Title: Camouflage
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Rating: NC-17
Ship: Elizabeth/Lorne
Word Count: ~5800
Summary: Everything in nature has some sort of defense mechanism.
A/N: Takes places after Hope, but can be read alone. I originally wrote it for sga_flashfic 's Post Secret Challenge based on the post card found at the end of the story.
Many, many thanks to the wonderful Mona for the amazing beta - for dealing with my crazy commas and her insightful suggestions.
Feedback: Always welcome. You can email me at lunasky @ gmail.com.
1.
“—and I'll definitely need another jacket, better make it four considering how things have been going lately. There's no way I can stitch up these teeth marks. Plus, now that all that exercise seems to be working out, I could use one that shows off my abs a little...”
Elizabeth sat in her office, tapping a pen against the desk, getting lost in Rodney's words.
She snuck a glance at her watch, and saw that Lorne's team was due back any minute, which made things a little bit better. Or that much worse, possibly–she couldn't be sure. Her body was thrumming with something; like she'd sipped a cup of Zelenka's not-quite-coffee import. She felt curiously unwilling to concentrate on the matter at hand, low priority as it was.
“Oh, I'll need a new tactical vest as well since Polkaroo was inordinately fond of the smell of Gore-Tex and wouldn't trade for anything else, which forced me to give it up. For the sake of Atlantis and all…”
P3X-188. They'd come back two weeks ago; soaking wet from the rain but so pleasantly buzzed by the possibilities that she'd hardly noticed. Lorne had joked and flirted with her the entire night, even held on a little longer than necessary when helping her up the escarpment towards the Stargate. All of it had made her heart race along merrily and her stomach bottom out as though she were on an amusement ride or, worse, had reverted back into a hormonal teenager.
The next day he'd stopped by her office, day pack slung casually over his shoulders, and asked her if she wanted to go on a picnic to the mainland.
“I even got the keys to the puddle jumper,” he'd joked.
Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen Rodney and John standing by the stairs, outside listening range but not outside seeing distance, and her stomach had bottomed out again. Not in a love-sick-lustful way either, but in a scary, what-the-hell-where-you-thinking kind of way.
They were in another galaxy, and she was in charge, even if some days were hard. It was the same old double standard – if Sheppard screwed a dozen women, he was a stud. If she went out on one date, the grip she had on her command could dissolve and slip right through her fingers. She wasn't naive enough to think otherwise.
“…also, I'd like to request that the color of the science uniforms be changed from blue to magenta.”
Occasionally, it felt like she was just holding on with her fingernails. A part of her worried that she wasn't properly equipped to do this. She didn't have the leadership training that all the military personnel had; she didn't have the benefit of years of experience in a combat zone, though she was catching up. All she had to go on was her common sense, and the skills of understanding people that she'd honed throughout her career. Some days, she just worried it wasn't enough.
She hadn't been authoritative enough for John to trust her when the nano-virus broke out. She hadn't been persuasive enough to stop Rodney from blowing up three-quarters of a solar system. And though not relevant to her command here on Atlantis, but still something that haunted her, she hadn't been compelling enough to keep Simon, even if she'd only been gone a year.
So she had to compensate. Be as strong as she could, be as sure as she could. If she concentrated, if she worked hard, if she controlled her doubts—she could pull it together.
Being with Lorne would only complicate all that. No matter how amazing it would be between then in the beginning, there was the distinct possibility that it wouldn't last. She'd disappoint him, or he'd see her weaknesses and insecurities first hand. In turn, he'd disappoint her right back because if there was one thing in the universe she knew she couldn't control, it was whom people loved and whom they didn't.
She hadn't been able make Simon love her, not the way she'd wanted him to, no matter how hard she'd tried. She certainly didn't think she'd be able to make Lorne, who seemed so much more sure of himself than Simon. Whether this was ironic or telling—his self-assuredness was one of things she found so damn sexy.
The whole thing had inevitable disaster written all over it.
So she'd made up some excuse about having a meeting that afternoon, instead.
Two days after that, Lorne had asked her if she wanted to go catch a movie playing over in the mess hall, and without meeting his eyes, she'd told him there was the report she had to finish before the regular data transmission to Earth.
“– perhaps we can get an insignia, too; I was thinking something red, with a face of a mouse on it if possible, we could come up with a theme song—”
Yet another three days later, Lorne had stopped by to invite her to lunch. She'd wanted to go with him, of course. Her resolve was fraying; all the flashes of confusion and hurt that crossed his face when she turned him down twisted her with guilt. And that wasn't even taking into account the tension that filled her body every time she thought about him.
She couldn't have him, but it seemed she couldn't keep resisting him, either.
To top if off, she'd skipped breakfast that morning. It took what felt like the last shred of will power to shake her head and decline instead. “ Sorry, Major. I ate already .”
He didn't see her drop her head in her hands as he turned and walked out the door, of course.
“-K-E-Y-M-O-U-S-E. Mickey Mouse—”
“What?” Elizabeth snapped out of her reverie to the sound of Rodney's off-key singing.
“You haven't listened to a single word I've said for the past three minutes, have you?”
“Sorry, Rodney,” she prayed her thoughts hadn't been obvious on her face. “We've all been working round the clock for the last forty-two hours.”
Rodney's face softened marginally, telling her she hadn't missed anything important. She—oh, hell, they both knew that Rodney loved the sound of his voice, and gave into the desire when there was no life-threatening situation at hand. “Any news from the mainland?”
She shook her head. “Carson's elbow deep in Petri dishes and ELISA plates, but his last report two hours ago indicated that the vaccine was working. The child is still in stable condition, and there have only been three deaths. It could have been so much worse. You guys did good.”
Rodney opened his mouth but then closed it again and just nodded, looking at her for along moment.
Two days ago, an Athosian child had developed a smallpox-like illness that had sent them all into a frenzy. All ten off-world teams had been deployed; all the planets in the database that held promising plant-life and any people that could possibly know how to treat this illness were divvied up; everyone was sent off with the hopes of finding something—anything—that could cure the disease. Sheppard's team had returned five hours ago with a vaccine.
Now that all the remaining off-world teams had been recalled, life was slowly dropping out of hyperspace.
After Rodney said his goodbyes, which contained the words ‘rain check', Elizabeth resisted the urge to lay her head in her hands. Wasn't this proof positive that she couldn't afford this kind of distraction, and had obviously made a mistake back on P3X-188? All the other off-world teams were back except SGA-2, and here she was, waiting anxiously for Lorne to walk back through the Stargate.
The sweat had long since cooled on her back; all that was left now was a restless feeling inside making her want to crawl out of her skin.
“We have off-world activation,” the loudspeaker blared as the alarm in the control room went off. Elizabeth stood up automatically, and belatedly noticed that her heart was pounding in her throat.
“Dr. Weir, we have Major Lorne's IDC. We're dropping the shield.”
“Understood,” she responded, then quickly made her way out of her office.
2.
Elizabeth slowed down her stride so it didn't quite look like she was sprinting towards them as they walked down the stairs from the disembarkation area. She needn't have worried; just as she approached, the unexpected smell of rotting fish stopped her short.
Lorne and the three other members of his team trudged a few more steps forward, dripping and slopping water everywhere as they went. They were all soaking wet, but on top of it, Sgt Reed had duckweeds plastered to his head. Smith had an arm around Dr. Tuyet who was limping and covered completely in mud, and Lorne had long blades of grass sticking out from his vest and hair. All their skin was covered in a thin layer of dirt and goo.
“I've been slimed,” Lorne said in greeting as Sheppard beat her to them.
Sheppard waved his hands around, trying unsuccessfully to disperse the smell. “So, I take it P3D-544 isn't a great place for a vacation?”
Lorne gave him a dry, sarcastic laugh and then tipped his P90 so that water ran out the barrel and onto the ground, less than an inch from Sheppard's boot. “No, not so much.”
“Major,” Elizabeth finally forced out of her mouth as Sheppard jumped out of the way of the sludge. Lorne finally turned and saw her, smiling in surprise for a second before a more cautious expression slipped over his face. He reached into his pocket and brought out several vials. “Ma'am. The residents of P3D-544 send their regards.”
He handed her a tube, which she took carefully. It was a standard glass specimen tube with thick, green substance inside. It looked suspiciously like the goop that they were covered with.
“I thought P3D-544 was uninhabited,” she said, tilting the tube back and forth, watching the liquid slop around.
Lorne gave her an edgy laugh. “Yup. ‘Uninhabited and marsh-like' . That's what we thought too. Is it possible that ‘marsh-like' actually means ‘one big, enormous swamp' and ‘uninhabited' actually means ‘ populated by crazy-ass plankton' ?”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrow. “Plankton?”
Next to her, Sheppard mumbled something that sounded like “Crazy-ass?”
“Well, actually Dr. Tuyet said they're more nekton than plankton, and they actually call themselves Grussuts? Something like that.”
“You talked to the plankton?” Elizabeth brought her hand up and prepared to use the radio to call Beckett. Lorne's voice was starting to take on the sharp edge of hysteria.
“No, not so much talking as it mind-melded right into my head,” Lorne pointed to his left temple and Elizabeth noticed a red rash there the size of a quarter. “And you should probably call for that medical team. Tuyet can't walk right, and we're all having these wicked muscle spasms.”
Elizabeth quickly tapped her radio and made the call.
In the meantime, Sheppard moved closer and gently took the useless P90 from Lorne's hands. Lorne turned it over without comment and then handed Sheppard a vial as well. “That's for you, sir. King Plankton said it could be used as a weapon, as well.”
“Didn't anyone teach you not to take candy from strangers, Major?” Sheppard held the vial pinched between two fingers and away from his body.
“Yes, sir, but as sweet as this gift is, I didn't think the rule would apply. And this vial's for Beckett; apparently it has medicinal properties. Oh, and structural ones too—that last one's for McKay or whoever wants it. They line their dams with that stuff,” Lorne said, rubbing his face and wiping away a handful of the goo which dripped onto the floor. “And did I mention the not so talkative flock of crazy geese that came after us?”
3.
Elizabeth paced outside of Lorne's quarters and went over once again the pros and cons of knocking on his door. Beckett had released them a short while ago, citing dehydration and electrolyte imbalance; nothing too serious for once. Dr. Tuyet suffered the worst of the injuries with a sprained ankle. Samples of green goo were now being studied by Botany.
And Engineering.
Just another mission; another day in the Pegasus galaxy.
Her heart hammered as she pictured him standing there in the Gate Room. Even covered in slime and smelling worse than a fish market, the smile he'd given her for that split second before he remembered the last few weeks made her knees weak; she envied and admired how easy and sure it came to him. So what the hell was she doing then, avoiding him, and yet showing up at his room?
At the very least, he deserved an explanation for her behavior. Maybe that way, they could possibly salvage their friendship, if she hadn't damaged it already as well.
Not that the idea of friendship felt very satisfying.
Knocking on his door, there was a long silence before Lorne finally answered. He'd obviously just gotten out of the shower; he was wearing clean BDUs and holding a towel in his hands. A smile twitched on her lips as she saw his hair sticking straight up again, just like in the cave—which did nothing whatsoever to help her resolve.
“Ma'am?” The surprise was plain on his face.
She looked down the hallway, but this section of hallway was quiet this time of day. “How are you doing?” she asked, turning back to him.
He gave her a smile and shrugged. “Okay. Beckett hooked us up to some banana bags, I feel fine now. Leg cramps are gone. Sorry about that back in the Gate Room.”
She waved a hand at his words, dismissing them. Silence settled awkwardly until she finally screwed up enough courage to force the words out of her mouth. “Look, can we talk for a minute?”
Lorne eyed her wearily, before stepping back and inviting her in. “Sure, I guess.”
She didn't realize her mistake until it was too late. As she stepped inside, she lost whatever objectivity she had. Before, she had the luxury of telling herself that she didn't really know him that well; that these last eight months they'd worked together, had only given her a fragmentary picture of the kind of man he was. Now, stepping into the semi-dark quarters, a nutty, woody scent that she recognized as his aftershave drifted in from the small bathroom. It mingled with the deeper notes of his own personal scent, carried by the moisture in the air that enveloped her as she walked through it until she was completely immersed.
The sense of familiarity was overwhelming.
His quarters were a decent size, spacious, if a little oddly shaped due to the way they followed this section of the spire. Neat as well; not that she was surprised. She suspected that the military quarters were inspected on occasion, and even if Lorne was the one doing the inspections, she had a feeling he would make sure his were kept up to standard. Or it could be years of ingrained habit.
Sweats and weights were sitting on a chair in the corner, and a Texas flag was tacked to the wall.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, studying her for a second before walking back towards his bathroom, towel-drying his hair.
A desk sat in the corner, giving him a small alcove to work in, and she was a little surprised at the stack of paperwork sitting in the corner. There were three or four files that he was obviously working on, piled on top of several manuals and binders. She had a feeling that judging by how clean John kept his desk, he'd passed on all his paperwork to Lorne.
She walked idly around, absorbing it all in as she did. There was a small sketchbook sitting on the table which she ran a finger over, then looked up to ask for permission, but she was still alone in the room.
Bringing the book over to his desk, she sat down on his chair, careful not to disturb the files and reports. Flipping it open, she quickly saw that it was full of drawings. Each page contained several sketches in pencil or pen depicting different scenes and landscapes, most of which she knew right away weren't inspired by places on Earth.
Feeling a little guilty but too intrigued to put it down, she turned each page more slowly. Judging by the dates scribbled into the corners, the first half of the book was made up during his time with the SGC. There were sketches of people she didn't recognize, but there was one of Daniel Jackson standing by a table, with his arms crossed in front of him that made her smile. As she flipped along, it was like looking at snapshots of all of the various missions he'd been on. Aliens she'd never encountered but read about, places she'd never seen but could imagine. In one corner, there was a small image of O'Neill wearing his sunglasses, another of an overturned jeep in a field bearing the distinguishing marks of an energy weapon.
As she continued along, she finally came to the drawings he'd made since coming to Atlantis. Scenes from the Daedalus mixed in with quick sketches of Atlantis as seen from the air. With each page she flipped through, a nervous pressure started to coil in her stomach. She wondered if she'd find herself immortalized along with the rest of them, and sure enough, one of the first pictures she recognized was of herself, standing on top of the balcony in the Gate Room, waiting for a team to come home.
Since the first off-world mission, she'd made it a point to be there when the teams came back, if she could. Had anyone asked her, she probably wouldn't have been able to explain; she couldn't be sure it actually mattered to them. A few might just think of her as a mother hen making sure her ducklings made it home, but it was important to her to make sure they got back safe.
Looking at this drawing, she realized that she might have to rethink what it meant to the teams coming home. Lorne had drawn her pretty forgivingly, with a calm and sure expression on her face, standing tall when she knew she was usually slouching or leaning. The angle was a little skewed, like it was drawn from the perspective of someone walking through the Stargate, and she tried to remember which mission it could have been. Which time that she'd sent him out, and been driven onto the balcony to make sure he returned home, safe and sound?
Glancing up at him, she realized that he had finished drying his hair and was now watching her intently.
“These are amazing,” she said, knowing she should close the book and hand it back to him, but he didn't look angry at the intrusion.
She looked back down and flipped to the next page. There was a sketch of Ford, standing behind McKay holding a blaster, another one of Ronon wearing his long jacket and holding his gun in one hand. Continuing along, she saw that not all of them were from missions, however. There was a quick sketch of someone, possibly Cadman, spiking a volleyball over a makeshift net, and Elizabeth remembered the tournament they'd set up on the mainland. There were doodles of various Ancient designs that she recognized from around Atlantis, there was even a funny cartoon of Sheppard getting put in a headlock by Teyla.
As she got near the end, her nervousness returned, wondering if he'd recorded anything about them, in the last two weeks. The very last drawing, dated a week ago, was not what she was expecting. It was a copy of the inscription she'd taken off the rocks at P3X-188. The level of detail was impressive, especially since he must have been going by memory alone, but in the center of it all was the star glyph she'd pointed out. The one that meant hope in the Ancient tongue.
Swallowing against the unexpected tightness in her throat, Elizabeth quickly closed the book and dropped it down in her lap. There was some shuffling and suddenly, he was standing next to her, leaning against the desk.
“What's going on?” he asked, his voice gentler than she would have thought. He was leaning back on his hands; only natural that her eyes followed his arms up, up towards his biceps and chest, but stopping so that she didn't meet his eyes. Of course—the weights he had brought along were being used rather frequently. She could see the muscles of his chest through his shirt.
What would it be like to strip him naked and run her fingers across his skin, feeling those muscles tense at her touch? What it would feel like to be held close, to feel his hands with tell-tale calluses across her own body? It had been far too long…
She ripped her gaze away.
“You can look if you want to. I don't mind.”
Her throat went dry, but her eyes went right back to him, drinking him in. Drinking in his face too, finally. His blue eyes were staring at her and she almost—almost—believed that she could do this. That she could trust him enough—
“I can't do this.”
He leaned closer until he was whispering in her ear, sending chills down her spine. “You can do whatever you want.”
She forced herself not to move, not to breathe, sure that he was going to touch her face, and kiss her, make the decision for her. She found that she could live with that.
That she was, in fact, aching for it.
Instead, he got up again and moved away, leaving her oddly bereft. “You know, I had some time to think today while walking through the bog. Nothing like a ten-hour trek through a swamp to make your mind wander. I came up with a theory.”
“A theory?” She was seized by the wish he'd come back. Even if he just sat there so she could feel his breath against her face—yes—that would be—
“About you. About us.” Finally, he did move closer, and yet closer still until he was standing beside her and pulled her up off the chair. His hands were firm on her wrists—not hurting, but not gentle either. She let him move her around, bringing her closer until her body was pushed up against his, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her hands behind her back.
“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless. They were almost the same height so she had no choice but to look directly at him. But he—he was so much stronger. He held her arms securely as he leaned forward, bringing his face towards her cheek, and teased her ear with his lips.
Her heart was pounding and her knees felt shockingly unsteady.
“If you want me to stop, just say so,” he said, catching her against him, and wrapping her up tighter, so that his chest was pressed firm against hers. He continued by trailing kisses all the way down her neck. “Or don't say anything at all, and let me continue.”
She clamped her mouth shut; her body silencing the voice in her head. Closing her eyes, she felt him shift a little, transferring both her wrists to one hand so that were still pinned behind her. He brought his free hand up, under her shirt and cupped her breast; the strain on her arms in perfect counterpoint to the desire rushing between her legs.
“Josh…” she whispered as he brought his face back down to her, crushing her lips in a kiss so urgent that it effectively dispelled whatever thought had been forming in her head. She felt as if she was spinning out of control, slowly but surely. He kissed her again, tongue and teeth and hands moving desperately across her skin.
When they finally broke apart, Lorne didn't waste any time. He momentarily let go of her arms, just long enough so he could pull her shirt up over her head, and threw it somewhere behind him. Directing her towards his bed, he stopped by his closet, shushing her with a kiss when she tried to ask what he was doing, and pulled a tie from a hanger.
“Josh?” she asked as they stumbled onto the bed, before he straddled her waist, pinning her underneath.
“You can tell me to stop…” he reminded her, gently taking her hands and holding them above her head. As she felt him bind her wrists together, a moment of panic flooded her. This wasn't what she'd been expecting; hell, she hadn't been expecting any of this, but to be tied to his bed suddenly seemed way too much—
“You can trust me, Elizabeth,” he whispered, “to take care of you. Just relax and let me try…please.” His voice was quiet and serious, and she found herself staring into his eyes. They were nearly black with the desire burning in them, but she could also see the strength that would restrain him if she told him to stop. Seeing emotions that raw in his face reassured her, centered her; she still had that final control, if she chose to exercise it. And the fact that this control was over a man like Lorne made her light-headed.
She forced her muscles to relax and let her body sink into the bed. He took off his shirt, and leaned over her, his dog tags dangling from his neck, skimming the curve of her breasts. He made a move to slip them off his as well when she stopped him.
“No. Keep them on,” she asked, surprising herself. But if she was going to be damned—and she just might be—then she was going to make it worth it. There was something incredibly sexy about seeing him in these crucial bits of his uniform, something that promised her that he was competent and skillful, and that she could trust him, maybe.
Elizabeth had never imagined herself as being the kind of woman who would want to submit to a man, but suddenly the idea that she could surrender herself, for just a little while—that she could shelve all her worries and responsibilities—lifted a huge weight off her body.
Lorne kept the dog tags on; kept the rest of his clothes on in fact as he leaned back over to kiss her and follow her neck and collar bone all the way down to her chest. With both his hands free, he wasted no time in finding the clasp to her bra, giving her a grin when he realized it was in front. He undid it with his teeth, showing off and teasing her with the thought of what else he could do with his mouth, only to show her a few seconds later when he licked a nipple, flicking it with his tongue and then sucking it into his mouth until a moaned escaped her lips. She spread her legs so that he could lie between them; as he shifted to accommodate her, she immediately felt the heat from his erection.
He groaned and pushed against her and even with both their pants on, the friction was amazing. She thought his control would finally break as he stilled and lay there, but he managed to tear himself away from her, long enough to rip off her sneakers and slacks, long enough to undo the zipper on his own pants.
“Come here,” she said, dangerously close to begging, trying to wrap her legs around his waist. She'd never felt this empty, this much desire to feel a man inside her and with her arms tied up above her head, there was nothing she could do hurry him up. She wanted to touch him, to excite him, make him beg the same way…
And then she felt his mouth between her legs—his tongue teasing her open—and then his fingers inside her, and her world coalesced into those sensations alone. She was helpless against the bonds, unable to strain against them no matter what he chose to do. She couldn't do anything, only lie here and feel what he was doing…until the orgasm hit her hard, wiping all other thoughts from her mind.
She lay there panting, gasping as he slowly crawled back up her body.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered into her ear as he rolled over to reach the drawer of his nightstand. She heard the sound of a package being ripped open. In the half-light from the bathroom, she saw him rolling on a condom before positioning himself back on top of her. Bringing her legs around him, she wiggled her hips until she felt him slide inside—and then it was like beginning all over again, gloriously so.
She felt so full, his weight pressing down on her everywhere; as he thrust into her over and over again, she surrendered to the sensations completely.
4.
She lay there, slowly trying to get her breathing under control, feeling as if every muscle in her body had melted away. Josh was laying half on top of her, panting, and just as breathless.
“I must be getting heavy,” he said finally, rolling off of her and reaching up to untie her hands. With one tug, the bonds loosened and she was able to bring her hands back down.
Elizabeth smiled a little to herself, rubbing her wrists as she watched how he rolled out of bed and headed towards the bathroom. The bed felt colder now. “Why did you bring a tie with you?” she asked as he half-closed the door.
“It's part of my Dress Blues,” he answered from the bathroom. “At least now it served some purpose, after I brought them all the way here.”
After a moment, he turned off the bathroom light and returned, fully naked this time and crawled into the bed next to her. “Can you stay for a little while?” he asked.
She nodded, turning towards him and putting her hand under her head. He brought his arms around, guiding her closer until she had her head on his chest instead.
“Your tie was your theory?” she asked in the darkness.
“I understand how lonely it can be to be in charge,” his voice was low as he held her tighter.
She raised her head and looked at him. He brushed some hair away from her forehead and then guided her head back down to his chest.
“I've never been in exactly your shoes, but a week after I got promoted to Captain, I was being checked out on the BUFFs – uh, B52's—on a training run outside Zaire when we lost two engines. Normally, it wouldn't have been a problem, but we were flying heavy and then, for some reason, lost a third engine as well.
“Captain Adler managed to bring us down, more or less in one piece, but it was a disaster. A plane that big doesn't go down without the wrong people noticing and before we knew it, we were on foot, being chased by guerilla forces through the rain forest. Captain Adler was shot in one of the night scrimmages and died before morning. Suddenly, it was up to me to get us to the EVAC point. I'll never forget that moment—right after Adler died, when the other three guys turned to me, and just stared. I could have been them, I was only a Captain for a week, what the hell did I know about leading men in a combat zone? Training is just that; it's something else completely to have to do it.”
“You all made it out okay?” Elizabeth asked. Not surprisingly, this wasn't in his personnel file. It was a long time ago, but of course, they weren't supposed to even have had B52's in Zaire.
“Not all of us. Lieutenant Ashley took an RPG in the chest. Roberto, Botticelli and me made it back.”
“I'm sorry,” she whispered, hearing the pain he still carried around in his voice.
“My point is, I know what it feels like to think you're alone with everyone else's expectations, hell, with your own expectations…and at the same time knowing it's not fair for you to put those same expectations on the people you're leading. I just want you to know that you can always expect things of me. I can be your friend, even if I'd really like to be something more.”
She sat up, brought the covers up close around her chest and the turned and looked at him. He looked as exhausted as she felt, but she needed to understand. “Why, Josh. Why me?”
He looked up at her and brought his hand up to touch the side of her face. “I love how much you care—about us—every member of your expedition, about the work we do, whether it's scientific or not, about the people we meet, about protecting them all. I respect how strongly you feel about the right thing to do; it's something that I can forget more easily than I'd like to admit. Sometimes, when the shit hits the fan, all I see is what needs to happen to survive – you keep your eye on the big picture.
“If you never want to do this again, then I'll pretend it never happened. If instead, you want to take a chance with me, then I want you to trust me that what we do behind closed doors won't impact what happens outside them.”
She touched his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin travel up through her arm. “And you came up with all this while walking through the swamp?”
Lorne grinned. “Well, part of the reason why we were walking around for so long was because we were chasing this energy signal that Tuyet kept picking up. It was intermittent, so we couldn't get a lock on it, and I guess over the years, the plankton had developed a very effective camouflage. Probably to outwit the crazy-ass geese, they developed two distinct halves to their bodies. The ones they kept above water looked like lily pads, the parts that they kept underneath were their soft brains. The only way we found them was when Tuyet tripped and—well, face-planted into a large group of them. Damn things nearly suffocated him because they thought he was attacking.”
“I still don't get it.”
“We all have camouflage that we wear to keep ourselves from getting hurt. I just had to learn to recognize yours.”
~~~
