It's a proper Atlantis holiday party, and John can't help but notice how right everything feels.
"We should tell them," he whispers in Elizabeth's ear. She's sitting between his legs on the stairwell, watching the party begin to warm up.
She nudges his leg with her elbow. "That's bad luck. You can't tell people too soon."
"Is this another crazy Weir family tradition?" With all the stories she's told him, he figures he's lucky she turned out as normal as she did.
Elizabeth frowns over her shoulder. "It's common sense," she says, and for a moment the memory of some of the things she has been saying since they first started to discuss children pierces his giddy haze. She's not as young as she would like to be. Her job is stressful and occasionally dangerous. She has been exposed to a lot of strange things in the past eight years, any one of which could cause unpredictable complications, though Teyla and all of the others have been lucky so far.
He squeezes her shoulder. "Everything will be fine," he promises. He isn't sure when he became the optimist in this relationship, but there it is. "Carson won't be able to keep the secret. I want to be the one who gets to tell everyone."
Elizabeth is smiling up at him now, more than a little bemused. "I didn't expect you to be quite this excited." She reaches up one hand and threads her fingers between his. "I just want to be with this for a little while before everyone else finds out. It's important."
He nods, squeezing her hand back. Her fingers are still bare -- he put in a good search for a ring, but apparently it had never occurred to anyone in the Pegasus galaxy to decorate their hands and their monthly shipment from Earth sadly doesn't include jewelry. The Athosians exchange special ceremonial necklaces instead -- "marriage collars," Ford calls them -- and John didn't mind going local with that particular tradition, at least until the next time he gets back to the Milky Way.
"I'll try to contain myself," John promises. "But..." he kisses her neck, right above the braided collar, "... people are going to wonder why you're not drinking alcohol."
He can almost hear her rolling her eyes. "I am not that bad."
"Of course not."
There's music playing. They are spared the traditional off-key stylings of their fellow expedition members by Grodin having smuggled some commercially produced holiday music back with him after his latest shore leave. The part of John that gets nostalgic almost misses the bad caroling, but this is a lot easier on the ears.
"Want to dance?" A few couples -- all of which contain at least one Earth-born member -- are moving slowly to what sounds like Frank Sinatra.
"I'm fine here," Elizabeth says. "You can, if you want."
He's fine here, too. "I'm good."
He's content to watch the others from the stairwell, murmuring the occasional observation into her ear. It occurs to him that this will be the last Christmas they spend like this, just him and Elizabeth, but he thinks -- he hopes -- he's ready for that.
She leans her head back against his chest. "Nice Christmas this year."
She might just be talking about the party, about the Sinatra and the real (if powdered) Earth eggnog and the proper pine-like Christmas tree brought in from the mainland.
Those things are nice, too, but they aren't the most important.
John has all he wants, and he's pretty sure this will always be enough.
---
- end -