swficathon | Fic: A Perfect Fit

thekatebeyond.livejournal.com posting in

Title: A Perfect Fit
Genre: Fluff!
Rating: Pretty safe
Pairing: Shep/Weir!
Length: 4,815 words
Assignment from:

kwayera
Who would like: - clothes stealage (i.e., Elizabeth nicking John's shirt and refusing to give it back, for whatever reason) - and some mention of coffee - a non-established relationship - something light and sickeningly fluffy, because Kway needs fluff. ;)

A/N: Kway, I’m sorry this is so late, but I think I’ve got exactly what you were looking for. Thanks for the great prompt.

Special thanks to

pixie_on_acid and

control_freak80 who ironed out each and every rough patch and brought about a better finished product. Shiny.

Dr. Beckett made his way across the crowded infirmary towards his next patients, observing them as he walked. Since neither Dr. Weir nor Colonel Sheppard had reported any injuries, they’d been forced to wait on their post-mission physicals while he treated the sick. Judging by the expression on her face, Dr. Weir was clearly none too pleased with the man sitting on the next gurney. Carson wondered what John had done this time.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he called out cheerfully as he approached Dr. Weir. “As you can see, we’ve got our hands full with poison ivy cases from Major Lorne’s team.”

“Poison ivy?” John asked in confusion.

“The Pegasus equivalent,” Carson clarified. He pulled his stethoscope from his pocket and moved towards Elizabeth.

“Check Colonel Sheppard over first, if you would, please, Doctor.” Elizabeth’s request was polite, but she had a terse tone that was usually reserved for situations in which lives were in danger. Not knowing whether the life in question was Colonel Sheppard’s or his own if he disregarded her request, Carson immediately complied.

Snapping the stethoscope to his ears, he turned between the two gurneys and gestured for Colonel Sheppard to remove his jacket. With a heavy sigh and a surreptitious glance past Carson to Dr. Weir, the Colonel did as requested.

Many years of experience had trained Carson not to react to anything he saw in his capacity as a doctor. Patients often needed reassurance in equal measure with care; if their doctor were to look with horror upon a wound, they would surely fear the worst. This, however, made him raise an eyebrow.

Carson calmly listened to John’s respiration and heartbeat, and made notes on his chart before asking the inevitable question. “Colonel Sheppard, what exactly happened to your shirt?”

“Nothing,” John answered evasively. “My shirt is just fine.”

Carson crossed his arms and looked pointedly from Colonel Sheppard’s face to his bare chest. “Then why aren’t you wearing it?”

“My shirt happens to be busy elsewhere at the moment,” John drawled with a maddening smile.

Carson opened his mouth to speak, but – obviously seeing this could go on for quite sometime – Elizabeth interrupted. “I’m wearing it.”

That statement brought both of Carson’s eyebrows up. Simultaneously, John’s came down, as he narrowed his eyes at the doctor and scowled. “It’s not like that.”

“What is it like, son?” Carson asked as he flashed a penlight at John’s pupils. He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or confused. Dr. Weir was not high on his list of ways for Colonel Sheppard to wind up shirtless.

“It was an act of chivalry,” John insisted. “Dr. Weir’s shirt was damaged, so I offered her mine.”

Behind Carson, Elizabeth snorted in disbelief. “I don’t think it counts as chivalry when you are the cause of the problem.”

John leaned around the shocked doctor to give Elizabeth a put-upon stare. “It was an accident!”

“It was a juvenile prank,” Elizabeth corrected crossly, “and since pranks are committed with intent, the results cannot be called an accident.”

“Doc, help me out here,” John begged Carson. “I didn’t intend for her to be hurt or for her shirt to be… I had no intentions in regards to her shirt.”

Dr. Beckett turned a suspicious eye on his other patient, repeating the only word that had made an impression on him. “Hurt?”

Elizabeth reassured him. “Just a few scratches on my stomach. Nothing to worry about.”

Carson, of course, wanted to look at them right away, but he wouldn’t make Elizabeth submit to an examination in front of the Colonel. “I’ll be the judge of that. So, what did this heathen do to you, then?”

“Hey!” John protested, but Carson shushed him with a wave and began checking reflexes, resisting the urge to wield the hammer a little more forcefully than usual.

Elizabeth sighed. “I was a bit nervous on the walk back to the Stargate. The area around the Dimarians’ village is heavily wooded and it was beginning to get dark.”

“Because she talked forever,” John muttered under his breath.

Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to lean around Carson as she glared at John. “It’s called negotiation, Colonel, which, I might add, happened to be the reason we were there.” Turning her attention back to Dr. Beckett, she continued. “My escort here – the man who was supposed to ensure my safety – thought it would be amusing to convince me that we were about to be attacked by wild animals.”

“To make a long story short,” John interjected, “she dove head first into a briar patch.”

&&&

John zipped up his jacket as Carson finished the exam. Elizabeth was just finishing her explanation of their off-world excitement. Carson clucked his tongue disapprovingly as he jotted notes on John’s chart, but John had the impression he was covering a chuckle. “Okay, Colonel. You’re free to go. Dr. Weir, just let me get some antiseptic and swabs and I’ll be back to take care of your scratches.”

John hopped off his gurney and stood in the space between the two. He gave Elizabeth the smile he thought of as his most endearing. At least, it usually seemed to soften her up. “You aren’t really mad at me, are you?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth didn’t appear to be in the mood to be softened up.

He looked at her pleadingly. “But you’re not going to stay mad at me, are you?”

She had to concede that point, but she did so begrudgingly. “Probably not.”

&&&

Elizabeth hadn’t been this glad to see her quarters in a long time. She wanted to flop down on her bed and pull the covers over her head, but she was just grimy enough from the hike (and subsequent Killer Thornbush attack) that she couldn’t stand the idea of skipping her shower. She sat down in the closest chair to remove her boots.

As she bent to untie the laces, she caught the scent of John’s cologne on the shirt she wore. It was something new; he must have picked it up while they were back on Earth last month, because the first time she noticed it was during their return trip on the Daedalus. She liked it. A lot. Elizabeth didn’t like to admit it to herself, but on several occasions, she had found herself inching closer to him just for the smell. When she realized, of course, she made a point to keep a greater distance. With a sigh, Elizabeth removed the shirt and tossed it on to her bed.

Just thinking about the first time she had removed her shirt that day was enough to give her a jolt of angry energy.

Elizabeth tried unsuccessfully to extricate herself from the thorns for several minutes before finally giving up. John offered to help her, but she snapped at him to back off, before he got tangled too. Her shirt had taken most of the damage; where at first it had only been stuck, it ended up with gaping holes as a result of her struggling. She realized the only way to get out without cutting herself to shreds was to use the fabric as a shield between her skin and the thorns, slipping out of the bush and the shirt at the same time.

Through gritted teeth, she told John to turn around. He proved smart enough not to argue. Elizabeth gingerly pulled her arms inside her sleeves, bent at the waist, and began to shimmy her way out of the shirt, backing away from the bush at the same time. In a minute, she was free. Straightening, she reached out a hand and carefully tried to wiggle the shirt free. She thought she had it, until the moment that she heard a loud tearing.

“Elizabeth?” John called tentatively, wisely not turning around.

“My shirt is irretrievable,” she replied flatly.

“Ah.” John clearly felt the awkwardness of the situation. Awkwardness, Elizabeth noted, was the only thing that ever made him shut up.

“Give me yours,” Elizabeth demanded.

John hesitated. “You sure you don’t want my jacket? It’s getting dark. It could get cold.”

“Did I ask for your jacket, Colonel?” Elizabeth took a deep breath. She was starting to sound slightly hysterical.

“No, Ma’am.”

The adrenaline lasted only through her shower. Before she could even properly dry off, Elizabeth found herself too tired to function. Wrapped in her robe with her wet hair twisted up in a towel, she fell into bed. There was a lump underneath her shoulder; she tugged at it tiredly. John’s shirt. She began to toss it on the floor, but halfway through the motion she caught that scent again. Changing her mind, she tucked it next to her pillow and promptly fell asleep.

&&&

John didn’t know why he’d done it. He supposed some part of him just wanted to hear Elizabeth squeal like a girl.

That had always been one of the things he liked best about her: she could be tough as nails, but still so feminine; professional, but always warm and caring. Yet, lately it seemed like she was all business when it came to him. She went from hugging him in the middle of the gateroom two months ago, to making a point to stand on the opposite side of any room he was in. She went from calling him John to addressing him as Colonel. He didn’t notice her behavior towards anyone else changing, and yet he didn’t know what he could possibly have done to make her withdraw. Maybe he was trying to provoke a confrontation – he really didn’t know.

What he did know was that she ended up hurt and angry, and that was something he definitely didn’t want. He made up his mind – he would begin an all-fronts campaign of sucking up.

And he would get his favorite t-shirt back.

&&&

Elizabeth woke slowly, feeling pleasantly warm and rested. She stretched and breathed in deeply. John, she thought vaguely, followed immediately by a moment of alert confusion. She sat up and looked at her pillow accusingly. Why did it smell like John?

She looked around the empty room. Knowing it was irrational, she still called out, “Hello?” Receiving no answer, she relaxed. Maybe it was the remnant of a dream. As she lifted the pillow to her face, she saw it – John’s shirt. Elizabeth buried her face in her pillow and laughed at her own ridiculousness.

Impulsively, she set the pillow on her lap and grabbed the shirt. She thought for a moment about putting it on, but instead folded it neatly and set it on the nightstand. She would return it to John.

Elizabeth got dressed and ready for her day. As she prepared to leave her room, she remembered the shirt. She didn’t know why she was so hesitant to give it back, but maybe she would just keep it one more day.

&&&

John peeked around the doorframe. The gesture was ridiculous, considering the wall of glass. Elizabeth spied him, but pretended she didn’t.

“Is it safe to come apologize?”

Elizabeth looked up from her tablet display. “Safe for you, or safe for me?”

John shuffled into the room with a mug in one hand, and the other hand behind his back. Gingerly, he set the mug on the table, turned the handle toward Elizabeth, and took two exaggerated steps back.

Elizabeth was bemused. “What are you doing?”

“Bringing you coffee,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You act like you’re placating an angry deity.”

John fought a smirk. “I’m just making sure I don’t wind up with a hot coffee facial.”

Elizabeth reached for the mug and took a small sip, internally melting with gratitude, but outwardly eyeing him with suspicion. “What’s behind your back?”

“Well, since you don’t seem to be in a throwing mood…” John produced a small bouquet of wild flowers, and set them on the edge of the desk. “They’re such a rare commodity around here, I didn’t want to risk it.”

Elizabeth stared in stunned silence. Fresh flowers wouldn’t have meant so much on Earth, but on Atlantis, it wasn’t as though you could just run to the local florist. They were beautiful – the deep purple of irises and lush red of roses, in lovely, unearthly shapes.

“Say something,” John prompted. “I had to bribe the entire botany department for those.”

“What did you bribe them with?” She finally managed to speak, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the flowers.

“I promised to make all the military personnel sit through a lecture about why botany is an important part of this expedition.”

Elizabeth had to laugh. “That won’t make you very popular among the officers.”

John bounced on the balls of his feet, putting on a hopeful expression, but really looking quite pleased with himself. “I don’t mind, as long as it makes me a little more popular with you.”

“A little,” Elizabeth lied, but she knew her face was saying a lot.

“Well,” John said, easing toward the door, “I guess I’ve got a lecture schedule to organize.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

“No problem,” John said. Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice the sound of disappointment in his tone, though she couldn’t imagine what precipitated it. She watched him slip through the door, then picked up the flowers and began to arrange them in the small vase on her credenza.

A moment later, John was back. “I almost forgot. Can I have my shirt?”

Elizabeth kept her back to him, occupying herself with the flowers. She didn’t know why she was so embarrassed. It wasn’t as though she’d done anything wrong. “It’s… it’s still in my quarters. I didn’t have a chance to wash it.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wash it. I’d just like to get it back.”

“No. No, I insist.” Elizabeth replied quickly. “Stop by my office tomorrow morning and I’ll have it for you.”

“Tomorrow?” There was just a touch of whining in John’s tone.

“Tomorrow,” Elizabeth said firmly.

&&&

It was late when Elizabeth slipped into her quarters, too late. Her meeting with the heads of the various science teams hadn’t gone well. Anyone who thought that trying to get world leaders to reach a peaceful accord was a difficult job hadn’t spent time trying to allocate resources to competing scientists.

Amazingly, the hours of sitting had left her even more drained than the previous day of activity. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed. She slipped out of her clothes and walked toward the dresser to pull out her pajamas. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the t-shirt folded on her nightstand and paused. What would it hurt? she reasoned. She pulled it on and slid into bed.

Elizabeth burrowed under the covers. So comfortable, she thought. The shirt not only smelled wonderful, it was soft and pliant. Broken in. The idea made her smile. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered absently how long John had had it.

When Elizabeth woke in the morning, she folded the shirt and put it on her nightstand. She stared at it for sometime. I can’t give it back now, she reasoned, I said I’d have it washed.

&&&

John was almost disappointed that Elizabeth had forgiven him so easily. He wouldn’t mind having a reason for a little more winning-over. He wasn’t asking much – just for things to be the way they were. He wanted her to be comfortable with him again.

On his way to pick up his shirt, he decided to push his luck a little. He stopped and picked up coffee – this time for both of them.

When he arrived at Elizabeth’s office, Major Lorne was inside. They only seemed to be chatting, but he didn’t want to interrupt. John hovered outside the door, trying to look casual – a difficult thing to accomplish while carrying two mugs of hot liquid. He heard Elizabeth laugh. John couldn’t hear what Lorne was saying, but something about the tone… Is he flirting with her?

John didn’t stop to think about what this surge of possessiveness indicated, he just acted on it. He strolled into Elizabeth’s office with every appearance of outward calm and walked directly to her side. Handing her the cup of coffee as though he was expected, he turned to Major Lorne. “Good morning, Major.”

“Good morning, Sir.” Major Lorne did not seem at all disconcerted, and John didn’t know if that should put him at ease or make him more suspicious. He took a slow sip of coffee, but his eyes never left the other officer.

Elizabeth looked up at John curiously, then back at Major Lorne. The sudden, uncharacteristic silence of both men clearly had her confused. “Thank you for bringing the report yourself, Major. I’ll look it over.”

Lorne acknowledged both of them politely, then took his leave, a look of amusement barely constrained on his face. Now that set John’s mind at ease, even if it did make him feel a bit obvious. Major Lorne was more perceptive than John had previously given him credit for being. He would have to keep that in mind.

He watched the Major go, then glanced down at Elizabeth, who was staring up at him. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” John hedged. He wandered around to the other side of her desk and took a chair. He could almost see her putting the pieces together. He sipped his coffee and tried to look innocent.

Elizabeth wasn’t buying it, nor did she let him off the hook. “You running the Major off. What was that about?”

John smirked suggestively at her. “Should I have asked you to return my shirt in front of him?”

Elizabeth visibly faltered. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again without saying a word. John was surprised. His excuse was pretty weak – he could have waited to ask for the shirt until Lorne had gone – but he took advantage of her hesitation.

“So, can I have it?”

“I’m sorry, Colonel. I forgot to bring it.”

&&&

She knew the excuse “I’m sorry, Colonel, I forgot to bring it” would only last so long. The third time she tried it, he offered to come by her quarters to pick up his shirt. She thought briefly about sending him off-world to delay the inevitable, but decided against it. “I promise, I will bring it to you tomorrow morning, Colonel. I won’t forget.”

That night, Elizabeth slipped into the shirt for what she promised herself would be the last time. Despite having washed it twice (in anticipation of giving it back), it still held the scent of John’s cologne. She didn’t know why she had kept it as long as she had. She just found it… comforting.

I’m lying to myself, she sighed. It was pretty obvious why she kept it. When she was wearing it, it reminded her of John. And that made her feel better – safer, happier, more content – than it should. She was venturing into dangerous territory, and it was definitely time to give the shirt back.

&&&

It was time to get his shirt back – if there was a shirt left to have. John had a growing suspicion that, in her first blaze of anger at him, Elizabeth had dome something rash. Why else would she be giving him the run-around? He pictured his favorite shirt being torn to shreds or cut into confetti and winced. He’d spent a year breaking that shirt in. He’d worn it for days at a time when unexpectedly stuck off-world; he’d run in it, slept in it, worked out in it until it was perfectly worn-in and molded to his shape. He loved that shirt, and he aimed to find out, one way or another, what had happened to it.

So, he was on his way to an ambush. It was 2330 hours, Atlantis local time, and Elizabeth was in her quarters. He was sure of it, thanks to the life signs detector he carried. He thought about just bursting in, but figured that might be carrying it a bit far, even for his favorite t-shirt. “Dr. Weir!” he called over the sound of the chime.

“Just a minute,” came the groggy reply.

He waited the requested minute, then another. Was she hiding the evidence? He raised his fist to pound on the door. Just then, it slid open with a soft hiss. There he stood, fist in the air, face to face with a mussed, drowsy Elizabeth. She had her robe pulled tight around her, and one hand clutched it together at her throat. His hand fell to his side, and he began to shuffle his feet. Suddenly, he felt guilty. He really hadn’t thought this all the way through.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” John said awkwardly, “I, uh, just thought… Never mind. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He began to turn away, but Elizabeth’s voice stopped him. “What is it, Colonel?”

He tensed at the use of his rank in such a clearly off-duty situation. It restored his resolve. “I came to get my shirt.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth suddenly looked a good deal more alert. She clutched her robe tighter around her throat and began to back away. Her eyes darted around the room. “I… I don’t know what I’ve done with it just now. Let me bring it to you in the morning.”

John took one determined step into the room. “As long as I’m here, I’ll just help you look for it.”

“Colonel, I was sleeping. I’d like to return to that activity, sooner than later. I promised you I would bring the shirt to you in the morning, and I will,” Elizabeth insisted, but there was something in her tone – was it nervousness? guilt? – that set off alarms in John’s head. He decided it was time to confront the situation.

“You shredded it, didn’t you?” he asked. When she stared at him blankly, he feared it was confirmation. “It’s been almost a week. You keep promising to give it back, but somehow, it just never materializes. Just tell it to me straight: did you use it for one of those modern female voodoo rituals?”

“One of what?” Elizabeth exclaimed, looking at him as though he’d entirely lost his mind.

“You know! Burning old love letters, defacing photographs, running over a guy’s favorite shirt with your car. We may not have cars in Atlantis, but shredding and burning are definite options.”

“Colonel Sheppard, do you realize how crazy you sound?”

“Me? I’m not the one slicing and dicing other people’s favorite possessions,” John accused.

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips in consternation. “Neither am I! I assure you, Colonel, your favorite shirt is completely intact and will be returned to you in the morning. Alright?”

John studied her face for a moment. She seemed sincere, and he hated to think Elizabeth would outright lie to him. “Alright,” he agreed.

Elizabeth’s hands returned to her throat, grasping her robe, though it hadn’t moved an inch. John would have sworn she was blushing. As he turned to go, he couldn’t help but wonder what she slept in, since she was obviously intent on keeping him from catching the slightest glimpse of it. It struck him as odd; he wouldn’t have pegged her as the kind of woman to wear sexy lingerie without an occasion. She seemed more the type to sleep in an oversized t-shirt.

&&&

Elizabeth sighed in relief as John stepped out the door. But her reprieve was short-lived. John turned and stepped back into the room before the door could close. She didn’t like the glint in his eyes.

“Turn around. Let me see your neck,” he demanded, pacing swiftly toward her.

Clearly, he was on to her secret. Elizabeth backed further into the room and began trying to argue her way out of this. “Excuse me? Are you in the habit of bursting into women’s rooms in the middle of the night and demanding they disrobe?”

“I’m not demanding that you dis-anything. Just show me your neck.”

“You are invading my privacy, Colonel. This is highly inappropriate.”

John closed the space between them, standing only inches away from Elizabeth. “We can talk about appropriate and inappropriate behavior after you show me.”

Before she could object, John grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. He tugged the back of her collar and peeked inside the shirt she wore. She knew, of course, that he saw his own name on the label sewn into the seam.

One of his hands rested on her shoulder, the other on her neck. She was glad – it kept her from turning to face him. But it also made her want to lean back into him, let him hold her up, and that was a very dangerous thought.

“Do you want to have that discussion about inappropriate behavior now?” John asked, his voice low and close. Elizabeth only shook her head.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he whispered, as though it were a secret still. Elizabeth nodded.

She didn’t realize that her hands were still wringing the fabric at her throat until his came and gently pulled them away. He brought her hands to her sides, then gave a quick tug to the sash at her waist. He leaned over her shoulder and looked her up and down. As he drew back, his five o’clock shadow tickled her cheek. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

“John…” She wanted to explain, but what could she say? She was wearing his shirt, and little else. She knew how it looked.

“Why have you been pushing me away?” he asked, softly, but in a tone that demanded an answer.

“I… I haven’t,” Elizabeth replied in confusion.

“That’s the first time you’ve used my name in weeks, Elizabeth. Why?”

Excuses ran through her head, reasonable explanations for her behavior – professionalism chief among them – but considering the situation, she knew there was no point. “You know why.”

He inched forward, bringing the length of their bodies into contact, his hands returning to rest lightly on her shoulders. Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. She gave in to the temptation to fall back against him, to let him support her.

John’s lips brushed lightly against her ear as he leaned in to speak. “We were getting too close. It made you nervous.”

“It still makes me nervous, John. We have to work together.”

“Persuasive argument, Dr. Weir,” John said, suddenly businesslike. “But may I just point out that you are wearing my shirt?”

Elizabeth sighed. She knew being pressed against him like this was addling her brain, but she didn’t think that he was making sense either. “I don’t see how that changes anything.”

“It doesn’t,” he said as he nuzzled her hair. “It just demonstrates where things stand. You’re fooling yourself if you think we can just ignore this.”

Elizabeth tensed. He was right, of course, but that didn’t mean they should plunge headlong into anything. She needed to think, and she was becoming increasingly unable to do that with him in such close proximity. “John…”

John sighed audibly and turned her, slowly this time, to face him. “Just tell me you’ll think about it.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I can promise you that. I won’t be able to help it.”

“Let me just make sure,” he said. His lips brushed lightly against hers – once, twice – testing her reaction. Elizabeth didn’t have it in her to deny him (or herself) this one thing. He kissed her again and she lost the power of conscious thought.

They broke apart, breathless, and Elizabeth laid her head on John’s chest. His arms wrapped around her, and she instinctively snuggled closer. “That was such a bad idea,” she said when she could speak.

John chuckled. “I know. How am I supposed to walk out of here now?”

Elizabeth laughed. “I don’t know, but I think you’d better. We’ve got some of the greatest minds in two galaxies on this base. I don’t think it will take them long to put two and two together if neither of us show up for work in the morning.”

“Good, good. Keep talking about the scientists. That’ll help.”

Elizabeth swatted him lightly as she pulled away. With a quick kiss on her cheek, John turned to go. “John,” she called as he opened the door, “stop by my office in the morning and I’ll give you back your shirt.”

He paused and looked at her thoughtfully. “Maybe we can work out a joint custody agreement.”

Elizabeth was surprised. He’d come barging into her room in the middle of the night just to get it back. “You would do that?” she asked.

“Why not?” John looked her over from head to toe, and smiled. “It looks so much better on you.”