Buttons, No Bows
By: Random
CATEGORY: Friendship, Humor
WARNINGS: Language
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Done for the kind and wonderful Abyssina’s Leap Gate over at Live Journal.
AUTHOR’S WEBSITE:
http://www.alldanielfic.com/viewuser.php?uid=110
There are things these people don't talk about--ever. And yet the meanings are there, hovering in gestures checked, slipping out in glances passed and caught--and in the sideways looks that escape when one of them thinks the others aren't watching. She could not understand any of this at first.
Vala has known for most of her life that talking too much is always for the best. She picked that up tagging along at her father's side as a skinny kid who could be passed off as an orphan in need. Chatter and chatter and someone will soon beg or bribe you to end it, instead of prying to find out what's behind the locked door. She perfected the technique in her head with Qetesh.
There's nothing as annoying to a Goa'uld as a reminder that they have a conscience--gods cannot regret anything, after all. Qetesh found her own ways to retribution, but running complaints also have allowed Vala to ignore things like real discomfort.
She has since learned she somehow can't ignore Daniel.
His silences make her find her own again, and that would make her worried, except for those looks he gives her which come with the gaps in conversation. (He calls them discussions--everyone else says arguments.)
And he has a way of going on and on at times that makes her wonder if he knows what she does; she learned to talk nonsense, he learned to talk sense, but is there really any difference in not saying the things they can't say?
Then, after one long conversation/discussion/argument in his lab over not much of anything again, she hears a new phrase from him.
"Aren't you tired of trying to push my damn buttons?"
Stopped, the words have her noticing that they've squared off, inches from a real fight. With a glance at his uniform, she starts thinking about the row of buttons on the shirt hanging open.
There are also buttons on his trousers--she has them on hers, too. Fingers twitching, she drags her eyes back up to his. He's noticed what she's noticing and the frown has gone to a tight glare. Which sets her thinking about self-destruct buttons, which are not ones you should really ever want to push.
But some of the shiny buttons on an al'kesh do good things like bring up shields. Or ring someone in.
So she smiles, and puts one finger tip on the button that should be holding his shirt together. "I could always shove."
"You could try."
"Oh, I do."
Pushing harder on his shirt button, hard enough to feel the press of it into his skin, to catch a sense of warmth on her hand, she watches eyebrows lift and fall fast.
His frown switches to the disapproving one, the one with the edge that dares her to push him far enough that he'll push back even harder. The one with everything he won't ever talk about--and neither will she.
They're going to say it all anyway, and never in words. That's not how SG-1 talks to each other.
But Vala decides she likes shiny buttons. And pushing them. So she pushes harder.
** The End **
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