Disclaimer: Er, forgot to put one in the first chapter, so here it is. Don't belong to me, I'm just playing. This applies to all chapters in this story. That about cover it?
Author's Note: You might noticed that I've upped the rating on this - it's turning out darker than I thought and there's a pretty dark turn in the next chapter.
Fixed a few typographical errors - but if anyone notices any more, please let me know. :)
Given the jovial mood in which he'd left her, John was completely unprepared to find Elizabeth sitting on her couch, staring at a book and looking on the verge of tears. His carefree greeting died on his lips, replaced with a worried "Elizabeth?"
She looked up, startled, and blinked, causing two tears to make their way down her cheek. She quickly brushed them away, opening her eyes wide and blinking a few more times to prevent any more from escaping.
John walked into the room, stopping in front of her. "Are you okay?"
Elizabeth set the book aside and pressed her hands between her knees. She appeared to ponder his question for a moment before she nodded.
John dropped to the couch beside her. "Are you sure? 'Cause you didn't really look it a minute ago."
"Flatterer," she said, and he had to smile a bit. "Really, John. I'll be fine. I just got some bad news from home." She glanced to her desk and the letter and newspaper clipping that lay on it.
She took a breath, composing herself. "Was there something you needed?"
John watched her suspiciously for a moment. She wasn't okay, he knew, but she didn't seem to want to dwell on it right now. Knowing her, she'd wait until she was in the privacy of her own room for that.
He wanted to ask more questions, but sensed what she really wanted right now was a distraction, so he told her the truth.
"No. I just wasn't getting anything done and came to see if you wanted to play hooky with me."
She shot a guilty look at the stack of folders on her desk. "Tempting as that sounds, I really can't. I'm behind on my reports as it is."
He nudged her slightly with his shoulder. "Not even for fifteen minutes? I just need some fresh air before I go back to my dungeon of an office."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Dungeon? John, your office has a wall that's made entirely of windows."
As he shot her a charming half-grin, she couldn't help but smile slightly in return. "All right. I could use a bit of fresh air myself. But only fifteen minutes," she warned. "Then I have to get back to work."
As they stood on the balcony, gazing down at the city below, Elizabeth had to admit that she was glad John had talked her out of her office. She really did need the break before returning to ("Don't you mean starting?" her conscience piped up) work.
She also needed to give herself some time to grieve, she knew. Dr. Roth had been more than just her thesis adviser. He'd been her mentor, her guide, helping to mold her thoughts and shape the person she was today. Although she'd only stood in the same room with him a handful of times since her graduation, they'd kept in touch through letters and emails as her career progressed. When she'd taken the position at Georgetown Dr. Roth had been both happy and dismayed – happy to have her following his tradition of shaping young political minds, dismayed because he'd hoped she would keep treading the waters of international politics a bit longer.
But now was not the time, she told herself, catching John watching her from the corner of his eye. She'd have time later, when she wasn't working.
And she'd sensed John's own frustration and disappointment earlier. Without knowing the cause of it, she didn't want to add her own burdens to whatever ones he might be carrying. So she smiled, and thanked him for making her come out to the balcony.
He just smiled in return.
They stood in companionable silence for the next few minutes, and Elizabeth found herself thinking about Dr. Roth once more. She couldn't help but feel guilty that she hadn't kept in touch with him the past few years, although she supposed that working first in a top secret facility in Colorado, then in Antarctica, and lately in another galaxy didn't exactly make for easy correspondence.
But she'd managed with her family, sending letters from time to time back on Earth, and even now via the Daedalus, and she could have managed with Dr. Roth as well. The truth was she didn't know what to tell him. How could she explain why she had left her position at Georgetown to work with the military, when he of all people knew how vehemently she'd been against them? She had been afraid she would disappoint him, and it seemed easier to simply stop writing.
So lost in her own thoughts was she that when John spoke it startled her enough to make her jump.
"We're friends, aren't we?" he asked.
She turned to look at him, confused. "I'd like to think so," she replied.
"I'm just saying... friends support each other."
"Yes, they do," she said, knowing that she wasn't making this easy on him.
He sighed. "Look, all I mean is that if you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."
She leaned against the railing, looking out over the wide expanse of ocean. "Thank you." She glanced back at him. His concern was evident, and she found herself wanting to soothe some of it away.
"My brother just wrote me that an old professor of mine had passed away. We were friends after I graduated. I just need some time to think about it."
"Oh," John said, and something flashed briefly across his face, something Elizabeth couldn't identify. It reminded her of her own worry about his feelings.
"We are friends, John," she said. "And... Look, I know that something is bothering you, and it has to do with the arrival of the mail."
His expression closed off before he turned his back on her, directing his gaze over the corner of the balcony.
She echoed his own words back at him. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."
When he didn't reply, Elizabeth sighed softly and nodded to herself. "I have to get back to work. If you want to talk, you know where to find me." She waited a few moments more, before turning and heading back inside.
As the door closed, she glanced behind her. He'd turned again, mirroring her earlier position of leaning on the balcony and gazing out over the ocean. She sighed briefly before walking to her office.
It took two days, but eventually the general fervor of the arrival of the mail died down, and John thought he had pushed his own feelings to the back of his mind.
Elizabeth hadn't come to find him to talk about her professor, which was all for the best, he decided. When she'd first mentioned the reason for her sorrow, he'd felt an irrational surge of jealousy, first over the fact that her brother would write to her and care enough to tell her about the professor, and then because she'd had someone to be so close to, someone in addition to her family. He already felt guilty for being jealous over something that obviously distressed her; he wasn't sure he wanted to compound that feeling by learning even more about her past, more that might make him envious.
It also relieved him somewhat of the burden she'd laid on him during their last private conversation on the balcony. He didn't want to talk about his past, didn't want to risk seeing sympathy and pity on her face when what he really wanted was understanding.
So they returned to their old ways, both with their masks firmly in place as they went through the day's activities. And by day two, he didn't even have to work to appear as flippant as ever; he believed that all his concerns had been firmly pushed out of mind.
At present he was perched on the corner of Elizabeth's desk, waiting for her to return from a meeting with Carson so he could run some changes in protocol by her. He'd been waiting for nearly three minutes, and with each passing second it was growing more and more difficult not to pick up one of the figurines on her desk and start tossing it from hand to hand.
He gripped one of the stone figures and started to pull it toward him before he shook his head and released it. Fisting his hands, he concentrated instead on trying to count the threads in one of her wall hangings.
Elizabeth needed to get there soon, John thought, before his fidgety ways caused him to destroy something in her office.
Even as he thought it he heard her voice on the walkway. He turned his attention there and saw that she had noticed him, although she was still talking to Carson on her radio.
She finished up just as she entered her office. "What can I do for you, John?" she asked.
He stood up and she moved further into the room. "I just wanted to run some things by you."
"All right then," she said, starting for her chair. "What – " she stopped abruptly as she seemed to trip over something, pitching toward her desk.
John had barely begun to move when she caught herself on the flat desktop. She gave a hiss of pain, followed by a rueful laugh as she glanced down at her shoes.
"I obviously didn't tie these tightly enough," she said wryly, gesturing at her loose shoelaces.
John didn't reply. His brows drew together in worry and he grabbed her left hand, turning it over.
"What?" Elizabeth followed his gaze to her wrist – her slightly bloody wrist. "Oh. I thought I felt something when I caught myself." She glanced at her desk. "I must have nicked it on the figurine," she said, nodding at the item John had been playing with before her arrival.
The one he hadn't put back where it belonged; the one he'd left out so when she reached for her desk she'd hit it instead.
Elizabeth looked up at him, taking in his expression. "John? It's just a little cut. Look, it's already stopped bleeding."
He nodded and dropped her arm, taking two steps back. "You should go get that looked at," he said, before he turned walked quickly out of the room, leaving Elizabeth staring after him worriedly.
He made it to his room without encountering anyone, or rather, without encountering anyone who wanted to talk to him. Once inside he sat on the edge of his bed, balancing his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands.
He took a shaky breath as he tried, unsuccessfully, to fight off the memories.