34. Female. Disney lover. Supernatural whore. Captain Swan fan for life. Crazy as hell. Talk to me. "You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go." -Dr. Seuss
The man before her, presently lounging in the only chair that remains in the room, feigns great thought and tells her, “...I could... But care to?”
Elizabeth’s half-growled, “John,” simply earns her what she imagines must be the most smug and self-satisfied smile sported by any living being in this galaxy and the next.
(He is, undoubtedly, absolutely delighted with himself.
...Or with her reaction.)
Slowly, she paces around her desk – the desk that currently has upon it only the decorative pieces and personal touches she has added – and stops right where her chair would be.
“And my tablet?”
Nothing.
“My chair?”
One corner of his lips sharpens just the slightest bit.
He folds his arms and attempts, for a moment, to adopt an air of innocence, only to fail so spectacularly that he almost all at once allows his great joy in her current predicament to return.
Indeed, she suspects that he might just be wiggling his toes with pure glee.
“Where are they?” she demands, planting her hands down on the desk to glare at him over it.
“Where aren’t they?” he returns.
“Where have you hidden them?”
“You’re assuming that they’re all in one place.”
“John...”
“I mean, the power pack could be with one department, and the laptop somewhere else, and one wheel—“
“You took each wheel off my chair?”
“To be fair, that was Teyla’s idea.”
He has had help and assistance and they have planned this, the little—
“You know, I could just log-in at someone else’s station?”
Having thought it impossible for him to appear any more pleased, she is swiftly shown otherwise, for his eyes light up.
“What... have you done?” is a more delicate enquiry.
“I wouldn’t bother trying to access anything. Oh, and McKay won’t help.”
She narrows her eyes.
“Because Rodney is responsible.”
“Maybe,” he surrenders. “So, you might as well take the afternoon off.”
John lazily pushes himself out of his chair and looks everywhere but at her for as long as it takes him to breathe in and out, his good humour evaporating as something that looks an awful lot like nerves rises to take its place.
“Sun’s still out,” he says slowly. “We could... go for a walk. Do dinner.”
“’We’...?”
As in...
“You and me,” is a not so steady confirmation, accompanied by a half-twitch of one shoulder. “If... you want.”
“And in the morning, you’ll—“
Not a moment later, she hears it how he must have heard it and knows very well that her features are flushed, for all that she is quite certain that she otherwise does a better job of maintaining her composure than she might have.
But him...
He watches her with an altogether different variety of satisfaction now, a calm certainty and quiet pleasure there, even if they both know that she did not mean...
Did not mean...
(Did she not?)
“In the morning,” John promises, reaching out a hand for one of hers, “I’ll tell you.”
titsay
kianamaiart
areudirty
discoholicmusic
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
