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more story!
Hey, you know, if I’m going to be writing this, anyone got any thoughts on a title?
Three days after Doctor McKay’s unfortunate reaction to the tuula wine, Teyla is guiding her team through a field. This world is at the beginning of autumn, and everything they can see is blue. Rodney and John had started talking excitedly when they’d first stepped through, with hand-waving and nodding aplenty on both sides. Teyla could listen, but she has learned to ignore them, when they get like this. She lets them talk, as they work their way toward the settlement, because it does no harm, but she does not feel any need to mind their speech. She does not think she would understand.
Some days she asks all the same, and then they spend the hours explaining to her in their different ways. Rodney is excited and loud, waving his hands and spinning with a grace he never shows in their infrequent training sessions. John is quieter, but has a way with images and ideas that make things clearer. He gives her a foothold, and Rodney shores her position up with a wealth of details. She has learned about internal combustion this way, and the government of John’s America; about football, and hockey, and about Mozart. In turn, she and Ronon have pooled their knowledge, and teach in their turn – more quietly, but with their own wisdom, she thinks. John and Rodney know how the moons of Sateda spin, and how the seas on Grimilan rose, and the people live in boats, and how to pick the juripet fruit, which retracts its spines only at dusk and at dawn, and must be eaten with haste. Teyla likes these days a great deal – partly for the knowledge she gains, but partly for the joy they are all taking from this chance to know each other better. They live in each in the souls of the others, as Charin tells it, and Teyla likes to see that bond grow.
Now, though, she is ignoring them. As much as she loves speaking with them, she loves the silence more, and here, on this world where old grasses crackle underfoot, she is silent. The sun shines, and a ring of tiny moons is starting to be visible. The weather is crisp, warm enough to be comfortable but cold enough to encourage activity. She knows these fields well; her first trading voyage, trotting at her father’s heels, was to this very world, in search of sweet tea. That was in spring, though, which is a yellow season, here. Now, they seek permission to forage in the mountains, for game and raw metals that have, as McKay says so often, “interesting readings.” Still, the memory is present, and perhaps there will be some sweet tea remaining. Teyla is walking in the steps of her past, with her future following her. She is content.
Three hours later, she retraces her steps, moving swiftly, urging the others on ahead. The sun has set, and the shadows are unfamiliar, but she knows the way, and she hurries them on. John and Ronon pass her, but all three turn back when they hear McKay’s shout, strangled and then stifled. They are back with him in blur of motion, John rolling him gently over as she and Ronon keep guard, he before, she behind. Teyla’s breath is rough and unsteady, as though it will fly away and leave her frozen. For a moment, she thinks that perhaps John’s breath has left him already, so still and stern he looks.
Rodney groans, and her breath returns to her, though she is watchful, still. He sits up before John can check him over, brushing away John’s hands and her concerned stare with the same quick gestures.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, struggling to his feet. John makes himself available as a support, and she and Ronon rise at the same time, keeping in place the shield they are being. “Will you – stop, stop, I said I’m fine – have you ever known me to conceal injury, Sheppard? – Think, please, I know it’s difficult, but please!” She knows he is well – his words testify – but she worries, still, and he sees it.
“Teyla, seriously, I’m fine – well, no, not really, I’m bruised as hell and my back will be returning to the Milky Way in several discrete units, but we already knew that, so, please, can we get back to Atlantis before whatever got me comes back and –” he lifts his arms awkwardly, lets them drop back to his sides with a wet thud “- slimes the rest of you?” Before they can answer, he’s walking past Ronon, back towards the puddlejumper, wiping his hands on John’s shirt as he goes.
“Jesus, Rodney –” She ignores the rest. Everything is fine.
Back on Atlantis, Doctor Beckett pronounces Rodney “slimed, I suppose you’d say-” “isn’t that what I said? Isn’t it?” “-thank you, Rodney, that’ll do! But otherwise unharmed. It’s messy, but this stuff is completely inert, although you’ll want to be sure and wash it out of your hair before you sleep.” He is released to his own quarters, and since the rest of the team is uninjured, they walk together. Ordinarily, they would meet with Elizabeth, explain the mission and discuss what further action they might take. In this case, however, Elizabeth had seen them come back through the gate. Once she had stopped laughing at Rodney – whose clothes cling wetly to his body, glowing a pale yellow – and determined that the mission had been successful, she’d put off the briefing until the next day.
On the way, however, they cross paths with Charles, who serves dessert in the dining hall. He informs them that tonight, there will be french fries. John and Rodney seem to vibrate with excitement, and Ronon cracks a rare smile. Teyla is fond of the fries herself, but it does not seem polite to abandon Rodney. He frowns, but waves them on, saying he’ll join them “in a minute, soon, hurry, just save me a plate or three, what are you waiting for? Go!” With his hair glowing as it does, it seems best to obey, and they hurry on their way.
Twenty minutes later, they have secured a table and several plates of fries (three for Ronon, one for John, one for Teyla, two for Rodney, and one for all of them) and are speculating about the creature that attacked Rodney. John, facing the door, breaks off mid-word to shake his head and laugh. As she and Ronon stare, he stands up and waves, calling Rodney’s name across the room. After a moment, Rodney drops into the chair next to him.
As he devours his fries, nodding his thanks at them, Teyla understands John’s laughter. Rodney is wearing the shirt he had received at the Christmas party, the one that John had sworn was “not from me, I swear, it was all Carter’s idea! Don’t shoot the messenger, come on, Rodney,” the next morning. Next to her, she sees that Ronon has frozen, a handful of fries halfway to his mouth. Rodney notices, too, and sets down his plate, looking Ronon in the eye.
“As of this morning, I had two clean shirts. I put one of them on. As of right now, that shirt is coated in glowing yellow slime. There are french fries. Are you going to have a problem?” Ronon shakes his head, starts eating again.
“It’s a nice shirt,” he says, “I like it.”
Teyla looks at John, and they laugh, and they laugh.
Teyla POV? Dear my brain: what the hell? Still, I'm pleased; I think Teyla works for this one. Don't know if Ronon can be the next part, which would give a really nice little feeling to the whole thing, or if it'll have to be Rodney again. Or possibly John.
There are maybe...two parts of this left? Which means I'll maybe finish it before I go back to school. yays!
...and then there are the other two stories I need to write. Oh well.
Enjoy!
Three days after Doctor McKay’s unfortunate reaction to the tuula wine, Teyla is guiding her team through a field. This world is at the beginning of autumn, and everything they can see is blue. Rodney and John had started talking excitedly when they’d first stepped through, with hand-waving and nodding aplenty on both sides. Teyla could listen, but she has learned to ignore them, when they get like this. She lets them talk, as they work their way toward the settlement, because it does no harm, but she does not feel any need to mind their speech. She does not think she would understand.
Some days she asks all the same, and then they spend the hours explaining to her in their different ways. Rodney is excited and loud, waving his hands and spinning with a grace he never shows in their infrequent training sessions. John is quieter, but has a way with images and ideas that make things clearer. He gives her a foothold, and Rodney shores her position up with a wealth of details. She has learned about internal combustion this way, and the government of John’s America; about football, and hockey, and about Mozart. In turn, she and Ronon have pooled their knowledge, and teach in their turn – more quietly, but with their own wisdom, she thinks. John and Rodney know how the moons of Sateda spin, and how the seas on Grimilan rose, and the people live in boats, and how to pick the juripet fruit, which retracts its spines only at dusk and at dawn, and must be eaten with haste. Teyla likes these days a great deal – partly for the knowledge she gains, but partly for the joy they are all taking from this chance to know each other better. They live in each in the souls of the others, as Charin tells it, and Teyla likes to see that bond grow.
Now, though, she is ignoring them. As much as she loves speaking with them, she loves the silence more, and here, on this world where old grasses crackle underfoot, she is silent. The sun shines, and a ring of tiny moons is starting to be visible. The weather is crisp, warm enough to be comfortable but cold enough to encourage activity. She knows these fields well; her first trading voyage, trotting at her father’s heels, was to this very world, in search of sweet tea. That was in spring, though, which is a yellow season, here. Now, they seek permission to forage in the mountains, for game and raw metals that have, as McKay says so often, “interesting readings.” Still, the memory is present, and perhaps there will be some sweet tea remaining. Teyla is walking in the steps of her past, with her future following her. She is content.
Three hours later, she retraces her steps, moving swiftly, urging the others on ahead. The sun has set, and the shadows are unfamiliar, but she knows the way, and she hurries them on. John and Ronon pass her, but all three turn back when they hear McKay’s shout, strangled and then stifled. They are back with him in blur of motion, John rolling him gently over as she and Ronon keep guard, he before, she behind. Teyla’s breath is rough and unsteady, as though it will fly away and leave her frozen. For a moment, she thinks that perhaps John’s breath has left him already, so still and stern he looks.
Rodney groans, and her breath returns to her, though she is watchful, still. He sits up before John can check him over, brushing away John’s hands and her concerned stare with the same quick gestures.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, struggling to his feet. John makes himself available as a support, and she and Ronon rise at the same time, keeping in place the shield they are being. “Will you – stop, stop, I said I’m fine – have you ever known me to conceal injury, Sheppard? – Think, please, I know it’s difficult, but please!” She knows he is well – his words testify – but she worries, still, and he sees it.
“Teyla, seriously, I’m fine – well, no, not really, I’m bruised as hell and my back will be returning to the Milky Way in several discrete units, but we already knew that, so, please, can we get back to Atlantis before whatever got me comes back and –” he lifts his arms awkwardly, lets them drop back to his sides with a wet thud “- slimes the rest of you?” Before they can answer, he’s walking past Ronon, back towards the puddlejumper, wiping his hands on John’s shirt as he goes.
“Jesus, Rodney –” She ignores the rest. Everything is fine.
Back on Atlantis, Doctor Beckett pronounces Rodney “slimed, I suppose you’d say-” “isn’t that what I said? Isn’t it?” “-thank you, Rodney, that’ll do! But otherwise unharmed. It’s messy, but this stuff is completely inert, although you’ll want to be sure and wash it out of your hair before you sleep.” He is released to his own quarters, and since the rest of the team is uninjured, they walk together. Ordinarily, they would meet with Elizabeth, explain the mission and discuss what further action they might take. In this case, however, Elizabeth had seen them come back through the gate. Once she had stopped laughing at Rodney – whose clothes cling wetly to his body, glowing a pale yellow – and determined that the mission had been successful, she’d put off the briefing until the next day.
On the way, however, they cross paths with Charles, who serves dessert in the dining hall. He informs them that tonight, there will be french fries. John and Rodney seem to vibrate with excitement, and Ronon cracks a rare smile. Teyla is fond of the fries herself, but it does not seem polite to abandon Rodney. He frowns, but waves them on, saying he’ll join them “in a minute, soon, hurry, just save me a plate or three, what are you waiting for? Go!” With his hair glowing as it does, it seems best to obey, and they hurry on their way.
Twenty minutes later, they have secured a table and several plates of fries (three for Ronon, one for John, one for Teyla, two for Rodney, and one for all of them) and are speculating about the creature that attacked Rodney. John, facing the door, breaks off mid-word to shake his head and laugh. As she and Ronon stare, he stands up and waves, calling Rodney’s name across the room. After a moment, Rodney drops into the chair next to him.
As he devours his fries, nodding his thanks at them, Teyla understands John’s laughter. Rodney is wearing the shirt he had received at the Christmas party, the one that John had sworn was “not from me, I swear, it was all Carter’s idea! Don’t shoot the messenger, come on, Rodney,” the next morning. Next to her, she sees that Ronon has frozen, a handful of fries halfway to his mouth. Rodney notices, too, and sets down his plate, looking Ronon in the eye.
“As of this morning, I had two clean shirts. I put one of them on. As of right now, that shirt is coated in glowing yellow slime. There are french fries. Are you going to have a problem?” Ronon shakes his head, starts eating again.
“It’s a nice shirt,” he says, “I like it.”
Teyla looks at John, and they laugh, and they laugh.
Teyla POV? Dear my brain: what the hell? Still, I'm pleased; I think Teyla works for this one. Don't know if Ronon can be the next part, which would give a really nice little feeling to the whole thing, or if it'll have to be Rodney again. Or possibly John.
There are maybe...two parts of this left? Which means I'll maybe finish it before I go back to school. yays!
...and then there are the other two stories I need to write. Oh well.
Enjoy!