Fic: The Pacific Rim, Chapter 7

[melyanna]

Sam Seaborn was wandering around the hotel in his tuxedo an hour before he actually had to be ready to go. Walking helped get words flowing through his mind, and with any luck he’d be able to come back after the opera and finish the speech. Toby would sign off on it, and everything would be great.

He walked by the dining hall and glanced inside. Seeing Sam Carter sitting alone at a table, he walked in and approached. “Mind if I sit for a few minutes?” he asked.

She looked up. “No, not at all,” she replied.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. A waitress approached, and he said, “Bourbon, please.”

“You seem awfully dressed up,” Sam commented, taking a drink from her glass.

“I’m going with the President to the opera tonight,” he replied. “I understand that a couple people from the Air Force team are going too.”

“Not me,” she said. “I’ve got stuff I need to review for a meeting tomorrow.”

The waitress came back with his drink. “Thanks,” he said, then took a sip as the woman left. “Well, hey, maybe after we get back, I can buy you a drink.”

She looked up, obviously surprised, and smiled. “I’d like that.”

He raised his eyebrows, not having expected her to say yes. “Really?” he said. “Because Doctor McKay said that. . .”

As he trailed off, Sam narrowed her eyes. “McKay said what?”

“Well, he kind of said that you and he were an item.”

“Excuse me,” the woman replied, getting up. “I have to strangle him.”

As she walked up, Sam picked up his glass again and said, “Well, I guess that means they’re not an item.”

Thump thud slap.

Russian was the first foreign language Elizabeth had learned, when her maternal grandmother would speak to her in her native language, and sometimes it flowed off her tongue more naturally than English. Usually, reading a Russian newspaper was no different than reading The Wall Street Journal.

Thump thud slap.

As the sun moved across the sky over Sydney, the Cyrillic letters, as familiar as the Roman alphabet, were starting to blur. Her concentration was waning.

Thump thud slap.

John was supposed to be helping her with this. He was sitting at the foot of her bed, with a London paper on his knees. Theoretically, he was supposed to tell her whenever he came across something important, and he did look like he was reading.

Thump thud slap.

And she’d made sure not to give him an American paper with a sports section.

Thump thud slap.

But she hadn’t taken that damn ball away from him.

Thump thud slap.

That was the last straw.

“John!” she cried, sitting up straight and slapping the newspaper to the bed. “Would you stop?”

He threw the ball at the wall one last time and finally missed the catch. It hit the thick carpet and rolled a few inches. He looked over his shoulder at her. “What?” he said, grinning.

She buried her hands in her hair, staring at the Russian again. “I’m having Beckett reattach that bug.”

When she looked at him again, he looked like a puppy just kicked by its owner. “And here I thought you liked me,” he said, a lamentable pout on his face. “I went out of my way to get you a birthday present.”

“I do, but you’re driving me insane, and I’m trying to read about-” She stopped suddenly, realizing that she hadn’t absorbed anything in the last ten minutes at least. “I don’t even know what I’m trying to read about anymore.” Elizabeth sighed. “What time is it?”

John glanced at his watch. “Eighteen hundred. The motorcade leaves in an hour.” He got to his feet. “Don’t you need six hours to get ready?”

“Very funny,” she replied. “I want to look through this newspaper from Riga first.”

“Riga?” he repeated. “Elizabeth, shouldn’t you draw a line here somewhere? What possible importance could Riga have at this point?”

“It’s the capital of Latvia, John.” She brushed her fingers over a headline. “And you should go back to Atlantis and tell Doctor Skujans that her hometown is unimportant.”

“Skujans is Latvian?”

“What did you think she was?”

“A chemist?”

“Astronomer.”

“Whatever.” He started gathering up papers and stuffing them back into the box. “My point is, you’re sitting on a panel on security concerns and Western intervention in developing nations in Asia or something. What possible use could you have for year-old news from Latvia?”

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut. The only part of this that made it worse than the usual kind of pestering was that John was right. With a sigh she tossed the Russian newspaper on top of the box. “What are you wearing tonight?” she asked.

“Uniform.” He crinkled his nose like a child being served spinach. “Why?”

“Because I have to figure out what to wear tonight.”

He stared at her for a moment. “There’s a choice in the matter?”

“I figured something like this might happen,” she replied, untwisting her legs from the lotus position she’d been sitting in. “So I got two dresses yesterday.”

“I thought you were just being indecisive.”

“As women are prone to be?”

He smirked. “I would never say that,” he said, nodding.

Elizabeth resisted the sudden, childish urge to stick her tongue out at him. If she did that, he might get ideas. “Anyway,” she said, “I can’t go to the opera in the same dress I’m wearing to the state dinner.”

“I thought that was something that magazines made up.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

John shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re actually having this conversation.”

“Yes, I’m having a hard time with that too,” she replied, stretching her arms over her head. “The dresses are in my closet. Go pick one.”

He gave her an odd look, but turned around anyway. In the meantime, Elizabeth began gathering up everything else she’d need for a quick shower. It wasn’t long before she looked up and saw John scratching his head. “Elizabeth, which one do you want?” he asked.

“I don’t care.” She started peeling off the extra layers she’d thrown on because of the coldness of the room. “Just pick one.”

“But they’re both black.”

“Is color the only defining factor for you? They’re completely different.”

“Well,” he said, pulling the dresses out of the closet, “most men don’t spend much time imagining what women look like with clothes on. We tend to do the opposite.” He turned around just as she was pulling off a long-sleeved shirt, leaving a tank top underneath. “Of course, if you keep this up, I won’t have to imagine much.”

Elizabeth decided to ignore the remark. She looked at the dresses, her hands on her hips. He held each one up in front of himself in turn, and she tried not to giggle. Shaking her head, she grabbed the plainer of the two and headed to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, she emerged, finding John waiting at the door to the suite, looking very neat in his uniform. He nodded to her. “You look very nice.”

“Thank you,” she replied, running her hand over the smooth black silk of the dress. “So do you.”

With a smile, he opened the door. “After you, ma’am.”

Rodney was sitting beside the pool when he saw Samantha Carter come in. Judging by how pissed off she looked, he started looking for a quick exit. Unfortunately, none were quick enough.

“McKay, what the hell did you tell him?” she said, almost yelling.

He got up, and the two of them faced off at the edge of the pool. “Hey, he made his own assumptions,” Rodney began explaining.

“Yeah, and you didn’t try to disillusion him either,” said Carter.

“It was a joke, Colonel,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting him to believe me.”

“I ought to push you into the pool.”

“Colonel, I can’t imagine what I’ve done to piss you off like this,” Rodney started.

“You told a politician that I was dating you!”

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t tell him that!” he said. “He assumed that. And you’ve been pissed off a lot longer than that, and I’ve barely talked with you since I got to Colorado.” He stopped suddenly and stared at her. “You’re only this cranky when something’s - hey, we’re not under threat of - are we?”

She rolled her eyes. “You are such an idiot.”

“You know, you should be thanking me for this,” Rodney continued. “I heard the rumors while we were at Cheyenne Mountain. I figured you didn’t want to get involved with this guy, so I saved you a step.”

“McKay, I can put up with your meddling in scientific matters,” Carter said. “But the minute you step into my personal life-”

“What?”

He didn’t get an answer in words. Instead, Carter did what she’d threatened. She shoved him hard, and he went flying sideways into the deep end of the pool. When he surfaced again, he thought he heard her say: “That felt good.”

Dejected, he stayed there for a minute, treading water, until a hotel employee came up to the pool’s edge. “Sir, you can’t be in the water with your street clothes on,” he said. He sounded cranky, but Rodney no longer cared.

“Yeah,” he said, making his way to dry land, “tell that to the person who pushed me.”

John was fairly sure that Elizabeth thought he was brooding tonight, but the truth was that he was was trying to make sense of things. She was confusing him.

Intellectually, he’d known that Elizabeth was a woman of sophistication, but seeing her in a red top and pants that matched his every day had pushed that fact into the realm of the barely acknowledged. Sure, she had talked with him many a time about literature, starting with Tolstoy and moving through Dickens, Shakespeare, Eliot, and countless others, but she’d been talking with him. He certainly didn’t consider himself classy, despite the fact that his shoes were currently very shiny. Shiny enough for faint reflections.

And then, the other thing he’d known but not really known was that Elizabeth would look beautiful in a burlap sack. Of course, that dress she was wearing was hardly burlap. It was black and silky, low in the front and lower in the back. She looked gorgeous. There was no denying it. He’d seen Teyla wearing less during their fake visit home, but it had done nothing for him, in part because she’d looked so out of place. Elizabeth, on the other hand, with her dark hair in soft curls and a smile on her face, looked strangely ethereal. It was how she was supposed to look.

An unfamiliar man in a tuxedo approached them, a smile on his face. “Elizabeth Weir?” he said, his accent American. “I heard you were on this trip.”

Elizabeth looked at him oddly, until she recognized him and smiled. “Sam,” she said, “it’s been a while.”

“Haven’t seen you in at least a year,” he replied. He gave her a hug. “How’ve you been? You look terrific.”

“So do you,” she said. Then she looked at John, who was trying not to feel like a third wheel in the conversation. “Let me introduce you two. Sam, this is Major John Sheppard. John, Sam Seaborn.”

Sam held out his hand, and John shook it firmly. “Major.”

“Mr. Seaborn.”

“Oh, please, it’s Sam. And it’s a pleasure,” Sam said. “Elizabeth, this must be quite the special assignment for you to be with an Air Force officer.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me,” she said. “Danny Concannon already smells a story.”

“Danny always smells a story.” Sam turned to John. “So how long have you known Doctor Weir?”

“It’s been about a year,” John said. “How about you?”

Sam smiled. “Wow, how long has it been?”

“Well, it was during President Bartlet’s first campaign, when the President talked me into helping out on debate prep,” Elizabeth replied. “We were both on the red-eye out of Los Angeles, and the flight was delayed. We were stuck sitting on the runway.”

“And you and I argued about Taiwan from the moment we introduced ourselves to the moment we got to the campaign.”

“Seven years, then,” Elizabeth said. “That was a lot of negotiations ago.”

“And a lot of speeches.”

They laughed a little, and John looked beyond them to see Secret Service agents descending the stairs. Through the glass doors he saw a the motorcade pulling up to the building, and a few moments later, he saw the President, the First Lady, and C. J. Cregg coming into the lobby.

Jed Bartlet was a short man, shorter than Elizabeth, but he didn’t seem like it. His confidence towered far above his actual height. His smile upon greeting Elizabeth was genuine, and she seemed amazingly at ease. It was clear that they’d known each other for a while.

“Mr. President,” Elizabeth said, “allow me to introduce Major John Sheppard, United States Air Force.”

The President extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Jed Bartlet.”

“Yes, sir,” said John, shaking his hand. “It’s an honor, sir.”

“It’s good to see you again, John,” the First Lady said.

“My wife claims she’s running away with you,” the President continued, pointing at her with his thumb. “I suppose you should take that as a compliment. She has excellent taste.”

“You flatter me, Jed,” Abbey replied. “I married you, after all.”

Mostly to Elizabeth, John said, “Okay, this has officially gotten strange.”

“Stranger than the last year?” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Well, you look lovely, Elizabeth,” Abbey continued. “You two make quite the pair.”

John opened his mouth to say something, but Elizabeth stopped him by laying her hand on his arm briefly. “Thank you, Abbey,” she said.

“Well, time to get moving,” the President said. “We don’t want to miss the overture.”

Technically, it was a Secret Service agent who led the way to the door, but it was clear to everyone that the President was leading. John and Elizabeth fell in step behind the Bartlets, and Elizabeth said, “You’re doing fine, John.”

He let out a long breath. “You know how I said that there are some things that weren’t in the brochure?”

“This is one of them?”

“In a word, yes.”

She laughed, the kind of sound he’d heard from her so rarely. As they walked through the doors being held open by agents, she placed her hand at his elbow, as though to lead him. “You’re doing just fine.”

Danny had been standing at the door to Elizabeth’s room for the better part of five minutes, knocking every few seconds. It was entirely possible that she was asleep, but he doubted it. So, he kept knocking.

He heard some squishy footsteps down the hall, and someone said, “If you’re looking for Doctor Weir, you, uh, you won’t find her in there.”

He turned and saw a very wet man trying to get a door to unlock down the hall. “You know Elizabeth?” he asked.

“I work with her,” the wet man said. “You know Elizabeth?”

“I dated her about fifteen years ago.” Danny frowned. “What happened to you?”

“An irate Air Force colonel shoved me into the pool.” He looked thoughtful for a minute. “Highlight of my day, really. Anyway, why are you looking for Elizabeth?”

“I wanted to talk with her about a piece I’m doing. I’m a reporter, by the way. Washington Post. Danny Concannon.”

“Rodney McKay, astrophysicist.” He finally got the door open. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little wet.”

“Mind if I come in?”

McKay looked at him oddly. “Well, as long as you don’t want to watch me changing into dry clothes. . .”

Danny smiled and shook his head. “I’ll avert my eyes. I just want to ask a few questions about Doctor Weir, since you seem to know her.”

McKay shrugged. “Be my guest.”

“Guess I’ll start with the obvious. Where is she?”

“She,” he began, pulling fresh clothing out of a bag, “was invited to see an opera with the President tonight, and I’ve learned that, while I’m Canadian myself, one doesn’t turn down such invitations.”

The scientist headed into the bathroom, emerging in dry clothes a few minutes later, though still smelling of chlorine. “I take it that’ll be followed up by conversations about Kashmir over chess?”

“Who, Elizabeth?” McKay asked. “She’s terrible at chess. She doesn’t look at the board as a whole. Major Sheppard, on the other hand, is quite formidable.”

“Oh, so you know this Major Sheppard too?”

“Yes.” The scientist looked at him oddly. “Why?”

“I’m just trying to draw a picture of what’s going on with her,” Danny replied, hoping his casualness would put a stop to any suspicion. “I was going to catch up with her tonight, but then she went off to the opera.”

“Well, she’ll be back later,” said McKay. “I’m sure Sheppard won’t want to stay down there any longer than necessary.”

“She took Sheppard with her?” Danny asked. “Now, that’s an interesting development.”

“Whoa, what are you-”

“Relax,” Danny replied, setting his notebook down. “I’m off the record.” He folded his hands. “Just out of curiosity, do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”

McKay opened his mouth a few times, but no sound came out. Danny tried not to laugh. “Is she seeing you?”

The man started. “No,” he said immediately. “I wouldn’t - not that she isn’t - no.” He coughed conspicuously. “And I think it’d be best if I didn’t comment on anything else.”

That was it. Danny knew he wasn’t going to get any more out of him. “You know,” he said, picking up his notebook, “I think I’ll just wait for Elizabeth to get back. That’d probably be easiest on everyone. Nice talking to you, Rodney.”

The scientist said something in response, but Danny didn’t really hear it. He was already formulating a battle plan in his head, because there was something going on, and there was no way he was giving up without a fight.

John was amazingly well-behaved throughout the opera, with minimal fidgeting. Of course, he was sitting between Elizabeth and the Prime Minister of Australia. It was actually the President who was more distracting for Elizabeth, as he kept leaning over to whisper comments about the performance. Had she been sitting with anyone else, she would have put a stop to it, but one didn’t tell the President to shut up.

But at the end of the performance the singers came out to their standing ovation, which included everyone in the Prime Minister’s box. As they were clapping, John leaned over to her and whispered, “Not bad.”

“Some of the finest singers in the world, and all you can come up with is ‘not bad’?” she asked.

“Well, it wasn’t,” he protested. “I’m just saying, I saw a better production at the Met a few years ago.”

Elizabeth stopped clapping for a moment and stared. “And you put up a fight about coming?”

“I didn’t say I went willingly then.”

“Doctor,” came the voice of the man on the other side, “did you not like the tenor?”

Halfheartedly, she started clapping again. “He was fine, sir,” she replied. “I just feel like strangling someone.”

“Well, the Secret Service likes to have a heads-up when someone wants to strangle me. Should I let them know?”

“No, sir,” she said, laughing just a little. “You’ve been nicer than that.”

“Good, I’ll tell Ron to get the snipers to stand down.”

By the time curtain calls had finished, Elizabeth’s hands were stinging. She readjusted her wrap, tightening it, and looked at John, who was examining his hat as though he’d never seen it before. “You hungry?” she asked.

“Starving. How about we get back to the hotel and get something sent up?”

“You’re really liking this room service thing, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

C. J. walked up to them before Elizabeth could answer. “You look like you want to escape,” she said.

“That obvious?” John asked.

“Well, I’m going to help you out a bit,” C. J. said. “I’m trying to get the President out the door as quickly as possible, because he needs to go over the current draft of his speech with Sam. I’m putting Sam in the car with the President, the First Lady, and myself, so that will leave the second limousine for the two of you. I’d actually like it if you were out there before President Bartlet leaves.”

Elizabeth looked at John for a minute. “That sounds fine, if it means we can avoid the press more than we’ve been doing.”

C. J. smiled. “I know the feeling. I’ll get an agent to escort you down to the motorcade.”

A few minutes later, a tall man in a tuxedo approached them. “Doctor Weir, Major Sheppard, if you’ll come with me,” he said.

They followed wordlessly, going through a back exit, the likes of which most people would never see. The agent led them down to the limousine, and neither said anything until they were inside and the door was shut. “Well,” John finally said, “that was different.”

“He could take half an hour to get out of there,” Elizabeth said, sighing and slouching down in the seat. “I want my newspapers.”

John was looking out the window. “You’ll be fine at the thing.”

“These meetings with Hammond and Alexander aren’t helping.” She decided that she must have been overtired, because she didn’t usually confess those kinds of things on any meaningful level.

“Well, I think they can intimidate just about anyone,” John replied. “Especially Alexander.”

“He wants to replace me,” she said quietly. “I can tell.”

“What makes you say that?”

Elizabeth looked down at her hands. She hoped no one had looked at them tonight, because Elizabeth Weir nearly always had a manicure. She’d gotten used to the lack of nail polish in Pegasus, but it had taken her a while. “He doesn’t trust me,” she finally said. “I left something out of a report. He’s got no reason to trust me.”

John shifted in his seat. “Elizabeth, why didn’t you put it in the report?”

She closed her eyes and exhaled. “We took care of it,” she replied. “One way or another, I got my point across. I didn’t see the need to put another black mark on your record. You were doing what you felt was right, John. I couldn’t punish you for that.”

He didn’t answer, and knowing him as well as she did, Elizabeth suspected that he didn’t know what to say. But before the limousine started moving, John’s hand found hers, and he didn’t let go until they’d reached the hotel.

Rodney didn’t know what was taking Elizabeth and Sheppard so long, but around ten he started calling her room every five minutes, hoping for an answer. At eleven he gave up in favor of camping out outside her room. He honestly didn’t think he’d given that reporter any information, but he knew not to take chances with something like this.

He heard their laughter drifting down the hall at a quarter to midnight, long before he saw them. When they came around the corner, he thought he saw Elizabeth’s hand in John’s, but when he looked again, that wasn’t the case. The smile on Elizabeth’s face had quickly faded as well. “Rodney?” she said, stepping ahead of Sheppard. “Is something wrong?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I was talking to a reporter.”

She touched two fingers to her forehead. “Tell me it wasn’t Danny Concannon.”

“That was him,” he replied. “He said he was an old boyfriend of yours.”

“Yes, and apparently he’s going to haunt me forever.”

“McKay, what did you tell him?” Sheppard asked.

“Not in the hallway,” Elizabeth said. She pulled out her access card and opened the suite door. “In.”

The two men complied, and as Elizabeth removed her wrap, she said, “John, call C. J. Cregg and ask her to meet us here. Tell her it’s about an old friend from home.”

“Old friend from home?” Rodney repeated, as Sheppard made the call.

“It’s a code,” she said.

While they waited, Sheppard leaned against the back of the sofa and took his tie off, but the wait wasn’t very long. Within a few minutes, C. J. arrived, still in an evening gown. As soon as the door was closed behind her, she said, “What’s the problem?”

“Danny Concannon-”

“What I wouldn’t give to never hear about a problem starting with that name again.”

Elizabeth smiled in sympathy. “Danny Concannon talked to Doctor McKay. He doesn’t think he said anything, but Danny’s getting serious about this.”

C. J. turned to Rodney. “What was he asking?”

“Mostly about Doctor Weir, actually,” he replied.

“Me?”

C. J. shook her head. “You know, I could have sworn that Teyla would have been the problem on this trip,” she said.

“She’s hardly said anything to anyone not in this room,” Rodney replied. “I can’t see what she’d give away.”

“Concannon’s going after Elizabeth because he knows her,” John said. “He knows her position on the military, and he’s not going to let go of the fact that she’s with an Air Force research team and meeting with two generals while she’s here. He knows there’s something big going on.”

“All right,” said C. J., “Doctor McKay, did you say anything that made him suspicious?”

“I told him that Major Sheppard went to the opera with Elizabeth,” Rodney replied.

The Chief of Staff frowned in Elizabeth’s direction. “He’s acting like a jealous ex, if you ask me,” Weir explained. “He thinks we’re together.”

“Well, you were together,” Rodney said. “You were at the opera together.”

“Oh, come on,” Sheppard put in, wrapping his tie around one hand. “For a smart guy, you can be pretty dense, McKay.”

“Danny thinks I’m sleeping with him,” Elizabeth clarified.

“Well, so does half of Atlantis. More than half, actually-” He stopped suddenly. “Wait, does that mean you’re not?”

“Yes!” they answered in unison.

“Well, that serves Zelenka right for betting the remainder of his chocolate-”

“Rodney,” Elizabeth said, in the tone that usually got him to shut up. “I’m not even going to begin to comment upon the appropriateness of your speculating on my sex life. What we need to do is figure out what to do with Danny.”

“Ignore him for now,” C. J. said. “The press corps should be occupied by following the President for the next couple days. The problem is going to be when Doctor Weir’s panel comes around.”

“At which point every reporter with a pulse is going to be talking about me,” Elizabeth replied.

“Exactly,” C. J. continued. “I’m going to get Donna to try to keep them occupied. Fortunately, the President’s speech is that night, so with any luck, they’ll only have a couple hours to think about you.”

“What if that doesn’t work?” Sheppard asked.

“Danny can be pretty persistant,” Elizabeth added.

“If that doesn’t work, I’ll buy him off somehow,” C. J. replied. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll find a Republican and borrow his gun so I can shoot myself.”

Rodney left the suite muttering something that resembled an apology for bothering them, and Elizabeth soon escaped into her bedroom, barely giving John time to say good night. He managed to change into something more comfortable than his uniform before collapsing into bed, but only just.

But strangely, he didn’t sleep, no matter how much he tossed and turned. His body wanted to sleep desperately, but his mind wouldn’t stop running long enough to let him. If he wasn’t thinking about how that reporter was going to get them all into so much trouble, then he was thinking about Elizabeth in that dress. And that wasn’t helping matters at all.

Eventually, there was only one course of action available to him. He was going to make himself some tea. Moving as quietly as he could in order not to wake Elizabeth, he left his room and headed to the small kitchen area, searching through the cabinets until he found a teapot and some herbal teas that hopefully would put him to sleep instead of keeping him awake. He could only hope that the next day would be easier.

“John?” said a voice soft and feminine. He turned around and saw the door to Elizabeth’s room open, with her standing in the dim light. “John, what are you doing?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

She shook her head. Her hair was a mess, so it was clear that she’d been trying to sleep, if not succeeding. She looked cold, too, so when the kettle started to whistle, he said, “Do you want some of this? It’s lemon.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I haven’t had lemon tea in years.”

John turned the heat off under the pot and searched through cabinets again until he found two coffee mugs. “Then it’s my pleasure,” he said as he poured the hot water.

After a moment, she said, “You really should let me do that.”

“Elizabeth,” he replied, “I fly helicopters, airplanes, and highly advanced alien spaceships. I think I can make a cup of tea.”

“Are the two related?”

He turned around and handed her a mug, smiling. “Absolutely.”

They headed over to the sofa and sat down, much closer together than they ever would have in Atlantis, where someone could walk in at any minute. But things were different here. In some ways, they had to be more guarded, lest their superiors think they were acting inappropriately, but on Earth, with the threat held at bay for now, the part of them that was always consumed with the safety and well-being of the expedition was free to think and feel and be. Tonight, even though they were both worried about reporters and perception, they simply were.

His arm ended up around her shoulders, though he didn’t remember doing it. If she had objections, she didn’t state them. So as they sipped at tea and began to relax, he said, “It was strange to see you like that tonight.”

“What, in a dress?” she asked.

“No - well, in that dress, maybe - but no, it was. . .” He took another drink. “You were standing there making small talk with a professional speech writer. You were chatting with the President and the First Lady.”

She looked up at him. “You knew I was a diplomat.”

“Yeah, it just. . . never really dawned on me.” John set his mug on the end table. “You weren’t very comfortable talking with me for a while.”

Elizabeth handed him her empty mug, which he set aside for her. Neither made any indication of movement in the near future. Then, very softly, she asked, “Would you believe that I’m more comfortable talking to you than I am talking to the President now?”

He smiled, just a little, and let his fingers brush against her bare shoulder. “Yeah, I think I’d buy that.”

A few minutes later, Elizabeth’s head landed on his shoulder. She was fast asleep. After such a long day, he didn’t have the heart to wake her now that she was finally asleep, so he grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa and very gingerly tried to drape it over them both. There was still a light on in the kitchen area, but John just didn’t care. He was too tired, and as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his last thought was that Elizabeth was very warm.

Chapter Six | Chapter Eight