Disclaimer: not mine.
Rating: 13ish.
Pairing: Sparky.
Set: post The Real World.
Also set post-House of Leaves.
Length: er. 500ish.

Bad Habits by ALC Punk!

Elizabeth is one step inside her room when she realizes she's not alone. It takes a second to stop her heart, and then she shoves the panic where it belongs. Locks it down and takes herself in hand. She just killed nanites with her mind. And if there were a problem, Atlantis' security teams would have dealt with it.

Less than reassured, given their track record, she turns on the light.

Then just as quickly turns it off.


Careful not to be too noisy, she steps towards the bed and peers down at the man sprawled unconscious on top of it. Really, this was sweet of him. Though kind of pointless, since he hasn't stayed awake. She wonders if this is his way of apologizing for the bad joke earlier. If so, he's got a silly way of going about it.

Amused, she reaches down and pokes him. "Colonel."

Something between a grunt and a snore answers her. Sighing in resignation, Elizabeth begins shedding her clothing. She's grateful to always having a change of clothes in the infirmary now, but they smell faintly of disinfectant and tequila. And the ocean, actually. But they would not be comfortable to sleep in. Then she finds a nightshirt and tugs it on.

This is the fourth time Sheppard has shown up in her bed without her inviting him. She would object, but he's too damned big to carry. Besides, he's rather snuggly, in his own way.

And after the second time, when neither one of them said a word while she wondered if she would always feel the insect under his skin, she stopped objecting. Now, she knows when there's something big, something that puts them both in some sort of soul-worrying danger, that he will be there. Perhaps she's his good luck charm.

Or perhaps she feels it's ok to admit she's human, too.

Not that she's tried to hide that often, but there are times she needs the facade of cold-hearted and clear-headed leader. The people of Atlantis don't need to know how close to despair she sometimes becomes.

A wave of sleepiness assaults her and she yawns big enough to pop a muscle in her back.

Definitely time to sleep. Bending over, she pokes at Sheppard some more, getting him to wriggle away in his sleep.

He might not be Sedge--very few people are as comforting as one's dog--but he'll do. For now.

Poking one last time, she climbs in and settles against his side.

And he wakes up just enough to wriggle a little more, settle his arm over her waist and bury his face in her hair.

Elizabeth feels she should object, but she's sleepy. Besides, he also stripped his normal clothing off and one boxer-clad leg is now tangled with hers.

If she were more awake...

Between one slightly scandalous thought and the next, she drifts into sleep.