Just So - Atlantis
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Fandom: Atlantis
Title: Just So.
Author: Ky (Venom_69)
Category: Good Clean Fun
Pairing: John/Liz
Rating: PG
Archive: Anywhere!
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, never will. Promise to put them back in the state I found them.
Author’s notes: Aren’t they just so darn cute? Yup. My name is Ky and you can either have dysfunctional sex or you can have fluffy humor.
Date: 13/06/2005
Copyright to Venom, 2005


We were strangers, starting out on a journey
Never dreaming what we’d have to go through


He’s always had a thing for a woman with a pretty face.


John thinks that maybe it’s really the hair that he goes for. Dark-headed women seem so much more… grounded to him than blondes. Not that he discriminates against blondes. He likes blondes, he’s had a lot of fun with them in the past. But dark-headed women?

Mmm… dark-headed women are his vice.

A man has to have his vices. It’s important for his sanity. And John has always known that dark-headed women do it for him. They’re just so… well, he can’t quite put his finger on why they are just ‘so’ but he knows that they are.

Redheads are just evil.

So, naturally, when he met Elizabeth Weir, he pretty much had a heart attack.

He’d served with women before. Many times. But those women wore shapeless baggy green fatigues and had their hair up in tight little buns.

Military. Uniform. Unoriginal.

Elizabeth, however...

Well, when they met her hair wasn’t quite long enough for a tight bun. It is now, but she doesn’t put it up often. He didn’t even think, at that time, that she would be able to get it in a pony tale. And the uniforms that they wear on Atlantis are many things, but they are *not* shapeless.

John had been privy to glimpses at her body over the first few months that they’d been there. The curve of a breast that he wasn’t allowed to look at. The shape of her hip that he shouldn’t be noticing. Was it wrong of him to know that her stomach is as flat as he thinks it is? Probably. But he doesn’t care.

Elizabeth is just so…

Just so.

When he used to go to sleep at night, he didn’t like to think of her before closing his eyes. If he did that, then it was inevitable that he would dream of her. Nothing sordid – well, maybe sometimes a little sordid – but he would dream mostly of her hair.

There’s a tiny wisp of it that no matter how much gel or mouse or other feminine-y crap she puts in it, will just not stay put. It’s always moving to rest on her ear, subtly touching her cheek enough to annoy her.

John thinks it’s quite possibly the nicest lock of hair that he has ever seen in his life.

He also thinks he is whipped.

But he’s ok with that.

“Stop it.”

He would try to reflect innocence in his tone if he thought she’d buy it. He knows she wont and he loves her just a little more for it. “Stop what?”

“What you’re doing with your fingers.”

“What? This?” And he does it again anyway. “Why?”

“Because I’m trying to sleep.”

She’s grumpy when she doesn’t get enough sleep. More so if she doesn’t get sleep *and* she doesn’t get sex. “Is it annoying?”

“Well, no. But I know you’re doing it and I’m concentrating on that instead of trying to sleep.” She’s smiling against the bare skin of his chest, he can feel it. She thinks she sounds like an idiot.

He thinks she’s adorable.

“And if I don’t stop?”

John knows that she gets headaches a lot, he understands why, too.

He knows that no matter how many shots Beckett gives her, painkillers don’t help. But his scalp massages do, apparently.

He’d discovered it by accident They’d been lying on his – he really should say ‘their’ now – bed, reading page 179 of War and Peace together, with his finger playing with her hair. It wasn’t until days later that she told him how much it helped the pounding of her head.

“Then I won’t sleep.”

“It’s a pre-emptive strike, Liz.”

“Playing with my hair is a pre-emptive strike?” She snorted. God, she was sexy as hell. “Against what?”

“Against the headache that you’ll get next.”

“John, the only reason I get headaches is because you do stupid things.”

“Stupid things?” She hummed in agreement. “When do I ever do stupid things?”

“How much time have you got?”

He tugged on the lock of hair between his fingers. “Hey!”

“Well, you do get into dangerous situations often enough.”

“Not intentionally.” He wasn’t pouting.

She kissed his chest. “I love you anyway, you know.”


“Tell me something?”


“Will you be this fascinated with my hair when it’s grey?”

“Your hair will never be grey, Liz. It’ll be silver.”

“There’s a difference?”

“There is to me.”

Maybe he was whipped. But he had a dark-headed, amazing, woman cracking that whip.

And she was just so…