John strolls from one balcony to another. He knows all the interconnecting paths, knows how to take the long way to get from the control room to the living quarters, without ever once going inside. The quiet of the night, the low noise of the sea far below is what he needs right now. That, and the city towering up around him, beautiful, brightly lit towers, and if he squints he can see into the mess and make out the people--his people--gathered for a late dinner. He knows that he could step in a transporter and be there in seconds, that he'd be greeted warmly by whoever was there. They'd offer food, ask him to join a poker game, invite him to watch a movie later.
Good people, all of them.
He rounds the turn of another balcony and heads down a flight of outdoor stairs. The wind gusts and he zips his shirt all the way up, should have worn a jacket--and then he hears the slapping of feet against the paving stones. A moment later he sees a slim figure coming towards him at a steady run. Elizabeth.
She looks distracted, then jumps a little when she sees him.
"Hey, Elizabeth," John says with a nod.
"John," she says, loping to a halt. "You startled me."
"Sorry."
"Is everything okay?"
John gives her his best smile. "Of course. Just enjoying the night," he says with an expansive gesture at the sea and sky.
She watches his face for a moment. "Okay then." She looks as if she's about to say something else, then gives him a quick nod before continuing past him.
He watches her trot up the stairs and round the turn, footsteps fading into the night. Maybe he's not the only who feels the weight pressing down a little too much. He moves on, taking his time, breathing in the cool, damp air, allowing the silence and solitude to fill him.
When he reaches the living quarters and finally steps inside, Rodney is there, lingering in the corridor with a studied casualness. John doesn't think it's a coincidence.
He brightens when he sees John. "Hey, Sheppard, I was just looking for you."
"Yeah, well, meetings, you know?" John says, giving 'a colonel's work is never done' shrug. "As a matter of fact, I think I'm just going to turn in early tonight. Feeling kind of tired."
He fervently hopes Rodney hears the I'm not in the mood tonight, dear and takes it at face value.
"Oh." Rodney's expression turns quizzical. He steps closer, and in low voice asks, "Is this anything I should be worried about?"
"No, Rodney," John says with a comforting smile. "It's not."
"All right. Um, goodnight?"
"Goodnight."
John's relieved by the lack of fuss, but when the door closes behind him, his room seems utterly lifeless. He scolds himself for being silly, then strips down to his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. He pulls out a book, reads a few pages, but since he's staring into space more than actually reading, he switches to his laptop and peruses his email before calling up a report.
He's signing off on it when he hears a light knock at his door.
"Yes, Rodney?" Because who else would it be?
Rodney steps in, laptop cradled in the crook of his arm. "How'd you know--?"
John finds himself smiling. "I must be psychic. What's up?"
Pointing to the screen on his laptop, Rodney says, "I saw you were on-line, and I figured you were working, and since I'm working too, I thought maybe we could--" He flips his hand and gestures at John's desk. "Or not. Whatever."
"Okay." The word is out of John's mouth before he can even think of a suitable protest.
Rodney settles in at John's desk and switches on the lamp. Pretending to read another report, John wonders why Rodney is there, because he doesn't say another word, just types on the computer, scrolls through screens, and lets out a perplexed "hmmm" every once in a while. He wonders and watches Rodney surreptitiously until his eyes fall shut.
When he wakes early the next morning, Rodney is in bed next to him stretched out and sound asleep. John pulls him close, tucks his head into Rodney's shoulder and listens to his breathing--a low soothing sound, even better than the sea.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2006-12-07 03:59 am (UTC)Good people, all of them.
He rounds the turn of another balcony and heads down a flight of outdoor stairs. The wind gusts and he zips his shirt all the way up, should have worn a jacket--and then he hears the slapping of feet against the paving stones. A moment later he sees a slim figure coming towards him at a steady run. Elizabeth.
She looks distracted, then jumps a little when she sees him.
"Hey, Elizabeth," John says with a nod.
"John," she says, loping to a halt. "You startled me."
"Sorry."
"Is everything okay?"
John gives her his best smile. "Of course. Just enjoying the night," he says with an expansive gesture at the sea and sky.
She watches his face for a moment. "Okay then." She looks as if she's about to say something else, then gives him a quick nod before continuing past him.
He watches her trot up the stairs and round the turn, footsteps fading into the night. Maybe he's not the only who feels the weight pressing down a little too much. He moves on, taking his time, breathing in the cool, damp air, allowing the silence and solitude to fill him.
When he reaches the living quarters and finally steps inside, Rodney is there, lingering in the corridor with a studied casualness. John doesn't think it's a coincidence.
He brightens when he sees John. "Hey, Sheppard, I was just looking for you."
"Yeah, well, meetings, you know?" John says, giving 'a colonel's work is never done' shrug. "As a matter of fact, I think I'm just going to turn in early tonight. Feeling kind of tired."
He fervently hopes Rodney hears the I'm not in the mood tonight, dear and takes it at face value.
"Oh." Rodney's expression turns quizzical. He steps closer, and in low voice asks, "Is this anything I should be worried about?"
"No, Rodney," John says with a comforting smile. "It's not."
"All right. Um, goodnight?"
"Goodnight."
John's relieved by the lack of fuss, but when the door closes behind him, his room seems utterly lifeless. He scolds himself for being silly, then strips down to his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. He pulls out a book, reads a few pages, but since he's staring into space more than actually reading, he switches to his laptop and peruses his email before calling up a report.
He's signing off on it when he hears a light knock at his door.
"Yes, Rodney?" Because who else would it be?
Rodney steps in, laptop cradled in the crook of his arm. "How'd you know--?"
John finds himself smiling. "I must be psychic. What's up?"
Pointing to the screen on his laptop, Rodney says, "I saw you were on-line, and I figured you were working, and since I'm working too, I thought maybe we could--" He flips his hand and gestures at John's desk. "Or not. Whatever."
"Okay." The word is out of John's mouth before he can even think of a suitable protest.
Rodney settles in at John's desk and switches on the lamp. Pretending to read another report, John wonders why Rodney is there, because he doesn't say another word, just types on the computer, scrolls through screens, and lets out a perplexed "hmmm" every once in a while. He wonders and watches Rodney surreptitiously until his eyes fall shut.
When he wakes early the next morning, Rodney is in bed next to him stretched out and sound asleep. John pulls him close, tucks his head into Rodney's shoulder and listens to his breathing--a low soothing sound, even better than the sea.