I Don't Know Why I Love You
Title: I Don't Know Why I Love You
Rating: PG-13
By: Jendavis
Spoilers: The Seed, and the tiniest hints of The Prodigal
Pairing: Sheppard/ Dex
Genre: Schmoop? Ficlet?
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Fluff, because angst is so totally yesterday.
I Don't Know Why I Love You
Ronon hadn't heard a thing that had been said for the better part of an hour now, but figured Keller's orders would pull him through Woolsey's Away Team Orientation Meeting Extravaganza if it came right down to it.
He wasn't supposed to talk, not for another day or so. It was just as well, he figured. His throat did hurt, and he found that, given the opportunity, he didn't have much to say on the subject of requisition protocols anyway.
There were barely stale donuts brought through from Earth that his throat couldn't handle, and attendance was apparently mandatory for everyone, but those two reasons aside, he had no idea why he was there. Glancing around the mess hall, he wondered how many of the others had a clue.
Teyla looked attentive. It wasn't until he tried to catch her eye that he realized, of course, that she was actually paying attention. McKay was, too, given the arguments every time Woolsey stopped to take a breath. Rodney had extended the length of this meeting by at least ten minutes alone.
Ronon decided to kill him after lunch. Right after he killed John.
John, who was under orders to stay in bed for another few decades, at least, was sitting next to Lorne and Woolsey. Raising points and making clarifications, apparently pretending that he hadn't spent the previous afternoon being impaled by wraith tentacles before heading over to the infirmary for his second round of surgery in a month.
John was an ass. Ronon looked to the tablet that he'd been handed at the beginning of the meeting and made a note to remind him of the fact later. Wondered if that's what the memo things Woolsey had been blathering about were for.
He decided he'd just try and beat some more sense into John's head next time he was uninjured enough to spar. It would save on office supplies, and Ronon was pretty sure Woolsey had talked about that at some point.
"Something filing something," Woolsey said, and John nodded his strong agreement as he checked something on his laptop. "Something offworld mission something something," however, was met with a nod that seemed a little more hesitant this time, but from where Woolsey was sitting, he wouldn't notice the twitch at the corner of John's mouth.
It was the same twitch that showed up whenever Rodney wanted another half hour to check out some technology offworld, or Teyla insisted they stay for the harvest festival. The same one he used whenever he was tired of telling Ronon not to scout ahead.
It said that John was going along with it, but only because he knew how to pick his battles.
It was a good strategy. Glancing over his shoulder, at the back table, he could see Keller, looking irritated and a little worried. But apparently, she wasn't about to interrupt the Extravaganza for something as minor as an aggravated injury.
She had reason to worry, Ronon supposed. John looked a little more wan now. Uneasy. He kept shifting, evidently trying to ease some of the strain on his injuries. He looked worse than he did this morning, actually, when he'd been lying in the infirmary and promising the staff for the thirteenth time that he would stay where he was, that Ronon was only joking about the restraints.
"Something something forms something," Woolsey was saying, and there was no way John could be paying as much attention as he was making it seem.
More likely, he was trying to avoid Keller's glare. Or possibly his own, Ronon realized, when John's eyes glanced in his direction and darted away again. His posture was rigid, his jaw tight from pain. John closed his eyes for a moment, and Ronon began to relax, figuring that John was recognizing his own limits.
John began elaborating on whatever it was that Woolsey had just said, and that was about all Ronon could take.
He tossed the folder down on the table and got to his feet.
Only to find that everyone else was doing the same. It threw him for a moment, but he dodged bodies and chairs and made it to John before he'd even stood.
He swallowed, testing his throat to find that glaring would have to suffice. Apparently, it did.
"Thanks, Ronon," John's voice was cranky enough that he could get away with adding, "I love you too." At the moment, it was pure sarcasm, but John was saying it, right there, in the middle of the mess hall, with over a hundred people within earshot. Ronon tried really hard not to smile.
Thankfully, John was getting up out of his seat, grimacing, and it was aggravating enough to remind Ronon of his purpose. He grabbed John's shoulder, and began steering him out of the mess hall.
Ronon made sure to make it look like he was manhandling John more than he really was, and it didn't hurt that Keller was hot on their trail. Made it look more like they were both moving decisively under her orders, and less like he was trying to keep his stupid boyfriend from fainting in the middle of the gate room because he was too stubborn to miss the most boring meeting in the universe.
"I'm fine," John grumbled, loudly, as they walked, but by this point, Ronon figured he was in on the plan.
---
Ronon leaned against an unobtrusive span of wall, holding absolutely still, while Keller busied herself with getting John back into bed, all clucking tongue and concerned irritation. Eventually, though, she left, with enough of a backwards glance to let Ronon know that while his attempted camouflage hadn't worked, his presence was acceptable.
He waited until she was gone, and checked to make sure they were alone before pushing himself away from the wall and approaching the bed. John's eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping yet. They opened when Ronon brushed his fingers along John's shoulder, dipping slightly into his collarbone.
"I'm fine," John's tone was irritated, but his eyes weren't. "Just. You know. Important meeting and all."
Ronon shook his head. Let his hand trail down John's chest a little, but not so far as to make it totally apparent that he was checking the injury. They were already in the infirmary. It would be redundant.
"Okay. Not enough, right?" John rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more unevenly than usual. "It's just. You know. Woolsey's first time addressing everyone at once, and boring as he is, he's here, and he's an ally. Just wanted to make sure everyone knew it." He caught Ronon rolling his eyes, and shrugged. "It wasn't about the words, it was the message. Someone needed to translate, you know?"
Ronon wanted to shake his head, maybe he did a little, but he was smiling. Not too much, though. Not enough so John would think he could get away with this kind of shit whenever he wanted.
"I know," John said, understanding. But he didn't apologize. Wasn't about to admit he needed any saving from himself, not right then, and probably not ever.
Ronon leaned down and kissed him, not only because he wanted to- because he usually did, so it wasn't anything new- but because there wasn't much else he could do at the moment. John wasn't the only one who knew when to pick his battles, and for now, Ronon figured he could afford not to push it.
At least for a few more days.
Rating: PG-13
By: Jendavis
Spoilers: The Seed, and the tiniest hints of The Prodigal
Pairing: Sheppard/ Dex
Genre: Schmoop? Ficlet?
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: Fluff, because angst is so totally yesterday.
I Don't Know Why I Love You
Ronon hadn't heard a thing that had been said for the better part of an hour now, but figured Keller's orders would pull him through Woolsey's Away Team Orientation Meeting Extravaganza if it came right down to it.
He wasn't supposed to talk, not for another day or so. It was just as well, he figured. His throat did hurt, and he found that, given the opportunity, he didn't have much to say on the subject of requisition protocols anyway.
There were barely stale donuts brought through from Earth that his throat couldn't handle, and attendance was apparently mandatory for everyone, but those two reasons aside, he had no idea why he was there. Glancing around the mess hall, he wondered how many of the others had a clue.
Teyla looked attentive. It wasn't until he tried to catch her eye that he realized, of course, that she was actually paying attention. McKay was, too, given the arguments every time Woolsey stopped to take a breath. Rodney had extended the length of this meeting by at least ten minutes alone.
Ronon decided to kill him after lunch. Right after he killed John.
John, who was under orders to stay in bed for another few decades, at least, was sitting next to Lorne and Woolsey. Raising points and making clarifications, apparently pretending that he hadn't spent the previous afternoon being impaled by wraith tentacles before heading over to the infirmary for his second round of surgery in a month.
John was an ass. Ronon looked to the tablet that he'd been handed at the beginning of the meeting and made a note to remind him of the fact later. Wondered if that's what the memo things Woolsey had been blathering about were for.
He decided he'd just try and beat some more sense into John's head next time he was uninjured enough to spar. It would save on office supplies, and Ronon was pretty sure Woolsey had talked about that at some point.
"Something filing something," Woolsey said, and John nodded his strong agreement as he checked something on his laptop. "Something offworld mission something something," however, was met with a nod that seemed a little more hesitant this time, but from where Woolsey was sitting, he wouldn't notice the twitch at the corner of John's mouth.
It was the same twitch that showed up whenever Rodney wanted another half hour to check out some technology offworld, or Teyla insisted they stay for the harvest festival. The same one he used whenever he was tired of telling Ronon not to scout ahead.
It said that John was going along with it, but only because he knew how to pick his battles.
It was a good strategy. Glancing over his shoulder, at the back table, he could see Keller, looking irritated and a little worried. But apparently, she wasn't about to interrupt the Extravaganza for something as minor as an aggravated injury.
She had reason to worry, Ronon supposed. John looked a little more wan now. Uneasy. He kept shifting, evidently trying to ease some of the strain on his injuries. He looked worse than he did this morning, actually, when he'd been lying in the infirmary and promising the staff for the thirteenth time that he would stay where he was, that Ronon was only joking about the restraints.
"Something something forms something," Woolsey was saying, and there was no way John could be paying as much attention as he was making it seem.
More likely, he was trying to avoid Keller's glare. Or possibly his own, Ronon realized, when John's eyes glanced in his direction and darted away again. His posture was rigid, his jaw tight from pain. John closed his eyes for a moment, and Ronon began to relax, figuring that John was recognizing his own limits.
John began elaborating on whatever it was that Woolsey had just said, and that was about all Ronon could take.
He tossed the folder down on the table and got to his feet.
Only to find that everyone else was doing the same. It threw him for a moment, but he dodged bodies and chairs and made it to John before he'd even stood.
He swallowed, testing his throat to find that glaring would have to suffice. Apparently, it did.
"Thanks, Ronon," John's voice was cranky enough that he could get away with adding, "I love you too." At the moment, it was pure sarcasm, but John was saying it, right there, in the middle of the mess hall, with over a hundred people within earshot. Ronon tried really hard not to smile.
Thankfully, John was getting up out of his seat, grimacing, and it was aggravating enough to remind Ronon of his purpose. He grabbed John's shoulder, and began steering him out of the mess hall.
Ronon made sure to make it look like he was manhandling John more than he really was, and it didn't hurt that Keller was hot on their trail. Made it look more like they were both moving decisively under her orders, and less like he was trying to keep his stupid boyfriend from fainting in the middle of the gate room because he was too stubborn to miss the most boring meeting in the universe.
"I'm fine," John grumbled, loudly, as they walked, but by this point, Ronon figured he was in on the plan.
---
Ronon leaned against an unobtrusive span of wall, holding absolutely still, while Keller busied herself with getting John back into bed, all clucking tongue and concerned irritation. Eventually, though, she left, with enough of a backwards glance to let Ronon know that while his attempted camouflage hadn't worked, his presence was acceptable.
He waited until she was gone, and checked to make sure they were alone before pushing himself away from the wall and approaching the bed. John's eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping yet. They opened when Ronon brushed his fingers along John's shoulder, dipping slightly into his collarbone.
"I'm fine," John's tone was irritated, but his eyes weren't. "Just. You know. Important meeting and all."
Ronon shook his head. Let his hand trail down John's chest a little, but not so far as to make it totally apparent that he was checking the injury. They were already in the infirmary. It would be redundant.
"Okay. Not enough, right?" John rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more unevenly than usual. "It's just. You know. Woolsey's first time addressing everyone at once, and boring as he is, he's here, and he's an ally. Just wanted to make sure everyone knew it." He caught Ronon rolling his eyes, and shrugged. "It wasn't about the words, it was the message. Someone needed to translate, you know?"
Ronon wanted to shake his head, maybe he did a little, but he was smiling. Not too much, though. Not enough so John would think he could get away with this kind of shit whenever he wanted.
"I know," John said, understanding. But he didn't apologize. Wasn't about to admit he needed any saving from himself, not right then, and probably not ever.
Ronon leaned down and kissed him, not only because he wanted to- because he usually did, so it wasn't anything new- but because there wasn't much else he could do at the moment. John wasn't the only one who knew when to pick his battles, and for now, Ronon figured he could afford not to push it.
At least for a few more days.