coolbreeze1

Civilization IV...

Mon, 21 Dec 2009 18:16:36 GMT

Will be my downfall.

I am home for Christmas now, and you'd think I'd have all this time to devote to writing. But no, my brother decides to get this computer game - Civilization IV. We have a bad history with this game: one year, he got Civilization III for Christmas, and we played it nonstop for four days (literally nonstop with just the occasional break for food or bathroom).

Now he shows up with Civilization IV, we both load it up on our laptops, and we figure out how to connect our computers so we can play each other (we also figured out how to connect online so we can continue to play each other throughout next semester despite living long distances from each other, which does not bode well for either of us, academically speaking). Luckily he's off to the gym for a few hours (right before I was to launch my big attack against the nearby barbarian city!), so I am trying to make a little progress on my Secret Santa story.

Oh, and I saw Christmas Carol at the theaters this past weekend, got struck with a creepy, Halloweenish SGA story within the first five minutes, and could think of nothing else but that throughout the entire movie. Add another story idea to the list...

New show (to me, at least)!

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 23:15:13 GMT

I think I found a new show to get into:

Castle!!

I can't imagine getting into it to the same degree as SGA, but it's fun and I'm really enjoying it. I've only seen three or four episodes so far, but I've heard about this show for a long time. Why did it take me so long to finally give it a shot?

And I love Nathan Fillion. I loved him in Firefly, and he's perfect in this show. Yay!! I'm so happy! My DVR keeps catching random repeat episodes, and since I haven't seen any of them...

* runs off to watch the latest ep...

Knee injuries!

Sun, 13 Dec 2009 21:07:33 GMT

Smashed my knee up pretty good this weekend. Nothing serious - just one large, nasty-looking bruise. Once it hits all its colorful glory, I may try to take a photo of it. I foresee a knee injury in Sheppard's future!!!

In the meantime, I imagine I will be doing a lot of sitting around and hopefully a lot of writing. Got struck with a cool story idea over the weekend, but I've got to file it away for now and finish a few other fics first! Eeeee!! So many stories, so little time...

Thank you for the snowflake cookies!

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 17:46:38 GMT

Just wanted to say thank you for the snowflake cookies! That's so cool!!

The Ark - Missing Scene

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 00:07:50 GMT

For radioshack84, who wanted a shep whumpy tag fic to The Ark. This is more of a missing scene than a tag, but hopefully it fits the bill for Wish #6. :D

<---- Also, cool new icon from tridget!!

Title: Hmmm...No title, really. Just "The Ark, missing scene"
Characters: Sheppard, Beckett, a few glimpses of others
Word Count: 3,000
Summary: Missing scene between when John gets into the shuttle in an attempt to land it, and when he actually lands it. Well, more like crashes it.

“Initiating separation maneuver in three, two, one, mark.”

Sheppard punched the button on the console in front of him, then braced himself for the jolt of the ship throwing itself away from the moon. He glanced around at the sudden buzz of an alarm, searching the unfamiliar dash in front of him. The fact that he was still inside the moon was answer enough, however. He blinked his eyes, pushing back the headache that had been pounding in his temples since…what was it Rodney had called that guy? Since “Sammy Suicide” had tried to kill them all and nearly succeeded.

“Separation is negative. Switching to back-up.”

The plan was a long-shot anyway. He’d known that going in. The space shuttle was hundreds of years old, fuel levels were questionable, and despite what he liked to tell McKay about being able to fly anything…well, he was starting to question whether or not he could fly an entire moon.

He spun in his seat, eyes raking the control panel. There had to be another option—something else he could try. He flipped at the switches in front of him.

“Disengage,” he ordered. The consoles remained stubbornly unlit and he banged his fist into it. “Come on!”

Alarms blared as the ship shuddered again worse than before. He could see the red-orange glare out of the cockpit window as the bottom edge of the moon began to scrape along the atmosphere, and a line of sweat broke out across his forehead.

“Dammit!” He looked up, but the jumper was nowhere in sight. Hopefully it was well away from the disintegrating moon. “The bolts will not work. I repeat: the explosive bolts will not fire. Unable to separate ship. I don’t know if you can hear me but it looks like I’m going to have to ride this one down.”

The ship jerked again and he gripped the controls, as if they would be of any help. Red lights flashed across the dashboard—the universal sign of Oh, shit. He grinned as the thought flashed through his mind, and then the moon heaved against the atmosphere and a car-sized boulder broke off, hurtling toward the cockpit bubble and missing him by no more than a couple of feet.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered.

Neither McKay nor anyone else in the jumper had responded to his message about the damaged explosive bolts and he wondered if they’d heard him. He hoped they had, that they would at least know why he’d burned up inside the moon. He strained his ears, listening for a response back and hearing nothing but static.

“Think, John. Think.”

He was trapped. The ship was attached to the moon base, and the bolts that should have thrown him safely away from the hunk of rock were busted. No use flipping ineffectual switches. The rock walls around him were crumbling faster than he had time to react, and he flinched as fiery chunks flung toward him. He could almost make out the planet below, but the hazy red of burning atmosphere obscured everything.

If he was lucky, one of those crumbling moon rocks would hit something vital on the ship and he’d die fast. Ronon wanted to die fighting, but if John had to pick, flying wasn’t such a bad way either. The metal framework of the space station collapsed around him, twisting under the heat of re-entry. If only he could force an explosion…

Fuel.

Lorne had checked the shuttle’s supply and said there wasn’t any fuel, but maybe there just wasn’t much. John wouldn’t need a lot. Just enough to start an explosion near the rear of the ship. It was even more of a long-shot than landing the space shuttle in the first place. He scanned his console again, pulling up a schematic of the ship. There were two fuel ports on each side: the main ones were on the underside of the shuttle directly below the cockpit, but the secondary ports were near the rear. Not far from the bolts anchoring this flying death trap to the base.

He flipped another set of switches, sending the alarms into a howling frenzy as the secondary ports opened. He had no way of knowing if they were actually opening, or if they had any fuel whatsoever in them. But all he needed was enough fuel to ignite close enough to the explosive bolts to set them off. The chance of success was so slim, it almost wasn’t even worth attempting.

The ship rattled and vibrated, and John’s vision blurred. Sweat dripped down his face and he clenched every muscle in his body. This was it. He couldn’t even see his hands in front of him, let alone figure out what the read-outs and displays might be trying to tell him. Over the roar of the moon breaking up around him, he heard a faint beep, and he closed his eyes—

The jolt threw him into the back of his chair and he felt his head bang against his helmet. A flash of white followed the burst of pain in his skull, but it took another moment for him to realize he was still alive, still breathing. He could feel the acceleration pressing his body into the seat and he forced his eyes open.

“Oh, shit,” he breathed out. It had worked—maybe. Something had exploded and thrown him free of the base. The fuel. The bolts. The moon. Whatever.

John saw black skies above, then a wave of white and red and yellow washed over the cockpit window. It took another second for him to realize he’d closed his eyes again, and he opened them to see blue skies and pale land. He reached for the controls with arms that felt like they weighed two tons each.

He could see the ground growing rapidly larger below him even with the constant shuddering vibrations blurring his vision. Alarms were blaring again, louder than before, as the ship hurtled toward land. He pulled back on the control stick in a vain attempt to bring the nose up a little, but he’d had little to no fuel to begin with.

Control was a lie. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the stick, to break the illusion that he was doing anything to land this thing.

At least there were no trees. He caught enough of a glimpse of the surrounding area to see he was crashing into a desert before the bottom of the ship suddenly hit ground, skidding across sand. John felt his body fling forward at the impact, and he stared at the blinking red oh, shit lights rushing up toward his face before his helmet slammed into the control console.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

John groaned, still feeling the rattling, jerking crash in his bones. He was laying across the console, his face pressed up against the glass of his helmet and one arm dangling at his side. He had no intention of moving. He forced open his eyes and saw that the lights on the dash had all gone out.

No power.

Teyla.

The thought of her still locked up and demolecularized in that damn box spurred him to push himself up into a sitting position. There was no power to the cockpit, but did that mean the Wraith storage device was also out of power? The ship was utterly still. He had just enough energy to push himself into the back of his chair, and then the tension in his muscles flooded out of him and he collapsed.

The world outside was bright and sunny, giving no indication that it had taken any notice of the moon suddenly dropping from orbit to land in a tangled burning heap of molten rock and metal. John sucked in a breath, feeling his chest tightened against already swelling bruises. Far above, he saw a dark speck fly past. The jumper.

“That’s one week’s pay you owe me, Rodney.”

McKay’s response sound tinny and small through the radio, but the relief was tangible. “Well, technically, I didn’t take that bet.”

“Hang tight, sir. We’re on our way.”

John nodded at Lorne’s assurance then cringed. “Take your time, Major,” he answered. He yanked on the bottom of his helmet, pushing up the glass. He wanted to wipe away the sweat now crawling across his face and neck, but his arm dropped heavily to his side.

“Take your time,” he repeated. He’d crashed before, but this one took the cake. He started to tremble at the sudden realization that he was alive. He’d brought the shuttle down and survived. Something on the far side of the console lit up, it’s little bulb bright and green. So not all power was gone—maybe Teyla was still floating somewhere in that storage device after all.

He could hear voices talking to him again—Rodney, Ronon, Lorne, Beckett. Asking him what had happened, if he was alright, if Teyla was alright. He closed his eyes, his headache growing until it encompassed his entire head and spread down his neck, into his chest and stomach and legs. The ship wasn’t moving, he was certain of that, but it felt like he was still hurtling through space, still jerking and rumbling, squeezed between the physical forces of the universe.

“Colonel?”

“Sheppard, you okay?”

“Answer us, dammit.”

The voices grew louder in his ear. His eyes had slid closed without him realizing it, and he knew he needed to get up and check on Teyla, open the hatch for his team to get in and take care of the Wraith storage people. He knew it, yet his body had other plans, and it sagged deeper into the chair.

“That was a hell of a landing. I can’t believe the ship’s still intact.”

“Colonel Sheppard?”

“The power is holding steady on this thing. We shouldn’t wait too long to start beaming these people out of here.”

“John, where are you?”

“Doc, up here!”

The voices weren’t just in his ear anymore. He heard the footsteps pounding against the ladder that led up to the cockpit but still flinched in surprise when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Easy, lad. It’s just me.”

John forced his eyes open and stared up at the doctor. Beckett had managed to squeeze into the small cockpit area and was staring down at him in open concern.

“Teyla!” he said, jerking upright.

“Whoa!” Beckett pressed his hands against John’s shoulders, forcing him back into the seat. John groaned at the stiffening pain. “Don’t move. You just took a hell of hard ride.”

“Doc!” Ronon’s voice called up from below, and John turned his head toward the sound.

“I’m checking him over now. You sit down like I told you to, and put that sling back on.”

John heard an indistinct rumbling and smiled. He sat immobile—not that he could have moved if he’d wanted to—while Beckett checked him over, grimacing at the flash of a penlight in his eyes. When the doctor pushed against his chest, he couldn’t help the whimpering moan that slipped past his lips.

Beckett tsked and tutted as he went through his exam but otherwise seemed to conclude John would survive. The adrenaline rush of crashing and finding himself alive was starting to wear off, though John wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. The shaking sensation was ebbing, replaced with a profound lethargy.

“Don’t move,” Beckett ordered, startling John out of listlessness. He’d been staring at the green light on the console. One little green light.

The doctor was gone before John had a chance to react. He tried to sit up, grunting at the effort, and the shaking sensation swept back in with head-to-toe trembling. His vision narrowed as a pulsing throb picked up its beat, and he might have fallen over had Beckett not suddenly returned and grabbed a hold of him.

“I know you knocked your head pretty hard, but I need you to focus,” Beckett said, squatting down so he was level with John.

“What?” He could hear the exhaustion and confusion in his voice, and couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he sounded that way. The small bubble of the cockpit window seemed to shrink, pressing in on him and he tensed his muscles.

He had to get out of here. Explosions. Crash landings. Burning moons. Danger. Had to get out…

“John!” Beckett was yelling, snapping his fingers in front of John’s face with one hand and holding his wrist with the other. “Don’t move. Do you understand?”

“Don’t move,” John repeated, the meaning of the words trailing along a moment later. Don’t move. As if he could. His entire body throbbed.

“Doctor Weir sent two more jumpers, they should be here any minute,” Lorne said, his head popping up into the cockpit. “How are you doing, sir?”

“Lorne?”

“He hit his head,” Beckett said. “Have you gotten Teyla out yet?”

“Not yet,” the major answered.

John let his eyes close, but the thought of Teyla stuck in storage kept sleep at bay as he waited for Lorne to say more about her.

“Teyla?” he prompted, when Lorne didn’t immediately respond.

“McKay’s examining the device now, trying to figure out how it works. He thinks it’s pretty straightforward, but he doesn’t want to rush things and make a mistake.”

“Rodney’s worried about making a mistake?” Beckett asked. And that really didn’t sound like McKay. Yet—

“It’s Teyla,” John said, his voice rough. He felt his throat tighten and he licked his lips. “Water?”

“Sorry, lad. Not right now.”

“Jumpers are here,” Lorne announced. John heard footsteps tapping against the ladder and moving away from him.

“Tell them to send that backboard immediately,” Beckett called out.

“Whoa, doc, I’m okay,” John mumbled. “Just a little shaken up. Think I hit my head.”

Beckett chuffed, patting him on the shoulder. John could hear the man digging around in his bag somewhere at his feet, and he hoped to God it was some kind of painkiller. He could almost feel the bruises growing, bleeding together to cover his entire body.

He opened his eyes only to cringe at the sight of the c-collar. He started to turn his head away from it then stopped short when the muscles in his neck screamed against the abuse. He sucked in a gasp, breathing heavily through his nose until the pain abated. Through it all, he was vaguely aware of Beckett grabbing his chin and holding him steady as he wrapped the collar around him.

Voices below indicated more people had arrived and John felt his attention zone. He looked over at the green bulb on the dash, satisfied that it was still lit. Outside, a scraggly looking bird circled the wrecked shuttle. Before he’d realized what was going on, Beckett had slid a backboard behind him and strapped him to it, and people were suddenly crowding around him, maneuvering him out of the chair and down the ladder.

Ronon appeared above him as he was settled onto a gurney, his dreadlocks falling across his face. One arm was resting in a sling but otherwise he seemed fine.

“Sheppard.”

“Hey,” John answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Landed. Didn’t die.”

“You did good.”

“Thanks, buddy. Is Teyla out yet?”

“Not yet. McKay’s gonna start beaming people out soon, but he said it could take close to a day to free everyone. He has no idea how to get Teyla first.”

“Let’s go, people,” Beckett ordered from somewhere off to John’s left. He appeared suddenly, blocking Ronon from view. “Just hang tight, John. We’ll have you back in Atlantis in no time.”

“I’m okay?”

He’d meant it as a statement, but his body was doing that trembling shaking thing again, and he shivered at the cold spreading over him. The cockpit had been warm in the sun.

“You’re going to be fine,” Beckett soothed, answering the inadvertent question. “I don’t think you’ve broken anything, but I want to play it safe. We’ll get you under a scanner, then give you some of those pain meds I know you need.”

The doctor checked him over again as he spoke, pressing into John’s stomach and chest and letting John know exactly where each and every bruise was located. John caught the man’s hand and pushed it away. Enough already. He was alive. Beckett didn’t need to keep reminding him of it.

He opened his eyes in time to catch the doctor scowling down at him—and dammit, why couldn’t he keep his eyes open? Someone draped a blanket over him, and then straps were pulled over his legs and chest, securing him to the gurney. Another hand slipped an oxygen mask over his face and he fought the urge to rip it off. As cool air brushed against his lips, he felt the muscles around his ribs relax slightly, and the aching in his chest eased.

“Teyla?” he asked no one in particular. He knew he’d asked before, but he couldn’t remember if he’d gotten an answer.

“Rodney’s working on it,” Beckett answered, and the ceiling overhead began to move. “I’d tell you not to worry about it, but how about we compromise and I’ll make Lorne promise to keep you updated. You’ll know as soon as everyone else when they get her out of the storage device.”

Like he could do anything else. The adrenaline was gone—there’d be no more moving for the next several hours, not under his own power anyway. “Fine,” he mumbled.

It would take them some time to get all those people out anyway, and then more time to get Teyla home. John squinted at the bright sunshine as the gurney suddenly emerged from the shuttle. A moment later, he was inside with Beckett next to him, patting his arm. John felt the jumper power up and take off. He felt his eyelids drawing closed and he let them slide shut, giving up the battle to stay awake. He’d gotten Teyla and the moon-base people to solid ground. Rodney and the others could take care of the rest.

END

* Many hours later, Teyla is finally freed from the storage device and returned to Atlantis. And cue the rest of the episode… ;-P

Inbox delays?

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 00:29:52 GMT

Has anyone else been having delays between when comments are posted, and when they're showing up in your inbox? In the last several days, I'll notice someone has made a comment to a post or comment I made, and then two days later it will show up in my message inbox. Just wondering if it's an issue with just my journal or if it's widespread...

Custom Moods!

Tue, 08 Dec 2009 21:03:20 GMT

I figured out how to make custom moods! It actually wasn't that hard at all - just time-consuming. I have the sudden urge to feel angry, annoyed, stressed, awake, confused, curious, determined, enthralled, happy, relaxed, satisfied, relieved, silly, giggly, weird, surprised, indescribable, nerdy, okay, lazy, lethargic, sad, bored, uncomfortable, hot, exhausted, drained, tired, groggy, sleepy, hungry, sick, sore, thirsty, scared, thoughtful, working, creative...

I am never going to use even half of these, but I love all the pretty pictures...

Writing! Yay!!

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 05:06:40 GMT

I'm feeling Christmasy these days - got the tree up with all its shiny bulbs and lights and tinsel, the highs outside have been in the mid-20s, and I found two TV channels that play nothing but Christmas music!

I've also discovered comment fics!! It is just too fun over here. I wrote a couple comment fics, woke up my muse, and then made some progress on my Secret Santa fic. Go here and join the fun:

HOLIDAY HURT/COMFORT COMMENT FIC EXCHANGE at sgahcchallenges

Post a prompt | See the prompts | Read stories

Holiday Wishes

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 19:20:50 GMT

Snurched from kristen999 and kriadydragon

Step One:
• Make a post (public, friendslocked, filtered...whatever you're comfortable with) to your LJ. The post should contain your list of 10 unlimited holiday wishes. The wishes can be anything at all, from simple and fandom-related ("I'd love a Snape/Hermione icon that's just for me") to medium ("I wish for _____ on DVD") to really big ("All I want for Christmas is a new car/computer/house/TV.") The important thing is to make sure these wishes are things you really, truly want.

• If you wish for real life things (not fics or icons), make sure you include some sort of contact info in your post, whether it's your address or just your email address where Santa (or one of his elves) could get in touch with you.

• Also, make sure you post some version of these guidelines in your LJ, so that the holiday joy will spread.

Step Two:
• Surf around your friendslist (or friendsfriends, or just random journals) to see who has posted their list. And now here's the important part:

• If you see a wish you can grant, and it's in your heart to do so, make someone's wish come true. Sometimes someone's trash is another's treasure, and if you have a leather jacket you don't want or a gift certificate you won't use--or even know where you could get someone's dream purebred Basset Hound for free--do it.

• You needn't spend money on these wishes unless you want to. The point isn't to put people out; it's to provide everyone a chance to be someone else's holiday elf--to spread the joy. Gifts can be made anonymously or not--it's your call.

• There are no rules with this project, no guarantees, and no strings attached. Just...wish, and it might come true. Give and you might receive. And you'll have the joy of knowing you made someone's holiday special.

My Wishes!!! Some more fantastical than others (here's looking at you, job)...

1. A Gold Ticket to the Vancouver Con!

2. SGA fic involving an in-depth encounter with the Wraith (oh, and Shep whump of course)

3. SGA fic with Shep whump but Teyla-centric (about her or from her POV)

4. Cover art for any of my stories (found here)

5. Whumpy Sheppard icons

6. Sheppard and Ronon icons

7. SGA fic involving Sheppard on Earth getting caught up in some mystery or adventure completely unrelated to his job (a reluctant hero type story, also with whump ;P)

8. A ride in a helicopter

9. One of those leather aviator bomber jackets

10. A job lined up for when I graduate!

Dreams

Thu, 26 Nov 2009 16:48:42 GMT

I'm home with all the family for Thanksgiving, which involves lots of eating, watching movies, and more eating. The other night, while we were waiting for our movie to start, we started watching this episode of Nova on dreams. Very interesting stuff... One of the scientists got on and said you can actually tell yourself what to dream and it will happen about 50% of the time.

My mom: "Dream of flying, dream of flying, dream of flying..."

Me: "Dream of Sheppard, dream of Sheppard, dream of Sheppard..."

It didn't work the first night. It DID work the second night. Last night I dreamed that Sheppard and I were in a jumper with the rest of the team, and the two of us started laughing and screwing around, and then eventually we started wrestling (and no, that's not a euphemism for something else...we really were just wrestling, like you'd do with your siblings).

It was awesome! I'm trying it again tonight...

*dream of Sheppard, dream of Sheppard, dream of Sheppard....

Must get back to the writing grind...

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 05:09:30 GMT

Big Bang is up and I'm spending all my free time reading (and loving the stories!), but Secret Santa is sneaking up on me. I've got to start working on it!! Hopefully I'll have a little free time over Thanksgiving to devote to it (carry my laptop around the house with me, break it out whenever my dad and brother turn on a football game, which guarantees me about three days of writing right there...)

Finished my editing of Possession - no major edits, and I'm sure I missed some typos, but it was fun to go back and tweak it a little. I hadn't read that story since I originally posted it. And now I have no excuse not to devote all my time to Secret Santa! I did a little calculating and figured out that including my Big Bang story (but not including my LFWS entries), this Secret Santa fic will be number 25 for me! I almost can't believe it. A little more calculating puts my total word count for the last 24 stories at 460,358.

Okay, now I really have no excuse not to devote all my time to the new story. *Note to self: Get back to work!

Big Bang!

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 21:07:23 GMT

You may have already heard...but Big Bang 09 is live! My story is here. Looks like there are a bunch of good stories this year (there goes the weekend!)

The artwork for my story was done by Oran who did an amazing job. Every time I look at it, I notice a new little detail, and the whole thing just fits the story so well.

Enjoy!! :D

DVD Commentary on another Possession scene

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 18:56:34 GMT

This is for tridget. This was a really interesting scene to go back and look at, and remember all those ideas I had while creating Sateda's backstory.

Our team has just arrived on Sateda for the first time, and this is their first introduction to the planet and the culture. One of my main goals in this story was to create a sense of Sateda as its own world with its own long history and tradition, that this world existed long before anyone from Atlantis shows up.

The group followed Nurif out of the small entryway, and John glanced at the two guards at the door who had escorted the Atlanteans from the stargate—located in a large, walled square in the middle of a thriving metropolis—to the palatial building where the President had been waiting. They stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes, but they reminded John of the British Royal Guards standing outside of Buckingham Palace in London. They weren’t wearing any hats, and their coats were green rather than red, but John could see that they were just as well-trained.

We’ve only ever gotten small glimpses of Sateda in the show, and that was after the Wraith had leveled it. I can’t tell you how many times I watched those parts to get an idea of how big the city was and what it might have looked like. Oh, and I love England—I’ve been there a couple of times, including a study abroad where I actually got to live in London for about four months. Totally impressed with the Royal Guards.

The group moved through the ornate hallway quietly, their steps muffled by the thick white carpet at their feet. A memory from childhood suddenly flashed through his mind of him and his brother Dave running through their home in Connecticut after a particularly adventurous trek through the woods at the edge of the backyard, leaving muddy footprints on their mother’s brand-new, cream carpet in their wake. He glanced down at his adult feet, relieved to see he was not leaving any mud or dirt behind him.

They turned a corner, and Elizabeth and Teyla gasped in surprise. Both John and Lorne reached for the 9-mils at their thighs, and John was thankful that the Satedans had allowed them to keep their handguns even though they’d insisted they all check in their P90s at some kind of military office near the entrance of the President’s palace.

Sateda is a fairly well-developed world, with its own laws on order, and carrying weapons, etc. What if a group of strangers showed up in my town, carrying automatic weapons? The police would be all over them in seconds. From the team’s point of view, they just want to be safe, but from Sateda’s point of view, they are running a civilized, orderly world and expect visitors to follow their laws. I thought it was very generous of the Satedans to allow John and Lorne to keep their handguns, actually, especially since they’re meeting with a head of state.

The threat, however, was nonexistent. As he rounded the corner, he realized half of his group was staring in awe at the wide wooden staircase, curving up through the open lobby to the second floor. The staircase itself was covered in detailed carvings and stained a dark red. Large stained glass windows cast colored light across the white carpeted floor, and a row of hanging crystals circled and curled around itself in the center of the ceiling, resembling something more like modern art than a palatial chandelier. The walls were covered floor-to-ceiling in a weird, puffy gold-colored wallpaper. This room was the most ornate, elaborate, and ostentatious room John thought he had ever seen in any palace in either the Milky Way or the Pegasus galaxies.

The stained-glass window is a gigantic version of the painting we see in Ronon’s room on one of the episodes (can’t remember now which one). I wanted to give Sateda a rich history, and since they chose to stand up and fight the Wraith (unlike Hoff, who pursued a less directly confrontational path), I envisioned them having a long military/warrior tradition, with lots of stories of battles and fighting and heroes. The president’s palace is extremely ornate in its decorations but this Satedan warrior culture still permeates everything. I was thinking a little of the Palace of Versailles here, although I don’t think Sateda’s palace came across as quite that fancy.

“Huh,” McKay mumbled, glancing around. Lorne had stepped back and was staring up with fascination at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” John answered.

“It is beautiful,” Teyla spoke up.

“This is the pride and glory of Sateda,” Nurif said, his voice echoing and filling the large room. “The staircase was hand-carved by one of our most decorated artisans and depicts Satedan history from its very beginning on the first step, to the present day at the top.”

The beginning of the “pride and glory” sentiments… Once I’d settled on Sateda being a Warrior Culture (picture the Vikings living in the 20th century), that focus on their great battles and great warriors naturally incurs a certain amount of pride and glorifying of the past. There’s also a sense of needing to build up their confidence in their ability to stand up against the Wraith.

Nurif spun around to wave his arms majestically at the stained glass window. John eyed the guards at both doorways, watching but not watching them, and he forced his fingers to loosen their grip around the hilt of his gun. We’re safe here, he kept reminding himself. These people could be very good allies.

Nurif was a fun character to create and write. He was the epitome of the oily politician, decadent, and used to getting what he wanted, and yet he still has his own insecurities. He really does want the best for Sateda but he’s hyper-aware of his own image and how he comes off to others.

The stained glass window was about thirty feet high and depicted three Satedan warriors, swords in hands, standing resolute on a rock with a dark orange sky at their backs. Blood dripped from their faces and swords, and their eyes spoke of a long, difficult, but ultimately victorious battle.

“This is one of our most famous paintings, re-created here on this glass in all its detail. The original hangs in the Sateda Museum of Art. This was a great battle, the final victory in the fight for Satedan unity. While the Wraith are a formidable enemy, and always have been, I regret that they have not been our only enemy. Too often we have found ourselves fighting each other in our history, when the greater risk of the Wraith still hung over us.”

I like to imagine that in the show, Ronon goes back to Sateda after he sees it’s been destroyed and finds this painting, keeping it as a memento of his world.

“We have experienced something similar in our own history,” Elizabeth said.

“Then we understand each other. It is unfortunate that fighting and wars seem to be such a human shortcoming.”

“And yet you’ve managed to surpass that to create a beautiful piece of art.” Elizabeth glanced back at the staircase. “Two beautiful pieces,” she amended, “among many more, I’m sure.”

Nurif smiled, his eyes sparkling, and he gestured the group toward the stairs. “Allow me to share more of my world with you.”

John trailed behind them all, rolling his eyes at the interplay between the two diplomats. He really hated politics. Really, really, really hated it. How Elizabeth and Teyla both found the patience to deal with these situations—flattering and negotiating, giving and taking—was totally beyond him. Elizabeth and Nurif were still talking, joined occasionally by Teyla when asked about the Athosians.

I can just imagine John going nuts at this part—he’s a man of action, not of talking and negotiating and that whole diplomatic back-and-forth. To a certain extent, diplomacy is a game of stroking each other’s egos, and Nurif and Elizabeth and Teyla know how to play this game very well.

John glanced at McKay and Lorne, and was relieved to see they looked as bored as he felt. McKay ambled along, glancing around him at the paintings that hung on the walls or out the windows that overlooked the city. His mind was clearly on other things, and John imagined the scientist was thinking of all the projects he needed to be working on back home on Atlantis.

McKay is like John when it comes to diplomacy and negotiations. He’s a bit too honest to play the game well. I kept him quiet in this part; Elizabeth gave him a stern lecture before leaving Atlantis not to say anything that would jeopardize the talks ;P

John felt more than saw the guards trailing them at a respectful distance. He met Lorne’s eyes briefly, then flicked his glance to the men behind them, to which the major gave a quick nod of acknowledgement. The guards weren’t too close, not enough at least to make the group feel like they were under tight guard, but they were near enough to step in and intervene if the Atlanteans proved not to be the allies Nurif hoped. John rolled his shoulders, forcing the muscles to relax, and glanced out the window. The sky had been blue when they’d first arrived, but clouds had rolled in, creating a formless bright gray ceiling over the city. The cityscape itself was striking—these people were way more advanced than just about every civilization they had encountered before, including the Genii. Skyscrapers jutted up into the white sky, and while the city wasn’t massive, it had to hold at least a few hundred thousand people.

John and Lorne are still military men to the core, and despite being in safe, lavish conditions, they are aware of their situation at all times, keeping track of where everyone is and what they would need to do if they have to step in and protect their people. The capital city of Sateda is fairly expansive—in the episode “Sateda,” Ronon stands on a rooftop and looks out across the destroyed city, and it’s huge. This was no small town.

“I regret the weather is not more pleasant for your visit,” Nurif said, and John turned his attention back to the President. The group had paused in front of a set of glass doors that opened up onto a large balcony. “I was hoping we could have dined out here, but we are nearing winter and the weather has grown chilly in the last few weeks.”

I was imagining this part of the palace, particularly the balcony, as looking a little like the Ali Qapu Palace in Isfahan, Iran (which is very cool looking and I highly recommend googling it!)

“We understand,” Elizabeth answered. “The view is stunning.”

Nurif beamed with pride again, and waved the group forward. John quickened his pace, intent on joining the conversation before it devolved into endless praise for one another’s art and crafts.

Poor John—all that political chit-chat…

“The city looks pretty big,” he said.

Nurif glanced at him and nodded. “The capital holds well over 227,000 people—the largest city on our planet.”

It was so sad, after building this entire world up in my mind, to end up having to destroy it completely… John and the others get to see much more of this world, but this was their introduction to it. If Sateda had not been destroyed, I think they would have been very close allies with Atlantis.

DVD Commentary on Magnificent Desolation scene

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 20:49:01 GMT

Here's my commentary on the scene from Magnificent Desolation for kristen999

It’s been a really long time since I’ve read this story; I actually went back and read the whole thing again. I have spent countless hours, from childhood to today, staring up at the night sky and dreaming of flying in space, so a lot of John’s excitement at walking on a moon is a projection of my own dreams and excitement at the idea—I think I mentioned this to you once, but when I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut for a long time. I can’t think of anything cooler than hopping across the moon. :)

On to this particular scene…

John fell asleep sitting up. When he opened his eyes again, it took a moment for him to remember where he was. He stared at the space-suited hands and arms lying limply in his lap, and it wasn’t until one of them moved that he realized they were his own hands. He lifted one arm then dropped it, and watched it fall too slowly back to his lap. The other arm wouldn’t move at all.

One of the toughest aspects of writing this story was keeping track of John’s slow downward spiral. Besides his injuries, which caused immediate problems, I needed to show him gradually succumbing to first the cold, and then as oxygen becomes an issue, to the lack of air. At this point, he’s fairly disoriented and just mentally not thinking really fast.

He stared at his legs. Those were his legs, he was pretty sure of that. He tried to move them, but nothing happened.

Legs are too big. Start small.

He stared at his feet. If he could just wiggle his toes a little, then he’d know those were his legs. He stared at his feet, waiting for the toes to move.

Waiting…waiting…waiting…

You’re wearing boots, moron. How are you going to see your toes moving when you’re wearing boots? John laughed, hearing the sound echoing inside his helmet. As it petered out, he breathed deeply and leaned his forehead against the front visor. Why was he trying to move his toes anyway?

This would be the lack of oxygen making him a little giddy here. He’s really having a hard time focusing on anything, even small things, and his memory is starting to become affected. I think I really tried to show the effects of the cold and slow hypoxia through John’s actions and mental process (or lack of mental process!) rather than just have John say “I’m getting hypothermic now” or “It’s getting really hard to breathe and I’m running out of oxygen.”

His eyes drifted close, but it wasn’t until he started listing to the side that he jerked himself awake. He couldn’t fall asleep. That was bad—he knew it. He had to stay awake.

He knows it’s bad to fall asleep, and yet he’s not quite sure why.

Math, he suddenly thought. I’ll do math. Theory…start with…starting with…

John blinked, finding himself listing to the side again. As he straightened back up, his feet, the dusty ground, and the wall of the crater swam and tilted wildly in front of him.

“Whoa,” John groaned. “Dizzy.” He closed his eyes, feeling his stomach twisting and churning at the sensation of moving. He panted heavily through his mouth, as he fought the nausea creeping up the back of his throat.

Another few seconds passed before he was able to relax again and open his eyes. The crater around him had stopped swirling, and his stomach was slowly starting to settle back down.

“Math,” he muttered. “Got to do math.”

He repeats a lot of things throughout—part of showing his degrading mental abilities. Each time, he remembers a little less. He’s grabbed onto this idea that he needs to do math, but he forgets why he has to do math, and then forgets doing the math at all.

Multiplication. I can do that.

“One times one is…no, that’s too easy. Start with…nines. One times…I mean…nine times nine is eighty-one. Nine times ten is ninety. Nine times eleven is…is…nine times eleven…eleven…” John shook his head, hoping to clear it but instead caused his headache to renew it’s throbbing. His heart was pounding in his chest as well, like he’d just finished running.

I usually run with Ronon, John thought. Maybe that’s why I’m so tired—he always makes me run longer and faster…

John looked around. Where was Ronon now? He was sure he’d been here earlier, but he couldn’t quite place it. Something nagged in the back of his mind. Ronon, Ronon, Ronon. Where was Ronon?

“Ronon?”

I had a fairly clear idea when I started writing this story that I wanted it to be about John struggling in this environment. I don’t think I realized how much of a role Ronon would come to play. This is one of my earlier stories, and I hadn’t written Ronon much yet—he really took over part of this story as I was writing it, and I was very happy with how his character came across.

The silence was oppressive. John stared up at the top edge of the crater, twenty five feet high. He must have climbed down here, and Ronon was…

No! Fell. He remembered that now. He fell and it had hurt a lot.

I can’t recall the exact science behind, but I remember watching a video at one of the many air/space museums and planetariums I’ve been too about some of the hazards of the moon environment. One of them was about the problems of depth perception, and how difficult it is too see changes in the ground, dips and rises and such. I remember being struck by that—how freaky would it be if you didn’t know whether the ground was going to be where you thought it was every time you took a step.

But it didn’t hurt now. He breathed a sigh of relief. He remembered the pain clearly from before. It had really hurt, hurt so much he couldn’t breath or talk or move. He stared at his feet again, wondering if his toes were moving.

Get up, John, he berated himself. Get off your lazy ass.

I love it when John talks to himself in the third person.

John waited for a moment, and started giggling when he managed to do no more than sink forward more deeply. He was hunched over his legs as much as the space suit would allow.

Wrong way, he laughed. Going the wrong way. Have to go up. Sit up, John. Up.

Again, the giggling is another sign of the effect the lack of oxygen is having on him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next time he opened his eyes, he was lying on his back again with no memory of having fallen over. The stars overhead had definitely changed position. John stared at the brilliant white globes, searching for a recognizable pattern or shape.

As I was writing this, the imagery of the stars and the moonscape was really strong for me. I focused on the imagery in this story more than in any other story I’ve written. I’m always overwhelmed by the beauty of a brilliant night sky, while also feeling small and insignificant compared to the rest of the universe. It’s beautiful, and yet it’s cold and harsh and unforgiving, and it would kill within seconds—I like that juxtaposition, that inherent conflict.

You used to be good at constellations, John, he berated himself. Eventually he gave up, twisting his head from side to side to look around. He was lying in the middle of a crater, with steep walls all around him. There was glass in front of his face, reflecting the dusky light.

“What…” he started, but his voice came out hoarse and unintelligible. He could feel his heart pounding frantically in his chest, but otherwise he was exhausted. Too exhausted to move, to sit up, to figure out what he was doing in a crater.

His memory is worse than ever, and he’s fast approaching that point of no return—if he doesn’t get help soon, he’ll die.

Moon. I’m on a moon. He remembered stepping out of the jumper in his bulky space suit, feeling clumsy and huge, and then that first step through the low gravity that landed him ten feet away from where he’d started. The flight through the air, the feeling of not being tethered to the ground…

The skies have always been John’s escape, so I imagined the ability to feel like he was flying without a plane or a helicopter would be euphoric for him.

“Ronon? Teyla? McKay?” he called out. They’d been with him, on this moon. He remembered them in their space suits, the white fabric reflecting the low light. Ronon feeling sick from eating so much beforehand.

His breaths were coming in pants now. He couldn’t seem to draw in enough air. His body felt numb, mostly, but there was a coldness beneath it that should have scared him, should have warned him he was in serious trouble.

He’s in trouble, and his thoughts immediately turn to his team. I play with this particular idea a little later when he has his nightmare about dying on the moon alone.

Instead, John lay on the ground and stared at the sky. The strokes of dark colors burned into his brain. He wondered if anyone had ever painted that, because it looked like something someone should paint. Dark and light. Everything and nothing.

“Magnificent desolation,” he whispered between pained breaths. His chest was starting to ache with the effort of pulling in oxygen. He closed his eyes as the stars blurred and swam in sudden dizziness.

Magnificent Desolation was not actually the title of this story at first. It wasn’t until much later that I hit upon it. I can’t remember now what I originally intended to call it, but I think that phrase “magnificent desolation” not only captures what the moonscape looks like, but it speaks to the juxtaposition of overwhelming beauty and absolute, deadly danger.

“Magnificent…cent…desolation…” John repeated, the words stuck in his mind like a mantra he couldn’t shake. “Magnificent…magnif…”

He coughed, then gasped. His whole body shuttered.

“Magnificent desolation.” The words were hardly even a whisper now. He could hear himself breathing, each wheeze sounding loud inside the confines of his helmet.

This is it, a voice said inside his head. This is the end. John blinked open his eyes and stared up at the stars. He could hardly feel his body now, could hardly feel his chest expanding in rapid, desperate jerks.

“Mag’ficent…des’lation…”

Other sounds began filtering in around him, but John stared listlessly at the jagged edge of the cliff walls reaching into the black depths of space. The pain was all but gone. He breathed in as much as he could, then let it out slowly.

Ah, even re-reading this now, I would give just about anything to go into space, regardless of the dangers and risks it would pose.

“…rry up! Sheppard, buddy, if you’re dead…”

A helmeted head appeared above him, and John frowned. It was blocking his view. He wanted to see the stars, the sky, the only true freedom he had ever known. Something grabbed at him, shaking him, pulling him up.

With the little mental capacity he still has a hold of, John knows he’s dying, and he looks to the skies and everything it represents to him. In some ways, dying is the ultimate freedom from the tethers of life and all the joys and sorrows and pains and love that may include, and in a lot of cultures and religious beliefs, the sky symbolizes heaven or the place one goes after one dies. John is holding onto the image of the sky as one of the few places in life where he felt liberated and yet in some ways he’s also surrendering to the ultimate release of death.

“Sheppard, come on!”

John blinked, and stared into the panicked face of Ronon.

Ronon doesn’t panic, he thought. The man was moving around him, trying to pick him up in the awkward suits. John felt his head loll against the back of his helmet. He couldn’t have moved, even if he’d wanted to. He drew in another ragged, wheezing breath.

Other voices filtered in through the radio, and words floated through his consciousness, but they made no sense. Ronon was behind him now, and John’s view of space was once again unimpeded.

And from here, Ronon gets John into the jumper and they all get back to Atlantis safely. Of all the stories I’ve written, I’d have to say that this is my favorite one. Part of that is because I could very easily put myself into John’s shoes in this environment and imagine what he was seeing and feeling. I also really liked how the setting, the tone, the imagery, and the plot wove together—that increasing sense of isolation and being separated is there when the radios fail, separating first John and Ronon from Teyla and Rodney, then John from all of them; in the space suits themselves, physically separating them; the dead, long abandoned moon base; the insignificance of the one under the overwhelming, stark beauty of the galaxy overhead…and probably a lot more places. I’m just so pleased with how everything came together so well.

Not to get metaphysical or spiritual or whatever, but I think there’s a power in writing, and sometimes I’m able to tap into it and sometimes I’m less successful in that. With this story, I really do feel like it was more than just my own abilities that ultimately landed on the page. I’m not quite sure how I managed to tap into that wellspring—I wish I could do it every time!

Commentary on Possession

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 04:34:23 GMT

This is for sharpes_hussy, who requested a commentary on a scene from Possession. This is from Chapter 7...

With just about every story I’ve written, there’s always one scene or image in my head that sparks the entire idea. I then write either from that point, or more often, I write to get to that image, to that one scene that’s been burned into my mind in all its detail. For Possession, the image of Sheppard being shot and tumbling backward into a river, while Ronon is just feet away and not in time to stop it was where this story started for me.

Ronon moved along the backs of the tents, tracking the movements of the group with Sheppard through the gaps between each tent. They walked steadily, and Sheppard made no effort to stand or walk on his own. Ronon slipped quietly along, his mind racing. At least three against one, all military, possibly friends or colleagues. One man with unknown injuries.

There was a moment earlier, where Ronon steps out of his tent and switches instantly into military mode. This Ronon is much younger and in some ways a little more innocent, but he’s at the top of his game when it comes to his military training.

The wind gusted stronger and the clouds opened up, pelting the tents with rain. The constant patter against canvas washed out all other sounds, and Ronon thanked the heavens above. The weather at least was working in his favor. The rows ended, and under the rain, he could almost hear the rush of the river.

The small group dragging Sheppard appeared in the middle of the field, and if they hadn’t had flashlights, Ronon would not have been able to see them. He looked around, making sure no one else was nearby, then began a slow crouch across the dark field. There was no cover here, but the darkness was deep and the storm was loud.

I actually can’t remember if I’d initially envisioned bad weather, but I knew I needed some noise to cover for any noise Ronon was making. The wind and rain provided that white noise. And then the flashes of lightning...I got really excited when this scene began to unfold the way it did, with the darkness and then the flashes of revelation...

The group finally stopped and Ronon could just barely make out a line of black behind them. The river. It had carved its way through the field centuries before and now lay at the bottom of a sloping gorge. The water moved swiftly in these parts, and Ronon knew he had to reach Sheppard before he went into the water or he’d never see him again.

The two men dragging Sheppard dropped him to the ground and stepped back, their flashlights bright enough to reveal his outline. Sheppard stayed on the ground, but Ronon thought he could see the man’s arms moving.

Since it’s at night, and dark, the flashlights and the lightning were the only way for Ronon to see what was going on. It made writing this from his point of view a little tricky, and I had to use his previous knowledge of what the area looked like with the glimpses he gets from the brief flashes of light to convey what was happening.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the entire field, and Ronon froze. For a split second, nature had revealed the entire scene. Ronon was still a good fifty yards from them, but he waited for the shouts of discovery, or the flash-bang of a weapon discharge.

I really love how the lightning works in this part, giving Ronon a brief flash of everything—like a moment of epiphany—before plunging him back into darkness, and forcing him to rely on his memory and his instincts.

Nothing happened. The three standing around Sheppard had been too focused on their task to see him. Ronon moved forward faster, knowing he was running out of time. He reached the river and peered down the steep slope to the sloshing water fifteen feet below, a rope of deep black amidst opaque shadows. The half-formed plan in his mind had him approaching the three men from the side, but beyond shooting as fast as possible, he wasn’t really sure what to do.

When I started thinking about who Ronon was in this AU, I wanted him to be a possible younger version of what we saw on the show. His loyalty to his friends, and to doing what was right really stood out to me. While his mind is racing to figure out exactly what’s going on here, he’s knows instinctively what he needs to do, and he does it without hesitation.

A rumble of thunder erupted above him and he cocked his weapon. Run and shoot—that was as good a plan as any. In the back of his mind he thought the storm might mask the shootout, give him a chance to grab Sheppard and head back into town before Kell realized his people hadn’t come back yet and went out looking for them. He crawled forward another few feet.

The three men were talking, although Ronon could not hear what they were saying. He caught the occasional growl of human voices in between the wind and the rain and the roar of the river. Two of the men turned back to Sheppard and pulled him to his knees, and Ronon’s heart quickened.

They were going to shoot him in the back of the head. An execution. He bit his lip, forcing himself to move steadily, and not reveal his location because of a foolish step or too much haste.

Ronon doesn’t know exactly who is involved here, but he does know they are connected to his military, and I thought he would view this type of execution as being extremely dishonorable. If there was any doubt on his part about whether or not to do something, it’s gone now.

The men spoke again, but instead of shooting him, the two at Sheppard’s sides hefted him to his feet and swung him around, and the third man raised his weapon. Sheppard swayed, and the men moved closer to tighten their grips, but it was clear the off-worlder was standing on his own two feet under his own power. Ronon had no idea if he would be able to help him in a fight, but he couldn’t count on it. If Sheppard could fight, that would have to be an added bonus.

I had a hard time keeping in mind that Ronon doesn’t know Sheppard at all, and that their relationship is not the one I usually write. Ronon switched from referring to Sheppard either by name or as “the off-worlder.” Part of this was just for clarity of writing, so I didn’t have to keep repeating the word “Sheppard” or the word “off-worlder.” Part of it was also to show the beginning of Ronon’s struggle to come to terms with the fact that he is about to risk his life (and later he realizes he’s risked Melena’s life as well) over someone who isn’t even Satedan. And in the meantime, he’s taking mental notes of the actual physical fight and what he needs to do strategy-wise.

The man with the gun was yelling at Sheppard now, and through the rain, Ronon heard the mercenary laugh. The gun steadied in his hand.

Now or never, Ronon thought, and he launched himself across the last twenty yards.

A bolt of lightning lit up the field again, and Ronon fired at the man with the gun. The other man’s gun fired at almost the exact same moment and Ronon saw Sheppard’s body jerk in response then fall backward.

This was the image that started it all…

Ronon screamed, a war cry of anger and hatred and betrayal. Kell had done this, on their very own base, using men who longed for violence but could never be warriors themselves. The man with the gun dropped silently to the ground, and the other two spun around in shock. They released their grip on Sheppard and scrambled for their weapons.

Ronon could hear more than see Sheppard’s body tumbling down the steep slope toward the river, and then the storm unleashed another snarl of thunder that shook the ground and Ronon fired again. He heard one man cry out and hit the ground, but the other was shouting and running back toward the tents, and Ronon lost him in the darkness.

Again, with the darkness and only sporadic flashes of light, Ronon is having to rely on all of his senses. While this Ronon is younger and less experienced in some ways, I really wanted it to come across that he is very, very good at what he does.

There was a splash only slightly louder than the river, and Ronon remembered Sheppard. He jumped down the incline, riding the scree of rocks on his heels. The storm was letting up, that last shriek of thunder seeming to use up most of its energy. Ronon hit the water and bit his lip against a cry of surprise. The water was colder than he had expected, and as the current pulled at his body, he scanned the water for any sign of Sheppard. He saw nothing. Above him, he heard more shouts, including Kell’s.

I used to hike up a mountain just so I could jump down and ride the screes of rocks on my heels. Depending on the length of the scree and the angle, you can really start to fly down the side of the mountain, which is a huge adrenaline rush. Ronon is at the height of his adrenaline rush right now, and I tapped into my own memories of those moments as I was writing this.

“No choice now, buddy,” Ronon muttered to himself, and he let the water sweep him down river. He spread his hands and legs out, both to keep himself afloat and to cover as much of the river as he could. The water twisted and turned him around, and he gasped at the icy chill. He wouldn’t be able to stay in here for long.

I’m always amazed at the power of water, and how much strength even a little of it can have. I was once swept off my feet by the force of a current in a small river—the water was only about three inches deep, and terrifyingly strong. A lot of this story is Ronon just trying to do the right thing against momentous and overwhelming forces, some bad like Kell, but some just the outcome of decisions and actions his world has been taking for years. And yet he keeps trying, and I love that about Ronon.

Another flash of lightning lit up the water, and Ronon caught a glimpse of a pale but battered face just a few feet ahead of him. He swam toward it, using the current to his advantage, and then the river was plunged once again into darkness.

Lightning was useful again here in keeping the tension and intensity of Ronon not being able to see what’s going on, and also for me, as the writer, to be able to show him finding Sheppard and swimming toward him.

Ronon was not quite sure how he managed to find and grab Sheppard, but a few seconds later, he felt rough fabric at his fingertips, and he lunged toward it. The off-worlder had drifted away from him in the few seconds after the lighting bolt, but Ronon wrapped numb fingers around the man’s arm and pulled him closer.

They float a little longer in the river, then eventually crawl out to shore. All the previous chapters were a build-up to this point—getting Sheppard and Ronon together, now fighting side by side to get back what they had when the story started...but, of course, you can never really go back to the way things were...

DVD Commentary

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 21:24:38 GMT

Snagged this from kristen999

Pick a paragraph (or any passage 500-1000 words) from any fanfic I've written, and comment to this post with that selection. I will then give you a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what's going on in the character's heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you'd expect to find on a DVD commentary track.

Here's my master list of stories.

I've never done this before and I'm not sure exactly how it works, but it looked kind of fun.

Writing update, of sorts

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 03:28:56 GMT

Now that I'm sick from eating all that Halloween candy, thought I'd do a quick post updating my most recent writing endeavors...

First, I've decided to revisit my long AU-Sateda story, "Possession," and do a little editing. It's been awhile since I've read it so coming back to it now with fresh eyes has been fun. I don't anticipate making any major changes - just little tweaks here and there with typos and word choice. Stuff of that nature.

While I'm doing that, I'm also pondering my Secret Santa prompt. I'm getting more and more excited about it as little story details fall into place. I think this will be a fun one to write. The only other writing project in the works is my original Big Bang idea, which had been temporarily shelved. At the time, I was running into all kinds of plotting and timeline issues, but I think I've got those resolved now. It's going to be a difficult story to write, but I have high hopes for it! :)

That's it for now. I've still got a few more story ideas rattling around in my head. If only I could devote all my time to this hobby. That would make me a very happy camper!

Why I Love/Hate Halloween

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 21:42:43 GMT

Wednesday, October 28: Went to grocery store to buy Advil and candy. Grabbed two bags of Take-5s (pretzels topped with a peanut butter/carmel mixture, all dipped in chocolate: or in other words, Pure Heaven). Thought about the size of my apartment complex and the large number of kids normally running around. Grabbed two more bags of snack-sized Take-5s. Decided what the hell, already have four bags. Grabbed one more bag.

Thursday, October 29: Horrified to discover I'd eaten one whole bag of Take-5s in a little over one day. Panicked at the sight of the other four bags sitting on the table, tempting me.

Friday, October 30: Polished off another bag of Take-5s. Unrepentant.

Saturday, October 31: Refused to let myself open the third bag of Take-5s. Went back to the store and bought a bag of Candy Corn. I hate candy corn. Plan to give out the 60 little packs of candy corn first in the hopes of having leftover Take-5s tomorrow. Could always turn off my porch light if things get desperate (i.e., I'm down to one bag of Take-5s left).

Addendum: Opened the third bag of Take-5s. Ate two.

And I still think I have a chance at winning my family's Weight Loss challenge? Pshaw. Talked to my brother - he was on his way to the gym.

Damn him.

Well hello, Winter

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 03:13:07 GMT

Woke up to snow this morning. Getting ready for bed now and it's still snowing. It has snowed All. Day. Long. It's beautiful but... it's too early for this kind of weather!!

Took a lovely picture with my cellphone on campus. Imagine a great big mountain behind those trees (currently obscured by clouds):

Amazing Race

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 02:36:36 GMT

I'm a huge Amazing Race fan, and this one is turning out to be pretty exciting. I love some of the teams and can't stand some of the others - and I'm glad that a few of those teams have been eliminated. What I really wanted to talk about tonight, though, was the Atlantis Resort in Dubai. I WANT TO GO THERE!!! I can't imagine I will ever be able to, but maybe... someday... I am completely enthralled.

Pictures under the cut...

Aerial view of the resort

On its own island!

Aquarium windows in the super suites

Waterslides in, around, and under sharks

Done! Big Bang submitted

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 16:58:47 GMT

I'm done. I probably could have spent the next two days nitpicking at my story, but I would have driven myself mad in the process. Rather than dip into momentary insanity, I just sent my story in. That was a tough challenge - half of me is wishing I still had lots more time to work on it and the other half is glad it's over. On to new stories, though, now that I have all this extra free time! I'm already so excited for the Secret Santa exchange I can hardly stand it ;P

Also, got a new phone! Woo!! My phone number didn't change, just the phone itself, which is very high tech and I still haven't figured out how to work it... but it's all shiny and red and I like it... :D

Woman at the Window

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 16:32:09 GMT

I had originally posted this over at Sheppard H/C and just wanted to update my own journal. Here it is, if you haven't seen it already:

Title: Woman at the Window
Spoilers: Set toward the end of season 4, so spoilers to that point
Words: ~9,500
Summary: John wakes up alone in a desert with no memory of how he got there.

Huge thanks to everybetty for the beta! All remaining mistakes are my own.

Woman at the Window

John woke up to a hot wind whipping up sand and pelting the grains against his face. Bright sunlight pierced his eyelids and caused a spike of pain through his head. He moaned, rolling over and bringing an arm up over his eyes. The brief darkness in the crook of his elbow was enough to chase consciousness away, and he sank back into quiet oblivion.

ooooooooooooooooo

He woke up again to hands grabbing him, pushing him onto his back. He groaned then flinched when a hand swatted the side of his face. He flailed his arms but they were grabbed instantly and pinned back to the ground.

“He is alive,” a voice called out, rough and hard.

“Who is it?”

“No one I have seen before.”

“A stranger? How did he come to be here?”

“We should leave him be.”

“He will be dead by morning if we do not help. He looks as though he has baked in this sun all the day.”

“We do not know what evil or darkness he carries with him.”

“Nonsense. He is sick or hurt, I cannot tell. Bring the cart—we will carry him to Healer Maetan.”

The unfamiliar voices swirled around him, grating against his ears. John cracked open his eyes, expecting bright sunlight. The sky was ablaze, streaked with orange and red and yellow, but not the eye-piercing intensity he had expected. A tanned, weathered face appeared above him.

“He is awake.”

John watched the mouth move, the skin brown and cracked from long days in the sun. A gust of hot wind kicked up the sand all around them and John closed his eyes. Hands began digging under his back, and the voices broke out in renewed conversation. A moment later their grips tightened painfully and he whimpered at the pain boiling through his body.

“Gently, gently,” one of the voices said.

He was set down on a hard surface and then a hand moved over his face, peeling back his eyelids. He turned his head with a cry, but the rest of his body betrayed him, lying limp on the wood platform of the cart, surrounded by people he did not know.

“He is too far gone,” a raspy voice proclaimed, the same one who’d wanted to leave him where he was in the first place.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. It is not for us to say. Healer Maetan will know what to do.”

John pictured the old, weathered face speaking and felt a hand rest lightly against his chest.

“He breathes still, and that is enough for now. I will take him to the healer—the rest of you back to work.”

There was a murmur of responses, though John could not understand any of them. The cart began to roll, its wheels crunching against the sand. His body jerked and jumped as the cart began to move faster, rattling against the platform like bacon in a hot frying pan. He gasped at the pain that erupted and spread like flames through his entire body.

He opened his eyes again to see the sky turn to molten lava, and then the cart hit a rock, bouncing his head against the platform with a crack.

ooooooooooooooooo

“Swallow,” a man commanded.

John blinked open heavy lids just as a hand slipped behind his head and tilted it upright. He had just enough time to see a small room come into focus before a glass of water was pressed against his mouth.

Water.

He was dying of thirst, maybe literally dying. He gulped the cool liquid down as fast as it was poured into his mouth, feeling half of it dribble out the corners of his mouth and run down his face. The glass was pulled away too soon, and he tried to sit up to follow it.

His strength gave out all at once, and his head flopped back into the man’s hand.

“Easy, son. You do not want to drink too much too quickly.”

Carson? It sounded like him, and yet didn’t. John opened his mouth to speak, turning his head toward the man, when his breath caught in his throat. Whatever water he’d been given was gone, and his throat felt drier than sand. He choked, then coughed, feeling his chest jerk painfully as it tried to pull in a breath.

The man returned, bending over him with another glass of water. Not Carson—Carson was gone. It was the same color of eyes, though, but the man was older, with gray hair and a pock-marked face. He lifted John’s head again to give him water, slowly this time, and the cough gradually eased.

John lay back in the bed, exhausted. The room was small but clean, with white walls and dark wood beams across the ceiling. Nowhere he recognized. He glanced toward a small square window and saw blue, almost transparent drapes fluttering in a light breeze.

His head was pounding, an all-encompassing vice behind his ears and eyes, an ice pick digging into his temples and threatening to burst out through the crown of his head. He lifted an arm up off the bed, but the muscles shook with weakness and he dropped it after just a few seconds of effort.

What the hell was going on? What had happened to him?

The man with the water was moving around him, pulling up a stiff wooden chair. John turned to look at him, intent on asking one of a thousand questions that suddenly poured into his mind, but the man shook his head.

“Do not try to speak yet. You have teetered on the precipice between life and death for many days, and your body is still weak. You must not push it.”

John shook his head. He wanted answers, now. He wanted—

“Peace, child,” the old man interrupted before John could even attempt to talk. “We all have questions in need of answers, but they can wait. I am Maetan, the healer of this village. You were brought to me three days ago and I am happy that I can finally say fate has decided to preserve you a little while yet.”

John blinked at the healer, only understanding half of what he was saying. The accent was flat and rough, but the words danced and lilted to a rhythm of their own. Like Carson, but not. John was beyond exhausted, and his vision began to dim. His last sight was of Maetan, smiling, only half his teeth still in his mouth, and then he gave up the battle and drifted back to sleep.

ooooooooooooooooo

Maetan was waiting for him when he woke up again, a glass of water in hand. John drank greedily, more thirsty than he ever remembered being. The old man obliged, holding his head up and tilting the glass just enough that John did not choke. After two full glasses, John collapsed back on the bed, his stomach swishing and his throat only partially sated.

“Wh—” he started, then swallowed, working some moisture into mouth. “Where am I?”

His voice was hoarse and raspy, and his throat burned from the effort of talking. The old healer leaned back in his chair, gazing at John with enough intensity that John finally squirmed and looked away.

“Rata,” the healer said and John looked over at him.

“Rata? Where—what planet?”

“What planet?” Maetan repeated, a look of genuine confusion crinkling his brow.

“How did I get here?” John asked instead, changing tact.

Maetan rubbed his chin. “Ah, I see. I can answer part of that question, but it will not be the information you seek. You were brought to my home,” he waved a hand in the air to indicate the room, “by Kalel—he cares for the mograve herds out in the western fields. His men loaded you up on a cart and brought you to me.”

John waited. He vaguely recalled the men in the desert picking him up, arguing over whether or not to let him die. When did Maetan say that had been? At least three days ago, maybe more now.

“How you came to be in Kalel’s field in the first place, I do not know,” Maetan continued. “I suspect that is what actually occupies your mind.”

“My team?” John rasped, his mind reeling. He had no memory of this place, or of how he’d gotten here. “What about a stargate? A ring of the ancestors?”

“There are others out there?” Maetan asked, leaning forward. “Are you sure? Kalel knows every inch of that area and he has not brought anyone else into the village.”

“I was alone?”

“You were. And I do not know of this star-gate.”

John shook his head. No stargate? Then how… he let out a frustrated breath and felt his chest catch. He began to cough, setting off a concussive throbbing in his head, and he swallowed the little bit of moisture in his throat in an attempt to dampen the building irritation. Maetan poured another glass of water and lifted John’s head again.

This time, John managed to bring a hand up and steady the glass, and he swallowed as much of the water as he could between each choking hack. His face flushed from the exertion and tears leaked out of his eyes. After a long moment, the coughing eased, and John pulled in a tentative breath.

“Better?”

He nodded at Maetan and watched the man wring out a wet rag. When he pressed it against John’s face, John almost moaned in relief, but he bit his lip.

“Tell me of your team,” Maetan said. “Are you sure they were with you?”

“I don’t know,” John whispered. Lethargy swept in, sucking out his remaining energy.

“How many were there?”

“Three.”

“Men like yourself?” Maetan pressed.

John shook his head, feeling his eyes drift closed despite his best efforts. “No. Two men, one woman. Good team—they’ll find me. They’ll come.”

“They are skilled warriors then?”

He felt himself nod and might have said more, but the urge to sleep was overwhelming and he gave into it despite Maetan’s continued questioning.

ooooooooooooooooo

He came awake abruptly and realized three things. One, it was night, the only light in the room that of the moon hanging in the single window. The moonlight filtered through the thin drapes, casting bizarre shadows across the walls and ceiling. Two, he was naked. Had he been naked before? Presumably, he’d lost his clothes sometime after arriving at the healer’s home, at least he hoped so. And three, he really should not have drank so much water earlier.

His head still ached, but not as badly as before. He rolled to his side, wincing as stiff muscles stretched and pulled. He could tell he’d been in bed for awhile—he could feel it. He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then stopped with a moan. The entire room began to spin around him.

He ducked his head, closing his eyes and breathing deeply through his mouth. The only thing keeping him upright was the death grip he had on the edge of the mattress. He could feel his arms shaking, already tired.

A wind blew, ballooning the drapes out into the room. The air was hot and dry, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night. John slid his feet carefully to the floor, but didn’t dare attempt to stand up yet.

A minute passed before he opened his eyes. He would have to stand up eventually, or lay back down. He could feel weakness thrumming through his body, threatening to pull him down any minute. He inched closer to the edge of the bed, wondering if his legs would even support him.

A shadow passed in front of the window, and John glanced up, startled. In the darkness, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust, but then he picked out a darker outline against the black night. A shadow that hadn’t been there before.

“Who…” John started, then cut off when another gust of wind blew back the curtains.

A woman appeared, her head wrapped in a shawl. John could just make out dark, wavy hair. She was thin, but the features of her face were otherwise lost in the shadows. She raised a hand up to the window, and for a moment, the gesture and the hand reminded John so strongly of Elizabeth that his breath caught in his throat.

He started to stand, then remembered he wasn’t wearing anything and grabbed at the blanket, pulling it around his waist. He’d glanced away for no more than a second, but when he looked up again, she was gone.

“Elizabeth?” he called out. But it couldn’t be Elizabeth. Elizabeth had been taken by the replicators over a year ago.

He stood up, everything else forgotten. If she was here, somehow, wherever here was…

He made it two steps before his knees gave out and his legs folded underneath him. He crashed to the floor, a tangled heap of limbs. His head exploded in agony and a sharp spike of pain erupted in his leg. He lay gasping on the floor, feeling his stomach churn in sudden nausea.

Pounding footsteps reverberated through the floor and stopped near his head. He felt hands pulling and turning him over, and he whimpered at the rolling agony that shot through his battered body.

“What has happened?” Maetan called out, pressing a hand against John’s forehead.

John groaned as Maetan began to maneuver him back into the bed. He shot one last glance at the window, looking for the woman, but it was empty, and the sight made his chest twist in pain.

He was alone.

ooooooooooooooooo

Maetan was a gruff old man, but seemingly competent enough and gentle when he needed to be. John leaned his head back against the pillows, willing his body to hurry up and heal already. The healer had propped him up in the bed and left him alone for the time being, for which John was grateful. The man’s questions were endless, though he claimed it was the villagers demanding answers and not himself.

Who was he? How did he come to be here? What did he do? Where was he from? Why was he here? What was he planning to do?

John had shrugged through most of the questions, either because he really didn’t know the answer, such as how did he come to be here, or because he was feigning memory loss, specifically for the questions revolving around who he was and where he was from.

It was late evening now, on what he figured had to be the fifth or sixth day since he’d arrived. He was a little stronger—at least he was not sleeping twenty-four hours a day—but he had little energy for anything besides sitting and staring out the window.

He flashed on the woman who’d stared in at him. In the daylight, it seemed impossible that it could have been Elizabeth. It likely wasn’t anyone, just a dream or his mind looking for something in the shadows that had never been there in the first place.

He sighed and leaned over toward the nightstand. Maetan made sure there was always a glass of water there. John gulped it down, as thirsty as he had been since the first moment he’d woken up here. It had to be the heat. Wherever he was, it was clearly a desert but not even the nights cooled down.

He stared out the window, watching the blue sky begin to darken. The clouds turned a golden yellow, signaling the beginning of the sunset. The little he could see from the window was beautiful.

His entire body ached, but his head throbbed more than anything else. Had he hit his head on something? Was that why he couldn’t remember anything? He’d fingered his head a few times, searching for bruises or welts, but had found nothing so far.

He cast his mind back to the last thing he remembered before arriving here. He’d been home, on Atlantis. He had vague memories of gathering in the gate room with his team, of staring at the shimmering surface of an active wormhole. Had they stepped through? They must have, but to where?

Nothing came up after that. The stargate activated, his team had stepped forward toward the event horizon, and then… and then…

Then nothing. Then he woke up in the middle of a desert, alone. He sank deeper into the pile of pillows behind his back. At some point he’d have to get up and explore this village, and the surrounding area. Maetan seemed to have no knowledge of stargates, but John had arrived here somehow.

The sky was turning from bluish-yellow to yellowish-orange, and John settled in to watch the rest of the sunset—what he could see of it anyway. The constant wind blew through the window, showering the room with a spattering of sand, and John closed his eyes instinctively.

When he opened them again, he jerked upright in bed. The woman was back, staring in at him through the window. One hand held the shawl around her head closed at the neck while the other hand reached out toward him. The shawl cast just enough shadows over her face that he couldn’t quite see her, but her eyes caught a flash of light from the setting sun.

It wasn’t Elizabeth, but it did kind of look like her. John slid out of bed and staggered to the wall, grabbing onto it for support. He’d hardly stood up in the last week, let alone walked around. When he glanced up again, the woman had disappeared.

“No,” he breathed out. He pushed forward, swinging at the blowing drapes until he reached the window.

The woman was there, standing roughly fifteen feet back. She was wrapped in a flowing gown the same color as the drapes. She pushed her hair back with one hand, tucking it in behind her ear exactly the way Teyla did. She stared at John, her dark eyes flashing, then looked away, out toward the desert.

John followed her gaze. The healer’s home sat on the edge of the desert and John looked out across a rolling, sandy vista. Scattered brush dotted the landscape, and in the distance, rugged, rocky plateaus lined the horizon. She took a step away, then looked back at him.

“What?” John whispered, but he had the sudden urge to follow her. She took another step away from him, and looked back again, this time beckoning with her hand.

He stumbled out of the room, hardly aware of what he was doing and found himself standing out in the sun and sand. Wind whipped at his pants, and he realized belatedly that he was wearing neither socks nor a shirt.

The woman moved away from him, walking out into the desert and pausing every few feet to make sure John was still with her. John staggered forward, feeling his mouth go dry in the hot, arid wind. His muscles screamed at the movement, too tight and stiff to be wandering around in a desert.

The healer’s home disappeared behind him as they crested a hill and began to descend down the other side. The sky was on fire above him and he heard a distant lowing drifting on the wind.

“Hey,” he called out to the woman, though he didn’t actually expect a response and didn’t get one. That should have been strange, and he knew it, and yet it wasn’t. The woman continued to walk and he dragged his feet across the sand, trying to catch up.

They walked for a while. John had no idea how long, but the sky turned from red to purple, and the shadows cast by the small scrub brushes grew long and deep. He couldn’t see any sign of the village behind them. They began to climb another sandy hill, the woman moving with such ease and grace that she almost seemed to float to the top.

John’s heart pounded in his chest, and his lungs heaved as they struggled to pull in enough air. He could feel sweat dripping down the sides of his face, and his legs trembled with every step.

“Wait,” he called out, or tried to, but his voice caught in his throat and slid out in a huff of air and spit.

The woman paused at the top of the hill and turned back to look at him. John pushed himself up the rest of the hill and stopped beside her. He wanted to stare at her, to rip the shawl from her face, but he could hardly stand up straight. He dragged in as deep a breath as he could.

The woman lifted a hand, her robe and shawl fluttering in the air, and pointed toward the rocky plateau still miles away. John followed her finger and squinted out into the growing darkness. At first, he couldn’t see much of anything, then slowly a gray circular shape coalesced together.

The stargate.

John sucked in a startled breath. There was a stargate here. How could Maetan not know of it? Why had he not mentioned it to John earlier? The world began to tilt and spin, and the stargate—along with the rocky vista behind it—disappeared as black spots mottled his vision. He bent forward, his hands on his knees, and fought against the wave of dizziness.

Not now. He was so close. If he could just keep walking, he could dial the Alpha site and get back home… His knees hit the sand, jarring him all the way up to the crown of his head. He heard himself cry out, and the sound echoed across the barren, empty landscape.

The woman was gone. John felt his body tilting to the side but he could do nothing to stop himself from falling. He landed on his back, the air whooshing out of his lungs and his legs folded underneath him, and he let the darkness of the night sky envelop him.

ooooooooooooooooo

“It is not possible,” Maetan’s voice cried out. His voice sounded strangled, and John opened his eyes to see the healer standing at the foot of his bed with his hands on his hips. He couldn’t see his face, but his neck was red and his body shook with rage.

“Who else could it be?” another man responded. The voice was familiar, and it took a minute for John to remember it from the voices in the desert the first night he’d arrived. The raspy one, the one who’d been afraid of him despite the fact that he’d been only semi-conscious and dying.

“I tell you, he is too weak. How he managed to leave this room, I do not understand, but he collapsed only a few feet from the front door.”

“Maetan, please, calm down,” a woman’s voice said, sounding soothing and yet carrying a tone of authority.

John rolled his head on the pillow trying to see the people standing in the doorway, but Maetan’s body blocked his view. His stomach was flipping and twisting, and heat poured off his skin despite the fact that he was shaking. He knew he was hot, but he tried to pull the thin blanket up closer around his body.

“He is awake,” the raspy voice said.

“Donnin, he is sick. He is not responsible for this atrocity.”

Atrocity? John felt his heart begin to pound in his chest. What atrocity? What had happened? The gaps in his memory were unnerving, and he felt his body shudder in response. He remembered following the woman out into the desert, of seeing the stargate, and then…

Nothing. The next thing he recalled was this moment, lying here in this bed and overhearing an argument that made no sense.

“Are you accusing someone in the village of doing this, then?” the woman asked, her voice hard and cutting.

“No, of course I am not. No one in this village is capable of murder.”

John jerked, rolling to the side. Murder? What the hell was going on here? He tried to push himself up but his arms gave out almost instantly, and he dropped back to the bed.

“Then someone else has wandered in from the desert?” Donnin asked. “One of his fabled teammates?”

“There has been no one else, Donnin,” the woman said.

“Aelil did not strangle herself. The marks on her neck were those of hands and fingers, and her family demands justice,” Donnin spat back.

“We all know this. Let us not be distracted. Maetan, as representative of the village council, I am to inform you that the stranger is to be held before the village to account for his actions, to defend himself and submit to their decision of guilt or innocence.”

“Look at him,” Maetan raged, stepping aside. The man and woman in the doorway glanced briefly in John’s direction then turned back to focus on the healer. John tried to look up at them, but his stomach was churning wildly and he panted against the nausea. He wrapped his arms around his body and closed his eyes. Get it together, John. Pull yourself together.

“You admit he left your care for an undetermined amount of time?” the woman asked. John looked at her through half-lids, noting her hair and clothes were as severe-looking as her voice.

“For a short amount of time,” Maetan said. “He left this room, and I found him shortly afterward just outside the front door.”

“How long afterward?”

Maetan could not answer the woman’s question, so he said nothing. John watched the three of them stare each other down.

“I warned everyone that this stranger would bring nothing but evil and darkness. We should have left him to die in the desert,” Donnin hissed.

“Hush, Donnin. I will hear no more of that nonsense from you,” the woman commanded.

Someone was dead. A woman—Aelil. Was it the same woman he had followed into the desert? He couldn’t have possibly done anything to her. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a thousand scenarios flitted through his brain, circumstances where he would kill the woman if it meant protecting himself or his friends or his home. But in his current condition…

“Maetan,” the woman was saying. “He must be taken to the holding cell.”

“Can’t you leave him here? You can post guards outside the room if need be, but let me care for him.” The anger was gone from the healer, replaced now with begging.

“I am sorry,” the woman said. “Donnin—”

“Wait, at least let me prepare him to be moved. Donnin, please, don’t—”

Whatever Maetan was going to say was interrupted by thudding footsteps across the room. John turned his head just in time to see a thin man, rough and unshaven standing over him, hatred etched into every line of his face. He grabbed John by the arms and ripped him from the bed.

John cried out, too weak to struggle. He lost the battle against the nausea and threw up all over Donnin’s shoes, to which the man screamed in outrage and probably would have kicked him had Maetan not intervened. John was vaguely aware of the healer lifting him up and carrying him outside, where a bubble of voices erupted, screaming in anger and grief. John turned his head away, closing his eyes and wishing he would wake up from this nightmare.

ooooooooooooooooo

The cell looked like a number of cells he’d seen on various planets—thick stone walls, a barred door, and bars over the small window high up near the ceiling. John lay on the single wooden bench under the window, staring up into the sky.

It was either sunrise or sunset, he wasn’t sure. The sky was almost white and streaked with lines of purple. The trip from the healer’s to the jail cell had passed in a haze of pain and heat, as had the next couple of days at least. The healer had been there occasionally, working to bring down John’s fever and clean him up again, but mostly John lay flaccidly, drifting in and out of consciousness.

He’d been aware enough to ask about the woman, Aelil. Her description matched that exactly of the woman he’d seen outside his window, but he still could not bring himself to believe he’d killed her or was in any way responsible for her death. He’d said as much to Maetan, but the old man had simply nodded, resigned to whatever trial process John was about to be subjected to.

And no one knew about the stargate, either. Had he dreamed it? Had he simply imagined walking across the desert and seeing it in the distance? Maetan insisted John had gone no farther than a few feet from the house, but that couldn’t be right. John remembered walking farther—and not the way one remembers a dream.

He was sure it had happened and that the stargate existed, and he ignored the small kernel of doubt trying to burrow its way into him. If the stargate existed, then his team could find him. McKay would figure out the gate address; Ronon and Teyla would break him out of the cell. Keller would fix him, cure whatever was ailing his body, and in a few days, this hot, dry desert of a planet would be a distant memory.

John must have drifted off to sleep. When he woke up again, the cell was dark and the stars glittered through the small window above his head. He was still tired, but not quite as hot and feverish, and he hoped that meant he was finally recovering. He rolled onto his side and stared out the barred door into the empty cell across the way.

Not empty. A shadow moved across the door, a soft swish of cloth reaching John’s ears. He raised his head as two pale hands gripped the bars, and then a head leaned forward. A woman.

The woman he was supposed to have killed.

“Are you awake?” a soft voice whispered.

John pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned against the wall. “Yeah,” he answered, careful to keep his voice low. He had no idea how many guards were around, or how close they stayed.

“I am sorry you are here,” the woman said. “You should not have been brought into this.”

“You’re alive.”

“My death was a lie, to you and many others. I am not sure of the purpose of it all, but I do know they intend to find you guilty by end of day tomorrow.”

“What’s the punishment for fake murder around here?” John asked, though he really didn’t want to know.

“Execution, by hanging, to be carried out at sunrise the following morning.”

“I was afraid of that,” John whispered. Now would be a good time for his team to sweep in and get him out of this. He’d give every one of his desserts for the next year to McKay and Ronon if they somehow found him and got him out of this.

The door across from him squeaked as it swung open, and the woman was suddenly at his door, trying to unlock it as quietly as possible. John sat up straighter, not expecting rescue from the mysterious woman.

“Aelil? That’s your name, right?”

“Yes,” Aelil smiled. She glanced down the hall then swung John’s door open, padding silently across the cell. “Can you walk?”

“Gonna have to,” John grunted, pushing himself up to his feet. The room spun for a second and he grabbed the wall for support, feeling a small hand wrap around his other arm and hold him steady.

“Come,” Aelil whispered, guiding him out of the cell. She was wearing the same light blue robe, and she pulled the shawl up around her head as they reached the end of the hallway. Maetan had dressed John in a fresh shirt and pants soon after he’d been locked up, but that had been days ago and he was acutely aware of how badly he must smell.

There were only four cells in the entire building, and no sign of any guards. Aelil whispered that there were those in the village trying to help them and that they had provided the keys and distracted the guards. She kept a hand on John’s arm, leading him through the village and bearing more and more of his weight.

After the last several days of sickness, he was way too weak to be running around and he fought against the constant dizziness threatening to pull him down to the ground. They’d reached the edge of the village and were hiding in the shadows of a small structure when cries of alarm erupted from the direction they’d just come.

“They have discovered our escape,” Aelil said, panic lacing her voice. “We must hurry.”

John nodded, too out of breath to say anything else. Aelil pulled him away from the building out toward the desert. He could just see the jagged outline of the distant plateaus, a darker star-less silhouette against the night sky.

He heard the scuffle of feet against stone behind him. His body tensed in alarm and he grabbed at Aelil to warn her. There was a swish of cloth as someone rushed toward them. Had John been in good health, he would have been able to fight the man off easily. Instead, he turned too slowly, bringing an arm up just as their attacker swung a heavy stick toward him.

It arched through the sky, whistling in the air, and landed across John’s shoulder blades. He cried out, dropping to his knees at the line of burning pain blazing across his skin. He pitched forward and dropped to the ground, not even able to bring his hands up to catch himself. He distantly heard Aelil screaming and someone snarling back, but the pain in his back was spreading, clawing its way into the bones and muscles and wrapping searing hot tentacles around his chest.

His lungs heaved and his heart stuttered in his chest. This was it. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He would die here on this planet, and his bones would be thrown out into the desert to bake in the sun. He’d never see his team or Atlantis again.

He buried his face in the sand, letting hot tears spill from his eyes and soak into the parched earth.

ooooooooooooooooo

He didn’t die. He woke up laying face down on the bench in his cell, his back one massive, throbbing bruise. Maetan was kneeling next to him, his fingers pressing gently into the muscles. John gasped at the lance of pain that shot through him, bringing the healer’s face down to his level.

“You are lucky, son,” Maetan said. “The bruising is deep, all the way to the bone. I do not believe the bones were broken but they could have, easily. You could have been killed, or at the very least left with no sensation in your lower body.”

John swallowed and tried to shift into a more comfortable position, succeeding only in spreading the pulsing agony from his back into his head. He groaned, closing his eyes.

“What were you thinking? Of escape? Into the desert? This sickness is messing with your mind. There is nothing out there but death and sand.”

And a stargate. John was sure of it now, sure that Maetan and maybe others were trying to keep him here in the village. He’d stumbled into something—a political game, a vying for power, a rivalry between two families. He had no idea what, but he knew he was being used.

“Go to hell,” he mumbled.

Maetan stared at him a moment, a look of resignation crossing his face. “I am sorry for what you have had to endure at the hands of my people. They are generally much gentler and kinder, but these last several years have been difficult for many.”

“So your solution is to fake a woman’s death then blame it on the new guy?” John asked, rage giving him the energy he needed to lift his head and pin Maetan with a glare.

Maetan stared back, baffled. He was either a very good actor or he really had no idea what John was talking about.

“I assure you, John, Aelil is dead. I examined the body myself.”

John shook his head. “No, I saw her.”

“Where?”

“In the other cell. She had a key, she opened the doors. She said we had both been set up. We were making a run for it when I was attacked.”

“There is no one else here. You are the only prisoner.”

“Maetan, she was with me,” John insisted. He pushed himself up in an attempt to sit and would have collapsed had Maetan not grabbed him under the arms and leaned him back against the wall. John panted through the pain brought on by the movement, closing his eyes. The healer sat down on the bench next to him, sighing heavily.

“You were alone.”

“I wasn’t. She was there. Go ask whoever hit me across the back—he would have had to have seen her.”

Maetan sighed again, leaning forward and resting his hands in his head. “I grow too old for this.”

John had no response to that, in part because he wasn’t sure exactly what Maetan meant by this. The cool stone numbed the throbbing in his back a bit and he let himself relax just a fraction. “Where’s my shirt?” he asked.

Maetan stood without speaking, grabbing a shirt draped over the bars of the cell door. It was the same white shirt John had been wearing earlier. He let the old healer manipulate his arms through the sleeves, grunting when the shirt was pulled over his head and down his back.

“You should rest.”

“Find the woman, Maetan. Please. She’ll tell you—”

“John—stop. Aelil is dead. Do not desecrate her name or her memory by insisting otherwise. Your fever is rising again; I will return later with medicine and food. In the meantime, speak no more of the woman or you will only make your situation worse.”

“What situation is that?” John scowled. His head was threatening to fall forward. Why the hell was he so tired all the time?

“You know of what I speak.”

“Oh, right. The trial—the one where everyone’s already decided I’m guilty. Then what, Maetan? Execution at dawn? Hanging in the town square?”

Maetan looked away, his face reddening, and John knew he was right. The woman had been telling him the truth. He closed his eyes, signaling the end of the conversation. Whatever Maetan’s intentions were, John couldn’t trust him. He couldn’t trust anyone. Maetan lingered for a moment, but eventually left without saying a word, closing the cell door behind him with finality.

ooooooooooooooooo

“A verdict has been reached,” the severe woman—the representative of the village council—said. She stood on the other side of the barred door and stared down at John.

John uncurled from the bench and pushed himself upright, wincing at the tenderness in his back. He’d dozed off for awhile, but surely he hadn’t missed the trial completely.

“What do you mean, a verdict has been reached? I thought there was going to be a trial.”

“There was.”

“Without me?”

“You are the accused. What right do you believe you have to be part of this decision?”

John sputtered, feeling his heart sink. “What right? The right to defend myself. This is my life we’re talking about.”

“You were defended, and defended well, but the council has made its decision.”

John pushed up from the bench and staggered toward the council representative. His legs felt rubbery beneath him, and he lunged for the door to keep himself from falling flat on his face. The woman’s eyes widened and she stepped back. A second later, her face hardened.

“You have been found guilty,” she reported, her tone cold and clipped. “You will be executed at dawn in view of the entire village.”

“She’s not dead,” John stammered, tightening his grip on the bars and locking his knees.

The representative stared back at him, looking at him as if he were crazy. She shook her head. “Maetan was right, you are not well, but that does not change the punishment for the crime you have committed.”

“I didn’t do it,” he whispered, knowing how desperate and ridiculous it sounded. How many criminals had uttered those same words across the galaxy? Across two galaxies?

She said nothing in response, just walked away. John’s legs gave way and he sagged to the floor, sliding against the bars.

“Come on, guys,” he whispered, staring up at the ceiling. His team wasn’t unused to last-minute miracle rescues, but time was running out. He had hours.

The cell grew dark around him as the sun set, and he fought the urge to sleep. If he slept, he would be signing his own death warrant. He had until dawn to figure a way out of this. He glanced over at the bench, knowing that it would be way more comfortable, but he couldn’t find the energy to get up off the floor.

“John?”

He jerked up, stifling a yawn. Had he fallen asleep? The room was almost pitch black now. He must have dozed for a few hours. Stupid.

“John?” a voice whispered again.

He glanced around. He was still leaning against the barred door of his cell and he pressed his face against it to look out into the hallway.

“Who’s there? Aelil?”

The woman appeared, squatting down and reaching a hand through the bars to touch his face. Her hand was soft and cool, and John breathed in deeply. Real—she was real and very much alive.

“Yes.”

He heard a jingle of keys and he pushed back away from the door.

“We must hurry,” Aelil said. “The council has reached its decision.”

“I know,” John answered, rolling to his knees. Aelil darted into the cell, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him to his feet. He grunted when she wrapped an arm across his back.

“Are you well enough to run?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out. How far he could run was a whole other question.

They crept through the prison structure and out the door, just like before. There was no moon this time, and John could hardly see his hand in front of his face. At least they had a chance of getting away unnoticed this time.

“The stargate,” he breathed out, acutely aware of every sound he was making as they stumbled through the village. “The ring. I have to—”

“I know,” Aelil breathed back. “I will take you there. Quiet now.”

Aelil dragged him forward, deceptively strong. The desert was an abyss of silence. John bit his lip as they walked, trying to ignore the small brush and rocky stones grabbing at his bare feet. They moved endlessly, the only sound that of John’s ragged breathing.

“How far?” he gasped out when he was sure they were well away from the village.

“It is not close,” Aelil responded, and John’s heart sank. He was on the verge of collapse already. “We can reach it before dawn, but we must hurry. The villagers will soon discover our disappearance if they haven’t already.”

“What do they want? Why are they after us?” John asked.

Her response was lost to the sound of an audible snap. Agony raced through John’s leg, followed quickly by instant numbness. He fell forward, rolling and sliding down a short sandy hill.

“John? What is it? Where are you?”

He heard Aelil a few feet away from him, kicking through the sand as she searched for him.

“Here,” he whispered. He’d stopped sliding and lay huddled in a dazed ball.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, then another on his head. “John, what’s wrong?”

John shook his head. His entire body was shaking. “I… I don’t know…” he breathed out. He was cold, freezing almost, despite the fact that he knew it had to be at least ninety degrees out here. He pressed his face against the sand, gulping in oxygen.

“Can you keep going?” Aelil sounded panicked and desperate.

He grunted, forcing his body to uncurl. His leg still felt strangely numb but as he pushed himself up to his knees, a twisting agony shot up from deep within the bone. He cried out, collapsing back to the ground and pounding his fists into the sand.

“John? What is it?”

“My leg,” he ground out. “I think my leg is broken.”

“What? How?”

He shook his head, then realized Aelil probably couldn’t see him. “Don’t know,” he breathed out, panting. He closed his eyes, drawing in as much air as he possibly could and forcing the pain to the back of his mind. He pushed up again, whimpering at the agony that shot through him.

Aelil grabbed him, pulling his arm across her shoulders and lifting him up. John bit his lip at the cry that threatened to escape and forced his other leg to straighten out. His injured leg hung uselessly.

“We will move slowly. Lean your weight on me,” Aelil whispered.

They began walking again, and the minutes passed in a haze of burning hell. Every hopping, dragging step jarred his leg, and he swore he could feel the broken ends of the bones grating against each other. His other leg shook from the effort of carrying his entire weight, and he knew it was just a matter of time before his body gave out completely.

“There,” Aelil suddenly cried out, jarring John out of his daze. He looked up to see the stargate looming against the night sky, less than a hundred yards away.

“Thank God,” he breathed out.

Behind him he heard a wailing alarm—an eerie, breathy horn floating across the still night. Beneath that was the clattering of hooves against the sandy floor.

“They are coming,” Aelil said. “Hurry!”

They pushed forward, the last hundred yards feeling like a hundred miles. The horn sounded again, too close, and John forced himself to concentrate on moving one step at a time. The pain in his leg had spread up into his stomach and chest, and his head felt like it was about to implode.

His good leg finally gave out a few feet from the DHD, but Aelil dragged him over to the console. He could hear the pounding feet of animals and the shouts from the men riding them.

“Quickly. Dial your home,” Aelil begged, glancing back into the darkness behind her.

John reached out a hand to press the first symbol then paused. How had he broken his leg? It had been fine, and then it had just snapped.

“What are you waiting for?” Aelil pressed. She grabbed the arm hovering above the DHD and pulled it toward the keys.

Something was wrong. Something had been wrong the entire time he’d been here. Where was his team? Why hadn’t they found him yet? Why couldn’t he remember how he’d arrived here or how he’d gotten hurt in the first place?

He jerked at the squealing sound of the horn ripping through the air and pressed the first symbol to the Alpha site. Regardless of what was going on, how much choice did he have? He pressed the second symbol but leaned over too far to do so and put too much weight on his throbbing leg. He screamed at the lightning bolt of pain that exploded up it and collapsed forward, hitting too many of the keys and negating the first two symbols.

“Dial the address, John,” Aelil screamed, the sound of beating hooves and raging men surrounding them. “What is it? I will do it. Tell me the symbols for your home world.”

John pushed back on shaking arms, then flinched when something whizzed past his head. He reached a hand out again to press the first symbol but froze. Aelil screamed and John looked up at her, startled. She grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him up, bringing his face inches from her own.

“Tell me the symbols of your home world,” she screeched, and her voice morphed, the pitch growing deeper and reverberating in his head. The desert around them suddenly grew brighter, and Aelil’s face paled, transforming into that of a Wraith queen’s.

John stared, too stunned to move. The desert façade dropped around him, replaced by a dark gray room. He was sitting in a chair, strapped down and wired to blinking consoles, their screens filled with scrolling Wraith script. Sharp, twisting pain pulsed in his head, back, and leg, in time with his heartbeat.

The queen had him by the vest, pulling him halfway out of the reclined chair. She snarled again. “Tell me the address to Atlantis.”

A shower of sparks exploded behind her and she whipped her head around, dropping him. He fell back in the chair, cracking his head against the back of it. He heard a burst of gunfire and the familiar whishing blast of Ronon’s gun. The queen screamed, but her voice was drowned out by the sound of more explosions and the ground shaking and vibrating underneath him.

John turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. When a hand pressed against his face, he jerked, his eyes flinging open with a gasp.

“It is alright, John.”

Teyla’s voice floated above him, and he blinked blurry eyes at the figures moving around him. He felt hands undoing the bindings over his ankles and wrists, and a sharp sting as a needle was pulled out of his forearm.

“Hang on, buddy. We’ll get you out of here,” Ronon said, patting him on the shoulder.

“I didn’t tell her,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“We know,” Teyla answered, her hand still on his face. She glanced up, looking at something or someone behind him. “Rodney?”

“Yeah, okay. It should be safe to disconnect him now,” McKay answered.

“What?” John rasped.

Teyla reached up toward his temples, pulling away two small, sticky discs with disgust. John grimaced at the sight and watched her fling them against the wall.

“Sheppard, buddy.”

Ronon tapped John’s chest, and John rolled his head slowly toward him.

“Can you walk?”

He jerked at the question, flashing suddenly on Aelil asking him the same question in the prison. It had been fake—all of it. Her, Maetan, the desert village. He swallowed, shaking his head. His entire body was beginning to tremble uncontrollably.

“Leg,” he ground out, and Ronon ran his hands down both legs, stopping when John cried out. His entire body was throbbing, the pain growing more intense with every second.

“Think it’s broken,” Ronon said to the others. Another explosion shook the small room, sending a scattering of dust from the ceiling raining down on top of them, the small grains pelting John in the face.

“We must hurry. There is not much time left,” Teyla said and John moaned at how much that had sounded like Aelil. He had almost given up the address to the Alpha site—it wouldn’t have been Atlantis, but from there the Wraith could have attacked, interrogated more people and figured it out. They could have found Atlantis, and from Atlantis, Earth.

Hands dug under him, lifting him up. He heard all three of his teammates talking, telling him to hold on. His body flopped lifelessly between Ronon and McKay’s arms, and his last sight was of Teyla stepping out into the hallway, P90 raised, before he let himself slip away.

ooooooooooooooooo

“You can see him for a few minutes.”

Doctor Keller’s voice floated through the infirmary and John blinked open tired eyes. He looked around, soaking in the pale greens and blues of Atlantis.

“But if he’s asleep, don’t wake him up,” Keller commanded, and John smiled at the irony of being woken up by Keller’s command to not wake him up.

He heard footsteps shuffle across the floor, and then a moment later, the curtain was pushed aside and his team appeared.

“You are awake,” Teyla said, smiling.

“Yep,” John answered. His voice sounded rough and grating and he winced. “Don’t tell Keller.”

His teammates piled in, pulling up chairs and settling in around the bed. John was exhausted. His return to Atlantis was an agonizing haze of memories, but now that he was settled in bed and pumped full of painkillers, he wasn’t quite ready to let go of consciousness.

“How are you?” McKay asked, his eyes darting across John’s body.

John shrugged. “Feel okay right now,” he rasped out. “Keller’s got me on the good stuff.”

“That is good,” Teyla answered.

John nodded, rolling his head toward her. “Don’t really remember what happened to me though.”

“A small faction of the Natameirans turned out to be Wraith worshippers.”

“Who?” John asked, utterly confused. He glanced between the three of them, hearing his heart rate pick up speed on the monitor.

Teyla leaned forward, grabbing his hand. “Doctor Keller said you hit your head hard during the initial explosion. It is not abnormal for you to have no memory of the event.”

“What explosion? What event?”

“Do you remember the mission at all?” Ronon asked.

John shook his head. “I think I remember being in the gate room before we left, but after that…”

“We went to Natameira to negotiate a trade agreement—in a jumper, by the way, so you probably remember us gathering in the jumper bay, not the gate room,” McKay started. “The Natameirans were showing the three of us different parts of the village while you were talking with their leader when the building you were in exploded. Keller said that’s likely where you sustained most of your injuries—your head and broken leg. Oh, and that bruise across your back. You’re lucky. She said it was bad enough that it could have broken the vertebrae, maybe caused spinal damage.”

“My back?” John squeaked, squirming in the bed.

“Your back is fine, and your leg and head will heal,” Teyla interrupted, shooting a disgruntled look McKay’s way. “You are severely dehydrated, but Doctor Keller assured us that she was treating it.”

John nodded, relishing the cool sheet against his skin. He flashed to the heat of the desert village then shook his head. The desert hadn’t been real. It had all been in his head.

“What happened after that?”

“When we heard the explosion, we came running,” Ronon picked up. “The Wraith worshippers had already grabbed you and taken you to their hideout.”

“They had a Wraith queen,” McKay interjected.

“What?”

“Yeah, a queen. Apparently she lost her ship, crashed it somewhere in the mountains and had no way of getting off the planet. I guess all her drones were killed in the crash so she turned to the locals and started…uh…converting.”

John scowled, knowing what that entailed.

“She had you hooked up to some machine—looked like she’d built it from spare Wraith ship parts. Anyway, it messed with your mind. She was pumping you full of some kind of sedative as well, though Keller said it seems to be flushing out of your system fairly rapidly.”

“Hmm,” John mumbled, the pieces starting to click into place.

“Took us almost a day to track you down, but, you know, we found you,” McKay finished.

“Yeah, you did,” John said. “Knew you would.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and John relaxed. He could feel the painkillers starting to pull him under.

“What was it like?” McKay asked, frowning when Ronon and Teyla shushed him. “What? I was just wondering.”

“What was what like?” John whispered, not sure he had the energy to answer anything else.

“The dream world the Wraith queen put you in. Were there other people there?”

An image of Maetan flashed through his mind, then Donnin and the council representative, and the woman at the window. Aelil. He nodded, letting his eyes drift closed.

“There was a woman, wasn’t there? Was she hot—ow, Teyla, I didn’t mean to…oh, good grief.”

John smiled, hearing Teyla swat playfully at McKay and Ronon’s rumble of laughter. He would tell them all about the desert village and the woman at the window, but later. Right now, he was ready to sleep.

END

I saw it: SGU premiere

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 02:53:23 GMT

I finally got around to watching the SGU premiere. I'd recorded it last week but was out of town and had some time today to sit through the pilot episode. I don't have anything spoiler-ish to say for those who haven't seen it yet, but under the cut just to be safe...

Other than brief (very brief) appearances by O'Neill, Carter, and Jackson, there was nothing about this show that screamed Stargate to me. I'm not saying that's a good or bad thing for the show, it was just not what I expected. I know they said they wanted to do something different with this show, and I'd say they have succeeded in that respect. They could have called it anything and I don't think I would have connected it back to SG:1 or Atlantis. It made it very easy not to compare it to these first two shows and to consider it on its own.

That being said, I'm not sure what I think about it. I'll keep watching it for now, and hope it finds its feet, but I didn't really connect with the show or any of the characters. I kind of felt like I was missing something the entire time I was watching it. I never saw BSG, and I've heard SGU compared to it in style, so maybe this type of show just isn't my thing ?(Although it's very sci-fi-ish, which usually is my kind of thing.) I was most excited about Robert Carlyle, and I like that his character is ambiguous, but there wasn't a character that I absolutely loved to balance him. The Doctor Rush character is intriguing but not particularly likeable - at least not yet.

So, I guess we'll see...I'm not terribly excited about the show, but I won't count it out just yet. Anyone know how they did in the ratings?

Big Bang! Complete!

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 20:59:47 GMT

Woo! I did it - I finished writing my first draft of Big Bang. And I'm one day before the deadline... ;P

The ending scene still needs a lot of work, but it's good enough to submit to the artists. Now for editing, and betaing, and (hopefully minor) re-writing... Oh, and doing all the things I've neglected over the last several weeks trying to get this monster finished.

Atlantis Season 1 - Rising!

Sat, 26 Sep 2009 19:40:27 GMT

I realized that I haven't watched all of the Atlantis episodes in quite some time. Especially season 1 (except for you know 38 Minutes, which must be broken out and enjoyed at least once every few months). In fact, there are many episodes I've only ever watched once (!). So I've decided to rewatch all five seasons, beginning to end. I know a few other people are doing something similar. I don't have any kind of set schedule for this: just whenever I get the chance. Don't know that I'll even post about it every time, but feel free to chime in when I do!

This week I watched Rising, parts 1 and 2. I had to watch it in three different sittings, but I got through it. I was reminded of the excitement at this new show, and the anticipation of what it would be like, and then realizing how hot JF is. I admit, I'd been a fan of SG-1 but my interest had waned a little. I was instantly hooked on this show - it had more of a sci-fi-ish feel, still funny but a little darker.

This time around, I was struck by how Sheppard managed to connect with each of the main characters. From the outset, Sumner is not happy to have him there at all, so really the only person on John's side was Weir. You can see that immediately - there's a number of subtle moments where you see him look to Weir first before acting. He respects Teyla (doesn't look through her like Sumner) and then rescues her; Rodney gets a glimpse of his brains, making him re-think a little his usual approach to military personnel; and Ford... Ford was a little harder to pin down. He's young, and he sees Sheppard in action. I think he respects that Sheppard pushed for this crazy rescue mission in the first place and then manages to pull it off (for the most part). I also think Ford is the type that doesn't hold onto negativity in any way. Sheppard's funny and easy to get along with, and Ford is happy and easygoing. Hard to hold onto any kind of interpersonal conflict there...

If I could change anything about this episode... hmmm... I think I would have kept Sumner alive and in charge of the military at least for awhile. Although it's a usual TV convention for the star of the show to be a really important character (like leader of the military) and still go out on all the exciting missions, it makes more logical sense for the military leader to stay on Atlantis and direct the teams going off-world collecting information and making contact. Too risky to send the leader on all these missions that subordinates can do quite easily. Mostly, though, I think Sumner's antagonism toward Sheppard would have made great fodder for a number of stories. That more than anything is why I wish Sumner had lived.

And as I was sitting here watching, all these AU story ideas started popping up in my head... What if Sumner had lived? What if Sheppard and O'Neill hadn't avoided the drone at the beginning? What if Sheppard had been taken by the Wraith instead of Sumner? So many possibilities!!