She can catch grapes in her mouth.
Or whatever they are. Not grapes. Juicier than grapes. Someone probably told him the name, but it wasn't particularly memorable or any more descriptive than alien grapes.
John doesn't mind not knowing anything about alien food, but it always catches him off-guard when he finds out something -- something like this, something obvious -- that he never knew about her.
Elizabeth has caught ten so far, by his count, absentmindedly tossing them in the air where she's sitting across the mess hall table from him. She hasn't missed one. Between grapes, she studies the water reclamation data in front of her.
"That's impressive," he says.
She turns her hand over, settles a not-grape between her knuckles, slaps the top of her wrist to set the grape in the air, and catches it between her teeth. She's smirking when she bites down, and a dribble of juice escapes her lips.
She giggles, snatches a napkin from his tray. She's been laughing more lately. He had no idea how much he missed that.
"Really. I didn't know you could do that."
She raises an eyebrow at him, probably because he's treating this previously unrevealed skill as if it's something important that she's been keeping from him. But really. They've never had grapes before, but he's seen her eat popcorn a hundred times. Well, twelve times, maybe. At least twice, and she's never caught a single kernel in mid-air.
"I can also write my name with my toes," she tells him.
She rolls her eyes. "A true artist is never appreciated in her own time."
She's about to go back to her reading, and he's not done bothering her yet. "What else don't I know about you?"
She blinks at him. "Lots of things, probably."
"John..." she holds up her computerized notepad with the report on it as a prop to help underscore her I'm busy voice.
He snatches it away and then puts it in front of him, covering it with his forearms. He's had just about the most boring morning in the history of the Pegasus Galaxy overseeing inventories, and he's in no hurry to get back to that.
Besides, he really hasn't seen her smile enough. She's been better about it lately, because the war has hit a blessed lull and because he's been on an all-fronts campaign to get her to lighten up, but she's still got three years to make up for.
"I speak eight languages," she offers as a concession, doing her best to sound bored.
"Knew that," John dismisses it. According to her file, she only spoke five before being drafted into the Stargate program. "Also, I'm pretty sure I've heard you speak more languages than that."
"I speak eight languages with reasonable fluency," she corrects. "My apologies."
"Forgiven. Go on." There's a smirk at the corner of her lips, egging him onward.
"I really do have a lot of work to do."
He shields the notepad more securely behind his arms. "Knew that too."
"I grew up in Michigan?"
"Elizabeth, you're not even trying."
"See? You already know everything there is to know about me." She holds out her hand for the notepad, giving him a look that might have convinced him, three years ago, before he knew her well enough to decipher that she doesn't really mind.
"What was the name of your first pet?"
Elizabeth pops another grape in her mouth and chews before asking, "Are you avoiding an inventory review?"
"Fine." He sighs dramatically as he hands her work back to her. "Be an enigma."
She laughs, and he grins, because that's really what he was waiting for. "You like it that way," she teases.
Elizabeth always flirts with him when she's in a good mood. He's seen her speak that way to Rodney, to Caldwell, heck, even to Ronon, but he likes to pretend there's something unique about it when she talks to him.
He replies, "I'm sure I know all the important things there are to know about you."
Matching his tone exactly, she says, "I'm sure you do."
He breaks the lighthearted flow of the conversation for just a moment. He doesn't mean to, but the words just fall out as he thinks them. "I don't really know you at all, do I?"
Elizabeth shrugs uncertainly, like she does when she can't tell if he's joking or not. "Sure you do. You know me better than just about anyone else, for whatever that's worth."
He asked for it, but he's not sure how to deal with the weight of that statement, or how it's settling in his stomach like something alive, demanding that he move or speak or do something in reaction.
It's not really the time for that, though. For now, it's just... another unexpected piece of information about her.
"So not everyone knows about your freaky toes?"
She makes a face. "It's a closely guarded secret."
"Good," he states definitively. He sort of wants to say thank you, or to tell her -- in some flippant, clever way -- that he really doesn't tell her very much but that's not because he doesn't like her or trust her, it's just who he is, and he still thinks she knows him better than he's really totally comfortable with.
The words don't come out.
"Inventory," Elizabeth orders, rolling her eyes. "Now."
He snatches a grape off her plate, tosses it in the air, and catches it. With the grape still poised between his teeth, he lisps, "Yes, ma'am."