Inversion II

Steel And Velvet

The lash of her voice cuts into his psyche like a whip.

"Excuses are unacceptable, Sheppard." He doesn't cringe at the tone of her voice: he is beyond that, stronger than that.

He will show neither fear, nor submission before her. John Sheppard is no slave.

Or so he tells himself as he is divested of his weapons. "They're not willing to trade," he grits out. "I can't do anything about that."

A slashing gaze silences him. Her eyes are the same colour as the waters that swirl around this city - just as changeable in her moods, and just as dangerous in their depths. He's learned the price of defiance - to his cost.

Physically, she's his inferior - he could take her out in a moment. But she knows his weaknesses and will use them without mercy. And he can't lift his hand against a woman; much as he would like to, he can't overcome that part of his training.

"There's always something to be done," she says, clear and calm, and as arrogant as the expression of the man who hovers just beyond her shoulder, smugly pleased at John's slap on the wrist.

"Not in this case," he says, certain of what he knows. "We don't have the personnel to take them over, we don't have the resources to give them what they want, and if you wanted to lie to them, then you should have led the delegation yourself!"

She stops, and he stifles the urge to flinch. "Are you challenging my decisions?"

He backs down and chooses his words with a little more care. "I'm suggesting that I might not be the best person for this kind of job." The words sting even when said by him.

Her expression eases. "Maybe," she admits. "But you're the only one I have."

Their military presence is severely reduced, whittled down by the repeated encounters with the Wraith. Their attempts to fight back have been hampered by a lack of personnel to carry them out - the scientists can come up with ideas, but there is only a handful of military personnel to act upon them.

Her admission gives him boldness to make a suggestion he might otherwise have avoided mentioning. "We'd have a better chance if we left the city--"

"No." No room for equivocation, no space for doubt. Here they would stay.

"Elizabeth, we don't have the resources--"

"And out there, we won't have the city." It always comes back to this. "We won't have the Stargate, we won't have the Ancients' technology, and we don't have a reason for this expedition."

Damn scientists and diplomats. John doesn't say it out loud because he values his hide, but they're stuck. Trapped. Atlantis can look after itself, but the expedition is running out of resources. They can't go home, they haven't got the ZPM. They can't stay here, running the city takes more energy and effort than they have; and protecting it will be an absolute bastard of a job.

But the scientists won't leave, and Elizabeth won't give the miltary permission to leave, and if there's one thing John Sheppard understands, it's that breaking the rules should be the very last resort. He learned that when he came out of Afghanistan without his friends.

"Elizabeth?" McKay appears at her shoulder, a screen-board held firmly in the crook of his arm. "Oh, Sheppard. How did the embassage go? Tell me, did you muscle in there like you owned the place the way you usually do?"

McKay might think he's witty; in truth, he's just lucky. John might hesitate to hit a woman; he has no such reservations about the scientists who get in his way. And McKay is always in the way, the serpent at Weir's shoulder, insisting that they can't leave, they can't go, they have to stay.

She listens to him where she doesn't listen to John.

"Rodney, not now. I'll see you in a minute." Her hands turn him about and propel him towards her office. She deals with the scientist in private, while John's humiliation is to be publicly seen. "We have a problem, Major."

No kidding.

Her eyes are green today; with hints of ruthless blue as she steps close to him and regards him. "I want you to think about what went wrong today, and how to make sure it doesn't happen again."

The words are like sand in his mouth, but he spits them out. "Yes, ma'am."

"And I want you to get back to me with alternatives."

"Yes, ma'am."

She's exquisitely beautiful, but her fist is steel within a velvet glove. John is no slave, but there are times when it damn well feels like it.

And he has nowhere else to go.

oOo