"…Well at least we got a little further through the scene without an interruption…perhaps we can go for the whole production at some point?" Caldwell muttered, "Fifteen minutes everyone, then I want you back here," he wandered off stage.

Elizabeth detached herself from John and glanced around, "…Where did Aimee go?"

"With McKay," he answered, frowning.

She glared at him, worried, "John, you can't-"

"Elizabeth!"

She whirled round to see her little sister walking across the stage. She automatically opened her arms to hug the girl, "Hello, Aimee."

"I hope you don't mind having me around for a while…you guys seemed pretty into a scene there," Aimee frowned, "But the BBC wanted me here today and here I am."

"No, not at all," Elizabeth answered, smiling slightly. She knew her words were partly a lie. Aimee was one of the few people who really could read her like a book. She knew her big sister could flick in and out of character in an instant, and it was one of the things she hated her doing. One of the reasons she had never approved of Simon. Elizabeth sighed mentally; how many attacks was she going to have to fend off from various corners this week? She straightened her shoulders and pulled away from Aimee; for as long as she was here, she was going to give the performance of her life. That one slip up she had mentioned to her really would become nothing. John who? Good friend, brilliant actor, great colleague. In her bed last night? Whatever gave anybody that idea? Attracted to him? Hell no! (Yes!)

"Everyone, this is my little sister, Aimee," she turned to introduce her, "I know some of you have met her before."

"Aye, its good to see you again," Carson smiled at her.

"I trust you aren't here to trash us to the nation," Rodney enquired, momentarily concerned.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Aimee shot him a grin, "Honestly, you guys are the best right now. You're sold out for most of your run, you know that?"

"I was unaware…" Teyla replied.

"Me too," Aiden added.

"Me three…" John mulled that over for a few moments, "Let's not disappoint the crowds then."

"Well, hopefully we'll have you introduced to the nation before anyone sees the play…" Aimee began.

"What?" Elizabeth almost snapped.

"Well, its just me. Its not a clean-cut documentary they want, they want something quick, sharp, rough…"

She hated the fact that that she suddenly wanted to associate those words with John, in all the wrong, but oh so right, ways. Elizabeth stared at the floor for a second, trying to clear out her mind. Certainly no thoughts involving the wardrobe department and those darkened rooms…

"So I've got to put it together to air the day before you start your run. If they like it, they'll show it," Aimee shrugged, "If they don't, then I guess they don't. I'll have given it a shot."

"McKay! That computer system has locked everyone out again!" Zelenka sounded particularly annoyed, shouting from backstage.

"Fix it then!" Rodney answered.

"You passcoded it!"

"I did no such thing!"

"Fine, I will just go and remove the batteries, clock and overhaul the operating system if you evidently 'did no such thing'…" he threatened.

"I'm there! I'll be right there!" Rodney turned to leave, "Have at it, shoot away," he called back to Aimee, "But I want to know you had permission from everyone to film them!" he warned.

"Yes, sir," she threw him a mock salute, smiling. Aimee checked her watch, "Anyway, didn't Mr Caldwell say you were on a break? I'll just go check the camera and leave you guys to it," she headed to the steps on one side of the stage, back to the stalls, "I'll see you later, Lizzie."

John smirked, "Lizzie?" he said softly.

Elizabeth sighed, "I'll be in my dressing room," she stated, shooting him a death glare that clearly stated 'and so better you be, or else'.

He at least had the tact to wait a minute or so before following her.


Elizabeth closed her dressing room door quietly behind them, leaning back against it for a moment, "…What were you doing…?" she asked, voice low.

"It just happened!" he exclaimed.

"It just happened? What about when we've got several hundred people watching us and it 'just happens'?" she stressed.

John took several steps away from her, "…You think last night was a mistake," he accused.

She ran a hand through her hair, "I think last night is going to make things difficult."

"Then it was a mistake."

"I didn't say that," Elizabeth shook her head, "You don't understand."

"I would understand if you talked to me," he proposed.

She sighed, "…Not now…"

"But not never," John insisted.

She crossed the room to sit in one of the few chairs, "All I'm saying is, if it happens again, someone's going to hear. Someone's going to notice and there goes any professionalism. I told you they're going to be wary of you. If they find out, we're both for it," she looked away, "…I…" Elizabeth closed her eyes, "…Maybe we should just…"

"Just what?" he edged closed to her, "Just stop now? Whatever kind of relationship-"

She looked up at him, eyes suddenly cold, "We don't have a relationship."

He refused to give in that easily, "So last night…what was that then? Didn't take you as the kind of person to just sleep with people and be gone," he folded his arms, "And don't sit there and tell me you felt nothing last night."

Elizabeth considered it. She truly did. Maybe telling him it was just sex was a good option. Then again, there was the actual possibility that it had been just sex. She still knew little about him, well, what little he was willing to yield. But nobody had made her rush through so many emotions just with conversation than he had. There was just something about him, something she still couldn't place. Maybe she liked sparring with someone who was just as stubborn as she was. Maybe the idea of getting under his skin was as addictive as he seemed to find gleaming rare moments of honesty from her. He was interesting. He was honest and he wasn't. It scared her a little how much she wanted him to be hers.

"…I can't," at least she was honest, even if her voice was quiet, "…Last night was…"

"…Amazing," he said softly.

"But what did it solve?" Elizabeth questioned, "You just proved its caused more problems than anything…"

"Its been barely six hours since we were in your bed," John answered, "There was you in that kiss back there and you know it. You can choose to kiss somebody or you can choose to make it look like you are with as little involvement as possible."

She hung her head, "Alright, I get it. But we can't go on like-" she was interrupted by the feel of his lips on hers; when had he crept up on her like that? To stick to her point, she tried not to respond, until she twitched and couldn't help herself, "…Like this…" she finished, eyes closed.

"I don't know…I could get used to…'this'…"

"John, don't you dare…"

He kissed her again, intensely and on purpose, one hand tangled in her hair as she stood up to meet him, one hand snaking round his waist.

She was cursing herself every step of the way and suddenly frightened out of her life when she heard a knock on the door. Elizabeth jumped away from him and tried to smooth her hair back into place, "Come in."

Aiden poked his head round the door, "You're up next. Teyla and Carson are nearly done with their scene. And I don't fancy standing on stage talking to myself," he addressed John, "Oh, and Miss Weir wants a word with you," he nodded to Elizabeth and shut the door behind him.

"And that's another thing," she looked back at John, "If my sister suspects anything, its game over," she headed for the door.

"I don't know…I quite like the idea of sneaking around…" he answered, voice low.

Elizabeth was more than a little disturbed by the fact that she did too.


As rehearsal drew to a close and Elizabeth shrugged into her coat, she frowned as she heard raised voices out in the back foyer. One of them sounded distinctly like Ronon. The other worryingly like Teyla. She wandered through the doors leading to the back of the theatre and nearly took a step back at the scene before her.

Ronon had Teyla pinned against the wall, and as Elizabeth walked in, she threw a punch that didn't seem to affect him, before she swept his feet out from under him, somehow managing to floor him.

"Teyla!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

She felt no need to explain herself, offering only, "He was speaking to me in a condescending manner…" she glared down at her target.

Ronon flipped back to his feet, "It was only condescending if you consider yourself low enough to be condescended to…" he smiled slightly.

"Do not speak to me in such a way again," she threatened.

"Don't give me reason to," he shrugged.

Teyla threw another punch that he blocked, before countering with one that clipped her jaw. She reeled back for a moment before straightening, "Being unable to block an unexpected attack is no reason to be considered inferior…"

"Who said anything about considering you inferior?" Ronon shot back, guard down, a bad move, for she landed a hit on his nose that made him curse.

"You inferred it…"

"I thought I implied it…"

Teyla realised Elizabeth was still standing there, in a minor state of shock, "We are merely sparring…" she tried to explain.

Elizabeth nodded several times, "…Sparring…got it…I'll, erm, leave you to it…" she made a quick dash for the exit, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait up!" John was only a second behind her, suddenly running for the door. He seemed undisturbed by the display of violence, "Teyla. Ronon," he nodded, then followed his leading lady.

She had no sooner got down the steps from the back entrance to the theatre, then she felt hands on her waist spin her round and back her against the opposite wall, "What the-" she began, outraged.

John looked down at her, tantalisingly close, "Hey," he grinned.

Elizabeth insisted she was angry, "Don't you ever do that again."

He seemed unrepentant, "Sorry."

"What're you doing, John?" she questioned.

"Well…" he smiled, "This, for a start…" he captured her lips with his own, in a way that made her wish she really was angry enough to shove him away, hating how weak he could make her feel in an instant.

"…For a start…" she breathed, before she kissed him roughly. Oh god, what was she doing? Why was she acting like some love struck teenager? Why did she want the man so damned much? And why did it have to be happening now?

From beyond the theatre steps, a blonde figure flicked her camera lens shut, sighing as she did so, "…Oh Lizzie, what are you getting yourself into now…?"