Notes: Really cold now. And I hate the genii/whatever the fuck they're called with more hate than I reserve for Grant Morrisson (and he retconned the Phoenix Force, so that's saying a hell of a lot), so I honestly DO NOT CARE if it's spelled right.
Evidence by ALC Punk!
She's there. John Sheppard doesn't like knowing that he knows when she's there. He thinks it's a subtle fragrance, maybe, the sounds she makes when she moves (and he knows he spends way too much time cataloguing every sound she makes. The soft moans of passion, the sniffles of exhausted tears, the sharp staccato beats of angry words).
"Dr. Beckett tells me you refuse to sleep."
"I'm bored, doctor." He tries a smirk, winces as it pulls at abused facial muscles.
"Got yourself pretty beat up, there."
"Well, the jenai aren't known for their subtlety, y'know."
"No." A tilt of her head.
He knows this reaction, of course. It's the "I really don't care, honest" one that she uses to muffle and hide and destroy the fact that she does. At least, he thinks she does -- if she doesn't, he really hopes she never tells him.
A head shake and a faint smirk, "Try not to get captured, next time."
"Yes, ma'am." He offers a lazy salute, winces again.
"And don't think I'm going to let you languish, here, with nothing to do. I have reams of reports that need to be gone over and correlated and dissected." This is her authoritative "I am the BOSS" tone, the one she rarely uses on him (although there was one night...).
He groans, "Sounds like... fun. Not."
"Yes, well, if you hadn't gone and gotten yourself confined to a bed --"
His eyebrow arches, "Are you propositioning me, doctor?"
"No, Major, I'm mocking you."
"Ah. Mockery, sex, same difference."
"Really," but her tone is amused, and so he knows she's started to be happy with him again.
A step brings her close enough to lean over him, and her lips brush his gently. "Go to sleep, Major. There's time for -- other things -- in the morning."
Without hesitation, he reaches up and touches her hair. "Can't sleep, Liz." The words are soft enough that only she can hear.
Her head shakes, an automatic reaction and she is pulling back before he can stop her, "I'm sure Dr. Beckett wouldn't mind providing you with something to take, Major." Her eyes are remote again, the tone is the one reserved for diplomats who over-step their bounds.
"Good night, Major."
She's nodded and half-made it to the door before he calls after her, "Good night, doctor. Sweet dreams." Except he knows she won't sleep.
Just as she knows he won't, unless Beckett drugs him.
Which he might.
Come to think of it, he decides as she disappears from the room, maybe he should ask for drugs. At least one of them sleeping had to be good for Atlantis as a whole.
The whimsical thought buries the doubt and loneliness.
And the needle Beckett uses, stings away the disturbance of sleeping alone in his bed.
Drowsily, Sheppard wishes he hadn't gotten so used to her. Sleeping off world without her has become a bitch. And sleeping in Atlantis' infirmary is a never-ending drug-induced coma.
A hand takes his as he slides towards darkness. That scent he knows so well washes over him, and the added trigger sends him spiraling down.
"I'll just... wait until you're asleep."
Beckett, he thinks, make sure she has a chair.