Fic: A Quick Guide to Group Cohesion (Gen, 12)
Title: A Quick Guide to Group Cohesion
Author: emerald_embers
Recipient: mad_maudlin
Pairings/Characters: Mostly gen teamfic, some John/Rodney references.
Rating: PG-12 for innuendo and some bad language.
Summary: "Different strokes for different folks" doesn't just apply to people on Earth; it applies on a universal scale.
Author's Notes: I couldn't quite get everything in from that marvellously huge prompt ideas list, but I hope I caught enough to make a satisfactory present for you my dear recipient!
"Well, this sucks," John announced as he pulled another glob of what he could only scientifically refer to as slime out of his hair.
Ronon grinned, evidently nonplussed by the spatters in his own hair and beard, but that figured; beating what amounted to sentient jell-o to death was probably light entertainment for him, and John had to admit that as gross as it was, it was kind of fun.
"Oh, you noticed?" Rodney grumbled, beating the last of a particularly stubborn specimen away from his foot with Teyla's assistance. "There's a limit, okay, on how many times I can put up with gloop trying to suck me to death."
John resisted, really resisted, but Teyla only had to smirk to herself once and the group humour gene kicked in. If Ronon got the joke, he didn't seem to find it quite as amusing as pulling yet more wet ropes of slime from his beard; John decided against commenting on that because, well, he liked having his arms attached to his torso.
As far as gateworlds went it was far from the most exciting, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Especially when excitement usually meant wraith, other bad guys, imminent destruction from natural and/or unnatural causes, and combinations of all of the above. And unexciting didn't mean useless either - the forests were rich with fruit to the point where for once they were getting something other than grain, metal or bullets in trade with the locals; to the point where they could finally make use of their own excess grain stocks to get enough fruit that people weren't solely reliant on the Daedalus' constant shipments of raisins and dried apricots to ensure no one was likely to catch scurvy anytime soon.
Carson had said limes would be more appropriate for scurvy, but when questioned about it further, it turned out it was more of a private joke than actual medical fact.
Rodney wasn't getting to try John's personal favourite though for a while yet; admittedly it wasn't hugely likely the aftertaste of the fruit was due to citric acid, but he wasn't taking any chances until he knew they were within five minutes of a doctor and five metres of an epi-pen. On the plus side, keeping the fruit away from Rodney meant John had the honour of naming it, and until the botanical team came up with something Latin and official and boring, John was proud to nickname it the humble asspear. It was huge, shaped like an ass, and had the colour and more or less the taste of a pear.
You couldn't argue with taxonomy like that.
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Well then how much longer are we going to be stuck in this stupid forest?"
Teyla raised a hand, lightly massaged her temples. "We are close, Rodney, and -"
"We're there," Ronon interrupted. "Smells like dinner."
John sniffed but it didn't do much good - he refused to believe he had any sort of hayfever but his nose wasn't particularly fond of doing much around plants - so he figured he'd rely on Rodney and Teyla's nods of agreement, putting his weapon away as they followed suit; didn't want to stumble across the village looking like a guerilla attack forced rather than travelling merchants.
He figured he probably shouldn't like the idea of being a travelling merchant as much as he did, but the idea always brought up visuals of covered caravans, something straight out of Aladdin or Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves; and he had to admit, he kind of liked that idea. Romantic images aside it also invariably led to the thought of Rodney bitching about his robes being scratchy and out-stubborning a camel.
There was always something a little spectacular about roadless worlds; John appreciated it was far more practical to actually have a static path to wherever you were going, but it was undeniably always a little exciting to walk and walk through forest or jungle or over mountains and hills and then boom, suddenly you could see a town or a village. It reminded him of adventure movies and he'd never complain about any situation that made him feel like Indiana Jones for a second; although admittedly, it was kind of awkward when you walked into a village and instantly had a crowd of ten to twenty people looking at you as if they were still deciding if they wanted to beat/stab/shoot you to death.
After a moment of heated whispers an elegantly dressed middle-aged woman and another girl in a simple shift both stepped forward, the rest of the crowd dispersing, and John winced as the older woman looked over all four of them, expression grim and strained. Most likely the leader, or at the very least a representative for the leader; and the helper at her side looked all too smirky for John's comfort. "You come covered in mucus. How did this happen?"
"I am sorry," Teyla began, "After visiting other towns we thought the slimes were reviled everywhere -"
The helper cut Teyla off with a snort of laughter, followed shortly by the leader joining her in a chorus that sounded more appropriate for a sitcom than imminent 'kill them all' orders, slapping the younger woman's arm. "You are a terrible liar! You spoil all my jokes," She announced, gesturing for her helper to leave before turning back to them. "I am sorry, I could not resist after hearing how seriously you travellers took things. And a woman in charge of you as well? I would like to see more of this." She grinned, wide, eyes still bright with mirth. "Thank you for your efforts in ridding us of the slime, but those pests will be back in a month or two. They grow so fast! So. Why have you come?"
John was more than happy to let Teyla be the leader on this occasion; had to admit, usually things ran much more smoothly when she took over from him - he was generally alright talking to people himself, but Rodney tended towards being rude and/or overly verbose, while Ronon tended towards being rude and/or overly taciturn. Although at least in Ronon's case any rudeness was usually kind of justified; Rodney just had a habit of rubbing people up the wrong way because - well, he was Rodney. He was kind of an acquired taste, like sushi or refried beans.
And damnit, now he was feeling kind of hungry.
"We have been travelling in search of trading partners and allies," Teyla said, straight to the point and delicate with it. "We do not require that you be both; but it would be of great value to us if you would consider trading grain for fruit."
The leader looked over them once more before smiling and raising her arm in a fist, waiting for Teyla to do the same before bumping their fists together. "Grain is more than welcome, and we can talk of weights in the morning, but it is too close to night for trading. You will stay here, and we will feed you."
Teyla nodded and lowered her fist, ignored Rodney's brief look of panic at the idea of being guest to someone who hadn't so much asked as informed them that they were going to be guests whether they'd planned to be or not, and smiled back. "We would be honoured to have you as our host. I am Teyla, this is Rodney, Ronon, and John."
"Katalya," greeted the leader, pointing a finger at each of them in turn. "Three grown men will take a lot of feeding. A good job that our fruits grow so generously, yes?" John could have sworn there was a wink in her eye; and there was definitely an answering twinkle in Ronon's, but Katalya returned her gaze to Teyla swiftly enough. "Men appreciate a plump fruit."
Okay, that had been deliberate; but no harm done, and Ronon certainly didn't have any complaints.
Back on Earth, John had never really seen the fuss about etiquette when it came to food apart from basic manners. He knew his pleases and his thank yous, knew when someone expected you to clean your plate and when they expected you to leave a little behind, but he didn't see much reason for half the ceremony of eating. Wandering around in the Pegasus galaxy, on the other hand, had made him far more aware of the fact people really did attach a lot of importance to food; and it made Ronon the diplomatic eaters dream. Rodney was a fussy eater by nature and necessity, but had to eat at least something little relatively often to keep his blood sugar in the right sort of range. Teyla and he were both reasonably easy to please and good at hiding when they weren't if pushed to; but Ronon was the handiest of all of them, happily eating anything put in front of him - albeit not always with the best table manners - and responding with a blunt, "It's fine" to anyone he didn't like, "It's great" to anyone he did when asked about how the food tasted.
John had blanked it at first, assuming maybe Ronon just had really varied tastes, but after one particularly memorable dinner when Rodney had actually vomited and Ronon had saved the day by swallowing down not only his own eel-like things but most of John's and Teyla's so they could look polite and just put it down to Rodney having a stomach bug, John had figured that the man really did have a stomach of steel.
Thankfully, on this occasion, Ronon didn't need to stand in for everyone else's stomachs; Katalya and her people put on one hell of a dinner, even for a basic one, and while John still had to confiscate some of the fruit from Rodney's plate until they knew for certain whether it would be safe for him to eat or not, the remaining vegetables and grains and dried meat were delicious.
Delicious enough Rodney was sulking a little about not getting to try everything on account of the potential allergic reaction; and of course, being a generous person by nature, John chose to try and describe the taste for him.
"Mmm, McKay, this is amazing," John announced between exaggerated bites. "It's so juicy and sweet, you've really got to try some. Oh, wait, you can't. All the more for me."
"I hate you," Rodney whispered.
"I hate you more," John whispered back.
"What are you, five?"
John raised his eyebrows in defiance. "Maybe."
"You're the worst friend ever."
John smirked. "Gee, I guess I'd better throw out your birthday present when I get back then."
"If it's a dead rat or your penis, I'm not interested."
"Spoilsport."
John felt a kick in the shins after that, looked across the table to a pointed glare from Teyla, and opened his mouth to protest quietly only to find his mouth had different ideas.
In all fairness, the burp had caught him by surprise. A loud, near to echoing surprise.
There was a short silence, several stifled snorts of laughter, before the majority of the table burst into an utter roar - and several actually applauded.
Ronon raised an eyebrow at John from across the table before leaning forward, sitting up just a little, and letting rip with a fart that by all rights should have set the room shaking. Katalya sprayed her drink in laughter before casting Ronon a look of undisguised admiration; and from the looks of several of the other women around the table, she wasn't alone in her thoughts.
John raised an eyebrow right back. Oh, it was on.
Some time later, feeling about ten pounds lighter and grinning like an idiot, John found himself feeling really quite drunk for someone who hadn't knowingly touched alcohol, and trying very hard to be pissed off with Ronon.
"You," John announced with a pointy finger aimed squarely at their dreadlocked amigo, "Are very lucky they haven't invented soda here yet, or I'd've had you beat."
"You wish," Ronon replied, grinning happily to himself as he carried his haul of belch-won gains back to the hut.
"You two are both disgusting!" Rodney snapped. "Just because one backwards civilisation thinks gas is hilarious you let rip like an orchestra -"
Teyla cleared her throat a second time, louder, Rodney heeding the warning and letting her interrupt him. "The Selecites are arguably more advanced than Athosians, but I found this all neither unpleasant too, Rodney."
"Athosians have manners and can carry a decent conversation, that makes you the more advanced race as far as I'm concerned. Besides, you can use a computer and wield a gun, that counts for something."
"I am hardly representative of my whole - of the average Athosian," Teyla replied, correcting herself mid-sentence and all of them knowing better than to tease her for it.
"I don't know, Halling could probably kick my ass just as bad as you," John said before rubbing his stomach. "Ugh, gas or no gas, I think I ate too much."
"Fantastic," Rodney replied. "And we're stuck sharing a room with you two. If this planet has a global warming problem by the time we leave, it's your fault."
John grinned. "Hey, not many people can claim responsibility for single-handedly destroying the environment. I'd consider it a badge of honour."
"Hate you," Rodney reminded. "So much."
For a basic hut John had to admire the construction; the walls were good and solid, and it was a little weird to see plastic windows instead of glass ones set in the wood, but the mixture of technologies in the various gateworlds did sometimes take a turn for the odd. It was the trading; wouldn't entirely surprise him if he eventually found somewhere that literally powered computers off hamsters or some similar rodents running on wheels.
Plus, blankets - could never go wrong with blankets.
"It'll do," Rodney said, as if giving the room his blessing, Ronon flopping down on one of the corner mats and slinging half the blanket over himself before going quiet, not bothering with pre-sleep chit-chat. Chances were he was probably feeling something similar to John in the stomach department, but unlike John, wasn't inclined towards saying anything about it.
John on the other hand was rather fond of whinging, so long as it wasn't about anything actually important. "I get the side closest to the door," John announced. "That way if my intestines explode there's a shorter run."
"John," Teyla cautioned, disgusted but fighting off a smirk regardless. "We did not need to know that."
"Can't believe I'm stuck sleeping with Mr Creosote," Rodney whined in turn before taking his side of the mat.
"Uh huh. Go to sleep, Mckay," John said, slinging him one of the portable pillows. Normally they were too much of a weight and a luxury to bother taking on missions, but given this one wasn't so much a mission as a vague command to scope for more trading partners, John had argued they could be afforded.
After unfolding and plumping up his own he couldn't help but be pleased with his own stubbornness; sleeping under a blanket was comfortable enough but using a pillow made sleep feel more like a fantastic hobby than a necessity. Even Rodney's grumbling ceased quickly enough once he was curled up against his own pillow, and John patted him lightly on the head until he could rest assured he'd fallen asleep. And sure, maybe that was a little weirdly close to stroking Rodney's hair, but on the plus side at least Rodney wasn't facing him - he'd yet to sink to actually watching Rodney as he slept.
Looking across at the other two wasn't the brightest idea, wiping any thoughts of plausible deniability off the options menu. Ronon was snoring away, sure, but Teyla was watching with fatigue-heavy eyes.
"Um," John said quietly. "You didn't see anything."
Teyla smiled. "I never have."
John folded his arms, ordering his hands to keep to themselves, and watched her watching him back for a moment. "What?" he asked, not particularly irritated at all, just puzzled at her weird little smile.
"Nothing," she said at last, closing her eyes with that same strange expression, and he rolled his in turn before closing them, feeling more than a little smug that he'd wound up with the comfiest person to share a blanket with.
And, of course, there was the other advantage. Ronon's snoring was loud, but tolerably loud if you weren't trying to sleep next to him. If you were trying to sleep next to him, it was about as much fun as trying to doze off at a pig farm on slaughterhouse day.
It hadn't been the most thrilling experience, all in all; but truth be told, it wasn't often enough that they got to fill in a report as "Mission accomplished; situation abnormal, all went well". Well, slime aside, but that could go in the footnotes. He knew Elizabeth read the fine print, and would enjoy the laugh.
Hell, if they ever got the wraith situation under control, he likely had himself a new holiday destination.
Buttpears and forests beat coconuts and beaches anyday.
The End
Author: emerald_embers
Recipient: mad_maudlin
Pairings/Characters: Mostly gen teamfic, some John/Rodney references.
Rating: PG-12 for innuendo and some bad language.
Summary: "Different strokes for different folks" doesn't just apply to people on Earth; it applies on a universal scale.
Author's Notes: I couldn't quite get everything in from that marvellously huge prompt ideas list, but I hope I caught enough to make a satisfactory present for you my dear recipient!
"Well, this sucks," John announced as he pulled another glob of what he could only scientifically refer to as slime out of his hair.
Ronon grinned, evidently nonplussed by the spatters in his own hair and beard, but that figured; beating what amounted to sentient jell-o to death was probably light entertainment for him, and John had to admit that as gross as it was, it was kind of fun.
"Oh, you noticed?" Rodney grumbled, beating the last of a particularly stubborn specimen away from his foot with Teyla's assistance. "There's a limit, okay, on how many times I can put up with gloop trying to suck me to death."
John resisted, really resisted, but Teyla only had to smirk to herself once and the group humour gene kicked in. If Ronon got the joke, he didn't seem to find it quite as amusing as pulling yet more wet ropes of slime from his beard; John decided against commenting on that because, well, he liked having his arms attached to his torso.
As far as gateworlds went it was far from the most exciting, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Especially when excitement usually meant wraith, other bad guys, imminent destruction from natural and/or unnatural causes, and combinations of all of the above. And unexciting didn't mean useless either - the forests were rich with fruit to the point where for once they were getting something other than grain, metal or bullets in trade with the locals; to the point where they could finally make use of their own excess grain stocks to get enough fruit that people weren't solely reliant on the Daedalus' constant shipments of raisins and dried apricots to ensure no one was likely to catch scurvy anytime soon.
Carson had said limes would be more appropriate for scurvy, but when questioned about it further, it turned out it was more of a private joke than actual medical fact.
Rodney wasn't getting to try John's personal favourite though for a while yet; admittedly it wasn't hugely likely the aftertaste of the fruit was due to citric acid, but he wasn't taking any chances until he knew they were within five minutes of a doctor and five metres of an epi-pen. On the plus side, keeping the fruit away from Rodney meant John had the honour of naming it, and until the botanical team came up with something Latin and official and boring, John was proud to nickname it the humble asspear. It was huge, shaped like an ass, and had the colour and more or less the taste of a pear.
You couldn't argue with taxonomy like that.
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Well then how much longer are we going to be stuck in this stupid forest?"
Teyla raised a hand, lightly massaged her temples. "We are close, Rodney, and -"
"We're there," Ronon interrupted. "Smells like dinner."
John sniffed but it didn't do much good - he refused to believe he had any sort of hayfever but his nose wasn't particularly fond of doing much around plants - so he figured he'd rely on Rodney and Teyla's nods of agreement, putting his weapon away as they followed suit; didn't want to stumble across the village looking like a guerilla attack forced rather than travelling merchants.
He figured he probably shouldn't like the idea of being a travelling merchant as much as he did, but the idea always brought up visuals of covered caravans, something straight out of Aladdin or Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves; and he had to admit, he kind of liked that idea. Romantic images aside it also invariably led to the thought of Rodney bitching about his robes being scratchy and out-stubborning a camel.
There was always something a little spectacular about roadless worlds; John appreciated it was far more practical to actually have a static path to wherever you were going, but it was undeniably always a little exciting to walk and walk through forest or jungle or over mountains and hills and then boom, suddenly you could see a town or a village. It reminded him of adventure movies and he'd never complain about any situation that made him feel like Indiana Jones for a second; although admittedly, it was kind of awkward when you walked into a village and instantly had a crowd of ten to twenty people looking at you as if they were still deciding if they wanted to beat/stab/shoot you to death.
After a moment of heated whispers an elegantly dressed middle-aged woman and another girl in a simple shift both stepped forward, the rest of the crowd dispersing, and John winced as the older woman looked over all four of them, expression grim and strained. Most likely the leader, or at the very least a representative for the leader; and the helper at her side looked all too smirky for John's comfort. "You come covered in mucus. How did this happen?"
"I am sorry," Teyla began, "After visiting other towns we thought the slimes were reviled everywhere -"
The helper cut Teyla off with a snort of laughter, followed shortly by the leader joining her in a chorus that sounded more appropriate for a sitcom than imminent 'kill them all' orders, slapping the younger woman's arm. "You are a terrible liar! You spoil all my jokes," She announced, gesturing for her helper to leave before turning back to them. "I am sorry, I could not resist after hearing how seriously you travellers took things. And a woman in charge of you as well? I would like to see more of this." She grinned, wide, eyes still bright with mirth. "Thank you for your efforts in ridding us of the slime, but those pests will be back in a month or two. They grow so fast! So. Why have you come?"
John was more than happy to let Teyla be the leader on this occasion; had to admit, usually things ran much more smoothly when she took over from him - he was generally alright talking to people himself, but Rodney tended towards being rude and/or overly verbose, while Ronon tended towards being rude and/or overly taciturn. Although at least in Ronon's case any rudeness was usually kind of justified; Rodney just had a habit of rubbing people up the wrong way because - well, he was Rodney. He was kind of an acquired taste, like sushi or refried beans.
And damnit, now he was feeling kind of hungry.
"We have been travelling in search of trading partners and allies," Teyla said, straight to the point and delicate with it. "We do not require that you be both; but it would be of great value to us if you would consider trading grain for fruit."
The leader looked over them once more before smiling and raising her arm in a fist, waiting for Teyla to do the same before bumping their fists together. "Grain is more than welcome, and we can talk of weights in the morning, but it is too close to night for trading. You will stay here, and we will feed you."
Teyla nodded and lowered her fist, ignored Rodney's brief look of panic at the idea of being guest to someone who hadn't so much asked as informed them that they were going to be guests whether they'd planned to be or not, and smiled back. "We would be honoured to have you as our host. I am Teyla, this is Rodney, Ronon, and John."
"Katalya," greeted the leader, pointing a finger at each of them in turn. "Three grown men will take a lot of feeding. A good job that our fruits grow so generously, yes?" John could have sworn there was a wink in her eye; and there was definitely an answering twinkle in Ronon's, but Katalya returned her gaze to Teyla swiftly enough. "Men appreciate a plump fruit."
Okay, that had been deliberate; but no harm done, and Ronon certainly didn't have any complaints.
Back on Earth, John had never really seen the fuss about etiquette when it came to food apart from basic manners. He knew his pleases and his thank yous, knew when someone expected you to clean your plate and when they expected you to leave a little behind, but he didn't see much reason for half the ceremony of eating. Wandering around in the Pegasus galaxy, on the other hand, had made him far more aware of the fact people really did attach a lot of importance to food; and it made Ronon the diplomatic eaters dream. Rodney was a fussy eater by nature and necessity, but had to eat at least something little relatively often to keep his blood sugar in the right sort of range. Teyla and he were both reasonably easy to please and good at hiding when they weren't if pushed to; but Ronon was the handiest of all of them, happily eating anything put in front of him - albeit not always with the best table manners - and responding with a blunt, "It's fine" to anyone he didn't like, "It's great" to anyone he did when asked about how the food tasted.
John had blanked it at first, assuming maybe Ronon just had really varied tastes, but after one particularly memorable dinner when Rodney had actually vomited and Ronon had saved the day by swallowing down not only his own eel-like things but most of John's and Teyla's so they could look polite and just put it down to Rodney having a stomach bug, John had figured that the man really did have a stomach of steel.
Thankfully, on this occasion, Ronon didn't need to stand in for everyone else's stomachs; Katalya and her people put on one hell of a dinner, even for a basic one, and while John still had to confiscate some of the fruit from Rodney's plate until they knew for certain whether it would be safe for him to eat or not, the remaining vegetables and grains and dried meat were delicious.
Delicious enough Rodney was sulking a little about not getting to try everything on account of the potential allergic reaction; and of course, being a generous person by nature, John chose to try and describe the taste for him.
"Mmm, McKay, this is amazing," John announced between exaggerated bites. "It's so juicy and sweet, you've really got to try some. Oh, wait, you can't. All the more for me."
"I hate you," Rodney whispered.
"I hate you more," John whispered back.
"What are you, five?"
John raised his eyebrows in defiance. "Maybe."
"You're the worst friend ever."
John smirked. "Gee, I guess I'd better throw out your birthday present when I get back then."
"If it's a dead rat or your penis, I'm not interested."
"Spoilsport."
John felt a kick in the shins after that, looked across the table to a pointed glare from Teyla, and opened his mouth to protest quietly only to find his mouth had different ideas.
In all fairness, the burp had caught him by surprise. A loud, near to echoing surprise.
There was a short silence, several stifled snorts of laughter, before the majority of the table burst into an utter roar - and several actually applauded.
Ronon raised an eyebrow at John from across the table before leaning forward, sitting up just a little, and letting rip with a fart that by all rights should have set the room shaking. Katalya sprayed her drink in laughter before casting Ronon a look of undisguised admiration; and from the looks of several of the other women around the table, she wasn't alone in her thoughts.
John raised an eyebrow right back. Oh, it was on.
Some time later, feeling about ten pounds lighter and grinning like an idiot, John found himself feeling really quite drunk for someone who hadn't knowingly touched alcohol, and trying very hard to be pissed off with Ronon.
"You," John announced with a pointy finger aimed squarely at their dreadlocked amigo, "Are very lucky they haven't invented soda here yet, or I'd've had you beat."
"You wish," Ronon replied, grinning happily to himself as he carried his haul of belch-won gains back to the hut.
"You two are both disgusting!" Rodney snapped. "Just because one backwards civilisation thinks gas is hilarious you let rip like an orchestra -"
Teyla cleared her throat a second time, louder, Rodney heeding the warning and letting her interrupt him. "The Selecites are arguably more advanced than Athosians, but I found this all neither unpleasant too, Rodney."
"Athosians have manners and can carry a decent conversation, that makes you the more advanced race as far as I'm concerned. Besides, you can use a computer and wield a gun, that counts for something."
"I am hardly representative of my whole - of the average Athosian," Teyla replied, correcting herself mid-sentence and all of them knowing better than to tease her for it.
"I don't know, Halling could probably kick my ass just as bad as you," John said before rubbing his stomach. "Ugh, gas or no gas, I think I ate too much."
"Fantastic," Rodney replied. "And we're stuck sharing a room with you two. If this planet has a global warming problem by the time we leave, it's your fault."
John grinned. "Hey, not many people can claim responsibility for single-handedly destroying the environment. I'd consider it a badge of honour."
"Hate you," Rodney reminded. "So much."
For a basic hut John had to admire the construction; the walls were good and solid, and it was a little weird to see plastic windows instead of glass ones set in the wood, but the mixture of technologies in the various gateworlds did sometimes take a turn for the odd. It was the trading; wouldn't entirely surprise him if he eventually found somewhere that literally powered computers off hamsters or some similar rodents running on wheels.
Plus, blankets - could never go wrong with blankets.
"It'll do," Rodney said, as if giving the room his blessing, Ronon flopping down on one of the corner mats and slinging half the blanket over himself before going quiet, not bothering with pre-sleep chit-chat. Chances were he was probably feeling something similar to John in the stomach department, but unlike John, wasn't inclined towards saying anything about it.
John on the other hand was rather fond of whinging, so long as it wasn't about anything actually important. "I get the side closest to the door," John announced. "That way if my intestines explode there's a shorter run."
"John," Teyla cautioned, disgusted but fighting off a smirk regardless. "We did not need to know that."
"Can't believe I'm stuck sleeping with Mr Creosote," Rodney whined in turn before taking his side of the mat.
"Uh huh. Go to sleep, Mckay," John said, slinging him one of the portable pillows. Normally they were too much of a weight and a luxury to bother taking on missions, but given this one wasn't so much a mission as a vague command to scope for more trading partners, John had argued they could be afforded.
After unfolding and plumping up his own he couldn't help but be pleased with his own stubbornness; sleeping under a blanket was comfortable enough but using a pillow made sleep feel more like a fantastic hobby than a necessity. Even Rodney's grumbling ceased quickly enough once he was curled up against his own pillow, and John patted him lightly on the head until he could rest assured he'd fallen asleep. And sure, maybe that was a little weirdly close to stroking Rodney's hair, but on the plus side at least Rodney wasn't facing him - he'd yet to sink to actually watching Rodney as he slept.
Looking across at the other two wasn't the brightest idea, wiping any thoughts of plausible deniability off the options menu. Ronon was snoring away, sure, but Teyla was watching with fatigue-heavy eyes.
"Um," John said quietly. "You didn't see anything."
Teyla smiled. "I never have."
John folded his arms, ordering his hands to keep to themselves, and watched her watching him back for a moment. "What?" he asked, not particularly irritated at all, just puzzled at her weird little smile.
"Nothing," she said at last, closing her eyes with that same strange expression, and he rolled his in turn before closing them, feeling more than a little smug that he'd wound up with the comfiest person to share a blanket with.
And, of course, there was the other advantage. Ronon's snoring was loud, but tolerably loud if you weren't trying to sleep next to him. If you were trying to sleep next to him, it was about as much fun as trying to doze off at a pig farm on slaughterhouse day.
It hadn't been the most thrilling experience, all in all; but truth be told, it wasn't often enough that they got to fill in a report as "Mission accomplished; situation abnormal, all went well". Well, slime aside, but that could go in the footnotes. He knew Elizabeth read the fine print, and would enjoy the laugh.
Hell, if they ever got the wraith situation under control, he likely had himself a new holiday destination.
Buttpears and forests beat coconuts and beaches anyday.
The End