DV Fluff: She Has No Time
This is not - not - the crack!fic I'm meant to be writing. It's not, but my muse stamped her foot. She's good at that. It's also not - not - nicking a premise from North & South, which I didn't just finish watching. At all. *headdesk* Line nicked from *blush* One Tree Hill.
Icon courtesy of Stef :) DV drabble of the most vomit-inducingly fluffy nature.
She Has No Time
She needs air. It's a burning sensation in her lungs that makes her reach for the hatch, and it has nothing to do with the heat inside the cabin they've paid head over mikita to rent for the journey.
Vala looks at Alaric and looks away. He's a decent thief and knows a safe bet but-
She needs air.
She puts one foot on the steel girders that make the walkway, feeling the rush and heat of the atmosphere impact her skin. Contained in a bubble she can't escape, Vala blinks languidly and looks from side to side. Stalls, vendors, travelers and workers - they've hit the station at the wrong time, with too many other ships using Tareka as a stop-over. It's worse than a Washington rush hour, but she tosses that memory through the gaps in the grids, watching it sink too many levels below.
Teal'c would compare this to Coruscant-
She needs air.
Oh, great.
Her thoughts are sarcastic but her breath catches nonetheless.
Now I'm seeing them.
She blinks and shakes her head sharply before realising that she isn't seeing things.
They finally made the silly things work. I just wonder if they actually called them gateships.
She remembers she doesn't care, but her eyes linger.
One puny puddle jumper does not equal SG-1. And even if it did, it's not as if they'd-
She turns sharply away, letting out an explosive breath and stretching her cramped arms. She doesn't remember Tareka being this cold.
One puny little puddle jumper. Gateship. Whatever. Just get back in the ship. It's not even-
Her mind and body disagree, and she turns. No hesitation, no second thoughts.
She's always been able to find his eyes and hold them and now is no different, staring bright from the other side of a force shield through a crowd.
Crowds, trees, distance or the haze of stupidity; what did it matter?
He's stepping down from his puddle jumper - McKay will have to face it, gateship isn't sticking in this galaxy or any other - and coming towards her. Vala's never been one to freeze, but she finds herself unable to move.
Daniel asks her what she's doing there. Where she's been.
Earth. On business. Just business. Interstellar trade and all.
She asks where he's been.
Ralleru.
She blinks. He's smiling softly, and the one-word answer says more than whole rants ever could or have done. He's gone where she was, just to look.
Vala turns away and senses him a step behind in a dance she isn't sure she remembers.
I was hoping to run into you.
She's stepped on his foot.
Oh?
He's raising his eyebrows with a smile. Trying not to be too bright-eyed or pay too much attention.
I have a business proposition. It's just business, you see. I have a venture- an adventure, if you will-
Oh?
She's attempting to stamp on his foot, but as they sit and he invades her personal space, trapping one of her fidgeting hands between his, she notes that however hard she attempts to crush his toes beneath her heel, he evades with style.
I have a tablet. It's written in Ancient.
She studies the interesting engine of the transport opposite and dreads another 'oh'. He speaks too many languages to be able to say so much in a syllable.
Leads to a treasure?
Something wonderful for all of us.
They aren't talking about why she left or why he ran to her places but not to her. They aren't talking about the losses piled on losses or the pains and miscommunication they've raised to an art form.
Cypher?
Got it.
Location?
Earth.
Why do you need us?
Vala had been asking herself the same question, then denying it had ever crossed her mind.
Well, I don't know the territory. Reading the tablet is one thing -
-Understanding is another.
They share a smile, and it's all clean cut, fresh and light. He still hasn't let go of her hand or her eyes.
Their eyes widen and heads turn at the blaring sound. Their docking slots are running out of time, and there's no feeding these metres.
Vala tries to articulate her proposition again.
You'd be doing me a favour, see. Taking this heavy, clunky thing off my hands. I wouldn't hang around for-
She stops because she's babbling.
She laughs in sheer relief at the sudden realisation that she's an idiot and kisses the back of his hand, feeling his gaze on her, noting his genuine but tentative grin as she meets his eyes. He leans his forehead against hers and kisses her, a palm against her cheeks as she stands on the balls of her feet to be tall enough. He firmly puts a hand on the small of her back, feeling her balance fail slightly.
They break apart and he looks around the station bashfully as if he expects an audience.
Vala ducks her head.
It's Tareka. They're used to random strangers getting up to all sorts.
Vala meets his eyes, her smile slipping as the warning siren continues to count down the minutes until the docks clamp their ships.
She walks away.
Alaric is a safe bet. He's a decent thief. He knows a good deal from a sour one. He'd take care of her. He was crazy about her.
But who isn't?
She pauses at the doorway as it opens, Alaric staring at her with dark eyes.
Who I'm crazy about might, for once, be more important.
Alaric is a decent sort, but Ralleru doesn't have rush hours, mochachinos, Asti 'sparkling wine' with a pop cork or Limewire. It's not filthy, huge or infected with six billion human beings. It has annoying archaeologists she can pretend to be one of, but it has no annoying archaeologists she'd happily suffer. It's all very nice and settled, but there's no snow to drift in the breeze and no Christmas with the team. There's no noise, no pace and none of the serenity she loves - the serenity that comes of being caught up in something bigger than you are with people who're just as swept away as you are.
She takes the bag he holds at an easy to reach level. He's a decent sort.
Daniel is staring at the open door of his Milky Way puddle jumper and Vala knows the shape of his shoulders. He's brooding, worrying and generally feeling teenage-like angst she'd hoped he'd left behind. He sees her in the reflection and turns, eyes wide and hand outstretched. He raises an eyebrow as she raises her chin and slots the bag handle into his hand.
You're coming home with me?
She doesn't question his presumption that she's going home. He's right.
Vala doesn't answer but swings her legs across his, waving to the others as she reclaims her patches from Cam's hand.
Six billion people, but sometimes all you need is one.
THE END.
Icon courtesy of Stef :) DV drabble of the most vomit-inducingly fluffy nature.
She Has No Time
She needs air. It's a burning sensation in her lungs that makes her reach for the hatch, and it has nothing to do with the heat inside the cabin they've paid head over mikita to rent for the journey.
Vala looks at Alaric and looks away. He's a decent thief and knows a safe bet but-
She needs air.
She puts one foot on the steel girders that make the walkway, feeling the rush and heat of the atmosphere impact her skin. Contained in a bubble she can't escape, Vala blinks languidly and looks from side to side. Stalls, vendors, travelers and workers - they've hit the station at the wrong time, with too many other ships using Tareka as a stop-over. It's worse than a Washington rush hour, but she tosses that memory through the gaps in the grids, watching it sink too many levels below.
Teal'c would compare this to Coruscant-
She needs air.
Oh, great.
Her thoughts are sarcastic but her breath catches nonetheless.
Now I'm seeing them.
She blinks and shakes her head sharply before realising that she isn't seeing things.
They finally made the silly things work. I just wonder if they actually called them gateships.
She remembers she doesn't care, but her eyes linger.
One puny puddle jumper does not equal SG-1. And even if it did, it's not as if they'd-
She turns sharply away, letting out an explosive breath and stretching her cramped arms. She doesn't remember Tareka being this cold.
One puny little puddle jumper. Gateship. Whatever. Just get back in the ship. It's not even-
Her mind and body disagree, and she turns. No hesitation, no second thoughts.
She's always been able to find his eyes and hold them and now is no different, staring bright from the other side of a force shield through a crowd.
Crowds, trees, distance or the haze of stupidity; what did it matter?
He's stepping down from his puddle jumper - McKay will have to face it, gateship isn't sticking in this galaxy or any other - and coming towards her. Vala's never been one to freeze, but she finds herself unable to move.
Daniel asks her what she's doing there. Where she's been.
Earth. On business. Just business. Interstellar trade and all.
She asks where he's been.
Ralleru.
She blinks. He's smiling softly, and the one-word answer says more than whole rants ever could or have done. He's gone where she was, just to look.
Vala turns away and senses him a step behind in a dance she isn't sure she remembers.
I was hoping to run into you.
She's stepped on his foot.
Oh?
He's raising his eyebrows with a smile. Trying not to be too bright-eyed or pay too much attention.
I have a business proposition. It's just business, you see. I have a venture- an adventure, if you will-
Oh?
She's attempting to stamp on his foot, but as they sit and he invades her personal space, trapping one of her fidgeting hands between his, she notes that however hard she attempts to crush his toes beneath her heel, he evades with style.
I have a tablet. It's written in Ancient.
She studies the interesting engine of the transport opposite and dreads another 'oh'. He speaks too many languages to be able to say so much in a syllable.
Leads to a treasure?
Something wonderful for all of us.
They aren't talking about why she left or why he ran to her places but not to her. They aren't talking about the losses piled on losses or the pains and miscommunication they've raised to an art form.
Cypher?
Got it.
Location?
Earth.
Why do you need us?
Vala had been asking herself the same question, then denying it had ever crossed her mind.
Well, I don't know the territory. Reading the tablet is one thing -
-Understanding is another.
They share a smile, and it's all clean cut, fresh and light. He still hasn't let go of her hand or her eyes.
Their eyes widen and heads turn at the blaring sound. Their docking slots are running out of time, and there's no feeding these metres.
Vala tries to articulate her proposition again.
You'd be doing me a favour, see. Taking this heavy, clunky thing off my hands. I wouldn't hang around for-
She stops because she's babbling.
She laughs in sheer relief at the sudden realisation that she's an idiot and kisses the back of his hand, feeling his gaze on her, noting his genuine but tentative grin as she meets his eyes. He leans his forehead against hers and kisses her, a palm against her cheeks as she stands on the balls of her feet to be tall enough. He firmly puts a hand on the small of her back, feeling her balance fail slightly.
They break apart and he looks around the station bashfully as if he expects an audience.
Vala ducks her head.
It's Tareka. They're used to random strangers getting up to all sorts.
Vala meets his eyes, her smile slipping as the warning siren continues to count down the minutes until the docks clamp their ships.
She walks away.
Alaric is a safe bet. He's a decent thief. He knows a good deal from a sour one. He'd take care of her. He was crazy about her.
But who isn't?
She pauses at the doorway as it opens, Alaric staring at her with dark eyes.
Who I'm crazy about might, for once, be more important.
Alaric is a decent sort, but Ralleru doesn't have rush hours, mochachinos, Asti 'sparkling wine' with a pop cork or Limewire. It's not filthy, huge or infected with six billion human beings. It has annoying archaeologists she can pretend to be one of, but it has no annoying archaeologists she'd happily suffer. It's all very nice and settled, but there's no snow to drift in the breeze and no Christmas with the team. There's no noise, no pace and none of the serenity she loves - the serenity that comes of being caught up in something bigger than you are with people who're just as swept away as you are.
She takes the bag he holds at an easy to reach level. He's a decent sort.
Daniel is staring at the open door of his Milky Way puddle jumper and Vala knows the shape of his shoulders. He's brooding, worrying and generally feeling teenage-like angst she'd hoped he'd left behind. He sees her in the reflection and turns, eyes wide and hand outstretched. He raises an eyebrow as she raises her chin and slots the bag handle into his hand.
You're coming home with me?
She doesn't question his presumption that she's going home. He's right.
Vala doesn't answer but swings her legs across his, waving to the others as she reclaims her patches from Cam's hand.
Six billion people, but sometimes all you need is one.
THE END.