I KNOW, because srsly, my flist has no faith in me! 3 people requested stuff! We'll just have to fill each other's 10.
--
At least they're not being obvious.
He never brings her coffee unless he brings some for Rachel, too. They have lunch together, just them, but only once (or twice) a week. She can see in his face how he looks around, checking for witnesses, before he comes up and talks to her - even if it's something about the scene they're working on.
And it's silly, even, that they're playing these games. There's nothing happening between them. He's married (she reminds herself of this daily, at least ten times) and she's happily single and it's not like they would ever do that, no matter how much of a flirt he is (and he isn't, she notes, with anyone else, except when they're on stage at a convention or doing a press junket and he slips just a little bit into John Sheppard, Intergalactic Man of Mystery).
He's not even a very good flirt, but god help her, she enjoys it. She skims through the new scripts not just for Weir's name, but for Sheppard's, and she feels a rush of something silly and girlish when she sees them together. 'He's a great actor,' she always rehearses in her head in case anyone asks why she loves playing opposite him so much. It has nothing to do with the down time between takes, with the way he teases her as the stylist fusses with her hair, with how he sits with his leg pressed against hers on the stairs while they run lines they've memorized ten times over.
She's happily single, she reminds herself, almost as often as she chants he's married. (With children, whom she adores, and whose crayon scribbles are all over her trailer.)
He brings her coffee (okay, sometimes he brings it just for her, but only when Rachel already has some) and grins. His script is under his arm, and her call's done for the day, but she's still hanging around. "Scene 20?" he asks.
She tries to frown, but can't. The mocha smells delicious and her cheeks are stuck on perma-smile whenever he seeks her out like this. "I'm not in that scene."
Joe shrugs. "You do a pretty decent David impression."
Actually, her impressions are pretty bad, and he always makes fun of her for them. "I can't even pronounce half of his lines."
"Then you need practice."
She slides next to him to pickpocket his script, and his indulgent look as she does it is... well, he's married, but this isn't about that, so it's completely fine that her heart speeds up a little.
He leans close to her ear. "Gym set's free."
She doesn't, she doesn't feel a shiver go all the way through her at his breath on her cheek. Instead, she grabs his arm. "Lead on."
He pulls her so quickly she almost trips, and she laughs as she clings to her mocha and he wraps an arm around her shoulders and tells her, "You're a mess, you know that?"
"Ah, yes, but I'm your mess."
He grins. "That you are. Now hurry up. Your technobabble awaits."
He lets go of her when a lighting tech crosses their path, but she doesn't mind. They're not doing anything they need to hide, of course, but it's not like they need to make people actively wonder if he'd do that (he wouldn't, she knows, but there's no reason to make anyone else suspicious).
So when he practically pulls her into his lap as they're reading (artificial ionic cofactors from the subspace generator - she has no idea, none, how David makes this sound so easy), well...
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Date: 2010-10-16 12:51 am (UTC)--
At least they're not being obvious.
He never brings her coffee unless he brings some for Rachel, too. They have lunch together, just them, but only once (or twice) a week. She can see in his face how he looks around, checking for witnesses, before he comes up and talks to her - even if it's something about the scene they're working on.
And it's silly, even, that they're playing these games. There's nothing happening between them. He's married (she reminds herself of this daily, at least ten times) and she's happily single and it's not like they would ever do that, no matter how much of a flirt he is (and he isn't, she notes, with anyone else, except when they're on stage at a convention or doing a press junket and he slips just a little bit into John Sheppard, Intergalactic Man of Mystery).
He's not even a very good flirt, but god help her, she enjoys it. She skims through the new scripts not just for Weir's name, but for Sheppard's, and she feels a rush of something silly and girlish when she sees them together. 'He's a great actor,' she always rehearses in her head in case anyone asks why she loves playing opposite him so much. It has nothing to do with the down time between takes, with the way he teases her as the stylist fusses with her hair, with how he sits with his leg pressed against hers on the stairs while they run lines they've memorized ten times over.
She's happily single, she reminds herself, almost as often as she chants he's married. (With children, whom she adores, and whose crayon scribbles are all over her trailer.)
He brings her coffee (okay, sometimes he brings it just for her, but only when Rachel already has some) and grins. His script is under his arm, and her call's done for the day, but she's still hanging around. "Scene 20?" he asks.
She tries to frown, but can't. The mocha smells delicious and her cheeks are stuck on perma-smile whenever he seeks her out like this. "I'm not in that scene."
Joe shrugs. "You do a pretty decent David impression."
Actually, her impressions are pretty bad, and he always makes fun of her for them. "I can't even pronounce half of his lines."
"Then you need practice."
She slides next to him to pickpocket his script, and his indulgent look as she does it is... well, he's married, but this isn't about that, so it's completely fine that her heart speeds up a little.
He leans close to her ear. "Gym set's free."
She doesn't, she doesn't feel a shiver go all the way through her at his breath on her cheek. Instead, she grabs his arm. "Lead on."
He pulls her so quickly she almost trips, and she laughs as she clings to her mocha and he wraps an arm around her shoulders and tells her, "You're a mess, you know that?"
"Ah, yes, but I'm your mess."
He grins. "That you are. Now hurry up. Your technobabble awaits."
He lets go of her when a lighting tech crosses their path, but she doesn't mind. They're not doing anything they need to hide, of course, but it's not like they need to make people actively wonder if he'd do that (he wouldn't, she knows, but there's no reason to make anyone else suspicious).
So when he practically pulls her into his lap as they're reading (artificial ionic cofactors from the subspace generator - she has no idea, none, how David makes this sound so easy), well...
At least he's married.