(no subject)
Title: The Crackpots and These Women
Author
caladria
Rating: G
Pairing: none
Summary: Sam and Teyla, conversation under fire.
Notes: Title stolen from the West Wing. Concrit not only welcome, but very welcome.
Another blast flies over her head, and Sam can’t help but grin. She shouldn’t, by all rights, have ever have ended up in a combat situation again - at least, not one that didn’t threaten Atlantis itself, but here she is. She can’t say she’s particularly sorry - all of General O’Neill’s whining about not getting shot at has seemed more reasonable lately.
She glances to her right - Teyla takes aim and fires - one of the men drop to the ground (not Wraith; she’s never met anything so horrific to stop humans spilling human blood stupidly). It’ll give them a moment’s reprieve, nothing more. They’re both crouched behind a ruin of a wall - Sheppard is somewhere, their jammed radio frequencies stopping any contact.
Sam surveys the terrain, and then signals that she’ll cover Teyla, marking out another collapsed room as their target. If they keep on going like this, they might make it to the Gate sometime early next week, but it’s better than nothing. Teyla nods, then runs.
Sam concentrates on the enemy, but eventually when no covering fire for her turns up, she starts to worry. Teyla should be there by now, but Sam can’t see her from her position - that’s one of the reasons she picked it.
And then the familiar fire of the Air Force weaponry can be heard, and Sam is too busy running - really, working out has got nothing on an offworld team and she can feel her lungs burning over the short stretch and her ears ringing from her own weapon, but if McKay can do it ‑
She nearly trips over the unmoving body as she enters the relative safety of the abandoned, three walled room.
“My apologies, Colonel Carter.”
Sam looks between the body - without a single mark on him - and Teyla. “That could come in useful,” she comments, letting the humour pass her by without mention. Her amusement is probably obvious - she never could hide that. She thinks fleetingly of a Jaffa in galaxy far, far away and his deadpan ways.
Teyla regards her for a second, an undercurrent passing across her face that Sam can’t read yet. It’ll come eventually, but it’s frustrating after so many years with Daniel and Teal’c. “I do not believe that now would be the best time for a demonstration,” the other woman says, completely deadpan.
Sam grins openly this time, and then fires in short staccato bursts to prevent any of the men approaching closer. They’re looking more wary now, more inclined to run and she’ll let them if she can. “My timing could be better,” she admits, a little flippantly for her but damn, she’s missed this.
Teyla hits someone in the leg - for all that she’s only been playing with Earth weapons for three years, she’s a good shot. Sam suspects long practice as well as natural talent, but knows she’ll never ask.
They watch - both of them, together - as the people in the clearing in front of them start to back off a little. Apparently the possible gain from this is looking less and less attractive.
Movement from behind them draws their attention to the man Teyla knocked out before. He’s starting to wake up. Just before he reaches for his weapon, Teyla hits him over the head and he collapses again - just like in the movies.
“I did that to a General, once,” Sam comments, trusting Teyla to keep him quiet keeping her sights trained on the what now appears to be a half dozen brave idiots.
“General O’Neill?” Teyla asks, with a glance. She has a respect for the man that Sam is oddly delighted in - it was possibly their only point in common when Sam arrived in Atlantis, but it probably has more to do with her own respect for him. It’s just that hers is just tempered with affection and the occasional desire to hit him over the head with a fishing pole until he stops being so damn irritating.
“General Hammond. I bit General O’Neill.” When she thinks about it, her record of assaulting superior officers probably has the IOA scared mindless. She can feel Teyla watching her, deciding whether she’s exaggerating or not. “He was a colonel then.” In a lot of ways they’re her bragging rights - her proof that she’s not the by-the-book officer that Atlantis probably had fears of being inflicted with - though she has a feeling that the Athosian woman beside her will be more swayed by future actions than past, she still feels the need to point it out. It’s a bad habit, but long ingrained.
Sam irrationally wonders if anyone else has a life as weird as hers.
Teyla’s eyes are on their attackers as she reloads her weapon without really looking at Sam, giving her no hint as to how her words have sunk in. The men in the field did nothing - nothing productive anyway. They’re arguing about something or other, but as long as they’re arguing about dismembering them instead of actually trying to do it, Sam doesn’t care. She tries her best to not let the most vocal one remind her of McKay, and fails miserably.
“They’re a committee,” she surmises wryly.
“I believe we may be safe,” Teyla responds, a second before the whine of the ‘Jumper reaches Sam’s ears. Sam opens her mouth to respond, then closes it; not sure what has just been said about what. Instead, she watches all the men she’s marked head back, away from sight as the ‘Jumper completes a pass.
“Colonel Carter, Teyla,” comes the voice of Sheppard. “Your carriage awaits.”
“What - are you going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight?” can be heard from McKay in the background.
She exchanges a glance with Teyla, the corner of her mouth turning up the way she never could stop it from doing, then rises, heading towards the newly landed craft just as the rear door drops.
As Sam steps into the Jumper a second after Teyla, Sheppard turns to them and suggests, “Knight in shining Kevlar?” continuing a discussion that neither she nor Teyla has been privy to.
McKay scoffs and mutters, “Oh, please, that is so…”
Teyla regards Sam for a second, then gives her a nod of acknowledgement. “I do not think that we require rescuing, John,” she says finally, taking her customary seat.
The words and look might have been cryptic, but she thinks she might be starting to understand. “Take us back home, Sheppard.”
Author
caladria
Rating: G
Pairing: none
Summary: Sam and Teyla, conversation under fire.
Notes: Title stolen from the West Wing. Concrit not only welcome, but very welcome.
Another blast flies over her head, and Sam can’t help but grin. She shouldn’t, by all rights, have ever have ended up in a combat situation again - at least, not one that didn’t threaten Atlantis itself, but here she is. She can’t say she’s particularly sorry - all of General O’Neill’s whining about not getting shot at has seemed more reasonable lately.
She glances to her right - Teyla takes aim and fires - one of the men drop to the ground (not Wraith; she’s never met anything so horrific to stop humans spilling human blood stupidly). It’ll give them a moment’s reprieve, nothing more. They’re both crouched behind a ruin of a wall - Sheppard is somewhere, their jammed radio frequencies stopping any contact.
Sam surveys the terrain, and then signals that she’ll cover Teyla, marking out another collapsed room as their target. If they keep on going like this, they might make it to the Gate sometime early next week, but it’s better than nothing. Teyla nods, then runs.
Sam concentrates on the enemy, but eventually when no covering fire for her turns up, she starts to worry. Teyla should be there by now, but Sam can’t see her from her position - that’s one of the reasons she picked it.
And then the familiar fire of the Air Force weaponry can be heard, and Sam is too busy running - really, working out has got nothing on an offworld team and she can feel her lungs burning over the short stretch and her ears ringing from her own weapon, but if McKay can do it ‑
She nearly trips over the unmoving body as she enters the relative safety of the abandoned, three walled room.
“My apologies, Colonel Carter.”
Sam looks between the body - without a single mark on him - and Teyla. “That could come in useful,” she comments, letting the humour pass her by without mention. Her amusement is probably obvious - she never could hide that. She thinks fleetingly of a Jaffa in galaxy far, far away and his deadpan ways.
Teyla regards her for a second, an undercurrent passing across her face that Sam can’t read yet. It’ll come eventually, but it’s frustrating after so many years with Daniel and Teal’c. “I do not believe that now would be the best time for a demonstration,” the other woman says, completely deadpan.
Sam grins openly this time, and then fires in short staccato bursts to prevent any of the men approaching closer. They’re looking more wary now, more inclined to run and she’ll let them if she can. “My timing could be better,” she admits, a little flippantly for her but damn, she’s missed this.
Teyla hits someone in the leg - for all that she’s only been playing with Earth weapons for three years, she’s a good shot. Sam suspects long practice as well as natural talent, but knows she’ll never ask.
They watch - both of them, together - as the people in the clearing in front of them start to back off a little. Apparently the possible gain from this is looking less and less attractive.
Movement from behind them draws their attention to the man Teyla knocked out before. He’s starting to wake up. Just before he reaches for his weapon, Teyla hits him over the head and he collapses again - just like in the movies.
“I did that to a General, once,” Sam comments, trusting Teyla to keep him quiet keeping her sights trained on the what now appears to be a half dozen brave idiots.
“General O’Neill?” Teyla asks, with a glance. She has a respect for the man that Sam is oddly delighted in - it was possibly their only point in common when Sam arrived in Atlantis, but it probably has more to do with her own respect for him. It’s just that hers is just tempered with affection and the occasional desire to hit him over the head with a fishing pole until he stops being so damn irritating.
“General Hammond. I bit General O’Neill.” When she thinks about it, her record of assaulting superior officers probably has the IOA scared mindless. She can feel Teyla watching her, deciding whether she’s exaggerating or not. “He was a colonel then.” In a lot of ways they’re her bragging rights - her proof that she’s not the by-the-book officer that Atlantis probably had fears of being inflicted with - though she has a feeling that the Athosian woman beside her will be more swayed by future actions than past, she still feels the need to point it out. It’s a bad habit, but long ingrained.
Sam irrationally wonders if anyone else has a life as weird as hers.
Teyla’s eyes are on their attackers as she reloads her weapon without really looking at Sam, giving her no hint as to how her words have sunk in. The men in the field did nothing - nothing productive anyway. They’re arguing about something or other, but as long as they’re arguing about dismembering them instead of actually trying to do it, Sam doesn’t care. She tries her best to not let the most vocal one remind her of McKay, and fails miserably.
“They’re a committee,” she surmises wryly.
“I believe we may be safe,” Teyla responds, a second before the whine of the ‘Jumper reaches Sam’s ears. Sam opens her mouth to respond, then closes it; not sure what has just been said about what. Instead, she watches all the men she’s marked head back, away from sight as the ‘Jumper completes a pass.
“Colonel Carter, Teyla,” comes the voice of Sheppard. “Your carriage awaits.”
“What - are you going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight?” can be heard from McKay in the background.
She exchanges a glance with Teyla, the corner of her mouth turning up the way she never could stop it from doing, then rises, heading towards the newly landed craft just as the rear door drops.
As Sam steps into the Jumper a second after Teyla, Sheppard turns to them and suggests, “Knight in shining Kevlar?” continuing a discussion that neither she nor Teyla has been privy to.
McKay scoffs and mutters, “Oh, please, that is so…”
Teyla regards Sam for a second, then gives her a nod of acknowledgement. “I do not think that we require rescuing, John,” she says finally, taking her customary seat.
The words and look might have been cryptic, but she thinks she might be starting to understand. “Take us back home, Sheppard.”