Rating:What used to be Parental Guidance suggested.
Notes: For Hya, who told me she liked it in an earlier draft.
Summary: Elizabeth hates Tuesdays.
Some days Elizabeth feels like the den mother to a pack of overly intelligent two-year-olds. It was days like this she wished she'd taken that fellowship at Brookings.
Strangely, they're usually Tuesdays.
She's not exactly sure, but she's got a theory that her Tuesdays are karmic black holes in an otherwise rather calm stretch.
This is not to say that Tuesdays are deadly. More. Horridly inconvenient. Deadly tends to happen on Wednesdays or Fridays. Statistically speaking anyway.
She only snaps on Tuesdays.
Worse, the crew knows that she snaps on Tuesdays. It'd actually be kind of funny if it weren't so soul-deadeningly frustrating.
Because yes, she has several higher degrees in fields like political science. She's even brokered international and inter-species peace talks.
She's an intelligent woman capable of understanding a wide range of subjects. She's accomplished.
Try explaining that to a hard sciences major.
"Elizabeth, this is important! If we can-"
She learned a long time ago that interruption is her best friend when it comes to dealing with Rodney on the verge of full babble. "Rodney, some time in the last five minutes, did we discover a new ZPM?"
"Zed, and no."
Oh, yeah. There was the headache. Right on schedule.
"Then why are we still discussing this?"
"Because I need you to understand-"
"Rodney." She's noticed that her voice takes on a special brittle quality on Tuesdays. When she was a little girl, she always knew when she was seriously in trouble because her mother's voice would get very low and quiet. Lanie Weir was one of the only people Elizabeth had ever met who'd been able to stop a fistfight with a whisper. Admittedly, the combatants had been her and her two brothers, but all three of them had been bloody and screaming by the time her mother had shown up.
Elizabeth was extremely jealous of her mother right now.
"For the fifth time this morning, we do not have the resources available to test that device."
"Yes, I realize that right Inow/I we don't have the resources, but in six months we might! And I just want your guarantee that if or when the power becomes available that-"
"So help me, god, Rodney, if you go through your argument of how and why Zelenka's pet projects should be demoted on the wish-list, again, I will not be responsible for my actions."
"OUT." God, it wasn't even eleven thirty yet, and she was already shouting. Worse, she had meetings solid until five.
"Er." Rodney's eyes are huge and he's dancing from one foot to the other. The only reasonably good thing about Tuesdays is that they are universally feared these days.
She's pretty sure that has everything to do with the time she used the self-
defense techniques Teyla'd been teaching her to toss Major Sheppard out on his ass. No one else had to know that just before, he'd been groping her ass and trying to reach her tonsils.
If she hadn't swept out her office the previous week, Rodney would have left a dust trail.
Her aide's dark head appears through one of the open doors. "Cancel Major Sheppard?"
She's fairly sure he's bright enough to interpret the full faceplant into her blotter.
God, she hates Tuesdays.