Brisk Grace

He watches her move through the control room, a smile here, a greeting there, her voice rich and clear in his ears. There is a brisk grace to her stride, an elegance reminiscent of other women he has known, although she will never blend into the crowd of women he has admired. She is unique in her serenity, an island of calm competence among the hustle of Atlantis.

One hand rests lightly on Grodin's shoulder, a quick grip of approbation, and his insides curl as a smile shades the technician's neutral face and remains there, even once she turns to move on.

Kavanaugh intercepts her, and the guy is angry again. His gestures are sharp and his attitude intimidating, but she neither leans back nor gives way. Long arms fold across her chest, compacting her figure, and her posture takes on the slight angle of stubborn determination. Kavanaugh is sent away, unsatisfied with her answer.

Elizabeth stares into space a moment. Counting to ten, perhaps? Slender shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath she takes to regain her equilibrium, and then she turns. If her grace is now less pronounced, it's not quite lost.

Blue eyes ensnare him, trapping him in the act of watching. He gives her a brief, weak smile, then drops his gaze immediately; unwilling to continue the observation, unsolicited.

She is beautiful.

- fin-