[stargate: atlantis fic] five times john and elizabeth don't dance together, and one time they do
five times john and elizabeth don't dance together, and one time they do
- stargate: atlantis
- john/elizabeth
- 6900
- otl_fest: #62. Elizabeth/John - We're fools whether we dance or not, so might as well dance. Japanese Proverb
- for anuna_81, who wanted fluff. blame her. ♥
- thanks to multicolour and tenacious_err for the beta'ing and help/prodding with sticks, respectively. :)
1)
'You've gotta be kidding me.'
Ford doesn't even bother to hide his glee. 'Nope.' He thrusts the outfit in John's direction. 'All yours, Sir.'
John gives him what he hopes is a 'shut up or die' glare, but it only serves to make Ford grin wider. John tentatively reaches for the clothes.
'I don't think they bite, Sir.'
'Do you like your job, Lieutenant?' he threatens.
Ford just laughs. 'Love it, Sir.'
'Remind me to bench you for a month.'
He grins out a 'Yes, Sir' at the same time Rodney barrels into the tent ('-I'm wearing that, you are totally out of your - Major - get that thing away from me!') followed by a young servant girl with a pile of clothes in her hand.
Elizabeth's voice carries sharp and clear over the top of the divide. 'Rodney.'
'Elizabeth, did you see this get-up? No civilized human being would ever - I mean it's practically a-'
'Do you want to eat, Rodney?' she snaps, a bit harsher than necessary, and John has a feeling her own outfit isn't exactly dignitary-worthy. His suspicion is confirmed five minutes later when she finally emerges from behind the screen. Rodney instantly falls silent; Ford does an admirable job of keeping his jaw off the floor, and John vainly tries to remind himself that oxygen is important, staring is rude, she's his boss, and staring rudely at his boss without proper intake of oxygen is not a good plan.
'Not one word, Major,' she warns, and it's good, since he's pretty sure he doesn't have them anyway, nothing other than,
'Aren't you cold?'
Rodney stutters and Ford gives him a patent 'What the hell, Sir?' look and Elizabeth just stares at him, eyes slightly narrowed in what he's come to recognize as her 'I'm not sure if I should be amused, angry, insulted, or if I should just toss you over the balcony' expression. Luckily her attention is drawn away as several women gather around to fuss with her hair and her sashes and rub some strange, gold cream into her skin.
He tries not to stare, really he does, but it's Elizabeth (Dr. Weir, his brain corrects) practically naked (not naked, not naked, no nakedness) standing five feet away-
'Aren't you supposed to get dressed, Sir?'
He blinks. Ford smirks. Rodney huffs and puffs and moans. Elizabeth glances over and catches his gaze; smiles. It's brief and slight and just for him.
Oh, no, he thinks desperately. That's a bad plan, John!
''Sir?'
'Yeah, Lieutenant, I got it,' he drawls, moving behind another privacy curtain.
'Let me know if you need help tying your loin cloth, Sir!' Ford calls.
'Not a chance in hell,' John mutters, just low enough to still hear Rodney's, 'He'll probably get Elizabeth to do it for him,' Ford's muffled laughter and Elizabeth's clipped, 'Five minutes, Rodney.'
John sighs heavily and tunes out McKay's moaning, staring woefully down at the Aladdin-esque ceremonial garments in his hand. Food, he thinks. Real food. Suck it up, John.
--
The festival lasts forever.
It feels like forever, anyway, given the cold, and the slight rain, and the camera Lieutenant Ford is gleefully waving in his face every chance he gets. Rodney's murderous expression is moot when featured on a body clad in light pink pants and something with feathers on it. John does his best to ignore the strange hat he's been forced into, or what the hole in the back of his shirt might symbolize, while simultaneously trying to avoid everyone and stay as close to Elizabeth (Dr. Weir) as humanly possible.
For...security purposes. Obviously.
Idiot, he mutters to himself. Big, stupid, brainless idio-
'Major Sheppard.'
He kind of hates that she still looks and sounds so dignified, even in that get-up (lack of a get-up, his brain supplies helpfully. Very naked get-up-).
'Dr. Weir,' he returns, clearing his throat awkwardly. She tilts her head slightly and raises an eyebrow as if to say, 'I know exactly what you're thinking and you will pay for it later with physical labor and writing of memos.' He smirks back innocently.
'This is Chancellor Shorin. He'll be heading the negotiations after the festival.'
'Great. Good to meet you.' John pastes on the most sincere smile he can muster. The hat on his head flops to the side. Elizabeth bites her lip, and he can tell she's trying not to laugh. Shorin is oblivious.
'It is an honor, Major. We are delighted to have met such accepting' He turns to Elizabeth. '...elegant' He kisses her hand. 'traders.'
Elizabeth smiles and nods respectfully. 'As we are equally as glad to have found such welcoming hosts.'
Shorin grins and John tries not to roll his eyes (and/or strangle him) and Elizabeth just keeps smiling gently, despite the fact that she's obviously cold and probably miserable, but to her credit all she's done is make them all put on funky outfits and act mildly gracious and Shorin's already eating out of her hand. Food, John thinks. We get real food.
A second later a lively tune erupts from somewhere in the mingling crowd, and instantly people pair off. A leggy brunette has grabbed Rodney and is dragging him around in a circle, oblivious to his attempts at escape.
'Dr. Weir, will you join me for our traditional opening dance?' Shorin gives an elaborate bow and offers his hand.
Before he can say No Way (Hell No, Fat Chance, When Hell Freezes Over), Elizabeth is already nodding - 'I'd love to, Chancellor,' - and taking his hand (hands, lots of hands, hands in places on Elizabeth he doesn't want any other hands to be except his - Weir, not Elizabeth - no hands - not naked - damnit -) and letting him lead her into the fray. John glowers petulantly at him the entire time, keeping a close eye on his charge.
'All you need is the monkey,' Ford says suddenly from his left.
John glowers. 'What?'
'You know, the monkey. Abu.' He laughs. 'We got Jasmine, the creepy suitors, the Genie-' He gestures to Elizabeth, Shorin, and Rodney in turn. 'I'm serious. All we need's the monkey.'
'That would be you,' John mutters, but Ford remains unfazed.
'Man, I love harvest festivals.'
'Shut up, Lieutenant.'
His grin gets impossibly bigger. 'Yes, Sir.'
2)
Ohshit, is the first thing that occurs to him, followed closely by, so screwed and, I'm gonna kill McKay.
The blonde smiles at him broadly and reaches for his arm. 'You mus'be John Shepp'rd.'
He thinks, for a long, painful moment about lying, fleeing, and pointing over his shoulder to some random, unassuming guy on the dance floor. Mountain Man, two o'clock, he thinks. The one in the trousers. That'd work. Shit.
The woman - Amazon, he corrects with a tight swallow - holds out her hand. ''m Darla.'
He tries not to grimace as he loses feeling in his fingers. 'Hi,' he manages. 'Nice to meet-'
'So Rodney said you'rn Air Force pil't?'
John blinks, started, and carefully extricates his hand - and his arm - from her pawing grip. Darla stumbles slightly - Great. A drunk Amazon. - and topples into his chest with a high pitched 'Oops!'
'That's alright,' he says, forcing a smile as he places her back on her feet, all the while trying to discretely scan the crowd for a lifeboat. Across the room, he catches McKay's eye, who gives him a big grin and two thumbs up. You are so dead, John glares. Rodney smacks Carson's chest and points obnoxiously toward him. Carson shakes his head, but he looks more than a little entertained. Deader than a dead thing that's dead, he thinks, as Darla the Amazon winds an arm through his.
'So does that mean you fly planes 'nd stuff?'
John opens his mouth, then clamps it shut quickly to keep from laughing. 'Yeah,' he manages, trying to weasel their way through the crowd toward...anyone. 'And stuff.'
Darla sighs. 'Tha'so cool.'
John raises an eyebrow and looks up at her with buried dread. If she falls on him, he's screwed. If she wants to dance with him he's screwed. If she tries other things -
John blanches, and solemnly swears he's never attending an SGC function again.
Ever.
As long as he lives.
'Planes're pretty,' Darla slurs. All of a sudden she turns, pressing her body as close to his as possible. 'Aren't you gonna ask m'to dance?'
Wraith, he thinks desperately. Where the hell are the Wraith?
Behind her shoulder, Rodney is grinning and Carson is smiling and even Samantha Carter gives him a one-shoulder 'sorry, buddy' shrug.
'John,' she pouts.
'Uh, look, Darla, why don't we just...get some air, or...'
'Ooh, cocktails!'
'-stop drinking,' he mutters, taking the glass out of her hand as quickly as she swiped it from the server.
She protests - loudly - and Elizabeth's warning tone pops into his head unbidden, things like, social function and the President will be there and behave yourself, with that eyebrow arched and lips quirked and of course. Elizabeth. Elizabeth will save me. Where the hell is-
'Colonel Sheppard.' Soft. Lilting. Highly entertained. Right on time, he thinks, and can't keep the grin off his face as he pokes his head above Darla's shoulder.
'Yes, boss?'
Elizabeth narrows her eyes slightly, and John sends her the best pleading, 'I'll do everything you ask of me always and forever' expression he can muster. At the same time Darla turns slightly, shifting her side closer to John's and snakes an arm around his back.
'John,' Darla says, partly bitter and partly confused and a lot drunk. 'Who-'
Elizabeth smiles warmly. 'Elizabeth Weir,' she says, extending her hand. Darla eyes it warily, but decides it's safe when Elizabeth adds a gushing, 'That is a gorgeous dress you're wearing. Vera Wang?'
Darla's face lights up instantly. 'Of course!' She pushes on John's chest, sending him stumbling back slightly. 'He didn't notice.'
Elizabeth smirks as John regains his balance, and leans forward with a conspiratorial whisper. 'Well, you know how men are.'
'Standing right here,' John grouses. Elizabeth shoots him a 'do you want help? then shut up' look at the same time Darla squeals - 'Yes you are!' - and slaps his ass.
John jumps and Elizabeth chokes back laughter and Darla obliviously reaches for another passing wine flute.
Help me, he mouths desperately, and Elizabeth's eyes glint and Oh no, he thinks, not now. Not with this. But Elizabeth is grinning at him with a wicked gleam in her eye that says, I told you.
His face falls and his throat constricts. Don't do this to me, he mouths again, but Elizabeth just looks like she's about to crack up and John wonders if it's possible to die from mortification.
'Elizabeth-' he starts.
'I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself, John,' Elizabeth intones lightly. 'After everything you've been through in the past week, you deserve some down-time.'
John coughs awkwardly as Darla throws an arm around his waist and leans into him. 'Yeah, well. Just...happy to be serving my planet.'
I hate Earth, he thinks miserably. I hate it. I hate it. I hate-
'Hmm,' Elizabeth agrees, and he knows he's in for it. In for it so bad - 'That last mission of yours was especially harrowing, though,' she says. Her eyes narrow just enough for him to notice. 'It's a miracle you made it back alive.'
Darla looks up at him through her lashes, awe and wonder in her tone. 'You were on a mission?'
John shifts. 'Well, it wasn't that miraculous, really-'
But Elizabeth interrupts. 'Oh, I beg to differ. Colonel Sheppard here took on an entire battalion all on his own.' The pause is punctuated harshly. 'Without backup.'
John gulps and tries to muster the flyboy bravado he's so infamous for. 'Which I ultimately didn't need,' he smirks arrogantly - then instantly regrets it when Elizabeth's expression falters. It's only a brief second, but he swears he sees fear, sadness, hurt and relief all flicker by, and his stomach coils into knots.
'Yes, well,' she finally manages. 'I did say it was a miracle,' she tries to tease, but the glint has left her eyes and despite her words, she just looks defeated.
'Elizabeth-'
'Oh, John I love this song! C'n we dance now?' Without waiting for an answer, Darla throws both arms around his shoulders and presses her body close to his. John panics and silently begs Elizabeth with his eyes, but she just shakes her head and smirks.
'It looks like you've got this covered, here, Colonel. Doesn't look like you'll be needing any help after all.' She gives him a pointed look.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll never do it again! he says silently. Her eyebrow goes up as she turns away. 'No, really I- Elizabeth!'
But she's already slipping away through the crowd. Darla sways dramatically back and forth.
'Don'ty'u just love this party?' she sighs happily.
John closes his eyes and groans.
--
'You know,' he says without preamble, 'I always knew you were a little crazy, but I never figured you for vindictive.'
Elizabeth looks up from her reports, spread out over the mess table, and raises an eyebrow. 'I've always thought 'let the punishment fit the crime' was a decent motto.''
John snorts. 'No, you haven't. You believe in optimism and giving people second chances and flowers and bunnies and saving the whales.'
She gives a one-shoulder shrug. 'I like whales.'
'One of those things would feed us for a year!' he whines, an old argument resurfacing.
'They're living creatures, John. They haven't done anything to deserve your wrath.'
'Neither have I!' Elizabeth stares at him. 'Your wrath, I mean. Your vindictiveness.'
She smirks unsympathetically. 'Doctor Winston isn't exactly your type, then, I take it?'
John frowns. 'Who?'
'Dr. Winston. Dr. Darla Winston. The astrophysicist hanging off your arm.'
'Among other body parts,' he groans under his breath. Then pauses. 'She's an astrophysicist?'
Elizabeth nods. 'One of SGC's brightest.'
He snorts. 'I find that hard to believe.'
'You can look at her record if you like.'
John stares down at her, watching with a frown as she signs another document, closes another folder, opens a different one. She's still wearing her dress from the party (the party still going on two floors down) and he tries not to be distracted by skin - smooth skin, lots of skin, lots of soft, smooth, naked - he shakes his head and drops down onto the bench across from her.
(It's been three years, but some things haven't changed that much at all.)
'What're you doing up here, anyway. Party's still got hours to go.'
Elizabeth shrugs and grabs another file. 'Figured I'd get some of this out of the way, while there's quiet.'
'Up here, you mean.'
She flashes him a brief smirk. 'Yeah.'
This is going nowhere, he thinks, and lets out a heavy sigh. 'Elizabeth...'
Her pen stills, but she doesn't look up. 'You think I'd be used to it by now,' she says finally, quietly. 'I'm not.'
John nods even though she can't see. 'I know.'
She taps her pen against the folder for a moment, then meets his gaze. 'I've known Peter Grodin for fourteen years, did you know that?'
John blinks at the non-sequitur, at her use of present tense, but keeps quiet and shakes his his head, knowing from experience that she's about to make a point and it's bound to be a good one.
'He was my assistant when I was at the UN. Basically kept my entire life organized for me.' She smiles fondly, lost somewhere back in time. 'He probably could have been a diplomat himself, if he'd wanted. Instead he just kept following me around - Israel, Africa, Kosovo.'
'Antarctica.'
She nods. 'He had an affinity for Ancient technology. Getting SGC on board with his hiring wasn't difficult.' She pauses. 'I remember the day we met. I was running late - I had a meeting with a liaison to the Russian Foreign Minister - and I couldn't find my notes, or my wallet, or my shoes-'
'Your shoes?'
'You try running around in heels thirteen hours a day.'
John winces. 'Pass, thanks.'
'And all of a sudden this guy comes into my office, takes everything out of my arms and hands me a cup of coffee. 'You're a lunatic,' he says to me. 'And your meeting's tomorrow.' I just stared at him. In under a minute, he found my purse, my shoes and my notes; he'd already drawn up my calendar for the next two months, and informed me crossly that my niece had called six times wanting to know if I was coming to her ballet recital.'
John grins, 'You have nieces?' and Elizabeth rolls her eyes.
'Four of them. My brothers know how to keep busy.'
There's a silence after that. John stares at his hands, folded on the table and tries not to push; Elizabeth seems to be struggling with something, and he doesn't want to pry, but at the same time wants to know - where she's going with this, what it means. He knows Peter's death hit her hard, harder than anyone else, except maybe Rodney. When the silence grows too heavy, John clears his throat and tries to smile. 'Well, I guess he got the job, didn't he?'
She sighs softly. ' 'You're a lunatic,' he said to me. 'Just because you're a woman, doesn't mean you have to do everything yourself.' He was right, of course, but I didn't want to listen. I was one of two female negotiators at the time, and competing with the men for assignments was bad enough without looking like I couldn't handle it all.' She pauses and rolls her eyes. 'Never mind that all the men had assistants of their own.'
'Of course.'
' 'You don't have to do everything yourself.' He's the first person that said that to me and made it sound true. So I hired him. It was the second-best decision I've ever made.'
'What was the first?'
She meets his gaze. 'Hiring you.'
John swallows thickly. 'Look, Elizabeth-'
'There are one-hundred eighty-seven military personnel on Atlantis, not including yourself. Ninety-two scientists and civilians. Sixteen Athosians. Each and every one of those people would have helped if you'd asked for it. If you'd let them. I know they aren't all Ronons and Rodneys and Teylas, but they're good people. And they deserve your trust.'
John nods slowly, but can't bring himself to answer; he's having a hard enough time holding her gaze. Thankfully, she takes pity on him after a moment, and quirks her lips in amusement.
'Besides,' she adds. 'I think you're making Major Lorne feel unloved.'
John snorts. 'Wouldn't want that, now would we?'
'Certainly not. He's the best second in command there is.'
'Hey!' John pouts indignantly, and Elizabeth grins.
'Present company excluded.'
'Thank you.'
'John-'
'I trust you, Elizabeth,' he says quickly, awkwardly. 'And I trust them. I just-' He swallows harshly. 'I don't like losing people.'
'Neither do I,' she murmurs. 'No one is expendable, John. Sometimes I think you forget that applies to yourself as well.'
He offers her a lopsided smile. 'Well. From now on I guess I'll try to keep that in mind.'
She nods. 'See that you do, Colonel.'
John shifts and drums his fingers against the table once. 'So. Back the party?'
Elizabeth smiles, but shakes her head. 'You go ahead. Believe it or not, I'd actually rather spend time with these reports than a room full of drunk fly-boys.'
'I resent that on behalf of my gender, and my profession,' John complains, and she laughs.
'Duly noted. Go,' she waves. 'Have fun. Enjoy your time off.'
'And if Darla the Amazon Woman comes looking for me again?' He gives a mock-shudder.
Elizabeth spares him a disapproving glance for the nickname, but doesn't comment. 'You can page me.' John eyes her dubiously. 'I'll come rescue you,' she says, exasperated. 'I think you've learned your lesson.'
'Vindictive,' he reminds her, standing up.
'Lunatic,' she lobbies back pointedly.
'Come back to the party when you're done. If Rodney gets a few more margaritas in him, twenty bucks says he dances on a table.'
Elizabeth grins. 'You're on.'
3)
'You know, I don't think there's actually a corollary between how hard you glare and how fast it heals.'
John starts slightly and turns his head. He didn't even hear her come in, which is odd. Usually he knows. He always knows. Elizabeth tilts her head slightly as she steps forward, placing a small box on the nightstand. It intrigues him, but he still needs to reply:
'Hasn't been scientifically proven that there isn't,' he points out, a little too bitter than called for.
Elizabeth merely raises an eyebrow. 'Hasn't been scientifically proven that there is.'
John snorts. Elizabeth stands awkwardly, wringing her hands together and trying to find a place for her eyes to settle. John shakes his head mentally, and tries not to be amused. He can tell she wants to ask how he's doing, if he's alright; she wants to admonish him for getting hurt, again, and getting in trouble again, but she knows it isn't what he needs or wants to hear, so she keeps quiet. He loves her a little for that - then starts, back-tracks, and thinks, like. I like her a little for that. As a friend. A really hot friend. A hot girl friend with-
'John?' she asks. Uh-oh. He coughs.
'How's the party?' he asks, taking pity on her (and himself).
'It's a bit too wild for my taste,' she says, and John grins.
' 'Wild?' '
She 'hmms' in confirmation. 'One of the sergeants broke out the alien moonshine - my cue to exit gracefully while there's still time.'
John smirks. 'And here I thought a respectable diplomat such as yourself would be able to hold her liquor.'
Elizabeth tilts her head and narrows her eyes just slightly and reminds him, 'I have four brothers, Colonel Sheppard.'
'Is that a challenge?' He wags his eyebrows at her as best he can, and she laughs.
'Not tonight.'
He nods, staring down at his leg, fixed in a thick, white cast. Stupid tree limb. Stupid Rodney. Stupid gravity.
'You're glaring again.'
'I think it's working.'
Elizabeth smiles gently. 'I should let you-'
'They like seeing you there. The party.' He says it too fast, too breathlessly, and she arches an eyebrow curiously. 'Alien moonshine aside,' he amends, 'they like to see you relax.' Elizabeth and shrugs and looks down, self-consciously fiddling with the edge of the sheet.
'They deserve a chance to unwind. Have fun. They don't need their boss peering over their shoulder all night.'
'So you shy away and let Carson deal with the hangovers,' he smirks.
She looks up with a wicked grin. 'Sneaky, huh?'
John rolls his eyes. 'I still say you can't hold your alien moonshine.'
Elizabeth makes a 'tsk' sound and shakes her head. 'Someday, John.'
He grins a little too broadly. 'Looking forward to it.'
Elizabeth gives him a slightly admonishing look, which he returns with a pointed, Seriously? and she smirks, Touché. Grappling for something else to say, his eyes settle on the box she previously set on the nightstand, and he frowns.
'What's this?'
'Oh.' She picks it up and hands it to him. 'Alien cake. Thought I'd grab you a slice before Rodney and Ronon devour it all.'
John tries not to appear too eager as he opens the carton. 'Any good?'
'Not bad.'
Bringing it closer, he sniffs and wrinkles his nose. 'Does it actually taste anything like cake?'
Elizabeth purses her lips, amused. 'No.'
'Right,' he mutters, closing the box and setting it back on the dresser.
Elizabeth fidgets again, and looks almost longingly toward the door. 'Well, I should let you rest-'
'You don't have to go.'
They both blink in surprise, and Elizabeth frowns slightly. John fumbles: 'I mean, I uh - I'm not gonna sleep for a while anyway.' He offers his most charming grin. 'I haven't finished glaring. And you know what they say.'
'I'm almost afraid to ask.'
'Two glares are better than one.'
Elizabeth laughs, out loud and bright and John grins.
'Well, in that case...' she murmurs fondly, and pulls up the closest chair.
4)
He's staring. He knows he's staring, but there isn't a whole lot he can do about it. Except stare. She's talking with some of the Athosians, and one of the little girls - Gaila, he thinks - is leaning against her and Elizabeth has absently put her hands on the little girl's shoulders. She laughs, and her eyes are bright, and she looks calm and happy. It makes him happy. He smiles without realizing it.
'You're pathetic,' Ronon says flatly, appearing suddenly beside him. John tries to cover a jump, but he knows Ronon isn't fooled.
'What?' he asks casually.
Ronon just looks at him.
John mutters under his breath and turns back to the scene in front of him. Elizabeth. Smiling. The little girl is tugging on her hand.
'I thought staring was rude in your culture.'
'It is,' John replies absently.
There's a long silence.
Oh, John thinks. Got it.
Ronon raises and eyebrow at him and leers. 'So?' he grunts.
John frowns. ' 'So' what?'
'Have you mated yet?'
John chokes on air. He coughs, loudly, and Elizabeth looks over at him in concern. Ronon grins and slaps his back and waves to Elizabeth that everything's fine.
'You can't just ask that!' John wheezes.
Ronon shrugs. 'Why not?'
''Cause you can't!'
'Can't ask what?' Rodney demands suddenly, coming up on his other side. He has a plate of food that he's already half-devoured. 'Have you tried this? These fake-crab things are delicious. So what are we talking about?'
'We're not talking about anything,' John growls, at the same time Ronon says, 'Sheppard and Weir,' and Rodney says, 'Ah' and inhales another mouthful of food.
John tries not to splutter. Clamping his mouth shut, he glowers. 'I hate you both.'
'We know,' Ronon drawls, and Rodney goes, 'What did I do?'
John winces. 'Besides forgetting to chew?'
Rodney glares and Ronon smirks and John folds his arms across his chest and stares out at the party. There's a big bonfire and people dancing, lively music and happy laughter. Without meaning to, his eyes fall on Elizabeth, still talking to the adults while simultaneously swinging her arms back and forth, holding Gaila's hands in her own as she dances around in place.
'Oh, brother,' Rodney moans, and John feels the (idiotic) grin slip from his lips.
'Shut up, McKay.'
Rodney waves an alien drumstick in the air. 'It's been five years, Sheppard. Your goo-goo eyes are making me nauseous.'
'My what?' he gapes, while Ronon snorts and Teyla interjects from out of nowhere,
'I believe Dr. McKay is referring to the...distant longing in your eyes whenever you gaze at Dr. Weir.'
John rolls his eyes and moans. 'Great, now it's a whole party. I do not gaze at Elizabeth.'
'Actually,' Ronon corrects, 'It's more like - what did Sergeant Chapman call it? - eye-fuc-'
'Hey!' John whirls on him sharply. 'That's your leader you're talking about. You say that kind of crap on Sateda?'
He's angry, Ronon notes, too angry, and it's telling. 'Sorry,' he grunts, but he means it. John relaxes slightly, but his jaw is still tight and his eyes are narrowed. 'Chapman's cleaning toilets for a month,' he mutters, and Teyla smiles gently.
'I'm sure he meant nothing by it,' she consoles. John doesn't answer, but his eyes scan the crowd again and he picks her out immediately. 'You should ask her to dance,' Teyla prods quietly, too quietly for the others to hear. Rodney is extolling the virtues of the crab-like-cake again and Ronon is irritating him by swiping pieces off his plate.
John hesitates, then shakes his head slowly. Teyla nods in understanding. 'She will come around.'
John chuckles lowly, with a little too much bitterness. 'It's been five years, Teyla.'
'And my guess is you would wait five more.'
John gives her a small, self-deprecating smile. 'Am I really that obvious?'
Teyla smiles in return. 'Only to those with eyes.'
5)
John coughs.
'Well.'
Elizabeth ducks her head.
'Right.'
John glances at her, then quickly looks away. People push between them as the theatre empties out, the street a loud bustle of talk and energy. John shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to act casual; mature. 'So that was certainly...' He struggles for the word.
'Interesting?' Elizabeth offers. He swears she's blushing.
'And different.'
She nods quickly. 'Very different.' She sneaks a glance in his direction. 'The...acrobats?' she tries, 'were certainly...'
'Flexible?'
Elizabeth winces. 'Actually, I was going to say 'naked'.'
John smirks. 'That, too.'
'I think the next time we decide to take in a show, we should read the reviews first.'
'Good plan,' he agrees.
She smiles quickly and looks away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and John's chest tightens at the gesture.
They've been on Earth for two weeks, fighting a never-ending battle with the IOA over rules and regulations, everything from off-world allies to trade agreements to fraternization policies. Seven years Atlantis has managed on her own - Wraith, Replicators, offense and defense - and still they intervene, question, criticize. John doesn't understand how she puts up with it. She's been going twelve rounds with them for the past week, trying to keep her measure of autonomy, keep her people protected both personally and professionally, and he can see the strain, even now that she's won. (This time, a voice in his head murmurs, and he knows she hears it too; sees it only as a temporary gain, not a conclusion to the war.)
Which is what prompted him, he supposes, to drag her out of the SGC. He remembered she mentioned something about dance once - ballet, he thinks it was - and grabbed tickets to the first performance that still had good seats and decent ratings.
In retrospect, he probably should have just taken her dancing.
Elizabeth's laughter pulls him from his reverie.
'What?'
She shakes her head in amusement, and gives a slight shudder. 'I was just thinking about the third act.'
'The third- oh.' He coughs. 'Yeah.' He looks around desperately for a distraction. 'Hey, you hungry? There're a bunch of places still open, at least for coffee.'
Elizabeth's smile slips, and she looks briefly down at her watch. 'I should probably get home,' she says, but she sounds more nervous than rushed, and John frowns.
'It's only nine.'
'Early meeting,' she apologizes. 'Chen wants to go over some last minute-'
'Elizabeth,' he groans.
Her eyes narrow. 'I can't just ignore them, John. They hold a considerable amount of influence with the President and if he choses their opinion over mine, everything we've worked for-'
'I know,' he sighs, raising a hand to stop her. 'I know. I get it. I just...'
'What?' she demands.
John shakes his head, but can't think of the right words to tell her that he's worried; that he knows she'll go home and dive into a pile of reports and stay there until the sun comes up; that he knows she won't sleep, that she'll skip breakfast and lunch and stay within the grey walls until it's time to go back to Atlantis.
Elizabeth huffs out a breath and shakes her head. 'I'm sorry,' she says honestly, regretfully. She touches his arm briefly. 'Thank you. For getting me out of there for a while.'
He shrugs and stares at the ground. 'Sorry it wasn't a better show.'
'It's the company that matters.'
'Yeah.'
'John...' she starts. The pause lingers. John shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the crowd of people milling about - stares at the young couples and old lovers and chattering friends and wishes -
Elizabeth touches his arm gently. He starts, and she instantly pulls away.
'Sorry,' he mutters quickly; she shakes her head and curls into herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
'I should go,' she says again, and this time John nods. 'Thank you,' she smiles. 'I really had a good time.'
His throat feels dry. 'You're welcome.'
'Goodnight,' she says, and turns away. He stares at her retreating back as she disappears into the throng of people; then panics.
'Elizabeth!'
She stops. He catches up with her easily and stands dumbly in front of her, reaching for words or actions or something - 'I'll walk you,' he chokes out. Elizabeth blinks at him, surprised, but smiles and lets him get away with it.
She turns and he follows, falling into place beside her. It takes all his willpower not to stand too close; not to loop his arm through hers or stop and hold her close; not to kiss her with everything he can't say.
Elizabeth shivers and tugs her scarf tighter around her neck. John is out of his coat and draping it over her shoulders before he remembers it's only a few blocks to her car, and that Elizabeth doesn't need a knight in shining armour every step of the way. He holds his breath, prepared to take it back and defend himself; but Elizabeth only smiles, grateful if a little confused, and slides her arms through the sleeves.
She makes easy small talk the rest of the way and John tries not to stare; tries to subtly catalogue everything about her - the way her hair keeps falling out of its pins, the way she's still wearing her suit from work because she didn't have time to change; hints of makeup she put on in the bathroom just before the show; her smile in the lamplight.
She stops in front of her car. 'Well, this is me,' she laughs softly, a touch awkward, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear again, only to have it fall forward as soon as her hands have resettled. She starts to give him back his coat, but he shakes his head.
'Your car'll take at least ten minutes to warm up.'
'John-'
'You can give it back to me tomorrow.'
She opens her mouth to protest, but he silences her with a look. 'Thank you,' she sighs, but he can tell she's only partly humouring him. She gestures to the car. 'I should-'
He nods quickly. 'Yeah.'
She smiles. 'Thank you. Again.'
'Anytime,' he says, and though he means it to be casual there's something in his throat that catches - too much truth in the words that he can't swallow. Elizabeth nods slowly, offering him a tentative smile and trying to hold his gaze. He knows he's staring. Knows he can't stop staring, not with her so close and the light so bright and she looks tired and much too thin and beautiful. Her breathing makes white ghosts in the air between them.
'John?' Her voice is a crack in his resolve, and he leans forward slowly; steps just that much closer. Her eyes widen but she doesn't stop him, doesn't move until his lips brush softly over hers -
She turns away.
John swallows and watches as she stares at the ground, at the crowd, at the lights above them. Her face is pained, and he hates himself for causing whatever it is she's feeling.
'I'm sorry,' he manages.
'No,' she says suddenly, too quickly and too firmly and he blinks. 'I-' She brushes a hand over her face. 'Don't be,' she murmurs, sounding more frustrated with herself than with him.
John hesitates. He wants to say something, wants to apologize again or kick himself right there for being so stupid and impulsive and at the same time wants to grab her and kiss her and make her understand.
'Elizabeth?'
'I just-' She struggles, and it knots at his heart. 'I can't ruin this,' she says, an almost desperate edge to her voice. She shakes her head, eyes wide and glassy. 'I'm sorry.'
He nods, torn between the sting of rejection and the smaller, ballooning emotion in his chest that makes him think, but maybe. Her hands wring together as she meets his gaze.
'Are we okay?' she asks, and her almost painful uncertainty makes him smile sadly; fondly.
'Yeah.'
'John,' she presses.
He smirks slightly. 'We're okay, Elizabeth,' he murmurs. Her shoulders drop and she exhales sharply, forcing herself to smile up at him. He wants to kiss her forehead or squeeze her hand, but he isn't sure; decides it isn't worth the risk. He hesitates a moment longer, then backs away.
''Night.'
She nods stiffly. 'Good night.'
He turns and starts back toward the theatre. He isn't half-way down the block when he hears his name, and when he turns around she's standing in front of him.
'Elizabeth?'
There's an awkward pause, then she leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck. She's trembling slightly, but whether it's from the cold or something else he doesn't know. He freezes, but she tightens her arms and exhales against his neck and he closes his eyes and brings his arms up around her, holding her tighter than intended but refusing to let go.
'Lizabeth...' he tries; everything stalls
'Don't give up,' she whispers, almost pleading. His heart pounds and his throat goes numb and he can't believe it, doesn't believe it until she pulls back, settles onto her heels and holds his gaze. 'Okay?'
Fear. Hope. Apprehension. He nods.
'Okay.'
6)
John's birthday passes, as usual, without much attention. His team celebrates quietly - Teyla gives him an Athosian rug, Ronon doesn't kick his ass in sparing, and Rodney hooks up a screen the size of an entire wall to the DVD player, so John can watch football like he's in the stadium. A few marines give an extra nod or salute when he passes, and Chuck smirks at him like he knows a secret. It's the first time in a long time that Atlantis is quiet. No impending doom, no Wraith attacks, no creepy nanites. Just Atlantis and their people and the waves. He likes it that way.
Wandering out onto the balcony, he's unsurprised to find Elizabeth there, leaning against the arch of Atlantis' steel. She turns when the door opens and flashes him a grin. 'Enjoying your day off?' she asks as he leans over the railing next to her.
'For the most part,' he says. He feels more than sees Elizabeth's confusion. 'I feel old.'
Elizabeth chuckles. 'You are old.'
'Hey!' he protests, standing up straight.
She laughs. 'Pushing fifty there, Colonel.'
He huffs indignantly. 'And you aren't?'
Elizabeth smiles slyly but doesn't reply. She turns her face to the ocean, eyes closed, lips curved upwards, expression serene. Then she frowns, suddenly, and turns to face him. 'You never told me what you wanted.'
He blinks. 'What?'
'For your birthday.' She asked weeks ago. 'I didn't get you anything.' She sounds guilty.
John shrugs. 'S'okay. I don't need any more stuff.'
'Still,' she says. 'I feel bad.'
He shifts awkwardly on his feet. 'Well, if I think of something I'll let you know?'
She smiles. 'Good.'
--
He thinks about it, but comes up with nothing.
If they were on Earth, he might have said a book, or a movie, or season football tickets, but there isn't anything here he really wants or needs - unless Elizabeth can magically produce a couple ZPMs or a really big weapon. Peace for Pegasus, he thinks. Maybe some allies. He'd really love it if Rodney stopped complaining all the time, but he imagines that would take nothing short of a miracle, and he doesn't want to ask for the impossible.
Some drones might be nice. A personal assistant - someone to file all the paperwork for him. Independence would be cool, he surmises, and contemplates asking her if they can just secede from Earth and the IOA and everyone else; it's not like they don't already make their own rules; have their own lives.
He thinks about it, but the only thing he really wants (from her) seems like a gift too precious to demand.
--
'I know what I want,' he says quickly, words pressed together in a rush.
'Okay.' Elizabeth draws the word out long and low, a sharp contrast to the way his heart is pounding rapidly. 'John?'
'It's kind of big,' he says; then blinks and back-tracks quickly, 'Not physically big. Important big.'
Elizabeth folds her arms across her chest. ' 'Important big,' ' she repeats.
'Yeah.'
He tries not to flinch. She gives him an, and? look, and he hesitates.
'Never mind,' he says finally. 'It's not - forget it.'
'John.' She grabs his arm as he tries to leave. There's a pause. 'Why don't you come in?' She steps back from the door, her hand sliding from his arm. He feels bereft, suddenly, and follows her automatically, like a moth to a flame.
The door closes behind him and it's a little bit dark and a little bit small and he panics. Elizabeth watches him silently. 'Are you alright?'
He tries to answer, but there's a weight in his chest and a hole in his voice and he can't think of anything to say that won't scare her; won't push her away.
'John?'
She moves closer, so close, and he could touch her if she'd let him. Raise a hand to her cheek and press his lips to hers and just hold her. Warm and safe. After everything, still here.
Still his.
'Elizabeth,' he tries. Her eyes are bright and full of concern, but she doesn't know. Doesn't get it. Doesn't feel-
He breaks the thought before it finishes, but a little voice echos: maybe things have changed.
He hears his name again, softer this time; apprehensive. Her hand falls against his arm, so light and hesitant - like he'd push her away. It's a soft click in his mind as he realizes, wonders; maybe they're in the same boat, at opposite ends, staring out into the black and wishing - he meets her gaze. His hand cups her jaw on its own accord, and her lips part in a soundless gasp, but she doesn't move away.
' 'Important big,' ' he whispers mindlessly. His thumb brushes back and forth across her skin.
'What - what are you doing?'
'Probably something monumentally stupid.'
He licks his lips.
She stares. Elizabeth swallows tightly, her expression indecipherable. 'Well, what else is new?'
Before she can change her mind or say otherwise, he frames her face with both hands and kisses her. Long and soft and slow and his mind gives a shout of joy when her arms wind around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He doesn't stop - can't - just keeps kissing her and feeling her pulse beat quick and strong against his fingers. They need air and they need to talk and they need less clothes but she's clinging to him desperately and kissing him back like she's drowning, and he doesn't want to break this moment for any world, anywhere.
'John,' she breathes, lips against his and their bodies so close and warm and he lets one hand slide down her throat, sweep across the side of her breast and around her waist and curl over her hip.
He closes his eyes against reality. 'You can't tell me you're surprised,' he manages, still breathless and tired and terrified. She bows her head and he presses his lips to the part in her hair.
'No,' she murmurs. 'But that doesn't mean-'
'Eight years, Elizabeth,' he says. 'I made a promise.'
Her fingers curl around his neck. 'I know.'
His voice cracks. 'Can we be done now?'
John feels her shaking before he sees her smile, hears her soft laughter as she shakes her head. 'Yeah,' she murmurs. 'We can be done.' He's sure his grin is idiotic and lopsided and ridiculous, but he can't bring himself to care. When the pause drags on, Elizabeth smirks slightly. 'Unless you'd like to wait for your next birthday? Fifty is a milestone after all-'
He kisses her to smother her laugh.
--
He wakes up to an empty bed and panics.
The moonlight through the window highlights the shadows on the vacant pillow, and for a moment he wonders if he dreamt it - soft skin and warmth and her breathing against his ear - but it's not his blanket and it's not his room and when his eyes finally adjust he sees her by the window, a sheet wrapped loosely under her arms. He lets his gaze linger, from the base of her spine where the material has pooled, up her back and across her bare shoulders. When he reaches her face, he finds her staring at him, a slight curve to her lips. Slipping out of bed, he crosses the short distance and wraps his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.
For a long, long while, they're both silent. Leaning back into his arms, Elizabeth watches the lights and John watches her. It takes him a moment, but finally the soft, distant sounds of the ocean separate themselves from a smoother, higher voice - Elizabeth's voice - humming quietly. He can feel the vibrations in his chest, pressed so tightly against her spine, and without realizing it he begins to sway. She laughs softly and turns, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as the sheet falls to her hips, caught between them. Her skin is cold and he pulls her in closer, one hand running up and down her back, the other capturing her fingers and bringing her hand up near their shoulders. He picks up the tune - something old and country he can't remember the name of, or the words for - and presses his cheek against hers.
Through the window, Atlantis' lights make patterns against her spine, and shadow her face and her smile.
- stargate: atlantis
- john/elizabeth
- 6900
- otl_fest: #62. Elizabeth/John - We're fools whether we dance or not, so might as well dance. Japanese Proverb
- for anuna_81, who wanted fluff. blame her. ♥
- thanks to multicolour and tenacious_err for the beta'ing and help/prodding with sticks, respectively. :)
1)
'You've gotta be kidding me.'
Ford doesn't even bother to hide his glee. 'Nope.' He thrusts the outfit in John's direction. 'All yours, Sir.'
John gives him what he hopes is a 'shut up or die' glare, but it only serves to make Ford grin wider. John tentatively reaches for the clothes.
'I don't think they bite, Sir.'
'Do you like your job, Lieutenant?' he threatens.
Ford just laughs. 'Love it, Sir.'
'Remind me to bench you for a month.'
He grins out a 'Yes, Sir' at the same time Rodney barrels into the tent ('-I'm wearing that, you are totally out of your - Major - get that thing away from me!') followed by a young servant girl with a pile of clothes in her hand.
Elizabeth's voice carries sharp and clear over the top of the divide. 'Rodney.'
'Elizabeth, did you see this get-up? No civilized human being would ever - I mean it's practically a-'
'Do you want to eat, Rodney?' she snaps, a bit harsher than necessary, and John has a feeling her own outfit isn't exactly dignitary-worthy. His suspicion is confirmed five minutes later when she finally emerges from behind the screen. Rodney instantly falls silent; Ford does an admirable job of keeping his jaw off the floor, and John vainly tries to remind himself that oxygen is important, staring is rude, she's his boss, and staring rudely at his boss without proper intake of oxygen is not a good plan.
'Not one word, Major,' she warns, and it's good, since he's pretty sure he doesn't have them anyway, nothing other than,
'Aren't you cold?'
Rodney stutters and Ford gives him a patent 'What the hell, Sir?' look and Elizabeth just stares at him, eyes slightly narrowed in what he's come to recognize as her 'I'm not sure if I should be amused, angry, insulted, or if I should just toss you over the balcony' expression. Luckily her attention is drawn away as several women gather around to fuss with her hair and her sashes and rub some strange, gold cream into her skin.
He tries not to stare, really he does, but it's Elizabeth (Dr. Weir, his brain corrects) practically naked (not naked, not naked, no nakedness) standing five feet away-
'Aren't you supposed to get dressed, Sir?'
He blinks. Ford smirks. Rodney huffs and puffs and moans. Elizabeth glances over and catches his gaze; smiles. It's brief and slight and just for him.
Oh, no, he thinks desperately. That's a bad plan, John!
''Sir?'
'Yeah, Lieutenant, I got it,' he drawls, moving behind another privacy curtain.
'Let me know if you need help tying your loin cloth, Sir!' Ford calls.
'Not a chance in hell,' John mutters, just low enough to still hear Rodney's, 'He'll probably get Elizabeth to do it for him,' Ford's muffled laughter and Elizabeth's clipped, 'Five minutes, Rodney.'
John sighs heavily and tunes out McKay's moaning, staring woefully down at the Aladdin-esque ceremonial garments in his hand. Food, he thinks. Real food. Suck it up, John.
--
The festival lasts forever.
It feels like forever, anyway, given the cold, and the slight rain, and the camera Lieutenant Ford is gleefully waving in his face every chance he gets. Rodney's murderous expression is moot when featured on a body clad in light pink pants and something with feathers on it. John does his best to ignore the strange hat he's been forced into, or what the hole in the back of his shirt might symbolize, while simultaneously trying to avoid everyone and stay as close to Elizabeth (Dr. Weir) as humanly possible.
For...security purposes. Obviously.
Idiot, he mutters to himself. Big, stupid, brainless idio-
'Major Sheppard.'
He kind of hates that she still looks and sounds so dignified, even in that get-up (lack of a get-up, his brain supplies helpfully. Very naked get-up-).
'Dr. Weir,' he returns, clearing his throat awkwardly. She tilts her head slightly and raises an eyebrow as if to say, 'I know exactly what you're thinking and you will pay for it later with physical labor and writing of memos.' He smirks back innocently.
'This is Chancellor Shorin. He'll be heading the negotiations after the festival.'
'Great. Good to meet you.' John pastes on the most sincere smile he can muster. The hat on his head flops to the side. Elizabeth bites her lip, and he can tell she's trying not to laugh. Shorin is oblivious.
'It is an honor, Major. We are delighted to have met such accepting' He turns to Elizabeth. '...elegant' He kisses her hand. 'traders.'
Elizabeth smiles and nods respectfully. 'As we are equally as glad to have found such welcoming hosts.'
Shorin grins and John tries not to roll his eyes (and/or strangle him) and Elizabeth just keeps smiling gently, despite the fact that she's obviously cold and probably miserable, but to her credit all she's done is make them all put on funky outfits and act mildly gracious and Shorin's already eating out of her hand. Food, John thinks. We get real food.
A second later a lively tune erupts from somewhere in the mingling crowd, and instantly people pair off. A leggy brunette has grabbed Rodney and is dragging him around in a circle, oblivious to his attempts at escape.
'Dr. Weir, will you join me for our traditional opening dance?' Shorin gives an elaborate bow and offers his hand.
Before he can say No Way (Hell No, Fat Chance, When Hell Freezes Over), Elizabeth is already nodding - 'I'd love to, Chancellor,' - and taking his hand (hands, lots of hands, hands in places on Elizabeth he doesn't want any other hands to be except his - Weir, not Elizabeth - no hands - not naked - damnit -) and letting him lead her into the fray. John glowers petulantly at him the entire time, keeping a close eye on his charge.
'All you need is the monkey,' Ford says suddenly from his left.
John glowers. 'What?'
'You know, the monkey. Abu.' He laughs. 'We got Jasmine, the creepy suitors, the Genie-' He gestures to Elizabeth, Shorin, and Rodney in turn. 'I'm serious. All we need's the monkey.'
'That would be you,' John mutters, but Ford remains unfazed.
'Man, I love harvest festivals.'
'Shut up, Lieutenant.'
His grin gets impossibly bigger. 'Yes, Sir.'
2)
Ohshit, is the first thing that occurs to him, followed closely by, so screwed and, I'm gonna kill McKay.
The blonde smiles at him broadly and reaches for his arm. 'You mus'be John Shepp'rd.'
He thinks, for a long, painful moment about lying, fleeing, and pointing over his shoulder to some random, unassuming guy on the dance floor. Mountain Man, two o'clock, he thinks. The one in the trousers. That'd work. Shit.
The woman - Amazon, he corrects with a tight swallow - holds out her hand. ''m Darla.'
He tries not to grimace as he loses feeling in his fingers. 'Hi,' he manages. 'Nice to meet-'
'So Rodney said you'rn Air Force pil't?'
John blinks, started, and carefully extricates his hand - and his arm - from her pawing grip. Darla stumbles slightly - Great. A drunk Amazon. - and topples into his chest with a high pitched 'Oops!'
'That's alright,' he says, forcing a smile as he places her back on her feet, all the while trying to discretely scan the crowd for a lifeboat. Across the room, he catches McKay's eye, who gives him a big grin and two thumbs up. You are so dead, John glares. Rodney smacks Carson's chest and points obnoxiously toward him. Carson shakes his head, but he looks more than a little entertained. Deader than a dead thing that's dead, he thinks, as Darla the Amazon winds an arm through his.
'So does that mean you fly planes 'nd stuff?'
John opens his mouth, then clamps it shut quickly to keep from laughing. 'Yeah,' he manages, trying to weasel their way through the crowd toward...anyone. 'And stuff.'
Darla sighs. 'Tha'so cool.'
John raises an eyebrow and looks up at her with buried dread. If she falls on him, he's screwed. If she wants to dance with him he's screwed. If she tries other things -
John blanches, and solemnly swears he's never attending an SGC function again.
Ever.
As long as he lives.
'Planes're pretty,' Darla slurs. All of a sudden she turns, pressing her body as close to his as possible. 'Aren't you gonna ask m'to dance?'
Wraith, he thinks desperately. Where the hell are the Wraith?
Behind her shoulder, Rodney is grinning and Carson is smiling and even Samantha Carter gives him a one-shoulder 'sorry, buddy' shrug.
'John,' she pouts.
'Uh, look, Darla, why don't we just...get some air, or...'
'Ooh, cocktails!'
'-stop drinking,' he mutters, taking the glass out of her hand as quickly as she swiped it from the server.
She protests - loudly - and Elizabeth's warning tone pops into his head unbidden, things like, social function and the President will be there and behave yourself, with that eyebrow arched and lips quirked and of course. Elizabeth. Elizabeth will save me. Where the hell is-
'Colonel Sheppard.' Soft. Lilting. Highly entertained. Right on time, he thinks, and can't keep the grin off his face as he pokes his head above Darla's shoulder.
'Yes, boss?'
Elizabeth narrows her eyes slightly, and John sends her the best pleading, 'I'll do everything you ask of me always and forever' expression he can muster. At the same time Darla turns slightly, shifting her side closer to John's and snakes an arm around his back.
'John,' Darla says, partly bitter and partly confused and a lot drunk. 'Who-'
Elizabeth smiles warmly. 'Elizabeth Weir,' she says, extending her hand. Darla eyes it warily, but decides it's safe when Elizabeth adds a gushing, 'That is a gorgeous dress you're wearing. Vera Wang?'
Darla's face lights up instantly. 'Of course!' She pushes on John's chest, sending him stumbling back slightly. 'He didn't notice.'
Elizabeth smirks as John regains his balance, and leans forward with a conspiratorial whisper. 'Well, you know how men are.'
'Standing right here,' John grouses. Elizabeth shoots him a 'do you want help? then shut up' look at the same time Darla squeals - 'Yes you are!' - and slaps his ass.
John jumps and Elizabeth chokes back laughter and Darla obliviously reaches for another passing wine flute.
Help me, he mouths desperately, and Elizabeth's eyes glint and Oh no, he thinks, not now. Not with this. But Elizabeth is grinning at him with a wicked gleam in her eye that says, I told you.
His face falls and his throat constricts. Don't do this to me, he mouths again, but Elizabeth just looks like she's about to crack up and John wonders if it's possible to die from mortification.
'Elizabeth-' he starts.
'I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself, John,' Elizabeth intones lightly. 'After everything you've been through in the past week, you deserve some down-time.'
John coughs awkwardly as Darla throws an arm around his waist and leans into him. 'Yeah, well. Just...happy to be serving my planet.'
I hate Earth, he thinks miserably. I hate it. I hate it. I hate-
'Hmm,' Elizabeth agrees, and he knows he's in for it. In for it so bad - 'That last mission of yours was especially harrowing, though,' she says. Her eyes narrow just enough for him to notice. 'It's a miracle you made it back alive.'
Darla looks up at him through her lashes, awe and wonder in her tone. 'You were on a mission?'
John shifts. 'Well, it wasn't that miraculous, really-'
But Elizabeth interrupts. 'Oh, I beg to differ. Colonel Sheppard here took on an entire battalion all on his own.' The pause is punctuated harshly. 'Without backup.'
John gulps and tries to muster the flyboy bravado he's so infamous for. 'Which I ultimately didn't need,' he smirks arrogantly - then instantly regrets it when Elizabeth's expression falters. It's only a brief second, but he swears he sees fear, sadness, hurt and relief all flicker by, and his stomach coils into knots.
'Yes, well,' she finally manages. 'I did say it was a miracle,' she tries to tease, but the glint has left her eyes and despite her words, she just looks defeated.
'Elizabeth-'
'Oh, John I love this song! C'n we dance now?' Without waiting for an answer, Darla throws both arms around his shoulders and presses her body close to his. John panics and silently begs Elizabeth with his eyes, but she just shakes her head and smirks.
'It looks like you've got this covered, here, Colonel. Doesn't look like you'll be needing any help after all.' She gives him a pointed look.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll never do it again! he says silently. Her eyebrow goes up as she turns away. 'No, really I- Elizabeth!'
But she's already slipping away through the crowd. Darla sways dramatically back and forth.
'Don'ty'u just love this party?' she sighs happily.
John closes his eyes and groans.
--
'You know,' he says without preamble, 'I always knew you were a little crazy, but I never figured you for vindictive.'
Elizabeth looks up from her reports, spread out over the mess table, and raises an eyebrow. 'I've always thought 'let the punishment fit the crime' was a decent motto.''
John snorts. 'No, you haven't. You believe in optimism and giving people second chances and flowers and bunnies and saving the whales.'
She gives a one-shoulder shrug. 'I like whales.'
'One of those things would feed us for a year!' he whines, an old argument resurfacing.
'They're living creatures, John. They haven't done anything to deserve your wrath.'
'Neither have I!' Elizabeth stares at him. 'Your wrath, I mean. Your vindictiveness.'
She smirks unsympathetically. 'Doctor Winston isn't exactly your type, then, I take it?'
John frowns. 'Who?'
'Dr. Winston. Dr. Darla Winston. The astrophysicist hanging off your arm.'
'Among other body parts,' he groans under his breath. Then pauses. 'She's an astrophysicist?'
Elizabeth nods. 'One of SGC's brightest.'
He snorts. 'I find that hard to believe.'
'You can look at her record if you like.'
John stares down at her, watching with a frown as she signs another document, closes another folder, opens a different one. She's still wearing her dress from the party (the party still going on two floors down) and he tries not to be distracted by skin - smooth skin, lots of skin, lots of soft, smooth, naked - he shakes his head and drops down onto the bench across from her.
(It's been three years, but some things haven't changed that much at all.)
'What're you doing up here, anyway. Party's still got hours to go.'
Elizabeth shrugs and grabs another file. 'Figured I'd get some of this out of the way, while there's quiet.'
'Up here, you mean.'
She flashes him a brief smirk. 'Yeah.'
This is going nowhere, he thinks, and lets out a heavy sigh. 'Elizabeth...'
Her pen stills, but she doesn't look up. 'You think I'd be used to it by now,' she says finally, quietly. 'I'm not.'
John nods even though she can't see. 'I know.'
She taps her pen against the folder for a moment, then meets his gaze. 'I've known Peter Grodin for fourteen years, did you know that?'
John blinks at the non-sequitur, at her use of present tense, but keeps quiet and shakes his his head, knowing from experience that she's about to make a point and it's bound to be a good one.
'He was my assistant when I was at the UN. Basically kept my entire life organized for me.' She smiles fondly, lost somewhere back in time. 'He probably could have been a diplomat himself, if he'd wanted. Instead he just kept following me around - Israel, Africa, Kosovo.'
'Antarctica.'
She nods. 'He had an affinity for Ancient technology. Getting SGC on board with his hiring wasn't difficult.' She pauses. 'I remember the day we met. I was running late - I had a meeting with a liaison to the Russian Foreign Minister - and I couldn't find my notes, or my wallet, or my shoes-'
'Your shoes?'
'You try running around in heels thirteen hours a day.'
John winces. 'Pass, thanks.'
'And all of a sudden this guy comes into my office, takes everything out of my arms and hands me a cup of coffee. 'You're a lunatic,' he says to me. 'And your meeting's tomorrow.' I just stared at him. In under a minute, he found my purse, my shoes and my notes; he'd already drawn up my calendar for the next two months, and informed me crossly that my niece had called six times wanting to know if I was coming to her ballet recital.'
John grins, 'You have nieces?' and Elizabeth rolls her eyes.
'Four of them. My brothers know how to keep busy.'
There's a silence after that. John stares at his hands, folded on the table and tries not to push; Elizabeth seems to be struggling with something, and he doesn't want to pry, but at the same time wants to know - where she's going with this, what it means. He knows Peter's death hit her hard, harder than anyone else, except maybe Rodney. When the silence grows too heavy, John clears his throat and tries to smile. 'Well, I guess he got the job, didn't he?'
She sighs softly. ' 'You're a lunatic,' he said to me. 'Just because you're a woman, doesn't mean you have to do everything yourself.' He was right, of course, but I didn't want to listen. I was one of two female negotiators at the time, and competing with the men for assignments was bad enough without looking like I couldn't handle it all.' She pauses and rolls her eyes. 'Never mind that all the men had assistants of their own.'
'Of course.'
' 'You don't have to do everything yourself.' He's the first person that said that to me and made it sound true. So I hired him. It was the second-best decision I've ever made.'
'What was the first?'
She meets his gaze. 'Hiring you.'
John swallows thickly. 'Look, Elizabeth-'
'There are one-hundred eighty-seven military personnel on Atlantis, not including yourself. Ninety-two scientists and civilians. Sixteen Athosians. Each and every one of those people would have helped if you'd asked for it. If you'd let them. I know they aren't all Ronons and Rodneys and Teylas, but they're good people. And they deserve your trust.'
John nods slowly, but can't bring himself to answer; he's having a hard enough time holding her gaze. Thankfully, she takes pity on him after a moment, and quirks her lips in amusement.
'Besides,' she adds. 'I think you're making Major Lorne feel unloved.'
John snorts. 'Wouldn't want that, now would we?'
'Certainly not. He's the best second in command there is.'
'Hey!' John pouts indignantly, and Elizabeth grins.
'Present company excluded.'
'Thank you.'
'John-'
'I trust you, Elizabeth,' he says quickly, awkwardly. 'And I trust them. I just-' He swallows harshly. 'I don't like losing people.'
'Neither do I,' she murmurs. 'No one is expendable, John. Sometimes I think you forget that applies to yourself as well.'
He offers her a lopsided smile. 'Well. From now on I guess I'll try to keep that in mind.'
She nods. 'See that you do, Colonel.'
John shifts and drums his fingers against the table once. 'So. Back the party?'
Elizabeth smiles, but shakes her head. 'You go ahead. Believe it or not, I'd actually rather spend time with these reports than a room full of drunk fly-boys.'
'I resent that on behalf of my gender, and my profession,' John complains, and she laughs.
'Duly noted. Go,' she waves. 'Have fun. Enjoy your time off.'
'And if Darla the Amazon Woman comes looking for me again?' He gives a mock-shudder.
Elizabeth spares him a disapproving glance for the nickname, but doesn't comment. 'You can page me.' John eyes her dubiously. 'I'll come rescue you,' she says, exasperated. 'I think you've learned your lesson.'
'Vindictive,' he reminds her, standing up.
'Lunatic,' she lobbies back pointedly.
'Come back to the party when you're done. If Rodney gets a few more margaritas in him, twenty bucks says he dances on a table.'
Elizabeth grins. 'You're on.'
3)
'You know, I don't think there's actually a corollary between how hard you glare and how fast it heals.'
John starts slightly and turns his head. He didn't even hear her come in, which is odd. Usually he knows. He always knows. Elizabeth tilts her head slightly as she steps forward, placing a small box on the nightstand. It intrigues him, but he still needs to reply:
'Hasn't been scientifically proven that there isn't,' he points out, a little too bitter than called for.
Elizabeth merely raises an eyebrow. 'Hasn't been scientifically proven that there is.'
John snorts. Elizabeth stands awkwardly, wringing her hands together and trying to find a place for her eyes to settle. John shakes his head mentally, and tries not to be amused. He can tell she wants to ask how he's doing, if he's alright; she wants to admonish him for getting hurt, again, and getting in trouble again, but she knows it isn't what he needs or wants to hear, so she keeps quiet. He loves her a little for that - then starts, back-tracks, and thinks, like. I like her a little for that. As a friend. A really hot friend. A hot girl friend with-
'John?' she asks. Uh-oh. He coughs.
'How's the party?' he asks, taking pity on her (and himself).
'It's a bit too wild for my taste,' she says, and John grins.
' 'Wild?' '
She 'hmms' in confirmation. 'One of the sergeants broke out the alien moonshine - my cue to exit gracefully while there's still time.'
John smirks. 'And here I thought a respectable diplomat such as yourself would be able to hold her liquor.'
Elizabeth tilts her head and narrows her eyes just slightly and reminds him, 'I have four brothers, Colonel Sheppard.'
'Is that a challenge?' He wags his eyebrows at her as best he can, and she laughs.
'Not tonight.'
He nods, staring down at his leg, fixed in a thick, white cast. Stupid tree limb. Stupid Rodney. Stupid gravity.
'You're glaring again.'
'I think it's working.'
Elizabeth smiles gently. 'I should let you-'
'They like seeing you there. The party.' He says it too fast, too breathlessly, and she arches an eyebrow curiously. 'Alien moonshine aside,' he amends, 'they like to see you relax.' Elizabeth and shrugs and looks down, self-consciously fiddling with the edge of the sheet.
'They deserve a chance to unwind. Have fun. They don't need their boss peering over their shoulder all night.'
'So you shy away and let Carson deal with the hangovers,' he smirks.
She looks up with a wicked grin. 'Sneaky, huh?'
John rolls his eyes. 'I still say you can't hold your alien moonshine.'
Elizabeth makes a 'tsk' sound and shakes her head. 'Someday, John.'
He grins a little too broadly. 'Looking forward to it.'
Elizabeth gives him a slightly admonishing look, which he returns with a pointed, Seriously? and she smirks, Touché. Grappling for something else to say, his eyes settle on the box she previously set on the nightstand, and he frowns.
'What's this?'
'Oh.' She picks it up and hands it to him. 'Alien cake. Thought I'd grab you a slice before Rodney and Ronon devour it all.'
John tries not to appear too eager as he opens the carton. 'Any good?'
'Not bad.'
Bringing it closer, he sniffs and wrinkles his nose. 'Does it actually taste anything like cake?'
Elizabeth purses her lips, amused. 'No.'
'Right,' he mutters, closing the box and setting it back on the dresser.
Elizabeth fidgets again, and looks almost longingly toward the door. 'Well, I should let you rest-'
'You don't have to go.'
They both blink in surprise, and Elizabeth frowns slightly. John fumbles: 'I mean, I uh - I'm not gonna sleep for a while anyway.' He offers his most charming grin. 'I haven't finished glaring. And you know what they say.'
'I'm almost afraid to ask.'
'Two glares are better than one.'
Elizabeth laughs, out loud and bright and John grins.
'Well, in that case...' she murmurs fondly, and pulls up the closest chair.
4)
He's staring. He knows he's staring, but there isn't a whole lot he can do about it. Except stare. She's talking with some of the Athosians, and one of the little girls - Gaila, he thinks - is leaning against her and Elizabeth has absently put her hands on the little girl's shoulders. She laughs, and her eyes are bright, and she looks calm and happy. It makes him happy. He smiles without realizing it.
'You're pathetic,' Ronon says flatly, appearing suddenly beside him. John tries to cover a jump, but he knows Ronon isn't fooled.
'What?' he asks casually.
Ronon just looks at him.
John mutters under his breath and turns back to the scene in front of him. Elizabeth. Smiling. The little girl is tugging on her hand.
'I thought staring was rude in your culture.'
'It is,' John replies absently.
There's a long silence.
Oh, John thinks. Got it.
Ronon raises and eyebrow at him and leers. 'So?' he grunts.
John frowns. ' 'So' what?'
'Have you mated yet?'
John chokes on air. He coughs, loudly, and Elizabeth looks over at him in concern. Ronon grins and slaps his back and waves to Elizabeth that everything's fine.
'You can't just ask that!' John wheezes.
Ronon shrugs. 'Why not?'
''Cause you can't!'
'Can't ask what?' Rodney demands suddenly, coming up on his other side. He has a plate of food that he's already half-devoured. 'Have you tried this? These fake-crab things are delicious. So what are we talking about?'
'We're not talking about anything,' John growls, at the same time Ronon says, 'Sheppard and Weir,' and Rodney says, 'Ah' and inhales another mouthful of food.
John tries not to splutter. Clamping his mouth shut, he glowers. 'I hate you both.'
'We know,' Ronon drawls, and Rodney goes, 'What did I do?'
John winces. 'Besides forgetting to chew?'
Rodney glares and Ronon smirks and John folds his arms across his chest and stares out at the party. There's a big bonfire and people dancing, lively music and happy laughter. Without meaning to, his eyes fall on Elizabeth, still talking to the adults while simultaneously swinging her arms back and forth, holding Gaila's hands in her own as she dances around in place.
'Oh, brother,' Rodney moans, and John feels the (idiotic) grin slip from his lips.
'Shut up, McKay.'
Rodney waves an alien drumstick in the air. 'It's been five years, Sheppard. Your goo-goo eyes are making me nauseous.'
'My what?' he gapes, while Ronon snorts and Teyla interjects from out of nowhere,
'I believe Dr. McKay is referring to the...distant longing in your eyes whenever you gaze at Dr. Weir.'
John rolls his eyes and moans. 'Great, now it's a whole party. I do not gaze at Elizabeth.'
'Actually,' Ronon corrects, 'It's more like - what did Sergeant Chapman call it? - eye-fuc-'
'Hey!' John whirls on him sharply. 'That's your leader you're talking about. You say that kind of crap on Sateda?'
He's angry, Ronon notes, too angry, and it's telling. 'Sorry,' he grunts, but he means it. John relaxes slightly, but his jaw is still tight and his eyes are narrowed. 'Chapman's cleaning toilets for a month,' he mutters, and Teyla smiles gently.
'I'm sure he meant nothing by it,' she consoles. John doesn't answer, but his eyes scan the crowd again and he picks her out immediately. 'You should ask her to dance,' Teyla prods quietly, too quietly for the others to hear. Rodney is extolling the virtues of the crab-like-cake again and Ronon is irritating him by swiping pieces off his plate.
John hesitates, then shakes his head slowly. Teyla nods in understanding. 'She will come around.'
John chuckles lowly, with a little too much bitterness. 'It's been five years, Teyla.'
'And my guess is you would wait five more.'
John gives her a small, self-deprecating smile. 'Am I really that obvious?'
Teyla smiles in return. 'Only to those with eyes.'
5)
John coughs.
'Well.'
Elizabeth ducks her head.
'Right.'
John glances at her, then quickly looks away. People push between them as the theatre empties out, the street a loud bustle of talk and energy. John shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to act casual; mature. 'So that was certainly...' He struggles for the word.
'Interesting?' Elizabeth offers. He swears she's blushing.
'And different.'
She nods quickly. 'Very different.' She sneaks a glance in his direction. 'The...acrobats?' she tries, 'were certainly...'
'Flexible?'
Elizabeth winces. 'Actually, I was going to say 'naked'.'
John smirks. 'That, too.'
'I think the next time we decide to take in a show, we should read the reviews first.'
'Good plan,' he agrees.
She smiles quickly and looks away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and John's chest tightens at the gesture.
They've been on Earth for two weeks, fighting a never-ending battle with the IOA over rules and regulations, everything from off-world allies to trade agreements to fraternization policies. Seven years Atlantis has managed on her own - Wraith, Replicators, offense and defense - and still they intervene, question, criticize. John doesn't understand how she puts up with it. She's been going twelve rounds with them for the past week, trying to keep her measure of autonomy, keep her people protected both personally and professionally, and he can see the strain, even now that she's won. (This time, a voice in his head murmurs, and he knows she hears it too; sees it only as a temporary gain, not a conclusion to the war.)
Which is what prompted him, he supposes, to drag her out of the SGC. He remembered she mentioned something about dance once - ballet, he thinks it was - and grabbed tickets to the first performance that still had good seats and decent ratings.
In retrospect, he probably should have just taken her dancing.
Elizabeth's laughter pulls him from his reverie.
'What?'
She shakes her head in amusement, and gives a slight shudder. 'I was just thinking about the third act.'
'The third- oh.' He coughs. 'Yeah.' He looks around desperately for a distraction. 'Hey, you hungry? There're a bunch of places still open, at least for coffee.'
Elizabeth's smile slips, and she looks briefly down at her watch. 'I should probably get home,' she says, but she sounds more nervous than rushed, and John frowns.
'It's only nine.'
'Early meeting,' she apologizes. 'Chen wants to go over some last minute-'
'Elizabeth,' he groans.
Her eyes narrow. 'I can't just ignore them, John. They hold a considerable amount of influence with the President and if he choses their opinion over mine, everything we've worked for-'
'I know,' he sighs, raising a hand to stop her. 'I know. I get it. I just...'
'What?' she demands.
John shakes his head, but can't think of the right words to tell her that he's worried; that he knows she'll go home and dive into a pile of reports and stay there until the sun comes up; that he knows she won't sleep, that she'll skip breakfast and lunch and stay within the grey walls until it's time to go back to Atlantis.
Elizabeth huffs out a breath and shakes her head. 'I'm sorry,' she says honestly, regretfully. She touches his arm briefly. 'Thank you. For getting me out of there for a while.'
He shrugs and stares at the ground. 'Sorry it wasn't a better show.'
'It's the company that matters.'
'Yeah.'
'John...' she starts. The pause lingers. John shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the crowd of people milling about - stares at the young couples and old lovers and chattering friends and wishes -
Elizabeth touches his arm gently. He starts, and she instantly pulls away.
'Sorry,' he mutters quickly; she shakes her head and curls into herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
'I should go,' she says again, and this time John nods. 'Thank you,' she smiles. 'I really had a good time.'
His throat feels dry. 'You're welcome.'
'Goodnight,' she says, and turns away. He stares at her retreating back as she disappears into the throng of people; then panics.
'Elizabeth!'
She stops. He catches up with her easily and stands dumbly in front of her, reaching for words or actions or something - 'I'll walk you,' he chokes out. Elizabeth blinks at him, surprised, but smiles and lets him get away with it.
She turns and he follows, falling into place beside her. It takes all his willpower not to stand too close; not to loop his arm through hers or stop and hold her close; not to kiss her with everything he can't say.
Elizabeth shivers and tugs her scarf tighter around her neck. John is out of his coat and draping it over her shoulders before he remembers it's only a few blocks to her car, and that Elizabeth doesn't need a knight in shining armour every step of the way. He holds his breath, prepared to take it back and defend himself; but Elizabeth only smiles, grateful if a little confused, and slides her arms through the sleeves.
She makes easy small talk the rest of the way and John tries not to stare; tries to subtly catalogue everything about her - the way her hair keeps falling out of its pins, the way she's still wearing her suit from work because she didn't have time to change; hints of makeup she put on in the bathroom just before the show; her smile in the lamplight.
She stops in front of her car. 'Well, this is me,' she laughs softly, a touch awkward, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear again, only to have it fall forward as soon as her hands have resettled. She starts to give him back his coat, but he shakes his head.
'Your car'll take at least ten minutes to warm up.'
'John-'
'You can give it back to me tomorrow.'
She opens her mouth to protest, but he silences her with a look. 'Thank you,' she sighs, but he can tell she's only partly humouring him. She gestures to the car. 'I should-'
He nods quickly. 'Yeah.'
She smiles. 'Thank you. Again.'
'Anytime,' he says, and though he means it to be casual there's something in his throat that catches - too much truth in the words that he can't swallow. Elizabeth nods slowly, offering him a tentative smile and trying to hold his gaze. He knows he's staring. Knows he can't stop staring, not with her so close and the light so bright and she looks tired and much too thin and beautiful. Her breathing makes white ghosts in the air between them.
'John?' Her voice is a crack in his resolve, and he leans forward slowly; steps just that much closer. Her eyes widen but she doesn't stop him, doesn't move until his lips brush softly over hers -
She turns away.
John swallows and watches as she stares at the ground, at the crowd, at the lights above them. Her face is pained, and he hates himself for causing whatever it is she's feeling.
'I'm sorry,' he manages.
'No,' she says suddenly, too quickly and too firmly and he blinks. 'I-' She brushes a hand over her face. 'Don't be,' she murmurs, sounding more frustrated with herself than with him.
John hesitates. He wants to say something, wants to apologize again or kick himself right there for being so stupid and impulsive and at the same time wants to grab her and kiss her and make her understand.
'Elizabeth?'
'I just-' She struggles, and it knots at his heart. 'I can't ruin this,' she says, an almost desperate edge to her voice. She shakes her head, eyes wide and glassy. 'I'm sorry.'
He nods, torn between the sting of rejection and the smaller, ballooning emotion in his chest that makes him think, but maybe. Her hands wring together as she meets his gaze.
'Are we okay?' she asks, and her almost painful uncertainty makes him smile sadly; fondly.
'Yeah.'
'John,' she presses.
He smirks slightly. 'We're okay, Elizabeth,' he murmurs. Her shoulders drop and she exhales sharply, forcing herself to smile up at him. He wants to kiss her forehead or squeeze her hand, but he isn't sure; decides it isn't worth the risk. He hesitates a moment longer, then backs away.
''Night.'
She nods stiffly. 'Good night.'
He turns and starts back toward the theatre. He isn't half-way down the block when he hears his name, and when he turns around she's standing in front of him.
'Elizabeth?'
There's an awkward pause, then she leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck. She's trembling slightly, but whether it's from the cold or something else he doesn't know. He freezes, but she tightens her arms and exhales against his neck and he closes his eyes and brings his arms up around her, holding her tighter than intended but refusing to let go.
'Lizabeth...' he tries; everything stalls
'Don't give up,' she whispers, almost pleading. His heart pounds and his throat goes numb and he can't believe it, doesn't believe it until she pulls back, settles onto her heels and holds his gaze. 'Okay?'
Fear. Hope. Apprehension. He nods.
'Okay.'
6)
John's birthday passes, as usual, without much attention. His team celebrates quietly - Teyla gives him an Athosian rug, Ronon doesn't kick his ass in sparing, and Rodney hooks up a screen the size of an entire wall to the DVD player, so John can watch football like he's in the stadium. A few marines give an extra nod or salute when he passes, and Chuck smirks at him like he knows a secret. It's the first time in a long time that Atlantis is quiet. No impending doom, no Wraith attacks, no creepy nanites. Just Atlantis and their people and the waves. He likes it that way.
Wandering out onto the balcony, he's unsurprised to find Elizabeth there, leaning against the arch of Atlantis' steel. She turns when the door opens and flashes him a grin. 'Enjoying your day off?' she asks as he leans over the railing next to her.
'For the most part,' he says. He feels more than sees Elizabeth's confusion. 'I feel old.'
Elizabeth chuckles. 'You are old.'
'Hey!' he protests, standing up straight.
She laughs. 'Pushing fifty there, Colonel.'
He huffs indignantly. 'And you aren't?'
Elizabeth smiles slyly but doesn't reply. She turns her face to the ocean, eyes closed, lips curved upwards, expression serene. Then she frowns, suddenly, and turns to face him. 'You never told me what you wanted.'
He blinks. 'What?'
'For your birthday.' She asked weeks ago. 'I didn't get you anything.' She sounds guilty.
John shrugs. 'S'okay. I don't need any more stuff.'
'Still,' she says. 'I feel bad.'
He shifts awkwardly on his feet. 'Well, if I think of something I'll let you know?'
She smiles. 'Good.'
--
He thinks about it, but comes up with nothing.
If they were on Earth, he might have said a book, or a movie, or season football tickets, but there isn't anything here he really wants or needs - unless Elizabeth can magically produce a couple ZPMs or a really big weapon. Peace for Pegasus, he thinks. Maybe some allies. He'd really love it if Rodney stopped complaining all the time, but he imagines that would take nothing short of a miracle, and he doesn't want to ask for the impossible.
Some drones might be nice. A personal assistant - someone to file all the paperwork for him. Independence would be cool, he surmises, and contemplates asking her if they can just secede from Earth and the IOA and everyone else; it's not like they don't already make their own rules; have their own lives.
He thinks about it, but the only thing he really wants (from her) seems like a gift too precious to demand.
--
'I know what I want,' he says quickly, words pressed together in a rush.
'Okay.' Elizabeth draws the word out long and low, a sharp contrast to the way his heart is pounding rapidly. 'John?'
'It's kind of big,' he says; then blinks and back-tracks quickly, 'Not physically big. Important big.'
Elizabeth folds her arms across her chest. ' 'Important big,' ' she repeats.
'Yeah.'
He tries not to flinch. She gives him an, and? look, and he hesitates.
'Never mind,' he says finally. 'It's not - forget it.'
'John.' She grabs his arm as he tries to leave. There's a pause. 'Why don't you come in?' She steps back from the door, her hand sliding from his arm. He feels bereft, suddenly, and follows her automatically, like a moth to a flame.
The door closes behind him and it's a little bit dark and a little bit small and he panics. Elizabeth watches him silently. 'Are you alright?'
He tries to answer, but there's a weight in his chest and a hole in his voice and he can't think of anything to say that won't scare her; won't push her away.
'John?'
She moves closer, so close, and he could touch her if she'd let him. Raise a hand to her cheek and press his lips to hers and just hold her. Warm and safe. After everything, still here.
Still his.
'Elizabeth,' he tries. Her eyes are bright and full of concern, but she doesn't know. Doesn't get it. Doesn't feel-
He breaks the thought before it finishes, but a little voice echos: maybe things have changed.
He hears his name again, softer this time; apprehensive. Her hand falls against his arm, so light and hesitant - like he'd push her away. It's a soft click in his mind as he realizes, wonders; maybe they're in the same boat, at opposite ends, staring out into the black and wishing - he meets her gaze. His hand cups her jaw on its own accord, and her lips part in a soundless gasp, but she doesn't move away.
' 'Important big,' ' he whispers mindlessly. His thumb brushes back and forth across her skin.
'What - what are you doing?'
'Probably something monumentally stupid.'
He licks his lips.
She stares. Elizabeth swallows tightly, her expression indecipherable. 'Well, what else is new?'
Before she can change her mind or say otherwise, he frames her face with both hands and kisses her. Long and soft and slow and his mind gives a shout of joy when her arms wind around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He doesn't stop - can't - just keeps kissing her and feeling her pulse beat quick and strong against his fingers. They need air and they need to talk and they need less clothes but she's clinging to him desperately and kissing him back like she's drowning, and he doesn't want to break this moment for any world, anywhere.
'John,' she breathes, lips against his and their bodies so close and warm and he lets one hand slide down her throat, sweep across the side of her breast and around her waist and curl over her hip.
He closes his eyes against reality. 'You can't tell me you're surprised,' he manages, still breathless and tired and terrified. She bows her head and he presses his lips to the part in her hair.
'No,' she murmurs. 'But that doesn't mean-'
'Eight years, Elizabeth,' he says. 'I made a promise.'
Her fingers curl around his neck. 'I know.'
His voice cracks. 'Can we be done now?'
John feels her shaking before he sees her smile, hears her soft laughter as she shakes her head. 'Yeah,' she murmurs. 'We can be done.' He's sure his grin is idiotic and lopsided and ridiculous, but he can't bring himself to care. When the pause drags on, Elizabeth smirks slightly. 'Unless you'd like to wait for your next birthday? Fifty is a milestone after all-'
He kisses her to smother her laugh.
--
He wakes up to an empty bed and panics.
The moonlight through the window highlights the shadows on the vacant pillow, and for a moment he wonders if he dreamt it - soft skin and warmth and her breathing against his ear - but it's not his blanket and it's not his room and when his eyes finally adjust he sees her by the window, a sheet wrapped loosely under her arms. He lets his gaze linger, from the base of her spine where the material has pooled, up her back and across her bare shoulders. When he reaches her face, he finds her staring at him, a slight curve to her lips. Slipping out of bed, he crosses the short distance and wraps his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.
For a long, long while, they're both silent. Leaning back into his arms, Elizabeth watches the lights and John watches her. It takes him a moment, but finally the soft, distant sounds of the ocean separate themselves from a smoother, higher voice - Elizabeth's voice - humming quietly. He can feel the vibrations in his chest, pressed so tightly against her spine, and without realizing it he begins to sway. She laughs softly and turns, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as the sheet falls to her hips, caught between them. Her skin is cold and he pulls her in closer, one hand running up and down her back, the other capturing her fingers and bringing her hand up near their shoulders. He picks up the tune - something old and country he can't remember the name of, or the words for - and presses his cheek against hers.
Through the window, Atlantis' lights make patterns against her spine, and shadow her face and her smile.