I'm at work waiting for traffic to clear, right?
So this is the cliche where they're stuck on an alien planet and the fire won't light. Except it's not at all cold at all, so it's really no big deal.
(I blame havocthecat. Because, um, she was there. And told me sap was okay to post.)
It's actually cute.
She should be worried. There are plenty of things to be worried about, after all, like how they're only 95% sure that the Stargate isn't working because of the ionization something-or-other in the meteor shower, how Atlantis is going to fare without them for the night, how the firefly-like bugs circling around them could be life-sucking Pegasus fireflies for all she knows.
Very few things in this galaxy are as benign as they seem (if they ever seem benign at all).
And John can't get the fire started.
His back is to her, but somehow he knows. "Stop enjoying this."
"I'm not!" she insists, though it's kind of... well... cute to watch him fuss over the pitifully smoking twigs and try to pretend he isn't cursing like a sailor under his breath.
"You're smirking," he says.
Not only is he not looking at her, but it's dark. Very dark, with no fire and only a flashlight and a hundred streaking meteors overhead that, really, she should enjoy watching more than the show of her military commander. They've hardly spent any time together lately with how busy everything has gotten, and it's somehow fitting that the only time she'd get to see him for any length of time outside a meeting is if they're trapped on an alien planet.
"How do you know I'm smirking at you?"
He mutters something else under his breath. The evening is fairly temperate so far, so she suspects the fire has become less of a necessity and more a matter of pride for John.
"It's the wood," she reassures him lamely, parroting back in a consoling voice the same thing he's been cursing for forty-five minutes or so. "Leave it. Come watch the show." The meteor shower really is impressive, and she's sure the more astronomically-inclined of their teammates will ask them questions about it once they're able to 'gate home.
He stomps on a few more sticks to make them even smaller, and he's right, she is smirking.
"I'm going to get this," he tells her.
"Oh, I have no doubts."
Even though it's dark, she can tell that he's glaring. She lies back, adjusting the backpack beneath her head to support her neck while she watches the sky. It's remarkable, the endless streaks, like all the stars are falling at once. She remembers nights spent at her childhood window just waiting for a falling star to wish on. On this planet, she'd probably run out of wishes before too long.
John's cursing mellows to background noise until he yelps once in something like pain and she looks over to see him sucking his thumb.
"Are you okay?"
"Don't ask," he says and kicks something, possibly his lighter. "This is ridiculous."
She doesn't point out that she's been telling him exactly that for over an hour. "Come on, sit down." He hesitates, and she's a little bit evil, so she pats the ground next to her and tells him, "I'm getting cold. We should huddle together for warmth."
He looks behind him at the fire and she can almost hear the apology forming in his mouth, so she takes it back,
"I'm kidding. I'm fine, really. Ration bar?"
He stomps over. She fully expects him to take the ration bar from her and sit farther away to sulk, but the ground is wet and the tarp is only so big, so he ends up sitting next to her after all.
He is warm. It might be, she rationalizes, because he's so annoyed that he's radiating angry heat, but she can't help thinking that he'd be nice to sleep with.
She brings a hand to her face even though she didn't say it aloud. Sleep sleep with, she childishly corrects her inner monologue. She's almost always cold, after all, especially at night, and...
She must have left her professional brain on Atlantis. There's no other explanation for how she could have relaxed so fast.
"Are you okay?"
She probably does look pretty stupid, silently holding her mouth like she's trying to keep her teeth from escaping. "It's nothing. Bit my lip."
"Are you okay?" he asks again, with more concern that's warranted for a completely made-up lip injury.
She smirks again. Damn, he is cute. And hey, if they're stuck here for long enough to break out the sleeping bags, she may end up sleeping with him -- sleeping sleeping -- after all.
"What are you laughing at?" he demands, even though she's not laughing out loud.
"You," she says, but she doesn't explain why.
He huffs and lies back down next to her, his own pack under his head, and watches the stars. "You're a lot odder when you don't have anything to do," he tells her.
He smiles at her, and so close, it's completely not her fault that her stomach jumps a bit, even though it's just John and her and this is just who they are when they're trapped on an alien planet with fireproof wood. "Figures you would take that as a compliment."
She elbows him in the ribs and looks up at the sky.
Maybe she has a few wishes left in her after all.
But if anyone asks, she'll deny it.