TITLE: All Those Looks
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
RATING: PG-13
POSTED: Aug. 15, 2004
SUMMARY: There's more than a pretty face.
NOTES: Basically, a reaction to the Shepwhore tendency on LJ. Takes place after 1.6.
DISCLAIMER: Read
He knew what people said when he wasn't in the room and what they whispered when he was. He didn't do it deliberately, that was just how he looked at people, John thought. He pulled off his jacket and whipped it at his bed. Okay, sometimes he did do it on purpose, but he damn well didn't do it while on duty. Eye of the beholder, folks, he wanted to growl. You're looking for it, you're going to see it, whether it's there or not. Also, see, there's this thing called self-control, and I didn't get to this rank without it. Saying any of those things wouldn't help, though, and he wouldn't say them, anyway. Shit. They all had a long way to go before their gossip could measure up to scuttlebutt.
That doesn't mean he hasn't thought about it, he admitted, dropping into the chair with enough force to make it scrape back into the wall. He bit back a huff of frustration and bent forward to take care of his boots. Every posting has always ended with a free trip back home, a date circled on the calendar to count toward, with plenty of dates in between to use a pass for a day or two in the nearest city. This one? John stopped tugging at the knot he'd made of the left laces and propped his elbows on his knees, taking a deep breath as he stared at the floor between his feet. They'd all walked in knowing it was an open-ended assignment with no leave, at least not in any form they'd recognize.
To tell the truth, he had been kind of surprised not to get a bird-and-bees talk from General O'Neill before they left. Maybe they hadn't because the general had pictured just how uncomfortable that would have been and decided he had better things to do with his pride. Hell, maybe Sumner had gotten it, and that was why the man had been in such a foul mood before they'd run into the Athosians. John shuddered and started pulling at the nice, asexual-as-only-the-military-can-make-them laces again.
He was still expecting Weir to make an announcement laying out the rules, probably when she discovered another pair going at it hot and heavy enough to make a dark puddle jumper rock. She'd snap at him to stop smirking and get them down from there, and then she'd deliver her speech, in the gateroom, most likely. She'd be sure to call it "proper conduct among colleagues," though, not "fraternization."
He shook his head and worked the right boot off his foot, placing it on the floor next to the chair. That was civilian-speak, and the civilians were her area. The airmen and women were his, strange as that still seemed. After that puddle jumper incident, he had issued a terse command to keep it within ranks, be they military or civilian, and he'd better not find out they were native. And he figured that was enough. Nature would run its course, just like it did on bases and in barracks all over the world...over Earth. Already there were people paired off, and he'd gotten a real kick out of walking in on Ford sweet talking that Brazilian biologist in the lab. John let out a little chuckle, remembering the mortification on Ford's face. Teasing the kid about it since then was even more fun, especially when he stuttered as he hid the wildflowers he managed to find on every planet. But so long as it didn't affect performance in the field, John knew he wasn't going to make a fuss over regulations. Morale was just as important as anything else and, yes, fuck anyone here or back on Earth who didn't understand that.
Yanking off the left boot, he scowled. The talk had picked up after the last mission. Just because that asshole of a scientist -- the boot dropped with a thunk next to its partner -- couldn't believe that maybe Keras had been looking for someone to look up to, and that was why he'd gone along with them even when the other kids -- Jesus Christ, twenty-four -- were being paranoid.
Shoving to his feet, John started pacing the four steps to the bed, spin, four over to the door, spin, the floor warm through his socks. Yeah, he'd heard the talk loud and frustratingly clear coming around the corner into the control room. What kind of twisted sex-fiend did they think he was? He'd glared and had been tempted to snap, but the technicians' eyes were too wide when they both visibly gulped and nervously laughed, saying how crazy it had sounded and nobody really listened to Kavanagh and, hey, look, a blinking light.
With a groan, John fell face-first onto the bed. He'd barely gotten through dinner just now without turning on McKay for making some comment about how annoying those youngest kids had been. He'd only stopped himself because Ford was laughing and giving the man a punch in the arm, saying how McKay had loved them and they'd loved him back, while McKay had tried to hide a smile with a wince. No, after that he'd just picked up his plate and said he'd see them later, he had to go get some shut eye or he'd be useless tomorrow. Then he had walked off, ignoring the confused silence behind him.
He had thought about it, sure, of course he had thought about it, he admitted. His hands clenched on the pillow and he buried his face deep enough that he had to breathe through his mouth. He'd thought and he'd come to the conclusion that there was nothing for him to do about it, no one for him to turn to or pair off with or sweet talk. No one that wouldn't leave him feeling like he was taking advantage, which was really what most of those regulations were about, anyway.
Maybe there were one or two. He turned his head and hauled in a breath, releasing it slowly. Weir. Elizabeth. He wasn't her superior. And she had almost said something in the infirmary that time, but...no. A big no. That would be...weird. Pretty much sleeping with the boss.
He'd seen the looks McKay and Teyla sometimes sent his way, too. And he had to say, neither of them set off alarms like Weir did, which made them both more of a temptation. McKay was great to hang out with, even when he was being sarcastic and condescending, an impressive combination that John couldn't help trying to bring out. And Teyla. Something had clicked there back in that first meeting back on her planet, he couldn't have been imagining that.
But it didn't matter how much hanging or clicking there was going on, not now, not when they were part of his team. He needed them as part of his team more than he needed-- What? Not release; he was just as good as anyone at the solo flights. Granted, it wasn't as good as coming locked deep and hot in someone, or even as good as having someone else's hand on him, stroking and tightening in a rhythm that he wasn't controlling. That wasn't everything, though. It was looks and laughter and saving a story to tell at the end of the day...
John groaned again and shoved over onto his back, setting his jaw and keeping his hands locked on the blanket under him. This was the last thing he needed right now. Come on, damn it. Think of something else, something...like the Wraith. Right. If that didn't do it, he was in some real trouble. Creepy sons of bitches, sucking the life right out of you with a teeth-bared smile that said they were enjoying the terror that was in your eyes, just loving that you knew exactly what was happening to you.
Fuck. Chilled, John looked down, even though he didn't need to see to know that his pants fit right again. His head plopped back onto the pillow. Great. Now he was going to have nightmares.
##
Return to my Atlantis stories