A Clear Head for the Next Disaster / SGA
Title: A Clear Head for the Next Disaster
Rating: PG
Fandom: SGA
Prompt: Write about promises made.
Summary: Teyla tries to keep Rodney’s secret. (McShep.)
The digital recorder is a gift from Radek, Lorne, and Miko, all of whom pitch in to have it ordered and shipped on the Daedalus before Teyla's (rarely celebrated) birthday rolls around. At first she’s unsure of what it is or how to use it, but her delight is obvious once they explain its capabilities. The gift is better than anything she could ever ask for: the ability to log good days on Atlantis and keep them as accurate, full-color memories forever. She can duplicate them, and share them, and store the files in different places in case one copy is lost. It’s an amazing, incredible, miraculous device.
Teyla begins using it immediately. The first thing she records is her party, capturing the decorations, the cake, the way Ronon inhales his piece in two bites, the way Rodney’s slice is slightly bigger than everyone else’s, the way John steals some icing from Rodney’s plate and (astonishingly) Rodney only complains a little. The way Radek awkwardly tries to speak with Elizabeth, who’s eating with as much poise as one woman can while surrounded by soldiers.
Afterwards, she downloads the video onto her laptop’s “hard drive”. She uses computers to write reports, but not much else-until now, when the entire evening can be saved and kept safe. Teyla wishes she had one of these recorders before tonight, when her parents were still alive.
The video quality is bright and clear, but something tugs at her mind while the party unfolds on screen. It’s a difficult thing to parse out, but once she rewinds the scene (another amazing aspect, in her opinion), she realizes the problem is Rodney. Everyone else is focused on Elizabeth cutting the cake (Teyla hadn’t wanted to hand the recorder away), but Rodney is focused on John, watching John’s eyes light up with laughter when Ronon demands a second helping.
---
The next morning, John asks if he can have a copy of her home movie. She wants to say no (for obvious reasons, Rodney’s heart being her main concern), but there’s no real excuse to deny the request without looking shifty.
“Of course,” Teyla says. “I’ll have it ready by tomorrow,” and then casually strides to Radek’s lab, where she discreetly pleads her case. They have to fix it. They have to edit Rodney’s expression right out of the film, wipe it away, pretend neither of them ever saw his face so open with love.
---
It’s an extraordinary computer program, once Radek teaches her how to use it. It can clip away footage, or rearrange it, or duplicate it. It can visually rewrite truth.
He clips out the scene, adds a black fade, and the next part starts. “Perfect,” she praises. “Thank you so much.”
“You should not thank me,” he says. “I should thank you. Not everyone looks out for Rodney’s best interests.”
But that’s what friends are for, so she saves a copy onto a CD and gives it to John at breakfast.
---
Teyla becomes the next Steven Spielberg. At least that’s what Rodney says, not that she's sure who Mr. Spielberg is or why she’s similar to him. John talks about Close Encounters of the Third Kind and E.T., but those titles are only vaguely familiar. Finally, losing against her almost-complete-lack of human pop culture, he concedes defeat by saying, “He’s an influential director, okay?”, and leaves it at that.
She records all the holidays and special occasions. Halloween (when John dressed up as a pirate) and Thanksgiving (when Lorne made turkey sounds over the headsets) and Christmas (when Parrish brought the biggest tree from P7X-R5E, a.k.a. The Moving Forrest - which was why the Christmas tree, so lovingly decorated, kept walking back and forth across the mess until it chose the spot it wanted). She even becomes proficient in editing, learning to clip, fade, and add music and titles.
When New Years comes along, she documents that as well. There’s a surprising overflow of champagne, plus Halling donates his own special brew, a drink the soldiers favor more than anything back home. There are special foods laid out before them, all baked by the kitchen staff, and balloons, streamers, and decorations handmade by Teyla's people.
Everyone wants a bit of camera time to chronicle their (slightly drunken) resolutions. Teyla humors them, because when she looks at this video 365 days from now, she knows not everyone will still be here. Some will leave, and some will die, and that’s why she preserves these hours.
Rodney, however, is suspiciously absent. She searches for him in the labs, the kitchen, the halls, his quarters, his favorite balcony-but he’s nowhere, vanished, until she finds him in the control room, empty save for Radek who comes in about every twenty minutes to monitor the sensors.
They exchange a meaningful look. Radek leaves.
“Teyla!” Rodney cheerfully calls, waving at her from his seat at the main control panel, seemingly unaware of his fellow scientist’s departure. “Why aren’t you at the party? Is it finished already?”
“I could ask you the same.” She feels both irritated and concerned by his behavior-Rodney isn’t one to get drunk, especially considering Atlantis’ picky nature. Anything could go wrong at any time; he knows this, and has always thought inebriation to be a sign of an irresponsible scientist. You need a clear head for the next disaster.
“I wanted to get away from the noise,” he says, punctuating his statement with big swallow of champagne.
“It is very peaceful here.” Her gentle agreement isn’t necessary, but the silence would be unbearable otherwise. “I see you brought a few things with you.”
He glances at the bottle of alcohol (how he acquired a personal bottle remains a mystery, though she supposes being head of the science department has its perks) and grins widely, his fingers wrapped tightly around its glass neck.
“I’m having my own party. A quieter one. Less people. But you can stay, if you want.”
She rolls a chair from another console and sits beside him, trying to ignore the jovial vulnerability of his words. But you can stay, if you want: the phrase of a shy child attempting to make new friends by inviting them to play.
“I will join you for a few minutes,” comes her polite response. Then: “May I ask why you felt the need for your own party?”
“John was flirting with Lieutenant Banks. It gets tiring to watch after a while.” Another swallow, but Teyla can only think four years. Four years of working right alongside Rodney, and yet she has never seen him this exposed. “I mean, considering the number of native princesses and Amish girls and what have you. It’s ridiculous.”
“You do not wish John success in his relationships?”
“What? Of course I do. I just don’t wish him success with those pinheads. Me, on the other hand-well. I guess it's no secret he wouldn't have to try that hard with me. Or even try, for that matter.” Rodney waves his hand vaguely, helplessly. “He could crook his finger my direction and I'd be butter. Shit, Teyla, it just-kills me. It eats me up. Tonight I just... didn't have the heart to watch it happen again.”
It’s one thing to see Rodney’s affectionate expressions when John's not watching; it’s another to notice how Rodney says the Colonel’s name when he’s trying not to worry; it’s even another to watch him pace the hallway when John’s in the infirmary. But to hear the words, the confirmation of all her suspicions, is something else entirely.
“Rodney-”
“Did I say that?” His eyes suddenly widen and he sits up quickly. “Did I really-you can’t tell him, okay? Teyla? Promise me you won’t.”
“Rodney,” she calmly repeats, “you know I won’t. Now please sit down.”
He collapses onto the chair. Her irritation fades altogether.
“Is it stupid?” he abruptly asks. “To love someone for so long without anything in return?”
“It isn’t our choice, Rodney. You can’t help what you feel." She takes hold of his hand, squeezes. "And in any case, your worries are surely unfounded. John would never travel such a road with Lieutenant Banks. I'm sure they were merely talking.”
Rodney huffs. Teyla raises an eyebrow.
“Were they touching? Laughing? Hiding away in a dark alcove?”
“No,” he admits, miserably.
“Jealously makes us see what isn't there,” she kindly explains.
“Jealousy,” he echoes, nearly spitting out the word. "My god, look at me. Mooning over him like a teenage girl! I’m an important man. I have work to do. I can’t waste valuable processor time focusing on this... thing that will never be a thing.” He guzzles the last of the champagne. “Happy New Years to me, Teyla Emmagan. My resolution: never think or speak of this again.”
“Let’s get you to your room, Rodney,” she suggests, and then realizes her recorder is still on. She quickly shuts it off and thinks nothing of it, and they somehow stumble back to Rodney's quarters in comfortable silence.
---
A few days later, her video is perfect. She removes any particularly embarrassing moments and, of course, deletes her conversation with Rodney. It’s only audio, anyway, the recorder having been lying on the control panel and facing the wall.
The original is placed on a disk along with all the others. It’s a habit not many expedition members have: the desire to have the original as opposed to a better version, but her mother always taught her that keeping the diary (without tearing out humiliating pages) or saving the love letter (despite having no feelings in return) was worthwhile. You will want to remember it later, she said.
Teyla wants to remember this, too. Everything. The good, the bad, the neutral.
She stores the disc in the pocket of her winter coat, where no one, she thinks, will look.
That afternoon, Lorne pilots her to the mainland, where she’s promised to help plant the crops and bless the year as it begins again.
When she returns, Rodney can’t look at her. He can’t look at anyone. She knows, having only been back for a single second, that something has gone terribly wrong.
---
It’s an anger that builds and builds and builds: first, she demands, what right did you have to enter my quarters? And second, what right did you have to look through my things? And third, how dare you take what was mine?
John has never looked more ashamed.
“I didn’t take it,” he tries to explain, stepping away and away until his back is against a punching bag. She knew he’d be in the training room. He always is when his emotional turmoil reaches critical mass. “It was labeled ‘videos,’ so I assumed that’s what it was! I’m really sorry. Look, you can invade my privacy anytime you want, so we’ll be even.”
“This is not about me and you know it!” she shouts. “This is about you and your-your stupidity!”
“My stupidity?” John repeats, but it contains a note of irritation, or perhaps fear. “How long have you known about Rodney, huh? Just when were you planning to tell me?”
“It was not my place to tell anyone, and it’s not your place to push him!”
“I haven’t pushed anything!” he shouts back. “You think I want to make him uncomfortable? Because I’m that much of an asshole? Besides-” and here he turns and punches the bag with his bare fist “-I don’t care which team he plays for.”
“But you care that he’s in love with you,” she states. John’s body, usually so languid and boneless, is stiff. His back becomes rigid the minute those words leave her mouth.
“Who wouldn’t?” he mutters. Another punch follows his muttered question, then another, and she watches him try to beat his embarrassment and insecurity away.
“How many recordings did you watch?” Teyla finally asks, aware their conversation will take a different track if she doesn’t keep it on course. “I’ve given you a copy of each event, so what excuse do you have for taking my originals?”
If it’s possible, John looks even worse. “Keevers left on the Daedalus today. He’s being stationed onboard. He wanted a disc of his own, so I gave him mine.”
“And?”
“I just wanted to make another one for myself. I never meant-this is all a big mess. When I made the duplicate, the file sizes were bigger. I opened the first one and saw it was different from the edited version.”
“And New Years,” she sighs. “You saw what happened?”
“Heard, rather,” he mutters back, legs giving out so that he plops on the floor. “The camera was facing the wall.” He rubs his face with his hands and looks up at her. “What can I do to fix this? He won’t even look at me.”
“I can barely look at you,” she says, and he flinches away. She almost feels guilty. “As for advice, I suggest you speak with him privately. You cannot let this cause a rift between you.”
“A rift,” John echoes, laughing sourly. “A rift caused by love. I never would’ve imagined it.”
But Teyla can. Living with the expedition has opened her eyes: she sees honor, bravery, valiant efforts, sacrifice. She sees conscientiousness, concern, and charity; long hours for little reward. She sees these things and respects them. But Ronon also points out that certain members live in fear-not of Wraith, but of other people’s perceptions. How everyone understands what is and isn’t acceptable to say or do, and what type of love is within the parameters of decency. This very moment, she can read John’s fear from the frown on his mouth, and lines around his eyes.
She’s suddenly very sorry.
“How do you feel about this?” Teyla asks. He rests his head against the wall. “Does it even matter? Or will you tell me the rules forbid you from choosing?”
He looks up. His eyes narrow. And to her great surprise (and pride), he stands up again.
“It matters,” he snaps, turns and stalking in the direction of the nearest transporter. She doesn’t take offense. In fact, she actually follows him down the corridor and stays with him. She locks eyes with Ronon as they pass the mess hall. She doesn’t intend for him to follow, but he immediately abandons his meal (a remarkable act) and silently falls in step. He glances at her, but doesn’t ask; she, in turn, doesn’t tell.
They stop at the gate room entrance. John strides through. “Put me on city-wide,” he says, and takes the mic without asking permission. The tech nods mutely and flips the switch.
“This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard,” he says, his voice amplified into every hall and room of the city. Teyla can hear the actual words coming from his mouth as well as the augmented echoes from the corridor behind them. “I know everyone gets a little antsy when I use the PA, so relax. I’m not here to announce we’re under attack. Actually, the worst news of the day is the mess is out of potatoes, so we get those yam things from PX5-84.”
He pauses; Teyla fears he won't follow through.
“But there is something else,” he finally says, knuckles so white she's concerned he might crack the microphone. Teyla takes a deep breath. Of all the times to be brave, John, this is it, she thinks, this is it, this is- “And that reason is Doctor Rodney McKay. Damn it, Rodney, I love you. Now everyone knows, secret is out, big whoop. Everyone's probably known since the minute I sat my ass in that chair in Antarctica. I'm ready to do this thing if you are, so if you don’t get your ass to the gate room in two minutes, I’m coming to the labs.”
He stops and glances at Teyla. Her smile is so wide it hurts.
And to her great surprise, John smiles as well. He hands the mic back to the tech, whose mouth is hanging open. Elizabeth steps out of her office, white-faced. Chuck can’t form words. And below them, on the ground floor, expedition members are swarming through the doorways to get a glance of the Colonel, who, by USAF policy, has just tossed his career out the window.
But the most important person doesn’t show up until last.
Rodney charges his way past Ronon and Teyla, Elizabeth, and the gate staff. It’s been maybe thirty seconds; his hair is rumpled, as are his clothes, and he’s slightly sweaty and breathless, evidence of sprinting across entire sections of the city. He doesn’t stop moving until he sees John.
“Is this-is this some sort of joke?” he angrily pants. “Are you trying to repair our friendship by throwing everything to the wayside? Tell me, what part of this public declaration seemed like a good idea to you, Colonel?”
But John doesn’t answer. He just touches Rodney’s shoulder and pulls him close, so close that their lips nearly buzz together with each breath. Rodney’s eyes focus. His body seems to become lose, at ease. He leans in without being aware of it.
Cadman wolf-whistles at their first kiss.
---
Later, when John tries to give command to Lorne (after his announcement, he doesn’t expect to keep it), Lorne just stares.
“What broadcast, sir?” he asks, Cadman and Stackhouse looking appropriately mystified as well. The marines pretend it never happened. The scientists don’t talk about it. Weeks later, when the Daedalus arrives with supplies, Caldwell asks Elizabeth if anything particularly noteworthy has transpired.
"Nothing we didn't know already," she diplomatically answers, which, in Teyla's view, isn't a lie at all.
---
Teyla still loves her camcorder.
But of all the holidays and celebrations she’s had the honor to preserve, John and Rodney’s Athosian wedding has been her favorite by far.
FIN.
Rating: PG
Fandom: SGA
Prompt: Write about promises made.
Summary: Teyla tries to keep Rodney’s secret. (McShep.)
The digital recorder is a gift from Radek, Lorne, and Miko, all of whom pitch in to have it ordered and shipped on the Daedalus before Teyla's (rarely celebrated) birthday rolls around. At first she’s unsure of what it is or how to use it, but her delight is obvious once they explain its capabilities. The gift is better than anything she could ever ask for: the ability to log good days on Atlantis and keep them as accurate, full-color memories forever. She can duplicate them, and share them, and store the files in different places in case one copy is lost. It’s an amazing, incredible, miraculous device.
Teyla begins using it immediately. The first thing she records is her party, capturing the decorations, the cake, the way Ronon inhales his piece in two bites, the way Rodney’s slice is slightly bigger than everyone else’s, the way John steals some icing from Rodney’s plate and (astonishingly) Rodney only complains a little. The way Radek awkwardly tries to speak with Elizabeth, who’s eating with as much poise as one woman can while surrounded by soldiers.
Afterwards, she downloads the video onto her laptop’s “hard drive”. She uses computers to write reports, but not much else-until now, when the entire evening can be saved and kept safe. Teyla wishes she had one of these recorders before tonight, when her parents were still alive.
The video quality is bright and clear, but something tugs at her mind while the party unfolds on screen. It’s a difficult thing to parse out, but once she rewinds the scene (another amazing aspect, in her opinion), she realizes the problem is Rodney. Everyone else is focused on Elizabeth cutting the cake (Teyla hadn’t wanted to hand the recorder away), but Rodney is focused on John, watching John’s eyes light up with laughter when Ronon demands a second helping.
---
The next morning, John asks if he can have a copy of her home movie. She wants to say no (for obvious reasons, Rodney’s heart being her main concern), but there’s no real excuse to deny the request without looking shifty.
“Of course,” Teyla says. “I’ll have it ready by tomorrow,” and then casually strides to Radek’s lab, where she discreetly pleads her case. They have to fix it. They have to edit Rodney’s expression right out of the film, wipe it away, pretend neither of them ever saw his face so open with love.
---
It’s an extraordinary computer program, once Radek teaches her how to use it. It can clip away footage, or rearrange it, or duplicate it. It can visually rewrite truth.
He clips out the scene, adds a black fade, and the next part starts. “Perfect,” she praises. “Thank you so much.”
“You should not thank me,” he says. “I should thank you. Not everyone looks out for Rodney’s best interests.”
But that’s what friends are for, so she saves a copy onto a CD and gives it to John at breakfast.
---
Teyla becomes the next Steven Spielberg. At least that’s what Rodney says, not that she's sure who Mr. Spielberg is or why she’s similar to him. John talks about Close Encounters of the Third Kind and E.T., but those titles are only vaguely familiar. Finally, losing against her almost-complete-lack of human pop culture, he concedes defeat by saying, “He’s an influential director, okay?”, and leaves it at that.
She records all the holidays and special occasions. Halloween (when John dressed up as a pirate) and Thanksgiving (when Lorne made turkey sounds over the headsets) and Christmas (when Parrish brought the biggest tree from P7X-R5E, a.k.a. The Moving Forrest - which was why the Christmas tree, so lovingly decorated, kept walking back and forth across the mess until it chose the spot it wanted). She even becomes proficient in editing, learning to clip, fade, and add music and titles.
When New Years comes along, she documents that as well. There’s a surprising overflow of champagne, plus Halling donates his own special brew, a drink the soldiers favor more than anything back home. There are special foods laid out before them, all baked by the kitchen staff, and balloons, streamers, and decorations handmade by Teyla's people.
Everyone wants a bit of camera time to chronicle their (slightly drunken) resolutions. Teyla humors them, because when she looks at this video 365 days from now, she knows not everyone will still be here. Some will leave, and some will die, and that’s why she preserves these hours.
Rodney, however, is suspiciously absent. She searches for him in the labs, the kitchen, the halls, his quarters, his favorite balcony-but he’s nowhere, vanished, until she finds him in the control room, empty save for Radek who comes in about every twenty minutes to monitor the sensors.
They exchange a meaningful look. Radek leaves.
“Teyla!” Rodney cheerfully calls, waving at her from his seat at the main control panel, seemingly unaware of his fellow scientist’s departure. “Why aren’t you at the party? Is it finished already?”
“I could ask you the same.” She feels both irritated and concerned by his behavior-Rodney isn’t one to get drunk, especially considering Atlantis’ picky nature. Anything could go wrong at any time; he knows this, and has always thought inebriation to be a sign of an irresponsible scientist. You need a clear head for the next disaster.
“I wanted to get away from the noise,” he says, punctuating his statement with big swallow of champagne.
“It is very peaceful here.” Her gentle agreement isn’t necessary, but the silence would be unbearable otherwise. “I see you brought a few things with you.”
He glances at the bottle of alcohol (how he acquired a personal bottle remains a mystery, though she supposes being head of the science department has its perks) and grins widely, his fingers wrapped tightly around its glass neck.
“I’m having my own party. A quieter one. Less people. But you can stay, if you want.”
She rolls a chair from another console and sits beside him, trying to ignore the jovial vulnerability of his words. But you can stay, if you want: the phrase of a shy child attempting to make new friends by inviting them to play.
“I will join you for a few minutes,” comes her polite response. Then: “May I ask why you felt the need for your own party?”
“John was flirting with Lieutenant Banks. It gets tiring to watch after a while.” Another swallow, but Teyla can only think four years. Four years of working right alongside Rodney, and yet she has never seen him this exposed. “I mean, considering the number of native princesses and Amish girls and what have you. It’s ridiculous.”
“You do not wish John success in his relationships?”
“What? Of course I do. I just don’t wish him success with those pinheads. Me, on the other hand-well. I guess it's no secret he wouldn't have to try that hard with me. Or even try, for that matter.” Rodney waves his hand vaguely, helplessly. “He could crook his finger my direction and I'd be butter. Shit, Teyla, it just-kills me. It eats me up. Tonight I just... didn't have the heart to watch it happen again.”
It’s one thing to see Rodney’s affectionate expressions when John's not watching; it’s another to notice how Rodney says the Colonel’s name when he’s trying not to worry; it’s even another to watch him pace the hallway when John’s in the infirmary. But to hear the words, the confirmation of all her suspicions, is something else entirely.
“Rodney-”
“Did I say that?” His eyes suddenly widen and he sits up quickly. “Did I really-you can’t tell him, okay? Teyla? Promise me you won’t.”
“Rodney,” she calmly repeats, “you know I won’t. Now please sit down.”
He collapses onto the chair. Her irritation fades altogether.
“Is it stupid?” he abruptly asks. “To love someone for so long without anything in return?”
“It isn’t our choice, Rodney. You can’t help what you feel." She takes hold of his hand, squeezes. "And in any case, your worries are surely unfounded. John would never travel such a road with Lieutenant Banks. I'm sure they were merely talking.”
Rodney huffs. Teyla raises an eyebrow.
“Were they touching? Laughing? Hiding away in a dark alcove?”
“No,” he admits, miserably.
“Jealously makes us see what isn't there,” she kindly explains.
“Jealousy,” he echoes, nearly spitting out the word. "My god, look at me. Mooning over him like a teenage girl! I’m an important man. I have work to do. I can’t waste valuable processor time focusing on this... thing that will never be a thing.” He guzzles the last of the champagne. “Happy New Years to me, Teyla Emmagan. My resolution: never think or speak of this again.”
“Let’s get you to your room, Rodney,” she suggests, and then realizes her recorder is still on. She quickly shuts it off and thinks nothing of it, and they somehow stumble back to Rodney's quarters in comfortable silence.
---
A few days later, her video is perfect. She removes any particularly embarrassing moments and, of course, deletes her conversation with Rodney. It’s only audio, anyway, the recorder having been lying on the control panel and facing the wall.
The original is placed on a disk along with all the others. It’s a habit not many expedition members have: the desire to have the original as opposed to a better version, but her mother always taught her that keeping the diary (without tearing out humiliating pages) or saving the love letter (despite having no feelings in return) was worthwhile. You will want to remember it later, she said.
Teyla wants to remember this, too. Everything. The good, the bad, the neutral.
She stores the disc in the pocket of her winter coat, where no one, she thinks, will look.
That afternoon, Lorne pilots her to the mainland, where she’s promised to help plant the crops and bless the year as it begins again.
When she returns, Rodney can’t look at her. He can’t look at anyone. She knows, having only been back for a single second, that something has gone terribly wrong.
---
It’s an anger that builds and builds and builds: first, she demands, what right did you have to enter my quarters? And second, what right did you have to look through my things? And third, how dare you take what was mine?
John has never looked more ashamed.
“I didn’t take it,” he tries to explain, stepping away and away until his back is against a punching bag. She knew he’d be in the training room. He always is when his emotional turmoil reaches critical mass. “It was labeled ‘videos,’ so I assumed that’s what it was! I’m really sorry. Look, you can invade my privacy anytime you want, so we’ll be even.”
“This is not about me and you know it!” she shouts. “This is about you and your-your stupidity!”
“My stupidity?” John repeats, but it contains a note of irritation, or perhaps fear. “How long have you known about Rodney, huh? Just when were you planning to tell me?”
“It was not my place to tell anyone, and it’s not your place to push him!”
“I haven’t pushed anything!” he shouts back. “You think I want to make him uncomfortable? Because I’m that much of an asshole? Besides-” and here he turns and punches the bag with his bare fist “-I don’t care which team he plays for.”
“But you care that he’s in love with you,” she states. John’s body, usually so languid and boneless, is stiff. His back becomes rigid the minute those words leave her mouth.
“Who wouldn’t?” he mutters. Another punch follows his muttered question, then another, and she watches him try to beat his embarrassment and insecurity away.
“How many recordings did you watch?” Teyla finally asks, aware their conversation will take a different track if she doesn’t keep it on course. “I’ve given you a copy of each event, so what excuse do you have for taking my originals?”
If it’s possible, John looks even worse. “Keevers left on the Daedalus today. He’s being stationed onboard. He wanted a disc of his own, so I gave him mine.”
“And?”
“I just wanted to make another one for myself. I never meant-this is all a big mess. When I made the duplicate, the file sizes were bigger. I opened the first one and saw it was different from the edited version.”
“And New Years,” she sighs. “You saw what happened?”
“Heard, rather,” he mutters back, legs giving out so that he plops on the floor. “The camera was facing the wall.” He rubs his face with his hands and looks up at her. “What can I do to fix this? He won’t even look at me.”
“I can barely look at you,” she says, and he flinches away. She almost feels guilty. “As for advice, I suggest you speak with him privately. You cannot let this cause a rift between you.”
“A rift,” John echoes, laughing sourly. “A rift caused by love. I never would’ve imagined it.”
But Teyla can. Living with the expedition has opened her eyes: she sees honor, bravery, valiant efforts, sacrifice. She sees conscientiousness, concern, and charity; long hours for little reward. She sees these things and respects them. But Ronon also points out that certain members live in fear-not of Wraith, but of other people’s perceptions. How everyone understands what is and isn’t acceptable to say or do, and what type of love is within the parameters of decency. This very moment, she can read John’s fear from the frown on his mouth, and lines around his eyes.
She’s suddenly very sorry.
“How do you feel about this?” Teyla asks. He rests his head against the wall. “Does it even matter? Or will you tell me the rules forbid you from choosing?”
He looks up. His eyes narrow. And to her great surprise (and pride), he stands up again.
“It matters,” he snaps, turns and stalking in the direction of the nearest transporter. She doesn’t take offense. In fact, she actually follows him down the corridor and stays with him. She locks eyes with Ronon as they pass the mess hall. She doesn’t intend for him to follow, but he immediately abandons his meal (a remarkable act) and silently falls in step. He glances at her, but doesn’t ask; she, in turn, doesn’t tell.
They stop at the gate room entrance. John strides through. “Put me on city-wide,” he says, and takes the mic without asking permission. The tech nods mutely and flips the switch.
“This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard,” he says, his voice amplified into every hall and room of the city. Teyla can hear the actual words coming from his mouth as well as the augmented echoes from the corridor behind them. “I know everyone gets a little antsy when I use the PA, so relax. I’m not here to announce we’re under attack. Actually, the worst news of the day is the mess is out of potatoes, so we get those yam things from PX5-84.”
He pauses; Teyla fears he won't follow through.
“But there is something else,” he finally says, knuckles so white she's concerned he might crack the microphone. Teyla takes a deep breath. Of all the times to be brave, John, this is it, she thinks, this is it, this is- “And that reason is Doctor Rodney McKay. Damn it, Rodney, I love you. Now everyone knows, secret is out, big whoop. Everyone's probably known since the minute I sat my ass in that chair in Antarctica. I'm ready to do this thing if you are, so if you don’t get your ass to the gate room in two minutes, I’m coming to the labs.”
He stops and glances at Teyla. Her smile is so wide it hurts.
And to her great surprise, John smiles as well. He hands the mic back to the tech, whose mouth is hanging open. Elizabeth steps out of her office, white-faced. Chuck can’t form words. And below them, on the ground floor, expedition members are swarming through the doorways to get a glance of the Colonel, who, by USAF policy, has just tossed his career out the window.
But the most important person doesn’t show up until last.
Rodney charges his way past Ronon and Teyla, Elizabeth, and the gate staff. It’s been maybe thirty seconds; his hair is rumpled, as are his clothes, and he’s slightly sweaty and breathless, evidence of sprinting across entire sections of the city. He doesn’t stop moving until he sees John.
“Is this-is this some sort of joke?” he angrily pants. “Are you trying to repair our friendship by throwing everything to the wayside? Tell me, what part of this public declaration seemed like a good idea to you, Colonel?”
But John doesn’t answer. He just touches Rodney’s shoulder and pulls him close, so close that their lips nearly buzz together with each breath. Rodney’s eyes focus. His body seems to become lose, at ease. He leans in without being aware of it.
Cadman wolf-whistles at their first kiss.
---
Later, when John tries to give command to Lorne (after his announcement, he doesn’t expect to keep it), Lorne just stares.
“What broadcast, sir?” he asks, Cadman and Stackhouse looking appropriately mystified as well. The marines pretend it never happened. The scientists don’t talk about it. Weeks later, when the Daedalus arrives with supplies, Caldwell asks Elizabeth if anything particularly noteworthy has transpired.
"Nothing we didn't know already," she diplomatically answers, which, in Teyla's view, isn't a lie at all.
---
Teyla still loves her camcorder.
But of all the holidays and celebrations she’s had the honor to preserve, John and Rodney’s Athosian wedding has been her favorite by far.
FIN.