Title: A Sorta Fairytale
Summary: “…he finds himself staring at
It’s been a long long couple of days and he finds himself staring at Elizabeth again and to be honest, this entire lack of self control thing is getting old, but here he is, leaning against the railing beside her and ignoring the hustle and bustle of people below them in the gate room in favor of gazing at her profile like some love struck teenager.
He figures it’s kind of understandable because
But she’s also the leader of this expedition and he’s definitely the Gilligan to her Skipper and he knows nothing could ever happen between them. Ever. Clearing his throat loudly he draws his eyes away from the soft pale skin of her neck and down to his hands, flexing then relaxing his fingers rhythmically.
They’re talking about nothing really, only small trivial things pass their lips and Elizabeth is standing close to him so that her shoulder rubs his when she moves and John thinks maybe them being together wouldn’t be as bad as he thinks it might be and wonders what she would do if he just reached out and grabbed her hand, just entwined their fingers together because sometimes he really just wants to touch her.
“Do you want to join me for lunch?” she asks turning towards him and she raises an eyebrow slightly, a gesture he thinks may be unintentional. Her voice sounds thick and exhausted and he knows that the last couple of days have been trying for everyone, especially her because they always are and whenever anything goes wrong or hits hard she’s the one to take the brunt of the impact.
“Yeah sure.” He answers quickly and for a moment her gaze turns contemplative and her lips flatten out and he’s like a deer trapped in headlights but just as fast as the moment arrives its gone and he’s left there swallowing while she pushes herself away from the railing with a smile.
Like a puppy, John stays a few feet behind
When they finally reach the cafeteria its packed full of military and civilian personnel and there are even more salutes and greetings while they get their food. Fortunately a table opens up quickly and John can’t help but think how good it is to know the boss as they slide into the table.
She’s talking about the incoming supplies from the Dadelus and it sounds more like she’s thinking aloud rather than having an actual conversation with him and he lets her ramble, interjecting when it sounds like he should while he watches as Elizabeth picks the tomatoes out of her salad.
Like everything else she does her actions are meticulous, just like her paperwork, just like her quarters. Hell, every time he’s in her room he just wants to mess up her bed, wants to just kiss her and back her up until she falls onto it, to watch her hands grip the headboard when he slides into her…Not that he’s been in her room a lot or anything.
“You don’t like tomatoes?” He jerks himself out of his own wandering mind with his question and she shrugs bashfully dropping the last one onto her napkin.
“They’re disgusting.” She says quietly, her nose wrinkling slightly in disgust and John thinks he falls in love with her a little bit.
When he leans across the table, picking up a slice of tomato, she watches him strangely while he pops into his mouth, her fork hovering over her food and John chews unsure about her curious stare, thinking maybe he’s crossed a line but then she slowly licks at her bottom lip absently and he nearly chokes.
The food hits the back of his throat and he coughs hard a couple times before recovering with a weak smile that she returns.
“So how’re things John?” she asks casually like they don’t spend massive amounts of time together, like she doesn’t know exactly what he does, taking a sip of water from the bottle near her plate before tilting it towards him invitation. He takes it and tries not to think too much about it when he presses his mouth to the opening and takes a swallow before handing it back to her.
“You know. Same old same old.” He sighs dramatically. “How ‘bout you? Working too hard and sleeping too little.” she hasn’t put the cap back on the bottle, just sort of holding it idly.
“Something like that.” She mutters before taking a drink, her lips sliding over the same spot his had before twisting the white cap back on the bottle.
He’s in his quarters, barefoot, shirtless and trying futilely to look at the shallow cut the curves down across his hip to the swell just above his ass when his door chimes and without thinking he hollers ‘Come in!’ to whoever it is.
He hears the door open and close with a hiss of air but from his position in the bathroom he doesn’t even see
“Hey” he greets with a smile.
“I-I can come back.” And John has never really heard
“No, it’s alright.” He begins carefully turning to look at her over his shoulder and smiles again, trying to ease her because she seems…nervous.
“I’m just trying to clean this damned cut.” He grunts turning back to the mirror and he notice that she’s still in what she was wearing when they came back through the gate, black pants and black tee shirt but sans the flak that always seems to swallow her when she wears it.
It’d been weeks since
It turns out it wasn’t that bad, just a small scuffle that both sides walked away from but they hadn’t gotten the ZPM and John had gotten a little beaten and bruised for his trouble but truth be told his ego was in more pain than he physically was.
She’s talking with controlled anger about the situation, about how badly Atlantis needed the ZPM and how Rodney was going berserk and dragging her into insanity with him. She could’ve told him these things during they’re debrief meeting in the morning but he doesn’t say anything or interrupt her choosing instead to continue to clean out the shallow wound at the hollow of his hip.
“Yes but unfortunately I can’t afford to miss anything important he might say in between all of his complaining.” Her voice is distracted and John looks up into the mirror but her eyes are scanning over him, dragging down over his shoulders, his back to his feet then up again before catching his eye in the mirror.
For a moment they stare at each other and John feels really naked in nothing but his pants and a peroxide soaked cotton ball pressed to his hip.
“Hey.” He whispers hoarsely and he watches her throat work slowly before she speaks.
“Hey.” She breathes and John doesn’t know what to do because they’re staring at each other and there’s a pretty pink blush spreading across
“So, I’m pretty sure this is turning into sexual harassment.” He grins turning around and she drops her head slightly, lips turning up in a smirk.
“Only if you don’t like it.” She murmurs looking up at him through loose curls and he grins a little bit harder, absolutely positive he looks like an idiot. He wonders when it was okay to do this, when it started being alright for them to flirt this…blatantly. For her to come visit him in his quarters and for him to just stand here shirtless, knowing she’s looking and liking it.
“Anyway, don’t let Rodney get to you.” They talk some more and he can’t help but suck everything in, tighten up his muscles, flex a little because he catches Elizabeth looking at his chest at least three more times.
John can’t tear his eyes away from the audacious bead as it slides from the edge of her hairline down the nape of her neck.
“Uhm so what is this called again?” The strain in his voice matches the strain in his muscles as he fights to keep the position
“It’s called Bikram Yoga.” She exhales the words while she smoothly moves into the next pose. He watches in awe as she stands on her right foot while reaching back to grip her left ankle and guide it upwards toward the ceiling.
“And does it always have to be this hot?” It’s sweltering inside of the room designated for working out and John blinks stinging sweat from his eyes.
“The heat helps is supposed to help sweat out toxins and make your muscles more limber.” She laughs as he follows her clumsily into the new pose.
“Well you’re definitely limber.” The words are out before he can stop them but she just laughs. John’s hands are slippery and he readjusts his grip on his ankle while he tries not to stare at
They find another ZPM and that’s cause for celebration.
The gate room had been transformed in to the party room but its late now, very late and streamers are falling from where they were hastily tacked into place and the music has died away.
There are a few people still hanging out, talking and
She’s wearing a plain white tee shirt and jeans that make her ass look really really good. That make him want to slide his hands into her back pockets and pull her close so he can press his face into her hair.
John is sitting at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the command deck, watching
John struggles to his feet, brushing the woman’s hands away and swaying slightly before making his way to Elizabeth and Kate. “Dr. Weir. Dr. Heightmeyer. You ladies are out late.” They both smile and make idle conversation before Kate excuses herself and then its just John and Elizabeth.
They end up on the balcony, which isn’t all that strange but its late, so late that the night is gradually slipping into morning while they watch the stars fade and listen to the water lap against Atlantis. “You look happy.” He murmurs and she wraps her hands around the railing, gazing upwards and smiling.
“I am happy. I am.” She sighs before glancing at him for a split second. “And you, colonel, are drunk.”
John doesn’t respond but finds himself once again staring at her, at the sharp beautiful lines of her face at the pale line of her throat, the pink of her lips. He wants to drag his thumb against her mouth but settles for tracing his own bottom lip with his thumb.
She watches him, swallows hard and says. “You’re drunk.” Real soft like she’s speaking to herself.
He wants to know what she’s thinking about just now, if she’s thinking about kissing him. If she would let him if he dared.
“What’re you still doing up?” comes out instead, only a little slurred and it’s not what he wanted to ask but it’s a legitimate question because she has to be exhausted because he is.
She turns away from him to gaze at the horizon of the ocean, rocking forward against the railing like maybe she might throw herself over if there was more force, more momentum but then she’s rocking back, extending her arms before stopping and frowning slightly.
“I’m not sure…I just am. Why are you up?” She asks and he shrugs turning so his side is leaning against the railing and his arms are crossed over his chest against the cold.
He’s still staring at her and he knows his face is so utterly open that if she just looked at him, if she just turned her head and looked at him she’d know. She’d know.
“But you’re right. I should get to bed. I need to be up in a few hours.” She sighs and he blinks then she looks and misses it because his face is closed again.
“Yeah me too.” He sighs but neither of them moves.
“Watch the Lieutenant, John. She looks like she’s after you.”
“Don’t worry. I can handle myself against over zealous Lieutenants.”
He’s unprepared when she leans into him and he breathes in, smelling the citrus of her hair and the softness of her skin against his arm were hers presses into his and quickly its snatched away and she’s stepping back smiling, hands shoved into her pockets.
“Goodnight John.” She murmurs like she doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t want to her and he pushes himself away from the railing, waves once like an idiot and says
‘Oh fuck…’ John glances groggily around the unfamiliar room and then down at the person curled against his side and his head throbs even harder. Lt. Whittier. He extracts himself carefully sliding from beneath the woman’s arms and legs, falling backwards over the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a thud.
‘Oh fuck’ John struggles to his feet searching for his clothes and finding them scattered around the floor. What the hell had he been thinking? His head feels about eight sizes too big and it’s full of regret and guilt. Lt. Whittier moves and John freezes, one leg in his pants and his shirt hanging from his teeth.
“Where are you going?” She asks softly, pushing herself up onto an elbow and pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes.
“Look…” he searches his mind and John realizes he doesn’t even know this woman’s first name. “Look…lieutenant, I have to get outta here.” He speaks around the tee shirt in his mouth while shoves his other leg into his pants and drags them up over his hips.
“Well last night was fun. Maybe we can….” She begins but he cuts her off, his voice muffled as he yanks his shirt down over his head.
“Last night was a mistake.” He whispers pulling his shirt down quickly. “I’m sorry but it was.”
“It sure didn’t feel like a mistake.” And John pauses, staring at her incredulously.
“I gotta get outta here.”
John is pretty sure that the entire universe has it in for him because when he stumbles from Lt. Whittier’s room he comes nearly face to face with Elizabeth Weir.
“Colonel…” He opens his mouth to say something…anything but he’s got nothing. “Your shirt is inside out.” She speaks carefully and then she’s walking away, leaving Teyla to stare at him in something like disbelief.
“Damnit. Shit. Shit. Shit! God Damnit!” His voice rises until he’s yelling in the middle of the corridor, holding up his pants because he left his belt in the damned room and Teyla looks at him, just gives him this look and walks away.
He’s been searching all over for her but she’s avoiding him, and doing a damn good job of it, so he cheats and asks one of the engineers to find her for him. They do because they don’t know what an ass he is.
She’s deep in Atlantis, where no one lives, and he finds her in one of the corridors sitting cross-legged on the floor. She looks up as he walks closer, blinks then turns her head away.
“Leave me alone, John.” She breathes but he ignores her and drops down beside her, leaning his head back against the wall.
“Why did you do it? Why did you-…” Tears thicken her voice, trailing off and his throat works hard over words but all he can think is ‘I was drunk.’ And it wouldn’t be right; it wouldn’t be enough because he knows what’s been forming between them saying he was drunk would in no way justify bringing it to a screeching hault. He was out there on the balcony, more than a little drunk but he still knew. He knew. He knew last night when he followed Lt. Whittier to her room
They sit in silence except for the semi rhythmic thudding of his skull against the wall.
“Tell me why this hurts so much.” He breathes because he needs to know. He shouldn’t feel guilty because they’re not together, he’s doesn’t know what exactly it is there doing but he knows there not together so he needs to know why. Wants to hear her say it. “Why are you crying and why am I sitting here feeling like a jack ass.”
She exhales shakily beside him and says “You know why.” And he does but he’s even gladder that she does.
God, he’s a jerk. “Okay”
Two months later and things aren’t the same. The easiness between them has dissipated into hard tension that they can’t seem to get over. Their relationship has devolved into arguments and miscommunications.
Then one afternoon he sees her with a man. Blond hair, blue eyes and obviously civilian and the anger that surges through him is blinding. He’s sitting in the mess hall with Teyla, Rodney and Ronon but his eyes are locked on
‘I can take him’ John thinks because the guy is tall and skinny and he could so take this guy. John’s actually pretty proud of himself right now, at least of his control because despite the violent urges to go over there and snap the guys neck he doesn’t, just curls his hands tighter around his fork.
He and Elizabeth haven’t really talked about their semi admission of whatever it was that they were feeling, are feeling but then again she’s not really talking to him other than work related conversations.
Jealously thrums hard within him and John wishes he could shake the feeling but it runs deep and he wonders if this is how she felt after she’d found out he slept with Lt. Whittier.
She’s wearing a deep red tee shirt and those damn black yoga pants that don’t have any pockets so she’s all smooth unbroken lines and he thinks that someone who’s running an entire city would need to have pockets for something like a pencil or Chap Stick or something.
John blinks and then he’s imaging
“John, is everything alright?” Teyla’s soft voice jerks him back into reality and he clears his throat, leaning forward into his table and thrusting his fork into his mashed potatoes.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He sighs and John gaze settles briefly on Ronon who is shoveling food down his throat and the sight is so disturbing that he looks away and his eyes can’t help but land on Elizabeth and her friend again and when the guy tosses his blonde hair back out of his eyes John thinks about twisting his fists in it, using it as an anchor to slam the guys face down into the table, imagines the satisfying crunch his nose would make when John destroys his pretty little face and takes a deep, slow breath.
“She asks about you.” Teyla’s voice is quiet; sliding under Rodney’s who is trying to explain the aspects of chess to Ronon.
John has never just wanted
In fact it has never been like that.
He’s always wanted her approval, her trust, her faith and then it turned into her attention, her smile, her laugh and now he wants all of those things but most of all he wants her to want him like he does her.
He thinks, no, he knows that sex would be anything but meaningless. That it would be beautiful and slow and heavy and he wants that. He wants that and more.
John has ever really been a relationship kind of guy but he thinks that maybe its just he hasn’t ever met the right woman until now. If John was with
John’s eyes catch Elizabeth’s across the room and this time its her staring at him and she saying so much with bright green eyes and he tries to talk to her, to answer her with just this one look and he thinks maybe she understands him because she blinks, lips curving upwards slightly and looks away.
He can’t help but think that maybe she hadn’t understand what he was trying to articulate with just a look earlier in the cafeteria because they’re standing in the middle of her office screaming at each other, a foot apart and yeah, he’s sure there was some kind of miscommunication. Their argument, which from what he can recall, started from him choosing to disobey one of her orders again has dissipated and unraveled until all pretenses of work have disappeared and they’re arguing on a purely personal level.
“You don’t trust me! You have to trust that I only want what’s best!” her voice is powerful and sure but there is pink creeping into her face and at the tips of her ears. And he doesn’t know if she’s talking about them or Atlantis but either way she’s wrong he trusts her, more than anything but she’s just …wrong.
“No! Of course I trust you! You don’t trust me!” He barks and she takes a sharp breath then another.
“How can I?” The way her eyebrows knit together in confusion makes his heart break but it’s late and he’s tired and he pinches the bridge of his nose.
They both fold their arms over their chests and the synchrony is almost comical.
“That looks familiar.” He sighs but she doesn’t smile, instead she licks her lips and squeezes her eyes shut.
He wants to kiss her.
The thought hits him so suddenly that he can’t breathe for a second and then she’s looking at him, all open and raw and he knows his face is just as unguarded.
“I’m sorry.” The gruffness in his voice surprises both of them and then he’s stepping closer and she’s stepping back but her desk is right behind her and she stops short and abruptly.
“John.” She breathes and her eyes are wide, his hands finding his the edge of the desk behind her. “John don’t…” before she can talk him out of what he’s about to do he just leans in and kisses her.
Just does it.
He parts her mouth gently and she sobs brokenly into his mouth while he leans into her, fitting his mouth more securely to hers. There’s the errant thought that ‘Oh God. I’m kissing Elizabeth Weir in her office…her completely transparent office.’ But it flits away because it’s really late and only a few, if any people will see them…hopefully.
He expects her to push him away but her hands are sliding around his hips, gripping his belt. He groans against her lips and his tongue is sliding over hers and John thinks nothing has ever felt better because
But then, suddenly her hands are on his shoulder and she is pushing him away and he’s gasping into thin air and so is she and he can feel her breath against the dampness of his lips.
When John finally opens his eyes
“John?” her confusion is palpable and she touches her lips, the pink skin his unshaven face has created and says his name again.
She’s pulling away, sliding through his fingers and he feels like a fucking idiot.
“You should go.” Her voice is thick and he nods slowly, pushing away from the desk.
“Yeah, I should. I should.”