[Stargate: Fiction] "Compatibility of Souls: Chapter Six: Privateers" [7/12] [John/Rodney, G]
Title: Chapter Six: Privateers
Author: Ami Ven
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,400
Prompt: mcsheplets challenge #052 ‘destiny’
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing(s): John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Summary: John is a pirate privateer and Rodney is a lady shipwright.
Chapter Six: Privateers
Warning! This chapter contains brief mention of historically-accurate racism, which none of the main characters believe.
Somewhere off the English coast
1671 A.D.
John Sheppard, captain of the privateer Atlantis, stood on the quarterdeck, watching the debris tumble past his ship, bobbing along on the rough waves.
“Definitely a wreck,” said Ronon, coming up to stand beside him. “Lots of crates, but that’s from a hull.”
A large chunk of barnacle-covered wood floated by, and John nodded. “Anything worth salvaging?”
Ronon shrugged, and they both continued watching the water.
“Sir!” cried a voice. Ford raced up to them, his single remaining eye wide. “Sir, there’s somebody in the water!”
“Alive?” John asked, and Ford nodded. “Then get him out!”
John’s men scrambled to throw ropes over the side, and moments later, they had hauled a bedraggled bundle of fabric onto the deck. After a heartbeat, John realized it was actually a woman, soaked skirts tangled around her legs and hair plastered to her face.
Lorne, Atlantis’s de facto first mate, crouched to help her, but she slapped his hands away. “Get off! Don’t you touch me! I know what you are, in a ship like this! You’re- you’re pirates!”
“What’s wrong with my ship?” John growled, but Ford said, “Technically, ma’am, we’re privateers.”
The woman fixed him with a withering stare. “Oh, that makes me feel so much better. Does that mean you had a reason for attacking the Prometheus?”
“We didn’t attack your ship,” said John. “We just came upon the debris and picked you up. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Oh,” said the woman. She looked around her, as though seeing Atlantis for the first time. “Yes, I suppose you did. I only got a brief glimpse of the ship that attacked us, but it didn’t have rigging anything like yours… So, thank you.”
John nodded. “You’d better get out of those wet clothes, Miss…?”
“McKay. Meredith McKay. And if you think I’m going to undress in front of a boat full of-”
“It’s a ship, Miss McKay,” John interrupted. “And I don’t think that at all. Teyla, our guest can use my cabin.”
“Aye, captain,” said Teyla, with a nod.
“Captain?” Miss McKay repeated.
John tipped his hat. “Captain Sheppard, of Atlantis, at your service.”
He watched Teyla help Miss McKay to her feet. The woman stared, and John fought a smile- Teyla was an American savage (not that his crew thought that, she was the most dignified and cultured of them all, for all that she could trounce any of them in a fight) and continued to wear the buckskin breeches she preferred, along with a silk waistcoat that revealed rather more bare skin than an English woman would have dared.
John hardly noticed, anymore.
“Any other salvage?” he asked, when his cabin door had closed behind the two women.
“A few odds and ends,” said Ford. “We’ll store them in the hold when we’ve got it all aboard.”
“Excellent,” said John. “Carry on.”
He retreated to the quarterdeck again, gazing out at the sea. As the sky began to turn pink and orange, Ford returned to report that they’d retrieved six crates of mostly-edible foodstuffs, a crate of sailcloth and canvas thread, and a small chest of paper and ink, but no other survivors.
“Should I tell Miss McKay?” Ford asked.
John shook his head. “I’ll do it. I should properly welcome her aboard, anyway.”
Ford saluted, something John had yet to break him of, and John headed for his cabin. He knocked, lightly. “Miss McKay?”
She opened the door. “Captain?”
“May I come in?”
“It’s your room,” she said.
John shook his head. “As long as you’re our guest, it’s yours. The bottom desk drawer is locked and will remain so, but anything else is yours to use. May I come in?”
“What? Yes, of course.”
John took off his hat, and entered. Teyla had found Miss McKay a clean gown, of a pale blue fabric that made John suddenly realize just how blue her eyes were. He coughed and looked away. “Miss McKay,” he said. “My men report that there were no other survivors from your ship. You have our condolences.”
“What?” she said, again. “No, I hardly knew them. “I’m sure they were good men, capable sailors and whatnot, but I was only a passenger.”
“What was your destination?”
“The Americas. I have an uncle there and I… I was being sent to live with him.”
“I’m afraid we’re not going that far,” said John. “And we won’t be returning to any port for some time, yet. You shall be our guest until then.”
“Guest,” repeated Miss McKay. “You mean prisoner.”
“No, I mean guest,” said John. “You’re free to go where you please, speak to whom you please. But try not to interfere with the ship’s running. I’ll have Teyla bring you something to eat. Good night.”
John ate his own supper quickly, in the crews’ mess after the others had finished, and went back up onto the deck, watching the stars come out. He heard the swish of fabric behind him, but didn’t turn.
“You have flowers on your ship,” said Miss McKay, without preamble. “You have window boxes, with flowers in them.”
“Mr. Parrish grows them,” said John. “He also grows the herbs we use to cook.”
Miss McKay came to stand beside him at the rail. “Miss Teyla says you saved her life. As does Mr. Dex, Mr. Lorne… They all respect you greatly.”
“Because I respect them,” said John, glancing sideways at her.
“Yes, I can see that,” she said, then looked at him, hard. “You really mean to let me go ashore at the next port?”
“On my word,” said John. “Even a privateer is not without honor. Perhaps the queen could never say that we are serving our country, but even Her Majesty can see how much England needs us.”
“I see,” said Miss McKay, slowly. “Thank you for the conversation. Good night, Captain Sheppard.”
John set up a hammock on the deck, and his sleep was easy- but short. He was woken before even he was customarily up by Miss McKay, clutching his own battered chess set.
“Do you play?” she demanded, instead of saying ‘good morning’.
John rolled out of his hammock with practiced ease and reached for his coat. “I do.”
He had only won one game out of three, sitting on coils of sail rigging up on the deck, when Chuck, in the crow’s nest, cried, “To starboard! A ship!”
“What colors?” John demanded.
“French, sir!” said Chuck.
“Excellent,” said John. “Bring us around, Mr. Lorne. Miss McKay, it would be best if you stayed in my cabin.”
“You’re not going to attack them,” she protested.
“Yes, I am,” said John, calmly. “That is a French merchant ship, Miss McKay, bringing French goods to the Frenchmen fighting our English troops. If I can sink her, the enemy will be deprived of vital supplies. If I can capture her, our boys can use their own supplies against them.”
“That… that makes a certain amount of sense,” Miss McKay admitted. “But aren’t they armed?”
John smiled. “Of course they are, ma’am. That’s what makes this fun.”
He waited until the cabin door had closed behind her, then began shouting orders. Looking across the deck, John could hardly tell which of his men had once served in Her Majesty’s navy. Even Teyla now moved like she’d been born to the sea, though John knew for a fact that she’d never seen a European ship before the one that had destroyed her village.
“Gun crews ready, sir,” said Lorne, coming up beside him. “The French ship has spotted us. She’s the Prospérité and she outguns us, but we have the greater range and the wind appears to be on our side.”
“Then let’s use it,” said John. “Have the gun crews fire as soon as we’re within range, then turn us bow-on to them, present a smaller target. Have Teyla and Ford collect a boarding party.”
“Aye, sir!” said Lorne.
The crew of the French ship was inexperienced or incompetent, or both. While the Atlantis swung around for another broadside pass, the French guns fired at random and only landed a few lucky hits.
Then, the winds shifted. The Prospérité’s sails billowed and she leaped away from Atlantis, trailing broken planks and jagged debris.
“Status, Mr. Lorne!” John bellowed.
“The frogs are badly hurt, sir,” his first mate reported. “At least three of our shots hit them at the water line- they’ll have to dump some of their cargo if they want to make it back to France in one piece.”
“And us?” John prompted.
“We lost the secondary mast. It cracked evenly, or so Mr. Halling says, and he should be able to repair it.
“How long?”
“A day, at least,” said Lorne. “If he doesn’t need more timber.”
“I can fix it in six hours,” said a female voice, suddenly.
John only just managed not to jump. “Miss McKay.”
“Six hours,” she repeated. “If your carpenter is even halfway decent.”
“Mr. Halling is the best,” said Lorne. “And I believe the captain told you to wait below deck, Miss McKay.”
“That’s all right, Lorne,” said John. “Miss McKay, can you really have us back under sail in six hours?”
Her chin rose defiantly. “Yes, I can.”
John smiled. “Then Mr. Halling is at your disposal.”
Five hours and forty-five minutes later, John watched his crew hoist the newly-repaired mast. Lorne directed them to get all the rigging back in place, then gave the order to unfurl the sail- and John swore he felt Atlantis shudder beneath his feet as she caught the wind.
“That was astounding, Miss McKay,” he said, not bothering to hide his smile. “I can scarce believe it.”
“I said I could do it, didn’t I, captain?” she replied, challenging. Then, she looked away. “In all honesty, I expected you to stop me. After all, what would a silly girl like me know about ship engineering?”
“Quite a lot, apparently,” said John.
Miss McKay flushed faintly pink. “Oh.”
“I value courage and loyalty and intelligence much more than where a person comes from, or the color of their skin. Or what they cover with their unmentionables.”
“Captain, really!” she protested, turning pinker.
She was wearing one of the gowns that Teyla kept to be less conspicuous when they were in port, pale blue with pink flowers, and she’d tied back her hair with a scrap of sailcloth. And John suddenly realized how beautiful she was.
He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “The French ship is lost to us by now, if not lost to the sea. Would you care to join me in a game of chess?”
Miss McKay smiled. “Of course, captain.”
For the second night in a row, she found him at the ship’s railing as the moon rose. “Don’t pirates sleep?” she asked.
“Privateer,” he corrected.
She made an unladylike snort. “My apologies.”
“The mast is holding strong,” John told her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” said Miss McKay. There was a long moment of comfortable silence, both of them gazing out at the ocean. Then, she said, “I was to be married, in Boston.”
“What?” said John, surprised.
“My father never actually said that, of course,” she continued. “He said I was being sent to live with my uncle, who happens to know several ‘very nice gentlemen’ he wants to introduce me to. I’m sure Father thinks that if I marry, I’ll finally give up this ‘notion’ that I’m capable of scientific thought.”
“It’s more than a notion,” said John. “Even from just today, I know you’re the best shipwright we’ve had aboard. And certainly the prettiest.”
“I-” Miss McKay began, then scowled. “Captain, I realize that flirting comes as naturally to you as breathing, but I would appreciate if you could restrain yourself, in the future.”
“Oh,” said John, softly. He was surprised at how much such a direct rejection could hurt. “Of course. My apologies.”
“Wait,” she said. “Were you flirting with me on purpose?”
“Yes,” John admitted.
“Why?”
She sounded completely perplexed, and he wondered if anyone had ever flirted with her and meant it before. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said. “Because you’re smart, and engaging. Because you can fix a mast and beat me at chess.”
“Are those things you find attractive in a woman?” said Miss McKay.
“I find them attractive in you,” he replied.
She was silent for a moment, then said, “Meredith. That’s my given name. I would hear you say it, before I decide anything.”
“And what will my saying your name tell you, Meredith?” asked John. She shivered, and he shrugged out of his coat to drape it over her shoulders. “Are you cold?”
Miss McKay shook her head. “Say it again?”
“Meredith?”
She nodded. “Once more, if you please.”
“Meredith,” he said, then added, “John. If I’m to use your given name, you should use mine.”
“John,” she repeated, and this time, he shivered.
“Don’t go to Boston,” said John, before he could stop himself.
“And where else should I go?” Miss McKay asked.
“Anywhere,” he said. “You could go anywhere you wanted. Or… or you could stay here.”
“Here?” she repeated. “As the lovesick concubine of a pirate?”
“Privateer,” John corrected, automatically, then softened. “No. As the wife of a lovesick captain.”
“You… you love me?” Miss McKay- Meredith- asked, in a small voice.
John reached for her hand, rougher than he expected for a woman of her standing. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes, actually,” she said. “Even my parents could hardly stand my company for more than a few hours at a time, and I’ve never had a single one of my suitors- not that there were many- who cared about my personality when he could discuss my father’s business holdings. And that was if they bothered to talk to me at-”
John interrupted her with a kiss, soft and gentle. “Marry me?” he breathed, and leaned in to kiss her again.
“All right, yes,” said Meredith, when they broke for air a second time.
“Yes, what?” asked John, too distracted by how blue her eyes were at so close a distance to remember his own question.
Meredith kissed him again. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Idiot.”
John knew his grin was ridiculous, but he didn’t care. “Love you,” he muttered.
“Some pirate you are,” Meredith scoffed, smiling.
“Privateer,” John corrected, and kissed her again.
Who’s Who
John Sheppard as captain of the Atlantis
Rodney McKay as Meredith McKay, an upper-class lady/ship-builder
Evan Lorne as a member of the Atlantis crew
Ronon Dex as a member of the Atlantis crew
Aidan Ford as a member of the Atlantis crew
Teyla Emmagan as a member of the Atlantis crew, a Native American
David Parrish as a member of the Atlantis crew
Chuck as the lookout of the Atlantis
Halling as the carpenter of the Atlantis
Chapter Seven
Current Mood:
crappy
Author: Ami Ven
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,400
Prompt: mcsheplets challenge #052 ‘destiny’
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing(s): John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Summary: John is a pirate privateer and Rodney is a lady shipwright.
Chapter Six: Privateers
Warning! This chapter contains brief mention of historically-accurate racism, which none of the main characters believe.
Somewhere off the English coast
1671 A.D.
John Sheppard, captain of the privateer Atlantis, stood on the quarterdeck, watching the debris tumble past his ship, bobbing along on the rough waves.
“Definitely a wreck,” said Ronon, coming up to stand beside him. “Lots of crates, but that’s from a hull.”
A large chunk of barnacle-covered wood floated by, and John nodded. “Anything worth salvaging?”
Ronon shrugged, and they both continued watching the water.
“Sir!” cried a voice. Ford raced up to them, his single remaining eye wide. “Sir, there’s somebody in the water!”
“Alive?” John asked, and Ford nodded. “Then get him out!”
John’s men scrambled to throw ropes over the side, and moments later, they had hauled a bedraggled bundle of fabric onto the deck. After a heartbeat, John realized it was actually a woman, soaked skirts tangled around her legs and hair plastered to her face.
Lorne, Atlantis’s de facto first mate, crouched to help her, but she slapped his hands away. “Get off! Don’t you touch me! I know what you are, in a ship like this! You’re- you’re pirates!”
“What’s wrong with my ship?” John growled, but Ford said, “Technically, ma’am, we’re privateers.”
The woman fixed him with a withering stare. “Oh, that makes me feel so much better. Does that mean you had a reason for attacking the Prometheus?”
“We didn’t attack your ship,” said John. “We just came upon the debris and picked you up. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Oh,” said the woman. She looked around her, as though seeing Atlantis for the first time. “Yes, I suppose you did. I only got a brief glimpse of the ship that attacked us, but it didn’t have rigging anything like yours… So, thank you.”
John nodded. “You’d better get out of those wet clothes, Miss…?”
“McKay. Meredith McKay. And if you think I’m going to undress in front of a boat full of-”
“It’s a ship, Miss McKay,” John interrupted. “And I don’t think that at all. Teyla, our guest can use my cabin.”
“Aye, captain,” said Teyla, with a nod.
“Captain?” Miss McKay repeated.
John tipped his hat. “Captain Sheppard, of Atlantis, at your service.”
He watched Teyla help Miss McKay to her feet. The woman stared, and John fought a smile- Teyla was an American savage (not that his crew thought that, she was the most dignified and cultured of them all, for all that she could trounce any of them in a fight) and continued to wear the buckskin breeches she preferred, along with a silk waistcoat that revealed rather more bare skin than an English woman would have dared.
John hardly noticed, anymore.
“Any other salvage?” he asked, when his cabin door had closed behind the two women.
“A few odds and ends,” said Ford. “We’ll store them in the hold when we’ve got it all aboard.”
“Excellent,” said John. “Carry on.”
He retreated to the quarterdeck again, gazing out at the sea. As the sky began to turn pink and orange, Ford returned to report that they’d retrieved six crates of mostly-edible foodstuffs, a crate of sailcloth and canvas thread, and a small chest of paper and ink, but no other survivors.
“Should I tell Miss McKay?” Ford asked.
John shook his head. “I’ll do it. I should properly welcome her aboard, anyway.”
Ford saluted, something John had yet to break him of, and John headed for his cabin. He knocked, lightly. “Miss McKay?”
She opened the door. “Captain?”
“May I come in?”
“It’s your room,” she said.
John shook his head. “As long as you’re our guest, it’s yours. The bottom desk drawer is locked and will remain so, but anything else is yours to use. May I come in?”
“What? Yes, of course.”
John took off his hat, and entered. Teyla had found Miss McKay a clean gown, of a pale blue fabric that made John suddenly realize just how blue her eyes were. He coughed and looked away. “Miss McKay,” he said. “My men report that there were no other survivors from your ship. You have our condolences.”
“What?” she said, again. “No, I hardly knew them. “I’m sure they were good men, capable sailors and whatnot, but I was only a passenger.”
“What was your destination?”
“The Americas. I have an uncle there and I… I was being sent to live with him.”
“I’m afraid we’re not going that far,” said John. “And we won’t be returning to any port for some time, yet. You shall be our guest until then.”
“Guest,” repeated Miss McKay. “You mean prisoner.”
“No, I mean guest,” said John. “You’re free to go where you please, speak to whom you please. But try not to interfere with the ship’s running. I’ll have Teyla bring you something to eat. Good night.”
John ate his own supper quickly, in the crews’ mess after the others had finished, and went back up onto the deck, watching the stars come out. He heard the swish of fabric behind him, but didn’t turn.
“You have flowers on your ship,” said Miss McKay, without preamble. “You have window boxes, with flowers in them.”
“Mr. Parrish grows them,” said John. “He also grows the herbs we use to cook.”
Miss McKay came to stand beside him at the rail. “Miss Teyla says you saved her life. As does Mr. Dex, Mr. Lorne… They all respect you greatly.”
“Because I respect them,” said John, glancing sideways at her.
“Yes, I can see that,” she said, then looked at him, hard. “You really mean to let me go ashore at the next port?”
“On my word,” said John. “Even a privateer is not without honor. Perhaps the queen could never say that we are serving our country, but even Her Majesty can see how much England needs us.”
“I see,” said Miss McKay, slowly. “Thank you for the conversation. Good night, Captain Sheppard.”
John set up a hammock on the deck, and his sleep was easy- but short. He was woken before even he was customarily up by Miss McKay, clutching his own battered chess set.
“Do you play?” she demanded, instead of saying ‘good morning’.
John rolled out of his hammock with practiced ease and reached for his coat. “I do.”
He had only won one game out of three, sitting on coils of sail rigging up on the deck, when Chuck, in the crow’s nest, cried, “To starboard! A ship!”
“What colors?” John demanded.
“French, sir!” said Chuck.
“Excellent,” said John. “Bring us around, Mr. Lorne. Miss McKay, it would be best if you stayed in my cabin.”
“You’re not going to attack them,” she protested.
“Yes, I am,” said John, calmly. “That is a French merchant ship, Miss McKay, bringing French goods to the Frenchmen fighting our English troops. If I can sink her, the enemy will be deprived of vital supplies. If I can capture her, our boys can use their own supplies against them.”
“That… that makes a certain amount of sense,” Miss McKay admitted. “But aren’t they armed?”
John smiled. “Of course they are, ma’am. That’s what makes this fun.”
He waited until the cabin door had closed behind her, then began shouting orders. Looking across the deck, John could hardly tell which of his men had once served in Her Majesty’s navy. Even Teyla now moved like she’d been born to the sea, though John knew for a fact that she’d never seen a European ship before the one that had destroyed her village.
“Gun crews ready, sir,” said Lorne, coming up beside him. “The French ship has spotted us. She’s the Prospérité and she outguns us, but we have the greater range and the wind appears to be on our side.”
“Then let’s use it,” said John. “Have the gun crews fire as soon as we’re within range, then turn us bow-on to them, present a smaller target. Have Teyla and Ford collect a boarding party.”
“Aye, sir!” said Lorne.
The crew of the French ship was inexperienced or incompetent, or both. While the Atlantis swung around for another broadside pass, the French guns fired at random and only landed a few lucky hits.
Then, the winds shifted. The Prospérité’s sails billowed and she leaped away from Atlantis, trailing broken planks and jagged debris.
“Status, Mr. Lorne!” John bellowed.
“The frogs are badly hurt, sir,” his first mate reported. “At least three of our shots hit them at the water line- they’ll have to dump some of their cargo if they want to make it back to France in one piece.”
“And us?” John prompted.
“We lost the secondary mast. It cracked evenly, or so Mr. Halling says, and he should be able to repair it.
“How long?”
“A day, at least,” said Lorne. “If he doesn’t need more timber.”
“I can fix it in six hours,” said a female voice, suddenly.
John only just managed not to jump. “Miss McKay.”
“Six hours,” she repeated. “If your carpenter is even halfway decent.”
“Mr. Halling is the best,” said Lorne. “And I believe the captain told you to wait below deck, Miss McKay.”
“That’s all right, Lorne,” said John. “Miss McKay, can you really have us back under sail in six hours?”
Her chin rose defiantly. “Yes, I can.”
John smiled. “Then Mr. Halling is at your disposal.”
Five hours and forty-five minutes later, John watched his crew hoist the newly-repaired mast. Lorne directed them to get all the rigging back in place, then gave the order to unfurl the sail- and John swore he felt Atlantis shudder beneath his feet as she caught the wind.
“That was astounding, Miss McKay,” he said, not bothering to hide his smile. “I can scarce believe it.”
“I said I could do it, didn’t I, captain?” she replied, challenging. Then, she looked away. “In all honesty, I expected you to stop me. After all, what would a silly girl like me know about ship engineering?”
“Quite a lot, apparently,” said John.
Miss McKay flushed faintly pink. “Oh.”
“I value courage and loyalty and intelligence much more than where a person comes from, or the color of their skin. Or what they cover with their unmentionables.”
“Captain, really!” she protested, turning pinker.
She was wearing one of the gowns that Teyla kept to be less conspicuous when they were in port, pale blue with pink flowers, and she’d tied back her hair with a scrap of sailcloth. And John suddenly realized how beautiful she was.
He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “The French ship is lost to us by now, if not lost to the sea. Would you care to join me in a game of chess?”
Miss McKay smiled. “Of course, captain.”
For the second night in a row, she found him at the ship’s railing as the moon rose. “Don’t pirates sleep?” she asked.
“Privateer,” he corrected.
She made an unladylike snort. “My apologies.”
“The mast is holding strong,” John told her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” said Miss McKay. There was a long moment of comfortable silence, both of them gazing out at the ocean. Then, she said, “I was to be married, in Boston.”
“What?” said John, surprised.
“My father never actually said that, of course,” she continued. “He said I was being sent to live with my uncle, who happens to know several ‘very nice gentlemen’ he wants to introduce me to. I’m sure Father thinks that if I marry, I’ll finally give up this ‘notion’ that I’m capable of scientific thought.”
“It’s more than a notion,” said John. “Even from just today, I know you’re the best shipwright we’ve had aboard. And certainly the prettiest.”
“I-” Miss McKay began, then scowled. “Captain, I realize that flirting comes as naturally to you as breathing, but I would appreciate if you could restrain yourself, in the future.”
“Oh,” said John, softly. He was surprised at how much such a direct rejection could hurt. “Of course. My apologies.”
“Wait,” she said. “Were you flirting with me on purpose?”
“Yes,” John admitted.
“Why?”
She sounded completely perplexed, and he wondered if anyone had ever flirted with her and meant it before. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said. “Because you’re smart, and engaging. Because you can fix a mast and beat me at chess.”
“Are those things you find attractive in a woman?” said Miss McKay.
“I find them attractive in you,” he replied.
She was silent for a moment, then said, “Meredith. That’s my given name. I would hear you say it, before I decide anything.”
“And what will my saying your name tell you, Meredith?” asked John. She shivered, and he shrugged out of his coat to drape it over her shoulders. “Are you cold?”
Miss McKay shook her head. “Say it again?”
“Meredith?”
She nodded. “Once more, if you please.”
“Meredith,” he said, then added, “John. If I’m to use your given name, you should use mine.”
“John,” she repeated, and this time, he shivered.
“Don’t go to Boston,” said John, before he could stop himself.
“And where else should I go?” Miss McKay asked.
“Anywhere,” he said. “You could go anywhere you wanted. Or… or you could stay here.”
“Here?” she repeated. “As the lovesick concubine of a pirate?”
“Privateer,” John corrected, automatically, then softened. “No. As the wife of a lovesick captain.”
“You… you love me?” Miss McKay- Meredith- asked, in a small voice.
John reached for her hand, rougher than he expected for a woman of her standing. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes, actually,” she said. “Even my parents could hardly stand my company for more than a few hours at a time, and I’ve never had a single one of my suitors- not that there were many- who cared about my personality when he could discuss my father’s business holdings. And that was if they bothered to talk to me at-”
John interrupted her with a kiss, soft and gentle. “Marry me?” he breathed, and leaned in to kiss her again.
“All right, yes,” said Meredith, when they broke for air a second time.
“Yes, what?” asked John, too distracted by how blue her eyes were at so close a distance to remember his own question.
Meredith kissed him again. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Idiot.”
John knew his grin was ridiculous, but he didn’t care. “Love you,” he muttered.
“Some pirate you are,” Meredith scoffed, smiling.
“Privateer,” John corrected, and kissed her again.
Who’s Who
John Sheppard as captain of the Atlantis
Rodney McKay as Meredith McKay, an upper-class lady/ship-builder
Evan Lorne as a member of the Atlantis crew
Ronon Dex as a member of the Atlantis crew
Aidan Ford as a member of the Atlantis crew
Teyla Emmagan as a member of the Atlantis crew, a Native American
David Parrish as a member of the Atlantis crew
Chuck as the lookout of the Atlantis
Halling as the carpenter of the Atlantis
Chapter Seven
Current Mood:
crappy