Fic: The Pacific Rim, Chapter 8

[melyanna]

C. J. didn’t sleep much that night. Truth be told, she didn’t really sleep at all. Danny was not supposed to have this much power over her, but some things couldn’t be helped. At least she wasn’t not sleeping because of him personally.

So in the morning she splashed water on her face in an effort to look less tired and headed down to the President’s suite. There, President Bartlet was already through a cup of coffee and was devouring the morning’s news. “Josh called,” he said, turning the television off and tossing the remote to the sofa. “We’re going to lose on farm subsidies.”

C. J. clasped her hands in front of her. “We knew it was going to be tight,” she replied.

“Yeah, but I had hopes,” he said. “It’s a bad bill.”

“That’s never stopped Congress from passing bills before.”

“Anyway,” said the President, “what have you got for me?”

“Sir, Danny Concannon-”

“Tell me he went home early, C. J. Please.”

“No such luck, I’m afraid,” C. J. continued. “Danny’s been snooping some more.”

He sighed and leaned his head back against the sofa cushion. “Is there a way we could dump his body in Darling Harbor?”

“Much as I’d like to, sir, I can’t think of a way to do it.”

“Yeah, well, you always lacked creativity.” He got to his feet. “Buy him off.”

“Yes, sir,” C. J. replied. “I was planning on having Donna find out what he knows first. But I want to know the upper limit.”

“Well, he doesn’t get a Cabinet post or anything,” Bartlet answered.

“Yeah, but what if he wants an interview with you? Or with her?”

“Give it to him, under the condition that he asks no questions pertaining to classified activities,” the President said. “But offer me before you give him her. She’s got enough on her mind now without getting the Spanish Inquisition from Danny Concannon.”

It took Elizabeth several moments to figure out where she was, as it clearly wasn’t a bed. Then she remembered her late-night chat with John, and realized that they must have fallen asleep on the sofa. There was a faint taste of copper in her mouth. She was mostly buried in a blanket, and her face was pressed into his side. She squirmed a little, but otherwise tried to stay away from acting like she was awake.

It didn’t work. Soon John’s hand moved up her back and ruffled her hair. “Morning,” he said.

“Does it have to be?” she asked.

“Oh-eight-hundred,” he replied. “We’ve got two hours before the meetings start.”

She yawned. “Are you always this early when you’re awake?”

“Huh?”

Elizabeth thought about what she’d said and frowned. Hadn’t it made sense? “Are you always this awake when it’s early?”

“This isn’t early.”

“You need a shower,” she said out of the blue. First thing in the morning was generally no time for her to be talking. Things tended to come out of her mouth without her permission.

John palmed her head and pulled her back. “I’d say the same of you, but my mother taught me to be polite.”

“Oh, shut up.” Elizabeth sat up and stretched, pushing hair out of her face.

He picked up one of the mugs left from the night before and took a drink from it. Then he made a face and put it back. “You were dreaming.”

Elizabeth frowned. “You’ve spent a lot of time sleeping with people who dream?”

“No, I just. . .” He wouldn’t look at her. “You were shaking and. . . clingy.”

Abruptly she tossed the blanket aside and got up. John caught her hand. “Elizabeth,” he said, as she tried to pull her hand back from him, “what’s going on?”

The dream was familiar enough. She’d been having it or some variation of it for months. She’d learned to deal with it, but she didn’t know that it still made her ache to be held. Not looking at him, she tried to pull her hand away again, but his grip was too strong. “Elizabeth,” he said. “Is it the Wraith?”

She closed her eyes. “They make up enough of my waking nightmares.”

“Then what is it?” John asked. “You don’t just do this.”

“No, I don’t.” Elizabeth yanked her hand away from his and left, not giving him a chance to say anything else.

Halfway through her shower she was still shaking, and realized that she was scrubbing herself like in the dream. Soap was stinging her eyes, but she didn’t care. Of all the people she could have find out about the dreams, John was absolutely the last person she wanted. But at the same time, he needed to know.

She rinsed the soap from her hair and dried off, slipping into slacks and the light top she intended to wear a jacket over. When she came barefooted into the sitting room, John was leaning against the back of the sofa, dressed in most of his uniform already, though his coat lay on the furniture. His tie was in his hand. Elizabeth shook her head. “Let me do that,” she said. “It looked terrible yesterday.”

Walking up to him, she took it, and he gave her a goofy smile. “You didn’t say anything about it.”

“Abbey thought it was cute.”

“So I can’t tie a tie,” he said as she looped it over his neck. “That was reason number forty-seven for Antarctica.”

She shook her head and started the knot. “It was about you,” she said, softly.

“The dream?”

Elizabeth nodded. “It’s been about you for a few months now.”

“I’m starting to feel a bit honored,” he replied. “Or freaked out. First Teyla, then you. . .”

“This was a little different,” she said. “I’m not sure how to say this.”

“For me it’s Sumner,” he suddenly blurted out. Elizabeth met his eyes, surprised. “Every night.”

“For me, it’s. . .” She pulled the tie tight. “For me it’s you.”

“You said that,” he replied, touching her arm briefly.

“No, no,” she said, “I mean it’s you. You die. Every night.”

He waited for her to speak again, and she wondered why she hadn’t let go of his tie. “It’s during the storm,” she said. “The Genii are there. Kolya has me. You’re trying to save me, but then. . . He shoots you and lets me go.”

“He shoots me?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Twice.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I get to you and call for help, but no one can hear me.”

“Elizabeth. . .”

“You’re dying,” she said, closing her eyes, willing herself not to cry like she did the first few times she had the dream. “You’re telling me not to be afraid. You’re telling me that’s what you were going to say in the puddle jumper that day. You’re telling me not to be afraid. But I am, John, I can’t help it.”

She must have been choking him with his tie by then, because he wasn’t talking or moving. He was just staring at her. “Your blood gets all over me,” she said, so softly she doubted he could hear her. “I’ve been waking up with blood in my mouth every morning. I must be biting my tongue or something.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, placing both hands on her shoulders, “you don’t have to do this.”

Slowly, she nodded. “I need to.” She took another deep breath and continued, “There’s blood everywhere, all over my hands, my shirt, my face. . . Someone comes and takes you away even though I’m screaming at them to help. But you’re already dead.”

Elizabeth finally opened her eyes, and saw him pale, a shocked look on his face. “Then I go out to the balcony,” she whispered. “It’s raining, but the blood won’t come off. More and more of it keeps pooling at my feet, but it won’t come off.”

She expected sarcasm or some other attempt to lighten her mood, but neither came. Instead, John stood, awkwardly invading her personal space, and with the comfort level of a teenager with a hormonal girlfriend, he hugged her. Finally working her fingers away from his tie, she slipped her arms around his neck as he pulled her tighter to himself. “I’m not dead,” he said, a statement simple and obvious enough, but one which she needed to hear.

“I know,” she whispered, “but how many are?”

He stroked her wet hair for a few moments. “People would have died anyway, Elizabeth. Don’t do this to yourself.” He inhaled deeply. “Are you afraid now?”

She hesitated, though she knew her answer immediately. “Yes,” she said, quietly. “You scare the hell out of me.”

“Why?”

“Because every time you leave, I’m afraid you’re going to do something idiotic and get yourself killed, and I know I need - I can’t do this without you, John. I can’t do my job without-”

“Don’t,” he whispered. “I know.” There was a long pause, and he held her a little tighter. “I know.”

Uncomfortably stuffed into a suit, Rodney McKay left his room an hour before he had to be in the conference room with the others. When he turned a corner, he saw the elevator door starting to close, so he started jogging and yelled, “Hold it!”

The woman inside stuck her hand out to stop the door, and Rodney ran inside, slightly out of breath. “Thanks,” he said. The blonde nodded, and he added, “Donna, right?”

She smiled a little and nodded again. “And you would be Doctor McKay.”

“Oh, please, you can call me Rodney.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled at her. Donna looked at him oddly and turned her attention to the rather large stack of papers in her arms. “So, uh, what are you doing this morning?”

“C. J. Cregg wanted to see me about something.”

“Oh, well, that’s probably about me,” Rodney replied. “I had a small run-in with a reporter last night. He was asking a lot of odd questions, but I think I handled it well enough.”

“Have you ever had any experience with White House reporters?” Donna asked.

“No, but-”

“They’re like piranhas,” she said. “Their favorite thing to do is make you think you’ve won.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind.” The elevator arrived at the lobby, and both got out. “Hey, want to come get breakfast with me?”

Donna raised both eyebrows and pointed down a hall with her thumb. “I have to meet C. J.,” she said.

“Oh, right, how silly of me,” Rodney replied. “Well, the offer stands.”

“I’ll. . . keep that in mind.”

She walked off quickly, wondering what was going on there. The previous night she’d heard about him getting shoved into a swimming pool by the Air Force astrophysicist on the trip. Donna shook her head. The more she thought about the research team, the less sense it made.

C. J. was on the phone when she walked into the small conference room where Sam and his team were already working on the speech for another day. Donna walked up to him and smiled. “How’s it going?” she asked.

“We’re getting there,” Sam replied. “Little by little. Hey, did you hear something about Doctor McKay and a swimming pool?”

“Yeah,” Donna replied, “apparently Colonel Carter stormed in there last night, yelled at him for a while, and shoved him into the pool.”

“Wow,” Sam said. “That’s pretty impressive.”

Across the room, C. J. hung up the phone. “Donna,” she said, “walk with me.”

Surprisingly, Weir and Sheppard were the last to arrive at the meeting. Sam thought they both looked rather worn, though Elizabeth looked worse than John, like she hadn’t slept well at all. “Doctor,” Sam said quietly, “are you all right?”

Weir looked up, seeming startled. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice didn’t have quite the confident tone it usually did.

Sam didn’t really believe that she was all right, but there was no way the diplomat was going to admit it. “You just look a little tired,” she said.

“The opera ran pretty late, and we had to deal with an incident with a reporter.”

“An incident with a reporter?” Hammond repeated.

“We don’t think it was anything to be worried about, sir,” said Sheppard.

Weir nodded. “But C. J. Cregg is looking into it for us.”

“Well, I’m sure she can handle it,” General Alexander remarked. “Shall we get started?”

“Certainly,” Weir replied. They all took their seats, and Sam hoped that this day would go more smoothly than the previous. At the least, she hoped that Sheppard wouldn’t try to mouth off to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs again, and that he and Weir wouldn’t give the impression that they were sharing more than just the burden of leadership.

Donna hated it when C. J. called upon her for dirty work, and unfortunately, the only plan she could come up with at this point was cheesy, stupid, and made her look like a Nancy Drew wannabe. Thankfully, the only real witness to this was Ed, her current partner in crime.

Casually wandering up to the table where Danny Concannon was working, Donna attempted to appear bored, or at the least unoccupied. When she reached him, he looked up and said, “Hey, Donna.”

“Hi, Danny,” she replied. “What are you up to?”

“Just compiling my notes,” he said, gesturing at his open notepad as he sipped his coffee. “You busy?”

“No, not at all,” she said. “Well, I’m going to have stuff to do pretty soon, but I’m waiting for the President to head out to the lunch session.”

Danny smiled. “The lunch session is going to be interesting day after tomorrow.”

Donna pulled one of the chairs out and sat down. “You mean the panel with Doctor Weir?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it gets more coverage than the President’s speech. She hasn’t spoken publicly in a while.” He set his coffee down and turned a page in the notepad. Donna noted the word “Prometheus” underlined and followed by three question marks. “Hey, do you know why that is?”

Donna shrugged. “The President’s had her on special assignment for a while.”

“Just wish I knew where to look for her. I kind of miss being able to lurk in her evening lectures.”

“You really dated her?” she asked.

Danny smiled. “Long time ago.”

At that point, Ed finally decided to make his appearance. He hurried up to the table and said, “Danny, there’s a call for you at the front desk.”

The reporter hesitated, looking at his laptop and his notes. The front desk was quite some distance away from the small hotel café in which they sat, so he’d be away from his things for several minutes, even though there was no phone call for him. Donna spoke up quickly. “I’ll stay here with your stuff if you want,” she offered.

“Thanks, Donna,” he said. When he stood up and closed his laptop, undoubtedly password-protected, she tried not to wince.

He was gone quickly, and Ed took up his post at the door, standing watch for Donna. With speed that could only be developed in two Presidential campaigns and six years in the White House, she picked up the notepad and read as much of it as she could before Danny returned.

Running late was nothing unusual for this President, but C. J. was unused to causing the delays. But she had to wait for Donna to finish up with Danny, and she also had to go to the event. When the blonde woman came running into the hallway, C. J. grabbed her by the elbow and started dragging her after Secret Service agents to the limousine that Bartlet was just entering. She almost pushed her into the back before climbing in after her.

“Hello, Donna, nice of you to join us,” the President said.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” said Donna.

The door shut, the limousine started moving, and C. J. said, “Well, what does he know?”

“It’s hard to say,” Donna replied.

“Hard to say? What do you mean?”

“He’s got a lot of little pieces, but none of them seem to fit together.” Donna frowned. “He’s got Major Sheppard’s record, though. Something about Afghanistan, and then his record just stops with his assignment to Weir’s team.”

“How the hell did he get that?” the President asked.

“Danny’s got very, very good sources,” C. J. said.

“Yeah, I remember.” He looked at Donna. “What else?”

“There was something about radar,” she replied, “and the name Prometheus came up.”

“Anything else?”

“That was as far as I got.” She looked at them apologetically. “Danny was coming back. Ed and I decided that the desk had asked for Dan Barr, and Ed didn’t hear it correctly.”

“Did he buy it?” C. J. asked.

“He didn’t seem suspicious, but I can never tell with him,” said Donna. “But unless he’s started fingerprinting his notepads when he leaves them around places. . .”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

The motorcade came to a stop, and the President said, “Thanks, Donna. C. J., you know what to do.”

C. J. nodded, and when she got out of the limo, she headed back to the press pool to find Danny Concannon.

Elizabeth didn’t know if the President had arranged this, but Hammond was once again the one who ended the meeting, saying that he understood that she had quite a bit of preparation to do for the panel on the day after next. Still, she was grateful, though the meeting had been far more pleasant than the previous one. Granted, that wasn’t saying much. A wet paper sack would have been more pleasant than the previous one.

It was difficult to see how the attitudes of the powers over her had changed so completely during her absence. Of course, in all honesty, it wasn’t their attitude toward her, but their attitude toward the situation. The nature of the expedition had shifted dramatically, from exploratory to military, and it was somewhat understandable that they would question a civilian’s ability to command such a situation. But she had been appointed to run the SGC during the height of the Anubis threat, and she had dealt with the Wraith threat as well as she felt anyone could. On top of that, her city was no longer as defenseless as it had once been, so it seemed frightfully unnecessary to place a military man in command of the expedition.

Elizabeth sighed. Atlantis really was her city now. For a woman who had always been capable of being comfortable wherever she was, she now felt that Earth was very foreign.

“Doctor Weir,” someone called behind her as she headed toward the elevator. She turned and saw C. J. approaching. “I have some news.”

“Good or bad?” Elizabeth asked.

“Well, some probably would say it’s bad news. I want to say it’s good news.” She took a deep breath. “Danny wants an interview with you.”

“Why would you call that good news?”

“I wouldn’t, really. Just said I’d like to.” C. J. sighed. “If you really don’t want to do it, I can talk to him, but it was the only deal he’d take this afternoon.”

Elizabeth tried not to seem annoyed by the prospect. “When?”

“The day after your panel. It’ll be the day before we leave.”

Slowly, she nodded. “Tell him I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” C. J. said, just before heading off. Elizabeth headed to the elevator again, and she spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the night alone, reading as much as she could absorb.

It was late when John decided that he wasn’t likely to sleep well. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Elizabeth’s dream had been nagging at him through most of the day. As a man whose entire adult life had involved risk and violence, he’d given thought to his own demise on several occasions in the past. But this was different. Very different.

Heightmeyer, during the one time he’d visited her about his own nightmares, had given him a line about dreams meaning less than people like to think. John was disinclined to believe that. In his dreams he had been quite vividly reliving the moment when he pulled the trigger and killed Sumner himself. It happened over and over and over. Occasionally he had to fire more than once to finally kill the man, which made him wonder if somewhere deep down he had some desire to take over. That version happened a lot after the nanovirus incident.

Strangely, though, after the old version of Elizabeth had lived that one precious day with them, the dream hadn’t been quite as bad. It was as if his subconscious was telling himself that he wasn’t ultimately responsible for Sumner’s death.

Still, Elizabeth’s dream was bothering him. In another part of his life he would have been most disturbed by his boss dreaming about him, but the last year had taught him to think a little differently. She’d woken him up the night before, her hands clutching his shirt as she shook violently. He’d rubbed her back and stroked her hair, trying to give her some physical reassurance of his presence, but it took her a long time to calm down. The only explanation was a nightmare.

To know now that his death, even in a dream, was causing her such distress was itself distressing to him. That she was dreaming of his death in such grim detail was even more bizarre. She was a rock when she was awake. She’d show anger, but rarely grief. Whenever he’d seen that, he’d felt as though he were intruding, even though he’d wanted to help her at the same time.

He headed out of his room to the balcony that stretched the length of the building. It was late enough that most sane people would be asleep, so he expected to find solitude there. Instead, he found Elizabeth.

She was dressed in a thin grey nightgown that looked very cold in the crisp night air. The light wind tossed her hair, and in the moonlight her skin seemed to glow. It had been a long time since John had acknowledged that Elizabeth was an attractive woman, but there were times when seeing that face across the briefing table had seemed to dull the effect. Now, of course, there was no questioning it.

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at him. “You’re up late,” he said.

“So are you,” she replied.

“You look cold.”

As he approached, she looked back at the harbor and smiled. “Do you have a jacket in your back pocket or something?” She shook her head. “I lived in New York for a long time. ‘Cold’ doesn’t mean the same thing to me as it probably does to you.”

John looked her up and down skeptically. The nightgown she wore just reached her knees, but it wouldn’t have been warm if it had been longer. This was certainly a different look for her. He had to remind himself to stop staring. It wasn’t polite, he told himself.

“Besides,” she continued, “it was too warm in my room, and I’ve been inside all day.”

He nodded and leaned forward on the railing, watching the reflections of hundreds of lights dance on the water below. “Seems we can’t escape balconies,” she said softly.

“Guess not.”

“The view’s not as nice here.”

“It has its perks.” John wasn’t entirely certain what he meant by that, so he just hoped she’d change the subject.

After an awkward silence, she did. “John,” she began, “about this morning. . .”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It was just a dream.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Elizabeth replied. “I think I passed the limit of the number of times I can have that dream and not worry about it.”

Carefully, he looked at her. “Is that why you’re up?”

She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

Before she could look at him again, John moved behind her and started rubbing her arms. Her skin was as cold as it looked, and his hands were mercifully warm. “That’s not the only reason,” she said softly.

“You’re worried about the panel.”

“I’m worried about Hammond and Alexander.” As he moved his hands to her shoulders, she inhaled deeply. “I’m not sure what I’d do if they didn’t let me go back. It’s. . . home.”

“I know what you mean,” John replied. Her skin was very, very soft and smooth. “I haven’t really lived in one place in a long time, but-”

“You feel like you belong there,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve spent most of my adult life traveling, but I feel it too.”

She looked over her shoulder, though John wasn’t sure if it was because of what she was saying, or the way his fingers had brushed down her neck. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it. It didn’t seem to matter. Her eyes were large, her skin was soft, her lips were parted, and she was beautiful in the night. He was kissing her before he had even decided to.

It startled them both and ended quickly. John thought about saying something, but his extensive vocabulary had left on vacation, evidently, because when she turned around completely, all he could think about was that her mouth felt good and that he wanted to feel that again.

Elizabeth was far from objecting to the second kiss. Vaguely he wondered if this sudden wellspring of attraction was as new as it felt or if it had been around longer than he’d recognized, but he was far from actually caring. It felt as natural and strange as that first time using Ancient technology had felt. There had been rumors about them almost from the beginning, but now John was starting to wish that some of them had been true.

One strap of her nightgown had slipped off her shoulder by the time John pulled back, quite reluctantly. Breathless, Elizabeth met his gaze. “John,” she said, “we really shouldn’t. . .”

“Yeah,” he said, his hands still buried in her hair. As they stood and stared, the third kiss was inevitable.

That time, John felt her hands press against his chest gently. Somehow he found the presence of mind to realize that she was trying to stop him. “Yeah,” he said again, this time, his mouth occupied with hers for just a moment longer. “Yeah, we really shouldn’t.”

Elizabeth took a step back. “I,” she began. “I should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, we’ve got lots of. . . stuff in the morning.”

After he thought about it he realized that that wasn’t actually true, but it was as good an excuse as any. He watched as she walked back to her open door, and at the threshold she stopped, looking over her shoulder at him. “Good night, John,” she said, quite softly.

“Good night, Elizabeth,” he replied.

For a long time after, he stayed where he was, wondering why he’d decided that that was the best course of action. Never in his adult life had kissing a woman ultimately ended in a way that wasn’t bordering on disastrous, so he didn’t much see how kissing his boss, who happened to be a rather beautiful woman, would end any differently.

He headed to bed anyway. With any luck, he’d wake up and discover that he’d dreamt the whole thing, but some small part of his brain was really hoping that he hadn’t.

Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine