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It began with a box.
It was a small box, no more than six inches square, with the symbol of the Genii carved into its wooden top. Elizabeth had been surprised to learn the origins of the triangular symbol; woodcraft just wasn? an art she associated with the Genii. The box had come with a note, but all she could make out was her name water had caused the writing to run, making everything but the envelope illegible. She could only assume that it was a gesture of goodwill to cement the alliance.
She opened the box, after assurances from the science department that the contents were harmless, and found a small metal casting inside. It was obviously old, and one side had worn smooth while the other bore an intricate design that appeared to be floral. It fit perfectly within her hand, and she found its cool weight oddly reassuring. After a moment of study, she slipped it back into its wooden home and pulled out a sheet of her now-limited paper supply to make sure her thanks were known.
* * * Three days later, Elizabeth had the opportunity to hand the note to Chancellor Radim with a request that it reach the appropriate parties. She assumed that would be the end of the matter, and put it out of her mind.
* * * Two weeks later, she found a parcel just inside her quarters. Whoever was responsible for the package had not bothered with a note; instead, her name was written in neat script on the paper wrapping. There was no sender listed, but the only shipment that day had come from the Genii. The logical conclusion was that it was from the unnamed sender that had been responsible for the beautiful box and worry-stone.
Allowing her curiosity to get the better of her, Elizabeth unwrapped the package carefully. She found what at first appeared to be a bundle of cloth - obviously a mislabeled portion of the newly arrived textile supplies - but as she unfolded it, she realized that it was a quilt. A comforter, really. It was filled with a delightfully squishy down, and would fit a bed much larger than her own.
She spent much of the night in debate - should she accept the gift? and if she didn't, how did she return it without embarrassing everyone involved? The next day, the weather took the decision out of her hands when a cold front hit the city. She spent the evening curled up under the warm fabric while she did the administration that could be 'bring home', deciding that it was all right to abuse her position just this once. It wasn't as if people came to her quarters anyway, and certainly not anyone who would care or rat her out. No one would ever know that she had something warmer than the standard issue blankets. When the next Genii delegation came through for strategy discussions, her note was already prepared.
* * * The third 'gift' was much more innocuous. With the next shipment from the Genii, Elizabeth received a small square cake and a note.
Since you appreciate our craft, perhaps you will enjoy our custom. We greet the new year with something sweet. I hope that you find this malan cake to your liking.She asked Teyla for more information on the custom, and was surprised when a hesitant Dahlia Radim showed up at her table in the mess that evening.
Dahlia had been in the first wave of Genii immigrants to the city, an unspoken pledge from her brother to make the alliance work. By all accounts she was settling in well, and Elizabeth remembered that Carson had mentioned Dahlia as one of the successful recipients of his experimental treatment for radiation sickness. Elizabeth had only seen her in person a few times since the formation of the Alliance, and it had always been in passing. This was the first time Dahlia had sought her out.
"Doctor Weir?"
Elizabeth had been working while she ate, and was startled by the unexpected, if tentative, query. "Yes?"
"Do you mind if I...?" Dahlia gestured to the chair across from her, and Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"Of course not. Dahlia, isn't it?" The Genii woman nodded. "How have you been settling in?"
"I have no complaints." She paused, and blushed lightly. "I must admit, the showers are a welcome change. We have not had hot water at home since my brother took office, and even the cold running water has been limited."
Elizabeth frowned. "I didn't realize that; is there damage from the culling? I'm sure some of our engineers would be more than willing to aid in repairs, if that's the case."
Dahlia shook her head. "It is not from the culling. Soon after he took power, Ladon ordered many of our generators to be shut down for modifications; he said they were causing the sicknesses that have swept our people in recent years. We have done without many small and unnecessary luxuries, and it is no hardship. But...It is nice to have hot water again."
"I can imagine." Elizabeth shivered in sympathy. "Was there something specific you needed?"
"Oh! I'm sorry, you must be busy." Dahlia glanced apologetically at the tablet that was laid out beside Elizabeth's tray. "Teyla mentioned that you had expressed interest in our New Year's celebration. The festival itself is tomorrow, on my world. Was there anything in particular you wished to know?"
Elizabeth slid her tablet to the side in a pointed gesture, and crossed her arms to lean on the table. "Tell me about malan cake..."
* * * The cake, it turned out, was eaten only on the first morning of a new year. Much like the Jewish traditions of Rosh Hashanah, the idea was to begin the year on the note you wished it to follow - in the case of the Genii, sweet with just a hint of bitterness and full of life. The cake itself was incredible - rich and nutty, sweet, but not too sweet, and full-bodied.
Elizabeth shared the ritual with Dahlia the next morning, and found herself enjoying the woman's company. Dahlia had a sharp mind and an optimistic outlook; it was refreshing to talk to someone socially who wasn't jockeying for political leverage. Not that any of the groups in the Alliance were as petty as some of those she'd run into on Earth, but the sheer number of details in play at any given time meant that there was little escape from the politics. She rarely saw John or Rodney or even Teyla anymore. They appeared in staff meetings and the occasional mission briefing, but things were always too busy to take the time to chat. She was always too busy to chat. While she hoped it would change, she knew it would be a while before things were settled enough to actually relax.
Dahlia had a more flexible schedule due to the work she was doing in the greenhouses (evaluating their potential for growing in-house staple crops), and was someone Elizabeth found herself sharing meals with regularly. She proved to be both a voracious learner - she'd talked the sole botanist who had transferred from the Daedalus into allowing her to help in the greenhouse inventories - and surprisingly light-hearted for someone who had come so close to death. Elizabeth took refuge in the anecdotes that Dahlia shared, both of her childhood and her current work, glad of their simple nature. They eased the sting of Kate Heightmeyer's absence, both as a friend and a counselor. Elizabeth hadn't realized how close of a friend Kate had become until she was gone, and now there were neither the resources nor the time to spare looking into a way to retrieve personnel on Earth.
Through her conversations with Dahlia, Elizabeth learned a lot about the Genii culture, and one of the most surprising elements in the tales was Ladon. The man Dahlia spoke of was not the Ladon Radim Elizabeth had met, either before or after his rise to power. It brought to mind Teyla's quiet stories, and Ronon's guarded expressions that segued so carefully into joy or sorrow. It made her wonder just how many of those she worked with had given their lives to the Wraith in a way that had nothing to do with culling.
Whenever things got too bad, she would curl up in bed at night and renew her vow that this would be the last generation to pay so much in exchange for so little. These were her friends and allies, now; this was her home. Her city was not the dominion of the Wraith, and she would make whatever personal sacrifices were necessary to keep that promise.
* * * Months passed, and the gifts continued to appear with the Genii shipments, along with missives that grew longer and more personal with every exchange. Elizabeth knew that if she asked, Dahlia could find out who was behind them - her brother was the Chancellor, after all.
Elizabeth didn't ask.
She knew that she should; some might see the exchanges as accepting bribes from one of the parties with whom she negotiated. She knew it would be the right thing to do - a necessary sacrifice - but she couldn't bring herself to end the closest friendship she could remember. There was a freedom in the anonymity, and if she found out the identity of her correspondent, she would be obliged to end it. With the exception of the quilt, all of the gifts she had received had been small and thoughtful - a lotion for her hands, a tea to help with her headaches, a tie for her hair. None of it was of high value, to her knowledge. She told herself that she would stop things if that changed. If it risked interfering with her position in the alliance.
There was just something addictive about the gifts. About having someone pay attention to her - Elizabeth - as opposed to the Administrator of Atlantis or the Architect of the Alliance. No one had shown her that kind of attention since the early months of her relationship with Simon, now almost five years in the past. They had exchanged letters in those early days, full of flowery descriptions and declarations of love that made her blush in reflection. The letters had ended after their six month anniversary, and it had been simple enough to let the memories of being "My Dearest Elizabeth" slip away beneath international (and inter-galactic) concerns.
Once she transferred to Antarctica, and then Atlantis, it had been easy to forget what it was like to be more than simply a job description. There were always things to be done. Important things like feeding her people or defeating the Wraith.
John had tried to remind her, in the early days of the expedition, but she'd worried that he would hear the wrong things in her acceptances if she didn't discourage him. Her city came first; her obligations came first, above all else. They always had. Now, between hand-holding the various groups in the alliance and the logistics of feeding and housing a population of three thousand (and growing larger every week), the work just never ended.
Some days, she wanted more.
Once the exchange became more than basic pleasantries, she was the one to ask the first tentative questions, moving their letters into the realm of the personal instead of the formal. She found herself telling him (she knew it was a him; she'd asked in her fifth letter)) about Simon, and the things she'd left behind on Earth. The silly things that she could never mention to Rodney or Carson, or even John, because they had left behind so much more than she had. There had been nothing for her on Earth except a mother she couldn't speak to No career that she cared about, no siblings or close family, not even Sedge - not after three years gone. His replies had been understanding, and she found the act of writing things down therapeutic in and of itself.
No matter how casual and affectionate the writing grew, however, there were unspoken rules to their game. The foremost among them being that they never used names - not their own, and not those of the people they might write about. It was always "my mother" or "my friend."
* * * The correspondence ended just as it began, by accident.
Eight months after the founding of the alliance, an initiative was established to look into the feasibility of a 'secure' settlement. One that would be protected as much by secrecy as by technology scavenged from the twin city located on Taros, acquired by promising resettlement to those who wished to benefit from the new site. Between the Genii concerns about exposure and the Taranian complaints about weather conditions and housing availability, Elizabeth was fleeing to her rooms at the end of each day. She wouldn't call it 'hiding', but she was definitely engaging in strategic corridor usage during her rare moments off. Years later, all she would be able to recall of the planning phase for the project was one long blur of committee meetings and spreadsheets (the Genii had taken to Microsoft Excel with an unholy glee).
The one bright spot in the whole mess was the letter that appeared on her desk on the eleventh day of negotiations (the Genii and the Taranians definitely earned points for persistence; neither was willing to allow a day of rest until the topographical assignments were to their liking). The letter was uncharacteristically short, just two words - Good Luck. While she appreciated the consideration (she was up to her eyeballs in paperwork already, and sinking fast), she was still sorry that the letter wasn't a little more engaging.
The gift that was enclosed in the folded paper was enough to quiet any lingering complaints about the letter's brevity, however. It was a pendant, made of a silver metal that thankfully didn't feel warm to the touch, in the figure of a flower that she didn't recognize. Like many of the things she had received from her anonymous pen-pal, the beauty of the necklace was in its simplicity. It was a slender piece on what at first appeared to be a black thread, but the filament proved stronger than any fiber she was familiar with. It was also thin enough to wear beneath a high-collared shirt without drawing attention.
She spent almost an hour that evening composing her reply, and couldn't bring herself to feel guilty for "wasting" the time. For the rest of the talks, she wore a high-collared shirt.
The other side effect of the talks, however, was the loss of the meals she shared with Dahlia (and now Carson. He? started joining them with suspicious regularity around their third month back in Atlantis, and Elizabeth was pretty sure it wasn? for her company). For twenty-five days, all meals that Elizabeth took were in the conference room. She'd been pulled aside at various times by concerned parties, but she was determined to get the project past these initial stages before calling a halt to the proceedings.
The morning after the preliminary talks concluded (land usage assigned, labor rotations scheduled, supply projections hammered out), Elizabeth was surprised when Dahlia stepped out onto the balcony beside her. Dahlia, like many of the Genii, tended to grow uncomfortable when reminded of the great height of the command tower and surrounding structures, and avoided the balconies. This morning, however, she entered the open air without hesitation, carrying a tray bearing Genii Morning Bread.
"Good morning."
Elizabeth smiled at the quiet greeting. "It is, isn't it."
"Carson told me that the negotiations have concluded. I thought that called for a celebration."
"I couldn't agree more." Elizabeth took a deep breath, savoring the smell coming from the tray. "Is that coffee?"
Dahlia straightened proudly; the coffee had been one of her projects, under the supervision of Doctor Laski. "The first crop was harvested a few days ago."
"It sounds like congratulations are in order for you, too." Elizabeth took a mug from the tray and closed her eyes as she enjoyed the rich aroma. When she opened them, she caught Dahlia peering around nervously and realized that the Genii woman was uncomfortable with the open air, despite her confident appearance. "Come on, let's enjoy this inside; the wind's starting to kick up."
Dahlia smiled gratefully, and led the way into the office. She set the tray down on Elizabeth's desk, and paused to study something on the desk's surface. Elizabeth settled into one of the chairs across from her desk, content to enjoy her coffee in the companionable silence. It was nice to actually have a morning off.
"Why did you not tell me that you were betrothed?"
Dahlia's voice was quiet, with a touch of hurt. Elizabeth choked on her coffee, and just barely avoided spilling the rest of the mug. "I'm sorry?"
Dahlia looked up, and Elizabeth saw that she had been examining the worry stone. "Betrothed, bound to another. I...I thought you counted me among your friends."
Elizabeth frowned. "I do, Dahlia. I think there's been a mistake here; I'm not betrothed. I'm not even seeing anyone."
Dahlia colored, obviously embarrassed. "I apologize. It's just...you have a betrothal stone. Among the Genii, such stones are given when a permanent union is sought." She looked down again, and carefully traced the design that was set in the metal. "This stone comes from the Grower's Guild. I have only seen one other with their symbol; it was my mother's, passed down through the generations. This must be close to 500 years old; that was when the guild disbanded."
Elizabeth sipped her coffee carefully, a suspicion starting deep within her mind. "You said that it offers a pledge of permanent union? Does that always mean marriage?"
Dahlia looked up again, frowning thoughtfully. "I have never heard of one given for any other reason, but I suppose it is possible. Traditionally a man would give one to his chosen bride. Sometimes they simply pass through families. Because my mother had no brothers, she inherited the stone herself." She took a slice of bread from the tray and moved to sit in the chair across from Elizabeth.
"Would you...would you mind if I took a look at yours sometime? I'd love to learn more about them."
Dahlia shook her head. "Of course you would be welcome to, but the stone belongs to my brother. It passes to the eldest son whenever possible."
"I suppose that makes a certain amount of sense, given that your people are patriarchal. You mentioned that this one has the symbol of a Grower's Guild'. What is that?"
"The Grower's Guild was one of ten artisan guilds that served the Genii. Some of the guilds still exist, the more practical arts like weaving and sewing. The rest disbanded after a severe culling five hundred years ago. The Grower's Guild dealt with the shaping and nurturing of decorative plants."
Elizabeth smiled in sudden understanding. "So that's why you like the greenhouses so much."
Dahlia nodded. "My mother used to tell me stories about the works the guild had created. Whenever we were aboveground, she would show us where the gardens had been and what plants should be used for what purposes. After her death, I stopped going aboveground. We both did. I had forgotten how much life can be grown in such a small space when the conditions are right."
"I can imagine. I've always had a bit of a black thumb myself, but my mother grew roses. As a child, I used to think she loved her roses more than she loved me. She's probably still growing them, saving eggshells and compost scraps." She shook her head, trying to move her thoughts away from the mother she was unlikely to ever see again. She lifted her mug, but was surprised to find it empty; she didn't remember having finished the coffee. She lowered it to find Dahlia watching her curiously. Elizabeth looked away; she didn't know how to explain that her own mother gave her nightmares. "I, uh, I should probably get back to work. The negotiations are over, but the city never sleeps, and all that."
"If you say so." Dahlia nodded slowly, and stood to collect the tray. She set two slices of bread along with a napkin on the desk before turning. "Elizabeth, I may be speaking out of turn, but...Have you taken any time for yourself in recent months?"
Elizabeth frowned. "This is a busy time, Dahlia. I can't afford to take time away, not now. In a few months, when the new project is underway, I will."
Dahlia leaned against the desk, carefully balancing the tray against her hip. "I know that things are busy, but they cannot be that busy. Carson, Doctor McKay, Teyla, even Halling - they all take time for themselves. You remind me of my brother; he takes many of our people's problems upon himself, and I see him suffer for it - his body and his mind. Things have not been good at home for a long time, and they are worse without the generators. I fear that he will break under the strain. I fear the same for you."
Elizabeth swallowed hard. "I appreciate your concern, Dahlia, I really do. But until the settlement is built, there is no other option. I came up with this alliance, and I will be damned if I am going to let it fall within its first year. I do take time for myself, I promise you that. But I cannot take more until there is some measure of security for our people."
"It is, of course, your decision. I only meant to voice my concern. I will see you at dinner?"
Elizabeth nodded tiredly, her day suddenly seeming much longer than it had out on the balcony. "I'll try to make it down during regular hours, but I can't promise. You can tell Carson that I'm eating, though."
Dahlia nodded, apparently unashamed that her ulterior motives had been noted. "I will. We have missed you, this last month; everyone has. I am glad the negotiations are concluded."
"I am, too. Thank you for the coffee."
"You are welcome." With that, Dahlia turned and left Elizabeth to her thoughts. They circled around and around, but kept catching on the phrase it was my mother's. There was no way that the stone she had received was Ladon's, except it made a strange sort of sense. A pledge of permanent union; it fit the description of the goals of the alliance. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed the only logical answer. The problem was, she wasn't sure where the information left her.
Giving up on getting any paperwork done, Elizabeth played hooky for the first time since establishing the alliance.
* * * She hid herself away on one of the outer piers, unconsciously choosing the one with the broken grounding station (which still hadn't been fixed; she was going to have to mention that to Rodney. They'd assumed that the Asurans had fixed some of these ongoing projects; if this wasn't repaired, she wondered what else hadn't been dealt with). She spent the day alternating between watching the waves and poking at the remains of the grounding station, remembering her first year in the city. So much had changed, not just their relations with the Genii. Except that "they" included the Genii now. That had taken some getting used to.
Something else that had taken getting used to was the change that hot water made in the temperaments and appearances of the Genii negotiators. It was amazing what a good shower could do to change a person, and she'd been shocked to realize how young some of the Genii diplomats were. The permanent assignment was three men and a woman, with Ladon popping in once every week or two for updates on the situation and the meetings of the "leadership" council. She'd been tempted to ask if the youth of the delegates was indicative of anything, but she hadn't wanted to draw attention to potentially troublesome topics like the coup.
Now that he was tying up so much of her concentration, Elizabeth allowed herself to admit that Ladon had cleaned up much better than she'd anticipated. With that, her thoughts returned to the
worrybetrothal stone. There was no chance that it was someone else; she might want to tell herself that, but she didn't believe in that high a degree of coincidence. Ladon was her mysterious benefactor, and now she had to decide what to do with that.Things couldn't continue as they had; she knew that much. Before, she could have answered honestly that she didn't know where the gifts came from; now, she would have to lie. She didn't want to lie. The simplest thing to do would be to confront him, let him know that she knew the truth, and see where they wanted things to go from there. That led to another question: Where did she want this to go?
* * * "Chancellor, I was hoping to have a word with you in private."
"Um, of course." Ladon turned back to the two delegates he'd been speaking to. "If you'll excuse me a moment." They nodded, and he stood. "Doctor Weir, what can I do for you?"
"Actually, I have a new policy that I wanted to run by you. Could you come by my quarters at 1900? I'll pick up dinner in the mess and we can eat while we work, if that's all right."
He blinked, but seemed to take her words at face value. "Certainly. If you'll excuse me until then?"
"Good day, Chancellor." She smiled politely and turned to leave; now, if only the rest of the day went as smoothly.
* * * It took a bit of arranging, but Elizabeth managed to finish everything that was necesary for the next morning's meetings by 1800. That gave her an hour before her meeting, and there was just enough time to swing by the mess, shower, and take one last attempt at talking herself out of this. It wasn't going to work - the wheels were already too well in motion - but she figured she'd give her rational side one last dying scream before she stepped off this particular cliff.
Forty-five minutes later, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she wondered if it had been a mistake to give her good sense five minutes of free reign. It was certainly screaming longer and louder than she'd thought it would, and it was beginning to seem like this was a really bad idea. After all, he was the head of state for a planet whose credibility was shaky at best. He'd single-handedly spearheaded a coup and overthrown the previous government. He probably glowed in the dark.
And he wrote really beautiful letters.
Elizabeth sighed, and tried pulling her hair up again, looking at the difference in her reflection. You could see the necklace more clearly this way. Maybe if she tried-
A knock at the door brought her out of her contemplation, accompanied by a hestitant "Doctor Weir?" through her door.
"Coming." Elizabeth dropped her hair and made a face at the disorganized mass that settled around her shoulders as she made her way to the door. It would have to do. She stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath; she was doing this. She was doing this. She let it out slowly, put on a casual smile, and thought the door open. "Chancellor, thank you for coming by."
"I couldn't possibly resist the urge to get early warning about Alliance policy, now could I?" He grinned, and she found her own smile becoming more genuine in response as the tension eased.
"Of course not, but please. Call me Elizabeth. This is hardly a formal setting."
He inclined his head, obviously curious, but didn't press the issue. "Then I insist that you call me Ladon, in the spirit of fairness." He followed her to the table in the corner of her 'living room', where she had set up the spoils of a little judicious usage of rank in the mess. His eyes softened as he watched her adjust items on the table. "I must say, you look lovely this evening."
She didn't blush, but it was a near thing - even though she knew that it was merely a polite compliment. The Athosian dress was a deep red, and had been a gift from Teyla on her most recent birthday. "Thank you. It was a gift from a friend a few months ago. I haven't had occasion to wear it, and thought it should get some use." She took her seat, and gestured for him to join her. "The options were casserole or stew; I went with stew. I hope that's all right?"
He nodded as he took his seat. "It's hot, it has protein, and I think I can recognize the ingredients. That's good enough for me."
She took a sip of the water that she'd poured earlier, biting down the urge to ask how things were progressing with the generator repairs. She doubted he'd appreciate being reminded of the problems that dominated the rest of his life. Knowing that this wouldn't get any easier if she dragged it out (and she certainly wasn't going to be able to eat until it was resolved), she set down her water glass and crossed her arms on the table as he took his own sip of water.
"So I hear that we're engaged."
She almost, almost, felt bad about having said it while he was drinking. Almost. But then, she hadn't had any warning when Dahlia had sprung it on her; there was something satisfying about putting him in the same position he'd left her in. It took a moment for him to stop coughing and get out a coherent "What?"
She swallowed hard; at this point, she was committed. "I said, 'I hear that we're engaged.' Or, I believe the term used was 'betrothed'." She raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
For a very long moment, she thought he was going to deny it. Or, worse, that she'd made the wrong assumption. But then he let out a quiet sigh, and she allowed herself to relax, just a little.
"Where...where did you hear that?" His voice was soft, and had a hesitant quality that she had never heard from him.
She smiled ruefully. "Dahlia asked me about it when she found the betrothal stone on my desk. I, of course, had no idea what it meant. It was a bit of a shock."
He leaned back in the chair, studying the wall hanging thoughtfully and avoiding her gaze. "I suppose that makes sense, in a way. She carried that stone around for years when we were children." His expression softened. "She always did love our mother's stories. She was fasinated by the old ways." He shook his head, bringing himself back to the here and now. "I'm sorry, I never meant to cause you embarrassment. I can speak with Dahlia, if necessary." He took a breath, and as he let it out she could read the tension in his shoulders and neck.
"Ladon. I." She took a deep breath, settling her own nerves. "I know how it was intended; that's not what I wanted to talk to you about, not really. I wanted to talk to you about what came after. The letters, and everything else."
"I... Oh." He blinked at her, as if unsure what to make of her statement.
She fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve, avoiding his gaze in turn. She was normally more direct than this, but then she was normally negotiating on behalf of someone; negotiating her own personal life had never been her strong point. "You understand my position."
She caught his nod out of the corner of her eye. "So...we stop?"
"We stop." She looked up cautiously. "Or..."
That got his attention, and he looked up as well. "Or?"
She took her time, picking her words carefully. "Or, we change the game." She reached out, and grasped one of his hands. "Ever since this began, your letters have kept me sane. I don't want to lose what we have, if we really do have something. But the Alliance comes first. It. It has to, you know that."
"Of course. Just as the Genii must always come first for me. However, I would hate to sacrifice our friendship on the altar of politics." He turned his hand over, and curled his fingers around her palm. "What did you have in mind?"
"I can't. I mean, I'm not." She took a deep breath. "I can talk to you, or I could - in the letters. I don't want to lose that, now that I know who you are. I want to be Elizabeth to someone. Just Elizabeth. The battle lines would stop at the door; the politics would stop at the door. That is, if you're interested."
"That sounds...intriguing. It has been a long time since I was just Ladon to anyone other than my sister." He smiled, and for the first time he she could see the invisible weight of his office lift away just a little; he'd been carrying it for so long that she hadn't realized it wasn't actualy a part of him. "And if things were to change, it would stay between us as well?"
She pulled her hand away, pressing it to her chest and giving him her best attempt at southern debutante. "I have no idea what you could possibly mean." She held the pose for a moment, and then relaxed into quiet laughter as he did the same. "How about we see where dinner leads, and go from there. Does that sound acceptable?"
He raised his glass of water in a toast. "To the future."
She grinned, and raised hers in turn. "To the future."
Epilogue
One Year LaterElizabeth didn't bother looking up when the door opened. Any of the people who had a habit of entering her office unannounced could wait a minute and not be offended. "I'll be with you in just a minute." She heard her visitor step further into the room accompanied by the familiar sound of the door closing behind then, and returned her attention to the document she was reviewing.
When she reached a section break, she set down her stylus and looked up to find Ladon casually studying the curios on her shelves. She smiled at the welcome distraction. "What can I do for you today, Chancellor?"
He turned toward her with an appraising glance. "Word has it that the city administrator's been working herself too hard."
She raised an eyebrow in response. "Oh, really. And where did the chancellor hear such a thing?"
He crossed the room to lean against her desk, almost but not quite touching her. "Every good politician has his spies."
She favored him with a sour look. "Dahlia ratted me out again, didn't she." It wasn't a question.
He shrugged. "She cares about you." He nudged her gently with his elbow. "I hear there's some big gathering at the settlement today, celebrating the completion of the last of the public buildings. It seems like the kind of thing the Architect should attend, at least informally." He paused, and she saw a glint of mischief in his eyes. "And...they're planning a stickball game."
She groaned, and debated the effort involved in slapping him. Instead, she tapped the screen of her tablet and resolutely focused her attention there. "I should never have mentioned that. Just because I played field hockey doesn't mean I'll be any good at stickball. Unlike some public officials, I have real work to do today; the delegation leaves for Earth in less than two weeks, and the proposals all have to be ready."
"They will be. I have faith in you; you'll get this done in plenty of time. But how will you know that you can't play stickball unless you try?" He reached over and tapped the power-save button on her tablet. "One afternoon off isn't going to ruin anything."
"But I-"
"Elizabeth, please." His gaze softened, and she knew she'd end up saying yes. Oh, he'd back off if she insisted, he knew the rules of the life that they shared, but in return she didn't insist unless it was important. That didn't mean she couldn't set conditions.
"All right, all right. I'll go. But!" She raised one hand in warning as she stood up and grabbed her jacket with the other. "I'm not drinking more than one glass of Keras' cider, no matter what he says. I have to be able to get up in the morning if I'm going to stay anywhere near on schedule."
He nodded, and guided her to the door. "Duly noted."
"And no line dancing. The last time I got dragged into that, I almost broke my ankle."
He grinned, and tossed a wave at Chuck as they passed the veteran technician. "No dancing, right."
She narrowed her eyes at him once they'd reached the floor and stopped in front of the 'Gate. "It's not funny. Lindsey knocked me over and I ended up limping for a week. I don't care if it was an accident; it hurt." She paused while the 'Gate activated. "And if I look like a fool playing stickball, I'm placing the blame squarely at your feet. I - Hey!"
She was cut off by the tug of his hand as he pulled her through the event horizon. She emerged on the far side, and blinked at her suddenly sunlit surroundings. "Oh. It's kind of nice out here."
He threw his head back and laughed freely before placing a careful hand at the small of her back to escort her to the waiting Puddle Jumper. "It is, isn't it?"
~ Finis ~