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When Joe steps out of the hotel lift and sees someone lounging against the wall opposite his door, his first thought is that he's going to need to call security.
He doesn't like to think of himself as paranoid -- after all, he's not that well known -- but after eight hours of panels, photographs and autographs, he's really not in the mood to take any chances. Especially on someone wearing a replica of Sheppard's black leather jacket and dark aviator sunglasses, a baseball cap pulled too low.
Steeling himself, he looks away and focuses on the fifteen-odd steps it will take him to reach his door. When they don't straighten off the wall and move to greet him like he half-expects, he thinks of the cell in his pocket and tries to remember what number he'd need to call for hotel security. (Torri and David have told him repeatedly it's the over-eager, too-exited, ohmygodlikecouldijustyouknowpleasegetahug fans he needs to be wary of, but he disagrees. He'll take unpredictable enthusiasm over the confident, self-assured, I-know-you-better-than-you-think fanatics any day.)
He reaches his door and fumbles with his key card. They're still standing there behind him, and he can feel them staring at the back of his head. It's unnerving, and when the lock fails to open a third time, he starts to think he should just forget about getting into his room and instead head back to the lift and lobby as fast as he can.
The light flicks green.
Warm breath suddenly brushes his ear. "Well, aren't you going to invite me in?"
He jumps.
He jumps, and they laugh, and the door locks again as he spins around, adrenaline and fear and surprise making his heart pound and his breath catch.
"What -- how --" He shakes his head, and starts over. "Torri?"
She laughs again, fingers reaching up to pull off the oversized sunglasses. "Surprise," she says.
"I'll say." He can't help but stare. Stare, and smile, and he feels like, like -- hell, he doesn't know what he feels like, only that he's suddenly and ridiculously happy to see her. "I didn't think I was going to see anyone I know here!"
She looks at him quizzically. "I thought Teryl and Peter were --"
He nods, but says, "Stargate alumni. They don't count."
She rolls her eyes. "Elitist," she says teasingly. "Apart from that?"
He shrugs. "The usual -- fans and panels, panels and fans."
Torri grins mischievously. "Oh my god, like, could I just, you know, please get a hug?"
He laughs at her Valley girl accent. "You do fangirl frighteningly well." He leans forward and taps the Atlantis patch on the sleeve of her leather jacket. "Especially when you're wearing this."
She beams and stretches her arms out, posing for him. "You like it? I figured a costume would be the best way to blend in."
"Well, it worked. I was about to call security on your ass."
"My poor ass," she laughs.
He grins back.
"So," she says then, still smiling at him like she's missed him maybe as much as he's missed her this hiatus. "Dinner?"
He pulls back from the kiss, his heart pounding in his chest and making it hard to think straight. All he can hear is the sound of their breathing, too loud in the semi-enclosed space of the 'jumper set piece. All he can feel is the touch of her hands, still warm on his chest.
"Are you --" she says, and stops.
He opens his mouth to explain what just happened -- to explain why it just happened -- and fails completely.
She tries again in his silence, this time with an expression he'd almost think was defiant. "I'm not sorry."
They're called back to set before he can agree.
He picks up his cell and puts it down again.
Picks it up and scrolls to her name. Doesn't tap the phone icon.
Picks it up and --
The phone rings in his hand, startling him, and he fumbles to answer her before anyone upstairs can hear it and wake up.
"Hey," he says quietly, already heading to the garage. "Where are you?"
Syfy throw one of their semi-official parties for all the current shows in their line up and their appearance is considered all but mandatory.
He and Kath get a babysitter and, all things considered, it's working pretty well as one of the date nights their counsellor has suggested they try to make a habit out of. There's drinks, and food, and drinks, and speeches, and drinks, and by the time the party's started to wind down, they're sitting at a table with Jason, Torri, Rachel David, and a couple of the girls from Battlestar Galactica. The conversation is industry-lite to start with, something he knows Kath appreciates, but eventually someone brings up their shows and talk of recent storylines devolves into a competition as to who has the best heartbreak story.
Grace has them in stitches with her tale of an unrequited love back when she was in high school, while David goes for the sympathy vote when he reveals that Mary-Lou Dawson turned down his offer for a sip from his juice box in favour of half of Barry Finn's oreo cookie in the first grade. Rachel tells of her teenage sweetheart, a dancer who she studied ballet with, and Jason's story is an epic tale of love lost on a beach (so epic, in fact, that Joe's pretty sure is going to win the battle) right up until Katee remarks that she remembers that Baywatch episode.
Mock-outrage then, as they gang up on him, and the nobody can stop laughing as Jason tries to defend his tale. Eventually, however, Kathy and David take pity on Jason and rescue him to the dance floor, and Katee and Grace follow, and then it's just Joe and Torri still sitting at the table, watching the others goof around nearby.
She brought a date tonight -- Martin? Mark? something starting with M anyway -- and Joe has been wracking his brain all night, trying to figure out if she's mentioned him before.
He's almost positive she hasn't.
"You know," he says suddenly, "you never told your story for the competition."
He's caught her off guard, judging by the way she instantly turns away from the dance floor to look at him, a startled expression on her face (maybe even feeling pretty much like how he felt earlier when she introduced him to Mr M).
"Best heartbreak," he prompts.
She says nothing still; a pause that lasts a lifetime.
Then, "Joe Flanigan," she says slowly, like she's choosing every word extremely carefully. "About thirty seconds from now, when he reminds me again that he's married."
He doesn't flinch, or look away, or even really breathe for a moment. Just stares, and remembers every little moment and touch and feeling that has led to this, and counts.
Ten seconds.
Twenty seconds.
Thirty.
He doesn't say anything.
Across the room, Kath looks up from where Jason is dipping her, and waves.
At a minute something, Torri gets up and walks away.
Four months after they move in together, he's standing in line at the Whole Foods checkout when Torri texts him a photo of the little blue box she wasn't supposed to find, and a single word.
Yes.
The End
