We, the Sparky Army, decree 2008 to be the Year of the Spark. We pledge to post a new sparky story or chapter of a sparky story every day from January 1, 2008 to December 31, 2008. Though the Powers that Be have removed Elizabeth Weir from the regular cast of Stargate Atlantis, we feel that she remains an integral part of the show, and that the relationship between her and John Sheppard is too obvious to be ignored. We hope that you, and anyone who might happen to read these works, agree.
And if that isn't official enough for you, we don't know what is. Seriously, guys, we're just trying to have some fun--and show TPTB that Sparky is the way to go. So sit back and enjoy the 366 stories coming your way!
Note from the author (Myriad): This completely ran away with itself. Completely. Utterly. Entirely. As a result, while it is chock-full of Sparky goodness, its plot makes no sense whatsoever. I made some attempts to keep them in character, but not much, so it's rather OOC. In the end I just gave in to the fluff, and the insanity—excuse me, inanity. Finally, Major Peel is the name I have given to the Major who talks to Rodney while he's on morphine in "Sateda." Set after "The Pegasus Project" (SG-1 S10) but before "Progeny" (SGA S3).
This follows after the piece I wrote for March 29th, though it's not necessary to read that first.
By Myriad (Myriadragon)
It was a calm day on Atlantis. Elizabeth had taken advantage of the rare lack of crisis and wandered down to the infirmary to visit the young Athosian couple staying there. The young woman, Talema, had needed a C-section to deliver her first child and Carson was keeping her there for observation. But when Elizabeth arrived, the family was surrounded by friends and visitors from Athos. Not wanting to intrude, she leaned against the doorframe, watching the domestic scene, so contrary to the infirmary's usual choas.
It was there John found her a quarter of an hour later, still gazing at the family.
"You all right?" John asked.
"Hmm?" Elizabeth murmured, turning. "Oh, yes. Yes, I'm fine."
"You look a little lonely."
"I was just thinking," she said, returning her gaze to Talema. "About the things I've given up for Atlantis."
"Like what?" he prompted, frowning.
"Oh, you know. Marriage, children, family. Sex," she said with a wry little smile, remembering her conversation with Vala.
For some reason he found it distinctly weird to hear practical, sensible Doctor Weir use the word sex. "You didn't have to, though, right? I mean, plenty of our people…you know…"
"You certainly do your share," Elizabeth said, slanting a look his way.
"I do not," John protested. "I've only gotten…involved with three women in the last few years, and I didn't even sleep with one of them."
"You certainly do your share of flirting," Elizabeth persisted.
"Nothing wrong with flirting," John grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. "Besides, I'm a monk compared to Peel."
"Has our new major been busy?"
"The guys been here six weeks and already he's got five girls. He's only been to eight planets!"
"Jealous?" Elizabeth teased.
"No. Anyway, there's no reason you couldn't occasionally…"
"Have sex?" she suggested brightly, enjoying the way he squirmed. God, he was cute when he was uncomfortable.
"There are several reasons, actually," Elizabeth said, looking back to Talema and her husband. "It would be irresponsible of me to have a relationship with anyone in Atlantis, and I get offworld once a month at most. Not exactly ideal conditions for that sort of thing."
"There's always the Athosians. I'm sure Teyla knows someone nice. What about Halling?" John suggested, and this time he got to see her squirm.
"Halling?" she all but squeaked.
"Why not? He's big, manly, bearded—" John grinned when she laughed.
"You and Ronon, and for that matter, Carson, all more or less fit that description, too," Elizabeth pointed out. "I haven't dragged any of you off to bed to satisfy my biological clock."
"Ronon's terribly heartbroken about it," John confided. "Spends all his time writing bad poetry about your earlobes and reading it to me."
"My earlobes," she repeated, suppressing a smile.
"He thinks they're sexy."
"I'm sure. Besides, we both know he's dreadlocks over boots for Teyla."
"Dreadlocks over boots?" John asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Major Peel's description," she explained.
"Ah. What about him?"
"Major Peel? No, thank you. I prefer men with hair."
"Well, that gets rid of Caldwell. And Hermiod. I'm joking," he said when Elizabeth gaped at him.
"I know, but…" She put a hand to her eyes. "I'm going to have nightmares about this. Caldwell—a man for whom I happen to have great respect, by the way—will come chasing after me with massage oil and scented candles. As I flee, Ronon will swoop me up to safety, only to regale me with half-finished sonnets about my ears. Hermiod will beam me up and serenade me with a recitation of the Deadalus' computer code, which will drive me to throw myself out of the nearest airlock. But instead of dying, I'll end up in Halling's tent with a razor in my hand, debating whether I should shave you or Carson first."
John unconsciously raised a hand to his stubble. "At least you won't be bored," he said brightly.
"I think I'm just going to have to accept the fact that, for the time being, the only attention I'm going to be getting will be from Lt. Cadman's rather astonishing collection of Nora Roberts."
"Doctor Weir and Colonel Sheppard to Landing Bay 3," Chuck's voice sounded in their ears.
They exchanged a look. "Is everything all right with the Daedalus, Chuck?" Elizabeth asked.
"Everything's fine, ma'am. But Colonel Caldwell asked for the two of you specifically. He said something about an unusual piece of cargo," Chuck replied, obviously mystified.
John and Elizabeth traded another look, this one complete with raised eyebrows. "We'll be right there."
They stepped quickly to the nearest transporter, John pausing to let Elizabeth enter. "Ladies first," he said with a grin.
She lifted a brow. "And to what do I owe this sudden honor?"
"Just trying to live up to Nora," he replied, amused by her instant suspicion. He entered their destination on the transporter's touchpad.
White light swelled around them as Atlantis shifted them from the central tower out to Landing Bay 3. "You are incorrigible," Elizabeth informed him as the transporter doors slid open.
John just grinned. "What did you want us for, sir?" he asked of Caldwell, who was waiting for them with his arms folded.
"What I'd like is an explanation," Caldwell said shortly.
"An explanation, Colonel?" Elizabeth asked, managing to rein in her smile.
"Yes. Do either of you know why Ms. Maldoran would insist upon our including this in our manifesto?" he demanded, jerking his head at a plastic crate lying on the floor apart from the others. "General Landry assured me that it contained nothing dangerous, but it took up room that could have been saved for something more important."
Cautiously Elizabeth approached the crate. It was the same standard gray plastic as all the other crates used by the SGC, but someone—Vala, no doubt—had scrawled To Lizzie and Johnykins and several large hearts on the outside in thick red marker.
"Elizabeth? Are you okay?" John asked worriedly. "You're turning red."
"Um," Elizabeth said, shaking her head to snap herself out of it. "Yes. Fine. I'll take this off your hands for you, Colonel."
"Hang on," John said. "It's addressed to both of us, isn't it?" He peered around Elizabeth. "Um. Maybe not. Who the hell is 'Johnykins?'"
"Vala—it's not important," Elizabeth said, not wanting to explain. "I'll take care of it." She bent and wrapped her arms around the crate, managing just barely to contain a grunt as she lifted it.
"Look, at least let me carry it for you. You're going to break something."
"I'm fine," Elizabeth said tightly.
"No, you're not." John reached for the crate. She let him take it. "Oof. What did Vala pack in here, lead bricks?"
Elizabeth, slightly distracted by the fact that he had said 'oof' and that it was adorable as hell, took a moment to reply. "Quite frankly, I have no idea what's inside. I'm a little afraid to find out."
"Why is it addressed to 'Lizzie and Johnykins?' Thank you," John said as Elizabeth let him into the transporter first. "Guess it's your turn to be the gentleman."
"And who said chivalry was dead?" she absently quipped as she entered their destination onto the transporter's touchpad. The transporter filled with white light again and the door slid open.
"Vala and I had an…interesting chat while SG-1 was here last month," Elizabeth said wryly. "She insisted on calling me 'Lizzie.' I figured it wasn't worth arguing over."
"So how—thanks—did I become 'Johnykins?' Or is it one of the other two Johns on Atlantis?" Elizabeth waved him into her quarters and he set the crate down with an audible thud.
"No, 'Johnykins' is you," Elizabeth reluctantly admitted. "Vala is a very interesting woman."
"You said that before," John noted. "Should we open this?"
"No," Elizabeth said quickly. He raised his eyebrows and she sighed. "John—whatever is in there is going to be highly embarrassing for both of us. I really think it's better if we just…leave it."
"I thought you said you didn't know what was in it."
"I don't. That doesn't mean I can't imagine," Elizabeth said dryly.
"Look, Lizzie, what else are we going to do with it? Shove it off a pier? How about we just agree not to be embarrassed? Chalk it up to Vala's 'interestingness' or whatever."
"I don't know where you come from, Johnykins—" Elizabeth began, but stopped on a frustrated sigh when he bent and undid the latch of the crate. "All right, all right. But don't say I didn't warn you."
John gave her a smug smile and flipped open the lid of the crate. The smile disappeared and Elizabeth, watching out of the corner of her eye, saw the back of his neck flush. "Well. Um. Ahem."
"Yeah," she muttered.
He coughed and carefully closed the crate. "Chucking off the pier it is."
John turned and sat with his back against the crate, watching her fidget. Suddenly he smiled. "You know, red isn't a good color for you."
"You're blushing too!" Elizabeth protested.
"No, I mean the whole thing," he said, gesturing at her shirt. "Take it off."
Blink. Blink. "I'm not sure I heard you right. What did you say?"
"I asked you to take off your shirt, which was a bad attempt at getting you to take off your clothes, which was a bad attempt at making a joke."
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"I'm trying to make a point, here, Lizzie. Work with me."
"I'm still stuck at the part where Vala sent us a crate of semi-illegal sex toys and you told me to take of my shirt."
Elizabeth stared at him. "I'm not taking off my shirt."
"Fine, I'll do it for you." He surged to his feet and reached for the hem of her shirt.
"John—what—get off me! Are you out of your mind?" Elizabeth demanded, struggling against him.
"Probably," he said happily, pressing his lips to hers.
The world stopped for a second.
"What—?" Elizabeth asked when he pulled back.
"The point I was trying to make, Lizzie, is that Vala's crate is for the unimaginative."
"Now I'm stuck at the part where you tried to tear my clothes off and then you kissed me."
"Good, I like that part," John said, bending to nip at her neck. "I like this part, too," he mumbled against her skin.
"John—" She sucked in a breath when his tongue darted out along her collarbone. "Are you feeling all right? I'm going to call Carson."
"But you smell nice," he protested when she pulled away. He sniffed. "Wait, it's not you. It's coming from the crate."
Before Elizabeth could stop him, he flipped open the lid again. "Definitely coming from in here."
"John," Elizabeth protested, glancing cautiously over his shoulder. There was an envelope on top of the—she didn't want to think about what that was. She snagged the note and shut the lid of the crate quickly.
"Aww," John complained, reaching for the latch.
Elizabeth sat on the crate. "No, John. We're not opening this again until we know what's in it that's making you act like this." She narrowed her eyes. "And you're going to go sit on the opposite side of the room while I read this letter," she said when his hand found its way to her knee.
John pouted, but she gave him another Look and he went to sit on the end of her bed.
Satisfied that he would stay put, at least for the moment, Elizabeth broke the seal of the envelope and took out the letter inside.
By now you're probably wondering just what the hell is going on, but don't worry, it's all going according to plan. Hopefully you don't get around to reading this until after Johnykins has had his wicked way with you, but I suppose you'll be boring and proper and try to hold him off.
Anyway, I took the liberty of spraying the inside of the crate with a rather interesting little concoction I acquired on one of our missions. Don't tell Mitchell (he'll never let me be a full member of SG-1 if he knew I was bringing things back, but honestly, do you think the SGC is going to consider alien pheromones a necessary item to bring back to Earth? The boys in charge probably haven't gotten laid in years. They just don't understand this kind of thing the way we girls do).
So, assuming the pheromones are compatible with humans (and from the tests I've run on the handy supply of men here at the SGC, they are) Johnykins is probably all over you right now. Or he was, until you got boring and sent him away. Though unless you've handcuffed him to something (ooh, I like that idea), he probably won't stay away very long.
Elizabeth yelped as the paper was snatched from her fingers and John's mouth descended on hers again. She pushed him away and scrambled after the letter. "Colonel Sheppard, I am ordering you to go sit in that corner until I have finished reading!" she demanded. She groped behind her and found the ceremonial knife one of their off-world trading partners had presented her as a gift of goodwill. "I will stab you!" Okay, no she wouldn't, but hopefully it would keep him at bay long enough for her to finish Vala's note.
The pheromones won't last for more than an hour, but it should give the two of you the kick in the pants you need to realize you'll be a lot happier in bed with each other than moping on your lonesomes. Have fun and be sure to use those condoms—while I'd love godchildren, I don't think you'd be able to hide a child from the IOA. I'll send another shipment when the Daedalus
Love from your favorite Aphrodite,
"Okay," Elizabeth said aloud, hoping to distract John into something resembling a conversation. "This isn't too bad. It's been about ten minutes since we opened the crate, so that just leaves another fifty until you're sensible again. That's not too bad. Ah!" she made an (admittedly clumsy) feint with the knife as he reached for her again.
"New plan," Elizabeth muttered, edging towards the door. "There's no way I can keep this up for almost an hour. What was Vala thinking!" She waved the door open behind her and darted out, sealing the door before John could follow. His ancient gene normally would override her sealing of the door, but the rooms of Atlantis had distinct personalities and her quarters would obey her commands over his.
Elizabeth sighed and rested her head against the door. I'm tired of being the responsible one, she thought. It was tempting, too tempting to open the door and—
And it's not going to happen, she told herself firmly, starting down the hall. Not like this.
If she were honest with herself, she wanted nothing more than what Vala was suggesting—though perhaps without the contents of the crate. But she couldn't—they couldn't—and certainly not like this. Not when the only thing pushing him towards her was some no-doubt illegal concoction of Vala's.
She would never be able to live with the look on his face when the pheromones wore off and John realized what he was doing. Realized who he was doing it with.
She would take frustration over mortification.
Fifty minutes later, Elizabeth returned to her quarters. Taking a deep breath, she waved a hand over the wall panel. The door slid open to reveal John.
"Hi," she said, gesturing awkwardly. She realized she still had the knife in her hand and winced.
"Hi," he agreed, stepping aside to let her into her rooms. "Um."
"Yeah. Um." She crossed to the table and deposited the knife, lingering to fidget with the various knick-knacks rather than face him.
"I read the letter," John offered. "It explains a thing or two."
After a long pause, John said, "I'd still like to know what made her send it in the first place."
She sighed and gripped the edge of the table. "When Vala and I talked…You know how she is. She has this idea that you and I are madly in love with one another." Elizabeth turned and forced a smile. "But it doesn't really matter now. The pheromones have stopped working, and you don't seem to have any lingering effects, so we can just dispose of the crate and…" Elizabeth waved her hands vaguely.
"Yeah," John agreed.
Relieved, if disappointed, Elizabeth started to walk past him. John caught her arm.
"Hang on a sec," he said. Bringing both hands up to cradle her face, he kissed her.
"Damn," he muttered when they broke the kiss. Elizabeth frowned at him, but he kissed her again before she could reply.
"Definitely not the pheromones," he confirmed when they pulled apart the kiss.
"What—?" Elizabeth began.
He smiled apologetically. "I had this vague hope that it was all the pheromones. Which was stupid, considering that pheromones wouldn't explain the past two and a half years. Things would be a lot easier if it was just the pheromones."
"But it's not the pheromones."
"Nope. Not the pheromones." John shoved his hands in his pockets. "I think this is the part where we stand around in an uncomfortable silence and don't meet each others' eyes.
Elizabeth laughed quietly. "I guess it is that part. Or." She took a deep breath. "Or this is the part where I say I'm tired of following the rules."
"I've never been very fond of them," John cautiously agreed.
John grinned. "So, about that crate…"