Fic: Season For All Things (General)
Recipient: with_apostrophe
Title: Season For All Things
Author: kat_lair
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~2500
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing.
Category: Gen, Team-Fic, partial AU (connection with Earth never re-established)
Summary: To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven ~ Ecclesiastes 3:1
Author notes: I tried to incorporate as many of the requested elements as I could so I hope you like your secret santa fic! The four section titles are quotes from various sources, referenced at the end. Many thanks to inkblot_fiend for thorough and speedy beta.
Season For All Things
bar thine adamantine doors(1)
The wind howls like it’s hungry for a fight and Ronon gives it exactly what it wants, hunching his shoulders and pushing forward. The air in his lungs is frozen and sharp, ice forming at the corners of his lips, his dreads heavy and hard like armour of crystallised water.
Powdery snow whips around them, obscuring vision and messing with the other senses until it’s difficult to tell up from down. He grips the handle of the make-shift sledge tighter. Inside Rodney and Teyla are silent, huddled together for warmth under their gear, worn backpacks teetering on the top.
Teyla returns his look, eyes narrow slits, Rodney’s unconscious form slumped over her lap. Her fingers are pressed against his pulse, and as long as she doesn’t say anything Ronon knows it’s still beating.
They should be running, but it’s impossible in these conditions. Behind him Ronon can feel Sheppard stumble, tripping over holes in the ground or his own feet. He’s bleeding and if it were up to Ronon he would have made Sheppard sit inside the sleigh too, but you don’t disobey your leader unless it’s necessary. It’s not quite necessary yet so instead he just stops, letting Sheppard lean against his back until he regains his balance, cursing softly.
Finally the Gate looms to sight, appearing out of the storm like the mouth of a beast. Ronon unwraps his hands from the wooden pole, fingers stiff and protesting. The DHD is slick with ice and for a while he thinks the cold is too much even for Ancestor technology, but then the first button lights up and Ronon punches in the symbols, never hesitating over the order.
Even the swoosh of the wormhole activating feels subdued, the event horizon shimmering in the frigid air. There’s a rustle of cloth and Ronon whips around, gun drawn, but it’s only Sheppard, digging through his vest for the G.D.O., movements slow and sluggish. He fumbles with the keys, sways against Teyla, her arms already up and braised to catch him. The bloodstain on Sheppard’s side is darker and larger than it was when they escaped the ambush, carrying Rodney between them.
Ronon snatches the device from Sheppard, inserting his own iris code quickly, and then they’re drudging up the platform, across space and into the gateroom, the sledge ridiculously out of place amid the light and warmth of Atlantis.
Teyla is struggling out from under the blankets, calling for help, pulling Rodney up with her. Ronon sees Sheppard take two steps toward them before he collapses, going down just as Carson’s people burst through the door, all calm efficiency and they’re home, they’re safe, no one got left behind.
Dr. Weir is running down the stairs, reaching them just seconds after the medical team. “What happened?” she asks, her hands small on Ronon’s shoulders.
Ronon sits down heavily, like that little bit of added weight is finally too much. “The Telarians don’t want to trade. They were very clear about that.” He’s dripping melting snow on to the steps, grey water pooling around his feet and soaking into the material of Dr. Weir’s clothes where she’s kneeling by him.
Then Dr. Beckett is there, patting and prodding and bullying Ronon onto a stretcher. He lies down even though he doesn’t really need to - it’s just good to be able to. The rest of his team are being lifted onto their own gurneys, and the mission may have been unsuccessful, but at least they’re ending it the way they started it. Together.
***
to have loved, to have thought, to have done(2)
“No. No, no, no, and also no.”
“That’s your answer to everything.”
“No, it’s not.”
Sheppard smirks, raising his eyebrows pointedly.
“Oh, very mature. Ha ha.” Rodney waves his arms around in an inadequate illustration of exactly what he thinks of Major Smart Ass’ level of intellectual development.
It’s not that Rodney doesn’t see the necessity of it all, because he does. After experiencing yet another concussion courtesy of a Telarian slingshot, Rodney fully appreciates the benefits of not having to traipse around the Galaxy in mostly unfruitful and potentially deadly search for trading partners.
Besides, the flika beans they got from the swamp planet make everyone piss green and even after a month it’s still an unpleasant jolt to the system first thing in the morning.
So yes, in theory Rodney is one-hundred-and-ten percent in favour of independent food production. It’s just that in practice this seems to include an unduly amount of menial labour and high probability of mucking in the dirt.
Rodney shares this observation with his team.
Ronon cups a huge paw around the back of his neck, affecting a wide-eyed look of mock hurt. “Aww, McKay. You don’t want to come out and play with us?”
Sheppard snorts and Teyla is hiding a smile under all that bland benevolence, Rodney can tell.
Ronon’s been working on his sarcasm lately and Rodney is not going to be the one to tell him that his stature automatically voids every attempt of subtlety. He huffs irritably, ducking away from under Ronon’s hand.
“Oh my god, do you want to go out and dig ditches or plant a goddamn orchard in that?” Rodney flings out an arm in a wide arch like a circus director, gesturing toward the glass doors of the balcony.
They all turn to stare in an almost choreographed fashion. Teyla purses her lips together and sighs softly. Ronon doesn’t say a word but the rigid line of his shoulders hasn’t relaxed for so long Rodney’s own back is aching in sympathy.
“Well,” Sheppard remarks after a minute during which they contemplate the Armageddon-like weather in glum silence. “You may have a valid point there, McKay.”
The view outside is that of an almost solid wall of water. To say it’s raining is an understatement of such vast proportions that Rodney doubts even he could accurately calculate them. It’s almost like the Atlantis has been submerged again, except without the alien sea monsters. Though if some sort of Leviathan were to swim past the windows, Rodney wouldn’t be that surprised.
“It is spring time,” Teyla says, but she doesn’t sound entirely convinced of the fact.
Sheppard, however, seizes the thought with enthusiasm. “Exactly!” He rubs his hands together briskly. “You’ll be skipping through sunshine and flowery meadows soon, you’ll see!”
Rodney very much doubts he will. Not if he has any choice in the matter, anyway.
“In the meanwhile, you should get busy with the planning. We’ll help. After all, team honour is at stake here.”
“What?” Rodney doesn’t much like the self-satisfied look Sheppard is sporting, like he knows something Rodney doesn’t.
“Oh, didn’t you know? Elizabeth is pitching a competition for the best design. There was a lot of talk about sustainable agriculture and community spirit.” Sheppard leans closer, drawing Ronon and Teyla into the circle until they’re all huddled together. Then he whispers: “I hear Radek already recruited Pierson. And Baranyai.”
Rodney’s eyes narrow. That backstabbing Czech bastard!
“That backstabbing Czech bastard!” he declares, glaring at the others. “Come on people, we don’t have time to waste standing around twiddling our thumbs.”
He makes shooing motions. “Ronon, go get my laptop from the lab. Oh, and the blue folder from the bottom drawer, the one marked Open and Die. Teyla, you talk to Laurie. He’s got a massive crush on you so he’ll do whatever you want and if we get him we’ll get Jacobsen too and together they can probably make stone sprout something green.”
“And you,” Rodney pokes Sheppard in the chest. “You exercise some of that black ops training you always brag about and find out who else Radek has talked into joining him.”
Rodney glances at his watch. “We’ll meet in my quarters- No, too obvious, I bet Zelenka has bugged it already and I don’t have time to do a proper sweep right now - We’ll meet in Teyla’s rooms in fifteen minutes.”
He looks up to see his team mates watching him with identical expressions, amusement and excitement warring on their faces. Rodney frowns. “What are you waiting for? A hand-graved invitation? Go, go, go!”
They go.
***
fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high(3)
John is a soldier, a fearsome warrior, a highly trained killer even. He is also currently face down in the dirt.
“Son of a bitch!” He scrambles up, knees protesting. “I’m going to murder every last one of you little fuckers!” He points a finger at the creature that looks like a cross between a rabbit and a diseased squirrel, all extremities (ears, tail, feet) elongated, curly reddish brown fur hanging off its back in clumps.
It is quite possible the fugliest thing John has seen in the Pegasus Galaxy and that’s counting the Wraith Queen (who, whilst evil, at least had some bitchin’ boots).
He takes a threatening step forward. “I’m talking extinction.” The animal seems wholly unimpressed by John’s scowl. Its nose quivers delicately.
Behind him John can hear Rodney laugh openly and even though he’s not saying a word John just knows Ronon is sporting a smirk that borders on insubordination. Not that he has much room to complain about disrespecting your superiors. Probably because, with the exception of Elizabeth, there aren’t any around.
John finds this simultaneously the best and the worst part of the whole stranded-in-another-galaxy-far-far-away thing.
Teyla’s hand on his elbow jerks him out of his thoughts. “They are very… mischievous.” Her voice is suffused with amusement and John’s pretty sure that what she actually means is: “These alien bunnies are running circles around you and neither your dignity nor your ass can take any more hits.”
John takes the hint and unclenches his fingers from his gun. The sweat drying between his shoulder blades itches as he surveys the rampaged vegetable patch. It’s one of several, dotted around the fertile strip of dark earth striping along the coast of the mainland. Within shouting distance he can see Cadman’s team hard at work weeding, lacklustrely chasing off the rabbit-squirrels hopping around utterly undeterred by the humans. The creatures don’t actually eat any of the crops (John has a horrible suspicion that they are, in fact, carnivorous. Or possibly cannibalistic.); they are simply incredibly curious and prone to digging holes big enough to trip over. John knows this from personal experience.
Elizabeth’s grand plan of self-sufficiency is actually turning out fairly successful. It helps to have a whole team of agriculturalists, botanists, biologists, chemists and Rodney McKay at your disposal.
Which reminds him. “Rodney.” John turns around. “Please, please, tell me you and Radek have managed to make reality of that contraption Chang and Sigridsdotter designed.”
Rodney’s face is tanned from the sun, and the sight of it still catches John by surprise even though it’s been months since anyone on Atlantis has looked anything but weather-worn and hungry.
“Nothing a pair of zoologists can come up with is that much of challenge. We finished the anti-alien pest device last night.”
“And you waited until now to share this with the class?”
Rodney grins smugly, rocking on his heels, hands behind his back. “And miss the best entertainment on the planet?”
Ronon is showing a worrying amount of teeth, leaning on his hoe and not even pretending to be working anymore. John absently dusts dirt off his trousers, glaring at his team. They’re all filthy and tired, but they’re all smiling, even Teyla, her hair swinging forward in a vain attempt to hide it.
John decides that it matters not one bit that they are smiling at him.
***
like living coals(4)
“Teyla! Come sit with us.”
Teyla turns toward the sound of her name. The evening sun is painting everything orange, dead leaves rustling under her feet.
“Anais. Perel.” She greets the two women with a nod and a smile. “How are you?”
Anais adjusts the bundle of cloth against her breast, patting the bench. She is the same age as her, but Teyla can’t remember a time when she didn’t think of her as young, as someone who needed looking after.
Teyla sits down and tickles the little foot sticking out of the blankets. The baby makes a gurgling sound, kicking energetically.
“Good. Tired but good,” Anais answers. The women glow with smug mother- and grandmotherhood that radiates contentment and for a second or two Teyla feels the absence of her own mother like a sharp pain piercing through her insides.
Perel seems to sense her mood. She touches her arm gently, directing her gaze out toward the people milling around, eating, talking, laughing, living. “Everyone is enjoying themselves,” Perel says, the wrinkles on her face smoothing out as she smiles.
They sit in comfortable silence and watch the darkness fall over the Athosian settlement, the unofficial but enthusiastically planned harvest fest slowly winding down. Some of the marines - Johnson, Cortez and Whitman - Teyla knows everyone’s name now - are building small bonfires with eager assistance from a half-a-dozen kids.
From afar Teyla can’t tell Athosians and Atlantians apart; the clothing got shared months ago and there are no lines in the sand anymore, just knots of people, forming and unravelling at random.
The first of the bonfires is lit with much whooping and scattered applause. The flames chase the shadows away and one of the indistinctive groups nearby morphs into the familiar shapes of her team.
John and Rodney are bickering, John standing with arms crossed over his chest, Rodney waiving his around in increasingly large circles, both of them grinning wide enough to split something. Ronon catches her eye over their heads, cocking an amused eyebrow and lifting a piece of pie in a wordless greeting.
Teyla raises a hand in return, turning to face Perel and Anais. “I should-”
“Of course,” Perel interrupts before she can get any further.
Anais nods. “Tell Dr. McKay thank you for his help with the irrigation system. And Ronon too. He was also very… helpful.” She giggles. “With the lifting.”
Perel smacks her daughter’s arm half-heartedly but her own cheeks are tinged pink too.
Teyla is still chuckling by the time she gets close enough to hear Rodney’s closing argument of: “Which is why I’m right, will always be right, and you are so very, very wrong.”
“Whatever, McKay. If you think the purple root vegetables taste like sweet potatoes then clearly you have never actually tasted sweet potatoes because- Oh, hey Teyla!” John makes room for her between him and Rodney. “What’s so funny?”
Ronon hands her a drink without a word and goes right on eating, berry juice running down his beard and staining the front of his shirt dark red.
“You,” Teyla says, feeling light and playful, happiness like tiny bubbles inside her. “Us. Everything.”
The men blink at her in confusion and that only makes her laugh more.
“Ooookay then.” John finally drawls, patting her on the shoulder clumsily.
Rodney shrugs and makes a grab for Ronon’s plate. “That better not be the last slice! I swear you’re like the living proof of the existence of the fifth dimension. How is it physically possible for one man to eat so...”
Teyla tunes out the words, but not the voices. Autumn cold is creeping in with the night, but standing there, flanked by her team on all sides, she feels nothing but warm.
Fin.
Section title references:
(1) From To Winter by William Blake
O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou build thy dark,
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
(2) From The Hymn of Empedocles by Matthew Arnold
Is it so small a thing
To have enjoy'd the sun,
To have lived light in the spring,
To have loved, to have thought, to have done;
To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes
(3) From Summertime by Ira Gershwin and DuBose Heyward
Summer time and the livin’ is easy,
Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high.
Oh, your daddy's rich, and your mamma's good-lookin’,
So hush, little baby, don't you cry.
(4) From Pegasus in Pound by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the apples
Burned among the withering leaves.
Title: Season For All Things
Author: kat_lair
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~2500
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing.
Category: Gen, Team-Fic, partial AU (connection with Earth never re-established)
Summary: To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven ~ Ecclesiastes 3:1
Author notes: I tried to incorporate as many of the requested elements as I could so I hope you like your secret santa fic! The four section titles are quotes from various sources, referenced at the end. Many thanks to inkblot_fiend for thorough and speedy beta.
Season For All Things
bar thine adamantine doors(1)
The wind howls like it’s hungry for a fight and Ronon gives it exactly what it wants, hunching his shoulders and pushing forward. The air in his lungs is frozen and sharp, ice forming at the corners of his lips, his dreads heavy and hard like armour of crystallised water.
Powdery snow whips around them, obscuring vision and messing with the other senses until it’s difficult to tell up from down. He grips the handle of the make-shift sledge tighter. Inside Rodney and Teyla are silent, huddled together for warmth under their gear, worn backpacks teetering on the top.
Teyla returns his look, eyes narrow slits, Rodney’s unconscious form slumped over her lap. Her fingers are pressed against his pulse, and as long as she doesn’t say anything Ronon knows it’s still beating.
They should be running, but it’s impossible in these conditions. Behind him Ronon can feel Sheppard stumble, tripping over holes in the ground or his own feet. He’s bleeding and if it were up to Ronon he would have made Sheppard sit inside the sleigh too, but you don’t disobey your leader unless it’s necessary. It’s not quite necessary yet so instead he just stops, letting Sheppard lean against his back until he regains his balance, cursing softly.
Finally the Gate looms to sight, appearing out of the storm like the mouth of a beast. Ronon unwraps his hands from the wooden pole, fingers stiff and protesting. The DHD is slick with ice and for a while he thinks the cold is too much even for Ancestor technology, but then the first button lights up and Ronon punches in the symbols, never hesitating over the order.
Even the swoosh of the wormhole activating feels subdued, the event horizon shimmering in the frigid air. There’s a rustle of cloth and Ronon whips around, gun drawn, but it’s only Sheppard, digging through his vest for the G.D.O., movements slow and sluggish. He fumbles with the keys, sways against Teyla, her arms already up and braised to catch him. The bloodstain on Sheppard’s side is darker and larger than it was when they escaped the ambush, carrying Rodney between them.
Ronon snatches the device from Sheppard, inserting his own iris code quickly, and then they’re drudging up the platform, across space and into the gateroom, the sledge ridiculously out of place amid the light and warmth of Atlantis.
Teyla is struggling out from under the blankets, calling for help, pulling Rodney up with her. Ronon sees Sheppard take two steps toward them before he collapses, going down just as Carson’s people burst through the door, all calm efficiency and they’re home, they’re safe, no one got left behind.
Dr. Weir is running down the stairs, reaching them just seconds after the medical team. “What happened?” she asks, her hands small on Ronon’s shoulders.
Ronon sits down heavily, like that little bit of added weight is finally too much. “The Telarians don’t want to trade. They were very clear about that.” He’s dripping melting snow on to the steps, grey water pooling around his feet and soaking into the material of Dr. Weir’s clothes where she’s kneeling by him.
Then Dr. Beckett is there, patting and prodding and bullying Ronon onto a stretcher. He lies down even though he doesn’t really need to - it’s just good to be able to. The rest of his team are being lifted onto their own gurneys, and the mission may have been unsuccessful, but at least they’re ending it the way they started it. Together.
***
to have loved, to have thought, to have done(2)
“No. No, no, no, and also no.”
“That’s your answer to everything.”
“No, it’s not.”
Sheppard smirks, raising his eyebrows pointedly.
“Oh, very mature. Ha ha.” Rodney waves his arms around in an inadequate illustration of exactly what he thinks of Major Smart Ass’ level of intellectual development.
It’s not that Rodney doesn’t see the necessity of it all, because he does. After experiencing yet another concussion courtesy of a Telarian slingshot, Rodney fully appreciates the benefits of not having to traipse around the Galaxy in mostly unfruitful and potentially deadly search for trading partners.
Besides, the flika beans they got from the swamp planet make everyone piss green and even after a month it’s still an unpleasant jolt to the system first thing in the morning.
So yes, in theory Rodney is one-hundred-and-ten percent in favour of independent food production. It’s just that in practice this seems to include an unduly amount of menial labour and high probability of mucking in the dirt.
Rodney shares this observation with his team.
Ronon cups a huge paw around the back of his neck, affecting a wide-eyed look of mock hurt. “Aww, McKay. You don’t want to come out and play with us?”
Sheppard snorts and Teyla is hiding a smile under all that bland benevolence, Rodney can tell.
Ronon’s been working on his sarcasm lately and Rodney is not going to be the one to tell him that his stature automatically voids every attempt of subtlety. He huffs irritably, ducking away from under Ronon’s hand.
“Oh my god, do you want to go out and dig ditches or plant a goddamn orchard in that?” Rodney flings out an arm in a wide arch like a circus director, gesturing toward the glass doors of the balcony.
They all turn to stare in an almost choreographed fashion. Teyla purses her lips together and sighs softly. Ronon doesn’t say a word but the rigid line of his shoulders hasn’t relaxed for so long Rodney’s own back is aching in sympathy.
“Well,” Sheppard remarks after a minute during which they contemplate the Armageddon-like weather in glum silence. “You may have a valid point there, McKay.”
The view outside is that of an almost solid wall of water. To say it’s raining is an understatement of such vast proportions that Rodney doubts even he could accurately calculate them. It’s almost like the Atlantis has been submerged again, except without the alien sea monsters. Though if some sort of Leviathan were to swim past the windows, Rodney wouldn’t be that surprised.
“It is spring time,” Teyla says, but she doesn’t sound entirely convinced of the fact.
Sheppard, however, seizes the thought with enthusiasm. “Exactly!” He rubs his hands together briskly. “You’ll be skipping through sunshine and flowery meadows soon, you’ll see!”
Rodney very much doubts he will. Not if he has any choice in the matter, anyway.
“In the meanwhile, you should get busy with the planning. We’ll help. After all, team honour is at stake here.”
“What?” Rodney doesn’t much like the self-satisfied look Sheppard is sporting, like he knows something Rodney doesn’t.
“Oh, didn’t you know? Elizabeth is pitching a competition for the best design. There was a lot of talk about sustainable agriculture and community spirit.” Sheppard leans closer, drawing Ronon and Teyla into the circle until they’re all huddled together. Then he whispers: “I hear Radek already recruited Pierson. And Baranyai.”
Rodney’s eyes narrow. That backstabbing Czech bastard!
“That backstabbing Czech bastard!” he declares, glaring at the others. “Come on people, we don’t have time to waste standing around twiddling our thumbs.”
He makes shooing motions. “Ronon, go get my laptop from the lab. Oh, and the blue folder from the bottom drawer, the one marked Open and Die. Teyla, you talk to Laurie. He’s got a massive crush on you so he’ll do whatever you want and if we get him we’ll get Jacobsen too and together they can probably make stone sprout something green.”
“And you,” Rodney pokes Sheppard in the chest. “You exercise some of that black ops training you always brag about and find out who else Radek has talked into joining him.”
Rodney glances at his watch. “We’ll meet in my quarters- No, too obvious, I bet Zelenka has bugged it already and I don’t have time to do a proper sweep right now - We’ll meet in Teyla’s rooms in fifteen minutes.”
He looks up to see his team mates watching him with identical expressions, amusement and excitement warring on their faces. Rodney frowns. “What are you waiting for? A hand-graved invitation? Go, go, go!”
They go.
***
fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high(3)
John is a soldier, a fearsome warrior, a highly trained killer even. He is also currently face down in the dirt.
“Son of a bitch!” He scrambles up, knees protesting. “I’m going to murder every last one of you little fuckers!” He points a finger at the creature that looks like a cross between a rabbit and a diseased squirrel, all extremities (ears, tail, feet) elongated, curly reddish brown fur hanging off its back in clumps.
It is quite possible the fugliest thing John has seen in the Pegasus Galaxy and that’s counting the Wraith Queen (who, whilst evil, at least had some bitchin’ boots).
He takes a threatening step forward. “I’m talking extinction.” The animal seems wholly unimpressed by John’s scowl. Its nose quivers delicately.
Behind him John can hear Rodney laugh openly and even though he’s not saying a word John just knows Ronon is sporting a smirk that borders on insubordination. Not that he has much room to complain about disrespecting your superiors. Probably because, with the exception of Elizabeth, there aren’t any around.
John finds this simultaneously the best and the worst part of the whole stranded-in-another-galaxy-far-far-away thing.
Teyla’s hand on his elbow jerks him out of his thoughts. “They are very… mischievous.” Her voice is suffused with amusement and John’s pretty sure that what she actually means is: “These alien bunnies are running circles around you and neither your dignity nor your ass can take any more hits.”
John takes the hint and unclenches his fingers from his gun. The sweat drying between his shoulder blades itches as he surveys the rampaged vegetable patch. It’s one of several, dotted around the fertile strip of dark earth striping along the coast of the mainland. Within shouting distance he can see Cadman’s team hard at work weeding, lacklustrely chasing off the rabbit-squirrels hopping around utterly undeterred by the humans. The creatures don’t actually eat any of the crops (John has a horrible suspicion that they are, in fact, carnivorous. Or possibly cannibalistic.); they are simply incredibly curious and prone to digging holes big enough to trip over. John knows this from personal experience.
Elizabeth’s grand plan of self-sufficiency is actually turning out fairly successful. It helps to have a whole team of agriculturalists, botanists, biologists, chemists and Rodney McKay at your disposal.
Which reminds him. “Rodney.” John turns around. “Please, please, tell me you and Radek have managed to make reality of that contraption Chang and Sigridsdotter designed.”
Rodney’s face is tanned from the sun, and the sight of it still catches John by surprise even though it’s been months since anyone on Atlantis has looked anything but weather-worn and hungry.
“Nothing a pair of zoologists can come up with is that much of challenge. We finished the anti-alien pest device last night.”
“And you waited until now to share this with the class?”
Rodney grins smugly, rocking on his heels, hands behind his back. “And miss the best entertainment on the planet?”
Ronon is showing a worrying amount of teeth, leaning on his hoe and not even pretending to be working anymore. John absently dusts dirt off his trousers, glaring at his team. They’re all filthy and tired, but they’re all smiling, even Teyla, her hair swinging forward in a vain attempt to hide it.
John decides that it matters not one bit that they are smiling at him.
***
like living coals(4)
“Teyla! Come sit with us.”
Teyla turns toward the sound of her name. The evening sun is painting everything orange, dead leaves rustling under her feet.
“Anais. Perel.” She greets the two women with a nod and a smile. “How are you?”
Anais adjusts the bundle of cloth against her breast, patting the bench. She is the same age as her, but Teyla can’t remember a time when she didn’t think of her as young, as someone who needed looking after.
Teyla sits down and tickles the little foot sticking out of the blankets. The baby makes a gurgling sound, kicking energetically.
“Good. Tired but good,” Anais answers. The women glow with smug mother- and grandmotherhood that radiates contentment and for a second or two Teyla feels the absence of her own mother like a sharp pain piercing through her insides.
Perel seems to sense her mood. She touches her arm gently, directing her gaze out toward the people milling around, eating, talking, laughing, living. “Everyone is enjoying themselves,” Perel says, the wrinkles on her face smoothing out as she smiles.
They sit in comfortable silence and watch the darkness fall over the Athosian settlement, the unofficial but enthusiastically planned harvest fest slowly winding down. Some of the marines - Johnson, Cortez and Whitman - Teyla knows everyone’s name now - are building small bonfires with eager assistance from a half-a-dozen kids.
From afar Teyla can’t tell Athosians and Atlantians apart; the clothing got shared months ago and there are no lines in the sand anymore, just knots of people, forming and unravelling at random.
The first of the bonfires is lit with much whooping and scattered applause. The flames chase the shadows away and one of the indistinctive groups nearby morphs into the familiar shapes of her team.
John and Rodney are bickering, John standing with arms crossed over his chest, Rodney waiving his around in increasingly large circles, both of them grinning wide enough to split something. Ronon catches her eye over their heads, cocking an amused eyebrow and lifting a piece of pie in a wordless greeting.
Teyla raises a hand in return, turning to face Perel and Anais. “I should-”
“Of course,” Perel interrupts before she can get any further.
Anais nods. “Tell Dr. McKay thank you for his help with the irrigation system. And Ronon too. He was also very… helpful.” She giggles. “With the lifting.”
Perel smacks her daughter’s arm half-heartedly but her own cheeks are tinged pink too.
Teyla is still chuckling by the time she gets close enough to hear Rodney’s closing argument of: “Which is why I’m right, will always be right, and you are so very, very wrong.”
“Whatever, McKay. If you think the purple root vegetables taste like sweet potatoes then clearly you have never actually tasted sweet potatoes because- Oh, hey Teyla!” John makes room for her between him and Rodney. “What’s so funny?”
Ronon hands her a drink without a word and goes right on eating, berry juice running down his beard and staining the front of his shirt dark red.
“You,” Teyla says, feeling light and playful, happiness like tiny bubbles inside her. “Us. Everything.”
The men blink at her in confusion and that only makes her laugh more.
“Ooookay then.” John finally drawls, patting her on the shoulder clumsily.
Rodney shrugs and makes a grab for Ronon’s plate. “That better not be the last slice! I swear you’re like the living proof of the existence of the fifth dimension. How is it physically possible for one man to eat so...”
Teyla tunes out the words, but not the voices. Autumn cold is creeping in with the night, but standing there, flanked by her team on all sides, she feels nothing but warm.
Fin.
Section title references:
(1) From To Winter by William Blake
O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou build thy dark,
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
(2) From The Hymn of Empedocles by Matthew Arnold
Is it so small a thing
To have enjoy'd the sun,
To have lived light in the spring,
To have loved, to have thought, to have done;
To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes
(3) From Summertime by Ira Gershwin and DuBose Heyward
Summer time and the livin’ is easy,
Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high.
Oh, your daddy's rich, and your mamma's good-lookin’,
So hush, little baby, don't you cry.
(4) From Pegasus in Pound by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the apples
Burned among the withering leaves.