Round 1 // Challenge 1 - SGA Entries #5
Story Title: At the End of the Day
Character/Relationships: John Sheppard, McShep
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A
0500- Wake up
0530 - 0630- Run
0630- Shower
0700- Breakfast, sometimes alone, sometimes with the team, but usually with McKay.
0800- Staff meeting with Woolsey and all the department heads (some times a mission briefing also).
0900- Staff meeting with his men to go over the stuff from the staff meeting with Woolsey and all the department heads (these are sometimes postponed so team Sheppard can go on a vital mission).
1000- Spar with Ronon or Teyla instead of doing paper work, and occasionally actually do the paper work.
1100- Training session with his top soldiers
1200- Lunch- usually without Rodney since he can’t seem to pull himself away from the lab.
1300 - 1800- Whatever missions they had on the schedule for the day.
1830- Post mission check up.
1900-?? Mission debriefing, shower, dinner, bed.
That was John’s daily routine and he hated it. He’d always hated having things set in front of him, knowing what his day was going to be like when he first opened his eyes each morning. There wasn’t much he could do to rebel against the routine except maybe sleep in and skip his run, but that would just make him feel rotten for the rest of the day. He liked the days when the morning staff meeting was actually a mission briefing, because that meant he’d be skipping the meeting with Lorne. There were days when he did his paper work, not just because the wolves were braying for his blood, but because it was a change in the monotony of his life.
Sure, things were always uncertain, there was the constant threat of wraith attack, not only on Atlantis but on the off world missions as well. But for the most part, John felt like he was going through life on auto-pilot. Sometimes he’d stay up later and go out to the pier for a beer or two with Rodney; usually only when the scientist was either stuck on a problem or just didn’t have anything too interesting to work on. Other times, he and Rodney would cut dinner short and go play a game of chess or watch a movie and make fun of the acting. Eventually, John found himself losing weight and sleep in order to spend just a little more time with Rodney.
Then, he and Rodney started having sex, it was unexpected not that John hadn’t been jerking off to thoughts of Rodney for awhile by then. One day Rodney just came to his quarters and laid it out for him, “I think we should have sex,” Rodney had said. Of course John agreed, but his mind had gone completely blank and he was left standing there with his mouth slightly ajar.
“It makes sense,” Rodney continued and he strode over to John’s bed and sat down, toeing off his shoes. “We already spend all of our free time together, we like the same kinds of things, we’re both smart, although I’m far and away smarter, we like each other and it’s easy.”
“Easy?” John had said, wondering if he should be offended.
“Yeah,” Rodney nodded and leaned back, resting his hands on the bed. “Dating is entirely too much work, and you have to go through too much crap before you even get to consider having sex. There’s no crap here, nothing between us but good times.”
John wasn’t sure what to say to that, his brain was still stuck on having sex.
“Look, I’m not suggesting we be fuck buddies, that would just be rude and wouldn’t do anything but insult our true friendship.”
“What are you suggesting then?” John asked, his mind finally catching up when presented with the prospect of actually being with Rodney.
Rodney shrugged, “I’m not sure, I’d thought about it for a while before I brought it to you, but all I can come up with to describe what we’d be is more than friends but not quite lovers.”
John nodded, shrugged slightly and tipped his head to one side, “sounds good to me,” he’d said and headed over toward the bed in a hurry.
That had been the beginning of it, and some time after that, they’d slipped silently into the realm of lovers, neither needing it to be spoken. And while John still had his routine, the run, the meetings and missions and of course the awful paper work, he also had Rodney to break things up. Rodney was anything but set in stone, sometimes he’d show up in John’s office for a mid morning blowjob, other times John wouldn’t see him for days, and then Rodney would come to his quarters and blow his mind with fantastic sex that seemed to last for hours.
Somehow, with Rodney there, it didn’t seem to matter to John that he had a daily routine, and that there were things he absolutely couldn’t get out of, because at the end of the day, he had Rodney at his side and that made all the rest worth it.
Story Title: Home Sweet Home
Character/Relationships: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, Evan Lorne, OMC
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
It wasn't a good sign that they had developed a kind of routine for cases like these. Having guns trained on the team would never lose it's horror, but what came after ... well, it had become pretty boring.
John generally just plucked himself down next to Rodney. Mainly to keep him calm and make sure he was close-by when their guards came in, but also because Rodney's shoulder was just the right height to lean against. Especially when he'd been hit over the head in the struggle to keep his weapons which - in these cases - he'd obviously lost. Listing to the right, John carefully found the softest spot on Rodney's shoulder and closed his eyes.
"Definitely a three," John said. His voice was slightly slurred from the painkiller Rodney had fought tooth and nails to be allowed to keep.
"A three? Are you insane? No, don't answer that, you've been hit over the head and high, of course you're insane."
"It's a five," Ronon said, not stopping his prowling. "No rotting straw." Like that was the important bit. Well, for Ronon it probably was.
"I believe a six, maybe." Teyla gave John a smile. "We have already been fed."
Rodney threw up his hands, dislodging John a little, who stubbornly refused to move. "There is nothing in here, not even a bare mattress. That's just as bad as rotten straw. And while there's no lemon in the food it tastes absolutely vile. No windows, no questions, no demands whatsoever. We don't even know why we're locked up. According to our very detailed spreadsheet it's a one. The only good thing is that they didn't shoot us on the spot!"
John suppressed the urge to shake his head. "Didn't separate us."
"That levels out with breaking you."
"They didn't break me," John denied automatically, though he had to admit he did feel a little bit broken.
Rodney gave him a sideways glare. "Can you sit on your own?"
Somehow it didn't sound like something John should try in the near future. "Yes?"
"Very convincing, Colonel," Rodney said, but beneath the sarcasm he sounded worried.
The waiting was boring. John wasn't sure whether to be glad about that or annoyed. He decided on "happy not to be tortured." At least even with being captured twice in a row AR-1 was still 3 spots down from the top of the "most captured" list on the blackboard in the mess hall. Lorne's team had the dubious honor of taking up that place.
A burst of P-90 fire shook John out of his stupor. For a moment he struggled to stay upright, but then Ronon gave him a hand up. Then he just tipped John towards Rodney and let go.
The door banged open a second later, revealing Sergeant Jundi. The man tapped his radio. "Sir, I found them, five minutes and thirty two seconds." He paused for a moment, then grinned. "Thank you, sir."
Rescues, John decided idly, were much more fun than trying to reach a consensus with his team about the rating of their accommodations. It was almost a relief - until Lorne tried to butt in. That never ended well. By the time they'd reached the 'gate John could walk under his own steam again, but now he had a nasty headache, would have killed for an aspirin, and wanted to strangle both Lorne and Rodney.
"Whatever you say doesn't change the fact that it is a one," Rodney said for the twentieth time.
"Sure, whatever, it's a one." Of course now Lorne gave in. John kind of wanted to scream.
As the wormhole burst into existence John turned. He made a show of looking around. "It's a three and that's an order." He didn't wait for Rodney to launch into a rant, instead he went through the 'gate and practically into Carson's arms.
Imprisonment followed by a physical. John sighed. Home sweet home. Routines at least were fairly predictable. Definitely better than any of the surprises the Pegasus Galaxy had taught him to hate.
Story Title: Dance of the Dead
Character/Relationships: Teyla Emmagan
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Teyla Emmagan stood in the doorway of the gym, bantos rods hanging loosely from one hand. It was the time of day she had allotted for her workout. Teyla could always be found in the gym this time of day, gracefully moving through the kata she had practiced since childhood. Always. But now she just stood there staring at the floor, unmoving. Thinking.
The tai chi-like routines had always been a part of her life, ever since she was small. One of Teyla's first memories as a child was of her father gently guiding her chubby little arms and legs through the flowing patterns of movement. As she grew older, it became tradition: rising together each morning at dawn to greet the sunrise and dance the kata. It was a special time, a time for themselves, and it was when Teyla felt closest to her father.
Then, of course, life had happened. The Wraith happened. The Wraith culled their planet and took her beloved father away from her. The loss drove her mother slightly mad with grief. But Teyla, after a brief period of expected mourning, carried on. She picked up her father's mantle of leadership and began to rebuild what the Wraith had torn down. And every morning she danced alone, the routine of the kata centering her and driving the tide of feelings away. She pushed them back until such a time when they could be used properly. For revenge.
Such a time came when she met John Sheppard and moved to Atlantis. Finally, in the city of the Ancestors, there were people willing and able to strike back against the Wraith. Teyla joined them there, using what she knew of her galaxy to aid the fight. But every day she made time to make peace with herself through the routines of her childhood. It was something she could not live without; something that grounded her and kept her in touch with her past even as she moved toward the future.
Of course, something as structured and beautiful to watch as Teyla's slow dance couldn't help but garner an audience in a small community such as Atlantis. She had watchers every day, from the Marines to the botanists. They all gathered under the guise of their own workouts, but she knew that they stopped and stared as she started to pour her body into her simple patterns.
She even gained some students of her art: her team especially showed great interest. John Sheppard was most interested. He did well, able to duplicate her movements if not her grace. Ronon Dex had been trained in something similar during his time in the Satedan military. He was not very keen on learning her ways, but he was able to teach her some new things that she incorperated into her ballet. Rodney McKay even gave it a try, to everyone's surprise. But unsurprisingly he proved to be better at thinking ninety miles a minute than at calming his mind and attuning it to the movement of his body.
Not a day went by when Teyla Emmagan did not perform her kata. They kept her sane throughout the bloody craziness of the years, the loss of friends, the attacks from their enemies, the unease of not knowing what tomorrow would bring.
But then Michael came and stole her people away. Stole Kanaan away, and just when she needed him most. Teyla's hand came up to caress her swelling stomach. Her child. Their child. A gaping hole was in her heart and mind where her people and her lover should be and it was killing her. This was different, somehow, from when she had lost her father. It was different from every other time she had lost something or someone. This time she had lost everything.
Try as she might, dance as she might, she couldn't push the anguish back. Not meditation, not talking, not even the age old routines would drive away the thoughts or the worries or the fears anymore.
She brought her other hand to rest on her stomach and the bantos rods clattered to the ground. There would be no dance. Not today. Teyla turned away, and let the doors whisper shut behind her.
Story Title: Back 2 Good
Character/Relationships: John Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: some language concerning sexual conduct, implied homosexual identification
Everyone here, is wondering what it's like to be with
Somebody else
Everyone here's to blame, everyone here
Gets caught up in the pleasure of the pain, everyone hides
Shades of shame, but looking inside we're the same, we're
The same
And we're all grown now, but we don't know how
To get it back to good
Back 2 good by Matchbox 20
It really wasn’t that difficult. It had a nice easygoing rhythm to it once you got the hang of it. Pretending was a way of life. You either thrived at it or your crashed and burned. John knew he was good at it. In fact, John knew he was fucking great at it. Because if he hadn’t been, then he would have been kicked out for breaking regs the moment he’d entered boot camp and considered the pros and cons of sucking one of his bunkmates’ cocks.
And up until now, the secrecy and make-believe little show he put on had always been worth it. To be able to fly and soar and be free. What wouldn’t be worth that. And maybe the sacrifice made it even sweeter still. And so John pretended. And he excelled at it.
So it even came as something of a surprise to John himself that it hurt quite this badly when Rodney started making noises about taking it further Keller - when John finally caught a freaking clue that Rodney was head over heels for someone that wasn’t him. It was terrifying to realize that he had pretended so well that even his best friend never realized John loved him beyond the bonds of friendship.
In a sick way, it was almost gloriously satisfying to realize that he had crafted his so-called Kirk persona so perfectly. No one suspected a thing. He was as safe as he could be. No one would look at him and accuse him of anything that could cost him Atlantis. These days, it hardly took any work at all anymore to convince people he was completely straight. In fact, he only had to hint at flirting for Rodney to nag for months on end about his various love affairs with multiple alien chieftain’s daughters. And if those rumors started to sustain themselves, well, not even he could be blamed for that.
Ironically, John had forgotten one important detail though. No matter how good at pretending he had become, John couldn’t fool himself in the end. And perhaps for the first time in a long time, John wondered if pretending was truly worth things he had to give up - the people he had couldn’t connect to - the love he couldn’t own up to.
Blue eyes - cutting words - passion - irritation - overwhelming love - intense friendship -
In his heart, John knew it wasn’t worth it at all.
STORY TITLE: ROUTINE DAY
CHARACTER/RELATIONSHIPS: RICHARD WOOLSEY, JOHN SHEPPARD
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: NONE
Richard Woolsey was a bureaucrat. Although he was secretly beginning to think of himself as a renegade, certainly as far as the IOA was concerned; still, he was a bureaucrat. Therefore, he cherished routine. He started the beginning of each new day on Atlantis with the hope that it would be a calm, ordinary day.
This day had started out as most on Atlantis do. Waking up at 0600 hours every morning, he attended to his morning rituals. Richard was quite fastidious in his habits; he completed his shower, toiletries, and was dressed by 0630 hrs. He allowed himself thirty minutes for breakfast, always a hard-boiled egg, grapefruit, and toast, or the reasonable substitution from the Pegasus galaxy. He had become quite fond of a similar fruit called ‘braca’ which had greenish-yellow pulp with the size and flavor of grapefruit.
Arriving in his office by 0700, he hoped that the first hour of his work day would be normal, at least for him. Once the senior staff meeting began at 0800, normal was rarely the operative word.
From his office, he watched as the leaders of the Atlantis expedition sauntered into the conference room, one by one, getting coffee and chit-chatting. He liked to enter last, not as they might assume, as a controlling measure, but because he preferred they get their morning greetings out of the way. It always amazed him that although they usually had breakfast together, the group always had something additional to chat about in the morning briefings.
Woolsey entered the room as they were settling down. Sheppard was sitting on his right as he normally did; the rest never seemed to take the same seat. He liked order, and supposed that Sheppard’s military background made him feel comfortable with regiment as well. Woolsey began the meeting, and was pleased to find he was moving through his agenda without interruption. That was until he was presenting his third order of business and the gate engaged. Everyone in the room became alert, waiting for their COM’s to activate.
They didn’t wait long. SGA-9 was in trouble; Sheppard and Ronon were out the door before Woolsey could take a breath; the others following closely behind. Lorne met them outside the conference room. SGA-9 had gated to a planet where a civil war had just broken out; they were coming in hot.
Marines began streaming into the gate room, assuming defensive positions. A SGA-9 member, with a bloody shoulder wound, emerged from the event horizon. Three menacing rebels, brandishing knives, followed on his heels. Within seconds, the gate room was congested with more insurgents, the remaining, battered off-world team members, and an increasing number of Marines, who were pouring in from all doorways.
Woolsey and Teyla ran down the stairs while McKay got Keller to safety. Woolsey managed to side-step a couple of rebels. At one point, Sergeant Johnston shoved him out of harm’s way, taking a blow intended for him. He watched as a giant of a man, who stood at least a foot taller than Ronon, knocked Colonel Sheppard's P-14 from his grasp. As he dodged another incoming blow, he saw Sheppard take several strikes to the face and abdomen from the monster’s huge fists. Then the familiar sound of Ronon's blaster dropped the enormous man in his tracks.
As the Marines gained control of the situation, Richard ran to one of the SGA-9 members who had collapsed from a head wound. However, a rebel was quicker; reaching the Marine first, poised to plunge a blade into the unconscious soldier. Richard gripped the rebel's arm, spun him around, and walked into a left hook that sent him flying to the floor. Reacting out of anger, Richard jumped up. He grabbed the insurgent again, and laid him out with an upper cut to the chin. Richard wasn't certain who was the most surprised, the rebel he hit, himself, or the two Marines, who had rushed to his rescue.
He heard Lorne’s yell to stand down, and as he sank to the floor, he saw that the Marines had all of the rebels in custody. Richard Woolsey decided it was time to take a rest.
~~oooOOOooo~~
Colonel Sheppard found him on the tower balcony, several hours later. Richard was hypnotized by the resonance of the calm, crystal-glazed ocean as it lapped gently against the city’s foundation. The visible twin moons were chasing each other across the intense midnight blue sky, moonlight sparkling across the water. Sheppard’s deep voice shattered the silence, startling him.
“Never tire of this view.”
He turned toward the colonel. Sheppard had numerous bruises on his face and a swollen, cut lip. As he leaned on the balcony railing, Sheppard uttered a small groan.
“Should you be out of the infirmary, colonel?”
“Jennifer says my injuries are, luckily, superficial, painful, but superficial. She actually allowed me to leave after a few hours observation. I’m to rest in my quarters.”
“You aren’t there, John”
“Yeah, too restless to sleep, and besides, I wanted to check on the injured Marines, who are, thankfully, going to be fine. I also wanted to see if you were OK. You were quite impressive today.” Sheppard pointed to the dark, wide bruise spread across Woolsey jaw. “You took one for the team, Richard.”
Richard rubbed his jaw gingerly, smiling, “Not on my list of favorite moments.”
“No, they never are, but you did well today, Richard. Lorne says the Marines and airmen have been talking about that move you made all evening. I think they have a new hero.”
Woolsey chuckled, “Colonel, I believe your status is safe; I am no hero.”
Sheppard laughed, but said quietly, “Not my status either.” Richard knew better.
Neither man spoke for a moment, then Sheppard said, “You have to admit Richard, nothing is routine around here.”
Woolsey nodded his agreement, “That is very true, John.”
Silently, he added to his renegade self, “That’s a good thing.”
Character/Relationships: John Sheppard, McShep
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A
0500- Wake up
0530 - 0630- Run
0630- Shower
0700- Breakfast, sometimes alone, sometimes with the team, but usually with McKay.
0800- Staff meeting with Woolsey and all the department heads (some times a mission briefing also).
0900- Staff meeting with his men to go over the stuff from the staff meeting with Woolsey and all the department heads (these are sometimes postponed so team Sheppard can go on a vital mission).
1000- Spar with Ronon or Teyla instead of doing paper work, and occasionally actually do the paper work.
1100- Training session with his top soldiers
1200- Lunch- usually without Rodney since he can’t seem to pull himself away from the lab.
1300 - 1800- Whatever missions they had on the schedule for the day.
1830- Post mission check up.
1900-?? Mission debriefing, shower, dinner, bed.
That was John’s daily routine and he hated it. He’d always hated having things set in front of him, knowing what his day was going to be like when he first opened his eyes each morning. There wasn’t much he could do to rebel against the routine except maybe sleep in and skip his run, but that would just make him feel rotten for the rest of the day. He liked the days when the morning staff meeting was actually a mission briefing, because that meant he’d be skipping the meeting with Lorne. There were days when he did his paper work, not just because the wolves were braying for his blood, but because it was a change in the monotony of his life.
Sure, things were always uncertain, there was the constant threat of wraith attack, not only on Atlantis but on the off world missions as well. But for the most part, John felt like he was going through life on auto-pilot. Sometimes he’d stay up later and go out to the pier for a beer or two with Rodney; usually only when the scientist was either stuck on a problem or just didn’t have anything too interesting to work on. Other times, he and Rodney would cut dinner short and go play a game of chess or watch a movie and make fun of the acting. Eventually, John found himself losing weight and sleep in order to spend just a little more time with Rodney.
Then, he and Rodney started having sex, it was unexpected not that John hadn’t been jerking off to thoughts of Rodney for awhile by then. One day Rodney just came to his quarters and laid it out for him, “I think we should have sex,” Rodney had said. Of course John agreed, but his mind had gone completely blank and he was left standing there with his mouth slightly ajar.
“It makes sense,” Rodney continued and he strode over to John’s bed and sat down, toeing off his shoes. “We already spend all of our free time together, we like the same kinds of things, we’re both smart, although I’m far and away smarter, we like each other and it’s easy.”
“Easy?” John had said, wondering if he should be offended.
“Yeah,” Rodney nodded and leaned back, resting his hands on the bed. “Dating is entirely too much work, and you have to go through too much crap before you even get to consider having sex. There’s no crap here, nothing between us but good times.”
John wasn’t sure what to say to that, his brain was still stuck on having sex.
“Look, I’m not suggesting we be fuck buddies, that would just be rude and wouldn’t do anything but insult our true friendship.”
“What are you suggesting then?” John asked, his mind finally catching up when presented with the prospect of actually being with Rodney.
Rodney shrugged, “I’m not sure, I’d thought about it for a while before I brought it to you, but all I can come up with to describe what we’d be is more than friends but not quite lovers.”
John nodded, shrugged slightly and tipped his head to one side, “sounds good to me,” he’d said and headed over toward the bed in a hurry.
That had been the beginning of it, and some time after that, they’d slipped silently into the realm of lovers, neither needing it to be spoken. And while John still had his routine, the run, the meetings and missions and of course the awful paper work, he also had Rodney to break things up. Rodney was anything but set in stone, sometimes he’d show up in John’s office for a mid morning blowjob, other times John wouldn’t see him for days, and then Rodney would come to his quarters and blow his mind with fantastic sex that seemed to last for hours.
Somehow, with Rodney there, it didn’t seem to matter to John that he had a daily routine, and that there were things he absolutely couldn’t get out of, because at the end of the day, he had Rodney at his side and that made all the rest worth it.
Story Title: Home Sweet Home
Character/Relationships: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, Evan Lorne, OMC
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
It wasn't a good sign that they had developed a kind of routine for cases like these. Having guns trained on the team would never lose it's horror, but what came after ... well, it had become pretty boring.
John generally just plucked himself down next to Rodney. Mainly to keep him calm and make sure he was close-by when their guards came in, but also because Rodney's shoulder was just the right height to lean against. Especially when he'd been hit over the head in the struggle to keep his weapons which - in these cases - he'd obviously lost. Listing to the right, John carefully found the softest spot on Rodney's shoulder and closed his eyes.
"Definitely a three," John said. His voice was slightly slurred from the painkiller Rodney had fought tooth and nails to be allowed to keep.
"A three? Are you insane? No, don't answer that, you've been hit over the head and high, of course you're insane."
"It's a five," Ronon said, not stopping his prowling. "No rotting straw." Like that was the important bit. Well, for Ronon it probably was.
"I believe a six, maybe." Teyla gave John a smile. "We have already been fed."
Rodney threw up his hands, dislodging John a little, who stubbornly refused to move. "There is nothing in here, not even a bare mattress. That's just as bad as rotten straw. And while there's no lemon in the food it tastes absolutely vile. No windows, no questions, no demands whatsoever. We don't even know why we're locked up. According to our very detailed spreadsheet it's a one. The only good thing is that they didn't shoot us on the spot!"
John suppressed the urge to shake his head. "Didn't separate us."
"That levels out with breaking you."
"They didn't break me," John denied automatically, though he had to admit he did feel a little bit broken.
Rodney gave him a sideways glare. "Can you sit on your own?"
Somehow it didn't sound like something John should try in the near future. "Yes?"
"Very convincing, Colonel," Rodney said, but beneath the sarcasm he sounded worried.
The waiting was boring. John wasn't sure whether to be glad about that or annoyed. He decided on "happy not to be tortured." At least even with being captured twice in a row AR-1 was still 3 spots down from the top of the "most captured" list on the blackboard in the mess hall. Lorne's team had the dubious honor of taking up that place.
A burst of P-90 fire shook John out of his stupor. For a moment he struggled to stay upright, but then Ronon gave him a hand up. Then he just tipped John towards Rodney and let go.
The door banged open a second later, revealing Sergeant Jundi. The man tapped his radio. "Sir, I found them, five minutes and thirty two seconds." He paused for a moment, then grinned. "Thank you, sir."
Rescues, John decided idly, were much more fun than trying to reach a consensus with his team about the rating of their accommodations. It was almost a relief - until Lorne tried to butt in. That never ended well. By the time they'd reached the 'gate John could walk under his own steam again, but now he had a nasty headache, would have killed for an aspirin, and wanted to strangle both Lorne and Rodney.
"Whatever you say doesn't change the fact that it is a one," Rodney said for the twentieth time.
"Sure, whatever, it's a one." Of course now Lorne gave in. John kind of wanted to scream.
As the wormhole burst into existence John turned. He made a show of looking around. "It's a three and that's an order." He didn't wait for Rodney to launch into a rant, instead he went through the 'gate and practically into Carson's arms.
Imprisonment followed by a physical. John sighed. Home sweet home. Routines at least were fairly predictable. Definitely better than any of the surprises the Pegasus Galaxy had taught him to hate.
Story Title: Dance of the Dead
Character/Relationships: Teyla Emmagan
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Teyla Emmagan stood in the doorway of the gym, bantos rods hanging loosely from one hand. It was the time of day she had allotted for her workout. Teyla could always be found in the gym this time of day, gracefully moving through the kata she had practiced since childhood. Always. But now she just stood there staring at the floor, unmoving. Thinking.
The tai chi-like routines had always been a part of her life, ever since she was small. One of Teyla's first memories as a child was of her father gently guiding her chubby little arms and legs through the flowing patterns of movement. As she grew older, it became tradition: rising together each morning at dawn to greet the sunrise and dance the kata. It was a special time, a time for themselves, and it was when Teyla felt closest to her father.
Then, of course, life had happened. The Wraith happened. The Wraith culled their planet and took her beloved father away from her. The loss drove her mother slightly mad with grief. But Teyla, after a brief period of expected mourning, carried on. She picked up her father's mantle of leadership and began to rebuild what the Wraith had torn down. And every morning she danced alone, the routine of the kata centering her and driving the tide of feelings away. She pushed them back until such a time when they could be used properly. For revenge.
Such a time came when she met John Sheppard and moved to Atlantis. Finally, in the city of the Ancestors, there were people willing and able to strike back against the Wraith. Teyla joined them there, using what she knew of her galaxy to aid the fight. But every day she made time to make peace with herself through the routines of her childhood. It was something she could not live without; something that grounded her and kept her in touch with her past even as she moved toward the future.
Of course, something as structured and beautiful to watch as Teyla's slow dance couldn't help but garner an audience in a small community such as Atlantis. She had watchers every day, from the Marines to the botanists. They all gathered under the guise of their own workouts, but she knew that they stopped and stared as she started to pour her body into her simple patterns.
She even gained some students of her art: her team especially showed great interest. John Sheppard was most interested. He did well, able to duplicate her movements if not her grace. Ronon Dex had been trained in something similar during his time in the Satedan military. He was not very keen on learning her ways, but he was able to teach her some new things that she incorperated into her ballet. Rodney McKay even gave it a try, to everyone's surprise. But unsurprisingly he proved to be better at thinking ninety miles a minute than at calming his mind and attuning it to the movement of his body.
Not a day went by when Teyla Emmagan did not perform her kata. They kept her sane throughout the bloody craziness of the years, the loss of friends, the attacks from their enemies, the unease of not knowing what tomorrow would bring.
But then Michael came and stole her people away. Stole Kanaan away, and just when she needed him most. Teyla's hand came up to caress her swelling stomach. Her child. Their child. A gaping hole was in her heart and mind where her people and her lover should be and it was killing her. This was different, somehow, from when she had lost her father. It was different from every other time she had lost something or someone. This time she had lost everything.
Try as she might, dance as she might, she couldn't push the anguish back. Not meditation, not talking, not even the age old routines would drive away the thoughts or the worries or the fears anymore.
She brought her other hand to rest on her stomach and the bantos rods clattered to the ground. There would be no dance. Not today. Teyla turned away, and let the doors whisper shut behind her.
Story Title: Back 2 Good
Character/Relationships: John Sheppard
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: some language concerning sexual conduct, implied homosexual identification
Everyone here, is wondering what it's like to be with
Somebody else
Everyone here's to blame, everyone here
Gets caught up in the pleasure of the pain, everyone hides
Shades of shame, but looking inside we're the same, we're
The same
And we're all grown now, but we don't know how
To get it back to good
Back 2 good by Matchbox 20
It really wasn’t that difficult. It had a nice easygoing rhythm to it once you got the hang of it. Pretending was a way of life. You either thrived at it or your crashed and burned. John knew he was good at it. In fact, John knew he was fucking great at it. Because if he hadn’t been, then he would have been kicked out for breaking regs the moment he’d entered boot camp and considered the pros and cons of sucking one of his bunkmates’ cocks.
And up until now, the secrecy and make-believe little show he put on had always been worth it. To be able to fly and soar and be free. What wouldn’t be worth that. And maybe the sacrifice made it even sweeter still. And so John pretended. And he excelled at it.
So it even came as something of a surprise to John himself that it hurt quite this badly when Rodney started making noises about taking it further Keller - when John finally caught a freaking clue that Rodney was head over heels for someone that wasn’t him. It was terrifying to realize that he had pretended so well that even his best friend never realized John loved him beyond the bonds of friendship.
In a sick way, it was almost gloriously satisfying to realize that he had crafted his so-called Kirk persona so perfectly. No one suspected a thing. He was as safe as he could be. No one would look at him and accuse him of anything that could cost him Atlantis. These days, it hardly took any work at all anymore to convince people he was completely straight. In fact, he only had to hint at flirting for Rodney to nag for months on end about his various love affairs with multiple alien chieftain’s daughters. And if those rumors started to sustain themselves, well, not even he could be blamed for that.
Ironically, John had forgotten one important detail though. No matter how good at pretending he had become, John couldn’t fool himself in the end. And perhaps for the first time in a long time, John wondered if pretending was truly worth things he had to give up - the people he had couldn’t connect to - the love he couldn’t own up to.
Blue eyes - cutting words - passion - irritation - overwhelming love - intense friendship -
In his heart, John knew it wasn’t worth it at all.
STORY TITLE: ROUTINE DAY
CHARACTER/RELATIONSHIPS: RICHARD WOOLSEY, JOHN SHEPPARD
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: NONE
Richard Woolsey was a bureaucrat. Although he was secretly beginning to think of himself as a renegade, certainly as far as the IOA was concerned; still, he was a bureaucrat. Therefore, he cherished routine. He started the beginning of each new day on Atlantis with the hope that it would be a calm, ordinary day.
This day had started out as most on Atlantis do. Waking up at 0600 hours every morning, he attended to his morning rituals. Richard was quite fastidious in his habits; he completed his shower, toiletries, and was dressed by 0630 hrs. He allowed himself thirty minutes for breakfast, always a hard-boiled egg, grapefruit, and toast, or the reasonable substitution from the Pegasus galaxy. He had become quite fond of a similar fruit called ‘braca’ which had greenish-yellow pulp with the size and flavor of grapefruit.
Arriving in his office by 0700, he hoped that the first hour of his work day would be normal, at least for him. Once the senior staff meeting began at 0800, normal was rarely the operative word.
From his office, he watched as the leaders of the Atlantis expedition sauntered into the conference room, one by one, getting coffee and chit-chatting. He liked to enter last, not as they might assume, as a controlling measure, but because he preferred they get their morning greetings out of the way. It always amazed him that although they usually had breakfast together, the group always had something additional to chat about in the morning briefings.
Woolsey entered the room as they were settling down. Sheppard was sitting on his right as he normally did; the rest never seemed to take the same seat. He liked order, and supposed that Sheppard’s military background made him feel comfortable with regiment as well. Woolsey began the meeting, and was pleased to find he was moving through his agenda without interruption. That was until he was presenting his third order of business and the gate engaged. Everyone in the room became alert, waiting for their COM’s to activate.
They didn’t wait long. SGA-9 was in trouble; Sheppard and Ronon were out the door before Woolsey could take a breath; the others following closely behind. Lorne met them outside the conference room. SGA-9 had gated to a planet where a civil war had just broken out; they were coming in hot.
Marines began streaming into the gate room, assuming defensive positions. A SGA-9 member, with a bloody shoulder wound, emerged from the event horizon. Three menacing rebels, brandishing knives, followed on his heels. Within seconds, the gate room was congested with more insurgents, the remaining, battered off-world team members, and an increasing number of Marines, who were pouring in from all doorways.
Woolsey and Teyla ran down the stairs while McKay got Keller to safety. Woolsey managed to side-step a couple of rebels. At one point, Sergeant Johnston shoved him out of harm’s way, taking a blow intended for him. He watched as a giant of a man, who stood at least a foot taller than Ronon, knocked Colonel Sheppard's P-14 from his grasp. As he dodged another incoming blow, he saw Sheppard take several strikes to the face and abdomen from the monster’s huge fists. Then the familiar sound of Ronon's blaster dropped the enormous man in his tracks.
As the Marines gained control of the situation, Richard ran to one of the SGA-9 members who had collapsed from a head wound. However, a rebel was quicker; reaching the Marine first, poised to plunge a blade into the unconscious soldier. Richard gripped the rebel's arm, spun him around, and walked into a left hook that sent him flying to the floor. Reacting out of anger, Richard jumped up. He grabbed the insurgent again, and laid him out with an upper cut to the chin. Richard wasn't certain who was the most surprised, the rebel he hit, himself, or the two Marines, who had rushed to his rescue.
He heard Lorne’s yell to stand down, and as he sank to the floor, he saw that the Marines had all of the rebels in custody. Richard Woolsey decided it was time to take a rest.
~~oooOOOooo~~
Colonel Sheppard found him on the tower balcony, several hours later. Richard was hypnotized by the resonance of the calm, crystal-glazed ocean as it lapped gently against the city’s foundation. The visible twin moons were chasing each other across the intense midnight blue sky, moonlight sparkling across the water. Sheppard’s deep voice shattered the silence, startling him.
“Never tire of this view.”
He turned toward the colonel. Sheppard had numerous bruises on his face and a swollen, cut lip. As he leaned on the balcony railing, Sheppard uttered a small groan.
“Should you be out of the infirmary, colonel?”
“Jennifer says my injuries are, luckily, superficial, painful, but superficial. She actually allowed me to leave after a few hours observation. I’m to rest in my quarters.”
“You aren’t there, John”
“Yeah, too restless to sleep, and besides, I wanted to check on the injured Marines, who are, thankfully, going to be fine. I also wanted to see if you were OK. You were quite impressive today.” Sheppard pointed to the dark, wide bruise spread across Woolsey jaw. “You took one for the team, Richard.”
Richard rubbed his jaw gingerly, smiling, “Not on my list of favorite moments.”
“No, they never are, but you did well today, Richard. Lorne says the Marines and airmen have been talking about that move you made all evening. I think they have a new hero.”
Woolsey chuckled, “Colonel, I believe your status is safe; I am no hero.”
Sheppard laughed, but said quietly, “Not my status either.” Richard knew better.
Neither man spoke for a moment, then Sheppard said, “You have to admit Richard, nothing is routine around here.”
Woolsey nodded his agreement, “That is very true, John.”
Silently, he added to his renegade self, “That’s a good thing.”