SGA fic: Don't Offend the Locals (the Make Like a Tree and Leaf Remix) (pg-13)
Title: Don’t Offend the Locals (or The Make Like a Tree and Leaf Remix)
Author: sabaceanbabe
Summary: A lesson in herb lore…
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Character: Rodney McKay
Rating: PG
Warnings: fluff?
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, please don’t sue.
Original story: In Which McKay Says I Love You, by vegetariansushi
Author's note: Thank you so much to my wonderful beta jazmin22 -- that girl knows Rodney McKay.
-----------------------------------
Sunlight angled in through rippled glass, illuminating motes of dust that hung in the still air. Rodney was surprised he wasn’t sneezing his head off, but, quite to the contrary, the little shop smelled better than anything he could remember. Better than snicker-doodles, fresh from the oven, than the lilac bushes that surrounded his next-door neighbors’ house when he was a kid. He could stand here forever and just breathe.
The team had been on PX3-2481 for two days negotiating a trade agreement and would remain at least overnight and part of the next day. There was a big party going on outside, a harvest festival of some sort that encompassed the entire village, and Teyla had advised that they not return to Atlantis before it was over or they’d risk offending the locals. Everyone had looked at Rodney, then, and Sheppard had pointedly told him to be nice.
“We certainly wouldn’t want to offend the locals,” Rodney muttered to himself as he perused the clumps of weeds that hung above the back window.
“What was that you said, kind sir?”
Rodney about jumped out of his skin. One hand flailed just enough that he set a fragile-looking glass jar to rocking and he rushed to steady it. If missing a party would offend the locals, how much more offensive would it be to break something in this shop?
“Ah, sorry… I was just making a mental note of your, ah,” he glanced quickly at the weeds, “your herbs, here.”
The old man laughed like he knew what Rodney was thinking and Rodney felt heat rise in his face, but the man, who didn’t look a day over a hundred ninety, patted him on the shoulder and reached up to take down a few of the bundles of twigs and leaves and dried flowers. Rodney expected to see a puff of dust when they were disturbed, but there was nothing. Toddling off toward the front of the shop, the proprietor gestured for him to follow.
Bemused, Rodney did just that, walking past shelves of spices and oils, barrels filled with spools of colorful ribbon and skeins of yarn, bottles and jars of all sizes, shapes, and colors. The place was a combination of old-fashioned apothecary and… and… well, a cooking store, whatever you’d call that. Whatever it was, it was oddly relaxing. Must be all the wonderful smells.
“You have a great little shop here,” Rodney observed aloud for the benefit of the old man he followed. He’d only ducked in the back door to escape the noise for a few minutes.
The shopkeeper chuckled as he stopped beside a countertop, carefully laying out the bundles on the smoothly polished wood surface. At first glance, they all looked alike to Rodney, but they seemed to mean something to the old man. Rodney frowned.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”
“Maximio,” he replied. “I am called Maximio.” He tapped a thin finger on the counter near one of the herb bundles. “These are not precisely ‘herbs,’ as you have called them, but rather they are termed cyphers.” He looked up to make sure his audience was paying attention and Rodney did his best to appear attentive. “Each bundle has a different purpose, holds a distinct meaning.”
Intrigued in spite of himself, Rodney leaned in for a closer look. “This one here…” He studied a bundle that included two twigs from which the bark had been removed to reveal purplish wood, one long-stemmed leaf, dry and cracked, but its color a deep red, and four tiny flowers that looked like a variation on red clover, all wrapped in a dark green ribbon. “What does it mean?”
“Ah, that one is a symbol of strength. Strength of mind, strength of body, strength of character. A cypher is a gift from one individual to another. When this particular cypher is given, it is meant to be a demonstration of the giver’s feelings or opinion about that person. If it were wrapped in yarn, rather than ribbon, it would be meant to impart those qualities of strength to an individual who is perhaps lacking.”
“How can dried flowers and stripped twigs mean strength?” Rodney muttered under his breath. At least, he meant it to be under his breath; Maximio answered his question.
“They are not simply dried flowers and stripped twigs, my son, they are cyphers.” Maximio smiled at Rodney as though that explained everything.
“Look, Gran--” Rodney bit off what he was about to say. (Don’t offend the locals. Don’t offend the locals.) “Maximio, I know all about symbolism,” he began again.
“A cypher is not merely a symbol…” He paused and looked at Rodney significantly, one shaggy brow raised in question. Rodney frowned at him, beginning to feel uncomfortable under Maximio’s unflagging gaze. With a disappointed sigh, the man continued. “Each cypher is carefully created, its components combining and intertwining together to give the cypher its own unique meaning. No two are exactly alike.”
Rodney had a hard time of it, not rolling his eyes. The old man sounded like he was talking about magic. Dex might buy into that sort of thing, but… Maximio had stopped talking and was looking at him again, as though he expected him to say something. The silence stretched out until it snapped.
“What?” Rodney blurted out in irritation and then, trying to soften the edge (mustn’t offend the locals), “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Another sigh. “What should I call you, good sir?”
“What?”
“Your name, sir, if you do not mind giving it to me?”
“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry.” Heat crept up his cheeks again. “Rodney. Just call me Rodney.”
Maximio smiled, the expression adding at least another fifty years to his face, but Rodney couldn’t help but give him a tentative smile back. The old man returned to his impromptu seminar on herb lore (cyphers), turning from the counter to some shelves behind it.
“So, a cypher?” Maximio nodded, seeming pleased with Rodney’s pronunciation. Rodney didn’t bother to tell him that “cypher” was a term he was well acquainted with, just not in this context. “A cypher isn’t a symbol. So what is it?”
“It is a symbol, Rodney, but it is much more than simply that. It is a means of communication, albeit a silent one. A cypher can tell its recipient many things, things that the giver may not be able to say in so many words.”
Nodding, Rodney watched as Maximio laid out dried plants and ribbons, twigs and leaves. “Each of these means something different?” Again with the pleased smile and nod. Rodney was starting to get into this. A quick glance out the window told him that the party (festival, it’s the all-important Harvest Festival) was still in full swing and, more importantly, that Sheppard wasn’t in sight. He didn’t feel like putting up with the mockery. He pointed to a pile leaves. “What do these mean?”
“Alone, the frasca leaf symbolizes friendship.”
Rodney reached for one of the slender, palm-like leaves. “May I?”
“Certainly, Rodney.”
He picked up a leaf for closer inspection and caught a whiff of… “Is that cinnamon?” No, no, it wasn’t quite cinnamon, but close.
“No, Rodney, that is frasca.”
“Well, of course it’s frasca, but it smells like cinnamon.” The cinnamon-scented leaf was a deep green with gold veins running its length. A pile of twigs, their bark the same shade of gold as the frasca veins, caught Rodney’s eye. He gestured toward the pile with his leaf. “What do these sticks mean?”
Maximio shook his head, but he was still smiling gently, so Rodney didn’t think he’d offended him. “The geletian twigs, when the bark remains intact, as these are, symbolize a willingness to stand by another person, no matter what may come.”
The color of the twigs and the gold veins reminded Rodney of Teyla. She always seemed to like this sort of thing. And it was a Harvest Festival, after all. Grinning, Rodney took up a handful of the leaves and twigs and grabbed a brown satin ribbon.
Maximio looked at him oddly, but said nothing. He simply took the ribbon from Rodney’s hand and produced a pair of scissors from beneath the counter, cutting a length of ribbon and handing that back to Rodney.
“Tie them together securely, weaving the ribbon together with the other pieces. When you are finished, you will have created a cypher.”
Rodney did as Maximio said, ridiculously pleased with himself. A cypher symbolizing friendship and loyalty, perfect for Teyla. He tied the ribbon with a flourish and looked at Maximio. “How much do I owe you?” It never occurred to him to ask if the color of the ribbon had any significance.
“It is a gift?”
“Yes, it’s a gift for a friend.” He couldn’t wait to see Teyla’s reaction. She would never expect anything like this, not from Rodney.
Again with the odd look, but Maximio simply said, “Take it, Rodney. You have created a gift for a friend. I need no recompense.”
“No, really, Maximio.” Thrusting a hand into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a handful of the local coinage. “At least let me pay you for the materials.”
“It is more than enough for me, Rodney, that you have created a gift for a… friend. Save your coinage; the attention of a willing pupil is more valuable.”
“Wow. Really? I mean, you’re sure?” The old shopkeeper smiled and nodded. “That’s… that’s great. Thank you, Maximio!” Just then Rodney saw Carson walk past the shop window. “Hey, I’d better get back to the festival.” He took up the bundle of leaves and twigs, wrapped in brown satin. “Thanks for the tour, Maximio.”
Maximio nodded and Rodney headed for the front door.
***
The following morning, cypher in hand, Rodney left his room to search for Teyla. It hadn’t felt right, giving her the little bundle the night before, but he didn’t want to leave it too long. He rounded a corner, leaving his hallway for hers, when a door opened and Teyla stepped through. He hurried toward her, suddenly feeling nervous.
“Oh, I was hoping to find you,” he said as she turned at his approach. “Look, this--” he held the cypher out to her. “I picked it up yesterday, and I thought you might--”
A half-smile on her face, Teyla took the bundle from Rodney. Her eyes dropped from his face to the cypher, which she examined closely. Rodney had the feeling she knew something he didn’t.
That feeling was confirmed when she said, “I did not know that you felt this way, Rodney, but I gladly accept.”
Rodney opened his mouth to say something, to protest that he really didn’t mean anything by it, but before he could say a word, Teyla wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. For just a moment, his brain shut down. When it came back up, he realized that, whatever it was he’d told her, he meant every last leaf.
Author: sabaceanbabe
Summary: A lesson in herb lore…
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Character: Rodney McKay
Rating: PG
Warnings: fluff?
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, please don’t sue.
Original story: In Which McKay Says I Love You, by vegetariansushi
Author's note: Thank you so much to my wonderful beta jazmin22 -- that girl knows Rodney McKay.
-----------------------------------
Sunlight angled in through rippled glass, illuminating motes of dust that hung in the still air. Rodney was surprised he wasn’t sneezing his head off, but, quite to the contrary, the little shop smelled better than anything he could remember. Better than snicker-doodles, fresh from the oven, than the lilac bushes that surrounded his next-door neighbors’ house when he was a kid. He could stand here forever and just breathe.
The team had been on PX3-2481 for two days negotiating a trade agreement and would remain at least overnight and part of the next day. There was a big party going on outside, a harvest festival of some sort that encompassed the entire village, and Teyla had advised that they not return to Atlantis before it was over or they’d risk offending the locals. Everyone had looked at Rodney, then, and Sheppard had pointedly told him to be nice.
“We certainly wouldn’t want to offend the locals,” Rodney muttered to himself as he perused the clumps of weeds that hung above the back window.
“What was that you said, kind sir?”
Rodney about jumped out of his skin. One hand flailed just enough that he set a fragile-looking glass jar to rocking and he rushed to steady it. If missing a party would offend the locals, how much more offensive would it be to break something in this shop?
“Ah, sorry… I was just making a mental note of your, ah,” he glanced quickly at the weeds, “your herbs, here.”
The old man laughed like he knew what Rodney was thinking and Rodney felt heat rise in his face, but the man, who didn’t look a day over a hundred ninety, patted him on the shoulder and reached up to take down a few of the bundles of twigs and leaves and dried flowers. Rodney expected to see a puff of dust when they were disturbed, but there was nothing. Toddling off toward the front of the shop, the proprietor gestured for him to follow.
Bemused, Rodney did just that, walking past shelves of spices and oils, barrels filled with spools of colorful ribbon and skeins of yarn, bottles and jars of all sizes, shapes, and colors. The place was a combination of old-fashioned apothecary and… and… well, a cooking store, whatever you’d call that. Whatever it was, it was oddly relaxing. Must be all the wonderful smells.
“You have a great little shop here,” Rodney observed aloud for the benefit of the old man he followed. He’d only ducked in the back door to escape the noise for a few minutes.
The shopkeeper chuckled as he stopped beside a countertop, carefully laying out the bundles on the smoothly polished wood surface. At first glance, they all looked alike to Rodney, but they seemed to mean something to the old man. Rodney frowned.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”
“Maximio,” he replied. “I am called Maximio.” He tapped a thin finger on the counter near one of the herb bundles. “These are not precisely ‘herbs,’ as you have called them, but rather they are termed cyphers.” He looked up to make sure his audience was paying attention and Rodney did his best to appear attentive. “Each bundle has a different purpose, holds a distinct meaning.”
Intrigued in spite of himself, Rodney leaned in for a closer look. “This one here…” He studied a bundle that included two twigs from which the bark had been removed to reveal purplish wood, one long-stemmed leaf, dry and cracked, but its color a deep red, and four tiny flowers that looked like a variation on red clover, all wrapped in a dark green ribbon. “What does it mean?”
“Ah, that one is a symbol of strength. Strength of mind, strength of body, strength of character. A cypher is a gift from one individual to another. When this particular cypher is given, it is meant to be a demonstration of the giver’s feelings or opinion about that person. If it were wrapped in yarn, rather than ribbon, it would be meant to impart those qualities of strength to an individual who is perhaps lacking.”
“How can dried flowers and stripped twigs mean strength?” Rodney muttered under his breath. At least, he meant it to be under his breath; Maximio answered his question.
“They are not simply dried flowers and stripped twigs, my son, they are cyphers.” Maximio smiled at Rodney as though that explained everything.
“Look, Gran--” Rodney bit off what he was about to say. (Don’t offend the locals. Don’t offend the locals.) “Maximio, I know all about symbolism,” he began again.
“A cypher is not merely a symbol…” He paused and looked at Rodney significantly, one shaggy brow raised in question. Rodney frowned at him, beginning to feel uncomfortable under Maximio’s unflagging gaze. With a disappointed sigh, the man continued. “Each cypher is carefully created, its components combining and intertwining together to give the cypher its own unique meaning. No two are exactly alike.”
Rodney had a hard time of it, not rolling his eyes. The old man sounded like he was talking about magic. Dex might buy into that sort of thing, but… Maximio had stopped talking and was looking at him again, as though he expected him to say something. The silence stretched out until it snapped.
“What?” Rodney blurted out in irritation and then, trying to soften the edge (mustn’t offend the locals), “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Another sigh. “What should I call you, good sir?”
“What?”
“Your name, sir, if you do not mind giving it to me?”
“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry.” Heat crept up his cheeks again. “Rodney. Just call me Rodney.”
Maximio smiled, the expression adding at least another fifty years to his face, but Rodney couldn’t help but give him a tentative smile back. The old man returned to his impromptu seminar on herb lore (cyphers), turning from the counter to some shelves behind it.
“So, a cypher?” Maximio nodded, seeming pleased with Rodney’s pronunciation. Rodney didn’t bother to tell him that “cypher” was a term he was well acquainted with, just not in this context. “A cypher isn’t a symbol. So what is it?”
“It is a symbol, Rodney, but it is much more than simply that. It is a means of communication, albeit a silent one. A cypher can tell its recipient many things, things that the giver may not be able to say in so many words.”
Nodding, Rodney watched as Maximio laid out dried plants and ribbons, twigs and leaves. “Each of these means something different?” Again with the pleased smile and nod. Rodney was starting to get into this. A quick glance out the window told him that the party (festival, it’s the all-important Harvest Festival) was still in full swing and, more importantly, that Sheppard wasn’t in sight. He didn’t feel like putting up with the mockery. He pointed to a pile leaves. “What do these mean?”
“Alone, the frasca leaf symbolizes friendship.”
Rodney reached for one of the slender, palm-like leaves. “May I?”
“Certainly, Rodney.”
He picked up a leaf for closer inspection and caught a whiff of… “Is that cinnamon?” No, no, it wasn’t quite cinnamon, but close.
“No, Rodney, that is frasca.”
“Well, of course it’s frasca, but it smells like cinnamon.” The cinnamon-scented leaf was a deep green with gold veins running its length. A pile of twigs, their bark the same shade of gold as the frasca veins, caught Rodney’s eye. He gestured toward the pile with his leaf. “What do these sticks mean?”
Maximio shook his head, but he was still smiling gently, so Rodney didn’t think he’d offended him. “The geletian twigs, when the bark remains intact, as these are, symbolize a willingness to stand by another person, no matter what may come.”
The color of the twigs and the gold veins reminded Rodney of Teyla. She always seemed to like this sort of thing. And it was a Harvest Festival, after all. Grinning, Rodney took up a handful of the leaves and twigs and grabbed a brown satin ribbon.
Maximio looked at him oddly, but said nothing. He simply took the ribbon from Rodney’s hand and produced a pair of scissors from beneath the counter, cutting a length of ribbon and handing that back to Rodney.
“Tie them together securely, weaving the ribbon together with the other pieces. When you are finished, you will have created a cypher.”
Rodney did as Maximio said, ridiculously pleased with himself. A cypher symbolizing friendship and loyalty, perfect for Teyla. He tied the ribbon with a flourish and looked at Maximio. “How much do I owe you?” It never occurred to him to ask if the color of the ribbon had any significance.
“It is a gift?”
“Yes, it’s a gift for a friend.” He couldn’t wait to see Teyla’s reaction. She would never expect anything like this, not from Rodney.
Again with the odd look, but Maximio simply said, “Take it, Rodney. You have created a gift for a friend. I need no recompense.”
“No, really, Maximio.” Thrusting a hand into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a handful of the local coinage. “At least let me pay you for the materials.”
“It is more than enough for me, Rodney, that you have created a gift for a… friend. Save your coinage; the attention of a willing pupil is more valuable.”
“Wow. Really? I mean, you’re sure?” The old shopkeeper smiled and nodded. “That’s… that’s great. Thank you, Maximio!” Just then Rodney saw Carson walk past the shop window. “Hey, I’d better get back to the festival.” He took up the bundle of leaves and twigs, wrapped in brown satin. “Thanks for the tour, Maximio.”
Maximio nodded and Rodney headed for the front door.
***
The following morning, cypher in hand, Rodney left his room to search for Teyla. It hadn’t felt right, giving her the little bundle the night before, but he didn’t want to leave it too long. He rounded a corner, leaving his hallway for hers, when a door opened and Teyla stepped through. He hurried toward her, suddenly feeling nervous.
“Oh, I was hoping to find you,” he said as she turned at his approach. “Look, this--” he held the cypher out to her. “I picked it up yesterday, and I thought you might--”
A half-smile on her face, Teyla took the bundle from Rodney. Her eyes dropped from his face to the cypher, which she examined closely. Rodney had the feeling she knew something he didn’t.
That feeling was confirmed when she said, “I did not know that you felt this way, Rodney, but I gladly accept.”
Rodney opened his mouth to say something, to protest that he really didn’t mean anything by it, but before he could say a word, Teyla wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. For just a moment, his brain shut down. When it came back up, he realized that, whatever it was he’d told her, he meant every last leaf.