NOTES: This is another story that was written because someone challenged me to write a pairing. I couldn't quite manage a pairing, but I could write a story about them. It's short, but it's given me all kinds of plotbunnies! grins
Not of Pavlov's Pack
When Elizabeth was fifteen, she learned that men were like dogs. Generally, they were youthful, exuberant, and could be made to sit and stay with a little training.
That knowledge was only reinforced by the behaviour of the men on the Atlantis expedition. She was the leader and they followed her.
Cavanaugh might growl and snarl, but he knew who was in charge, even if he disliked it. Rodney was all bark and bounce, nipping at her hand to get her attention, constantly straining against his leash to get his full run, but willing to be held back by affection - and sometimes a good smack. Bates was the deceptively quiet guard dog that lay quiet until danger threatened; then he became savage. Others didn't need all that much encouragement to obey: for example, she could rely on Carson to sit quietly, his metaphorical tail rhythmically thumping the ground.
Even Colonel Sheppard - like the dog that went by the same name - might haul on his chain, the protective instincts too strong to be subdued, but he accepted her leash and obeyed her commands. Of course, it was usually only a temporary submission, until the next threat-crisis, but she was the master and they both knew it - even when he broke his chain.
They all knew the status quo.
So when Ronan Dex walked into Atlantis, a mish-mash, hodge-podge of clothing, fur, muscle and weaponry, his mindset solitary and feral, his attitude quietly confronting, he upset the natural scheme of things in the way that a wolf will upset a pack of dogs.
If there was one thing that Elizabeth learned in the days and weeks following Ronan Dex's arrival in Atlantis, it was this.
Dogs accept the rules. Wolves tolerate them.
- fin -