As a special treat, this one's here early. Aren't I nice to you guys? This chapter's my favorite so far.

Of course, that's only because I got reviews. Because reviews make me happy, and a happy me makes happy chapters. :D

Hope you like it!

Compromising Positions: Chapter 6
The Color Red

Elizabeth knew that her skin had to be about as red as the lace she was wearing, but she was, at the moment, far too embarrassed to move. Hence, she stood there, petrified in a pose of shock and mortification that was almost comical, really: green eyes large and lips slightly parted. Of course, if she were John Sheppard, she wouldn't be looking at her face at the moment.

"Elizabeth I… uh… god… you're…" the man choked out, clearly conflicted as his eyes darted between her face, her body, and a spot on the floor by his feet, backpedalling quickly towards the exit and running a nervous hand through his messy hair.

The reaction gave Elizabeth time to pull herself together… sort of. "John, what the hell are you doing in here?" she shrieked, diving for the neatly folded sheet that sat at the foot of the empty medical cot and wrapping it around herself as best she could. It didn't do much, and didn't leave much to the imagination, but Elizabeth felt better for it.

When she had left the infirmary after her physical, she really hadn't expected this to happen.

Having had all of her medical tests taken care of by either Dr. Lam or one of the other doctors in the infirmary, Elizabeth had finally been cleared as safe—again—and had left as fast as she had been able to throw her Atlantis uniform back on. But time was slipping away, and she had a flight to D.C. to catch. So she had come back down to the infirmary, where she had left her civvies, to change. A harried-looking nurse had directed her here, an unused recovery room just off the main infirmary, to change in relative privacy. Obviously, the room wasn't that private, seeing as how she was currently standing there in a lacey red set of underwear (that she just knew she should have replaced a long time ago with military-issue cotton, but hadn't been able to bring herself to do it) in front of her very surprised (and quite possibly scarred) military commander.

"Hey, I just came in here to change. It's not my fault that the nurse who told me to come in here didn't know that you were in here, standing around in your panties," John defended himself, waving about a poorly folded pair of jeans for emphasis and finally deciding on looking at her face instead of the floor.

"I am not 'just standing around in my panties'," Elizabeth snapped indignantly, glaring at him and keeping one fist tight around the ends of her thin sheet and the other planted firmly on her hip. "I happen to be changing into my civvies, and I'm pretty sure I was here first."

For a moment, John looked like he was about to argue with her. But in that same moment, his cocky grin stole over his face again and he remarked coyly, "Really? 'Cause from over here, it just looked like you were checking out your ass in the mirror."

Elizabeth had been pretty sure she couldn't have been more humiliated, but obviously, she had been wrong. This was a new personal low. "John Sheppard, get out of this room this instant!" she shrieked, cheeks flaming.

Still grinning like an idiot schoolboy, John held up his hands in mock surrender and backed to the door. "Hey, at least I now have further proof that your favorite color's red," he teased.

He ducked just in time, and the shoe sailed over his head.

"I'm leaving! I'm leaving!" he said quickly, laughing now, and slipped out the door (having the decency to only open it a crack). "Oh, and by the way," he added devilishly, only his head left in the room. "When did you get that tattoo?"

The other shoe clattered noisily against the closed door.

Elizabeth moaned miserably and tried to resist the temptation to bang her head against the wall. The gods hated her. She'd never live this down and she knew it.

Elizabeth couldn't stop looking at the four sheets of information that she clutched in her hands, trying to keep sadness from coloring her body posture and failing miserably. No one really tried to speak with her as she boarded the plane, and for that, Elizabeth was mildly grateful. It had been hard enough trying to finish up her business with Landry. He seemed to understand though, and had expedited everything they had left to do, allowing Elizabeth ten minutes to herself before everyone else boarded the plane.

Her first order of business was to take the papers holding the contact information of the families of Captain Montega and Lts. Miller, Sean, and Beyermaltsze and put them to the side. None of them lived near the D.C. area, and Elizabeth doubted that she would be able to visit them unless she was removed from Atlantis, but looking up the information had sobered her considerably. She was ashamed to admit that she forgot, sometimes, that they had died.

Secondly, she pulled out the cell phone (How long had it been since she had used one?) that the SGC had issued her and slowly, deliberately, tapped a familiar number.

The dialing tone seemed to stretch on forever, but eventually, Elizabeth's momentary patience was rewarded.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mom. It's me. Elizabeth."

The response was immediate. "Elizabeth! Is it really you? Where are you? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine Mom, really," Elizabeth laughed, glad to hear her mother's voice. "I know it's short notice. I'm in Colorado Springs right now, but my plane for D.C. is leaving in about fifteen minutes."

Listening to her mother's jubilant (and, of course, reprimanding) exclamations, Elizabeth almost missed John, in a v-neck t-shirt, leather jacket, and jeans, waltzing cockily up the steps and into the small plane. Almost. Shooting him her best 'I'm-in-the-middle-of-an-important-phone-call-so-you'd-better-not-piss-me-off' look, Elizabeth hoped he'd leave her alone for the next five minutes. "Listen, Mom," she said seriously. "If everything goes well, I'll be home for two days before I leave again. It would mean a lot to me if you could find the time to visit for a little bit."

"Elizabeth, don't be ridiculous. I'm booking a room at the Hilton by your apartment right now. I'm not leaving until you are."

A slow grin illuminated Elizabeth's face. "I missed you Mom. Thanks," she admitted.

"I've missed you more. I love you Elizabeth."

"I love you too Mom," Elizabeth reciprocated, heart swelling a little. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she could still see the papers she had set aside, and a small shadow fell over her face as she remembered the explanation that General Landry had instructed her to give when he had given her permission to do this. "Mom… there's… something else that I think you should know."

"Oh sweet pea, what happened? I knew something had to be wrong!"

"Nothing's wrong Mom, really," Elizabeth sighed, feeling John's sharp eyes on her as he stood a respectful distance away. (Why was he suddenly behaving himself?) "It's just that I had an… accident, in a lab working on an experimental drug about two weeks ago and I… Well, there were some pretty unusual side effects, and I look a little different now. Not bad, just… different."

There was dead silence over the line, and Elizabeth momentarily forgot that she was angry with John and shot him a nervous look, which he returned with sympathy. Finally, her mother responded. "I know you, sweet pea," she said quietly, in a tone that told Elizabeth that she was distressed. "No matter what you look like, you'll always be beautiful."

"It's not like that Mama, trust me," Elizabeth insisted, forcing her voice to smile when her mother couldn't see her mouth do it. "If anything, I look better than I did before. You'll see."

"All right Elizabeth."

"I'll see you soon," Elizabeth promised. "I'll take you to Cinni's for breakfast at seven tomorrow morning, all right?"

"All right. Goodbye, sweet pea. I love you."

"Goodbye."

Letting out a relieved breath, Elizabeth hit the 'end' button and put the phone back into the pocket of her royal blue coat and leaned back in her seat. "You'll like my mother, John," she said idly, pulling her legs up and hugging her knees to her chest as the man walked over the few feet the little plane offered and sat across the narrow isle from her. "I know she'll definitely like you."

For his part, John seemed mildly surprised. "You're taking me to meet your mother?" he asked.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "We're offworld, remember? And if sticking together means you have to meet my mother, so be it. Besides," she added, a malicious smirk tugging at her mouth and repressed mirth dancing in her eyes. "you've already seen me in my underwear. The least you can do is make nice with my family."

Eyes widening, John burst out laughing so hard Elizabeth feared he might start crying. "You, Elizabeth," he chortled, "are something special."

"I try," she replied.

Their conversation was cut short as a young man opened the door from the nose of the little plane and asked if they were ready. Within twenty minutes, they were in the air, albeit John was now pouting because he had been ordered specifically by General Landry not to fly the plane, and the pilot had apparently been made aware of that fact. He had really wanted to fly something that, according to him, 'could pull some G's'. Elizabeth was, admittedly, glad, because she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to experience Sheppard's joyriding.

"So 'Lizabeth, a swan, huh?" he said casually after a few minutes, leaning forwards across the isle, leaving very little space between them.

"It's a dove," Elizabeth reluctantly corrected, knowing that he was referring to the inch-across tattoo on her left hip that she now seriously regretted having done but he had, unfortunately, caught a glimpse of. "I got it when I was in college getting my degree in political science. For peace, you know? I was… really drunk." The morning after had not been pretty, and she winced a little at the memory.

John just smiled at her. "Well, I think it's nice," he told her. "It suits you."

Much to her frustration, a blush crept up Elizabeth's neck and colored her cheeks. She couldn't believe that the incident that morning had happened. John Sheppard, of all people, had seen her nearly naked, and was now talking casually to her about her ridiculous tattoo to boot. It made her seriously uncomfortable. Not because she wasn't comfortable with John, but because she cared. His opinion really mattered to her, even if she'd never admit it, and he had caught her by surprise in a position that was far more exposed than she had ever intended to be in, ever. John was all smiles and jokes, but Elizabeth was frightened, despite John's words. What did he think of her now?

"Elizabeth, are you all right?" John was looking at her with a concerned expression, one hand outstretched, as if he wanted to touch her but was unsure if he should.

Elizabeth gave him a watery smile. "Perfectly, John," she lied.

Clearly, John wasn't even close to believing her. Guilt washed over his youthful features as he looked at her, and he sat back a little, giving her a bit more space. "Look, Elizabeth…" he said sadly over the noise of the plane's engines, not really meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry. About earlier. I really didn't mean to upset you, or make you uncomfortable, I swear. It's just… you're my friend, 'Lizabeth, and I was just playing with you and I didn't think… I wasn't thinking about how mad you'd be, and I'm sorry for teasing you about walking in on you like that. It was wrong of me, and I'm sorry."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "John… John I… I'm not angry with you, honest," she stammered. "I mean, I guess I really should be, but I'm not. I knew you were just teasing." Gingerly, she reached out and rested her hand on his forearm. "I'm not mad."

"Then what's wrong?" he demanded, gazing at her in that way that always prompted their silent eye-to-eye conversations.

As always, Elizabeth complied, letting their connection speak for her. She willed him to see that she was confused, and that she was scared. How much got through, however, she didn't know. But eventually, she broke it off, letting her eyes fall to the dingy rubber floor. "I'm not angry," she breathed redundantly.

"But you're frightened," John observed, taking the hand that she had left on his arm in his own and squeezing it gently.

Mute, Elizabeth nodded and shrugged helplessly.

Once again, John squeezed her hand. "'Lizabeth, look at me," he instructed, close enough to her that he didn't have to speak inordinately loudly. It took a moment, but Elizabeth eventually did as he asked, features studiously blank. "You shouldn't be afraid," he told her earnestly. "You shouldn't. You've done nothing wrong. It was my fault."

Expression still neutral, Elizabeth nodded. Of course she hadn't done anything wrong. Besides, if anyone was up for a court-marshal between the two of them, it was Sheppard. Not that it was a competition or anything.

A small frown found it's way onto John's face, but he released her hand anyways. "You okay?" he asked her.

Elizabeth shot him another weak smile. The man was incorrigible, but oddly endearing.

Grinning, John reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a deck of cards. "I know it's not solitaire but…"

"Go fish?" Elizabeth suggested, a genuine expression of joy lighting her face this time.

"You're on," John challenged in return, starting to deal the cards. They were quiet for a few moments, before he mentioned casually, "You're beautiful, you know."

"Pardon?" Elizabeth stuttered, thrown off guard again.

It was John's turn to redden, and he suddenly seemed very interested in his cards. "You're beautiful," he repeated. "I just thought you should know. Do you have any sevens?"

Warmth flooded Elizabeth from the inside out, and she beamed into her hand, which oddly enough, contained cards that were all red. "Go fish."

"Wow, even your house is classy, 'Lizabeth" John observed as the car the air force had sent for them pulled up to the curb, suitably impressed.

Elizabeth glanced over at him, amused. She was fond of her little apartment building. It was cute, but she'd never quite described it as classy. It didn't really need to be, considering how she never really spent much time on Earth anyways. "You can come in later," she promised. "Go check in at your hotel. The car should be picking us up by seven. And for the sake of all things good and holy, please look presentable! This is dinner with the President we're talking about, you know," she pointed out, slipping into commander mode. "It would behoove us to make a good impression."

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" John shot back, giving her a snappy salute. "You catch that, airman?" he asked the driver.

"Yes sir," the young man replied seriously.

John appeared smug as Elizabeth just rolled her eyes and dragged herself out of the back of the car, duffle slung over one shoulder and housekey in hand. "Cheeky," she reprimanded him, slamming the door back shut.

Smirking his trademarked John Sheppard smirk, he threw back a smooth, "I try." Luckily for him, the car moved fast enough that Elizabeth didn't deem it prudent to throw a shoe at him. Pity.

With a sigh, she turned and stepped into the building. Elizabeth didn't encounter many people on the way to her apartment, and the few she did didn't seem the least bit concerned with her presence, so she made it all the way up to her door unmolested. Elizabeth inhaled deeply as she entered, remembering the smell of the fabric softener she used when she was on Earth. It was very different from the smell of anything that passed through Atlantis' laundry, but very pleasant, even if it reminded her of that dark time in her life when the Ancients had returned and kicked her and her team out of Atlantis.

Dumping her bag on one end of the couch, Elizabeth made a quick sweep of the room, rearranging pillows, refolding blankets, swiping dust off of flat surfaces, and throwing open windows to dispel the smell of disuse. It didn't take her long to do the same with the other areas of the apartment, and within forty five minutes, Elizabeth was satisfied with the relative cleanliness of her environment. Everything could have used a good scrubbing, in her opinion, but she really didn't have time for that now.

The biggest problem on her plate at the moment was what she was going to wear. Currently, she was dressed in plain jeans and a white top, complemented by the heeled boots and royal blue coat she had left discarded by the door, and she was not going to be caught dead eating dinner with Henry Hayes in something so casual. Eagerly, Elizabeth chased down her closet and stepped in, eyeing the rather dusty racks of clothing with a critical eye, no longer familiar with what was where. Eventually, she settled on a tasteful black cocktail dress, and was just in the process of stepping into it when there was a loud, insistent knock on her door. Panic seized her for a moment before her eyes found the analog clock on her bedside table and she frowned. There was a good forty minutes to go until the car was supposed to pick her up.

Knock-knock-knock-knock! It sounded a bit frantic this time, and Elizabeth rushed to the door, not bothering to zip the back of the dress. The sight that greeted her as she opened the door, however, chased everything else out of her mind.

It was John (no surprises there). Yet he wasn't dressed presentably for their dinner, and his duffel was on the floor by his feet. But that wasn't the half of it. He was back in his jeans and t-shirt, except that this time, he was barefoot, one leg of his pants was soaking wet, his shirt was on backwards and inside-out, his face was the quintessence of the word 'panic', and his hair was bright flaming red. Elizabeth had to do a double take to absorb it all.

"Good god John, what happened to you?" she gasped, horrified.

"McKay happened to my shampoo bottle, that's what!" he growled, jabbing a finger at his crimson hair, which, as usual, was sticking up every which way. He gave her a pleading look. "Please tell me that you have some uncontaminated shampoo in here. The cheap junk the hotel puts in those tiny bottles wasn't working to get this stuff out, and we only have about thirty minutes until we're having dinner with the President of the United States!"

If John had intended to give her an embolism, he had just succeeded. "Get in here, now," she ordered, and John smiled gratefully, doing as she had instructed and following her as she rushed to her bathroom. "All right," she said frantically, throwing aside her shower curtain and trying to keep her dress on in the process. "Stick your head in there and try to rinse some of it out and I'll get the shampoo from my bag."

Swearing most unprofessionally, Elizabeth left John and tore into her bedroom, dropping the dress to the floor and pulling on a t-shirt that she wouldn't mind getting wet before snagging her bag of toiletries from her open duffel and rushing back. Dutifully, John had already placed his head into the stream from the bathtub, kneeling on the floor.

"If this doesn't work and we get fired, I will commandeer the Apollo, fly to Pegasus, and strangle Rodney myself," Elizabeth hissed darkly, squirting a generous amount of strawberry-smelling soap into her hands and crawling into the bathtub to get a better angle at Sheppard's head, water pooling around her bare feet.

"Ah, well… I… might have not told him about that whole President thing, and I might have replaced all of his Star Wars boxers with ones that had little lemons printed all over them last week…" John coughed awkwardly, still face-down in the stream of water. He winced a little as Elizabeth's scrubbing started to include fingernails and she began a low monotone of swearing.

"If they don't fire you, I will," she told him angrily.

John (very wisely) remained silent.

Neither of them said anything more for almost ten minutes, until Elizabeth, finally seeing streams of red begin to run through her fingers after the third application of her shampoo, remarked softly, "I think it's starting to come out, John."

The man seemed to almost sag in relief. "Finally. I was afraid my hair would stay red forever," he moaned, resting his chin on the side of the tub.

"The marines would have been calling you 'Colonel Hothead' for eternity," Elizabeth remarked, grinning and continuing to work her fingers through his hair.

"Not a word in front of them!" John warned, a horrified tone to his voice.

Elizabeth laughed gently. "Why John, I wouldn't dream of it," she told him innocently. At that, she turned off the water and smoothed his hair away from his eyes so he could sit up. The grey t-shirt that John had been wearing was now soaked, and there was a sizable puddle of water on her floor now, but his hair was thankfully back to normal as the last of Rodney's prank slid down her drain like a gruesome scene from a bad horror movie. "Here," she told him, carefully stepping out of the tub and pulling a towel out from underneath the sink and tossing it to him. "Dry yourself off. Did you bring your clothes with you?"

"Yeah, they're by your front door," he responded from underneath it.

"All right. You can change out there if you'd like," she told him, grabbing a towel for herself and running it over her hands and feet, suddenly very aware that, yet again, she really wasn't wearing the appropriate amount of clothing. "I left my dress in my room, and I still have to do my hair, so I'll see you in a few minutes."

"'Lizabeth?"

"Yes?" Elizabeth stopped in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder at damp, disheveled John.

"Thanks, 'Lizabeth. For everything." His voice was soft.

Elizabeth gave a little half-smile in return. "You're welcome, John," she told him quietly, and swept from the room.

Yup. I had a little bit of a field day. Like it? :)

PLEASE REVIEW! *falls down on knees and gives puppy face, sad little tears streaming down cheeks*