’d had Jesse to think about. John was glad he’d let McKay talk him into coming back, both to the team and to Atlantis.
McKay was a good friend. (Even when John didn’t deserve it, like when he‘d blown them all off after Laura died.) Maybe someday John would be able to return the favor, somehow.
***
Shawn was the one to break the uncomfortable silence. “Well, as lovely and awkward as this is, I think it’s time for you to leave now.” Eliot felt a pang at the coldness in Shawn’s voice, and was suddenly disgusted with himself for pussyfooting around the whole feelings thing. Because yeah, while suddenly discovering some repressed homosexual tendencies validated a couple freakouts in his book, making the person who made your preconceptions stand on their head feel like a shitheel was stupider than dousing yourself in moonshine and trying to jump a bonfire in a quad (ah, high school), no matter what their gender was. Fuck, if John could navigate DADT for his crotchety scientist, like he oh so obviously was, Eliot could brave the wilds of NOGAD (No One Gives A Damn) for Shawn. What kind of pussy was he, anyway?
***
Shawn fidgeted with the fine weave of the pillowcase pressed against his stomach, and tried not to look at Eliot. He was uncomfortable enough as it was, with the awkward silence and the weird staring thing Eliot had going on, and he really didn’t want to ask again, but geez, was he ever going to leave? Was it too much to ask for some peace and quiet to watch some people be murdered horribly by a crazed genetic mutation?
“No, I don’t think so,” Eliot said decisively, and Shawn had almost forgotten the question by then. He opened his mouth to protest, but Eliot leaned down and snagged the pillow Shawn had been holding against his stomach and lay down next to Shawn on the bed and stuffed the pillow between the headboard and his head so he could see the TV too and now Shawn had absolutely no clue what was going on. Because if Shawn wasn’t totally mistaken, Eliot had just brushed a kiss over his lips and was now holding his hand.
***
Chapter 16.0