Three Stories from Three Fandoms for the Empress Wu
Yesterday was my dearest darling's birthday. To celebrate, I wrote three little stories for her with her favorite pairings; to my delight, she liked them enough to suggest I share them. So I shall.
Happy birthday to empress_wu, the empress of my heart.
First, a Viggo/Orlando story:
One: Lord of the Rings
So Fearless
"It was that Zoe Saldana, do you remember her? Did you meet her? I can't remember. She was there, and um, that guy, the tall one with the earring, what was his name? It was a funny name, not as funny as 'Orlando,' but still pretty funny." Orlando stared at Viggo expectantly.
Viggo smiled, trying to pay attention, but his thoughts kept drifting to the new supply of gold ochre from Verona. He pursed his lips and sighed.
"Anyway, she was there, and with him, but they -- in the toilet, you know? And I didn't want to be rude, coz I really like Zoe, and the other guy was nice, just tall, so he had to bend over and, like, hunch over, and then finally he just, well, on his knees, you know? It was so crowded, and it felt good, but other people were around, and, and. Well." Orlando stopped abruptly and looked at Viggo.
"And?" he said politely, wondering whether his grinding slab should be replaced and whether the linseed oil was too old.
"Um," Orlando said. Viggo noticed that he looked a bit pink, especially around the ears. An interesting look against his burnt sienna coloring. "Ah, I'm supposed to meet my agent --"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Orlando." Viggo roused himself. "It was good of you to stop by. You'll be in LA for a while? Let's meet for lunch."
"No, I wish, man, that would be, yeah. But no. I leave tonight for Ankhara, and then to Cappadocia." He shrugged. "Not sure when I'll be back."
Viggo nodded. "Well."
"Yeah, man. Thanks. Good to see you." Orlando stared at Viggo, biting his lip, and then turned to go.
"Wait." Viggo drew Orlando into his arms. "Thank you. Come back, little brother. I miss you."
Orlando didn't respond, except to lay his head on Viggo's shoulder for a moment. Then he stepped away, lips curling into a sad smile, raised a hand, and was gone.
Viggo sighed as he watched Orlando drive away. He wondered if the French ochre had arrived yet.
~ ~ ~
"The fairy chimneys were incredible," Orlando's voice called. He sounded distant, which, Viggo reflected, made sense; he was calling from Paris.
"And a fairy chimney is?" he asked.
"Oh, Vig, these, like, pyramids, only natural, and with boulders on top of them. I looked them up on the internet. They're pumice, and you can sleep in them."
Viggo wasn't sure he'd heard correctly; Orlando's voice kept fading in and out. "Are you on a cell?"
"Yeah, my mobile, why? Can you hear me?"
"Yeah, just." Viggo rubbed his eye and yawned. Typical of Orlando to have forgotten the time difference. "Up late partying?"
"A bit. I'm down by the Seine. It's kind of cold, but the lights on the water, and I can see Notre Dame. There should be snow."
"In June?"
"No, of course not, it's just. I dunno. I always wanted to be here in the snow."
"It would be beautiful," Viggo agreed. trying to remember if he'd ever been in Paris in the snow. Surely as much as he'd traveled he had, but he didn't have a clear recollection. Funny.
"Yeah. Someday, maybe."
"Someday."
"So how are you, Vig? Still painting, or are you onto knitting now?"
"Knitting?" He frowned, rubbing at his forehead. "I hadn't really thought of trying to knit. I wonder about weaving, though. I'd like to try that."
"Any movies lined up?"
"Yeah, actually you just caught me. I'm leaving for Toronto in a couple days. Doing another with David."
"Cronenberg? Will you see Howard there?"
"I hope so. He's already agreed to do the music."
"Tell him hi, yeah? I haven't seen him in years, not since London."
"I will, Orlando. It's good to hear your voice."
"Yeah. I just. Yeah. Good to hear yours, Vig. Take care."
"You, too, little brother."
Viggo thought he heard Orlando sigh, but then there was silence. He pressed "end" on the handset. Funny of Orlando to call like that. He hadn't seen or heard from him in months. Maybe a year.
He shook his head and replaced the handset carefully, so it would charge while he was away.
~ ~ ~
"You really moving to New Zealand?" Viggo asked, brushing the sand from the bottom of his beer bottle before sipping.
"Yeah, man. I miss it, and Evi loves it. Be cool to raise the kids there." Dom took a sip of his Evian; he was on the wagon again, Viggo was glad to see. "It was always a good place for me. Plus Bill and Ali are coming out, helping us move. Did I tell you it's like a duplex, so there'll always be room for guests? A whole house to yourself, Vig."
"When Billy's not there."
"Ah, Bill stays with us. He's family."
"And I'm not?"
Dom looked at him, oddly solemn. "Not like that." He leaned over and kissed Viggo lightly. "Only one Bills; you know that," he said almost apologetically.
Viggo nodded. That was certainly true. Only one Billy, and only one Dom. All these years later and they were still together in their own unique way. He did wonder how they had successfully navigated marriage and children so nothing was threatened. At least, nothing appeared to be threatened from Viggo's vantage point. There was no Scylla and Charybdis for them to avoid; they had successfully merged love and work and friendship.
Well, he'd puzzled over them for years, but it wasn't something he felt comfortable asking either of them, or their wives. It just was, like the sunshine and soft Hawaiian breeze.
"You will visit?" Dom asked.
"Course I will. How could I not? You hobbits need a fair bit of looking after even now."
"Tch," Dom said, but he smiled behind his sunglasses. "Speaking of hobbits, how's that elf?"
"Orlando? Fine, I guess. Haven't heard from him in a bit. You haven't either?"
"Not me, but Elijah did. They made a movie together so I got the skinny."
"How are they?"
"Elijah is well." Dom nodded, his mouth pursed. "It's been a bit difficult, you know; he still tries to look in on Sean, and that's a bit wearing. I hear mostly about Sean, but he and Orlando managed to get out and party, even at their advanced ages."
Viggo laughed quietly; he just bet they'd partied.
"But you don't hear from Orli?" Dom asked again.
"Well, hm." He scratched his head. "Not for a while. I think he was in Paris?"
"Shite friend you are," Dom said severely. "That was two movies ago."
Viggo shrugged. He did feel uneasy about Orlando, though damn if he knew why.
Then Dom's oldest charged down the beach, yelling at the top of his lungs, kicking a soccer ball toward them. "Christ, Dom," Viggo said, protecting his beer from the flying sand, but Dom was already up kicking at the ball himself, and Viggo resigned himself to being covered in Monaghans and sand.
~ ~ ~
"Vig!" Bean shouted at him, holding open his arms to encircle Viggo. Despite the thinning grey hair, Bean still looked robust and hearty.
"Damn," Viggo whispered, shocked by how pleased he was to find Sean here.
"Y'old bastard." Sean backed up, holding Viggo by his shoulders to study him. "You look a bit peaky. I heard you've been ill."
Viggo shrugged. "Some angina. Nothing, really."
"Liar. Me old man suffered from that. Terrified me, to see him clutch his chest. Sit down. A glass of red wine, yeah? That's what they say, red for health and hearts." He waved a server over. "Merlot? No, no. Let's try the ninety-seven Beaulieu Cabernet Private Reserve. Lovely, lovely wine," he confided to Viggo.
"I'm sure it is." He studied Sean. His face was a bit flushed, but his smile was the same. "Amazing to see you like this. What are you doing here?"
"Restocking my wine cellar, of course. You're makin' a movie, I hear."
"Yeah, just a small thing, indie, but the script appealed to me."
"Not to mention Henry wrote it."
They smiled at each other. The server brought the wine, slid the cork out, and handed it to Sean, who sniffed deeply at it and nodded. The wine was a deep color, almost chocolatey, and Viggo smiled even more as he watched Sean sniff into the glass, his big nose stuck right into the crystal bowl, and then swish a taste in his mouth. "Excellent. Yeah."
The wine was, Viggo admitted to himself, delicious, and complexly so; he closed his eyes to savor it better, leaning back in his chair. When he opened his eyes again, he said, "You're right. A lovely wine. And yeah, Henry wrote the screenplay, and the part, just for me. So I'm here."
"I'm glad you are. Been a long time."
Even now, after all these years, Viggo felt relaxed sitting quietly with Sean, no pressure to make idle conversation or check in with each other. They would speak, or they would not. They would enjoy the wine.
But Sean did speak. He leant forward, big arms on the tabletop, and looked intently at Viggo. The hair on his arms, Viggo noticed, was as grey as the hair on his head. "What're you playin' at?"
"Hm? Nothing, why?" Viggo was taken aback by Sean's intensity.
"We meet, y'know. Regular-like, at Dom's."
"I know. I've been."
"Not recently."
Well, that was true, Viggo admitted to himself, and nodded. "I talk to Dom all the time; Billy and Elijah, too."
"We're gettin' old, Vig. The world is changing. Dark times, dark times." He sipped his wine. "You still have your ranch in Sandpoint?"
"Yeah. Why? What's going on?"
Sean nodded, looking intently at Viggo. "Your last marriage didn't work out."
"Nor did yours," he replied with asperity. "Sean, knock off the mysterious horseshit. What's up?"
"Nothing. Just wondering why you're still alone. Why you married that bimbo."
"She wasn't -- okay, maybe she was. But she was fun, and, and." He stared at Sean. "Remind me why this is your business?"
"Because I'm one of your oldest friends. Because you're my brother. Because I love you."
Viggo felt his mouth open in surprise. He took a deep breath, and then a deep drink of the wine. "I don't know what to say."
"Good. No bullshit that way." Sean sat up a bit, then reached forward and grabbed Viggo's forearm. "No bullshit," he repeated, and then smiled.
"I'm glad we had this little talk," Viggo said.
Sean rolled his eyes. "You will be," he promised. Or threatened, Viggo wasn't sure which. He raised his wineglass to toast Sean, who smiled at him. "Did you see Andy's last movie? What a piece of shite."
~ ~ ~
"Hi."
Viggo stood holding open the front door, staring in surprise. "Hi."
"Um, yeah. I think. I'm coming in, okay?" Orlando said, lifting his chin.
"Yes, please, ah. Come in." He stepped back and watched as Orlando opened the screen door and stepped into Viggo's home. Behind him, Viggo could see his car, almost white with dust, parked in the drive. It looked packed. "What are? No, that can wait. I'll put on coffee. Or would you prefer tea?"
"Coffee, please."
Orlando followed him into the kitchen, and leaned against the counter, watching Viggo pull a bag of coffee beans from the freezer.
"You look good," Viggo said, trying to figure out why Orlando was here. "Haven't heard from you in a while."
"Nor I you."
Viggo was a bit uncomfortable under the intensity of Orlando's gaze. His eyes were still hidden behind sunglasses, his hair longer than the last time Viggo had seen him, the silvering curls tumbling onto his forehead and over his ears. "Well," Viggo said, switching on the coffeemaker. "Hi."
Orlando nodded. He stood quietly, more quietly than Viggo remembered him being, and then removed his glasses, exchanging them for another pair from his pocket.
Viggo had just opened his mouth when Orlando said, "I've been wanting to see you for years. But things kept happening. I got married again. I brought your gift back; it's in the car."
"You're returning a wedding gift? From, what, three years ago?"
"Five. Yeah. It's over. Didn't work out, again. But I figured it out. Took me a while. No, that's a lie."
He turned and looked out the kitchen window, so Viggo studied his profile, wondering what was going on. "I think I remember reading something about the divorce."
"Oh, yeah. It was spectacular." Orlando twisted his head to look at Viggo. "I got caught in bed."
"Oh. Oh, I remember --"
"Yeah. She had a camera. Spectacular. Or craptacular, as Dom said."
"Sorry, Orlando. I didn't know -- I don't think I was in the country."
"No, it's all right. You were in Argentina. But now you're here. And I'm here. And all that was years ago."
"Yes."
Orlando took a deep breath, and then stepped closer to Viggo, leaning against him. Viggo automatically put his arms around Orlando, who sighed and rested heavily against him.
They stood there, silent. Behind them, the coffeemaker sighed. Viggo gently lay his head against Orlando's, and watched the sunlight on the tile floor of his kitchen. He needed to mop again. He needed to water his garden, and mow the back lawn. Instead, he pushed his nose into Orlando's hair and smelt the highway and distance and shampoo.
"What are you doing here?" he whispered.
Orlando lifted his head to look into Viggo's eyes. "Don't you know?"
Something tight loosened in Viggo's chest, something unbound itself and unhindered him. It felt like the reverse of angina, more like his heart expanded and relaxed. "Maybe I do," he said softly. "But I'm a little afraid."
"Don't be," Orlando whispered back, his lips near Viggo's. Behind them, the coffeemaker gurgled, and sighed again. The air was suddenly scented with coffee and hope.
"The gift -- what did I give you? What did you bring back?"
"A wine rack. Mahogany, I think."
"Sean sent me a case of wine last month when I saw him."
"I know." Orlando's lips brushed Viggo's as he spoke.
"You know. And Sean knows. Who else?"
"Dom. Billy. Keira. Miranda. Dave. Philippa."
"Not me?"
"Dunno, Vig." He looked into Viggo's eyes, a serious, middle-aged man with skin the color of French ochre.
"I want to paint you," Viggo said, and leaned forward the tiniest bit, each word a kiss upon Orlando's lips. Orlando opened his mouth and gently sucked at Viggo's, licking his lips until he opened his mouth so Orlando could suck on his tongue. The kitchen was silent except for their kiss.
When Orlando finally pulled back, smiling at Viggo, he said, "Took me years to find the courage to do that."
"Took me years to figure out I wanted you to."
"We're a good match then."
"The best," Viggo said, shaking his head at his obtuseness, and then leaned forward again, hoping Orlando would find the courage to kiss him again.
And he did.
Next, a Jack/Daniel story:
Two: Stargate SG-1
Rough Winds
Daniel stared intently at the stone in his hand; it had been cunningly chipped into an arrowhead, but there was a tiny microchip inserted into the base. A computer-driven arrow? Was this a toy? A weapon? The grid of trenches surrounding him had revealed many of these arrowheads, but none in such perfect condition as this.
"Doctor Jackson?" Major Krieger said. Daniel rose, stretching his back, and looked across the trench to the major, who gestured with his P-90. When Daniel raised his head, he saw Jack accompanied by two other men, both in uniform.
Daniel was so surprised to see Jack that for an instant he thought he was mistaken, that it was another man coming toward him. But he knew Jack anywhere; after more than a decade of working, fighting, and playing together, he would have recognized Jack in a pitch-black room.
But this was not General O'Neill walking through the thick grass, whacking at its seedheads with a cane. This was Jack, wearing blue jeans and a plaid shirt, a White Sox baseball cap pulled down over his silver hair.
"Daniel," he said, stopping on the far side of the trench separating them.
"Jack."
"Warm welcome."
"Ah, welcome. It's a surprise. Jack --" Daniel felt the smile on his face; too big, too happy, but never happy enough to express his feelings. He wound his way carefully around until he could stand next to Jack. "Hey."
"Hey."
"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Walk with me, Daniel." He started walking and Daniel for once followed him. "Stay here," Jack said over his shoulder to the men who had accompanied him. "Please."
"Please?" Daniel asked him. "That's new."
"There's a lot new," Jack said, and fell silent.
They walked for a while, away from the camp, across the broad fields broken only by lumps of earth that hid the city that had once stood here. Daniel knew there really wasn't any place to go; this part of the world was mile after mile of level grassland. Something horrific had happened here, but thousands of years ago. Archaeology in the Pegasus Galaxy used a different timescale than in the Milky Way.
Finally, Jack slowed and then stopped. He stared around them, and Daniel knew he was noticing the slight blue in the grasses, the orange of this sun, the different smell of this air. Not home, his body constantly reminded him, but what was home?
The grasses flattened and shifted color as the breeze pushed across them. Daniel sneezed.
"Bless," Jack said, finally looking at him.
"Thank you." He blew his nose. "Why are you here? Not that it isn't great to see you. But why are you in the Pegasus Galaxy and not Washington?"
"Ah, see." Jack paused, and then said, "Do you know how old I am?"
"I didn't miss your birthday, Jack. I had Sam give it to you, remember?"
"Yes, and a lovely crystal vase it was, too." It hadn't been crystal or a vase, but Daniel didn't contradict him; he just smiled and nodded. "But I didn't ask if you knew when my birthday was. I asked if you knew how old I was."
"Sixty-five."
"Yep. A good round number, don't you think?"
"Shit, Jack." Daniel stared at his plaid shirt. "You retired."
"I did. Kind of." He grinned, and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a sheaf of papers and unfolding them.
"Form I-589," Daniel read, taking them from him. "Um, Jack. This is a request for asylum. With the words United States crossed out and replaced with the word Atlantis."
Jack leaned over to look at the paperwork. "So it is. What do you make of that?"
Daniel flipped through the pages -- it was a lengthy document -- and saw that every field was filled out in Jack's angular handwriting. "Asylum is a form of protection," he started, then stopped. Protection. He continued to examine the pages, stopping when he got to page eighteen. Under "marital status," Jack had checked "married."
Index finger marking that field, he looked at Jack. Jack nodded his head, then straightened up and met Daniel's eyes. "Well?"
"You talk to Weir?"
"I did. She has a copy of the application, too. Asked me if I had any fear about returning to the States, or if I'd be harmed if I was returned."
"What did you say?"
"There was some possibility." After a pause, Jack said, "A good possibility."
"I'd say so. NID, of course. But maybe the Air Force?"
Jack shrugged. "Depends, I think."
"On?"
"You, basically. Pretty much everything depends on you."
Daniel began to smile. "Does this mean I can ask? That you can tell?"
"Jesus, Daniel. It's about fucking time."
"I'm not good at keeping my mouth shut, Jack; you know that."
"You did a fine job, you never said a goddamn word," Jack started but then the wind caught the brim of Jack's cap, and he had to grab it quickly. Daniel stuffed the papers into his own back pocket so he could take the hat from Jack, turn it around, and fit it back on Jack's head, brim to the back. "That's better," he said, letting his hands slide down to Jack's shoulders.
"Doctor Jackson?" Major Krieger called. Daniel turned his head to find the major and the other two watching.
"Major Krieger," Daniel said. "We've got a new partner. He'll help with the digging and sifting."
"Ah," Krieger said, frowning.
"For now, though, I'm going to show him around. Why don't you and those gentlemen head back to camp. We should have a celebratory dinner, I think. Maybe you'll see another deer-thing to shoot. That was good barbecue."
"Yessir, Doctor Jackson," Krieger said, smiling. "I do love barbecue." He turned and herded the other two ahead of him, back the way they'd come.
"Good man," Daniel told Jack. "You'll like him."
"Barbecue? I do already."
"You okay?" Daniel asked. "Those guys trouble? A security detail?"
"Naw. Just Weir being cautious. I'm a citizen of Atlantis, or I will be if that's what you want."
Daniel stared at him. "Moron," he said at last, and kissed Jack.
Jack's cap blew off, but they didn't chase after it.
Finally, Rodney/John:
Three: Stargate Atlantis
In Our Certain Fallibility Be Infallibly Generous
Rodney watched Colonel Sheppard cradle his P-90, and wondered idly how many times over the years he'd seen the colonel in that stance. Sheppard was scanning the horizon, doing the military thing that simultaneously irritated and comforted Rodney. He sighed. What a pain in the ass it was to have to be constantly alert, continually afraid. After so much time, he should be accustomed to the feeling, but he was only tired.
The steepness of a hill can be measured in several ways, he told himself, smiling a bit. Let John wonder why; he was the hill Rodney had been trying to measure for so long.
"Move out," Sheppard said. They knew their roles: Ronon took point, like a moveable totem, good luck and good hunting all in a dreadlocked giant. Rodney was next, with Teyla to his left and slightly behind, and Sheppard to his right and further behind. On his six, as they said, which always made him laugh.
For food, for fabric, for sewing needles, for silverware, for ZPMs, for every- and anything they could find, the teams went through the stargate. Unlike at the SGC; when Rodney had been there, they'd been seeking allies and advanced weapons. Here, they had both, but without the ability to regularly open the stargate to Earth, they were forced to rely on what supplies the Daedalus could bring and what they could forage.
Needles were wanted; the Daedalus had neglected to pack any, or maybe the order had been lost. Whatever, simple needles for sewing and mending were in scarce supply. Their clothes were getting a bit shabby; Rodney had an old pair of khakis that he didn't want to lose but he'd torn the knee. He'd duct-taped the hole, but thought a patch would last longer. But who knows: his world tended to run on duct tape, WD-40, and ZPMs. Maybe the khakis would last forever now.
Sheppard's favorite blue shirt was getting ratty, too, Rodney had noticed. He'd bumped into Sheppard staring mournfully at the hem one evening on a balcony near the mess tent. "Athosian tomato sauce," he'd ruefully told Rodney as they looked at the splotch.
"Soak it in cold water," Rodney had advised, remembering something from his mother or sister or maybe a girlfriend, though that seemed unlikely. Surely he'd never discussed laundry with a girlfriend. He'd had so few, and there was always something more interesting than laundry to do. "Also, use a bib."
"Thanks, Rodney. You always know just the right thing to say."
"Well." He remembered feeling a little abashed at that. After all, he'd ruined favorite shirts, including his beloved "I'm with genius" tee. He'd shrugged, and they'd talked about depleted ZPMs and naqahdah generators, and how generator power seemed to increase exponentially until eventually all power sources would seem like magic.
At that point, Sheppard had silently made the lights on the balcony glow, a soft tracery around the lip of the balcony, like Christmas lights but blue. Rodney had been impressed, though he had only snorted.
"This way," Ronon called. "There's a road." Road, Rodney thought, was a generous term, but it was more than a path or trail, lined with whitewashed stones. Teyla had heard of a thriving settlement on this planet; her grandmother had traded here, back when she was Teyla's age, doing the work Teyla now did. The air was cool, and the sun already falling behind the trees, casting deep shadows across the road. Rodney tugged his jacket more tightly around him.
He wasn't sure why he was still on this team, still venturing out of the relative safety of Atlantis. Nor was he sure why Sheppard was; he should be sitting in an office directing people to go. Which, in fact, he also did.
But here they were, and Rodney smiled to himself as realized yet again that he was walking down a road on another world, in another galaxy.
"What?" Sheppard asked him quietly.
Rodney shrugged. How to explain? Except it was Sheppard. "Just that we're here." He gestured around them. "We're here, Colonel."
Sheppard smiled at him, and they bumped shoulders.
"I see lights," Ronon said quietly, slowing to a stop. They gathered around him, looking down into a middling-sized settlement. Smoke rose from chimneys, and lights glowed in the deepening night. A few people moved in the streets.
"There," Teyla pointed. "Under the tree; do you see the market?"
"You mean the, what, big top? All that fabric?" Rodney asked.
"I am unfamiliar with the term 'big top," but yes, the fabric. Were it daylight, you would see it is red trimmed with gold. Under it trade may occur."
"And tonight?"
"We eat," Ronon said, pointing. "That's an inn."
Rodney thought he was right, and besides, he was hungry. "Let's try it. Colonel?"
"Let's go," Sheppard said.
Rodney watched carefully, trying to peer in the windows, noting the side streets also filled with lighted homes and businesses. Fog was settling in, drifting through the tree branches, smudging the lights. But the people they passed looked human, and not frightened or threatened by them. Ronon was right; he had seen an inn, nor were they the only guests. Teyla spoke with the innkeeper while Ronan and Rodney peeked into the dining room; something smelled good, like roasted meat and fresh bread.
"They will give us two rooms for one night," she reported, "in exchange for information about places to trade for fruit and vegetables, and the pottery we brought." Years before, Daniel Jackson had devised a list of items SG teams should carry with them in place of currency; even in another galaxy, the list stood them in good stead.
"Excellent," Rodney said. "Dinner?"
"Yes. They also offer baths," Teyla said. "I wish to avail myself of them. My grandmother told me about them."
"A bath would be nice," Rodney conceded, sniffing at his arm. Sheppard snickered. "Well, it would. And you could use one, too, Colonel, if I may be so personal."
"You may," Sheppard agreed.
"But I'm hungry. I think I'll eat first and then bathe. I know Ronon's with me. Colonel?"
"Yeah, if Teyla feels okay about it."
She bowed slightly, and gestured subtly but significantly with her weapon before following the innkeeper.
To Rodney's pleasure, there was some kind of roast meat, served with a thick gravy he greedily mopped up with the bread. "Lovely," he said.
"Not with your mouth full," Sheppard told him, gesturing with his bread, then sucking on a greasy finger. No utensils here, but they'd found that often enough, and despite his pleasure in teasing Ronon, Rodney didn't really mind.
Teyla joined them, her hair still damp and her face shining in the lamplight. She ate more daintily, agreeing that it was good. "We should trade for this beast if we can," she told Sheppard. "If it is domesticated, we could raise them ourselves."
Rodney knew he should worry about contaminating their world with the animals of another, but they had all lived under the threat of starvation for too long. Future generations could worry about cross-contamination of species; he just wanted dinner.
The baths were as pleasant as Teyla's grandmother had promised, private tubs steaming with herbal-scented water. Rodney showered first, and then climbed into his tub. He could hear the others splashing in theirs, and the murmur of voices -- Ronon and someone else, he thought, listening carefully -- but they sounded calm and pleasant.
He soaked until his muscles were loose and his fingers wrinkly. He hoped the beds would be as comfortable as the baths. He didn't bother to dress completely but just pulled on his trousers and jacket, bundling up everything else to carry.
He met Sheppard coming out of his bath, so they walked to their room together. Ronon stood at the door to his and Teyla's room, looking respectfully in. "Come," Rodney heard Teyla say. Ronon bowed his head, then looked over his shoulder at Rodney and Sheppard and winked before sliding the door shut behind him.
"Well," Rodney said, a bit surprised. "Did you know?"
"I'm the team leader," Sheppard said as they went into their own room.
"Then you didn't know, either."
"Not a clue," Sheppard admitted.
Rodney looked around. There were two narrow beds against opposite walls, with a low table between them. A lantern burned, hissing quietly. There was a bucket under one bed, presumably the chamber pot, and another filled with water on the table, with a dipper in it. "Home, sweet home," he murmured, but in fact it was nicer than many places he had stayed even on Earth. The bed, he discovered, was firm, and there were hooks above it for his clothes.
He looked at Sheppard, bouncing slightly on the bed, his eyes half closed. His hair was wet, and Rodney realized how long it was getting, and how grey. He self-consciously ran a hand over his own head; at least Sheppard had kept most of his hair. Rodney's hairline kept creeping higher even as the remaining hair turned grey.
Sheppard looked tired, a bit thin and drawn. Well, they lived a hard life, hiking for miles, always alert. Even at home, in Atlantis, they were never entirely safe. There was no such thing as a vacation in the Pegasus Galaxy, Rodney realized.
Suddenly Sheppard looked up at him, and Rodney felt himself blushing, embarrassed to be caught studying his friend so intently. "Sorry, sorry," he babbled, and stood to loop his jacket from one of the hooks.
"Why?" Sheppard asked him.
"Um." Rodney stared at the wall. He should take off his trousers, too, but he hadn't put his pants back on and was too self-conscious to strip in front of Sheppard. Who had, Rodney told himself, seen him naked a hundred times by now. Also sick, drugged, enraged, and everything else. But for the moment, he was frozen, his shoulders drawn up to his ears, his face burning.
"Rodney? You okay?"
"Yeah, of course, just, ah, you know." He shook out his shirt and the ugly green sweater he'd pulled over it; something the Daedalus had brought. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and all Atlantis were beggars. Behind him, he heard Sheppard undressing, and the creak of the bed as he climbed in. That magically released him from his nervousness, so he was finally able to strip and curl up in his own bed. "Can you think the light off?" he asked.
Sheppard smiled at him. The room was small, the beds only a couple of feet apart. "Not like home," he said.
"Home," Rodney repeated.
"Yeah," Sheppard said, surprising him. "When did Atlantis become home? But it is. I think."
"It is," Rodney agreed. He was relaxing again; the big meal and the bath had done their work. He felt his muscles slacken and his eyes droop. "Odd, that some of the best rest I get is out on missions."
"Me, too," Sheppard murmured. Rodney sighed, rose onto an elbow, and twisted off the lantern. It flickered, hissed, and went dark. "Good night."
"Good night, Colonel," Rodney said, and slept.
He woke abruptly, wondering where he was before he realized he was listening to Sheppard piss into the bucket. "Mmm," he mumbled. "My turn next."
"It's cold," Sheppard whispered. He'd pushed the bucket into the far corner and stood with his feet curled. "Must be below freezing." He shook his cock, and got quickly back under the covers. "Shit." He shivered.
Rodney's bladder insisted, so he climbed out of his warm bed to stand facing the corner. For a moment he thought he wasn't going to be able to pee and he breathed a sigh of relief when the stream finally came. The light, he saw, came in through a long narrow clerestory window; he hadn't noticed it earlier. Through it, he thought he could see two small moons, and he wondered what they did to the tides on this planet.
He was shaking by the time he finished, shivering so hard his teeth chattered. His bed had chilled, too, so it wasn't easy to climb between the coarse icy sheets. He groaned and curled up into a ball.
"Rodney," the colonel whispered. "Listen. Would you -- do you want to sleep here?" Rodney nearly flew out of his bed and into Sheppard's. It was warm where Sheppard had been lying, and Rodney had no qualms about pushing him aside. "Hey, hey," Sheppard protested. "My back's against this freezing wall. Don't make me regret my offer."
"Never," Rodney said. He pulled Sheppard to him and then rolled on top of him. "Better?"
"Ah," Sheppard said, but then Rodney kissed him. Surprise! he thought. Amazing what a cold night can do. "You feel good," Sheppard said.
"Colonel --" Rodney began, but Sheppard said, "John. Call me John. How many times have I asked you?"
"I was waiting," Rodney said primly, and then kissed him again. John's firm muscles and hairy skin instantly heated, until Rodney was warm for the first time that night. Sounds of kissing, John's hum of surprise and pleasure, the slide of their feet pushing against the bed covers were all Rodney could hear until he kissed John one last time, sighing in content. He was too tired to do more, and the bed too small, but he was warm, and John was in his arms. That would be enough till morning.
In the morning, the thin moonlight replaced by orange-red sunlight, Rodney studied John's sleeping face. They lay as close as the folded wings of a sparrow, and as still as the dawn. John opened his eyes. "Last night you said you were waiting," he whispered. "Waiting for what? Till you jumped me?"
Rodney stared down at John's face, faintly glowing in the alien light; he felt shy and awkward and embarrassed and brave. "All the obvious reasons," he finally said. "I'm sure I don't have to enumerate them for you, Colonel."
"Why did you wait so long?"
Rodney kissed his morning-tasting mouth. "Hello, Atlantis," he whispered. "I suddenly got it."
"It took you how many years? I thought you're the genius."
"Hey, I was busy. And you could have said something."
"Right, seeing as how I'm --"
"I know what you are," Rodney interrupted him. They stared at each other, John smiling but puzzled. "You're Atlantis," Rodney repeated. John shook his head slightly. Rodney sighed, impatient at having to explain. "I read a poem once. Actually a lot; I really liked it. A girlfriend gave me the book -- never mind, that's irrelevant and none of your business anyway, I certainly don't want to know about any of your old girlfriends, or your boyfriends, either, but this poem. See. In the night. I realized."
"The poem?"
"Oh. Yeah. Well, the connection won't be obvious to you --"
"Rodney, can you tell me you love me without insulting me?" Rodney opened his mouth but couldn't speak. "I guess not."
"No, I can, I mean yes, I can, and I will. Just." He shook his head, a gladness bubbling up from some internal aquifer he hadn't known existed. "I love you," he said in wonder, and John laughed.
"Now who's the moron?"
"How can we know if it is merely a blind heart's error or the mind's mad desire to perfect itself or the eye through the eye of the universe that sees redemption as bat belly pressing hard to flower flesh in a jungle night? Senseless forest, special flower, sucking beast, stay. In our certain fallibility be infallibly generous. Wait for us."
John touched Rodney's face, scratching at his stubble. "I'm guessing that's the poem."
"Yeah. Yeah."
"How can we know?"
Rodney shrugged. "Why must the value of t not exceed one?" he asked. "Just. You waited for me."
John nodded, smiling. "I waited," he whispered. "Infallibly generous."
"That's you," Rodney said confidently. "Certain fallibility, too."
Author's Notes:
One: So Fearless: title from the song "Fearless" by The Bravery. Beta by the princessofg.
Too many fingers, too many thumbs
Something wicked this way comes
The best time I've ever had
Waiting around for something bad
Fearless, fearless, ohh
And I know that's why you love me
Fearless, fearless, come on
Two: Rough Winds: title from Shakespeare's Sonnet 18: "Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May." Beta by my non-LJ friend Linda.
Three: In Our Certain Fallibility Be Infallibly Generous: title and Rodney's poem are from Pattiann Rogers' "That's Why." Beta by iamrosalita.
Happy birthday to empress_wu, the empress of my heart.
First, a Viggo/Orlando story:
One: Lord of the Rings
So Fearless
"It was that Zoe Saldana, do you remember her? Did you meet her? I can't remember. She was there, and um, that guy, the tall one with the earring, what was his name? It was a funny name, not as funny as 'Orlando,' but still pretty funny." Orlando stared at Viggo expectantly.
Viggo smiled, trying to pay attention, but his thoughts kept drifting to the new supply of gold ochre from Verona. He pursed his lips and sighed.
"Anyway, she was there, and with him, but they -- in the toilet, you know? And I didn't want to be rude, coz I really like Zoe, and the other guy was nice, just tall, so he had to bend over and, like, hunch over, and then finally he just, well, on his knees, you know? It was so crowded, and it felt good, but other people were around, and, and. Well." Orlando stopped abruptly and looked at Viggo.
"And?" he said politely, wondering whether his grinding slab should be replaced and whether the linseed oil was too old.
"Um," Orlando said. Viggo noticed that he looked a bit pink, especially around the ears. An interesting look against his burnt sienna coloring. "Ah, I'm supposed to meet my agent --"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Orlando." Viggo roused himself. "It was good of you to stop by. You'll be in LA for a while? Let's meet for lunch."
"No, I wish, man, that would be, yeah. But no. I leave tonight for Ankhara, and then to Cappadocia." He shrugged. "Not sure when I'll be back."
Viggo nodded. "Well."
"Yeah, man. Thanks. Good to see you." Orlando stared at Viggo, biting his lip, and then turned to go.
"Wait." Viggo drew Orlando into his arms. "Thank you. Come back, little brother. I miss you."
Orlando didn't respond, except to lay his head on Viggo's shoulder for a moment. Then he stepped away, lips curling into a sad smile, raised a hand, and was gone.
Viggo sighed as he watched Orlando drive away. He wondered if the French ochre had arrived yet.
~ ~ ~
"The fairy chimneys were incredible," Orlando's voice called. He sounded distant, which, Viggo reflected, made sense; he was calling from Paris.
"And a fairy chimney is?" he asked.
"Oh, Vig, these, like, pyramids, only natural, and with boulders on top of them. I looked them up on the internet. They're pumice, and you can sleep in them."
Viggo wasn't sure he'd heard correctly; Orlando's voice kept fading in and out. "Are you on a cell?"
"Yeah, my mobile, why? Can you hear me?"
"Yeah, just." Viggo rubbed his eye and yawned. Typical of Orlando to have forgotten the time difference. "Up late partying?"
"A bit. I'm down by the Seine. It's kind of cold, but the lights on the water, and I can see Notre Dame. There should be snow."
"In June?"
"No, of course not, it's just. I dunno. I always wanted to be here in the snow."
"It would be beautiful," Viggo agreed. trying to remember if he'd ever been in Paris in the snow. Surely as much as he'd traveled he had, but he didn't have a clear recollection. Funny.
"Yeah. Someday, maybe."
"Someday."
"So how are you, Vig? Still painting, or are you onto knitting now?"
"Knitting?" He frowned, rubbing at his forehead. "I hadn't really thought of trying to knit. I wonder about weaving, though. I'd like to try that."
"Any movies lined up?"
"Yeah, actually you just caught me. I'm leaving for Toronto in a couple days. Doing another with David."
"Cronenberg? Will you see Howard there?"
"I hope so. He's already agreed to do the music."
"Tell him hi, yeah? I haven't seen him in years, not since London."
"I will, Orlando. It's good to hear your voice."
"Yeah. I just. Yeah. Good to hear yours, Vig. Take care."
"You, too, little brother."
Viggo thought he heard Orlando sigh, but then there was silence. He pressed "end" on the handset. Funny of Orlando to call like that. He hadn't seen or heard from him in months. Maybe a year.
He shook his head and replaced the handset carefully, so it would charge while he was away.
~ ~ ~
"You really moving to New Zealand?" Viggo asked, brushing the sand from the bottom of his beer bottle before sipping.
"Yeah, man. I miss it, and Evi loves it. Be cool to raise the kids there." Dom took a sip of his Evian; he was on the wagon again, Viggo was glad to see. "It was always a good place for me. Plus Bill and Ali are coming out, helping us move. Did I tell you it's like a duplex, so there'll always be room for guests? A whole house to yourself, Vig."
"When Billy's not there."
"Ah, Bill stays with us. He's family."
"And I'm not?"
Dom looked at him, oddly solemn. "Not like that." He leaned over and kissed Viggo lightly. "Only one Bills; you know that," he said almost apologetically.
Viggo nodded. That was certainly true. Only one Billy, and only one Dom. All these years later and they were still together in their own unique way. He did wonder how they had successfully navigated marriage and children so nothing was threatened. At least, nothing appeared to be threatened from Viggo's vantage point. There was no Scylla and Charybdis for them to avoid; they had successfully merged love and work and friendship.
Well, he'd puzzled over them for years, but it wasn't something he felt comfortable asking either of them, or their wives. It just was, like the sunshine and soft Hawaiian breeze.
"You will visit?" Dom asked.
"Course I will. How could I not? You hobbits need a fair bit of looking after even now."
"Tch," Dom said, but he smiled behind his sunglasses. "Speaking of hobbits, how's that elf?"
"Orlando? Fine, I guess. Haven't heard from him in a bit. You haven't either?"
"Not me, but Elijah did. They made a movie together so I got the skinny."
"How are they?"
"Elijah is well." Dom nodded, his mouth pursed. "It's been a bit difficult, you know; he still tries to look in on Sean, and that's a bit wearing. I hear mostly about Sean, but he and Orlando managed to get out and party, even at their advanced ages."
Viggo laughed quietly; he just bet they'd partied.
"But you don't hear from Orli?" Dom asked again.
"Well, hm." He scratched his head. "Not for a while. I think he was in Paris?"
"Shite friend you are," Dom said severely. "That was two movies ago."
Viggo shrugged. He did feel uneasy about Orlando, though damn if he knew why.
Then Dom's oldest charged down the beach, yelling at the top of his lungs, kicking a soccer ball toward them. "Christ, Dom," Viggo said, protecting his beer from the flying sand, but Dom was already up kicking at the ball himself, and Viggo resigned himself to being covered in Monaghans and sand.
~ ~ ~
"Vig!" Bean shouted at him, holding open his arms to encircle Viggo. Despite the thinning grey hair, Bean still looked robust and hearty.
"Damn," Viggo whispered, shocked by how pleased he was to find Sean here.
"Y'old bastard." Sean backed up, holding Viggo by his shoulders to study him. "You look a bit peaky. I heard you've been ill."
Viggo shrugged. "Some angina. Nothing, really."
"Liar. Me old man suffered from that. Terrified me, to see him clutch his chest. Sit down. A glass of red wine, yeah? That's what they say, red for health and hearts." He waved a server over. "Merlot? No, no. Let's try the ninety-seven Beaulieu Cabernet Private Reserve. Lovely, lovely wine," he confided to Viggo.
"I'm sure it is." He studied Sean. His face was a bit flushed, but his smile was the same. "Amazing to see you like this. What are you doing here?"
"Restocking my wine cellar, of course. You're makin' a movie, I hear."
"Yeah, just a small thing, indie, but the script appealed to me."
"Not to mention Henry wrote it."
They smiled at each other. The server brought the wine, slid the cork out, and handed it to Sean, who sniffed deeply at it and nodded. The wine was a deep color, almost chocolatey, and Viggo smiled even more as he watched Sean sniff into the glass, his big nose stuck right into the crystal bowl, and then swish a taste in his mouth. "Excellent. Yeah."
The wine was, Viggo admitted to himself, delicious, and complexly so; he closed his eyes to savor it better, leaning back in his chair. When he opened his eyes again, he said, "You're right. A lovely wine. And yeah, Henry wrote the screenplay, and the part, just for me. So I'm here."
"I'm glad you are. Been a long time."
Even now, after all these years, Viggo felt relaxed sitting quietly with Sean, no pressure to make idle conversation or check in with each other. They would speak, or they would not. They would enjoy the wine.
But Sean did speak. He leant forward, big arms on the tabletop, and looked intently at Viggo. The hair on his arms, Viggo noticed, was as grey as the hair on his head. "What're you playin' at?"
"Hm? Nothing, why?" Viggo was taken aback by Sean's intensity.
"We meet, y'know. Regular-like, at Dom's."
"I know. I've been."
"Not recently."
Well, that was true, Viggo admitted to himself, and nodded. "I talk to Dom all the time; Billy and Elijah, too."
"We're gettin' old, Vig. The world is changing. Dark times, dark times." He sipped his wine. "You still have your ranch in Sandpoint?"
"Yeah. Why? What's going on?"
Sean nodded, looking intently at Viggo. "Your last marriage didn't work out."
"Nor did yours," he replied with asperity. "Sean, knock off the mysterious horseshit. What's up?"
"Nothing. Just wondering why you're still alone. Why you married that bimbo."
"She wasn't -- okay, maybe she was. But she was fun, and, and." He stared at Sean. "Remind me why this is your business?"
"Because I'm one of your oldest friends. Because you're my brother. Because I love you."
Viggo felt his mouth open in surprise. He took a deep breath, and then a deep drink of the wine. "I don't know what to say."
"Good. No bullshit that way." Sean sat up a bit, then reached forward and grabbed Viggo's forearm. "No bullshit," he repeated, and then smiled.
"I'm glad we had this little talk," Viggo said.
Sean rolled his eyes. "You will be," he promised. Or threatened, Viggo wasn't sure which. He raised his wineglass to toast Sean, who smiled at him. "Did you see Andy's last movie? What a piece of shite."
~ ~ ~
"Hi."
Viggo stood holding open the front door, staring in surprise. "Hi."
"Um, yeah. I think. I'm coming in, okay?" Orlando said, lifting his chin.
"Yes, please, ah. Come in." He stepped back and watched as Orlando opened the screen door and stepped into Viggo's home. Behind him, Viggo could see his car, almost white with dust, parked in the drive. It looked packed. "What are? No, that can wait. I'll put on coffee. Or would you prefer tea?"
"Coffee, please."
Orlando followed him into the kitchen, and leaned against the counter, watching Viggo pull a bag of coffee beans from the freezer.
"You look good," Viggo said, trying to figure out why Orlando was here. "Haven't heard from you in a while."
"Nor I you."
Viggo was a bit uncomfortable under the intensity of Orlando's gaze. His eyes were still hidden behind sunglasses, his hair longer than the last time Viggo had seen him, the silvering curls tumbling onto his forehead and over his ears. "Well," Viggo said, switching on the coffeemaker. "Hi."
Orlando nodded. He stood quietly, more quietly than Viggo remembered him being, and then removed his glasses, exchanging them for another pair from his pocket.
Viggo had just opened his mouth when Orlando said, "I've been wanting to see you for years. But things kept happening. I got married again. I brought your gift back; it's in the car."
"You're returning a wedding gift? From, what, three years ago?"
"Five. Yeah. It's over. Didn't work out, again. But I figured it out. Took me a while. No, that's a lie."
He turned and looked out the kitchen window, so Viggo studied his profile, wondering what was going on. "I think I remember reading something about the divorce."
"Oh, yeah. It was spectacular." Orlando twisted his head to look at Viggo. "I got caught in bed."
"Oh. Oh, I remember --"
"Yeah. She had a camera. Spectacular. Or craptacular, as Dom said."
"Sorry, Orlando. I didn't know -- I don't think I was in the country."
"No, it's all right. You were in Argentina. But now you're here. And I'm here. And all that was years ago."
"Yes."
Orlando took a deep breath, and then stepped closer to Viggo, leaning against him. Viggo automatically put his arms around Orlando, who sighed and rested heavily against him.
They stood there, silent. Behind them, the coffeemaker sighed. Viggo gently lay his head against Orlando's, and watched the sunlight on the tile floor of his kitchen. He needed to mop again. He needed to water his garden, and mow the back lawn. Instead, he pushed his nose into Orlando's hair and smelt the highway and distance and shampoo.
"What are you doing here?" he whispered.
Orlando lifted his head to look into Viggo's eyes. "Don't you know?"
Something tight loosened in Viggo's chest, something unbound itself and unhindered him. It felt like the reverse of angina, more like his heart expanded and relaxed. "Maybe I do," he said softly. "But I'm a little afraid."
"Don't be," Orlando whispered back, his lips near Viggo's. Behind them, the coffeemaker gurgled, and sighed again. The air was suddenly scented with coffee and hope.
"The gift -- what did I give you? What did you bring back?"
"A wine rack. Mahogany, I think."
"Sean sent me a case of wine last month when I saw him."
"I know." Orlando's lips brushed Viggo's as he spoke.
"You know. And Sean knows. Who else?"
"Dom. Billy. Keira. Miranda. Dave. Philippa."
"Not me?"
"Dunno, Vig." He looked into Viggo's eyes, a serious, middle-aged man with skin the color of French ochre.
"I want to paint you," Viggo said, and leaned forward the tiniest bit, each word a kiss upon Orlando's lips. Orlando opened his mouth and gently sucked at Viggo's, licking his lips until he opened his mouth so Orlando could suck on his tongue. The kitchen was silent except for their kiss.
When Orlando finally pulled back, smiling at Viggo, he said, "Took me years to find the courage to do that."
"Took me years to figure out I wanted you to."
"We're a good match then."
"The best," Viggo said, shaking his head at his obtuseness, and then leaned forward again, hoping Orlando would find the courage to kiss him again.
And he did.
Next, a Jack/Daniel story:
Two: Stargate SG-1
Rough Winds
Daniel stared intently at the stone in his hand; it had been cunningly chipped into an arrowhead, but there was a tiny microchip inserted into the base. A computer-driven arrow? Was this a toy? A weapon? The grid of trenches surrounding him had revealed many of these arrowheads, but none in such perfect condition as this.
"Doctor Jackson?" Major Krieger said. Daniel rose, stretching his back, and looked across the trench to the major, who gestured with his P-90. When Daniel raised his head, he saw Jack accompanied by two other men, both in uniform.
Daniel was so surprised to see Jack that for an instant he thought he was mistaken, that it was another man coming toward him. But he knew Jack anywhere; after more than a decade of working, fighting, and playing together, he would have recognized Jack in a pitch-black room.
But this was not General O'Neill walking through the thick grass, whacking at its seedheads with a cane. This was Jack, wearing blue jeans and a plaid shirt, a White Sox baseball cap pulled down over his silver hair.
"Daniel," he said, stopping on the far side of the trench separating them.
"Jack."
"Warm welcome."
"Ah, welcome. It's a surprise. Jack --" Daniel felt the smile on his face; too big, too happy, but never happy enough to express his feelings. He wound his way carefully around until he could stand next to Jack. "Hey."
"Hey."
"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Walk with me, Daniel." He started walking and Daniel for once followed him. "Stay here," Jack said over his shoulder to the men who had accompanied him. "Please."
"Please?" Daniel asked him. "That's new."
"There's a lot new," Jack said, and fell silent.
They walked for a while, away from the camp, across the broad fields broken only by lumps of earth that hid the city that had once stood here. Daniel knew there really wasn't any place to go; this part of the world was mile after mile of level grassland. Something horrific had happened here, but thousands of years ago. Archaeology in the Pegasus Galaxy used a different timescale than in the Milky Way.
Finally, Jack slowed and then stopped. He stared around them, and Daniel knew he was noticing the slight blue in the grasses, the orange of this sun, the different smell of this air. Not home, his body constantly reminded him, but what was home?
The grasses flattened and shifted color as the breeze pushed across them. Daniel sneezed.
"Bless," Jack said, finally looking at him.
"Thank you." He blew his nose. "Why are you here? Not that it isn't great to see you. But why are you in the Pegasus Galaxy and not Washington?"
"Ah, see." Jack paused, and then said, "Do you know how old I am?"
"I didn't miss your birthday, Jack. I had Sam give it to you, remember?"
"Yes, and a lovely crystal vase it was, too." It hadn't been crystal or a vase, but Daniel didn't contradict him; he just smiled and nodded. "But I didn't ask if you knew when my birthday was. I asked if you knew how old I was."
"Sixty-five."
"Yep. A good round number, don't you think?"
"Shit, Jack." Daniel stared at his plaid shirt. "You retired."
"I did. Kind of." He grinned, and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a sheaf of papers and unfolding them.
"Form I-589," Daniel read, taking them from him. "Um, Jack. This is a request for asylum. With the words United States crossed out and replaced with the word Atlantis."
Jack leaned over to look at the paperwork. "So it is. What do you make of that?"
Daniel flipped through the pages -- it was a lengthy document -- and saw that every field was filled out in Jack's angular handwriting. "Asylum is a form of protection," he started, then stopped. Protection. He continued to examine the pages, stopping when he got to page eighteen. Under "marital status," Jack had checked "married."
Index finger marking that field, he looked at Jack. Jack nodded his head, then straightened up and met Daniel's eyes. "Well?"
"You talk to Weir?"
"I did. She has a copy of the application, too. Asked me if I had any fear about returning to the States, or if I'd be harmed if I was returned."
"What did you say?"
"There was some possibility." After a pause, Jack said, "A good possibility."
"I'd say so. NID, of course. But maybe the Air Force?"
Jack shrugged. "Depends, I think."
"On?"
"You, basically. Pretty much everything depends on you."
Daniel began to smile. "Does this mean I can ask? That you can tell?"
"Jesus, Daniel. It's about fucking time."
"I'm not good at keeping my mouth shut, Jack; you know that."
"You did a fine job, you never said a goddamn word," Jack started but then the wind caught the brim of Jack's cap, and he had to grab it quickly. Daniel stuffed the papers into his own back pocket so he could take the hat from Jack, turn it around, and fit it back on Jack's head, brim to the back. "That's better," he said, letting his hands slide down to Jack's shoulders.
"Doctor Jackson?" Major Krieger called. Daniel turned his head to find the major and the other two watching.
"Major Krieger," Daniel said. "We've got a new partner. He'll help with the digging and sifting."
"Ah," Krieger said, frowning.
"For now, though, I'm going to show him around. Why don't you and those gentlemen head back to camp. We should have a celebratory dinner, I think. Maybe you'll see another deer-thing to shoot. That was good barbecue."
"Yessir, Doctor Jackson," Krieger said, smiling. "I do love barbecue." He turned and herded the other two ahead of him, back the way they'd come.
"Good man," Daniel told Jack. "You'll like him."
"Barbecue? I do already."
"You okay?" Daniel asked. "Those guys trouble? A security detail?"
"Naw. Just Weir being cautious. I'm a citizen of Atlantis, or I will be if that's what you want."
Daniel stared at him. "Moron," he said at last, and kissed Jack.
Jack's cap blew off, but they didn't chase after it.
Finally, Rodney/John:
Three: Stargate Atlantis
In Our Certain Fallibility Be Infallibly Generous
Rodney watched Colonel Sheppard cradle his P-90, and wondered idly how many times over the years he'd seen the colonel in that stance. Sheppard was scanning the horizon, doing the military thing that simultaneously irritated and comforted Rodney. He sighed. What a pain in the ass it was to have to be constantly alert, continually afraid. After so much time, he should be accustomed to the feeling, but he was only tired.
The steepness of a hill can be measured in several ways, he told himself, smiling a bit. Let John wonder why; he was the hill Rodney had been trying to measure for so long.
"Move out," Sheppard said. They knew their roles: Ronon took point, like a moveable totem, good luck and good hunting all in a dreadlocked giant. Rodney was next, with Teyla to his left and slightly behind, and Sheppard to his right and further behind. On his six, as they said, which always made him laugh.
For food, for fabric, for sewing needles, for silverware, for ZPMs, for every- and anything they could find, the teams went through the stargate. Unlike at the SGC; when Rodney had been there, they'd been seeking allies and advanced weapons. Here, they had both, but without the ability to regularly open the stargate to Earth, they were forced to rely on what supplies the Daedalus could bring and what they could forage.
Needles were wanted; the Daedalus had neglected to pack any, or maybe the order had been lost. Whatever, simple needles for sewing and mending were in scarce supply. Their clothes were getting a bit shabby; Rodney had an old pair of khakis that he didn't want to lose but he'd torn the knee. He'd duct-taped the hole, but thought a patch would last longer. But who knows: his world tended to run on duct tape, WD-40, and ZPMs. Maybe the khakis would last forever now.
Sheppard's favorite blue shirt was getting ratty, too, Rodney had noticed. He'd bumped into Sheppard staring mournfully at the hem one evening on a balcony near the mess tent. "Athosian tomato sauce," he'd ruefully told Rodney as they looked at the splotch.
"Soak it in cold water," Rodney had advised, remembering something from his mother or sister or maybe a girlfriend, though that seemed unlikely. Surely he'd never discussed laundry with a girlfriend. He'd had so few, and there was always something more interesting than laundry to do. "Also, use a bib."
"Thanks, Rodney. You always know just the right thing to say."
"Well." He remembered feeling a little abashed at that. After all, he'd ruined favorite shirts, including his beloved "I'm with genius" tee. He'd shrugged, and they'd talked about depleted ZPMs and naqahdah generators, and how generator power seemed to increase exponentially until eventually all power sources would seem like magic.
At that point, Sheppard had silently made the lights on the balcony glow, a soft tracery around the lip of the balcony, like Christmas lights but blue. Rodney had been impressed, though he had only snorted.
"This way," Ronon called. "There's a road." Road, Rodney thought, was a generous term, but it was more than a path or trail, lined with whitewashed stones. Teyla had heard of a thriving settlement on this planet; her grandmother had traded here, back when she was Teyla's age, doing the work Teyla now did. The air was cool, and the sun already falling behind the trees, casting deep shadows across the road. Rodney tugged his jacket more tightly around him.
He wasn't sure why he was still on this team, still venturing out of the relative safety of Atlantis. Nor was he sure why Sheppard was; he should be sitting in an office directing people to go. Which, in fact, he also did.
But here they were, and Rodney smiled to himself as realized yet again that he was walking down a road on another world, in another galaxy.
"What?" Sheppard asked him quietly.
Rodney shrugged. How to explain? Except it was Sheppard. "Just that we're here." He gestured around them. "We're here, Colonel."
Sheppard smiled at him, and they bumped shoulders.
"I see lights," Ronon said quietly, slowing to a stop. They gathered around him, looking down into a middling-sized settlement. Smoke rose from chimneys, and lights glowed in the deepening night. A few people moved in the streets.
"There," Teyla pointed. "Under the tree; do you see the market?"
"You mean the, what, big top? All that fabric?" Rodney asked.
"I am unfamiliar with the term 'big top," but yes, the fabric. Were it daylight, you would see it is red trimmed with gold. Under it trade may occur."
"And tonight?"
"We eat," Ronon said, pointing. "That's an inn."
Rodney thought he was right, and besides, he was hungry. "Let's try it. Colonel?"
"Let's go," Sheppard said.
Rodney watched carefully, trying to peer in the windows, noting the side streets also filled with lighted homes and businesses. Fog was settling in, drifting through the tree branches, smudging the lights. But the people they passed looked human, and not frightened or threatened by them. Ronon was right; he had seen an inn, nor were they the only guests. Teyla spoke with the innkeeper while Ronan and Rodney peeked into the dining room; something smelled good, like roasted meat and fresh bread.
"They will give us two rooms for one night," she reported, "in exchange for information about places to trade for fruit and vegetables, and the pottery we brought." Years before, Daniel Jackson had devised a list of items SG teams should carry with them in place of currency; even in another galaxy, the list stood them in good stead.
"Excellent," Rodney said. "Dinner?"
"Yes. They also offer baths," Teyla said. "I wish to avail myself of them. My grandmother told me about them."
"A bath would be nice," Rodney conceded, sniffing at his arm. Sheppard snickered. "Well, it would. And you could use one, too, Colonel, if I may be so personal."
"You may," Sheppard agreed.
"But I'm hungry. I think I'll eat first and then bathe. I know Ronon's with me. Colonel?"
"Yeah, if Teyla feels okay about it."
She bowed slightly, and gestured subtly but significantly with her weapon before following the innkeeper.
To Rodney's pleasure, there was some kind of roast meat, served with a thick gravy he greedily mopped up with the bread. "Lovely," he said.
"Not with your mouth full," Sheppard told him, gesturing with his bread, then sucking on a greasy finger. No utensils here, but they'd found that often enough, and despite his pleasure in teasing Ronon, Rodney didn't really mind.
Teyla joined them, her hair still damp and her face shining in the lamplight. She ate more daintily, agreeing that it was good. "We should trade for this beast if we can," she told Sheppard. "If it is domesticated, we could raise them ourselves."
Rodney knew he should worry about contaminating their world with the animals of another, but they had all lived under the threat of starvation for too long. Future generations could worry about cross-contamination of species; he just wanted dinner.
The baths were as pleasant as Teyla's grandmother had promised, private tubs steaming with herbal-scented water. Rodney showered first, and then climbed into his tub. He could hear the others splashing in theirs, and the murmur of voices -- Ronon and someone else, he thought, listening carefully -- but they sounded calm and pleasant.
He soaked until his muscles were loose and his fingers wrinkly. He hoped the beds would be as comfortable as the baths. He didn't bother to dress completely but just pulled on his trousers and jacket, bundling up everything else to carry.
He met Sheppard coming out of his bath, so they walked to their room together. Ronon stood at the door to his and Teyla's room, looking respectfully in. "Come," Rodney heard Teyla say. Ronon bowed his head, then looked over his shoulder at Rodney and Sheppard and winked before sliding the door shut behind him.
"Well," Rodney said, a bit surprised. "Did you know?"
"I'm the team leader," Sheppard said as they went into their own room.
"Then you didn't know, either."
"Not a clue," Sheppard admitted.
Rodney looked around. There were two narrow beds against opposite walls, with a low table between them. A lantern burned, hissing quietly. There was a bucket under one bed, presumably the chamber pot, and another filled with water on the table, with a dipper in it. "Home, sweet home," he murmured, but in fact it was nicer than many places he had stayed even on Earth. The bed, he discovered, was firm, and there were hooks above it for his clothes.
He looked at Sheppard, bouncing slightly on the bed, his eyes half closed. His hair was wet, and Rodney realized how long it was getting, and how grey. He self-consciously ran a hand over his own head; at least Sheppard had kept most of his hair. Rodney's hairline kept creeping higher even as the remaining hair turned grey.
Sheppard looked tired, a bit thin and drawn. Well, they lived a hard life, hiking for miles, always alert. Even at home, in Atlantis, they were never entirely safe. There was no such thing as a vacation in the Pegasus Galaxy, Rodney realized.
Suddenly Sheppard looked up at him, and Rodney felt himself blushing, embarrassed to be caught studying his friend so intently. "Sorry, sorry," he babbled, and stood to loop his jacket from one of the hooks.
"Why?" Sheppard asked him.
"Um." Rodney stared at the wall. He should take off his trousers, too, but he hadn't put his pants back on and was too self-conscious to strip in front of Sheppard. Who had, Rodney told himself, seen him naked a hundred times by now. Also sick, drugged, enraged, and everything else. But for the moment, he was frozen, his shoulders drawn up to his ears, his face burning.
"Rodney? You okay?"
"Yeah, of course, just, ah, you know." He shook out his shirt and the ugly green sweater he'd pulled over it; something the Daedalus had brought. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and all Atlantis were beggars. Behind him, he heard Sheppard undressing, and the creak of the bed as he climbed in. That magically released him from his nervousness, so he was finally able to strip and curl up in his own bed. "Can you think the light off?" he asked.
Sheppard smiled at him. The room was small, the beds only a couple of feet apart. "Not like home," he said.
"Home," Rodney repeated.
"Yeah," Sheppard said, surprising him. "When did Atlantis become home? But it is. I think."
"It is," Rodney agreed. He was relaxing again; the big meal and the bath had done their work. He felt his muscles slacken and his eyes droop. "Odd, that some of the best rest I get is out on missions."
"Me, too," Sheppard murmured. Rodney sighed, rose onto an elbow, and twisted off the lantern. It flickered, hissed, and went dark. "Good night."
"Good night, Colonel," Rodney said, and slept.
He woke abruptly, wondering where he was before he realized he was listening to Sheppard piss into the bucket. "Mmm," he mumbled. "My turn next."
"It's cold," Sheppard whispered. He'd pushed the bucket into the far corner and stood with his feet curled. "Must be below freezing." He shook his cock, and got quickly back under the covers. "Shit." He shivered.
Rodney's bladder insisted, so he climbed out of his warm bed to stand facing the corner. For a moment he thought he wasn't going to be able to pee and he breathed a sigh of relief when the stream finally came. The light, he saw, came in through a long narrow clerestory window; he hadn't noticed it earlier. Through it, he thought he could see two small moons, and he wondered what they did to the tides on this planet.
He was shaking by the time he finished, shivering so hard his teeth chattered. His bed had chilled, too, so it wasn't easy to climb between the coarse icy sheets. He groaned and curled up into a ball.
"Rodney," the colonel whispered. "Listen. Would you -- do you want to sleep here?" Rodney nearly flew out of his bed and into Sheppard's. It was warm where Sheppard had been lying, and Rodney had no qualms about pushing him aside. "Hey, hey," Sheppard protested. "My back's against this freezing wall. Don't make me regret my offer."
"Never," Rodney said. He pulled Sheppard to him and then rolled on top of him. "Better?"
"Ah," Sheppard said, but then Rodney kissed him. Surprise! he thought. Amazing what a cold night can do. "You feel good," Sheppard said.
"Colonel --" Rodney began, but Sheppard said, "John. Call me John. How many times have I asked you?"
"I was waiting," Rodney said primly, and then kissed him again. John's firm muscles and hairy skin instantly heated, until Rodney was warm for the first time that night. Sounds of kissing, John's hum of surprise and pleasure, the slide of their feet pushing against the bed covers were all Rodney could hear until he kissed John one last time, sighing in content. He was too tired to do more, and the bed too small, but he was warm, and John was in his arms. That would be enough till morning.
In the morning, the thin moonlight replaced by orange-red sunlight, Rodney studied John's sleeping face. They lay as close as the folded wings of a sparrow, and as still as the dawn. John opened his eyes. "Last night you said you were waiting," he whispered. "Waiting for what? Till you jumped me?"
Rodney stared down at John's face, faintly glowing in the alien light; he felt shy and awkward and embarrassed and brave. "All the obvious reasons," he finally said. "I'm sure I don't have to enumerate them for you, Colonel."
"Why did you wait so long?"
Rodney kissed his morning-tasting mouth. "Hello, Atlantis," he whispered. "I suddenly got it."
"It took you how many years? I thought you're the genius."
"Hey, I was busy. And you could have said something."
"Right, seeing as how I'm --"
"I know what you are," Rodney interrupted him. They stared at each other, John smiling but puzzled. "You're Atlantis," Rodney repeated. John shook his head slightly. Rodney sighed, impatient at having to explain. "I read a poem once. Actually a lot; I really liked it. A girlfriend gave me the book -- never mind, that's irrelevant and none of your business anyway, I certainly don't want to know about any of your old girlfriends, or your boyfriends, either, but this poem. See. In the night. I realized."
"The poem?"
"Oh. Yeah. Well, the connection won't be obvious to you --"
"Rodney, can you tell me you love me without insulting me?" Rodney opened his mouth but couldn't speak. "I guess not."
"No, I can, I mean yes, I can, and I will. Just." He shook his head, a gladness bubbling up from some internal aquifer he hadn't known existed. "I love you," he said in wonder, and John laughed.
"Now who's the moron?"
"How can we know if it is merely a blind heart's error or the mind's mad desire to perfect itself or the eye through the eye of the universe that sees redemption as bat belly pressing hard to flower flesh in a jungle night? Senseless forest, special flower, sucking beast, stay. In our certain fallibility be infallibly generous. Wait for us."
John touched Rodney's face, scratching at his stubble. "I'm guessing that's the poem."
"Yeah. Yeah."
"How can we know?"
Rodney shrugged. "Why must the value of t not exceed one?" he asked. "Just. You waited for me."
John nodded, smiling. "I waited," he whispered. "Infallibly generous."
"That's you," Rodney said confidently. "Certain fallibility, too."
Author's Notes:
One: So Fearless: title from the song "Fearless" by The Bravery. Beta by the princessofg.
Too many fingers, too many thumbs
Something wicked this way comes
The best time I've ever had
Waiting around for something bad
Fearless, fearless, ohh
And I know that's why you love me
Fearless, fearless, come on
Two: Rough Winds: title from Shakespeare's Sonnet 18: "Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May." Beta by my non-LJ friend Linda.
Three: In Our Certain Fallibility Be Infallibly Generous: title and Rodney's poem are from Pattiann Rogers' "That's Why." Beta by iamrosalita.