Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. This is another story I've had flinging around for a while, but thought it was about time it got put here and left here! It was originally in response to a challenge over at the mcweir fan fiction archives. Good site by the way. If you like mcweir - which I presume you do or else why are you here - go check it out.

Sorry

"Sorry?" she repeated, eyebrows arched and a look of disbelief slapped across her face. "That's it? Sorry, muttered at your computer screen like it's the one you'd upset?"

He shrugged, mind already back on his work. She waved her hand in front of his face but he just reached up, moved it out of the way, and kept typing.

"Oh, Rodney..." she said in a sweet voice, "I'm trying to communicate here."

He barely even glanced at her. "Well, communicate a little quieter. I'm trying to concentrate."

She gave up on the subtle approach and in one fluid, angry movement, pulled the plug from his laptop. He cried out as the screen went blank, jumping to his feet and turning on her, outraged. "You just cost me fifteen minutes' work!" he shouted.

"Oh, really?" she shouted right back. "Maybe you should save more regularly!"

"Good work!" he yelled, irate.

"Well, I'm so sorry Rodney, but I think that rather pales in comparison, don't you?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and replied haughtily, "Elizabeth. I said I'm sorry. What more do you want?"

She stepped closer, eyes flashing, "For starters, you to sound like you actually mean it! Major Jameson's team spent six months working on that treaty, Rodney. Six months! Then you walk in and ten minutes later you're all being chased to the gate with weapons drawn - the Doctor says Lieutenant Connor will be a week in the infirmary, if you're interested - and the trade agreement is clearly off the table! And all you can do is mutter 'sorry'! Do you have any idea what it's cost us?"

"Oh, please." He rolled his eyes, "So a bunch of savages don't want to be our friends. I'm sure we'll survive without the cultural input of people who consider clothing an optional. And I don't know why you're getting so pent up about it. You're on leave, remember? You're supposed to be relaxing... Can I have the cord back now?"

She glared, a hand curved protectively around her pregnant belly, "Just because I'm on leave doesn't mean I don't care what's happening! God knows it's just as well - they couldn't have found a more incompetent temporary replacement..."

Rodney groaned, having heard this particular argument repeatedly in the last two months. But the groan was an error, because it snapped her mind back to the present and she continued, "Anyway, their culture was besides the point! It's the trade agreement we'll miss!"

"So we go without some beans. How tragic."

Something in the way she held her face suddenly softened and she repeated, "'Some beans'? Rodney, you honestly don't know what you've done, do you?"

"I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"Coffee, Rodney. It was the closest thing we'd found to coffee this side of the Milky Way."

His knees gave way and he landed on the chair with a thud, staring at his wife in horror. "Oh my God. I really am sorry!"