Notes Set somewhere along year 4, ignoring spoilers for season 4.
John Sheppard had fought and defeated many Wraiths, survived a mutation, saved the city of Atlantis countless times from various attacks.
Ironic that it was something so mundane as the Chicken Pox that took him down. The infernal itching was driving him crazy, and since Carson's constant nagging hadn't stopped him from scratching the welts until they bled, he now lay in an infirmary bed, dozing from the sedative he had been given. The sound of footsteps reached his drowsy mind and he forced open one eye to peer at the newest visitor.
"You broke quarantine." He groused. Being sick made him crabby, but he hoped that didn't sound as reproachful as he'd intended.
Elizabeth was standing in front of him, arms crossed, a half-concerned, half-amused look on her face. "I wouldn't be the first one."
Blaming his slow reaction on the meds, he finally realized the meaning of her words. That was a memory he'd rather forget. That time he'd stood watching while she lay in this same bed; powerless to help her, the feeling had been overwhelming, while the microscopic bugs were taking over her body.
"That was… different," he argued.
"Besides," Elizabeth continued, "I had chicken pox when I was a kid, so there's no danger."
"Oh, I see," he teased, "That's why you came here."
She grinned in response and drew closer, taking his hand. "No, that's why Dr Keller let me came here." He gave her a drowsy smile.
"John," her green gaze focused on his, suddenly serious, "if the situation had been reversed, if it had been you struggling within your own mind." She closed her eyes at the painful memory. While the sense of helplessness had been hard on him, he couldn't begin to imagine what it had been like for her. The sole fact that they had never discussed it since then proved him so. "You do know that I would have been there for you, right?"
He squeezed her hand. "Yes, I know."
Elizabeth seemed relieved. It surprised him somewhat, that after more than four years as friends, and those few months as even more, she could still doubt the trust he had in her.
Bending closer to his ear, she whispered a pleased, "Good." Then, lifting her head slightly, intending to lay a chaste kiss to his forehead, John shifted. Anticipating her move, he lifted his head and captured her lips. Slowly, she straightened and gazed at him with a single raised eyebrow in response.
Adopting his 'puppy dog eyes' (Elizabeth had confessed having named that look months ago) he sank back into his pillow and mumbled, "I'm a sick man, remember?"
Rolling her eyes, her smile belayed any reproach, "You better rest, then, Colonel." She emphasized on his designation, maybe to remind him that they weren't exactly in private quarters.
Yet, as she turned to leave, he could swear there was more of a sway in her hips. Teasing. Taunting. Not so innocent. Grinning, he enjoyed the view all the way to the door of the infirmary.
The promise of her not so innocent exodus made him sigh in frustration; he'd have to wait. Damn. He really hated being sick.
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