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Elizabeth didn’t have much of a part in choosing the military members of the expedition to Atlantis. The Air Force had its own, very clear ideas on the matter and she went along with it for the sake of keeping the peace.
John Sheppard was her pick, though.
She doesn’t know a lot about the man, only his file, only that he’s a natural at using the technology of the Ancients, like he was hand delivered to her in Antarctica by fate.
Maybe she won’t go that far.
It was just very fortunate that his curiosity and apparent penchant for getting into trouble led him to taking a seat in the outpost chair. Fortunate too that, despite his prior transgressions, his superiors let him run off to another galaxy, under the command of a civilian.
He hasn't given her any cause for alarm quite yet. He seems polite, if a little distant. He's as prompt and dedicated as any other soldier out here.
She wonders what his life was like back on Earth; what, or who, he might've left behind. His argument in favor of rescuing Col. Sumner and the others was well intentioned and, in her heart, she knew he had been right, regardless of the consequences. In fact, it was this show of conviction that helped stave off any doubts she might have had about his loyalty. It’s why she didn’t hesitate to remind him of the role he’d taken on after his very first mission.
She doesn’t linger on what Sumner or even General O’Neil would think of her choice. They’re not here, and even if they were, Sheppard is already leagues ahead of any officer that could be sent from Earth in terms of experience in the Pegasus galaxy.
He has other virtues too. He seems to get along with everyone, even Rodney, who she knows from personal experience takes some getting used to. Teyla trusts him as well, and Elizabeth knows better than to ignore the instincts of a leader like her.
There is one thing about him that’s been weighing on her mind lately.
She didn't notice it at first, too busy with setting up departments and assigning missions, getting lost looking through the database. When everything finally settled into something of a routine she got a well earned moment to catch her breath. Take some time to try to actually get to know the people around her.
It doesn’t bother her, not really. It’s akin to a particularly difficult puzzle she’s stuck on. A translation she can’t quite grasp.
He's been...watching her.
That's not it, exactly. It’s more like he's focused on her.
Whenever they’re in the same place he always seems to be angled in her direction. He faces her across a bed in the infirmary as Carson debriefs them, his chair is turned towards her table in the mess hall as he jokes with his team.
She has this sense that when he walks into the areas of the control center and does a sweep of the room with his eyes, it's her he's looking for.
At first she wondered if he was looking to her for assurance or approval, but quickly dismissed it as unlikely and, frankly, too self important for her taste.
No one else seems to notice or, if they do, they haven’t said anything. Her face warms at the idea that people might be discussing it behind her back, starting rumors. The further notion that there might be some truth to them has her up and out of her chair and pacing the length of her office.
Sure, he’s handsome and personable. But he’s military and she’s a diplomat. He’s not supposed to appeal to her particular set of sensibilities.
Besides, she’s already seen how some of the personnel have been eyeing each other, John included.
She’s certain that she’s not even a blip on his radar.
o o o o
It’s evening when she calls him in, after most people have retired for the day. The day itself had been largely uneventful, a few minor discoveries, some decluttering and reorganizing of the hallways.
John comes into her office looking relaxed. That’s good, she thinks. This conversation is already going to be challenging enough. She’s been going over how to broach the topic in her mind since that morning and still hasn’t landed on anything solid yet.
“John,” she greets him. “Please, close the door.”
An unmistakable raise of his eyebrows makes her wince as he turns and swipes at the door control. The glass slides shut, giving them some privacy from the night shift.
“How are you?” she asks as he takes a seat, still visibly relaxed, although she’s beginning to wonder if that’s just a practiced front.
“Good,” he says.
“Have the drills been going well?”
He nods.
Elizabeth swallows and looks down at her desk. He’s clearly not interested in making small talk.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she says, meeting his eyes.
“I got that part.”
For a moment she feels like she should be offended but it’s softened by him adding:
“I feel like I’m in the principal’s office.”
“You’re not in trouble,” she says with a small smile.
“But my ‘behavior needs correcting’?” he jokes.
He seems to catch something in her face and sits up abruptly.
“What is it?”
Elizabeth shakes her head.
“Nothing,” she says. “Really. I’ve just noticed that your…”
She searches for the right word.
“...attention lately has been, well, on me.”
From the way he stiffens she can tell he knows exactly what she’s referring to.
“You’re certainly entitled to report on my work,” she continues. “But I think it’s only fair to everyone to allow some grace at this point. We’ve been through—and overcome—quite a few stumbling blocks getting set up here and I have no doubt there will be more. I can assure you my own reports will reflect that.”
“No, Elizabe—Doctor,” he corrects himself. “That’s not it at all.”
It’s his turn to avoid looking at her.
Elizabeth waits for him to explain, her eyes drifting down his face as he licks his lips, a curious habit she’s noticed a few times before.
“Way I see it, it’s like chess,” he says. “You’re the King piece, the most important. If anything happened to you it’d be all over for us.”
She can’t help raising a skeptical eyebrow at this.
“And now it’s my job to protect you. Which I guess makes me the Queen. Uh, piece. The Queen piece.”
“Major—”
“Don’t bother,” he says with a slight laugh. “You can’t order me not to look out for you, ma'am.”
Elizabeth spends a moment fully absorbing what he’s said, her hands now clasped loosely in front of her.
“Well. I can certainly appreciate the sentiment,” she says. “But I want to make sure this won't compromise your judgement. If it came down to choosing between saving me or someone else…”
“It would depend on the situation, of course,” he says smoothly.
“Of course,” she echoes.
When had this become a negotiation?
“So, this thing where you're looking for me…”
John crosses his arms.
“It’s just so I have a read on your location, in case we need to suddenly evacuate or take cover or something and I need to get you to safety.”
“I see.”
“If it helps, I promise to be more subtle about it from now on,” he says with a touch of humor.
Elizabeth smiles at that.
“Alright,” she says. “Thank you.”
John nods and stands up.
“If that’s all…?”
“Yes, that’s all. Good night John.”
“‘Night,” he says before moving to leave.
At the open doorway he pauses, then turns back towards her.
“Oh but don’t stop wearing those red shirts of yours,” he says.
Her eyes snap up to him.
“What?”
He shrugs.
“They make you easy to find.”
He shoots her a last, lopsided smile and leaves, whistling out of tune as he walks away.
Elizabeth is left slightly stunned, staring after him.
Ping!
She startles and looks over at her laptop.
Oh, it’s only another email.