Fic: Eye Of The Storm
Title: Eye Of The Storm
Author: crucibilly
Pairing(s): John/Elizabeth
Rating: PG
Summary: "John, the only bigger worrywart than you is Mayor Bloomberg."
Author's Note: I am stuck inside my apartment because of this stupid hurricane. So now the SGA gang are stuck inside this little story.
"Are you sure we shouldn't evacuate?" John asks for at least the seventeenth time.
Elizabeth looks up from her laptop to where he's pacing by the windows. Rain is spattering against the glass and the trees along Fifth Avenue are beginning to whip dangerously fast in the wind. "It's fine, John. We're a good two blocks from the evacuation zone."
"Sounds too damn close to me. How do we know they set the zone boundaries right?"
She rolls her eyes at him. "Because if there's a bigger worrywart than you, it's Mayor Bloomberg."
Teyla pokes her head in. She, McKay, and Ronon are sharing the apartment across the hall. "We came to see how you are doing, and whether you would like to join us for a drink. Our apartment has a margarita machine." It's a sign of how thoroughly debauched the Pegasus expedition is, Elizabeth thinks, that Teyla utters the phrase 'margarita machine' with no hint of unfamiliarity.
"And I got snacks," Rodney says, ambling in behind her munching a bag of pita chips. "The grocery store wanted people to think it was closed but if you banged on the door long enough there were totally still clerks in there."
John's head whips around. "Really? Did they have bottled water left? I should go get some more bottled water."
"You already got two cases. We're fine," Elizabeth says. "Could you please calm down? If you need something to focus on you can help me with these briefing notes for the Secretary General."
He flops down in a chair. "Why? The stupid UN is closed for the weather anyway, so we can't brief them. This whole trip was a waste. I still say we should leave."
"Even if we wanted to," Elizabeth points out, "The transit system is shut down and there are hardly any cabs."
He crosses his arms and mutters, "Could get a tank."
"A tank? Honestly, what has gotten into you? I thought I was going to have keep you from surfing the storm surge at Rockaway Beach." She turns to the others. "He's not always like this, is he?"
"Nope," says Ronon, who has joined the others. "Only when we're with y-"
"Shut up," John hisses.
Ronon shrugs. "Make me."
Sounds like John's not the only one going stir crazy. John's eyes darken like he's considering taking Ronon up on his challenge. "Why don't you three go get started on the margaritas," Elizabeth says hastily. "We'll be along."
Teyla gives her a look of commiseration, then shoos the boys toward the door. John goes back to the window and resumes trying to scowl the clouds into submission. Elizabeth props her chin in her hand and looks at his silhouette. His arms and shoulders are broader than they used to be. He's put on muscle in the last few months, since her brief capture by the Replicators.
She puts aside her computer. Enough worry for tonight.
"I told you," he grumbles a few minutes later, not looking at her, as she joins him at the window. "I don't want to work on briefing notes -" He blinks as she pushes a tumbler of scotch into his hand.
"No need," she says. "I finished them. I finished all my reports, actually. Storms make me a bit nervous and the work calms me." She salutes him with her glass. "This should help, too."
She's surprised him out of his funk. His wide eyes are locked on hers, mouth set in a quizzical half-smile. He clinks his glass against hers, their fingers brushing. "Well then. Bottoms up."
It's good stuff, spreading a delicious warmth through her chest. "Sorry you're nervous," he says.
She shrugs. "It helps that you're here."
His ears go a bit pink at that, and he turns away, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "This trip was supposed to be fun," he whines.
She nods. "I know." They were all looking forward to some R&R, and to showing Teyla and Ronon New York.
"I thought we'd be running wild through the city, not holed up in UN housing. I even made dinner reservations at some fancy place for tonight."
She frowns. "For tonight? But the others were supposed to fly back to Colorado this morning."
He takes a gulp of scotch instead of answering, and for a second she thinks he didn't hear her. But even in the dim light she can see the muscles at the back of his neck get a little tenser.
Oh.
She feels her face heat and turns away, flustered. Casting about for something to do with her hands, she spots a stereo over in the corner. She remembers one of the few songs she's got on her phone and smiles as she goes over to plug it in.
"Mood music," she says, and John laughs as the strains of "Stormy Weather" drift through the air. She takes his hands. "Come dance with me."
He does, stiffly, leaving plenty of room for the holy spirit. "I don't really know how to dance."
She smiles. "I'll lead."
"That generally works for us."
They move slowly. His hand softens and slides from her waist to her back. Her fingers tease the edge of his collar. His thumb caresses her other hand. The lights in the apartment flicker and then go out. The stereo turns off but the song keeps playing, tinny and small, the only light in the room coming from her phone's small screen. She shouldn't run down the battery like this. But neither of them makes a move to stop.
Down on the ground there's a crash, then the wail of a car alarm. John goes tense again. "I should put more tape on the windows."
She shakes her head. "John." She grips the front of his shirt, stands on tiptoes, and kisses him. He kisses back, surprised and tender and warm. When she pulls back to look at him his eyes are already drifting shut again for another kiss.
They don't end up trying Teyla's margaritas.
Author: crucibilly
Pairing(s): John/Elizabeth
Rating: PG
Summary: "John, the only bigger worrywart than you is Mayor Bloomberg."
Author's Note: I am stuck inside my apartment because of this stupid hurricane. So now the SGA gang are stuck inside this little story.
"Are you sure we shouldn't evacuate?" John asks for at least the seventeenth time.
Elizabeth looks up from her laptop to where he's pacing by the windows. Rain is spattering against the glass and the trees along Fifth Avenue are beginning to whip dangerously fast in the wind. "It's fine, John. We're a good two blocks from the evacuation zone."
"Sounds too damn close to me. How do we know they set the zone boundaries right?"
She rolls her eyes at him. "Because if there's a bigger worrywart than you, it's Mayor Bloomberg."
Teyla pokes her head in. She, McKay, and Ronon are sharing the apartment across the hall. "We came to see how you are doing, and whether you would like to join us for a drink. Our apartment has a margarita machine." It's a sign of how thoroughly debauched the Pegasus expedition is, Elizabeth thinks, that Teyla utters the phrase 'margarita machine' with no hint of unfamiliarity.
"And I got snacks," Rodney says, ambling in behind her munching a bag of pita chips. "The grocery store wanted people to think it was closed but if you banged on the door long enough there were totally still clerks in there."
John's head whips around. "Really? Did they have bottled water left? I should go get some more bottled water."
"You already got two cases. We're fine," Elizabeth says. "Could you please calm down? If you need something to focus on you can help me with these briefing notes for the Secretary General."
He flops down in a chair. "Why? The stupid UN is closed for the weather anyway, so we can't brief them. This whole trip was a waste. I still say we should leave."
"Even if we wanted to," Elizabeth points out, "The transit system is shut down and there are hardly any cabs."
He crosses his arms and mutters, "Could get a tank."
"A tank? Honestly, what has gotten into you? I thought I was going to have keep you from surfing the storm surge at Rockaway Beach." She turns to the others. "He's not always like this, is he?"
"Nope," says Ronon, who has joined the others. "Only when we're with y-"
"Shut up," John hisses.
Ronon shrugs. "Make me."
Sounds like John's not the only one going stir crazy. John's eyes darken like he's considering taking Ronon up on his challenge. "Why don't you three go get started on the margaritas," Elizabeth says hastily. "We'll be along."
Teyla gives her a look of commiseration, then shoos the boys toward the door. John goes back to the window and resumes trying to scowl the clouds into submission. Elizabeth props her chin in her hand and looks at his silhouette. His arms and shoulders are broader than they used to be. He's put on muscle in the last few months, since her brief capture by the Replicators.
She puts aside her computer. Enough worry for tonight.
"I told you," he grumbles a few minutes later, not looking at her, as she joins him at the window. "I don't want to work on briefing notes -" He blinks as she pushes a tumbler of scotch into his hand.
"No need," she says. "I finished them. I finished all my reports, actually. Storms make me a bit nervous and the work calms me." She salutes him with her glass. "This should help, too."
She's surprised him out of his funk. His wide eyes are locked on hers, mouth set in a quizzical half-smile. He clinks his glass against hers, their fingers brushing. "Well then. Bottoms up."
It's good stuff, spreading a delicious warmth through her chest. "Sorry you're nervous," he says.
She shrugs. "It helps that you're here."
His ears go a bit pink at that, and he turns away, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "This trip was supposed to be fun," he whines.
She nods. "I know." They were all looking forward to some R&R, and to showing Teyla and Ronon New York.
"I thought we'd be running wild through the city, not holed up in UN housing. I even made dinner reservations at some fancy place for tonight."
She frowns. "For tonight? But the others were supposed to fly back to Colorado this morning."
He takes a gulp of scotch instead of answering, and for a second she thinks he didn't hear her. But even in the dim light she can see the muscles at the back of his neck get a little tenser.
Oh.
She feels her face heat and turns away, flustered. Casting about for something to do with her hands, she spots a stereo over in the corner. She remembers one of the few songs she's got on her phone and smiles as she goes over to plug it in.
"Mood music," she says, and John laughs as the strains of "Stormy Weather" drift through the air. She takes his hands. "Come dance with me."
He does, stiffly, leaving plenty of room for the holy spirit. "I don't really know how to dance."
She smiles. "I'll lead."
"That generally works for us."
They move slowly. His hand softens and slides from her waist to her back. Her fingers tease the edge of his collar. His thumb caresses her other hand. The lights in the apartment flicker and then go out. The stereo turns off but the song keeps playing, tinny and small, the only light in the room coming from her phone's small screen. She shouldn't run down the battery like this. But neither of them makes a move to stop.
Down on the ground there's a crash, then the wail of a car alarm. John goes tense again. "I should put more tape on the windows."
She shakes her head. "John." She grips the front of his shirt, stands on tiptoes, and kisses him. He kisses back, surprised and tender and warm. When she pulls back to look at him his eyes are already drifting shut again for another kiss.
They don't end up trying Teyla's margaritas.