A few new friends

[tielan]

*waves* at teh_gandu, majortrip, loveconquers14, infinimato, control_freak80, lilyayl, and triciabyrne1978.

Salutations and welcome to the madhouse! *g*

Okay. V-day challenge. Pick a pairing I will write and a prompt and I'll try to write something about that pairing for Valentine's Day. First person to prompt for a pairing gets their prompt written, unless their prompt is trumped by someone else.

If you want to ask for anything SG1, I'll do Sam/Jack and Sam/Cam in SG1, and Cam/Teyla, Sam/Shep, and Elizabeth/Daniel in crossover. *ponders Vala/Shep and Daniel/Teyla*

Comments

[sjhw-tolerance.livejournal.com]

I'll do Sam/Jack and Sam/Cam in SG1, and Cam/Teyla, Sam/Shep, and Elizabeth/Daniel in crossover. *ponders Vala/Shep and Daniel/Teyla*

::faints::

[tielan]

Ii'm kinda surprised that you didn't ask for the usual Sam/Jack. :)

[sjhw-tolerance.livejournal.com]

But on second thought...I'd like to see Shep/Vala.

Third Time Lucky, PG-13, John/Vala

[tielan]

John should be used to having his ass kicked. Teyla does it often enough.

As his shoulderblades kiss floor - again - John reflects that any pleasure Teyla took in his demise at her hands was good-natured. She considered their sparring a tutorial, an exercise from which she expected him to gain experience. She didn't make it about ego - John did that all by himself.

When Vala's gleeful face pops into his wincing line of sight, John sighs to himself. Beaten up by another alien woman.

Does he have a sign on his back or something?

"That was fun," Vala declares, an impish smirk on her lips. "Want to do it again?"

"No," he complains, but accepts her hand up.

This is the second time Vala's laid him out. After the first time, he figured he had her measure and went in for the kill. A mistake.

He's used to making mistakes when it comes to fighting against good-looking alien women. Considering the bruises Teyla left on him during their early bouts, Vala's being nice.

For a given value of 'nice', of course. Which isn't actually all that 'nice'.

John picks himself up, shakes himself all over to loosen his t-shirt and air his sweaty body, and thanks God that he accepted Vala's challenge to fight after the SGC's day shift has ended. At least his ego is being beaten in private, rather than with half the SGC looking on and laying down bets.

"All right," he says. "Third time lucky."

Vala beams at him, dark blue eyes gleaming with delight. "I love an optimistic man," she says, dimpling with charming enthusiasm as she sashays around the edge of the fighting floor.

John follows her movements, watching for any signs that she's going to attack. But Vala merely smiles teasingly at him as she saunters about, as though John's the least of her concerns.

He moves in for the kill, choosing to attack. Maybe he should wait - patience being a virtue or something - but he's had enough of being patient and his ego has taken enough of a battering during this bout. He wants some revenge.

This isn't quite like the stave-fighting he and Teyla used to do - nothing can replace the good-humoured calm of the Athosian woman - but it's close enough to satisfy him.

Close enough to make him just a little homesick.

But Atlantis, Teyla, and Ronon are a galaxy and a Gate-bridge away, and the rest of his 'family' are scattered or sulking.

Vala meets him - but doesn't try to hold him off, the way most fighters do. Instead, she closes with him, letting him grapple with her - lean curves and long muscle - and pressing herself against him in a move that's more like a clinch than combat.

John catches the wicked sparkle in her eyes at the same time as her hands grab his butt and she throws them both down to the floor.

His shoulders kiss the mats, and a moment later, her lips are kissing him, while her hips are doing something very...blatant...to his hips.

And John's enjoying it.

He's been numb for weeks now - since the enormity of his life and his loss swept him, whole, into the fight against the Orii.

It's a relief to feel something again.

So John kisses her back.

When Vala lifts her mouth from his, bats her lashes at him, and dimples, he feels slightly resentful at her withdrawl - however temporary it might be.

"You're not a bad kisser," she tells him. And her husky voice might be just a little more rough as she settles on the start of his not-unnoticeable woody and contemplates him like a cake that she's deciding if she wants to take or not.

"I've had some practise," John tells her, noting the flush on her cheeks, and the way her breasts rise and fall, and suddenly really glad that he chose to take up Vala's challenge after-hours.

John's used to making mistakes when it comes to interpreting interest from good-looking alien women.

Considering how Teyla was companionable, comradely, and apparently very content with being just an ally, Vala's being downright friendly.

Her eyes light up with a sapphire glint as she grinds into his hips again and bends down until her lips are just over his. "I think you can always do with more practise," she tells him.

John doesn't object at all.

Third time lucky, he supposes.

[ubiquitous-girl.livejournal.com]

I'd love it if you could do Liz/Caldwell. Prompt - red

Vala/Shep *thud*

[ubiquitous-girl.livejournal.com]

If Liz/Caldwell isn't to your fancy, I understand. ^.^

Seeing Scarlet, Liz/Caldwell, R, prompt: red

[tielan]

Red is anger, frustration, rage.

Steven never expected she'd accept him from the start, but he didn't expect such opposition. He's doing what he considers is best for the city - dismissing Sheppard's decision wasn't the primary consideration. There are changes that Steven felt needed to be done, while he was in command of the city, he was getting them done.

Why wait for an incapacitated man to do the job when he can do it himself?

He sincerely wishes Colonel Sheppard the best, and hopes that the man will be fixed by whatever means are available. But he's not going to wish and hope and think and pray about it. That's not his nature or his job.

There's enough gossip about the SGC regarding Dr. Weir's push to have Sheppard promoted to command rank. So far, the gossip splits on whether she was power-playing, or just fucking the then-Major.

Steven's inclined to believe the former. Sheppard sticks to the frat regs, even if he recklessly breaks other rules without compunction. And Dr Weir's rigidity in controlling the city seems to extend to her personal life as well. She might mellow a little, but only time will tell.

He doesn't intend to be an enemy - to Weir, Sheppard, or Atlantis, whatever she might think.

But he'll let her hostility ease back before he speaks with her again.

-

Red is danger, warning, caution.

His role in Atlantis is not the one he would have chosen for himself: taxi driver and restraining voice.

Steven wonders why he lets her do this to him - to cast him as the voice of caution, when all Sheppard is intent on doing is throwing care to the wind.

He stays behind after the others follow Sheppard out, and Elizabeth stares defiantly back at him.

"If they end up engaging with the hive-"

"They want to do this."

"And you want them to do it."

"Even if I didn't, I wouldn't stop them, Colonel. They have to try."

She needs them to try.

Whatever this expedition began as, it's become something distinctly more. It might be John Sheppard's influence, it might be the inclusion of Teyla Emmagen and Ronon Dex in the expedition - the adjustment of what it means to 'belong' in Atlantis.

Steven Caldwell is only ever going to stand on the outskirts of Atlantis, and for that, he will be eternally relegated to Cassandrian prophecy - to cry 'doom' unheeded.

He shakes his head in resignation and turns on his heel to leave.

"Steven." He glances back, and Elizabeth's standing in the midst of the empty room, her fingers clenched around each other. "Thank you for taking them out there."

He shrugs, unwilling to let her see how much her appreciation means. "Thank me when they bring Dex back, Elizabeth."

-

Red is desire, passion, love.

Elizabeth doesn't have nails to dig into his shoulders, but her fingertips leave dents in his skin. Her shirt lies discarded on the floor of his quarters, a pool of burgundy in the grey-blue décor. Her lips part scarlet against the cream of her skin as he thrusts with slow steady strokes. Desire is a crimson haze, sparkling through his veins as she pants in his ear.

Speech is overrated, words beyond him. The tension of arousal battles against the need to do the gentlemanly thing - to please his partner before letting himself go.

Steven grinds Elizabeth hard into the bed, lifting himself off with his forearms so he has better leverage for his hips as plunges them on to orgasm.

Her head jerks back into the pillow as her nipples brush his chest. Her fingers bite into his buttocks. Awash with satisfaction, he glimpses the glitter of tears beneath her lashes - a twinkle of pleasure that becomes a fiery supernova, exploding through his senses as he spends himself in her arms and her body.

Later, after they've cleaned up and are dressing, he tucks in the white tag of her scarlet shirt, letting his finger slide along the inside edge of the collar in casual caress.

Elizabeth accepts the gesture as she runs a careful hand through her hair. But when she turns at the door, her cheeks are red. "Colonel."

"Doctor." He lets her put the distance between them - a comforting formality. "Have a good evening."

The smile that flashes across her lips is wicked. "I already have."

[ryf.livejournal.com]

Pairing: Weir/McKay, prompt: Chess

The Man Who Would Be King, McKay/Weir, chess

[tielan]

Sorry about the delay in this!

--

Rodney likes to think of himself as a major player in Atlantis.

He explains this to Elizabeth during lunch one day, while watching Rookman and Green conduct their staring match over chess. "Knight."

She's distracted rather than disconcerted by his non-sequitur. "Rodney?"

"I'm a Knight."

Now the confusion sets in. "Of the British Empire?"

He rolls his eyes. "No! Sheppard's a Bishop - he moves diagonally, sneakily. Teyla's probably a Rook - straightforward and powerful. That would make Lorne the other Rook. Or maybe Caldwell."

Her eyes narrow and her eyebrows rise with the slightly disbelieving look she gives him - or Sheppard or Ronon or any of the men in the city - when she thinks they might be making fun of her. Elizabeth can be very conscious of her dignity when it comes to the men she commands. "And you're a Knight? In shining armour?"

"I could be," he points out. "I mean, how many times have I saved this city? But I was thinking in terms of the moves - two steps forward, one step to the side. Being the genius that I am, I don't act as people expect."

"Except when you do?" Elizabeth is regarding him with mocking solemnity before she breaks into a smile. "So what am I?"

"Actually, I'm not sure." He waves his fork in the air to explain. "You're not the Queen - you rarely leave Atlantis and you don't have a lot of movement available. Atlantis could be considered the King, I suppose. It can't go anywhere, but if it's captured... Hm." He shrugs. "It's not like I thought this through, you know."

"So I see." She turns her head to regard the game of wills. "Looks like Dr. Rookman's decided to make a move."

Rodney gives the board a cursory glance. "Maybe you're the player."

This time she's genuinely astonished. "The player?"

He explains. "You move the pieces about the board. Sort of. Or you direct them where to go. Mostly. Except for Atlantis, really. If Atlantis can be considered a piece on the board. And Sheppard. But Sheppard never does what anyone tells him to do. And it's not like anyone has a leash on Ronon. Except for Teyla. And sometimes Sheppard."

The adjustments are getting worse by the word, and her smile is getting broader by the moment.

"You really didn't think this through, did you?"

"Well, no." He admits, abashed. "But it's not rocket science."

In spite of his embarrassment, under the vivacity of Elizabeth's smile, Rodney thinks that he'd like to think of himself as a major player in her life.

[grav-ity.livejournal.com]

Elizabeth/Ronon, Jewel-verse, please.

[lilyayl.livejournal.com]

Teyla/Kate, Babylon -or- Rodney/Radek, elementary

:)

And *waves* back

Remember Zion, Teyla/Kate, PG-13, prompt 'Babylon'

[tielan]

WARNING: implied rape situations.

--

They lie together for warmth and comfort. "Human contact," says Kate, her teeth chattering as Teyla curls an arm around Kate's back and flings the thin blanket around them both. "The need to connect with someone in a stressful situation – to have an ally."

Teyla nods and lets the other woman talk on, agreeing when agreement is indicated, and sharing her body heat with the other. They both know what's coming - the same thing that happened to the women of the

In the middle of the night, she wakes to Kate's hand on her hip, the Earth woman's breasts pressed up against her.

--

Kate does not deal well with captivity; Teyla wonders if any of the women from Earth would. Perhaps Laura might, or another of the military women. Their training would surely teach them what might be expected should they be captured.

When Kate is returned, shaking and shivering, her crystalline eyes staring blankly into space, Teyla takes charge of the other woman, gently cleaning her of the physical remnants of her ordeal. There is nothing that will clear Kate's mind of it.

In the middle of the night, Kate 'wakes' – gasping, clawing, as though waking from a nightmare. Teyla soothes her with voice and touch. The other woman's hand lingers over her heart – over the downwards curve of her left breast – and her legs press briefly against Teyla's, before Kate stills and is silent again, but for the weeping.

--

The taking of wives and women by force is not unknown in Pegasus. There have been cultures that reproduce at any cost, seizing women and impregnating them through seduction, coercion, or plain rape. They are rarer now than they have been.

But not entirely gone.

Teyla stares at the ceiling, beyond the shoulder of the man sweating, grunting, pushing into her. Unwelcome intrusion, unwelcome touch. She could kill him if she chose, but there is still Kate to consider.

Her companion is concerned when she returns to their cell, but Teyla feels distant, distrained and dispassionate. Her body hurts in places, raw from their efforts. The men were not entirely ungentle, just unfeeling. But she submits to Kate's ministrations, overtired, her body overused.

In the middle of the night, she drifts out of sleep to find Kate has turned away and presses closer to the warm curves of the other woman.

[verstehen.livejournal.com]

...because I'm evil, I'll give you a choice of two fun evils: Teyla/Bates or Teyla/Lorne, chains of command.

Boundaries Marked In Oils, Teyla/Lorne, PG-13, prompt: chain of command

[tielan]

I didn't exactly use the prompt, per se.

--

The silence on the other side of the room is louder than an explosion.

Mark turns to find Sheppard paused in the act of flipping through the paintings he's piled in the corner.

Oh, shit.

It could be any portrait, any scene, any subject that the colonel's looking at. It could be, but it isn't.

Mark's first instinct is to cross the room and seize it back from the other man. Instead, he waits for the other man to speak - because this isn't something Sheppard's going to let pass by.

But it's a long moment before the other man speaks, lifting the painting up so the light falls over it more clearly, the warm tans and golds warming the room as surely as the subject's affection warmed the two men looking at her painting.

"Did you paint it from life?" It's a casual question, but dark currents lurk beneath.

"Yes."

He's sorry to do this to a man he respects; but all's fair in love and war. Mark asked, Sheppard didn't; Teyla said yes.

"It's beautiful." Sheppard turns enough that Mark can catch the line of cheekbone and brow, an oddly arrested pose for a man who's rarely still.

She was beautiful.

It was painted in one sitting - a two hour session when there were no interruptions, no duties, no emergencies. He lost himself in the painting, discussing...something with her. He's still not sure what. But she was smiling through most of it, so it can't have been that bad.

Teyla laughs out of the painting, looking over her shoulder at the viewer, the sheets of the bed in disarray around her. And the broad, satisfied smile on her lips leaves no doubt as to what Mark did to make her smile like that.

He made her laugh again, later. She welcomed him back into the bed, turps-stained fingertips and all.

But he won't tell the other man that.

Just like he won't offer Sheppard the painting, and Sheppard won't ask for it.

There are always boundaries between professional men, however personal the subject.

[teh-gandu.livejournal.com]

Sheppard/Teyla or if possible Weir/Heightmeyer, er, prompt? Kiss. No, I couldn't really think of anything better.


And I'm so snagging this idea from you. *nods*

Just A Kiss, John/Teyla, PG-13, prompt: kiss

[tielan]

John felt like a fool, his face glowing in the heat of the setting Livanian sun and his humiliation.

Teyla had kissed him.

Actually, she'd tugged on his dogtags, her fingertips light against his bare breastbone as she signalled him to bend down.

She'd lifted her mouth to his, a quick brush of lips against lips. John tasted the soft cinnamon-like spice of the dessert wine, and forgot that he'd promised he wouldn't ever initiate a kiss again without asking.

When she began to draw away, he went back for seconds.

Slow and easy, more intent than casual, more eager than reserved, John kissed her. Light, but sure. And she kissed him back with more enthusiasm than she'd shown with the first kiss, so John tucked his hand in behind her nape and let himself go.

In his belly, the embers of a fire he'd only once let free caught tinder and began to flame. His tongue traced her mouth, exploring the curve of her smile, and the fingertips resting on his chest flexed once, then flattened against his skin.

John wanted to drown in the taste, smell, touch of her.

He wasn't forcing her - not this time. She wasn't fighting him - not this time.

This time it was consensual.

It was also very public.

Behind Teyla, someone coughed; a clearing of the throat that indicated without so much as a word that this was all very good, but there were serious things to be seen to.

And John's brain - previously switched off - suddenly recalled that he'd just kissed Teyla before an audience of several hundred Livanian aristocracy, including the princess who had challenged Teyla to a 'friendly bout' for 'the night's use' of one of 'her husbands'.

He paused, mid-kiss, and felt hot and cold all over when she drew back. Mostly cold, actually, and particularly along his lips, and in his chest and belly.

Teyla's lashes rose enough for John to catch a glimpse of the haze of desire covering her eyes, before she dropped them again. "Yes," she said, turning away from John, suddenly brisk and businesslike, although the dusky flush across her cheeks and throat were at odds with the calm tone of her voice. "I will be in the arena shortly."

She flashed a brief smile at the Livanian prince whose expression suggested that if his sister wasn't going to remove John from Teyla's 'harem', then he'd be more than happy to strangle John and dispose of the body in a very deep hole somewhere.

John ignored him, and managed a smile as he caught her eye. "Good luck," he said, hoping it didn't sound as stupid as he felt.

He blamed the wine - the whole half-glass he'd had at dinner, feeling like a lightweight as Ronon drank down glass after glass like soda, and with about as much effect. Half a glass of Livanian wine, and John Sheppard's brain wandered off and let him make a fool of himself.

This time when Teyla brushed her lips across his, John accepted the kiss and resisted the urge to kiss her back.

Still, his hands flexed slightly when she leaned across to kiss first Rodney, then Ronon, in the exact same manner that she'd first kissed John.

It was stupid to resent the fact that, in this situation, a kiss was just a kiss.

[thady.livejournal.com]

Great!

Only het? Hmm...
Rodney/Teyla, sugar

If you'd write slash though I'd prefer Rodney/Daniel, candle. *g*

[tielan]

Well, in Atlantis, I'll try my hand at most things.

But I don't know if I can do Rodney/Daniel for a crossover. It just doesn't work in my brain.

[neffitti.livejournal.com]

Teyla/Rodney= An explanation of The Fantastic Four.

[loveconquers14.livejournal.com]

Ohh, I'll second this request. :) With a pretty please. :) And thanks so much for the welcome by the way!

[rhianona]

Sam/Shep - loneliness

Nice idea, btw... i might have to steal it.

No Chump Change, Sam/Shep, loneliness

[tielan]

Sam finds him sitting up on the hill, looking out over the almost-sheer side of the mountain. He gives her a dismissive glance before turning back to the evening sky.

Far below them, the gleaming twinkle of distant car headlights marks out the route of the I25 headed up to Denver in the twilight. The cars themselves are nothing more than headlights at this hour, not even black dots in the sinking darkness, tiny little units of humanity and family, happily trundling along with no comprehension of what the universe holds.

Sam knows. And so does the man whose leaning back on his hands, staring up at the night sky with the grim expression.

She knows what's on his mind - she's been there herself. And she thinks she has a pretty good idea of where he's at, but there's no telling. The man John Sheppard is at thirty-nine is a far cry from the man he was at twenty-two, and seventeen years is nearly half their lifetime.

Still, she figures that she, out of anyone in the mountain, might be able to help here. If he even wants help.

Aware that she's stalling, Sam climbs the path to the ledge where Sheppard's sitting. "Mind if I sit down?"

He glances up. "Sure." One hand lifts, gestures, falls back down. He waits until she's seated before asking, "Got any smokes?"

"I haven't smoked in..." Sam considers. "Years. At least sixteen. You?"

"The wife didn't like it." He glances up at the sky. "I could do with one now, though."

Sam lets that statement sit in the silence for a while, then offers a piece of advice from her long-dead grandmother. "This, too, shall pass."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that myself after chewing Lowell out."

"She shouldn't have been gossiping."

"There shouldn't have been gossip in the first place!" And there's the anger she was expecting. John's an intense guy in his own way - one of the reasons they got along so well, and the same reason that they never did anything more than kiss.

Sam considers her next words, but it's gonna be said by someone, better her than Landry or Mitchell - or someone with even less tact than Sergeant Lowell. "You honestly didn't think about why you got the promotion?"

"I didn't think it was because the promotions board figured I was sleeping with Elizabeth!" As the night sky deepens to royal blue, his expression is lost in shades of twilight, but his anger is plain enough. As are the doubts and fears and frustrations he's now looking in the face.

She reflects that Elizabeth Weir had no idea what she was doing when she argued the SGC into promoting John to command rank. Civilians didn't always think about the military ramifications of interfering with military structure, and this was the result.

"It never crossed your mind that people might talk?"

His hesitation is enough to tell her that it crossed his mind. "I thought I earned this promotion," he says at last. "Did my time in Antarctica, ran my ass off around Pegasus. Made a couple of allies...a couple of enemies. Saved Atlantis from the Wraith with the help of my team and the others in the city..."

Sam doesn't say that he would have earned the promotion sooner or later at the rate he'd been going. He knows that - or will, once the first flush of anger's out of his system.

The bitterness and doubt will probably remain. Even she sometimes feels it - the doubt no-one casts but herself. In a way, Sam's road was easier. She knows she earned her promotions. John doesn't. And probably won't ever know for sure, either.

"You know...Lowell and those people aren't the only ones talking about you," Sam tells him and watches him stiffen.

"Oh?"

"Mark Lorne's been defending you when the matter comes up."

Out of the corner of her eye, she seems him relax a little.

"Caldwell seems to think pretty highly of you, too." And they both know what the high opinion of a frontline senior officer is worth. "And Jack's impressed with the reports of what you accomplished while you were in Pegasus."

It takes him a moment. "No chump change."

"No chump change."

He doesn't say as much, but she knows he's out of the funk for the moment. She doesn't say anything at all, and they sit in silence as total darkness descends on the plains below them.

It's nice to relax and be silent, companionable but not lonely.

[purple-cube.livejournal.com]

Cam/Teyla! Prompt = feather

The Lies Of Cameron Mitchell, Teyla/Cameron, feather

[tielan]

Almost a drabble! Hope it helps you a bit!

--

The feather tickles her cheek, tracing the line of her throat in an itchy caress.

Teyla bats the ombroni plume away and regards Colonel Cameron Mitchell with no small amount of annoyance. "Colonel, when you said you wished to observe the fauna of this planet, I believed that you meant the native fauna."

His smile is charming and disingenuous as he draws into her personal space with the offending feather tucked behind his back and an expression that she recognises only too well from John: mischief and innocence mingled. "Teyla? When I said I just wanted to walk in the woods... I lied."

[majortrip.livejournal.com]

I'm not sure which paiings you'll write, other than the fairly obvious.

Sheppard/Teyla, prompt=nail polish

[tielan]

"pairings I'll write" currently stands for "anything except McShep, Shweir, and Teynon"

...and I've already done one with John/Teyla and nail polish: Whipped.

*tries to think of a new take on nail polish*

[2bluaeryn.livejournal.com]

Teyla/Shep - Shep explains he wants children someday

Confessions Of A Drunk John Sheppard - Part 1, John/Teyla

[tielan]

"You're good at this," John murmurs into the side of Teyla's head. Beneath his arm, she's small and warm and steady. Beneath his nose, her hair is warm and woodsy fragrant with a touch of pine. "Had practise?"

"Putting drunk men to bed?" Teyla asks, and her voice has both affection and resignation in it as she hefts him around the waist. "Enough of it."

John wishes she had a little more experience in putting him to bed. But that's a dangerous thought for a man whose inhibitions have been lowered by alcoholic consumption.

The ceiling seems very distant. Maybe it's the lamplight flickering on the...is that a cobweb? John grimaces. Okay, so it's not Atlantis and there aren't any subsonic wavelengths sent through the city to induce creepies and crawlies to go nest elsewhere.

He'll have to slum it for a night.

Sleeping with this boots o--

Wait. Something's happening down by his feet. He manages to lift his head enough to watch as Teyla tugs at his bootlaces. "Thanks."

"It is the anniversary of your birth," she says as she wrestles off his boots and wrinkles her nose at the smell of his socks. John shifts so the offending body part is further away from her, but it's not that much distance and she scoots up the bed pretty fast. "You are entitled to a drink."

"Or a dozen?"

SOP is to avoid alcohol consumption while off-world, particularly since the Pegasus version of 'a standard drink' is about double that of Earth.

Her hand steals out, brushes back his forelock, and John feels it like a caress and suddenly wishes he wasn't drunk. Except that if he wasn't drunk, he wouldn't be lying here, and Teyla wouldn't be sitting next to him, and she wouldn't be touching him like this.

"Or a dozen," Teyla says wryly as she stands up and turns away. "You will be okay in here?"

John grabs for her hand and misses, but the movement turns her back towards him so the candlelight outlines the lean curves of her body. "I don't usually get drunk on my birthday, Teyla."

"I did not imagine you did," she said gently. "But I understand that this birthday is a landmark."

"Forty," he says, knowing Rodney spilled the beans. "I'm forty today. On Earth." He manages to cut it off there before he explains about Gregorian calendars and the math that's in his head and actually allows him to calculate the differential between planetary cycles.

Lorne thinks he's a freak. He doesn't say it, but sometimes the Major gives him looks.

John sighs. "I'm going to regret this tomorrow, aren't I?" It's been years since he's allowed himself to get drunk. There's a reason for that.

"Yes," she says, and the candlelight limns her smile as she turns away. John turns to stare at the spider-infested ceiling.

"I wanted children," he says as she reaches the door. "She didn't."

Teyla turns, and she's not smiling any more. John's not smiling, either. He's remembering another woman, another life, another planet, another argument.

It was a different situation, of course. He was always away for work, and she didn't want to bring up kids alone. He offered to take a job at one of the domestic bases, training pilots and she said she didn't want to clip his wings; but really, she hadn't wanted children.

By the time John fucked up in Afghanistan, his marriage was long over.

"I still want children," he mumbles, staring up at the ceiling. "I mean, that's not an invitation or anything, but I'd like children."

For a moment, he thinks he's gone too far, said something he shouldn't have said. Then, "You are still able to have children," Teyla says. "Men are capable long after the childbearing capacity of women is gone."

She's trying to be nice, but she doesn't understand, and John doesn't think now is a good time to explain things like genetic risks, the age of the father having a bearing on the health of the child, and the fact that one part of him longs for a home and family of the white picket fence kind, while another part needs to be saving the galaxy - doing something meaningful on a big scale.

And now is definitely not a good time to blurt out that they'd have beautiful kids together.

[rushingwind.livejournal.com]

Oh, oooh...

Teyla/Caldwell. :) And if you write it, I will write one of any pairing of your choice for you. :)

Life Trumps All, Teyla/Caldwell

[tielan]

Colonel Caldwell caught up to her in the corridor.

"You shouldn't have made the trade."

"Colonel Caldwell." Teyla turned. She had expected someone to protest her decision - given that she was of Atlantis, but not of the expedition, it was no surprise. "Do you then believe I should have left Dr. Weir, Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay, and Ronon in the hands of the Alyonne?"

He hesitated, with the expression on his face caught between two answers: what was right and what was politic. Teyla had noticed it was was not an uncommon look for him, and attributed it to the duality of a man with a conscience and yet carrying the awareness of his professional responsibilities with it. "I think that we could have found a way around it."

Teyla nodded. "I understand your thinking, Colonel. However, the last time my people heard from the Alyonne, they were struggling against a disease that was spreading through their peoples. Few survive it, and it seems that those that have survived took measures."

"Ones that endangered the lives of our people."

"Ones that highlighted their plight," she said.

"They could have asked for help instead of forcing it."

There were aspects of Pegasus thinking that Teyla could never explain to the people from Earth. One of them was just how the expedition was viewed by the local cultures who had encountered them - the good and the bad. The expedition saw themselves as benefactors of Pegasus; Pegasus did not always view them thus.

"Colonel, the Alyonne are a proud people. They will make a show of force in confrontation, and will follow it through it they must.." It had been years since Teyla had traded with the Alyonne, but she remembered the words of her father and Charin both, advising her in how to deal with that people. "Once their pride is acknowledged, they are easily dealt with. If we offer them help now - freely and without prejudice, they will accept it and repay more than what is owed. It is their way."

"They tried to force our hand," he insisted.

"And I allowed them to do so," Teyla replied, accepting the implied criticism, even as she silently acknowledged that it would make no difference. His mind was set and so was hers. He would not understand the Alyonne, or why Teyla allowed them to save face - perhaps he could not.

Teyla had lived among the Lanteans long enough to understand his view, even if she disagreed. As he looked away, she saw that it disturbed him also, a unease that interrupted the trust he had invested in her previously.

She wondered who else would imply criticism of her decision.

[kjog.livejournal.com]

Teyla/Daniel - culture shock

One Way Of Putting It, Teyla/Daniel, culture shock

[tielan]

Teyla/Daniel - culture shock - One Way Of Putting It

Ms. Emmagen moves through the landscape of Atlantis with the graceful confidence of a woman who knows her surroundings.

Daniel quietly admires in the split second between when he sees her and when she sees him. He's met hundreds of races and cultures in his time travelling through the Stargate and thousands of women. Every culture breeds its own kind of women, and Daniel finds something to admire in all of them.

Perhaps it's the lingering legacy of Sha're, but Daniel has learned to see beyond the cultural trappings that dictate a woman's place in her society. Clothing, social status and behaviour are no indication of the kind of person she is. Sha're taught him that with the strength that was so out-of-place in her male-dominated, women-as-objects culture.

Certainly Teyla has never experienced the kind of life Sha're had lived as a daughter of Abydos. A leader of her people, a capable fighter, and a guide to the local cultures here in the Pegasus galaxy - as well as one of Sheppard's team - she sees Daniel and falls into step beside him with a smile and a nod. "Dr. Jackson."

"Please," he says, "call me Daniel."

Her mouth quirks a little. Daniel guesses that it's not amusement at his expense so much as a flicker of memory crossing her mind. "Welcome to Atlantis. I understand you have been hoping to come here for some time."

"Yes." He catches the quirk of her mouth again and hazards a guess. "I suppose you've been talking to Colonel Mitchell?"

The smooth gleam of her smile says as much. "He is quite entertaining."

"Well, that's one way of putting it." Daniel can imagine what the Colonel said about him. He's not going to pursue it now. He'll do something to Cameron on the way back to Earth. In the meantime, he has other interests - this woman for starters. "You've been in Atlantis...what? Nearly two years now?"

It takes her a moment to do the math. "Yes. Perhaps a little more. It has been a busy time."

"Yeah, I can understand that." Sometimes Daniel wonders where ten years of his life went. Through the wormhole, to other planets and other worlds, into the fight against first the Goa'uld and now the Ori, into his study of the most fascinating device ever created and the societies and cultures that prevailed through its ability to connect one distant point to another.

"You were the one who opened the Earth Stargate," she says. "Do you ever wish that you had not?"

Daniel asks a question in return. "Do you ever wish you hadn't met Colonel Sheppard?"

He knows - as she does - that there is no easy answer to that question.

[to be cont...]

[jeyla4ever.livejournal.com]

And now is definitely not a good time to blurt out that they'd have beautiful kids together.

This is my favorite part! Beautiful imagery! and the convo so like the chatacters.

[ninja007.livejournal.com]

OH poor John.... wanting something he doesn't think he can have..

great story!