marguerite_krux | Take It From Me (Reply)

Title: Take It From Me
Genre: humor/friendship
Characters: Shep, Elizabeth
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: SGA is not mine. I treat its characters with more respect, though.
Summary: Elizabeth is not in a good mood. Shep braves it anyway, just to make her feel better.

A/N: I wrote this during the heat wave a few weeks back. If I must suffer... XP

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What can I compare you to, a window the sun shines through?
Maybe the silver moon, a smile rising
The magic of the fading day, satellites on parade
A toast to the plans we've made to live like kings.

- The Weepies

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She was not going to get up.

They would’ve contacted her through the radio if it was important. Or made an announcement over the city-wide speakers. Therefore, it couldn’t be that important. So it took all of two seconds for Elizabeth to decide that dragging herself out of bed to answer the door chime was not worth the effort.

It was just too damn hot. Something had gone wrong with the environmental controls, whether it was a fusing of some wires, a break in the circuitry somewhere, or a relay that had malfunctioned and needed bypassing- these theories and more had been tossed around and she couldn’t keep all the balls up in the air. She had to trust that Rodney knew what he was doing.

Or maybe that was the problem. He knew a little too much. He had too many theories, and it was taking forever to test them out one at a time. It didn’t help that Zelenka kept muttering in the background that something or other couldn’t possibly be the answer, a response certain to drive Rodney to pursue it all the more fanatically and with greater tenacity than a politician after power. Which, considering her wealth of experience with these creatures, was saying something.

But this interminably slow and tedious approach meant that she was dangerously close to losing her mind completely as the temperature refused to be reasoned into approaching anything other than humid or absolutely sweltering. To avert a medical crisis, she had evacuated most of the personnel on Atlantis to the beta site, with only a skeleton crew remaining behind, mainly scientists, in the vain hope that they could hasten the discovery of a solution to the ‘technical difficulties’. So far, the best idea had been to open up every window in the city to allow some air circulation, but the effect was negligible. There was a reason that Atlantis was designed to generate an artificial environment. The efficiency of natural ventilation was highly dubious.

Nonetheless, it was a pity that the science labs were located in levels deep within the city and thus had no conduit to the natural sea breezes, however mild, because some fresh air may have helped reduce the simmering tension in the labs. She’d worked up a schedule for the rotation of scientists on and off the city, not only because these were the people whose minds they needed most to be clear and unaffected, and so they needed regular breaks, but because the boiling conditions increased Rodney’s tendency to fly into rages and single out those nearest him for rebuke. His admitted propensity for improved work ethics under circumstances of duress didn’t seem to kick in when the situation only involved discomfort as opposed to life endangerment. John had fiddled with his jacket a few times in the way that meant he was toying with the idea of shoving a lemon in Rodney’s face, but she’d caught his eye and conveyed her intense disapproval of the idea with a forceful glare and barely perceptible shake of her head. To her relief, he got the message. Given Rodney’s volatile emotional state, she wasn’t sure he might just set off a nuclear reactor and blow them all up because it was too much to take. Although, as she thought about it afterwards, the idea was sounding more appealing to her by the minute. A few more days of this and she was liable to resort to such extreme measures.

In an effort to make life easier for those still in the city, she’d relaxed the dress code, but sadly, there was only so much a sleeveless top could do for her. True, there were people wandering the halls of Atlantis in the most outrageous state of what she would charitably call ‘disheveled chic’, but as leader, she needed to look cool and collected, she had to project an aura of poise and confidence and reassurance, and after way too long of pretending that she was coping perfectly well with the insane climate changes, here she was, finally free to break out of the illusion, to collapse on her bed, while steadfastly ignoring the-

Her mental tirade ground to a halt. Elizabeth frowned. The chiming at the door had stopped. Just as she was starting to feel a twinge of guilt at her lack of manners- a tentative self-diagnosis of heat stroke was no reason to disregard common courtesy, after all- she heard the doors swish open and footsteps briskly stride inside, heralding the unexpected and unwelcome arrival of another person.

No prizes for guessing his identity. It could only be John Sheppard, the notoriously headstrong soldier with authority issues, the man she had insisted accompany her expedition to this city when they first left Earth. And she had questioned her sanity ever since, Elizabeth thought facetiously.

She couldn’t see him in her current position, as she rested her head at the foot side of the bed so that she could see the ocean when she turned to the side. Elizabeth had always meant to move her bed so that it directly faced the window, but she never remembered to do it when she had the time. It always seemed like too much trouble to reshuffle the entire room’s furniture just to accommodate the bed in a new spot, even if it had a better view. Especially since she hardly ever had the opportunity to relax in bed and gaze peacefully out the window. The very idea was laughable.

And now she wished she’d made the effort, if only so that she wouldn’t be at a disadvantage in occasions such as this, when John decided to suddenly drop by without invitation and walk into her quarters like he owned the place. But she stubbornly refused to turn around and face him.

“You know I hate it when you misuse your gene like this,” she said to the ceiling as he drew closer. She felt slightly ridiculous but she was tired and John couldn’t expect her to adhere to formal etiquette when he chose to suddenly barge in here.

“Me? Misuse it?” he said, predictably playing the innocent. She just knew that if she sat up and turned to him, he would have a woebegone expression ready to melt her objections. It was a shame he had learnt that look worked on her. “I don’t remember you ever saying-”

Elizabeth spoke over him, “It reinforces the existence of the gene-based disparity between Atlantis personnel and the subsequent class divide.”

“We have separate classes here?” he sounded fascinated by her sociological observations.

“Of course. Haven’t you noticed that greater value is unfairly assigned to a person not on merit, not for their achievements, but merely for being born with a random mutation?” That sounded quite good to her ears. It even made sense, for which she congratulated herself. A little aggressive, perhaps, but she needed a target on which to focus her pent-up frustration, and he’d volunteered by showing up like this.

“You don’t think my achievements so far make me valuable?” John questioned, sounding hurt. “To think of the times I’ve saved your butt-”

“And you know what the worst thing is?” she continued, disregarding his play for sympathy.

“I don’t think you even need my input into this conversation anymore-” he began, still speaking from somewhere out of her line of sight, and she interrupted him again.

“I’m not at the top of this little hierarchy.” There. She’d said it.

“So,” he said conversationally, after a brief telling silence. “That’s a lot of pent-up hostility exposing itself right there. How long has this been festering in your head?”

“Ever since I made fun of Rodney for being depressed that he didn’t have the Ancient gene back at the Antarctic outpost,” she placed an arm over her eyes and groaned. “It was fine when we were in the same boat, but then later, when Carson’s treatment worked for him?”

“You felt left out, huh.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, then fell silent. It felt strange not to see his face as they talked. She hadn’t realized til now how much she unconsciously relied on that visual reference to help her figure out his moods, to gauge his sincerity or depth of emotion, to pick up on any inconsistencies between the image he was projecting and the deeper undercurrents that were occasionally revealed when his guard slipped.

Even when they stood side by side, often while they were standing at the balcony, gazing out at the ocean together, she could still learn something from his body language, though she wasn’t studying him directly. A restlessness, perhaps, that could mean he wanted to broach a tricky or awkward subject with her, or a stillness that meant he was lost in thought, maybe working through an issue in his head. More often than not it was something between the two, when he wanted to speak to her about something but didn’t know how to bring it up. Then she had to judge whether to be quietly encouraging or just prod him into opening up.

And my, but how he hated opening up. She uncovered her eyes and smiled wickedly up at the ceiling, wishing she could see his face as she said, “That psychobabble about my repressed hostility was quite impressive, John. I’m in awe of your insight and perceptiveness. Your sessions with Kate must be doing you good. I need to tell her to increase the mandatory number of check-ups she has you down for.” At the choking sounds that he emitted, she relented, “And just think of what she could do for Ronon.”

He became silent as though he was actually trying to picture it. Ronon reclining on the couch, confiding his deepest, darkest secrets to the inquisitive psychiatrist. “Yeah, he’d be transformed into a sensitive new age warrior in no time,” John agreed, and they both snickered. Ronon was a part of the team, but he didn’t consider himself bound by their more tedious rules if he didn’t see the relevance, and one that required him to unburden his woes to a well-meaning stranger would never earn his compliance. John went on thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re right about Dr Heightmeyer, though, I do have some issues I need to get off my chest. Mainly, the troubling conversation I had with the esteemed leader of this city in which I discovered her prejudices towards the ATA gene-carriers…”

Elizabeth gasped in a properly outraged manner. “It wasn’t like that at all, and you know it, John.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to sound different in my psych session,” he said, sounding menacing, then switched back to his normal amiable tones as he shrugged, “Hey, I was just defending myself here. You sure get cranky over a little rise in temperature.”

She let the unflattering description go because maybe she deserved that. But… ‘A little?” Elizabeth repeated incredulously. “A little temperature rise?” She bit her tongue before she gave in to the urge to vent her petty little issues before John, like the way she couldn’t stand being in her office because it felt as though the glass walls were closing in around her like an oven, slowly cooking her to charred perfection. The way she was so lethargic that she had to concentrate on the mere act of walking, reminding herself to lift one foot after the other, instead of just shuffling around in a zombie-like fashion. The way she had lost her appetite because the damn heat made her choke on her food, the smallest bites requiring an exhausting amount of chewing before she could get it down without feeling like it would stick in her throat. She was tired, and yes, cranky, but she was entitled, damn it.

No sooner had she justified her lousy mood than a cold rounded object touched her cheek, and she let out an involuntary shriek, sitting up with undignified haste. John was kneeling by the bed, and he grinned devilishly, holding his trump card, the purpose of his visit here, the one thing he knew would balance the scales between them, if not leave her indebted to him.

“Ice cream?” she said softly, gazing hungrily at the bowl with swirls of luscious chocolate ice cream, decorated with threads of chocolate sauce and studded with little bits of even more chocolate. “Ice cream?” she repeated in a more disbelieving tone.

“Yeah, I didn’t even know it still existed on Atlantis til today. Apparently, Ronon and McKay were conspiring over a hidden stash, and all was going well til Zelenka found out about said stashing of precious resource. I happened to walk into the lab just as they were having another little spat and Zelenka threatened him with- well, your wrath,” John smirked. “It’s amazing how much blackmail information I’m gathering today. So after I pieced together the-”

“John?” the expression on her face was pained. “I hate to interrupt you-”

He rolled his eyes. “Now she’s sorry. Just let me finish my story, it’ll only take a minute.”

“Tell me after you give me the ice cream,” she suggested hopefully.

He narrowed his eyes accusingly. “You won’t care about my story then.”

“Probably not,” she said, an unrepentant grin quirking her lips. “But John-”

“In that case, you can wait.”

“John, the ice cream is melting. Your kind gesture would mean nothing if it’s wasted,” she pointed out.

“Weren’t you the one that said it’s the thought that counts?”

“Yes,” she admitted, remembering how she’d used the truism to soothe his ruffled feathers after Woolsey’s first appearance on Atlantis, “But this is different-”

“How? Justify your position, using examples,” he demanded, and looked satisfied at her look of frustration. “Don’t you hate it when people won’t let you finish your sentence?”

Elizabeth sighed, “Fine.” Her eyebrows drew together in thought as she began, “Before, you were posturing about committing a violent act on Woolsey. In my defense, as I recall. As opposed to depriving me of comfort food right now. I appreciated the support, but I didn’t require the follow through, mainly because the IOA are a major pain as it is without us giving them reason and we didn’t need a bigger target on our backs. However, in this situation, you have offered me salvation with one hand, only to cruelly deny it with the other-”

“Elizabeth? I was kidding.” At her murderous look, he hastily handed over the bowl of ice cream with a flourish. “By which I mean, your arguments were compelling and here, I think you deserve this. Please, enjoy, cool down and be your normal pleasant self again. I don’t ever want to see Lorne that close to tears again after a meeting with you.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and took a spoonful reverently from the bowl. She devoted a moment to savoring the pure bliss that was her first mouthful of chocolate decadence, the cool sensation soothing her throat and sending delighted shivers through her entire body. “John, thank you. I have to say, I regret every mean report I ever wrote about you.” His face went from smug satisfaction to blank disbelief. She anticipated his lunge forward and hastily scooted back across the bed before he could grab the bowl from her, laughing breathlessly at his frustration.

“Elizabeth,” he said ominously, standing up to loom over her, and she watched him try to maintain a stern expression. It didn’t last long, and he gave up, sitting down at the foot of her bed and smiling back at her. This was what she liked best about John, the way he made her feel like a person, not just a title. It was exhausting being the leader of Atlantis twenty-eight hours a day, but he encouraged, even pestered her into letting go of some of the reserve and formality that came with the territory.

Given the fact that she was living in the city of the Ancients, located in a different galaxy millions of light-years from earth, it was hard to separate the job from her life- to be honest, she didn’t think there was a distinction anymore. But he found ways to make it more fulfilling and to break the monotony of her boring office days, whether it was through the gift of a souvenir from his latest trip, inveigling an invite to some celebration on an allied planet- she was never going to get over the sight of him line dancing at one particular harvest ceremony- or simply just dragging her to the commissary to share a meal when he thought she’d been working too hard and needed a break.

“Thank you,” she said again, meaning it sincerely this time. John shrugged and looked down, but she knew he was awfully pleased with himself at this moment. Then he darted a quick surreptitious glance at her and she realized that he was up to something more than charming her out of a bad mood.

He seemed to have figured out that she was onto him, because he didn’t need any prompting before he started talking. “I realize that this isn’t exactly a military situation and we should’ve deferred to you, but since it was one of my people that came up with the idea, and since you were busy coordinating with the scientists, we figured it was better to handle this ourselves. It was never meant to be a secret or anything, but somehow along the way, ‘don’t bother Dr Weir’ turned into…” he paused and transparently tried to think of a good way to phrase it, “…well, ‘keep this from Dr Weir’.” He saw her expression and rushed to clarify, “Not in a bad way, but more as a surprise for you.”

“John, I might be a little more receptive to the idea of a surprise if you just came out and told me what to expect,” she said firmly.

“We’ve set up floats by the West pier. Lorne and Cadman have provided the snacks. Teyla’s supplying the…uh, liquid refreshments and-”

“Hold it,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I don’t even know where to begin. Floats?”

“Yeah, the kind you lounge around on with drinks that have little umbrellas in them. We scavenged through the off-world mission supplies and thought creatively,” he said smugly. “I may have also found some useful stuff for the whole set-up in an Ancient closet that leads me to believe they weren’t the boring pansy-ass killjoys I always thought, although I reserve final judgment until I discover surfboards around here.”

“And Lorne’s team is providing the snacks,” she said slowly, brain integrating the new pieces of information with the old. “So when I- had words with him in my office…about the failure of his mission to P4M-389…?”

“It wasn’t actually as big a failure as he may have led you to believe,” John allowed, watching anxiously as she clutched her head. “I’d like to remind you again that this was in no way intended to be a conspiracy against you, just…a surprise that ended up with a few minor ethical breaches.”

“He lied to me, John, I’d call that a major ethical breach.”

“Elizabeth, for one thing, finish your ice-cream. It’s melting and if it goes to waste, my gesture would be meaningless.”

She smiled reluctantly at the way John paraphrased her earlier words, and resumed eating after muttering, “Your gesture was one of self-preservation to make sure I didn’t kill you before you finished explaining your actions.”

“So it served two agendas, what can I say? I have a gift. But about Lorne- he assures me he didn’t actually lie to your face, although if you consider omission a lie, well, he’s screwed.” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, we’re both screwed, but I brought you ice-cream, that has to win me points.”

At this point, she couldn’t find it in her to be annoyed with him, he was just too endearing, sitting there trying to defend himself with the most blatant manipulation imaginable. And since when had that expression of cautious hope been so effective in diminishing her ire?

“I can vouch for everyone when I say that we all have the utmost respect for you, and that in a professional capacity, we would never intentionally undermine your leadership. Stretch the rules a little, maybe, but not maliciously. All Lorne did was omit to file a mission report. Which he should’ve filed, yeah, but we didn’t think you’d even notice what with all the other stuff you had on your plate. Things weren’t exactly operating as normal on Atlantis. And when you did press him on the matter, he didn’t want to fabricate anything, so he downplayed the outcome on P4M-whatever to make sure you didn’t pay too much attention or ask for an inventory because party supplies are kinda hard to explain away.”

Elizabeth sighed. “All right, assuming I forgive Major Lorne his slight deception and hold you accountable for it at a later period, moving on. Teyla and ‘liquid refreshments’? Wait, never mind, I don’t really want to know. I do have to maintain plausible deniability on some things. Is there anything else I need to know before I face the crowd?”

“Well…there’s Ronon and the hula girls,” he said reluctantly.

She stared. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“He wanted to get some entertainment to add to the whole Hawaiian beach party theme, but I convinced him that was pushing it, and it wouldn’t be appropriate anyway since this whole thing is in your honor. Then Cadman suggested finding male-”

Elizabeth was taken aback. “Hang on a moment, in my honor?”

“You mean you don’t…?” he took in her startled expression and a wide smile crossed his face. “You really don’t know what today is?”

“It can’t be,” she said after a moment, realizing what he was saying, and mentally cross-referenced the Pegasus calendar with Earth’s, converting the time difference and belatedly remembering to account for the longer days on Atlantis.

John stood up. “When you’re done checking your dates, come on down to the West pier. Bikini and sunscreen optional.” Just as he finished speaking, a groaning noise emanated seemingly from the walls, and the lights flickered for a moment. Then a blast of artificial cool air wafted through the room. John shook his head, “McKay’s timing is impeccable. This must be the science department’s contribution to the celebrations. Speaking of which, if they’re done in the lab, the party’s starting with or without you, so…” he gestured to the door emphatically. “I don’t trust McKay with all the food out there.”

Elizabeth laughed quietly. “I can’t believe it snuck up on me like this, I didn’t even realize…in fact, I’m still not absolutely convinced…”

“Hey, I’m exceptionally good with numbers. Could’ve been Mensa, you know,” he said loftily, then his tone softened, “Happy birthday, Elizabeth.”

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A/N: Credit for the line-dancing remark must go to sharpes_hussy. ;)