Chapter Text
Ever since he was a child, John had slept lightly and awakened quickly, aware of his surroundings before he'd blinked the last sleep from his eyes. But in Atlantis, the boundary between dreaming and waking had become fluid. Here he drifted awake slowly, always to a murmur more insistent and shifting than the distant white noise of wind and waves, with strange images of movement and light flickering and fading from his mind before he could grasp them. Not even the relief Atlantis offered him from cold iron was enough to make him relax into his warm sheets after that kind of awakening. It was different and disconcerting, and while portal-hopping between galaxies could probably explain a lot, he still didn't like it. Even in the dark, or with the light falling through his high window a translucent, pre-dawn gray, John would get up. Then he would wander through the sleeping city, ignoring the looks he got from the occasional patrolling soldier.
Theoretically John was supposed to be available to Dr. Zelenka and anyone else who might want him around to see what artifacts would react to the presence of fae blood, and tell them what he could make of them with his magesight. But even when the scientists remembered to call on him, they usually got so absorbed in discussing the finer theoretical points that he could slip away unnoticed. It left him with nothing much to do except explore the city on his own, but that suited him just fine. And if Sumner fixed him with that narrow glare of his when John showed up far from the labs he had been assigned to -- well, it wasn't like the Colonel could send him back to Earth. Not as long as John was doing the job he had been sent here to do -- and thoughts of what that work would entail brought a remarkable approximation of the deep, inescapable discomfort he felt when in iron-boned cities.
After a week of waking up at dawn, John decided to take advantage of the fact that the portal chamber was manned by a single young Apprentice Class mage to claim the balcony outside for a while. From here he might be able to spot the curious whales again, and catch a transporter over to them before that McKay guy showed up to rant at him. He breathed deeply of the salty breeze, and scanned the sea for any giant flippers or smooth gray backs breaking the surface. The waves were splashed in glowing colors from the sunrise, which reflected off the glass and the strange, light metal of the delicate towers, making the city sparkle with a golden brilliance.
It all made it very hard to spot anything at all, and he was reaching for his sunglasses when the communication pendant at the hollow of his throat flared to life.
"Offworld portal activation! We have portal activity!" It was the kid in the portal chamber, his excitement making the city-wide call ring loudly in John's ears.
Visitors to the city, already? John slipped his sunglasses on, switched to magesight, and ducked back inside. Nobody had ever suggested that they wanted him around for potential first contact situations, but -- tough. He was here, and Woolsey was probably still tucked in his bed, sleeping soundly.
John made his way over to the young portal mage, who grinned with nervous relief where he sat behind his crystal-covered dashboard. John assumed that his pleasure came from having someone out of their apprentice grays with him, even if it was himself. "Sir!"
"Are we expecting company?" John nodded at the portal, watching with interest as the glyphs engraved in it lit up, one after the next in an unpredictable pattern that repeated in the crystals before the apprentice.
"Dr. McKay said not for another couple of weeks," the kid said, then added, breathlessly, "You don't think it's hostiles, do you, sir?"
Unsurprisingly, the apprentices had been nervous and jumpy, feeding each other a steady diet of scare stories. John couldn't help a brief flare of relief that they didn't know what kind of horrors this galaxy really held. Forcing himself to keep his voice light, he said, "Can't be too hostile, if they have our number."
The silvery blue surface inside the portal shimmered to life with a release of energies that raised gooseflesh on his arms, but nothing strained against the powerful wards stretched across the opening, visible to plain sight as a single iridescent iris. Woolsey had insisted that they add their own protective magics to the Ancestors' work, but to John those spells looked nothing so much as rough planks nailed haphazardly across a beautifully carved door, despite that it had taken several days of painstaking labor to get them fitted just right. Before they arrived, anyone who knew the wards would have been able to come through -- now they would find themselves forced to ask permission to enter. Sumner and Woolsey talked about the need for their protection, but John couldn't help but feel that the whole thing was kind of rude.
A voice rang out from the portal, carrying clear above the sound of running feet approaching the chamber. "Atlantis, this is Teyla of Athos. We are friends, and wish to enter."
It was hard to tell, with a voice transmitted through the portal and then echoing through the spacious portal chamber, but John thought the woman's tone was clipped rather short. Considering that this generation of Athosians had spent a lot more time in the city than anyone from the Milky Way, John wasn't surprised.
"See?" he told the apprentice. "Friendlies." Teyla's name was familiar from the briefings on the city. John was about to suggest to the apprentice at his side that he drop the wards, when a gruff voice behind them barked his name.
"Sheppard! What do you think you're doing?"
John winced at the volume, and hoped briefly that all of this wouldn't carry through the other side, because wasn't the whole point to make a good first impression? Obviously Sumner was not a morning person. "I'm watching the portal, sir," he answered, dropping his magesight as he spread his hands innocently to turn and face the colonel.
"Get away from there." The colonel glared at him, and John obediently stepped aside to let Sumner stride over to stand behind the apprentice at the desk, surveying the portal, and the readouts printing on the display behind them.
The woman's voice rang out again. "Atlantis? This is Teyla of Athos. We have yet to receive confirmation that it is safe for us to step through the portal."
Since John hadn't been given any further orders, he decided to stay and observe the proceedings. He could already hear the sound of McKay's cursing, and the man didn't even have anyone to rage at yet. John smirked. This should prove interesting.
It did. McKay, with a rumpled blue sweatshirt pulled over his swim trunks, charged into the portal chamber with a bright red flush of fury under his tan. His hands flew in a wild language all their own, jabbing accusing fingers at Sumner and the poor, terrified apprentice and at John too, just for good measure.
"You can't even manage to use the bathrooms without my aid, but the minute I turn my back on you, you slap your half-assed magic all over the portal? What is wrong with you people?!"
Sumner, who had been impressively impassive under McKay's onslaught, raised an eyebrow. "As you can see, Doctor, the magic works. And now that you're here, could you verify that our guests are indeed who they say they are?"
McKay stuttered to a halt in mid-rant. "It's Teyla," he said, his voice tight. He thrust a hand in the direction of the readouts behind them. "It's Athos, they're already registered, can you not read?"
At Sumner's blank stare, John thought McKay might actually scream, Hulk-like. Instead he pressed a hand to his forehead -- possibly in an effort to keep his head from exploding. "Just lower the damn wards, will you?"
The apprentice looked at Sumner, who nodded. "Go ahead." The young man acknowledged the order, and pulled a medicine bag from under his jacket. He clutched it tightly in one hand while he closed his eyes, a look of fierce concentration on his face as he spoke the correct words to render the wards inactive. A wave of magic washed through the room, as tangible to John as the cold blast of air from an opened freezer, and his skin tingled with it.
"Done, sir," the apprentice said, sinking back into his chair.
McKay didn't even wait for Sumner to acknowledge him before taking off down the stairs. Not seeing any good reason to hang back, John followed.
Meanwhile, Sumner issued a welcome in the name of Atlantis. McKay turned around to glare at the colonel, starting slightly as he noticed John following him. "What are you doing here?"
John smiled. "I wanted to say hi to our new neighbors."
McKay's lips tightened, but he didn't have the time to say anything more before the watery surface of the portal's circle broke, and a woman stepped through. She was dressed in leathers and soft cloth in warm, earthy colors, and her hair shone like burnished copper in the rich light shafting from the stained glass windows. She radiated power. John could feel it rolling off her like heat from an Arizona highway. She must be Teyla.
Behind her followed half a dozen men and women and one young boy, all of them outfitted in the same manner as their leader. The exception was one really big guy who was wearing some kind of heavy longcoat. They looked at John and the other newcomers with expressions ranging from bewilderment to -- on the big guy in particular -- dark suspicion. Teyla wore a carefully composed expression that broke into a quick smile when she caught sight of McKay.
"Rodney. It is good to see you." She closed the distance between them, and briefly tipped her forehead to touch his.
McKay returned the gesture perfunctorily. "Yeah, you too. Listen, Teyla, I can explain -- uh, well, no, I can't really ..." He fell into an awkward silence, as Teyla's attention roved around the room and fixated on a point behind him.
John looked over his shoulder and saw Sumner flanking Woolsey down the stairs, the latter looking as crisp as if he'd just stepped out of his office rather than being roused from sleep. Bates and another officer -- John thought he ought to know the kid's name, but it escaped him -- followed a step behind, P90s at the ready. Teyla's people followed suit, closing ranks behind her in a silent knot of fear, worry and suspicion. The big guy in the sweeping coat and another man, equally tall, hovered just behind her, a threat that did not have to be spoken.
A hush had descended on the chamber, the tension as tangible as a spell.
"So, uh, Teyla -- the Earthers are back!" McKay's voice shattered the silence.
Teyla gave him the most perfectly level look John had ever seen.
McKay blinked. "What? I was going to tell you! Um, it's been kind of crazy here, and I wasn't expecting, I, I -- why are you here, anyway? My gods, it hasn't been -- weren't you just here?"
Teyla looked over her shoulder, at the boy, who quailed at being suddenly the center of attention. The symbols which, on the others, peeked out from sleeves or collars, were much more dramatic on him: elaborate curling patterns of red, purple and blue, covering most of his face and the backs of his hands. "Jinto wished to see the City of the Ancestors after his sight-finding day, Rodney." There was just a hint of censure in her even tones. "We agreed upon this. You said that it would not be a problem."
"Oh. I. Right." Rodney was pink all the way to the tips of his ears. "That was now?"
Woolsey, who along with everyone else had been looking back and forth between the two of them like a spectator at a ping-pong match, cleared his throat and stepped forward. After a moment's brief hesitation, he held out his hand. Teyla's brow furrowed slightly, but she took it, and shook it with slow deliberation.
Whatever else he might be, Woolsey played the diplomatic game well, and his tone was gracious. "It's a pleasure to meet you, miss -- Teyla? I am Richard Woolsey, Mage First Class."
Teyla inclined her head. "I am Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan."
"I apologize for the delay, and --" he cast a sharp look at McKay, who scowled "-- any misunderstandings. But you see, we have only just arrived, and we have certain security protocols we must follow to ensure the safety of this mission."
"Mission?" Teyla asked.
"Ah, yes. We were planning on contacting you, of course, bringing you up to date on the plans for the city -- the people of Earth value the Athosians' knowledge and skills very highly, and we are glad to finally be able to increase the contact between our two galaxies."
"We have likewise been pleased to make your people's acquaintance," Teyla said politely.
The tight lines around Woolsey's mouth relaxed into what might almost have been a smile. "It's good that you're here -- I have been looking forward to meeting you. We all have." He turned to introduce the men with him, who each gave a small nod as they were indicated. "This is Colonel Sumner, Lieutenant Ford, and Sergeant Bates."
John couldn't help noticing that the formal introductions did not extend to the Mage Third Class who was standing only a few feet away. On the other hand, he kind of liked being invisible.
Teyla's eyes roamed across the others and settled on him. Suddenly he'd never felt less invisible in his life. Her eyes were sharp and intense, and something in them -- he recognized something about her, even though he'd never met her, never met anyone from her galaxy. It was a sharp quick snap of familiarity, like finding a long-lost sibling, like coming home. He'd never felt anything like it.
It frightened him to his core.
"Oh, sorry," Woolsey said, and John was dragged back to reality to hear his own name and rank being given. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sumner's jaw tighten. Bastard didn't like him. John didn't much care. He didn't want to look back at Teyla, to feel her gaze stripping him down to the soul, so instead he looked around the room as the introductions went on, and met the eyes of the big guy in the coat lurking behind Teyla, the only one of them who bore no tattoos except for a small one on his neck. John offered him a smile.
The man didn't smile back.
The conversation seemed to have moved on -- Teyla and Woolsey were now drawn together and speaking intently, while McKay orbited them like an annoyed and flailing satellite -- so John sidled over a little closer to the big guy. "Cool gun," he said, nodding to the weapon holstered at the man's waist. He'd never seen anything like it, but of course -- new galaxy, new technology.
"Yep."
John tried again, holding out a hand. "John Sheppard."
The big guy just looked at it, and at him. "Specialist Ronon Dex," he said after a moment.
That sounded like a rank. "Military?"
There was a long pause before the other man's eyes -- remarkably light, almost green -- skated away from John's. "Was."
"Ah." Okay, awkwardsville. As Dex turned to orient on Teyla again, John found himself staring at the other man's heavy brown coat. It couldn't be right, but it looked as if the back of the coat was made of -- feathers?
John took a step back. Not a coat. Feathers, yes, but not a coat. On the guy's back, falling down far enough to brush the floor, framing his broad shoulders -- that wasn't a coat, those were wings. Dark brown, banded with gray and white, like a hawk's or an eagle's. Actual wings. For flying with.
This galaxy was seriously cool.
With everyone else ignoring him, John took a few more steps to the side and gave the kid with the tattoos a little wave to get his attention. "Hey, uh -- Jinto?"
"Sir?" the boy asked, hands clasped shyly behind his back.
"That guy there, Dex." He dropped his voice a bit more, even though between McKay's ranting and Sumner and Woolsey's interjections, the room was noisy enough to cover a little soft conversation. "Those are wings on his back, right?"
Jinto nodded eagerly, eyes bright, losing a little of his nervousness. "It's really cool. You ought to see him fly."
"I'd love to see that." John hesitated, then held out a hand. "So, kid, if your parents don't mind, want me to show you some whales?"
The old histories of the Athosian people told of the days when the City of the Ancestors had been a thriving trade hub, channeling people and goods between two galaxies, and the Athosians had occupied a favored spot in that bustling flow of trade. With the dark taint of the Wraith spreading further in every generation, the bustle dwindled to a trickle, and finally dried up, until only Teyla's people were left trading with the gatekeepers of the City as they always had. She vaguely remembered Rodney's parents -- brusque people, unfriendly; but perhaps that was only because she'd seen them through a child's eyes, and all the ways of adults are alien to children.
When she was a child, she'd sometimes imagined the echoing halls of the City as they must have been in those old days, filled with people laughing and haggling at bright stalls selling goods from a thousand worlds. She had imagined the biggest, most fantastic bazaar that she'd ever seen, a wonderland of strange sights and strange magics.
This wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind.
Surrounded by the graceful, soaring lines of the City's ancient architecture, the Earthers stood out like a single black feather in a snowfield. Their clothes were a drab contrast to the beauty around them, their technology angular and unlovely to Teyla's eyes. Even their magic was different -- not exactly bad, but a dissonance like the wrong note played in an otherwise harmonious composition. As a scientist of runes, Teyla recognized the strangeness of the alien magic, the way it did not quite mesh with the magic of her own galaxy.
Rather than stalls of silks and exotic animals, the halls were filled with stacks of crates and equipment; rather than the colorful dress of a thousand alien lands, these visitors wore sober uniforms, with their colors used for the prosaic purpose of separating them into department and rank.
She told herself that what was to be would be. Her people had known all along that sooner or later, the Earthers would make contact with their galaxy again. She had thought that it would not be during her own lifetime, or that if they came, they would be ... well, different. More like Rodney, with his curiosity and quick-moving hands, his open affection for the City and the ocean that surrounded it, and a sort of pathological honesty that she found endearing even though sometimes she wanted to smack him for it.
Instead there was Woolsey, whom she found kind but dull, and very bound to his people's rules; every other sentence out of his mouth was "We'll see" or "I'll have to check on that." And there was Sumner, who looked through her rather than at her, and Bates with his suspicious eyes that followed her everywhere.
Many of the Earthers had been kind to her, and many more were openly distrustful of her, but the one she could not figure out was the black-clad man, Sheppard, with his curling dark hair and watchful, shuttered eyes. She thought at first that he did not trust her, but that wasn't it -- she'd become more familiar than she wanted to be with that particular look as her negotiations with Woolsey and Sumner wore on. Or perhaps he did not like her -- but she'd seen no hatred in that one long look in the portal chamber, just an uncertainty and fear that she did not understand.
The opportunity to talk to him came unexpectedly, several days after her first meeting with the people from Earth. Since then, she'd been traveling back and forth between Atlantis and Athos, attempting to balance her duties to her own people with the need to hammer out a trade agreement with the Earthers and secure the Athosians' place as liaisons between Earth and the rest of the galaxy. It was tiring and stressful, and after a long afternoon of running in circles with Woolsey, she'd been glad of Lieutenant Ford's friendly offer to work out her stress in what he called "the gym".
He showed her to a series of large open rooms, their original purpose unknown, which had been taken over by exercise equipment and floor mats. She didn't recognize most of their equipment, but she had her bantos sticks with her, as always, so she found an unoccupied room and went through an easy set of exercises. One form led to another, and soon she was working through her advanced moves, sliding quickly from one to another until her breath came harsh and the room spun around her.
Pausing to catch her breath and take a drink of water, she nearly jumped when she turned to see Sheppard leaning in the doorway, watching her.
"Have you been there long?"
"Not long," he said, offering a slight, apologetic smile. "I was just going to get in a workout before dinner, but I didn't want to interrupt you. That's amazing -- some kind of martial arts?"
"It is a defensive form that my people use." Looking him up and down, noting his capable hands and the easy way he carried himself, she added, "I think you would be good at it. I can show you the beginning forms, if you would like."
He hesitated, and this time she saw it more clearly for what it was -- not fear or hatred of her as an outsider, but a simple, deeply ingrained reaction: You push, I pull away.
As the head of the Athosian council and also their foremost rune-scientist, Teyla had never truly been able to participate in the closeness that her people shared. She recognized that isolation in others, and was drawn to it. She had seen it in Rodney, a child growing up apart from his people; and in Ronon, last survivor of a shattered world, and it was why she'd argued fiercely to the elders to take him in, even with his unusual history.
As Sheppard drew away from her, Teyla tossed back her sweat-damp hair and allowed a peek of a triumphant smile to show. "Ah, you are not afraid to let a woman best you, I hope?"
He raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his lip lifted. "Well, if you put it that way ...."
He turned out to be a quick study, picking up the moves quickly as she showed them to him. At the end of the first set, Teyla smiled and moved into a cooling-down stretch. "We should probably stop, or you will be very sore tomorrow."
"As opposed to being sore in all the places you hit me?" he asked wryly. But he was looking at the bantos sticks in her hands with longing.
The awkwardness between them seemed to have dissolved into a sort of tentative warmth, and she liked the feeling. So many of the newcomers were so distrustful of her; the feeling of camaraderie warmed her. "If you like, I could bring some practice rods with me, the next time I return from Athos."
After a moment, hesitantly, he smiled. Unlike most of his smiles, this one touched his eyes. "I'd like that."
Home invaded by idiots, check. Fickle whales cheating on him, check. Athosians pissed at him, check. Rodney's mental checklist of woe just kept getting longer.
Still, over the next few weeks, things began to settle down into something vaguely approaching a routine. Teyla spent hours closeted with Woolsey; Rodney insisted at first on sitting in on their meetings, until he figured out that they were discussing trade arrangements to accommodate the City's new population -- "Rodney, you will be very bored," Teyla had said at the beginning, with an indulgent smile that he hated. While he certainly wouldn't stoop to calling it boredom, let alone admitting that she'd been in any way right, he did have better things to do than listen to the two of them trying to agree on how many bags of Athosian antiviral rune-charms equaled a case of computer motherboards.
Better things ... such as keeping the newcomers to the City from molesting his whales.
The marine biologists were the worst of the bunch -- treating the whales like dumb animals, recording their conversations and measuring their flukes with an utter lack of regard for the whales' personal space. (Not that they really had much of that anyway, but Rodney was indignant on their behalf.) After chasing them off a few times, the biologists looking at him as if he'd grown a second head before going to find quieter patches of ocean to record, Rodney had come to a startling conclusion -- most people couldn't hear the whales.
He'd thought maybe it was just the Athosians. Jeannie had been a mere child when their parents sent her away (why, Rodney still wondered sometimes, why her and not him -- their parents had never said, and how could he ask her?), and Rodney had figured that maybe she had simply been shy, but Teyla had once told him that all she could get from the whales was a slight headache and occasional visions. The more that Rodney was able to watch the newcomers' interaction with the pod, the more disturbed he got. They really couldn't hear them.
This didn't stop Sheppard from apparently finding them fascinating, though. And the whales loved him, the big aquatic traitors. It wasn't long before Rodney, to his horror, caught the mage swimming with them. The only thing that made him feel a little better about it was that Sheppard, for all his mage powers and chick-magnet hair and general obnoxious coolness, wasn't as graceful in the water as Rodney. It would have been a lot more surprising if he had been, since Rodney had been spending most of his time in the ocean since he was barely old enough to walk, but given the circumstances, he took petty satisfaction in his greater swimming prowess.
It wouldn't have been so bad if the whales had ignored Sheppard, but they seemed to think he was some sort of new, fancy toy. They bumped and jostled and played with him in a way that made Rodney faintly ill. Honestly, it was embarrassing, the way they fawned over him! They were fully grown mammals. No self-respect.
At one point he got so sick of it that he went off to the labs for three days -- not sulking, naturally not, just avoiding the ocean. Temporarily. He found that he actually enjoyed lurking over the scientists' shoulders, correcting their equations and generally terrifying them. Zelenka managed to work up the courage, several times, to kick him out -- Rodney had to give him props for that -- but he just found a new lab to terrorize. It was the most fun he'd had since the Earthers invaded his City.
This lasted until the third day, when a hush fell over the physics lab and he looked up from a whiteboard to see the thin, black-clad figure of John Sheppard lounging in the doorway, sunglasses firmly in place. The absolute last person he wanted to see, in other words -- the smarmy whale-thief.
"Your whales are tearing up the East Pier," Sheppard said in a conversational tone.
"What?" Rodney had been sensing an oncoming migraine all day; now he thought he might know why. The East Pier was the one most directly beneath the lab. He rushed to the window, and noticed the marine biologists were just visible on the next tower over. They were clustered on one of the balconies with video cameras and babbling in excitement. Gods, he hated them.
Tearing his gaze away from those nuisances, he stared down at the spectacular sight of seven or eight enraged whales using their flukes to wash miniature tidal waves over the long silver expanse of the pier.
"What's wrong with you people?" Rodney demanded loudly. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught flashes of motion as physicists scuttled for cover, apparently missing the fact that he wasn't talking to them. Of course, the whales couldn't really hear him from up here, either, but through long years alone he had gotten into the habit of speaking his thoughts out loud.
The destruction ceased immediately; the whales sank as a unit and then bobbed to the surface again, sleek gray backs formed up in a relaxed queue. They had been very concerned, they informed him. They thought he'd been kidnapped. He'd been separated from the pod. And in the dry, too! There was no worse fate.
"Oh, for ...! You remember the proof I showed you, right?"
The whales were unconvinced.
"I'll be down in a minute," Rodney groaned, and, turning around, nearly collided with Sheppard. "Hey! Personal space!"
"Sorry," Sheppard said, not sound especially sorry, and peered over his shoulder out the window in what continued to be a blatant personal space violation. "How did you do that?"
"Do what?" Rodney asked absently, already on his way out the door.
"Make them stop." The mage jogged to catch up. "Were you talking to them?"
"What?" Rodney demanded, angrily punching the destination in the transporter as Sheppard crowded in after him. "You're a mage, right? Don't you have ... familiars, and that sort of thing?"
Sheppard rolled his eyes as the transporter doors opened on a water-slick corridor. The doors at the end were hanging ajar, and puddles glistened on the floor. "You don't know much about the magical disciplines, do you?"
"I understand the basic theories perfectly well," Rodney said loftily, splashing through puddles. Oh right. Shoes. Crap. Well, they'd dry. He still wasn't used to being dressed most of the time. "Beyond that, it's all voodoo as far as I'm concerned."
"Which clearly shows you don't know as much as you think, since voodoo is an entirely different branch of the Art than the discipline I practice, McKay --"
They were still arguing as they emerged onto the pier. At the sight of the whales, all lined up eagerly with their heads out of the water like very large dolphins, Rodney left off in mid-rant and kicked off his sodden shoes. He sat down on the edge of the pier, dangling his bare feet over the edge and realizing just as his ass hit a lukewarm puddle that he was going to get his pants soaked this way, too. Oh well. Clothes. What a pain.
Sheppard squatted down next to him.
"Still here, are you?" Rodney demanded sullenly, leaning down to give the nearest whale a desultory pat on her nose.
"Er ... are you talking to them or me?"
"Anyone who wants to answer," he retorted.
Why don't you come swim?, the fluid dynamics whale asked him, and the others echoed her entreaty. Smart as they were, they'd never quite understood clothing, or the restrictions that it sometimes placed on human freedom of movement between the wet and the dry.
But there were a lot of things about humans that the whales didn't understand. Jobs. Responsibility. Economics. Politics. They could comprehend the general theories but not the why of it. For them, the ocean was filled with food, and they went where they wanted and did what they wanted. Rodney thought that life had been a lot simpler and more fulfilling when he'd more or less done the same.
In the corner of his peripheral vision, he was vaguely aware of Sheppard looking at him, and at the whales, and back again. He sensed that Sheppard was putting together some sort of equation, involving Rodney McKay and whales and the City and the mostly empty water-world, and could feel a dull resentful anger growing in him. As soon as he says a word, he thought bitterly, I'll pop him right in his lying, whale-stealing mouth. Never mind that he'd never hit anybody in his life and the mage probably had enough magic in his little finger to turn Rodney into a thin paste of physicist on the pier.
When Sheppard finally spoke, though, what he said was, "I saw your DVD setup on the South Pier."
"Oh really," Rodney said snippily, and patted the whale again; she kept lightly bumping the very tip of her nose against his leg, like an anxious dog the size of a house.
"We brought DVDs with us. You know, thinking we'd probably be here for awhile, and we'd need entertainment and ... stuff."
Despite his calculated disinterest, the idea of being able to show the whales a movie he hadn't already seen twelve times practically made him drool. "Oh really."
"We have Lord of the Rings."
"Feh," Rodney said. Wildly inaccurate historical epics weren't his thing.
"And the new season of Firefly."
Oh damn. "There's a new season of Firefly?"
Sheppard smirked. "Been out here for a while, haven't you?"
Sheppard was still a low-down, no-good, whale- and Athosian-stealing bastard, so Rodney was a little surprised when the mage did, in fact, show up for the next whale movie night, with Teyla in tow, no less. The current film of choice was Alien II, which he and the whales had already seen a half-dozen times, so his reflexive urge to throw Sheppard off the pier sputtered and died when he noticed that the mage carried a stack of DVDs. Leaning back to glance over the titles, Rodney demanded, "Where's Firefly?"
"The science division's rec lounge is monopolizing it. You'll just have to settle for the collected oeuvre of George Lucas," Sheppard said, and set down a bowl of popcorn between them, with just enough hesitation to speak volumes.
"Well, if I have to," Rodney said magnanimously, reaching into the bowl. Popcorn was something else he hadn't had since coming back from Earth, though the Athosians had a small tree nut that wasn't terribly different.
Sheppard leaned towards the DVD player and stopped, staring. "What did you do to this thing?"
"Built it from scratch. I think it used to be an Ancestral medical scanner or something." Rodney impatiently took the DVD and leaned around him.
"It is ... unusual," Teyla said, folding her legs under her on the pier and taking a handful of popcorn.
"So, you two seem to be getting along," Rodney said, a bit resentfully, as he put in the DVD. The sun had just set, and the ocean glowed faintly under a luminous purple sky. On the far side of the channel of water along the pier, the projector's huge, fuzzy images traced out the movie's credits in letters fifteen feet high on the blank side of one of the unused towers. The whales played beneath the projector's beam, water expelled from their blowholes glittering in the reflected light.
"Since Mage Sheppard cannot use most of your people's weapons, I am showing him the introductory martial arts disciplines of my people. He is taking to it very well."
"He can't use weapons?" Rodney fiddled with the focus on the projector; the letters blurred out and then sharpened against the darkening side of the tower. "Why not?"
"Teyla," Sheppard said shortly.
Rodney turned his head in time to see her give him a look of silent apology. Okay, those two were getting along way too well. "Your people's customs are very strange," Teyla said, and reached for another handful of popcorn.
Sheppard cleared his throat. "So. That Dex guy ... can he actually fly with those wings? And where'd he get them?"
"He's Satedan," Rodney said absently as he tinkered with the projector's color settings, then remembered that Sheppard was from Earth. "They all have wings. Used to have, I mean."
Sheppard looked delighted. "I love this galaxy."
"And yes," Teyla said, "Ronon can fly. But I do not think he would appreciate being discussed behind his back in this manner."
"Well, if he doesn't like it, then he should be here," Rodney retorted.
"Perhaps I will invite him the next time, then."
"What?" Life was so much simpler when all he had to worry about was the whales.