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Elizabeth’s alarm was set to Grieg’s Morning Mood - not exactly original, but she was long past giving a damn about musical snobbery, or other such irrelevances - yet she very rarely got a real chance to enjoy it. It seemed that, when you were the leader of an expedition to a galaxy far, far away, on a temperamental Ancient City, which also happened to be besieged by space vampires, a lie-in became practically a mythical beast.
The only thing which surprised her about the morning emergency call, was that it wasn’t directly related to John or Rodney (or, as so frequently happened, both).
“Sorry for disturbing you, Dr Weir, but we have a … situation.”
There was a knack to getting essential bathroom and dressing requirements done in under five minutes and Elizabeth had it down to a fine art. So, it was a little galling to find that she’d broken her personal speed record on the matter, all for the sake of some messy relationship drama. She was very fond of the quiet, but determined, Dr Miko Kusanagi and appreciated her important contributions to the science team; but it hardly seemed her place to interfere in her love life.
Even if it was turning out to be a whole lot more exciting than expected.
“As sympathetic as I am to the tangles of a love triangle …”
“Ah, I’m sorry Dr Weir, but it’s a little more serious than that.” Lorne had the look of a man whose patience was being jumped up and down on, like a trampoline, and was strongly considering the merits of turning into a rocket launcher instead. “You see, as well as some potential assault charges …”
“It was barely even a slap!”
“I’ll show you a slap!”
Lorne ignored the rival lovers, with a weary, but practised, ease.
“ … Sergeant Danvers is accusing Corporal Perez of being a Goa’uld and Corporal Perez is accusing Sergeant Danvers of being a …”
“Dickhead.”
Lorne winced and glanced apologetically at Elizabeth; but, honestly, you didn’t get to be a high level diplomat without learning a practical cornucopia of swearwords, in a wide selection of languages, and with a degree of graphicness which ranged from extremely mild to ‘Will have to hose the room down afterwards’.
‘Dickhead’ didn’t even rate a blink.
“I see.”
And, indeed, Elizabeth did see, quite clearly. It was unexpected to discover that Miko could inspire the kind of torrid passion which led to soap opera levels of accusation and jealousy, but she highly doubted that this particular Goa’uld scare was anything to be genuinely concerned about.
Still, she had to treat the whole thing seriously; even if she longed to be able to just bang some heads together and suggest that Sergeant Danvers get over the break-up via the means of time, friendship and porn, like everyone else.
Sometimes, being a strong, mature and diplomatic leader had its drawbacks.
It took a little while to apply some calming, tactful words to the situation; defuse the aura of gently vibrating violence (in slap form); arrange precautionary Goa’uld testing; and hand the disciplinary side of things over to Sheppard, who had arrived shortly after her, with the air of a man who is quietly, but distinctly, angry about being interrupted. His hair looked even more ruffled than usual, as if disarrayed by loving and vigorous hands.
Not that it was Elizabeth’s place to speculate, of course (nor to make an educated guess as to the likelihood of those hands also being very fond of gesticulating and finger-snapping, as well as recreational Sheppard-ruffling).
The incident having been successfully resolved, she took a breath and checked her watch. Just about time enough for breakfast before her first meeting, if she adopted the heron-gulp method. Honestly, she’d almost forgotten what it was like to be able to savour food, rather than administer it to herself with the maximum speed and efficiency consistent with not actually choking to death (given all the heroic opportunities available to her, Elizabeth would be damned if her obituary was going to read ‘conquered by lumpy oatmeal’).
But, before she could make it to the mess, she was waylaid by Doctors Zelenka and Beckett, their faces brightening when they saw her, in a way which boded ill for her swiftly vanishing free time.
“Ah, Elizabeth, do you have a moment?”
Elizabeth was a caring, compassionate woman, with a deep sense of personal responsibility; but that didn’t preclude her from a sudden urge to rifle through her grab bag of swear words; pick out some zingers; and hurl them with deadly force.
“Certainly, Carson. How can I help?”
“Well, actually, it’s about Rodney …”
Of course it was. Elizabeth had never managed to get through a day yet without something being about Rodney.
“What exactly is the problem, gentlemen?”
They glanced at each other, awkwardly and drew her into a private room, before Radek took a deep breath and looked her in the eye.
“You are aware of his … secret, no?”
Elizabeth drew in a breath. Certainly she had been around 99% confident that Rodney and John were … not exactly playing by the US Military rulebook; but she had very carefully ignored any hints and clues (however unsubtle and dripping with almost visible hearts).
There was a certain amount of compromise necessary in leading a civilian expedition, with such an important Military component - especially under the current, less than peaceful, circumstances - and it had seemed best to leave all that to Sheppard’s discretion (which she rather wished he had more of, at times).
“I’m not sure that this is the sort of thing we ought to be discussing.”
Radek waved an impatient hand.
“It is just amongst friends. And this is important. If Rodney loses his … companion, it will have terrible knock-on consequences for the whole science team.”
“And for his physical well-being,” Carson added, with his earnestness on full-blast and his accent set to stun. “Honestly, Elizabeth, I’ve never seen him so well as he has been for the last three months and, both as his friend, and as someone who can see the effect on the expedition of a happy, healthy Rodney, I think it’s pretty imperative that we do all we can to prevent disaster.”
“I take your point. So, what exactly is the issue here? Is someone making trouble?”
“No, no. Rodney has actually been pretty good at keeping things under wraps and I don’t think anyone who knows has a problem with it. After all, they’re pretty cute together.” Carson beamed, then looked mortified. “God, don’t tell him I said that.”
“I won’t breathe a word.” Elizabeth smiled reassuringly. And, after all, she thought they were pretty cute together too; when she wasn’t exasperated with one, or both, of them.
“No, the problem is that he now has need of another.” Radek made some sort of vigorous gesture which was impossible to decipher (and led nowhere good, when she tried). “Loneliness can be an issue sometimes, even with the most loving devotion, and it turns out that this is one of those cases. We were hoping you could help.”
Elizabeth blinked, slowly. She wasn’t certain that she was being invited, by proxy, to become part of a secret, wild threesome with her respective leaders of science and the military; but neither was she wholly certain that she wasn’t.
It was … quite the idea.
“Aye, if Rodney doesn’t get a suitable playmate for young Riddler, then the poor thing might actually pine away.”
The threesome idea stuttered and fell to the ground, with a thump.
“So, he either has to return the creature, which you just know would break that heart he pretends not to have, or …”
“Find it a companion. But returning to Gardath is hardly on the priority list and Rodney is not always … tactful about making requests.”
“We thought that you ought to know the real reason he’s planning to ask you, so that you didn’t turn him down.”
Elizabeth - having had to wildly recalibrate, over the course of the last few sentences - folded her arms to give herself time to think. Clearly she had been quite, quite wrong about which particular secret was on the table; and it was more than a little galling to discover that Rodney was keeping a pet - and had been doing so for three whole months - without her being aware of it.
She didn’t think that pets were even specifically banned by the expedition charter, at least, if they were native animals; but, ah, yes, there had been that incident a few months back when two of the scientists had wanted to adopt a baby agranti (which was a creature likely to grow to the size of a rhinoceros) and she had had to be quite firm on the subject.
If Rodney was actually harboring a rhino, then she would have to be equally firm with him, too; regardless of his assumptions that certain rules just didn’t apply to him.
(She would also have to obtain a hat, just so that she could take it off to him, for succeeding in keeping something like that under wraps for so long).
But, knowing Rodney, Riddler was far more likely to be cat-sized and possibly shaped; and therefore rather easier to either tacitly, or officially, accept. Besides, she, too, had noticed his improved mood and productivity of late (and the way this usefully permeated out to Atlantis in general). She had just made … rather different assumptions about the reason.
Elizabeth could, of course, admit, at this point, that she had had no idea what they were talking about. This strategy had the benefit of honesty; but the drawback of endangering the secret that she’d thought they were talking about, if they asked any questions.
Also, and more importantly, it would reveal that she had been entirely clueless about a secret held by Rodney ‘the absolute polar opposite of pokerfaced’ McKay, for at least three months; which was just plain embarrassing.
Sometimes, the secret of leadership was in the art of strategic omission.
“I’ll take it into consideration, thank you. I’m sure that … arrangements can be made.”
Two smiles of pure relief greeted her and Elizabeth couldn’t help smiling back. She wondered if Rodney realised quite how much his friends were invested in his happiness.
And, also, in him not moping about the place like an entire fiery thunderstorm packed into one average-sized human (and leaking out of the sides, with occasional lightning strikes). That outcome was worth a discretionary beast or two.
But, now, there wasn’t time for even the swiftest, and most inelegant, of breakfasts, if she didn’t want to be late to her first meeting; not to mention make plans for a little chat with Rodney.
(He’d better have some damn cute pictures).
She headed for a transporter, hoping to still have the chance to grab a coffee before they started; but, of course, she should have realised that all things come in threes, including interruptions, and, before she could get halfway to the meeting room, she was greeted by Rodney himself, a bolt of pure frenetic energy.
“Elizabeth, this is an emergency!”
She braced; immediately all attention: ready for news of an imminent explosion, invasion, plague, or any of a dozen or so possibilities which leapt to mind; evacuation plans slotting neatly into place, behind less drastic options, depending on the type and severity of the issue.
“A serious coffee emergency!”
Ah.
And, if she had only looked with a little more attention, it was clear that there were none of the tell-tale signs of Rodney in a genuine crisis: scared, but determined, his brain whirring furiously to find a solution, bravery clamping on around his panic like invisible armour. No, this was only his usual tendency to dramatise.
Really, Elizabeth must be off her game this morning. It was probably the lack of breakfast. Tomorrow, she’d have to make sure she got herself some toast or eggs or not-exactly-bacon, even if she had to do so while battling a Wraith with her free hand (and deflecting a rhino with her foot). Which wasn’t wildly out of the question.
“I thought we still had quite a reasonable amount of coffee supplies left?”
“Yes, yes, we have plenty of supplies … well, not plenty, but adequate for now … but, well, you know we just got in a huge load of fish on the last trade we made?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“A very good deal, I thought. Teyla did an excellent job.”
Rodney did impatient and sinuous things with his hands (and Elizabeth did not suddenly remember that whole threesome idea, with added details; not even slightly).
“Obviously, Teyla did an excellent job, that isn’t the point. The point is that some heathen thought it an excellent idea to store all of that fresh, but strongly scented, fish …”
Elizabeth connected the dots without difficulty.
“Right in with the coffee beans.”
“Exactly. Have you ever had fish-flavoured coffee, Elizabeth? Because, there was an incident in Siberia and … well, trust me, your tastebuds will never forgive, nor forget.”
“Rodney, I understand your distress, but I’m hardly the right person to be bringing these concerns to. The quartermaster is …”
“Ah … possibly not speaking to me, right now.”
Rodney acquired that particular awkward look of his, which combined sheepishness with an attempt at perching dignity on top, like a crown draped over the ear of a wobbly wide-eyed lamb.
“Words may possibly have been exchanged. Fish-related threats could conceivably have been made. Eels might have been brandished, with intent to … well, never mind.”
He coughed.
“I would have talked to Sheppard,” a small, but distinct, smile passed over his face, and lingered for a moment, like a drop of sparkling dew, “but he’s apparently in the middle of scanning for imaginary Goa’ulds and I didn’t want to add fish on top of that.”
“Hm. Layering fish and Goa’ulds is generally ill-advised.”
“Exactly!”
Rodney smiled and pointed his finger at her, with such patent happiness at being understood, that Elizabeth just didn’t have the heart to bring him down.
And besides, some of that coffee was hers.
“I’ll have a word on the subject.” She stopped at the door. “After my meeting.”
“But the fish permeation may already be reaching the point of no return …”
Elizabeth aimed an eyebrow at him; calm, but full of gently implied threat.
“ … after the meeting, right. I’m sure that’s … that it will be fine.”
He left - and was that a touch of fur on his collar? How on earth could she not have noticed? - and Elizabeth shook her head, bit back a smile, and entered the meeting room; ready for the first of the day’s actually scheduled dramas.
She made mental notes to follow up doubtful Goa’ulds, illicit pets, and fish-infused coffee beans, later; using a crowbar to pry open the necessary gaps in her schedule.
Sometimes it was hard to find a space to breathe.
Still: the one thing she had always most feared in a job was boredom. And that - she could safely say - would never be an issue on her city. She patted the wall gently, with a smile; and listened patiently to the delegation who had assured her they had a brilliant solution to the power crisis: which turned out to be turning some of the unused parts of Atlantis into a waterpark and charging ZPMs for admission.
Just another standard Thursday …