fic: "Take The Heat" [Stargate: Atlantis, John/Teyla, PG-13]
Title: Take The Heat
Author: Tielan
Rating: PG-13
Category: AU, fluff, UST
Word Count: ~ 1,500
Summary: There are some things that even celebrity chef John Sheppard can't make palatable!
Author's Notes: I wasn't originally signed-up to write for this prompt, but as far as I can see, no-one else has, so I thought I'd bite! The prompt was 'Cooking up something spicy - Interesting things can come from two cooks in the kitchen' and I have played rather fast and loose with it, just for fun!
Take The Heat
The last thing John wanted on his show was a guest. Unfortunately, at the Stargate network, he discovered that there were some things that not even John Sheppard could make palatable.
"I don't baby-sit celebrities," he complained to his mother over the phone.
"Did you tell them that?"
He tossed a beanbag through his basketball hoop, and punched one fist in the air as he scored. "Of course, I did. They're not biting." He'd gone as high as he could go, beyond Elizabeth Weir, his program's directing manager; past Sam Carter, the network programming chief, all the way up to Jack O'Neill who was, as far as the Stargate network was concerned, God Almighty when it came to the programs.
O'Neill was characteristically blunt. "We need the ratings. She's got them. It'll be good PR." Dark eyes had measured John shrewdly. "You can't tell me that working with that will be a hardship?"
Given that 'that' was the hottest face and body on the Hollywood A-list, most men wouldn't have argued.
Given that John was accustomed to hotties throwing themselves at him - even if he never did see it coming, for all Rodney's sniffs and Elizabeth's sighs - John would have argued, except that he'd pretty soon seen that O'Neill wasn't going to budge on this.
"Maybe you should have gone into the AF after all," came a snarky comment in the background of the phone call. "Sounds just like. The big brass sayeth and the little brass obeyeth."
John winced. "Okay, I deserved that."
"Damn straight you did," said Jerry Sheppard dryly, even as his wife shushed him.
"Well, she seems nice enough in her interviews, John. Just be yourself and she'll probably be falling all over you within minutes."
John sincerely doubted that.
He was right.
--
In John's experience in the TV industry, guests on shows turned up late.
Which was why the Monday morning eight-thirty production meeting wasn't held earlier or delayed.
"We've got a number of choices for what you can cook with her," Elizabeth said, briskly. "Apparently she's got a big interest in traditional African foods - her background is part Tanzanian, part French Canadian - but her manager said she would run with whatever we had."
John glanced up from the pad of paper that had been sitting blankly before him for the last fifteen minutes of the meeting. Sure, he was going through with this, but that didn't mean he was going to like it. "Roasted Spice Goat Curry," he said. "With basmati pilaf rice, I think. And palm seed jelly for dessert."
In the moment of silence that followed, he could hear the steam bubbling up in Rodney's brain even before the explosion a moment later.
"Have you lost your mind? Where are we going to find goat in this town? And palm seeds? And what if the recipe calls for lemon? What are we going to do then?"
John smirked at Rodney. "Then we leave the lemon out," he said, trying to make it sound simple and knowing it wasn't that easy. Cooking was like the teamwork his dad always went on about - a delicate balance of flavours and effects bound together in a whole. Synergy - the whole being greater than the sum of the parts.
"Leave it out--?"
Rodney was interrupted by Elizabeth's admonitory, "John," which was her preface for all the reasons why 'Roasted Spice Goat Curry' was a bad idea, starting with the fact that they didn't even know if Ms. Emmagan would be up for cooking such a dish, when there was a brief, brisk knock at the door. "Come in!"
A moment later Chuck poked his head into the conference room. "Uh, ma'am?" He looked at Elizabeth. "Ms. Emmagan's here."
"Already?" Rodney expostulated. "But we haven't even finished the meeting!"
"Well, I could probably ask her to wait, but her bodyguard's making noises about running a security search through the building and--"
He got no further as Elizabeth rose, made an imperious gesture of 'follow me' to John and strode out.
"Goat curry," John told Rodney. "You'll rise to the occasion."
"I'm not made of dough," grumbled Rodney. "And you're no hand at baking, anyway."
John's first impression of Teyla Emmagan was casual elegance - sprawled in the waiting lounge off Studio A, with her head propped up on one hand as she flipped through Vogue magazine with absent-minded interest. Sleek and slim in jeans and a V-necked top, she looked a far cry from the fashionably dressed, jewellery-bedecked star of the red carpet - just another woman.
She glanced up as they came in, her eyes flickered from Chuck to Elizabeth to John, and John felt an odd lurch of his world as the dark eyes took his measure.
Then she rose, flashing a brief smile of thanks - or charm - at Chuck.
"Ms. Emmagan," Elizabeth was first in with the handshake and the effusive greetings, giving John a moment to recover from the stomach-turning jolt he'd received at seeing the actress in the flesh. "I'm Elizabeth Weir, director of programming for Take The Heat.' We're so pleased to have you on our show."
Even as John silently thought that she could speak for herself on that point, Ms. Emmagan glanced beyond Elizabeth with a dark-lashed gaze and a dimple formed in one cheek. "Mr. Sheppard does not seem so enthused."
John wondered just how the hell a man explained that a woman had thrown him for a loop, leaving his palms sweaty, his heart racing, and with a bad case of instant crush on his hands. "Mr. Sheppard is just a little surprised. You're shorter than you look on TV, Ms. Emmagan."
Her mouth twitched. "It's the heels," she said demurely. "They give me height."
"Well, it's good you left them behind. Heels aren't any good in a kitchen." John surveyed her, using the long glance to check her out as well as estimate her height. We'll have to see about getting you a box, though."
This time, she laughed - a broad, open sound that slipped smoothly across John's ears like fingers across bare skin. "Will the height difference be particularly difficult, do you think, Ms. Weir?"
To give Elizabeth her due, she only hesitated a moment. "I think we'll manage to accommodate it. We've certainly had greater obstacles to overcome in the past." The glance she gave John suggested that his still-not-entirely-enthusiastic reception of Ms. Emmagan hadn't gone unnoticed. "If you'll come this way...we were just in a meeting when you arrived."
"Ah." There was a lot of meaning in one syllable, John noted. "I have interrupted you, then?"
John stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled as innocuously as he could manage. "As a matter of fact, we were just discussing what we'd cook during your episode. Got any problems with roast goat?"
One eyebrow rose. So did the corners of her mouth. "I do not believe that roast goat is one of your customary specialties, Mr. Sheppard."
"You watch my show?"
"It would be foolish to offer to guest on a show without having watched any episodes of the show."
"Good point." John motioned the way in. "But you don't have any objection to roast goat?"
"I have no objection to spicy food." The dimple dipped deep again as she passed him, glancing briefly at Elizabeth, presumably to check that it was okay before she turned to John in the flood-lit corridor that led down to the meeting room. "It will be spicy, won't it?"
"It'd be appropriate for a program by the name of Take The Heat,' wouldn't it, Ms. Emmagan?" John said, meeting her smile and noting the way her bodyguard fell in close behind them, a looming presence without a word to say.
"That was my thought," she said. "And if we are to work together, I'd like to be called Teyla."
"Then I'd like to be called John." He held out his hand.
Her grip was firm and electric, palm against palm. Her eyes lifted to his, and he caught the gleam of something heated stirring between them. The only reason John realised he'd flushed was that the air felt cool against his skin when her bodyguard made a faint motion with his head, swinging finger-thick dreadlocks like a silent weapon, and they started walking again.
Elizabeth took over with some comment about the show and the procedures, but although John didn't participate in this part of the conversation, his attention was most definitely on his guest star.
He had a strong feeling that this episode of Take The Heat' definitely wasn't going to be one that was kept solely in the kitchen.
- fin -