Bad Hair Days
This story and a lot of very good Sheppard/Weir fan fiction is posted at Command Dynamics Stargate Atlantis archive. Check it out today.
"I give up."
Elizabeth dropped the brush down on the table, and John mentally filed this away as the first time he had ever heard her willingly admit defeat. Every day, she dealt with the countless problems that came with running Atlantis with a calm that John envied. Neither the Wraith nor the Genii could faze her, and even the hardened military personnel on Atlantis were reluctant to question her orders.
But today, in her quarters, Elizabeth Weir had finally met her match.
John Sheppard’s hair.
"I just don’t understand it," she said. She motioned to the lone tufts of John’s hair that somehow had managed to stay upright under the copious amounts of hair product she had applied. "And it does that naturally?"
"Can I take a shower?" he asked, reaching up to gingerly touch the sticky mass coating his hair. Did women actually use this stuff every day?
"No, seriously, John," she said, staring at his head. "What do you do to make it look like that?"
"Um, I don’t brush it?"
She surveyed his hair with a critical eye and the slightly sour expression that had graced the faces of many of his female relatives whenever they had taken a moment to study John’s unruly hair. "No. Simple lack of maintenance wouldn’t do that, no matter how long you didn’t brush it."
"It’s my hair, you know," he said. "I have the right to do what I want with it."
Elizabeth eyed him carefully. "John," she said. "Do you mess it up on purpose?"
"What! No! Of course not!"
Elizabeth just grinned, taking a seat on the bed. "Right."
"I don’t!" He quickly changed the subject. "I thought you said it was cute, how it stood up like this."
"Well, it is cute. But it’s not very dignified, and as the ranking military officer here, you can’t look like you’ve just rolled out of bed every morning." She saw the look on his face, and added, "Even if that is what you’ve been doing for the last year."
"Wait, so you think I’d look more dignified with my hair covered in this goop?”
"It’s styling gel, John," she corrected.
"I look ridiculous!"
But Elizabeth had the same thoughtful look on her face that had started this whole mess, and before John could change the subject again, she said, "Maybe I should ask Rodney to take a look at it."
"What?!" John couldn’t believe it. This had to be a joke. She wouldn’t really get McKay to examine his hair... right? John had already spent too much time with the scientist, who seemed to regard John as the ideal test subject for all the various Ancient devices that had been found around the city. John was willing to put up with this sort of thing for Elizabeth, mostly because she had threatened to cut him off if he didn’t. But Rodney McKay and his extensive tests and endless stream of snarky remarks, oh God... no. Just no.
John shook his head vehemently. "He’d never agree to do it. He’d say it was a waste of his time."
"Oh, I don’t know..." Elizabeth flopped back onto the bed, that satisfied grin returning. "I can be persuasive."
The sly look in her eye confirmed what he already suspected. Taking advantage of McKay’s thinly-veiled crush on her was one thing, but threatening to use it against John-- no, that was unacceptable.
"Oh, no," he said. "Don’t even try that, Elizabeth." He pointed at his head for emphasis. "My hair is just fine the way it is."
She just smiled. "I could order him to do it."
"You wouldn’t dare."
Elizabeth just sighed and stretched languidly on the bed. "Maybe, maybe not."
John stared at her. She was evil. Pure evil. First she made him sit still while she dumped bottle after bottle of sticky gel on his head to supposedly make him look "dignified", and now she was trying to recruit Rodney to do the same? He put his hands on her shoulders, pinning her down to the bed. "Promise me you won’t," he said.
Elizabeth was clearly enjoying this, as she nibbled delicately on a thumbnail in feigned thoughtfulness. "Well... I don’t know, I--"
"Elizabeth! Come on!"
"What’s the matter?" she asked challengingly. "Can’t you handle Rodney?"
"Elizabeth. Please." John hoped he looked desperate enough in spite of his ridiculous-looking hair. "Promise me you won’t talk to him about this."
He must have done a good enough job looking woeful and pathetic, because after a moment, Elizabeth batted his hands away and sighed. "Oh, fine."
She still looked amused, but Elizabeth had never broken her word before, so he was inclined to trust that she wouldn’t go to Rodney. "Thank you." He collapsed on the bed next to her. "You don’t know how much I appreciate that."
Elizabeth just chuckled, reaching over and patting his arm. "What am I going to do with you?"
He rolled over, moving in close so that he was beside her. Her arm came around him and he relaxed onto her shoulder. God, she felt good. He didn’t think he’d be able to survive if she ever followed through on a threat to cut him off. "Leave my hair the way it is, of course," he said.
"What’s the fun in--" She suddenly gasped, and pushed him away. "John, get off-- oh, your hair--"
"What?" John looked down, and saw a large, greasy stain on her shirt where his head had been. No doubt a result of all the products that had been smeared onto his hair. "Oh, uh, sorry."
Elizabeth had risen from the bed, and was peeling off her shirt. "Shower," she said. "Now."
"It’s not my fault, I asked if I could-- hey, I didn’t do it on purpose!"
"John." She was smiling now, but there was an edge of danger to her voice that threatened dire consequences if he didn’t do as she asked. "Take a shower now, please."
Elizabeth might have been unable to control John’s hair, but she could definitely control the rest of him. And she knew it. With a sigh, John headed to the bathroom.