Any Given Winter's Night
Sam let out a breath, wisps of blond bangs flying upwards.
“I burned them again,” she informed the petite woman standing beside her, oven mitts on both hands.
“Make another batch, then,” came her reply as a tray of smoking lumps was dumped into a water-filled bucket.
“Sugar doesn’t grow on trees, Janet.”
“You’re going to learn how to make cookies if it kills me.” The midwife said firmly, ignoring the exasperated look on her friend’s face, and handed her a clean tray.
-
The rabbit roasting over a small fire sizzled quietly, its mate already pulled out of the flames. Jack cut a piece of hindquarter off and offered it to Jonas, who refused it with a shake of his head. Knowing very well the sick expression on the young man’s face, O’Neill said nothing and instead popped it into his mouth.
Reality, especially the one that the desk jockeys in the big cities liked to brush under the rugs, was a bitch.
It was their job to try and lessen that pain, but they had to deal with it themselves first.
-
Vala glanced up out of the small window, gaze catching on the full moon that hung in the sky, silvery rays pointing towards the mountain range to the West.
What lay over those peaks? She wondered, hands stilled on the rolling pin. Fame? No, but fortune? Perhaps.
Rough miners willing to trade a little company for a pinch of gold dust; tired cowboys sick of being out on an open range with no girl in sight; the list went on and on…
The smell of a baking apple pie interrupted her thoughts, and with a tsk Vala flattened her crust out once more.
There were riches beyond count in Atlantis, and she would be all the poorer for leaving.
-
Elizabeth carefully slid the bookmark in between the pages of her novel and shut it, making sure not to crease any of the well-worn corners. Books were scarce, especially out here, and although she had nearly every line memorized, it was always a treat to find time to visit the beloved worlds hidden inside printed lines.
As she tucked her feet closer to defy the chill that was already slipping into the house, she remembered that the next shipment of goods for her Mercantile was due tomorrow. Oh, how the ladies in the town would love the new patterns, and she’d put a good deal of money on new dresses by the next social, trying to catch the eyes of Atlantis’ young men.
Smiling, Elizabeth pulled the covers tightly around her and closed her own eyes.
-
Papers lay scattered on desks and rough floorboards alike, simplistic drawings covering the chalkboards interspersed with the mess. Daniel flipped through a school book, murmuring under his breath as he scribbled equations on the back of an essay.
Give him the humanities any day; classic literature, foreign languages, even the theatric arts. But math, with its convoluted expressions and twisted logic- math he approached from a distance whenever possible. Unfortunately, a teacher was supposed to know everything, and some of the older children were already testing the limits of his knowledge.
He had a duty, a responsibility to uphold, and even if it took studying geometry or algebra (dear God, please not calculus!), he wouldn’t let his students down.
-
John Sheppard clenched his teeth and swore under his breath as he tightened the bandage on his arm. The steady trickle of blood slowed, but it had already stained the sleeve of his shirt a dark, near-black color.
“Cut it a little close,” Ronon observed with only a hint of a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, well, the next time a guy pulls out a knife in a fistfight, I’m shooting him.” The paler man scowled. His companion shrugged, twitching his reins so the sturdy bay stopped shifting and twisted its head in the desired direction. Still muttering curses, the gunslinger followed.
-
Sparks flew as hammer collided with heated metal, echoes of the crash fading into the walls of the smithy. Teal’c flipped the cherry-red length of steel and struck again, sweat pouring down his body.
There was no reason to worry about disturbing anyone at this hour; Lorne’s workplace was built far enough away from the houses of his would-be neighbors, in the event of a fire, that no one would be kept up by the rhythmic pounding.
One strike, for freedom; two for the shackles of servitude he had cast off; three for his brothers and sisters still in the dark…
-
Carson switched the wet towel draped across Susan’s forehead for a cooler one, checking the girl’s pulse. It was stronger, her little body fighting the illness and bolstered now by the medicine; he nodded, satisfied.
“Will she be all right?” Her mother asked anxiously, wringing her hands; Susan was her only child, and Beckett had found that turned even the smallest bump or bruise into a horrible accident.
“Aye, as long as you keep her comfortable and give her a spoonful of this every hour.” He handed her the glass bottle and smiled at her obvious relief. “Just a wee bit of a cold, gone in no time at all.”
Then, politely denying her offer of something warm or strengthening to drink before he went out again, Carson left.
-
Kate’s attention wandered while she sewed the hem of a dress she had let down, as did her needle; it slipped and stabbed her thumb.
When she winced, Laura paused and frowned slightly. In response to the unasked question, Kate sighed.
“I’m fine. Just… thinking. And don’t say that’s rare.”
The redhead didn’t say anything, but her quirked lips spoke volumes.
-
Looking at the shivering children huddle inside the tent, Teyla felt her heart ache. The hide walls should have kept the cold breeze out, but they were old and stretched thin, and there were not enough hidebeasts in the populated lands to keep them warm.
It was a grim world she and her people lived in, she knew, and yet she wanted, as long as possible, to shield them from that harsh fact.
“Would anyone care to hear a story?” Their narrow faces turned eagerly towards her and she had to force a smile onto her lips, wanting to cry. “Come, come closer.”
And they did, pressing against one another like so many puppies in a pile, listening with a rapt attention that let them forget the cold as she spread her hands and leaned in.
“Long ago, when our Ancestors walked among the stars…”
-
Shoulders hunched over the desk, strained eyes scanning the tiny print of the six-month-old “American Physics” magazine, McKay’s eyebrows dipped dangerously low. He grabbed for a pencil without looking, fingers groping amongst the greasy contents of his “fiddle-with” drawer until they surfaced with the required object.
“What the hell were they thinking?” Rodney demanded of no one in particular as he hastily scratched down notes, slashing through complicated formulae with ease. A pair of ears perked up and Lucie, comfortably ensconced on the lean-to built against the side of his house, listened as he proceeded to demolish several theories with much insulting of the intelligence of those involved, before going back to munching on a mouthful of hay.
-
Running a grimy hand through his hair, Cameron let the chestnut slow to a halt. As the gelding’s nostrils flared, sucking in the crisp air, Mitchell glanced to the side and saw Carolyn curled up on a stack of saddle pads and straw, sound asleep.
There’d be whispers, he knew, about the fact that she had stayed overnight- but the ones whose opinions counted would know that she’d been helping him with a colicky horse, and silence whatever rumors might spring up.
Besides, Carolyn hadn’t become the town’s unofficial veterinarian by caring what the town gossips thought, and he was more grateful than she’d ever know for her help.
Quietly, careful not to wake the dreaming beauty, he patted Sonny’s sweat covered neck.
“C’mon.”
With a low groan, the horse followed him around the track worn into the barn floor.
-
Steven Caldwell fingered the yellowing letters, watching the flickering fire without seeing it. Strange, that a town built by people looking towards the future should force them to recall their past; then again, that was usually how these things went. You couldn’t have a tree without roots and a place to stand on, after all.
The sheriff rose slowly, put his cleaned pistol back into its holster, and banked the fire. Then, picking up the scarlet ribbon lying on top of a small wooden box, he tied the packet of letters together again.
He’d learned to be content with today.
-
Laughter had drawn him from his path towards home and into the lantern-lit bar where a fierce poker war was being waged. Hammond paused in the doorway to watch as Marcus Lorne gestured in response to something Paul Davis was saying; behind the bar, Kavanaugh watched the affair with a frozen scowl. It was clear that he did not like the jovial mood or the poker players, but he certainly wasn’t objecting to the many orders flowing in.
Someone folded, and another followed, the intense atmosphere unaffected by the jokes and conversations flowing around the designated table. George met the gazes of several of the men and gave them nods, turning back to the game just in time to see Davis pulling the majority of Lorne’s pile over to him with a satisfied look. Lorne, all the gracious loser, ordered another round of drinks.
They were good, these men; they were honest and trustworthy, ready to fight and defend. A warm knot of pride tied itself under his breastbone as he scanned the room again, knowing that tomorrow some of those faces might be gone, lost to the Wraith or God or the urge to wander…
…but many of those faces would still be here.
Feeling much better than he had in a long time, Hammond turned and went home.
-
The full moon gleamed bright silver in the dark sky, illuminating the town below. For a moment, store fronts reflected the cool light as metal would; trees akin to towers rose into the night; long grass rippled in the cold breeze like the surface of an ocean.
Sheltered, secure, Atlantis waited for dawn and the battles that were to come.
A ship in harbor was safe- but that was not what ships were for.
the end
“I burned them again,” she informed the petite woman standing beside her, oven mitts on both hands.
“Make another batch, then,” came her reply as a tray of smoking lumps was dumped into a water-filled bucket.
“Sugar doesn’t grow on trees, Janet.”
“You’re going to learn how to make cookies if it kills me.” The midwife said firmly, ignoring the exasperated look on her friend’s face, and handed her a clean tray.
-
The rabbit roasting over a small fire sizzled quietly, its mate already pulled out of the flames. Jack cut a piece of hindquarter off and offered it to Jonas, who refused it with a shake of his head. Knowing very well the sick expression on the young man’s face, O’Neill said nothing and instead popped it into his mouth.
Reality, especially the one that the desk jockeys in the big cities liked to brush under the rugs, was a bitch.
It was their job to try and lessen that pain, but they had to deal with it themselves first.
-
Vala glanced up out of the small window, gaze catching on the full moon that hung in the sky, silvery rays pointing towards the mountain range to the West.
What lay over those peaks? She wondered, hands stilled on the rolling pin. Fame? No, but fortune? Perhaps.
Rough miners willing to trade a little company for a pinch of gold dust; tired cowboys sick of being out on an open range with no girl in sight; the list went on and on…
The smell of a baking apple pie interrupted her thoughts, and with a tsk Vala flattened her crust out once more.
There were riches beyond count in Atlantis, and she would be all the poorer for leaving.
-
Elizabeth carefully slid the bookmark in between the pages of her novel and shut it, making sure not to crease any of the well-worn corners. Books were scarce, especially out here, and although she had nearly every line memorized, it was always a treat to find time to visit the beloved worlds hidden inside printed lines.
As she tucked her feet closer to defy the chill that was already slipping into the house, she remembered that the next shipment of goods for her Mercantile was due tomorrow. Oh, how the ladies in the town would love the new patterns, and she’d put a good deal of money on new dresses by the next social, trying to catch the eyes of Atlantis’ young men.
Smiling, Elizabeth pulled the covers tightly around her and closed her own eyes.
-
Papers lay scattered on desks and rough floorboards alike, simplistic drawings covering the chalkboards interspersed with the mess. Daniel flipped through a school book, murmuring under his breath as he scribbled equations on the back of an essay.
Give him the humanities any day; classic literature, foreign languages, even the theatric arts. But math, with its convoluted expressions and twisted logic- math he approached from a distance whenever possible. Unfortunately, a teacher was supposed to know everything, and some of the older children were already testing the limits of his knowledge.
He had a duty, a responsibility to uphold, and even if it took studying geometry or algebra (dear God, please not calculus!), he wouldn’t let his students down.
-
John Sheppard clenched his teeth and swore under his breath as he tightened the bandage on his arm. The steady trickle of blood slowed, but it had already stained the sleeve of his shirt a dark, near-black color.
“Cut it a little close,” Ronon observed with only a hint of a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, well, the next time a guy pulls out a knife in a fistfight, I’m shooting him.” The paler man scowled. His companion shrugged, twitching his reins so the sturdy bay stopped shifting and twisted its head in the desired direction. Still muttering curses, the gunslinger followed.
-
Sparks flew as hammer collided with heated metal, echoes of the crash fading into the walls of the smithy. Teal’c flipped the cherry-red length of steel and struck again, sweat pouring down his body.
There was no reason to worry about disturbing anyone at this hour; Lorne’s workplace was built far enough away from the houses of his would-be neighbors, in the event of a fire, that no one would be kept up by the rhythmic pounding.
One strike, for freedom; two for the shackles of servitude he had cast off; three for his brothers and sisters still in the dark…
-
Carson switched the wet towel draped across Susan’s forehead for a cooler one, checking the girl’s pulse. It was stronger, her little body fighting the illness and bolstered now by the medicine; he nodded, satisfied.
“Will she be all right?” Her mother asked anxiously, wringing her hands; Susan was her only child, and Beckett had found that turned even the smallest bump or bruise into a horrible accident.
“Aye, as long as you keep her comfortable and give her a spoonful of this every hour.” He handed her the glass bottle and smiled at her obvious relief. “Just a wee bit of a cold, gone in no time at all.”
Then, politely denying her offer of something warm or strengthening to drink before he went out again, Carson left.
-
Kate’s attention wandered while she sewed the hem of a dress she had let down, as did her needle; it slipped and stabbed her thumb.
When she winced, Laura paused and frowned slightly. In response to the unasked question, Kate sighed.
“I’m fine. Just… thinking. And don’t say that’s rare.”
The redhead didn’t say anything, but her quirked lips spoke volumes.
-
Looking at the shivering children huddle inside the tent, Teyla felt her heart ache. The hide walls should have kept the cold breeze out, but they were old and stretched thin, and there were not enough hidebeasts in the populated lands to keep them warm.
It was a grim world she and her people lived in, she knew, and yet she wanted, as long as possible, to shield them from that harsh fact.
“Would anyone care to hear a story?” Their narrow faces turned eagerly towards her and she had to force a smile onto her lips, wanting to cry. “Come, come closer.”
And they did, pressing against one another like so many puppies in a pile, listening with a rapt attention that let them forget the cold as she spread her hands and leaned in.
“Long ago, when our Ancestors walked among the stars…”
-
Shoulders hunched over the desk, strained eyes scanning the tiny print of the six-month-old “American Physics” magazine, McKay’s eyebrows dipped dangerously low. He grabbed for a pencil without looking, fingers groping amongst the greasy contents of his “fiddle-with” drawer until they surfaced with the required object.
“What the hell were they thinking?” Rodney demanded of no one in particular as he hastily scratched down notes, slashing through complicated formulae with ease. A pair of ears perked up and Lucie, comfortably ensconced on the lean-to built against the side of his house, listened as he proceeded to demolish several theories with much insulting of the intelligence of those involved, before going back to munching on a mouthful of hay.
-
Running a grimy hand through his hair, Cameron let the chestnut slow to a halt. As the gelding’s nostrils flared, sucking in the crisp air, Mitchell glanced to the side and saw Carolyn curled up on a stack of saddle pads and straw, sound asleep.
There’d be whispers, he knew, about the fact that she had stayed overnight- but the ones whose opinions counted would know that she’d been helping him with a colicky horse, and silence whatever rumors might spring up.
Besides, Carolyn hadn’t become the town’s unofficial veterinarian by caring what the town gossips thought, and he was more grateful than she’d ever know for her help.
Quietly, careful not to wake the dreaming beauty, he patted Sonny’s sweat covered neck.
“C’mon.”
With a low groan, the horse followed him around the track worn into the barn floor.
-
Steven Caldwell fingered the yellowing letters, watching the flickering fire without seeing it. Strange, that a town built by people looking towards the future should force them to recall their past; then again, that was usually how these things went. You couldn’t have a tree without roots and a place to stand on, after all.
The sheriff rose slowly, put his cleaned pistol back into its holster, and banked the fire. Then, picking up the scarlet ribbon lying on top of a small wooden box, he tied the packet of letters together again.
He’d learned to be content with today.
-
Laughter had drawn him from his path towards home and into the lantern-lit bar where a fierce poker war was being waged. Hammond paused in the doorway to watch as Marcus Lorne gestured in response to something Paul Davis was saying; behind the bar, Kavanaugh watched the affair with a frozen scowl. It was clear that he did not like the jovial mood or the poker players, but he certainly wasn’t objecting to the many orders flowing in.
Someone folded, and another followed, the intense atmosphere unaffected by the jokes and conversations flowing around the designated table. George met the gazes of several of the men and gave them nods, turning back to the game just in time to see Davis pulling the majority of Lorne’s pile over to him with a satisfied look. Lorne, all the gracious loser, ordered another round of drinks.
They were good, these men; they were honest and trustworthy, ready to fight and defend. A warm knot of pride tied itself under his breastbone as he scanned the room again, knowing that tomorrow some of those faces might be gone, lost to the Wraith or God or the urge to wander…
…but many of those faces would still be here.
Feeling much better than he had in a long time, Hammond turned and went home.
-
The full moon gleamed bright silver in the dark sky, illuminating the town below. For a moment, store fronts reflected the cool light as metal would; trees akin to towers rose into the night; long grass rippled in the cold breeze like the surface of an ocean.
Sheltered, secure, Atlantis waited for dawn and the battles that were to come.
A ship in harbor was safe- but that was not what ships were for.
the end