Gmail is working on a two-hour time delay and I woke up this morning with the distinct sensation that I'd been kicked in the ovaries by someone wearing a very large and heavy boot.
On the plus side, I wrote 2,000 words of fic last night and have the first three scenes of part 8 completely done.
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John Sheppard That Things We Don't
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Teyla.
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Teyla lifted her head and rolled slowly to a sitting position. "Do you weary of training already?" she asked, flipping back a piece of hair.
"Nah," John said, a little embarrassed that this was so true. "But let's face it. Every time I've beaten you, there's been something seriously wrong with the world. You're not sleeping, I'm...you know, with the bug. So what's going on?"
Teyla smiled, vague and mischievous. "I suppose I am not sleeping again."
"Nightmares?" John asked automatically, then flusehd when he saw her sideways glance. "Oh." Then, "Ohhhh. So wait a minute -- "
But Teyla was already up, already armed, and already beckoning him up. "If you do not meet me here, I will bring the fight to you," she offered.
John scrambled to his feet and grabbed for his stick, all the while thinking, Hey, wait a minute! This isn't how it's supposed to happen.....
And thank you!
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Interesting. *g*
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Heeeee! Thanks, darling.
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