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Counting Cows - Atlantis
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Age Friendly!

Fandom: Atlantis
Title: Counting Cows
Author: Ky (venom69)
Category: Humour.
Rating: Teen Friendly
Summary: There’s a cow in the hall. Really.
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, never will. Promise to put them back in the state I found them.
Author’s notes: For [info]napalm_isis who made me my beautiful Ship Whore icon and requested a cow in Atlantis in return. *snogs*
Date: 24/01/06
Copyright © to Venom, 2006

***

"There's a cow in the hall."

Slightly worried, but more amused, brown eyes looked her over critically. "Of course there is, Elizabeth."

"I'm serious! There's a cow in the hall!"

"And there's a pig in the 'Gate room?"

Elizabeth's defiant eyes narrowed. "You're mocking me, aren't you?"

"Yep." The brown eyes held all out laughter now.

Somehow, and John really wasn't sure how, Elizabeth had ended up being the official taste tester of their attempts at making wine.

Someone had decided that, since the bottle General O'Neill sent through would only last so long and no one really thought to bring booze as their personal item, they should learn to make their own. Someone had found some vineyard type patches on the mainland that grew something akin to grapes. Someone had surprisingly known the ingredients - or suitable Atlantian substitutes - that were needed to make a reasonably potent drink.

That very same someone had also decided that Elizabeth was the closest thing to a wine connoisseur that they had here, so she would be the one to taste their numerous efforts until they got it right. Or at least right enough to stomach until the buzz of the alcohol took away the slightly repulsive taste.

Yes, Rodney had gotten their leader drunk and John was planning on breaking the scientists - or alcoholic's, depending on how you looked at it - nose the first chance he had.

But first to deal with the woman seeing bovine animals roaming their little corner of the Pegasus Galaxy.

The woman in question was still glaring at him, hands on her hips. She didn't appear to have moved in the time that he had been thinking, which was a slightly scary - and impressive - achievement.

"I believe you, really."

"No you don't."

"OK, I don't. Now, how about you sit down?" She may have been swaying only minimally but there was still the potential for her to fall on her ass.

The windows to her office were glass and despite the lateness of the hour, there were still plenty of potential witnesses to any ungraceful acrobatics she made inadvertently end up performing. Which he would, no doubt, be blamed for tomorrow morning.

"I'm perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet. But thank you for the concern, John." Elizabeth was shockingly diplomatic when she was drunk, which didn't really surprise him. The lack of slurred words did, however.

Really, the only solid evidence he even had that she was less-than-coherent was the fact that she was swaying slightly, there were several empty glasses around her and Teyla had - bless her - confessed to being part of Rodney's entire scheme.

He tried another tactic. "It's getting late."

"Yes, it is."

"Would you like me to walk you back to your quarters?"

"Afraid I'll fall asleep on my desk, John?" The banter came easy to her, he could see. If she had drunk half of what he thought she had, she should be well and truly under the table - figuratively speaking - by now. He had to give her credit, the woman could hold her alcohol.

"If you did, you might drool all over my report... I wouldn't want to have to write it up again." Despite - or maybe because - of all of the technology that surrounded them, John still preferred to submit hand written reports. Elizabeth never said a word but he knew that she typed them into her computer anyway. It was their ‘thing’ he had decided early on in the peace.

He watches with a hint of fascination as she rapidly looses the majority of the colour in her face as some of Rodney’s, no doubt, slightly less than perfect attempts at liquid creation come back to haunt her. He wonders for a split second if she’s going to vomit all over her – and his – shoes, but suspects that it’s not something she would do, drunk or not. “OK, I’ll let you walk me to my room… if only to keep you happy.”

John wont bother to mention her sudden change in appearance. “Thank you.”

The walk back to her room is slow, they have to stop every few moments for her to hold her stomach and wince painfully. The few times that they pass other people, Elizabeth automatically straightens herself and squares her shoulders. When they are alone again, she slumps back down to avoid – he imagines – the pain in her belly. He is really glad that Rodney didn’t ask him to join in the 'fun.'

When they finally reach her room, the alcohol seems to have taken a more adverse affect on her as it takes her a few attempts to open the door. John doesn’t offer to help, he knows that it wouldn't really be appreciated.

Automatically, he follows her inside and the door closes behind him. “Will you be alright?” He thinks that it might be a good idea for her to get it out of her system – if his vague memories of some of his own really stupid tequila-induced actions are anything to go by – and he’s slightly concerned that she could be sick in her sleep and choke. He saw that on the Discovery Channel once.

“Sure.” She waves a hand in a dismissive fashion and almost hits herself in the nose. “Not the first time I’ve been drunk before, you know.”

“I figured.” He smiles, but the muscles in his mouth instantly slacken as she appears to forget he is there, removes her shirt and… Holy Crap!

OK, he tells himself sternly, Stop staring. You’ve seen a woman without a shirt before. You’ve seen a black lace… Holy Crap! His little voice of reason appears to have abandoned him and John know that he needs to leave now.

He has to clear his throat twice before his voice works properly. “If you need anything...”

“John?” Elizabeth is confused for a moment. Something appears to ‘click’ and she brings her shirt up, holding it against her front protectively. “What are you doing here?”

“Just making sure you’re OK.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your neighbor is home, if you need anything...”

“Right.”

He can still see the black bra strap and a vast expanse of creamy shoulders and he really really has to go. “Goodnight Elizabeth.”

“Goodnight John.”

Knowing that the remainder of his night is going to be spent staring at the ceiling with thoughts of her and various states of undress keeping him from sleep, John slips out of her room quietly, turns and begins the short walk back to his quarters.

Maybe counting cows will help bring sleep on...

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