Stargate Atlantis: Devil's Advocate5
I saw him in the conference room. I had to see him again before he left. Rumors were flying all over the city about this mission, and none of them were good. I only knew what he had told me, about meeting Todd and possibly forging a temporary alliance. Both were things that the general populace did not know, but which I knew because he had confided in me. I clutched a piece of paper in my hands. It was the report he had requested, succinct and concise. It was a flimsy excuse to see him but it would serve its purpose; moreover I could elucidate specific points and thus gain more time with him before he left. It was a brief summation of the new species, and he might even read it this time.
I climbed the stairs, anxious, elate. Going over and over in my head what I would say and how to say it; trying to anticipate his responses and thus have my own responses ready. I needed to be prepared to answer any kind of question that he would ask. I needed to both impress him and keep my wits about me so as to not appear like a fool.
I needed a few moments with him before he left.
A few private moments.
Only a few.
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Moira stood poised near the conference room. She hesitated, seeing that John wasn't alone. She turned, uncertain and gazed upon a data pad that was open and sitting on a wheeled cart. It was among other data pads that needed to be serviced, Moira's among them. She saw her rose on the cart as well. The flower was doing poorly and needed some sunlight instead of the city's artificial illumination.
She gazed upon the data pad's screen. John's handsome face was reflected there, expression drawn in serious lines, full lips pursed and solemn. His face was somewhat in shadow as the screen wasn't as reflective as a true mirror.
She watched him start to speak. It was like watching a silent movie and she found herself entranced by the reflection of the motion of his lips, his mouth, and the gesture of his hand in the air. This reflected version of John that could be saying anything, that could be talking to her from the screen. She could imagine him saying whatever she desired him to say. She could imagine him doing whatever she desired him to do.
A technician took hold of the cart, wanting to move it but wondering what the scientist was staring at so avidly.
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Ann shook her head. "No. With due respect, sir, I can't. I can't do that, John," she said, dropping the military stance and letting her softer side take control. "If there is even a remote chance that you—"
"No. You have your orders, Ann," John refuted as she stepped closer to him. "Don't let emotions, or, or feelings color what you must do to protect the city," he reprimanded, as her emotions were all too clear in her blue eyes as she faced him. They were all too clear as she touched his arm, as she stepped closer. "You must protect Atlantis at all costs. Things may not go south but if they do I expect you to follow my direct orders."
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Moira chided herself for this sudden shyness and uncertainty. She noticed the waiting technician and sheepishly shrugged. She left the web, she left the loom. She made three paces through the room. Moira paced, paced then entered the conference room, turning from the reflection to see the reality. She turned from the mirrored image to see the real one.
She turned from the shadowed image to see the one bathed in light.
To hear what he was really saying. To see what he was really doing.
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Ann shook her head slowly, her fingers playing up his arm. "I…I'm not ready to say goodbye, John," she admitted softly, seriously.
"Nor am I," he admitted.
Ann hugged him. "John." There was so much that she wanted to say, but couldn't. Instead she hugged him, letting that speak for her, for the things she couldn't say, for the things she was afraid to say. She held onto him and let the intimacy speak for her.
She let it speak for them both.
John returned the hug, awkwardly at first, thrown off-guard by the unexpected gesture. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, how to interpret it. He wasn't very good at these kind of things and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about this.
He stepped back but Ann stepped with him and slid her lips across his.
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There was a crash behind Moira as the technician had wheeled the cart into a wall. She scarcely heard it as her heart cracked in response to what she was seeing. The mirror cracked from side to side. "The curse is come upon me," cried the Lady of Shalott. Moira's soft voice was lost amid the sudden realization of her own foolishness, the sudden death of the chimera; the web of an imagined relationship that she now saw had never even really been there. The cold wash of reality drowned any small aspirations she may have had about the dashing military commander. The loom of illusions were unthreading and dissolving with a single breath, a single look.
A single kiss.
Moira dropped the paper she had been holding. It fluttered to the floor, a mere whisper on the air as it settled into the shadows. She backed away, away, and left the room. She turned and headed down the hallway, down the stairs.
Neither John nor Ann had noted her arrival, or her departure.
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John returned the kiss, his arms sliding around Ann's waist. She felt warm, solid and pliable as her mouth joined with his. He briefly wondered what it would be like if their bodies joined as intimately and he drew her close. He freed her to step back from her, gaze assessing even as the display of emotion was both unsettling and intriguing. "Leave the porch light on for me, major," he said gruffly, drawing back into himself.
Ann smiled. She was startled by her own bold actions and welcomed the return to a more formal interaction, even as her lips danced with the taste of his, even as her body yearned for the feel of his again. "Yes, sir, I will. Just get back here in one piece, sir."
"That's my plan." John turned to the table and lifted his P90. He turned back to see Ann leaving, understanding the unsaid dismissal. He watched her leave, noting the motion of her body under the plain uniform, the confident stride and the always present perfect bun of blond hair at the back of her head. He began to head towards the doorway.
He paused. There was a piece of paper lying on the floor, almost forgotten in the corner where the shadows crossed over it. He snatched the piece of paper off the floor. He perused it, realizing what it was and who had brought it.
He stepped out of the conference room, brow furrowed, but Moira was nowhere to be seen. He wondered a moment, speculating. Carefully he folded up the piece of paper and stuck it into a pocket of his TAC vest, planning to read it thoroughly later.
He glanced at the floor where pieces of a crashed monitor littered, the shards of glass glinting. There was a rose among the debris. It was a wilting rose, red petals folded closed, drooping and forlorn. John looked round again but the evolutionary biologist was not there.
He stepped round the debris, round the broken mirror and the wilting rose.
He stepped round his own conflicting emotions, effectively bottling them.
He headed for the 'Gate room, resolute.