omg_wtf_yeah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
omg_wtf_yeah) wrote2009-12-10 06:44 pm
omg_wtf_yeah) wrote2009-12-10 06:44 pm
Entry tags:
SGA Fiction: The Long Engagement (Pt. 3/16), NC-17
Title: The Long Engagement (3/16)
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard (McShep)
Secondary Pairings: background McKay/Keller (predating McShep), Teyla/Ronon
Words: about 51,222
Summary: McShep Steampunk!Atlantis AU. Acrobat John Sheppard of Sheppard Circus Co. unintentionally navigates his troupe into Lantean territory and runs afoul the mistrustful leader of Atlantis, Dr. Rodney McKay. While the troupe plays shows for the Lanteans, Rodney proposes that he and John's adopted sister, Jennifer, get engaged. To get his way and John's blessing, Rodney has to convince John that he's good for John's sister, but his plans go awry as the men get closer and what Rodney wants begins to change.
Notes: My SGA Big Bang entry. Thank you, my superawesome betas:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ishie and teenygozer, my friends: kay_greatness, mad_lynn, and murderdetective, and my artists: fractalreality, saldemonium, and cynicatlantis.
Art: I was fortunate to get three artists who created amazing companion art for the story. I was blown away by what they came up with, it was so perfect and amazing. I completely, totally love them. So, please, check them out!
Full Story on the SGA Big Bang server
The acrobat cocked his head. "Looks like we're stuck together," he drawled, hoping to raise the scientist's ire.
McKay's gaze flicked skyward and he folded his arms across his chest. "So it would seem," he intoned. "What? You're not happy? I thought you were anxious to come to the city."
"Oh, yeah," John said, sticking out his lower lip, "I've been dreaming about this day for a while now. I figure, if we're going to be prisoners of Atlantis, we might as well get cushy jail cells."
Three
The next day, Elizabeth announced that they were staying for six months, the longest engagement they'd ever had, and a wave of curiosity carried through the troupe like ripples in water; never mind that the guards McKay had posted would remain there as well. Ronon stretched his muscles and stared warily at the Lanteans. Zelenka wandered around, blinking in confusion and Todd, the albino, smiled and said, "Well, well." Some troupe members were actually pleased.
McKay arrived earlier that morning as John was on the small balcony off the end of his wagon, staring at the Lantean guards and talking to Teyla about the arrangement Weir had made. After the doctor's arrival, they sat down in Elizabeth's office and hammered out the details of the engagement. It was frustratingly unclear when, or even if, the troupe would be allowed into the city.
John kept his head low and his eyes open as he sat in on the meeting, his expression dour and contrary. He didn't bother saying that he didn't like what was going on, but he tried to reflect it in his face. Intermittently, McKay sent distracted, irritated looks in John's direction, and Elizabeth finally asked him to oversee the raising of the big top. John shrugged in reply and stood up to go.
The truth was that his heart pounded at the opportunity to visit the city even as he struggled not to admit to himself that it was so. The city lay frustratingly close, yet out of reach. Gossip about McKay and the city raced through the camp, enlivened in the collective imagination of the troupe. Until McKay deemed their presence an acceptable risk, they were exiled in the plain. So John immersed himself in posting camp in entirety.
They had to set up the high wire and the big top to practice. John didn't like to spend too much time on the ground, anyway, so he had it set up by noon.
He was setting up the costumer's tent when Jennifer came over. Her approach was announced by the heavy rustling sound of her periwinkle seersucker dress. The snow wicked into the fabric of her skirt and darkened the hem a deeper color.
John glanced back at her over his shoulder, crouched on the ground as he pounded a stake into the earth with a mallet. His brow shone with perspiration in the low light of the overcast sun, ruddy from the cold. Jennifer's hair was blonde like something precious, ruffled by the wind and shaped into careless curls, the ruffles of her dress swayed in the wind.
John tucked his hammer into his belt and stood up, hands outstretched for the cord Ford threw him. "Can't find something to do?" he asked Jennifer, squinting.
"Actually, I was wondering if you needed any help over here," she said brightly. Her eyes were like two small pools of unclouded water and her uplifted brows made her features open and wide. John's hazel eyes were like prismatic gems. They looked nothing alike but they weren't related by blood so they shouldn't have.
John glanced at her once more over his arm, his eyebrows knit. He knew from experience that if he accepted her help with the tents, the work would be just as hard with twice as much complaining from her quarter. "Go ask Elizabeth. I think Carson needed some help with the bears."
Jennifer paused for a moment, her face clouding, then she nodded, mouth curving as she shot an open glance at Ford, her thin hand furled at shoulder level as she turned to leave.
When she was out of earshot, Aiden spoke. "You sure about that, John? We could use the help."
John could see Ford's whiskey colored eyes over the slack fabric of the tent between them and nothing else of his face. He shrugged a shoulder. His dark, spiked hair swayed in the wind. "You know," he said lazily, "I think we've got it pretty well covered."
Ford grinned as the burlap flapped, caught in a sudden breeze. "Whatever you say, John," he replied cheerfully.
John frowned at him and thought that he was getting a little sarcastic lately. Maybe it was the company he kept.
A little after one o'clock, John heard the sound of McKay's sledge in the distance. He looked up from the trunk of stage lights he was inspecting and narrowed his eyes out over the field in the direction of the sound. Between two tents, he could see the machine parked beyond the wagons, and the shape of McKay's broad back as he surveyed the camp.
The wind carded John's tufted black hair and pulled off the white puffs of his breath as he opened his mouth. His cheeks were chapped from the cold and the breeze, flushed a deep pink like his lips were. He stared irritably at McKay, who continued peering around without noticing him.
John figured McKay was there to talk to Elizabeth. They got along well enough on their own, making all sorts of decisions John didn't agree with. Frankly, he didn't feel like being party to it so he looked back down and began unpacking the lamps. The time got away from him then; he had things to do.
An hour later, John was glancing over the trapeze rigging in the big top when Ronon came over and leant back on a box nearby. John twisted his head and eyed him with expectation, mostly for show.
Before he had a chance to say anything, Ronon pulled a flask from the inner pocket of his Inverness and said, "McKay's been here a while."
John barely suppressed an expression of surprise before shrugging it off and taking the flask with an air of goofy entitlement. "So?" he asked.
Ronon lifted his brows and John remembered how young he was. He only remembered it when Ronon deferred to him like a younger brother – it was a trait he shared with Aiden Ford. "Is he ever gonna leave?" he asked gruffly.
John lifted the flask to his mouth and swallowed the liquor inside. It was a trail of sweet tasting fire to his belly where it warmed him from the inside like a lamp. "He's talking to Elizabeth," he answered thickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's administrative stuff."
He handed the flask back and Ronon took it, raising his eyebrows. "He wasn't talking to Elizabeth when I saw him," he said cryptically. The corners of his lips turned up.
John's brows knit. "Then what the hell's he doing?" he asked.
Ronon shrugged. "Talking to Jennifer."
John's features darkened warily, drawing back from the net. "What?" he asked.
"They've been talking a while."
"About what?" John demanded incredulously.
Again, Ronon shrugged. "Books, I think," he said, disinterested. "Couldn't tell. They were by the flat car."
John paused, thinking, and stepped back. It seemed likely enough. Reading was one of Jennifer's hobbies and McKay was clearly not a stranger to the written word but their getting along was unexpected. McKay was as acerbic as Jennifer was sweet. It was more than a little strange that they'd choose to talk. It was stranger still that they'd get along. John didn't know what to feel about that but the pinprick sharpness of jealousy bit at the back of his mind.
At length, John shrugged his shoulders and went back to the high wire. "So? They didn't ask you to join a book club or something, right?" He wrapped his hands around the rungs of the ladder and began to climb.
From above, he saw Ronon's upturned face and small, mischievous smile. "Looked like they were getting cozy," the tall man said.
John paused a moment before demanding, "Shouldn't you be doing something?"
Ronon shrugged and walked away and John climbed the ladder to the top.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
McKay came to the camp every day for a week after that and every time he visited camp, he stayed for hours before he left. John figured that whatever the doctor did in Atlantis must have been unimportant enough that he could blow it off for most of the day, every day for a week. It didn't exactly say much about his influence there. The guards were intimidated by and respectful of him; their eyes followed him when the doctor was around.
John caught glimpses of him between jobs or in his periphery. He became a fact of the camp, like the distant snow-capped mountain range, the icy ground and the gray-white December sky, milky like the inside of a shell and low with the promise of snow it made good on.
John had to admit that the doctor wasn't useless to have around. The second day they were settled, McKay noticed Aiden Ford leading the horses to the river for water three times and suggested erecting irrigation canals so they wouldn't have to make the trip. Elizabeth had raised her brows expressively at John, smiling, and McKay had grimaced irritably. McKay got it done the same day and the river water had run through the pipes he'd arranged over the distance, pouring into a trough with a musical sound.
On his part, John made sure the troupe set up the tents right, checking in with everyone on their work according to a list he'd compiled. The first couple of days, they raised all of their tents and arranged the camp and after that, they practiced. They were always ready to perform but Elizabeth wanted the shows in Atlantis to be their best work.
The camp was alive with activity and preparation, Miko's tent host to a constant rotation of performers pulling on old costumes and getting fitted for new ones – costume trunks overflowing with brightly colored fabric, dazzling beads, metallic sequins, sprays of peacock feathers and intricately beaded slippers.
John submitted, as always, to the fittings, impatient with and bored by the ordeal. Zelenka went back and forth, half his face made up with grease paint, carrying clubs, knives and torches from his wagon to the big top. Carson Beckett plied his brown bears to stand on their feet, kissing their muzzles fondly for their obedience. Ronon arranged his bar bells in the snow by his cart, straining his muscles with their weight. After the first day, Elizabeth buried herself in paperwork at her desk in her wagon and John rarely saw her unless they met in the mess or at check-ins.
By comparison, he saw McKay more often than before – climbing out of his horseless carriage, loudly suggesting improvements on lighting rigging or sighing resignedly that he could fix this or that; talking to Jennifer, out of earshot, looking surprised and tentative. John didn't know what to make of that but recognized that Jennifer was a grown woman, capable of choosing to talk to arrogant and outspoken men. He wasn't entirely happy with it, either. If nothing else, Jennifer should have been practicing all she could.
John had her on the trapeze and the silks since he'd taken her in ten years ago. The silks and the trapeze were what John did best, which was why he'd tried to train her on them despite her reticence but his attempts met with stubborn opposition on her side. Even a decade later, she wouldn't perform the flying trapeze or walk the high wire but she didn't mind doing simple acrobatics on a static trapeze suspended close to the ground.
For his part, John liked the trapeze. He enjoyed being up in the air with the sound of his pulse swallowing the earth with its rhythm – the rhythm of John Sheppard, an acrobat. While John was up on the platform, he'd seen McKay down by the stands, looking around curiously, his frock coat folded over his arm. For a minute, taking the swing in his hands, John squinted his eyes down at the doctor, wondering why he'd come in there – what he was looking at.
From below, McKay's eyes lifted up to John's figure on the platform, bare-chested in a pair of close fitting pants, cropped at the knee, his skin shiny with perspiration. John's hazel eyes met his and the beating of his heart hastened, a thick pulse like a trembling line in his limbs. He swallowed and ran his hands over the bar, the grain of the wood beneath his fingers, smooth to the touch. He thought of nodding but didn't and, taking one step forward, he squared his body and pushed off the edge into the air.
His slender body swung in the shape of a curve, describing a perfect inverted arc in the air. Heat rose to the ceiling, warmer than it was on the hay-strewn ground but goose-flesh rose on John's bare skin with the whistling of the wind over his body. He executed his flips with mechanical excellence – the lean musculature of his form straining beautifully. His heart beat in his chest and he suppressed his awareness of what he wanted – for McKay to watch his performance, for McKay to be impressed.
His surroundings were flashes of brown burlap and the cobalt vaulted ceiling, the streak of gold foil stars sewn there and patterned on the back of his brain, McKay was beneath him, looking up, his pale eyes wide and his mouth open, anticipating John's next move. It made him feel defiant and alive. But he couldn't look down. That was just part of the act.
Too soon, the soles of his bare feet touched down on the opposite platform. His face and chest were flushed with exertion, glittering with sweat. He picked up a towel from where he'd left it on the platform and dried his face roughly. He draped the towel over his shoulder when he was done and glanced down to the ground where McKay had been.
The doctor was standing in the same place but he wasn't looking at John. Jennifer was beside him, her thin frame wrapped in a ruby costume ornamented with mirrors and beads. They were standing close, the doctor's hands awkwardly caught in the fabric of his coat. His smile was uncomfortable and Jennifer's was bright and wide.
John swallowed, his mouth feeling sticky, he narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the posture of the two figures by the stands. He was suspicious more than curious and curious more than embarrassed but enough of each to feel confused at his reaction. He hadn't stopped feeling irritated by McKay. His feelings hadn't changed and for a long time, he'd left Jennifer to do as she'd wanted. It didn't involve him. He told himself he didn't mind.
He dropped the towel back on the platform and fell forward easily into the net spread below him, the air rushing past him and against him as he plummeted.
In his periphery, he saw Jennifer turn her eyes distractedly in his direction, her lips turning up to offer a small smile that meant she expected him to harass her. Her face was a blur of blonde and pale and a thin, pink smile and then the net caught John, springing beneath his weight like the waves of a synthetic ocean.
He rolled over, out of the net and onto his feet.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The following Tuesday, Weir made an announcement. Rumor of opening night or departure swept through the troupe. All the work was busier but less meaningful, jobs to pass the time but not to get things done. Their stores were beginning to run low and Elizabeth said that she would speak with McKay about an advance for the shows.
Before noon, Elizabeth climbed onto one of Beckett's trunks and called for everyone's attention. Gradually, the sounds of working died away and one by one, the troupe appeared from their tents, gathering around the cart.
John was by the mess, in the doorway, a small loaf of bread in one hand, the other holding the tent flap back. From there, he could easily see Elizabeth on the trunk over the heads of his compatriots, her mouth wide in a smile as she looked down at Zelenka and laughed at something he'd said.
John bit into the bread and fastened the buttons of his coat, his knit scarf looped around his neck. He released the flap of the tent and came out into the cold as Lorne appeared behind him, peering over his shoulder at the manager through the door.
The varicolored tents were set up close together and formed an alley, wide enough for a horse but too narrow for a cart to pass. The path was trodden to the soil, the snow churned into a muddy slush beneath too many boots. The tents opened out into the alley and through their doorways, their interiors were visible – revealing splendid costumes, show equipment, couches and props.
"D'you have any idea what she called an assembly for, sir?" Lorne asked, hurrying to keep pace with John.
Glancing over his shoulder at the younger man, John pulled his gloves from his pocket and arched an eyebrow. "Sure," he mumbled through the roll.
Lorne lifted his brows at him, his mouth curving up. "Are you going to tell me?" he asked.
John paused in the middle of pulling on his glove, turning to wryly gesture to the roll in his mouth. Lorne chuckled and John took the bread in hand once more, making a face. "Can't you wait a few minutes?" he whined.
Lorne shrugged, smiling. "Guess so," he admitted.
John lifted a shoulder, gesturing. "Well, then…," he muttered. Turning back ahead, he took a bite of the bread.
"But it'd be quicker if I just heard it from you," Lorne spoke from behind him. John waved him off without glancing back.
John came out into the clearing among the rest of the troupe, the small crowd making noise and getting restless. John settled against the edge of a book trunk, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet stuck out before him, crossed at the ankle. From a break in the crowd, Teyla came to his side, smiling confusedly at Lorne and then at John.
"Hey, Teyla."
She nodded her head at them. "John," she replied, then leaning forward, smiled patiently as she asked, "Do you know what this is about?"
Lorne peered over John's shoulder at the small woman, seeming ready to speak.
"Delegation's going to shop for supplies in Atlantis," John said, taking a bite from the roll.
Lorne and Teyla's faces expressed surprise. After a moment, Lorne leaned over and said, "I thought we were going to wait a few minutes."
John shrugged. "Teyla asked," he replied dismissively.
Said woman smiled at the younger man, shaking her head at John. The light roll of a drum sounded from nearby Elizabeth and laughter rippled through the troupe at the affectation.
"All right, quiet please," Elizabeth called. Smiling, she signaled for silence with her hands. "Quiet."
Over the heads of the troupe, John caught sight of McKay's figure, his shoulders beneath the brown fur trim of his woolen frock coat. The scientist moved, restless and aware already of what Elizabeth was announcing, glancing around. John saw the side of his face and his pinched expression and McKay's eyes met his. John tilted his chin up but didn't look away. McKay's mouth sagged dejectedly and he seemed to sigh without sighing.
"So, are you aware of who is going with the delegation?" Teyla asked carefully by John's shoulder. Her voice was low and seemed far off.
John shrugged and took a bite of his roll. He broke the connection and looked away, at Teyla.
Her brows were high as she looked at him interestedly, then back at McKay with something like concern.
"Don't know," John said, flushing.
"Ah," Teyla replied. She didn't sound convinced.
"Whoever it is, I hope they can get some salted meat. Maybe some fish, seeing as we're by the ocean," Lorne said imperviously.
John shot him a look of skepticism that the younger man didn't register.
"You should take that up with Elizabeth," Teyla said helpfully, nodding her head.
John looked away, back at Elizabeth, but his eyes fell on McKay. The other man's arms were crossed over his chest, his hands tucked under his elbows, knitting his brows as he glanced at John. Then Jennifer stepped close beside him and he looked down at her as she opened her mouth. John couldn't hear across the distance. McKay leant closer to take it in.
"Dr. McKay, whom many of you know as the leader of Atlantis, has kindly offered for a group of us to come to his city to buy supplies and other necessities."
Elizabeth's clear voice wafted out over her captive audience as it did when she spoke to the crowds at their shows. At her words, a scattering of applause rang out over the troupe. John watched as Jennifer laid a hand on McKay's arm and, smiling, spoke privately in his ear. He frowned distractedly.
"Are Jennifer and Dr. McKay…involved?" Teyla asked from John's side, gesturing with the nod of her head.
John shrugged, chewing a bite of bread. He tucked the rest of the roll in the pocket of his coat. "Don't know," he replied flatly.
Teyla's eyes lingered on his face longer than John would have liked and he vaguely heard Elizabeth say, "Now, policy prohibits the admittance of the entire troupe at one time but…"
John ignored Teyla's lifted brows and focused on Elizabeth's thin form as Beckett called up to her about livestock dewormer over the sudden din of the crowd. John snorted, smiling as Elizabeth knit her brows in concern.
"If you write that down, I'm sure we can purchase some in Atlantis," she said and the Scotsman sympathetically expounded on the suffering of his bears ailing from roundworms.
"I should have some of that for Clarice," Aiden called impatiently. Looking at Ronon by his side, he reticently explained, "She's been a little—"
The taller man held up his hands. "Don't want to know," he growled.
The assembly dissolved into shouted requests and statements and John's eyes drifted back to McKay and Jennifer as Miko meekly asked for four yards of aquamarine fabric and silver beads. John saw McKay's stare shoot over as though in indignant protest at the request and John wondered how well stocked the Lanteans themselves were. He pushed off the trunk and caught McKay's eyes once more through the crowd as he walked toward the make shift dais where their manager stood. As he came over, Elizabeth glanced his way.
"We've got a list on my wagon door," he called out over the insistent voices of his fellows, waving a hand. "You want something, come over and write it down like always."
Elizabeth looked down at him as he maneuvered through the troupe to stand beside her, nodding her head. "Yes. Does anyone have any questions?"
Todd lifted his hand. "Yes, could you tell us why is admission into the city restricted?"
At the knife-thrower's words, McKay's eyes widened indignantly and John shrugged his shoulders at him. In his opinion, Todd had a point.
Elizabeth waved her hands for quiet. "For now, admission remains restricted, but in time we expect that the Lantean policy will change and allow for greater freedom." She sought the scientist in the crowd below and McKay responded with a terse nod.
John shoved his hands into his pockets and, looking over, caught McKay's gaze. He shrugged and the scientist flushed, looking irritated. As Jennifer left McKay's side and pushed through the crowd to Elizabeth, John sidled near the abandoned scientist.
McKay scowled at the lanky man. He stared at John and seemed to await his comment, his forehead creased with irritation. He was probably envisaging what John would say to him, which made baiting him far more entertaining for John.
The acrobat cocked his head. "Looks like we're stuck together," he drawled, hoping to raise the scientist's ire.
McKay's gaze flicked skyward and he folded his arms across his chest. "So it would seem," he intoned. "What? You're not happy? I thought you were anxious to come to the city."
"Oh, yeah," John said, sticking out his lower lip, "I've been dreaming about this day for a while now. I figure, if we're going to be prisoners of Atlantis, we might as well get cushy jail cells."
McKay hummed dismissively, casting his gaze over the surrounding troupe members as John smiled and rocked on the balls of his feet. "I think we could probably find something for you," the scientist replied, smirking.
"Oh, good."
"Agreed," McKay replied. He smiled as John raised an eyebrow and turned on his heel, walking back to where Elizabeth stood.
Part Four
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard (McShep)
Secondary Pairings: background McKay/Keller (predating McShep), Teyla/Ronon
Words: about 51,222
Summary: McShep Steampunk!Atlantis AU. Acrobat John Sheppard of Sheppard Circus Co. unintentionally navigates his troupe into Lantean territory and runs afoul the mistrustful leader of Atlantis, Dr. Rodney McKay. While the troupe plays shows for the Lanteans, Rodney proposes that he and John's adopted sister, Jennifer, get engaged. To get his way and John's blessing, Rodney has to convince John that he's good for John's sister, but his plans go awry as the men get closer and what Rodney wants begins to change.
Notes: My SGA Big Bang entry. Thank you, my superawesome betas:
ishie and teenygozer, my friends: kay_greatness, mad_lynn, and murderdetective, and my artists: fractalreality, saldemonium, and cynicatlantis. Art: I was fortunate to get three artists who created amazing companion art for the story. I was blown away by what they came up with, it was so perfect and amazing. I completely, totally love them. So, please, check them out!
The acrobat cocked his head. "Looks like we're stuck together," he drawled, hoping to raise the scientist's ire.
McKay's gaze flicked skyward and he folded his arms across his chest. "So it would seem," he intoned. "What? You're not happy? I thought you were anxious to come to the city."
"Oh, yeah," John said, sticking out his lower lip, "I've been dreaming about this day for a while now. I figure, if we're going to be prisoners of Atlantis, we might as well get cushy jail cells."
The next day, Elizabeth announced that they were staying for six months, the longest engagement they'd ever had, and a wave of curiosity carried through the troupe like ripples in water; never mind that the guards McKay had posted would remain there as well. Ronon stretched his muscles and stared warily at the Lanteans. Zelenka wandered around, blinking in confusion and Todd, the albino, smiled and said, "Well, well." Some troupe members were actually pleased.
McKay arrived earlier that morning as John was on the small balcony off the end of his wagon, staring at the Lantean guards and talking to Teyla about the arrangement Weir had made. After the doctor's arrival, they sat down in Elizabeth's office and hammered out the details of the engagement. It was frustratingly unclear when, or even if, the troupe would be allowed into the city.
John kept his head low and his eyes open as he sat in on the meeting, his expression dour and contrary. He didn't bother saying that he didn't like what was going on, but he tried to reflect it in his face. Intermittently, McKay sent distracted, irritated looks in John's direction, and Elizabeth finally asked him to oversee the raising of the big top. John shrugged in reply and stood up to go.
The truth was that his heart pounded at the opportunity to visit the city even as he struggled not to admit to himself that it was so. The city lay frustratingly close, yet out of reach. Gossip about McKay and the city raced through the camp, enlivened in the collective imagination of the troupe. Until McKay deemed their presence an acceptable risk, they were exiled in the plain. So John immersed himself in posting camp in entirety.
They had to set up the high wire and the big top to practice. John didn't like to spend too much time on the ground, anyway, so he had it set up by noon.
He was setting up the costumer's tent when Jennifer came over. Her approach was announced by the heavy rustling sound of her periwinkle seersucker dress. The snow wicked into the fabric of her skirt and darkened the hem a deeper color.
John glanced back at her over his shoulder, crouched on the ground as he pounded a stake into the earth with a mallet. His brow shone with perspiration in the low light of the overcast sun, ruddy from the cold. Jennifer's hair was blonde like something precious, ruffled by the wind and shaped into careless curls, the ruffles of her dress swayed in the wind.
John tucked his hammer into his belt and stood up, hands outstretched for the cord Ford threw him. "Can't find something to do?" he asked Jennifer, squinting.
"Actually, I was wondering if you needed any help over here," she said brightly. Her eyes were like two small pools of unclouded water and her uplifted brows made her features open and wide. John's hazel eyes were like prismatic gems. They looked nothing alike but they weren't related by blood so they shouldn't have.
John glanced at her once more over his arm, his eyebrows knit. He knew from experience that if he accepted her help with the tents, the work would be just as hard with twice as much complaining from her quarter. "Go ask Elizabeth. I think Carson needed some help with the bears."
Jennifer paused for a moment, her face clouding, then she nodded, mouth curving as she shot an open glance at Ford, her thin hand furled at shoulder level as she turned to leave.
When she was out of earshot, Aiden spoke. "You sure about that, John? We could use the help."
John could see Ford's whiskey colored eyes over the slack fabric of the tent between them and nothing else of his face. He shrugged a shoulder. His dark, spiked hair swayed in the wind. "You know," he said lazily, "I think we've got it pretty well covered."
Ford grinned as the burlap flapped, caught in a sudden breeze. "Whatever you say, John," he replied cheerfully.
John frowned at him and thought that he was getting a little sarcastic lately. Maybe it was the company he kept.
A little after one o'clock, John heard the sound of McKay's sledge in the distance. He looked up from the trunk of stage lights he was inspecting and narrowed his eyes out over the field in the direction of the sound. Between two tents, he could see the machine parked beyond the wagons, and the shape of McKay's broad back as he surveyed the camp.
The wind carded John's tufted black hair and pulled off the white puffs of his breath as he opened his mouth. His cheeks were chapped from the cold and the breeze, flushed a deep pink like his lips were. He stared irritably at McKay, who continued peering around without noticing him.
John figured McKay was there to talk to Elizabeth. They got along well enough on their own, making all sorts of decisions John didn't agree with. Frankly, he didn't feel like being party to it so he looked back down and began unpacking the lamps. The time got away from him then; he had things to do.
An hour later, John was glancing over the trapeze rigging in the big top when Ronon came over and leant back on a box nearby. John twisted his head and eyed him with expectation, mostly for show.
Before he had a chance to say anything, Ronon pulled a flask from the inner pocket of his Inverness and said, "McKay's been here a while."
John barely suppressed an expression of surprise before shrugging it off and taking the flask with an air of goofy entitlement. "So?" he asked.
Ronon lifted his brows and John remembered how young he was. He only remembered it when Ronon deferred to him like a younger brother – it was a trait he shared with Aiden Ford. "Is he ever gonna leave?" he asked gruffly.
John lifted the flask to his mouth and swallowed the liquor inside. It was a trail of sweet tasting fire to his belly where it warmed him from the inside like a lamp. "He's talking to Elizabeth," he answered thickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's administrative stuff."
He handed the flask back and Ronon took it, raising his eyebrows. "He wasn't talking to Elizabeth when I saw him," he said cryptically. The corners of his lips turned up.
John's brows knit. "Then what the hell's he doing?" he asked.
Ronon shrugged. "Talking to Jennifer."
John's features darkened warily, drawing back from the net. "What?" he asked.
"They've been talking a while."
"About what?" John demanded incredulously.
Again, Ronon shrugged. "Books, I think," he said, disinterested. "Couldn't tell. They were by the flat car."
John paused, thinking, and stepped back. It seemed likely enough. Reading was one of Jennifer's hobbies and McKay was clearly not a stranger to the written word but their getting along was unexpected. McKay was as acerbic as Jennifer was sweet. It was more than a little strange that they'd choose to talk. It was stranger still that they'd get along. John didn't know what to feel about that but the pinprick sharpness of jealousy bit at the back of his mind.
At length, John shrugged his shoulders and went back to the high wire. "So? They didn't ask you to join a book club or something, right?" He wrapped his hands around the rungs of the ladder and began to climb.
From above, he saw Ronon's upturned face and small, mischievous smile. "Looked like they were getting cozy," the tall man said.
John paused a moment before demanding, "Shouldn't you be doing something?"
Ronon shrugged and walked away and John climbed the ladder to the top.
McKay came to the camp every day for a week after that and every time he visited camp, he stayed for hours before he left. John figured that whatever the doctor did in Atlantis must have been unimportant enough that he could blow it off for most of the day, every day for a week. It didn't exactly say much about his influence there. The guards were intimidated by and respectful of him; their eyes followed him when the doctor was around.
John caught glimpses of him between jobs or in his periphery. He became a fact of the camp, like the distant snow-capped mountain range, the icy ground and the gray-white December sky, milky like the inside of a shell and low with the promise of snow it made good on.
John had to admit that the doctor wasn't useless to have around. The second day they were settled, McKay noticed Aiden Ford leading the horses to the river for water three times and suggested erecting irrigation canals so they wouldn't have to make the trip. Elizabeth had raised her brows expressively at John, smiling, and McKay had grimaced irritably. McKay got it done the same day and the river water had run through the pipes he'd arranged over the distance, pouring into a trough with a musical sound.
On his part, John made sure the troupe set up the tents right, checking in with everyone on their work according to a list he'd compiled. The first couple of days, they raised all of their tents and arranged the camp and after that, they practiced. They were always ready to perform but Elizabeth wanted the shows in Atlantis to be their best work.
The camp was alive with activity and preparation, Miko's tent host to a constant rotation of performers pulling on old costumes and getting fitted for new ones – costume trunks overflowing with brightly colored fabric, dazzling beads, metallic sequins, sprays of peacock feathers and intricately beaded slippers.
John submitted, as always, to the fittings, impatient with and bored by the ordeal. Zelenka went back and forth, half his face made up with grease paint, carrying clubs, knives and torches from his wagon to the big top. Carson Beckett plied his brown bears to stand on their feet, kissing their muzzles fondly for their obedience. Ronon arranged his bar bells in the snow by his cart, straining his muscles with their weight. After the first day, Elizabeth buried herself in paperwork at her desk in her wagon and John rarely saw her unless they met in the mess or at check-ins.
By comparison, he saw McKay more often than before – climbing out of his horseless carriage, loudly suggesting improvements on lighting rigging or sighing resignedly that he could fix this or that; talking to Jennifer, out of earshot, looking surprised and tentative. John didn't know what to make of that but recognized that Jennifer was a grown woman, capable of choosing to talk to arrogant and outspoken men. He wasn't entirely happy with it, either. If nothing else, Jennifer should have been practicing all she could.
John had her on the trapeze and the silks since he'd taken her in ten years ago. The silks and the trapeze were what John did best, which was why he'd tried to train her on them despite her reticence but his attempts met with stubborn opposition on her side. Even a decade later, she wouldn't perform the flying trapeze or walk the high wire but she didn't mind doing simple acrobatics on a static trapeze suspended close to the ground.
For his part, John liked the trapeze. He enjoyed being up in the air with the sound of his pulse swallowing the earth with its rhythm – the rhythm of John Sheppard, an acrobat. While John was up on the platform, he'd seen McKay down by the stands, looking around curiously, his frock coat folded over his arm. For a minute, taking the swing in his hands, John squinted his eyes down at the doctor, wondering why he'd come in there – what he was looking at.
From below, McKay's eyes lifted up to John's figure on the platform, bare-chested in a pair of close fitting pants, cropped at the knee, his skin shiny with perspiration. John's hazel eyes met his and the beating of his heart hastened, a thick pulse like a trembling line in his limbs. He swallowed and ran his hands over the bar, the grain of the wood beneath his fingers, smooth to the touch. He thought of nodding but didn't and, taking one step forward, he squared his body and pushed off the edge into the air.
His slender body swung in the shape of a curve, describing a perfect inverted arc in the air. Heat rose to the ceiling, warmer than it was on the hay-strewn ground but goose-flesh rose on John's bare skin with the whistling of the wind over his body. He executed his flips with mechanical excellence – the lean musculature of his form straining beautifully. His heart beat in his chest and he suppressed his awareness of what he wanted – for McKay to watch his performance, for McKay to be impressed.
His surroundings were flashes of brown burlap and the cobalt vaulted ceiling, the streak of gold foil stars sewn there and patterned on the back of his brain, McKay was beneath him, looking up, his pale eyes wide and his mouth open, anticipating John's next move. It made him feel defiant and alive. But he couldn't look down. That was just part of the act.
Too soon, the soles of his bare feet touched down on the opposite platform. His face and chest were flushed with exertion, glittering with sweat. He picked up a towel from where he'd left it on the platform and dried his face roughly. He draped the towel over his shoulder when he was done and glanced down to the ground where McKay had been.
The doctor was standing in the same place but he wasn't looking at John. Jennifer was beside him, her thin frame wrapped in a ruby costume ornamented with mirrors and beads. They were standing close, the doctor's hands awkwardly caught in the fabric of his coat. His smile was uncomfortable and Jennifer's was bright and wide.
John swallowed, his mouth feeling sticky, he narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the posture of the two figures by the stands. He was suspicious more than curious and curious more than embarrassed but enough of each to feel confused at his reaction. He hadn't stopped feeling irritated by McKay. His feelings hadn't changed and for a long time, he'd left Jennifer to do as she'd wanted. It didn't involve him. He told himself he didn't mind.
He dropped the towel back on the platform and fell forward easily into the net spread below him, the air rushing past him and against him as he plummeted.
In his periphery, he saw Jennifer turn her eyes distractedly in his direction, her lips turning up to offer a small smile that meant she expected him to harass her. Her face was a blur of blonde and pale and a thin, pink smile and then the net caught John, springing beneath his weight like the waves of a synthetic ocean.
He rolled over, out of the net and onto his feet.
The following Tuesday, Weir made an announcement. Rumor of opening night or departure swept through the troupe. All the work was busier but less meaningful, jobs to pass the time but not to get things done. Their stores were beginning to run low and Elizabeth said that she would speak with McKay about an advance for the shows.
Before noon, Elizabeth climbed onto one of Beckett's trunks and called for everyone's attention. Gradually, the sounds of working died away and one by one, the troupe appeared from their tents, gathering around the cart.
John was by the mess, in the doorway, a small loaf of bread in one hand, the other holding the tent flap back. From there, he could easily see Elizabeth on the trunk over the heads of his compatriots, her mouth wide in a smile as she looked down at Zelenka and laughed at something he'd said.
John bit into the bread and fastened the buttons of his coat, his knit scarf looped around his neck. He released the flap of the tent and came out into the cold as Lorne appeared behind him, peering over his shoulder at the manager through the door.
The varicolored tents were set up close together and formed an alley, wide enough for a horse but too narrow for a cart to pass. The path was trodden to the soil, the snow churned into a muddy slush beneath too many boots. The tents opened out into the alley and through their doorways, their interiors were visible – revealing splendid costumes, show equipment, couches and props.
"D'you have any idea what she called an assembly for, sir?" Lorne asked, hurrying to keep pace with John.
Glancing over his shoulder at the younger man, John pulled his gloves from his pocket and arched an eyebrow. "Sure," he mumbled through the roll.
Lorne lifted his brows at him, his mouth curving up. "Are you going to tell me?" he asked.
John paused in the middle of pulling on his glove, turning to wryly gesture to the roll in his mouth. Lorne chuckled and John took the bread in hand once more, making a face. "Can't you wait a few minutes?" he whined.
Lorne shrugged, smiling. "Guess so," he admitted.
John lifted a shoulder, gesturing. "Well, then…," he muttered. Turning back ahead, he took a bite of the bread.
"But it'd be quicker if I just heard it from you," Lorne spoke from behind him. John waved him off without glancing back.
John came out into the clearing among the rest of the troupe, the small crowd making noise and getting restless. John settled against the edge of a book trunk, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet stuck out before him, crossed at the ankle. From a break in the crowd, Teyla came to his side, smiling confusedly at Lorne and then at John.
"Hey, Teyla."
She nodded her head at them. "John," she replied, then leaning forward, smiled patiently as she asked, "Do you know what this is about?"
Lorne peered over John's shoulder at the small woman, seeming ready to speak.
"Delegation's going to shop for supplies in Atlantis," John said, taking a bite from the roll.
Lorne and Teyla's faces expressed surprise. After a moment, Lorne leaned over and said, "I thought we were going to wait a few minutes."
John shrugged. "Teyla asked," he replied dismissively.
Said woman smiled at the younger man, shaking her head at John. The light roll of a drum sounded from nearby Elizabeth and laughter rippled through the troupe at the affectation.
"All right, quiet please," Elizabeth called. Smiling, she signaled for silence with her hands. "Quiet."
Over the heads of the troupe, John caught sight of McKay's figure, his shoulders beneath the brown fur trim of his woolen frock coat. The scientist moved, restless and aware already of what Elizabeth was announcing, glancing around. John saw the side of his face and his pinched expression and McKay's eyes met his. John tilted his chin up but didn't look away. McKay's mouth sagged dejectedly and he seemed to sigh without sighing.
"So, are you aware of who is going with the delegation?" Teyla asked carefully by John's shoulder. Her voice was low and seemed far off.
John shrugged and took a bite of his roll. He broke the connection and looked away, at Teyla.
Her brows were high as she looked at him interestedly, then back at McKay with something like concern.
"Don't know," John said, flushing.
"Ah," Teyla replied. She didn't sound convinced.
"Whoever it is, I hope they can get some salted meat. Maybe some fish, seeing as we're by the ocean," Lorne said imperviously.
John shot him a look of skepticism that the younger man didn't register.
"You should take that up with Elizabeth," Teyla said helpfully, nodding her head.
John looked away, back at Elizabeth, but his eyes fell on McKay. The other man's arms were crossed over his chest, his hands tucked under his elbows, knitting his brows as he glanced at John. Then Jennifer stepped close beside him and he looked down at her as she opened her mouth. John couldn't hear across the distance. McKay leant closer to take it in.
"Dr. McKay, whom many of you know as the leader of Atlantis, has kindly offered for a group of us to come to his city to buy supplies and other necessities."
Elizabeth's clear voice wafted out over her captive audience as it did when she spoke to the crowds at their shows. At her words, a scattering of applause rang out over the troupe. John watched as Jennifer laid a hand on McKay's arm and, smiling, spoke privately in his ear. He frowned distractedly.
"Are Jennifer and Dr. McKay…involved?" Teyla asked from John's side, gesturing with the nod of her head.
John shrugged, chewing a bite of bread. He tucked the rest of the roll in the pocket of his coat. "Don't know," he replied flatly.
Teyla's eyes lingered on his face longer than John would have liked and he vaguely heard Elizabeth say, "Now, policy prohibits the admittance of the entire troupe at one time but…"
John ignored Teyla's lifted brows and focused on Elizabeth's thin form as Beckett called up to her about livestock dewormer over the sudden din of the crowd. John snorted, smiling as Elizabeth knit her brows in concern.
"If you write that down, I'm sure we can purchase some in Atlantis," she said and the Scotsman sympathetically expounded on the suffering of his bears ailing from roundworms.
"I should have some of that for Clarice," Aiden called impatiently. Looking at Ronon by his side, he reticently explained, "She's been a little—"
The taller man held up his hands. "Don't want to know," he growled.
The assembly dissolved into shouted requests and statements and John's eyes drifted back to McKay and Jennifer as Miko meekly asked for four yards of aquamarine fabric and silver beads. John saw McKay's stare shoot over as though in indignant protest at the request and John wondered how well stocked the Lanteans themselves were. He pushed off the trunk and caught McKay's eyes once more through the crowd as he walked toward the make shift dais where their manager stood. As he came over, Elizabeth glanced his way.
"We've got a list on my wagon door," he called out over the insistent voices of his fellows, waving a hand. "You want something, come over and write it down like always."
Elizabeth looked down at him as he maneuvered through the troupe to stand beside her, nodding her head. "Yes. Does anyone have any questions?"
Todd lifted his hand. "Yes, could you tell us why is admission into the city restricted?"
At the knife-thrower's words, McKay's eyes widened indignantly and John shrugged his shoulders at him. In his opinion, Todd had a point.
Elizabeth waved her hands for quiet. "For now, admission remains restricted, but in time we expect that the Lantean policy will change and allow for greater freedom." She sought the scientist in the crowd below and McKay responded with a terse nod.
John shoved his hands into his pockets and, looking over, caught McKay's gaze. He shrugged and the scientist flushed, looking irritated. As Jennifer left McKay's side and pushed through the crowd to Elizabeth, John sidled near the abandoned scientist.
McKay scowled at the lanky man. He stared at John and seemed to await his comment, his forehead creased with irritation. He was probably envisaging what John would say to him, which made baiting him far more entertaining for John.
The acrobat cocked his head. "Looks like we're stuck together," he drawled, hoping to raise the scientist's ire.
McKay's gaze flicked skyward and he folded his arms across his chest. "So it would seem," he intoned. "What? You're not happy? I thought you were anxious to come to the city."
"Oh, yeah," John said, sticking out his lower lip, "I've been dreaming about this day for a while now. I figure, if we're going to be prisoners of Atlantis, we might as well get cushy jail cells."
McKay hummed dismissively, casting his gaze over the surrounding troupe members as John smiled and rocked on the balls of his feet. "I think we could probably find something for you," the scientist replied, smirking.
"Oh, good."
"Agreed," McKay replied. He smiled as John raised an eyebrow and turned on his heel, walking back to where Elizabeth stood.