The New Atlantean Dictionary of Literary Terms, Volume III
Pairings: John/Rodney, Teyla/Heightmeyer, and others.
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~19 000
The New Atlantean Dictionary of Literary Terms: A Complete Reference in Four Volumes
Volume III
N-S
Narration
A narrative is a text, composed in any medium, which describes a sequence of real or unreal events. It derives from the Latin verb narrare, which means “to recount.”
“So, he had a sword,” Radek prompts. Ronon nods an affirmative. “And he was fighting with it?”
“Not doing too bad, either,” Ronon allows, grinning widely. “Course, the guy he was fighting looked about thirteen. I guess they matched them up with people of equal skill to make the games more interesting.”
Radek laughs, that low, gleeful chuckle that Ronon’s gotten used to lately.
“It’s a good thing you and Teyla arrived when you did,” Radek says, stabbing a piece of meat with his fork and bringing it to his mouth.
Ronon shrugs and swallows his mouthful of bread. “Yeah, I guess an hour of single combat matches was enough for McKay.”
“Hmmm,” Radek agrees. They sit quietly for a while, the buzz of conversation in the commissary filling the silence.
“So,” Ronon says finally, taking another bite, “You and Elizabeth, huh?”
There’s a clatter as Radek drops his fork. “Where did you hear that?”
“Teyla told me. Though, according to her, if I’d been in the gate room a couple days after that vegetable attack, I could’ve heard it for myself.”
Radek flushes bright red and covers his face with one hand.
“Relax,” Ronon says, amused.
“It was only one time,” Radek hisses. “And now you’re saying, is all over the base?”
“Kinda.”
Radek says some words that sound like cursing.
“A lot of people got together after that weird device did that thing to our brains,” Ronon says, by way of comfort.
“Yes, I heard about Dr. Keller and that Marine, what’s his name, the one on Major Lorne’s team.”
“Thorstensen? I didn’t hear about that.”
“On examination table in the infirmary. They did not even pull the curtain all the way.”
“Huh.”
“So, ah,” Radek clears his throat, his blush mostly faded. “Who did you - get together with?” he asks, carefully.
“Nobody,” Ronon lies.
Open Couplet
A couplet (two successive rhyming lines of verse) in which the meaning is not completed in the second line, but is carried forward into a third or fourth line; or perhaps into several lines, though this is rare.
Elizabeth shows interest when he asks her what she thinks, her head resting on his chest as she listens; in her quarters, legs tangled together in the heat, it seems ideal to Ronon, a perfect addition to their slow, sensuous nights.
When she asks Radek the next day, he stutters and refuses, stepping back as if to find the distance he’s been seeking since the incident in the conference room; that night, adrift together in the silence of the city, Elizabeth and Ronon have made a gap between their bodies: they each chase in vain the pleasure that the touch of the other usually excites.
It’s not until days later that he shows up at their door: nervous, all apologies; his hand comes up to stroke a line of touch down Ronon’s neck, three fingers firm and warm against his skin, as Elizabeth takes their hands and pulls them to her bed.
Picaresque
From the Spanish, picaro, meaning “rogue” or “rascal.” A popular subgenre of prose fiction which is usually satirical and depicts in realistic and often humorous detail the adventures of a roguish hero of low social class who lives by his wits in a corrupt society, often with a trusty companion with whom he travels.
“Uh, no,” she tries, pushing the amorous boy away, “I can’t.”
“You would refuse the hospitality of our village?” the Mayor-guy cries from a few seats away, sounding hurt and a little bit drunk.
Cadman shakes her head emphatically. “No! We would never refuse your hospitality. Would we, Simpson?”
“We certainly wouldn’t,” Simpson agrees, fending off a golden youth of her own.
“Then why do you insult us by refusing the comforts we have to offer?” Mayor-guy demands.
“Oh,” Cadman says. “Well, there’s a perfectly good reason.”
“Yes,” Simpson adds helpfully, overselling it. “Perfectly good.” Cadman elbows her in the stomach.
By now, the whole table has gone quiet to see how this will play out. The tousle-haired Greek gods sitting next to them have stopped it with the wandering hands, at least.
“I, uh,” Cadman tries. “I owe my love to another.”
“Yeah, me too,” Simpson jumps on the bandwagon.
The people at the head of the table confer quietly with the Mayor-guy. “And this means you cannot partake of innocent amusements like these?” He gestures at the two muscle-bound, loincloth-adorned sixteen-year-olds, whom someone had been kind enough to coat in warm oil.
“In our culture, yes, that’s totally what it means,” she answers, ignoring the pouty face that her gift-boy has just put on.
“Very well,” says the Mayor-guy, and they breathe a sigh of relief. Then he calls out to the servants: “Bring out the women!”
Two young girls, buxom and straw-haired, oiled and attired just like the boys, come up to the table.
Cadman buries her face in her hands.
-
The mob isn’t really all that angry - in fact, they only seem to be mobbing because it’s expected of them - so the two of them don’t have to run for long.
“Lieutenant, I hate to keep saying it, but we need to figure out a way to survive on this planet, and that means more than two days in a village at a time. I need at least a month to repair this thing,” Simpson holds up the offending gate crystal, “And it would help if we didn’t have to constantly pick up and go from place to place.”
“Listen, Simpson, I didn’t see you stepping in to explain things to those nice people.”
Simpson sighs. “I know. I froze. It was a good try, anyway - you couldn’t have predicted that they’d assume we were just being coy, and really wanted hot lesbian action.” She pauses, smiling ruefully. “And call me Sarah. I know I’m new on your team, but I’m not a Marine.”
Cadman shrugs. “You can call me Laura, then. Doesn’t McKay call all the scientists by their last names?”
“Yes, and it makes me feel like I’m in tenth grade gym class.”
“It’s probably just because he can never remember first names,” Laura laughs, clapping her new scientist on the back. “C’mon, let’s see if the next village is willing to feed and house our poor selves.”
-
The next village is willing, and they hang out quietly for a week. Simpson works on the crystal while Cadman lifts heavy things as payment for food and shelter. It goes well, right up until the thing with the aqueduct.
“It’s still under construction, but we’re very proud of it,” the Mayor-lady says, sounding very proud of it.
“Wow,” Sarah answers, overselling it again, “it’s really great!” It kind of is, actually: shining, clean water distributed evenly with little waste. “But listen, I learned a little something about water distribution systems during my undergraduate degree. . .”
When Laura wakes up in the middle of the night to find their little cabin flooded with water, they beat a stealthy retreat to avoid the whole mob situation.
“Remind me again why we couldn’t stay at the place with the glistening man-boys?” Sarah asks, as they stumble half-dressed through thorn-bushes in the dark.
“It would’ve been wrong, Simpson,” Laura answers, sighing a little herself at the memory of her own glistening man-boy. Moving determinedly forward, she then smacks her face on a low-hanging branch.
“Gotcha,” Sarah says, pushing past her.
-
The third village has fallen on hard times, though it looks like it was once much more prosperous, with large stone-and-mortar dwellings standing empty. As a result, real-estate is at an all-time low, so the villagers don’t mind them hunkering down in one of the abandoned buildings. As far as food goes, they don’t have any to spare, but they agree to take Cadman with them on their hunts and let her have what she kills.
“So we’re dependent on your ability to hunt - what is it again?” Sarah looks up from the crystal and peers at Cadman from behind her little gold-rimmed glasses.
“From the description, giant man-eating rabbits.”
“Okay. Maybe I’ll hold off on unpacking.” This with a wide grin only slightly marred by the thorn-scratches on Sarah’s face.
“Hey, have a little faith,” Laura grins back. “I’m your team leader. Plus, I’m great with a bow.”
To everyone’s surprise - the villagers especially can’t get over it - Cadman manages to bring down one of the bunny-things, which is, terrifyingly, actually more like a long-eared rat, and about the size of a deer. One of the locals helps her carve it and accepts the pelt in trade for some vegetables and bread. Simpson is impressed, and life goes on pretty nicely for a few days.
Then, fetching water from the town pump, Cadman hears the sound of an escalating argument. She can hear Simpson’s voice in her head telling her to not get involved, but then a woman comes running, screaming, into the town square, and launches herself into Cadman’s arms.
“Whoa, what’s the problem?” she asks, looking around nervously for anyone who might be chasing her.
“It’s my husband, he says he’s going to kill me!” the woman shouts. She’s got a nasty black eye and is clutching a little canvas bag that looks to be stuffed with clothing and a loaf of bread: probably all she could grab while trying to escape.
Cadman comes to a decision. “Okay, look, I’ll get you out of town.”
They run into a couple of local guys who don’t take kindly to that idea, though, and Cadman is forced to break a few limbs. Eventually, she gets the woman to the forest and points out the way to the next village.
“Just don’t mention my name,” she warns.
“Oh, thank you so much,” the woman says, sobbing and clutching at Laura’s shoulders. “I would never have escaped without you, thank you, thank you!”
“Okay, no problem,” Laura answers, peeling the woman away. “Off you go.”
When she gets back to town square, well-pleased with herself, the locals are there to greet her.
“Hey guys, what’s up?” she calls cheerfully.
“Did you just help the thief to escape with the last of our ancestral wealth?” the Mayor-guy asks.
“Uh,” Cadman says. In the crowd, she sees two guys who look pretty familiar, bruised and beaten with a few broken limbs.
“That’s her,” one of them says.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Cadman mutters, and sprints into the streets.
-
“Look at the bright side,” Sarah pants as they wade through the swamp.
Cadman trips on an underwater root and falls into the sludge. Pulling something dark green and half-rotten off of her face, she asks, “The bright side?”
“Yeah,” Sarah answers, giving her a hand up to her feet, “I’m at least halfway done repairing the crystal.”
-
“It’s great to have you back, Lieutenant, Doctor,” Elizabeth says warmly. “You two had us worried for a minute there.”
“Well, there was no need for concern,” Cadman answers. “Right, Sarah?”
“You betcha,” Simpson agrees. “With the two of us on the job? Forget about it.”
Elizabeth nods proudly. “I look forward to reading your report.”
Cadman and Simpson exchange a wordless, worried glance.
“Oh, count on it,” Cadman blurts, finally.
Simpson nods enthusiastically, overselling it like she always does. “It’ll be a page-turner,” she says brightly.
Smiling at Elizabeth, Cadman elbows her discreetly in the stomach.
Quibble
An instance of the use of ambiguous, prevaricating, or irrelevant language or arguments to evade a point at issue.
“What’s new, Rodney?” Kate asks, sitting in the chair across from him.
“Not much. Simpson’s back from walkabout or whatever, so I’ve at least got one decent engineer working for me again. And Zelenka’s been in a good mood lately, which is a relief - you have no idea how annoying that guy can get when he’s being pissy.”
“And you?” Kate takes a sip of her coffee.
“I’ve been having back pain again, thanks to all the running around on alien planets and whatnot. And I think I may be suffering from clinical depression; granted, I haven’t had much of a loss of appetite, and I haven’t been sleeping very much, but you can put all that down to the conditions we’re living under here.” Rodney pauses, apparently for breath.
“Yes, Teyla told me about your latest off-world mission,” Kate says, stepping in. “Something about imprisonment and gladiator matches?” Actually, Kate had read the mission report.
“Yes, yes, another life-endangering mission with Sheppard,” Rodney says, waving a hand.
“So you think that the mission going wrong was Colonel Sheppard’s fault?”
He fidgets, crosses a knee and uncrosses it. “No. Really, it’s no one’s fault, it’s just the way our luck always runs.”
She frowns theatrically. “I didn’t think that you believed in luck.”
“Oh, believe me,” he says, with that little half-laugh of his, “I didn’t before coming here. But after a while I began to ask myself: what is luck, anyway? It’s the outcome of probability, based on the initial conditions.”
Kate tries not to think about that night with Teyla, about her own ambiguous, noncommittal touches and that first cautious kiss of Teyla’s lips to her throat. “So what were the initial conditions on this mission?”
He laughs again. “Pretty much, me and Sheppard and a bizarre society where telling someone where you’re from is the same as challenging them to mortal combat.”
“But surely the same thing would’ve happened to anyone who went there and said they were from Atlantis,” Kate presses.
“I guess. Anyway, it was awful - they threw us in this cold cell with a floor made out of dirt and manure, and came every day to drag one of us off to the arena.”
“Mmmm. So, if the same thing could’ve happened to anyone, why do you think that you and Colonel Sheppard were part of the cause?”
“I didn’t say that we were.”
“You said that you and Colonel Sheppard were the initial conditions.”
Rodney pauses, scratching his thumb against his index finger in that nervous gesture of his. “Well, you could say that Sheppard and I haven’t been getting along so well lately. But that happens all the time, and you’re probably right - the mission would’ve gone wrong for whoever went to Entruvos. I should probably stop blaming myself and just let it go.” Rodney nods firmly as if he’s just had a breakthrough.
“Are you two still not getting along, now that you’re back from Entruvos?”
“It’s not that we don’t get along. We get along fine.”
She waits.
“It’s just awkward sometimes, is all.”
“Awkward.”
“Well, it happens occasionally, doesn’t it, that people who work together get to know each other a little too well, and it can get, hm, uncomfortable.”
“So you feel as if you know too much about Colonel Sheppard.”
“No, no, it’s not like that at all. Who knows anything at all about Sheppard? It’s just that sometimes you need a break from a person. If they’re around all the time, it can get stifling.”
“Okay. When are you going to take a break, then?”
“What?”
“You say you need a break. I’ll write you a note, you can have some time off the gate team, time to concentrate on your work in the lab, uninterrupted.”
“I . . . that doesn’t sound like the right prescription,” Rodney stutters.
“I can understand that,” Kate soothes. “You wouldn’t want to lose your off-world work. All right, so you go on missions, but stop other contact with the Colonel: your chess games, meals together, team movie nights. How about that?”
“Yeah,” Rodney sighs, clearly miserable at the prospect, “that sounds like a solution.”
Kate allows herself a little laugh. “Rodney, clearly whatever’s going on between you and the Colonel, you need to work it out with him, not avoid him. Feeling awkward with someone may only be a temporary stage on the way to a deeper relationship.”
Rodney blushes, and oh. Interesting. “I don’t have that kind of relationship with Colonel Sheppard,” he says quickly.
“I mean friendship, Rodney,” she says gently. Then, clearing her throat, she adds, “Just because you can keep your friendship casual doesn’t mean that you should.” And the slight angle of Teyla’s bent knee against the white sheets, and the line of her biceps as she lay propped on her elbows, and the way she’d kissed Kate, reckless and unrestrained.
“Fine, fine, I’ll talk to Sheppard,” Rodney grumbles, his grumble belied by his lingering blush.
“Excellent.” Counting it a victory, she decides to let the topic go, at least for now. “So, tell me more about this gladiator ring of yours.”
Refrain
A line, or part of a line, or a group of lines, which is repeated in the course of a poem, sometimes with slight changes, and usually at the end of each stanza.
“So, what’s up next on the mission docket?” Kate asks her, brushing their fingers together briefly as she reaches for her pie. Teyla draws her hand back carefully before answering.
“Nothing complicated; we are going to visit some old trading partners on P8N-2Z3.”
Kate nods to show interest and keeps her hands on her side of the table. “The place with the purple flowers? Weren’t you just there a month ago?”
“Yes, but they have now processed some parts of the plant and have flour to trade.”
Kate listens to a description of the plant: she can’t open her mouth to speak.
-
But she can’t seem to help herself. She tries again, the little touches that worked the first time, that drew Teyla’s mouth to her body.
“I’m running Simpson and Cadman through a workout in the gym if you’d like to join us,” Teyla offers, in a friendly sort of way, when they meet in the corridor.
“Sarah Simpson? Isn’t she an engineer?” Kate runs her fingers down Teyla’s elbow, casually, lightly.
“As it turns out, almost any situation can have its dangers,” Teyla answers coolly, never losing her warm smile as she takes a step backwards.
“I’d love to join you, but I have a client.”
Kate watches as Teyla walks away with a wave and a raincheck. She can’t open her mouth to speak.
-
It’s late at night when she finds herself doing it again: she’s walked Teyla home after dinner, and at her door, Kate lets her thumb graze Teyla’s palm.
This time, Teyla has none of her usual grace; she jerks her hand back, then holds both hands up, palm out. Teyla breathes in sharply through her nose, then out again, as if she’s reached a breaking point. When she speaks, her voice is less controlled than it usually is.
“I’m sorry, Kate, I cannot do this,” she says, lowering her hands slowly as she speaks.
“What can’t you do?” Kate keeps her face open, listening.
Teyla’s jaw twitches. “I cannot be your - your fuckbuddy. As you said, we can be friends.”
Kate doesn’t get shocked, so instead she just asks, curiously, “Where did you learn that word?”
“We had a similar word on Athos for this kind of desire. It is not a desire I share, anymore, to have sex solely for a moment’s pleasure.”
With that, Teyla turns, and opens her door, and she’s on the other side of it and it’s about to close in Kate’s face when she gets herself together.
“Wait,” she says, and her own voice sounds desperate, now, uncontrolled. Too loud.
Teyla pauses. “Yes?” she asks. She sounds so tired.
Kate opens her mouth to speak.
Synecdoche
From the Greek, “taking up together.” A figure of speech in which the part stands for the whole, and thus something else is understood within the thing mentioned.
Rodney’s hands dance as they go through the event horizon; on the other side, in Atlantis, they continue without pause, elegant, excited, precise. In the briefing, they sketch out the possibilities for the new power source: palms up to offer alternate modes of energy consumption; thumb and forefinger together to compare and contrast setup possibilities; fingers raised in sequence to list the materials and manpower necessary to get it running. Always, always, in motion. John interrupts, his voice too loud for the conference room.
“McKay, we don’t need the engineering details. Will you just get to the good part?” he says, his own fingers tapping the tabletop to communicate impatience.
Rodney’s hands still.
“Right. Well. The upshot is: this could, properly implemented, come to replace ZPMs as our main power source.”
“With the difference being, it’s renewable.” John finishes.
“Yes, thank you for your extremely qualified opinion, Colonel, I was getting to that.” One hand is clutching the edge of the table, now, as if to prevent itself from flying upwards again. John imagines those hands in motion on his body: curved around his hips, palms running over his chest, fingertips tracing his jawline.
“Oh, you were getting to it,” John mocks. “We’ve got better things to do than sit and listen to you listen to yourself, McKay.” It’s not that different from their usual sarcastic banter, except in all the ways it is.
“Well, this sounds like a great discovery, anyway,” Elizabeth breaks in, looking a little confused.
“Yes. It will be extremely useful,” Rodney says, but his hands are already moving to pack up his laptop, unplugging the cords and coiling them neatly around his palms.
“Come back to me when you know more.” Elizabeth’s sharp glance at John says: Come back to me when you’ve fixed this.
-
John thinks he’s going to have a rational, adult discussion with McKay about their working relationship right up until he opens his mouth.
“Okay, what the fuck is your problem?” are the words that he says once he’s got McKay alone in his lab.
And it’s as if Rodney was waiting for him to come in, waiting for the opportunity: he doesn’t hesitate, already talking as he turns to face John, as his gaze pins John to the wall. “What is my problem? I’m not the one who turned into a psycho after Entruvos,” he spits back.
“Oh, you don’t think so? How about turning into a psycho on Entruvos?”
“What?” McKay’s voice does that thing it does, that high-pitched incredulousness that says I do not understand how it is physically possible for you to be this stupid.
“You know what I mean, McKay,” John growls back, getting into Rodney’s space. “It’s not your job to stand in for me.”
Rodney’s hands are white-knuckled and furious where they grip the lab table behind him. “It’s not my job to let you die,” he grits out. “But never mind that. In Sheppard’s world, it’s my job to sit next to you at farmers’ feasts and it’s my job to take the jumper seat next to you while you bleed and it’s my job not to mention any of it, it’s my job to pretend like none of it ever happened, but it’s not my job to stand in for you when it really counts. Fucking typical.”
John had backed Rodney up against the table; now, punctuating his last words, Rodney brings a hand up to push against Sheppard’s chest, the way you do when you want to pick a fight in a seedy bar, to push against Sheppard’s chest and shove him out of Rodney’s space.
John’s shocked by the feeling of Rodney’s hands on his body in anger, by the rage that curls in his belly and the way his own hand clenches into a fist at his side when Rodney pushes him.
His voice goes soft. “Is that what you want?” he asks, forcing his fist to uncurl and glancing down at his own chest where Rodney shoved him. John reaches out, lightning-quick, and grabs Rodney’s wrist, bringing his hand palm-up between them, as if it were an exhibit at a trial.
“You want to get your hands on me?” John asks, trying for an accusatory tone and failing, failing. His fingertips smooth against the soft skin below Rodney’s palm.
Rodney doesn’t say anything for a long time, his eyes on John’s fingers where they encircle his wrist. When he speaks, his voice breaks on a single word. “Yes.”
The last of the rage drains from him as he looks into Rodney’s face, at his lips, slightly open, and the stubborn curve of his jaw. Slowly, John bends his head.
When his lips meet Rodney’s palm, it feels like the last connection in a circuit, like electricity finally set free. When his lips meet Rodney’s palm, it’s the kiss that he didn’t give Rodney at the harvest-fest and it’s the kiss that Rodney didn’t give him when he stood between John and the guards on Entruvos and it’s the way they moved together in perfect harmony while Atlantis fused their minds into one.
“You’re not expendable,” John says, when he straightens up.
“Neither are you, asshole,” Rodney answers, so softly.
Then Rodney’s kissed palm is cupping John’s neck, drawing him in. John closes his eyes as they come together, as they kiss, as they occupy - finally - the same space in the same moment.
-
Volume IV