John's fingers idly drew shapes on the table before him. The tension of the last few weeks had thrown him completely off kilter and the subdued, boring tone to the meeting that he was currently sitting through was threatening to put him into a coma.

They'd been through this a hundred times, why did he have to sit through all of them?

Just because he was the highest ranking military member?

This sucked. He would much rather be just about anywhere but here, listening to someone drone on in the same monotonous tone about how they went to this 'new and interesting planet' and met these 'new and interesting - and apparently friendly - people'. Really, he'd rather be anywhere else.

He ventured a quick glance in Liz's direction, knowing instantly that she was almost as bored as he was even though her features would never let it show. She'd become very good at hiding her expressions over the years. It was probably an effect from all of the boring lectures she'd had to sit through in college, for her doctorate, and in all the various negotiations that she'd sat through.

A small smirk crossed his face as his mind wrapped around the thin link he'd created and followed it to her confession from the other night.

How many men could say that they knew Elizabeth Weir had been in a sex film in college? Apparently, it wasn't something she let get around, though he couldn't imagine why not.

The thought of a twenty-something version of the woman before him, naked and wrapped around another man, head thrown back in passion, just the bit that she liked - or would it be in total abandon? Was the conservative nature of her lovemaking something that had come with maturity or had it always been there? - while being taped.

She'd done porn to help a friend out with her Modern Arts in Media Graphics class. Now THAT was dedication and friendship.

He wondered if her hair had been lighter, if the lines of her body were any different, if her taste in men had changed...

Would he be jealous watching her surrender to the whims of another man? Or had she, perhaps, taken control? Was she the one setting the rhythm, controlling each thrust, holding back JUST so much?

He knew she was looking at him, knew that he was probably leering at her from across the table, knew that if anyone else wasn't paying attention to whatever was being said they were probably studying them, wondering what was going on.

He closed his eyes for a few brief moments and thought back to many of the interesting videos he'd seen in his time. There was the first one he'd ever watched, the scratchy, jumping copy of some video that one of his friends had stolen from his dad and watched when they were fourteen - like they said, you never forgot your first. There was the one that he'd swindled off of another friend later on in high school, the one that his mom almost caught him watching on more than one occasion. There were the many dateless Friday night porn parties in the dorms at his college. There were the ones that he and some friends used to get while overseas on assignments, cause in the long run they were so much easier and cleaner than whores. They varied in style and clarity, most were atrociously redundant and had nothing substantial to them at all, but some stood out among the rest.

The one he'd been thinking of lately had belonged to his friend Jeff before he'd died. God only knew where he'd picked it up. It had been dark, yet clear. Much different from most of the others. Shadows blocked out the distinguishing features of the participants, instead focusing in on the act, the movements, the sounds. There was no horrid 'porn star' music, just a subtle undercurrent of notes and the realistic vocalizations made by those involved.

He would like to think that she would be in something like that. Where she was gently urging the man on, telling him what she wanted, how she wanted it, in those cool, crisp tones of hers. Where she was the one that brought him to the edge, then back down before building him up again to finish along side her as she gave that soft, little post-coital sigh that she did.

His eyes flashed opened and met hers in an instant. His mind told him that no matter what, he needed to leave. He didn't care if the briefing wasn't over, didn't care that everyone would look and wonder what was going on, didn't care that she would probably wait a respectable amount of time and then follow him. He needed to leave.

The current tightness of his pants, however, screamed about what a bad idea any sort of sudden movement would be.

How could he have not realized? How could he have not known? How did he not recognize it the moment he heard it? Could it possibly have been?

The meeting was concluding around him, everyone getting up and walking out of the briefing.

He was frozen. Compelled to stay in his chair or forever be ostracized from the society that was his only refuge.

Elizabeth turned by the door. "Was there something you needed, John? Rodney is waiting for us."

John opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and then glanced down at his lap. He knew that if she had any idea where his train of thought had taken him she would know exactly what the look on his face truly meant.

But how would she know just by looking at him that he'd seen the video? That his wandering mind had jumped from boring briefing to boring lectures to college to her sex video to all the porn videos that he'd seen to discover that *oh, my god! What the fuck? That was YOU?!*

Nope. She'd take one look at him and just think that he was a pathetic, sex-crazed man with a decent-sized tent in his pants. No, thank you.

He cleared his throat. "Um, I think I'm going to skip out on the meeting with Rodney. I'll catch you later, though."

Her smile faltered for a moment, before she seemed to pick up on some of the undercurrent between them. "If you're sure?"

"I'm sure." He closed his eyes as she walked away, sighing a deep sigh at her retreating form. "Oh, boy, am I sure."