//
This story is completed
http://shusu.livejournal.com/tag/brambly
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
TIGER, TIGER
By Gaia
It begins like a scene from any cheesy romantic comedy - a serendipitous moment when one person looks up and catches the eye of another. I could tell you that a flash of hazel meets blue and a connection is made, full of promise and wonder and a thrill running up her spine. It wouldn't be a lie. But then it wouldn't be the whole truth either, because it's easy to forget that thrill almost always comes from danger and fear lurks not far beneath its surface.
You see, when Vala first lays eyes on Colonel Sheppard she doesn't think what she would normally think when confronted with such a fine specimen of a man (something along the lines of ‘pretty . . . me want'). No, the first thing Vala thinks of when she meets John Sheppard is a forest, moss green and damp, shrouded in mist and dusted with dew. Birds chirping, and Sheppard in the center of it, smiling a smile so soft it could almost be an apology.
There is also some sort of fluffy bird wearing a red cloak, which Vala admits she might have stolen entirely from ‘Sleeping Beauty,' which really did not turn out to be as risqué as she was expecting.
She debates what to say to him. ‘Let's make babies' sounds trite, considering all she's been through. But then again, ‘I walked with you once upon a dream' really only works if you sing it, and Vala's singing voice almost got her burned at the stake on Olera (well, that and the handful of sacred artifacts she happened to . . . acquire).
She's still contemplating it when he smiles at her. She smiles back. That awkward little loud man gapes and splutters and rolls his eyes accusingly. Vala finds that she does not care. It is not his faith that she seeks.
If you were to ask, Daniel Jackson would tell you that a Goa'uld never chooses its host by accident. But then again, Vala could tell you that too. Only she won't.
"They're shooting at us! Why do I find this less than surprising, Colonel?!" Rodney screams, huffing as he follows Teyla down the steep path running the length of the ravine.
"Maybe because it's what always comes after you open your big mouth, McKay!" Sheppard shouts, whirling around to fire into the bushes behind him. "I know this is hard for you to understand, but sometimes people don't like it when you insult their entire civilization and worldview!"
"You call that civilization," Rodney replies, ducking as a bullet just grazes his left ear.
Another burst of gunfire. They're almost to the bridge and the jumper cloaked safely on the other side. Teyla starts across it without hesitation, ducking the gunfire coming from out of the trees. Rodney is about to follow when he glances over his shoulder to see Sheppard jerk back, falling into the soft moss of the forest floor.
The red blasts and the metallic whine of Ronon's pistol ramp up to a mad cacophony as he dives between Sheppard and the enemy.
Rodney doesn't hesitate. He's at Sheppard's side in an instant, relieved to see his friend still breathing, face strained with pain as he grips with a bloodied hand at his shoulder. Rodney lifts him up and they're making their way towards the bridge. Ronon stays to cover their flank.
Sheppard is panting against him now, but still on his feet, stumbling forward awkwardly. The grating rasp of their breathing is so loud that it takes Rodney a moment to realize that the sound of gunfire has given way to a hollow cracking. He whirls around to see where the enemy has refocused their attack – the wooden slats of the bridge turn to splinters under the power of automatic weapons fire.
"Oh no," he just has time to say before the bridge snaps and he's falling, reaching out and scrambling for purchase, surprised as anything when he manages to grasp one of the rope handrails firmly in his hands, feeling his shoulders wrench as his weight and Sheppard's yank him down in a sudden jolt. He can't help but cry out.
They hear Ronon's weapon go silent above them and below, Sheppard is struggling, tangled as he is in the straps of his weapon, which have caught on Rodney's pack.
"Rodney!" he shouts.
Rodney is a little busy having a panic attack right now, if Sheppard doesn't mind. He sucks in deeper and deeper breaths, knowing that this is it. They're going to die.
"Rodney!" Sheppard shouts again, the intensity of command burning like fire in his eyes. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes," Rodney answers without hesitation.
Sheppard smiles just slightly. "Then let go."
Sheppard just says the word and they're falling, falling, falling down into the foaming torrent below.
Amonet chose Shar'e for her strength. Osiris chose Sarah for her knowledge. Ra chose his very first human host for his fearlessness.
But Qetesh chose Vala because she sensed a kinship, something that resonated familiarly with her. Qetesh was a mere creature of flesh and blood, doomed to be outlived by her host, but even she could see the mantle of destiny that shrouded the beautiful young thief she chose to embody her will.
Or maybe it begins like this:
"Some domain," Vala says, leaning out over the balcony, eyes sparkling with the hidden promise of the treasures you could harbor in a place like this. And they say the Ancients weren't selfish or materialistic or all those things that let them be so superior now in their refusal to fight. No one is incorruptible.
But then again, no one is without the possibility of redemption.
He turns to her, smirk already painted on his face. They both know she can see right through it. They're from the same mold, of course – they both know what it is to play the part.
"So, Mitchell says that you're actually less annoying than Rodney. Appreciate the compliment?"
"Well, I do my best," Vala smiles, though it's hard to joke, knowing what they now know – that they are alone in this war. She closes her eyes, remembering the look of weary acceptance on Morgan Le Fay's face as she was ripped from them by the Others.
Vala can only imagine her punishment.
When she turns to face him, she sees the understanding in John's stare.
I would tell you that what happens next is as inevitable as gravity, as falling bodies and harsh tides and seasons turning, but inevitability implies that there are things in this life that we can avoid (evitable, you might say). It implies that time is linear and that thought precedes action. And I can't promise you that.
It is with familiarity that John brings his lips to meet hers, like this path has been walked many times. Perhaps it has.
It is with experience that she sighs into his lips, strokes her fingers through his hair, lets him push her up against the cool metal of the railing.
It is with trust that she curls her legs around his waist, letting him push her right to the edge, the sea and the stars and the city of fallen idols and gods beneath them.
But as they grasp each other, never stopping to wonder about this reckless attraction, but well used to being wanted -- idolized, even -- it is knowledge that grows.
She's done this before. Or has she?
Vala isn't as much of a . . . what is the word I'm looking for? There must be a nicer way to say it . . .
She's not as much of a slut as you might think.
She wasn't lying to General Landry when she spoke of Mr. Woolsey's sexual advances, though considering the way everyone on Earth seems to look judgmentally down at her, it was a bit of a relief.
She didn't sleep with Woolsey, despite all he offered her. She wouldn't sleep with Cameron Mitchell or Brad Pitt or many of the Earthlings she finds physically attractive either. Well, maybe if there were a considerable amount of treasure involved . . . but that's neither here nor there, is it?
She can't exactly explain her attraction to Daniel Jackson, but it's certainly not his all-too-familiar holier-than-thou moralistic dribble, nor the glasses, which he'd really be much better-looking without.
There are plenty of people who could explain it, but excepting Adria, Vala's love life really isn't important to them.
"You should not have undermined Dr. Weir's authority in front of Sergeant Bates," Teyla says, voice like steel.
John should have stayed in the gym. He should have listened. Teyla is not an expert in diseases and quarantine and such things, but she knows enough to know that John should have trusted it to those that are.
"Sometimes Elizabeth makes a decision early on and gets locked into it. That's a problem."
When he looks at her, something fierce flashes in his eyes, a brief spike of hate so quick and so powerful that she is floored by it.
John has given her his unconditional support from the beginning and it is clear that he expects the same from her, though deep down Teyla knows that if it comes down to her people versus his, he will not hesitate to choose.
But Teyla is a strong woman, so she replies, "She is not the only one who suffers from that affliction."
He pretends not to hear her, reminding her for the first time of Colonel Sumner and the way he looked right through her.
John Sheppard will have to commit many crimes to loose Teyla's loyalty, but in this brief dismissal he has lost any attraction she might previously have felt.
It is Teyla's belief that true attraction can only felt between equals.
Do you know the true story of the golden calf? Do you know its purpose?
In the middle of a scorching desert, lost for a generation, Abraham's people, God's chosen ones, his protected, lose faith. God will not save them. He has abandoned them. But they cannot find their own way. They cannot persevere. They cannot create commandments and promised lands all on their own.
Their God has abandoned them. It is natural to turn to an idol forged in golden fire. The bush, after all, was burning.
The Ancients might tell you that they do not wish to be worshiped. They will say that they can't interfere and humanity's prayers will go unanswered, but what they won't tell you is that faith is as necessary as breath, as light and art and beauty.
The story of the golden calf teaches us two things. Firstly, that belief is enough of a commodity to make even the greatest of gods strike out in jealousy. And second, that even if the greatest of our gods abandon us, we will always find lesser idols to believe in.
Or maybe it begins earlier:
The date is July 15th, 2002 Earth-time, 5 disects before the third moon of the 2580th rotation on Belal.
Vala stands in a cloak at the Gate. She used to hate saying goodbye, but in this case, she's glad. She has been kicked out enough times.
John Sheppard is on his knees in front of a General who holds John's medical file in his hands, scowling down at him.
"And what will you do?" Tal'er asks Vala. "Where will you go? Join the fight. Eliminate the Goa'uld threat . . . the ones who did this to you."
"No thank you," Vala says. She's tired of fighting. Right now she'd prefer resentful co-existence.
"But why?" It is the host speaking now, not the snake.
The General looks down his nose at John. "You'll never fly, even if I approve these papers. You'll just be a man who gave up everything for a dead-end posting."
"Because it's what I have to do," they both say, though they don't know why.
I'd like to tell you that sometimes things happen by accident, that our minds are constructed to find patterns and so we find them in random events. But if you believe in a higher power, whether it be God or Origin or the existence of beings outside time, then you have to believe in fate, because any being that truly refused to succumb to the power of worship would have no need to make itself known to us. And to interact is always to intervene.
"It wasn't my fault!" Carson hears from down the hallway.
He puts his tablet down with a sigh, already reaching for a pair of gloves. Rodney uttering those words can never be a good thing.
"What have you done to yourself now, Rodney?" Carson asks, as Rodney comes barreling through the doorway.
"Only lost valuable brain-cells because this knucklehead can't watch where he's going," Rodney complains, hopping up onto his favorite gurney and gesturing towards Daniel Jackson, who stumbles in, one hand clutched to his face, blood dripping down from his nose.
"I'm sure you've brain cells to spare, Rodney," Carson says distractedly, pulling Daniel's hand away from his face and wincing at the swelling he already sees developing there.
"I could have a concussion, you know. He's not exactly soft," Rodney complains, petulantly as Daniel glares.
Carson rolls his eyes, pulling out a penlight to further inspect the damage. "It looks fine, lad. Nothing we can't cure with an icepack and a few days' suffering. But, let's get a scan of you, just in case."
Daniel nods. "It really was my own fault, you know. I was distracted, thinking about what this means . . . about what Morgan was trying to tell us."
"Aye," Carson replies, switching on the scanner. "I often feel the same way. Why didn't the Ancients just take care of the Wraith? They were mortal enemies for well over a bloody century, but when they Ascend they just abandon their descendents to . . ."
The machine before him beeps. Carson frowns. "Well, what have we here?" It's a warning light, part of the DNA sequencer, the program Carson plugged in after an unfortunate incident with a Genii spy, designed to detect genetic similarities between the patient and possible threats.
And Daniel is coming up for a gene sequence similar to . . . Chaya?
"What is it?" Rodney asks, practically leaping off his cot to come elbow Carson over and stare at the data.
Carson sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"What?" Daniel asks, sitting up and bumping his head on the top of the scanner. "Ow."
"Can you tell me about your time Ascended?" Carson asks.
Let me tell you a little bit about Chaya. Her favorite color is blue, because it is the color of the sky. Her favorite song is a prayer to the great goddess Athar, who she worshipped before she Ascended and still does. Her most happy memory is the day she and her father walked together in the sacred gardens, naming the trees. And her biggest regret is the day she met John Sheppard.
Long ago, Chaya was punished so she would never have to know the things she saw in him
Carson isolates the gene and runs it against the rest of the population of Atlantis. He receives only one match.
"It's Sheppard," Rodney blurts out. "I told him! He probably caught space herpes from that de-Ascended bit. . . "
"Now, now, Rodney, let's not jump to conclusions here. As far as I can tell, he had this particular quirk in his genetic makeup before he even met her."
"Maybe it's related to the ATA, then," Rodney ponders. "I mean, Chaya was Ascended, (or partially Descended), Daniel's Descended, and Sheppard is the closet thing we have to a living, breathing Ancient."
"But I don't have the gene," Daniel ponders, squinting.
"And while it is located on the same chromosome, rather close, actually, this particular mutation isn't present in any of the other gene carriers. In fact, it's not present in the nearly 10,000 personnel we tested for the gene," Carson remarks, running the scan one more time, just to be sure.
"Did you try Sam? Maybe McKay's right, maybe it did rub off on him when he shared."
Carson shakes his head. "She was in earlier for her post-mission. Not a bloody peep out of the scanner."
"Maybe it's just a coincidence," Rodney says. "You know, medicine, voodoo . . ."
"Yes, yes, shake my chicken bones elsewhere. Save it, Rodney. You know your statistics better than I do. There has to be a correlation."
Daniel frowns, the blood still dripping from his nose, forgotten. "Do you have the SG1 mission reports about Orlin?"
Carson nods. "Aye, we have all of your reports on file. Makes for interesting reading in a dry spell."
"Well, he was the descended Ancient that Sam ‘shared' with. I don't think we were able to get samples the first time, but when he came back in the form of a child to tell us about the Ori, he had an extensive infirmary stay."
Rodney snorts and they both ignore him. Carson hesitates before he runs the analysis. He knows he's not going to like what they find.
He's right. He doesn't.
Dr. Jackson doesn't even stop to grab more gauze for his bleeding nose before he's made a run for the database room.
Vala had thought a lot about sex before. In fact, she still does. But she rarely contemplated being a mother. It all seemed like rather a lot of responsibility to her. She didn't like the idea of having to worry about letting the child down.
And then there was Adria, who loved her and wanted to be with her despite it all, even after their brief contact ended in disaster, despite wars and good and evil.
Adria loves her because it's the right thing to do.
We pray to Mary. Hail Mary, full of grace. We pray even though all Mary did was weep for the suffering of a son she had no choice but to conceive.
"I have never asked this of you before, but I think I've earned it. Trust me."
Rodney's voice is raw and those big blue eyes pleading.
Trust. Trust isn't what Rodney's really asking for. Because it's obvious that John trusts him – with his life, maybe with a few of his secrets. No, what Rodney is asking is for John to believe. He's asking for John to go against every instinct, everything he's ever known and the opinions of those better informed than he is.
What Rodney is asking for is faith and John's not sure Rodney understands the kind of currency he's dealing in.
He bites his lip, feeling his freedom, his control, slip just a little.
"Okay," he says. "But you'd better not let me down."
But what he means is that Rodney'd better not abandon him.
Rodney grins, giving him an awkward little pat on the shoulder. "Thanks. This means a . . . well . . . thanks."
And then he's off . . . off to shape the universe with his power.
I know she doesn't exactly strike you as the literary type, but Vala is one of the only two people on Earth who has read the Book of Origin cover to cover. She read it mostly on the toilet, but she did eventually finish it.
Basically, it begins with a light, a purifying fire that scorches reality bare, the universe reborn and ready for human habitation. Then the Ori create Rule. They breathe order into the world, form hierarchies, seed the universe with life.
There is no Adam, no Eve. Origin is not a book about Fathers and Sons, Mothers and Daughters, Brothers, Sisters, Lovers. Origin is a book about creation.
It is about those that mold the world.
If Sheppard really is another Descended Ancient (assuming he's not here conducting some secret agenda), then he won't have all of his memory. Like Daniel, he'll have woken up as a fully-grown adult with a severe case of amnesia, and Rodney can't imagine that.
But . . . then again, how much does Rodney really know about Sheppard's past? Sheppard knows about everything from the time Jeannie stuck a marble up Rodney's nose and they had to go to the doctor to fish it out, to the way his last ex-girlfriend broke up with him by chucking molding Tupperware containers at his head from their fourth floor apartment. But Rodney knows very little about Sheppard other than he likes Ferris wheels, stupid 80's sci-fi flicks, and that he really, really hates bugs.
"Sheppard?!" Rodney doesn't bother to even knock before he overrides Sheppard's doorcodes. This is important – too important to waste time with Sheppard's stupid little games.
"What?" Sheppard squints against the light, pushing himself up on his elbows so that the sheets fall down around his bare chest. He's showered, but nothing could hide the scent of sex that clings to him like a cheap perfume. "Is something wrong?"
"Oh . . . you were . . . uh . . . asleep . . . busy . . ." Rodney babbles. Sheppard's concern is too honest. It's a ridiculous question anyway.
Sheppard scrubs his face with his hands. "It's okay, Rodney. I'm already up," he mentions pointedly, annoyed but not angry.
"Um . . . well . . . where were you born?"
"Barksdale Air Force Base, Louisiana."
"Oh, um . . . what was it like?"
"Rodney, it's one in the morning. As much as I'd like to stay up braiding your hair and telling you my life's story . . ."
"Just answer the question, Colonel. It's important."
Sheppard sighs. "I don't know, Rodney, I was a baby."
Rodney's eyes widen. Sheppard doesn't remember?
"My dad got reassigned when I was three. Kansas."
"What was it like?"
Sheppard rolls his eyes. "There was a lot of corn."
Rodney's never been to Kansas. He's not even sure it's a real state. Even if he asked Sheppard to describe it in greater detail, he wouldn't be able to verify it.
"Do you remember . . . I don't know, can you tell me about . . ." something common. Not too common. Something you can't lie about. Something you can't learn from TV or movies. He needs time to think, so he crosses the room and sits next to Sheppard on the bed. "What it felt like the first time you . . ." something that everyone does. Something that Sheppard couldn't have just done later in life. ". . . the first time you fell off your bike?"
"I broke my wrist. It hurt. Look, Rodney, don't you think this would be easier if you just told me what the hell is going on?"
Rodney gulps. If Sheppard really is one of them then he'll just lie. But then again, if Sheppard is what Rodney suspects he is, then he probably already knows. "Carson founds what he think is a genetic marker of descended Ancients. You . . . um . . . you have the gene."
Sheppard huffs a frustrated, tired breath. "Now there's a phrase I wish I'd never heard."
Rodney can't help a slight look of woundedness shine through. He can't believe that Sheppard would regret Atlantis.
Sheppard is close, sitting next to Rodney. He turns, gripping Rodney's shoulders and fixing him with a gaze as intense as the hottest fire. "I promise I'm not an Ancient, Rodney. It must be something else."
"You're sure? You couldn't even remember your hometown , , ,:
"I remember my hometown fine, McKay. It's my birthtown that I have trouble with. Trust me, if I had that kind of strategic knowledge, I'd tell you about it. You trust me, right?"
Rodney sighs a sigh of relief he doesn't even have to practice. "I believe you."
According to the book of Origin, vanity is the greatest sin. Among followers, there is hierarchy, but there is also equality, the likes of which Earth will never know. You are measured by the strength of your faith, not the color of your skin or the money in your pocket.
Believers do not steal. They do not cheat. They do not discriminate because hallowed are the Ori and everything else falls away.
All those who lose faith are punished equally, regardless of their God's love.
If you asked John to tell you about the moments that most defined him, he will recall the last conversation he had with his father. He doesn't remember where it was or what he was wearing or even the date.
But he remembers the disappointment in his father's voice, the anger.
"I don't want to do this to you," Father said. "I had hoped that you would be better than this."
Better than a black mark, better than all that death and destruction, the fire burning so bright that he can still feel it against his skin, even today. He shut his eyes, hung his head, and tried not to weep, to show weakness in front of a man who lived and breathed only power.
"I don't want to do this to you." Repeated.
"Then don't."
His father sighed, turning away and into the red of a burning sunset, like a wall before them. "But you know the rules. You know what must be done is sometimes different than what we want to do. You should have been thinking about your future."
Yes, he'd fucked up. Yes, he shouldn't have done what he did. Maybe their lives weren't worth it. Maybe his future did mean more. Maybe you do just have to follow the rules and keep your head down and let the apathy eat away at you until your career really is all that matters.
"It was the right thing to do," he said, because it's the first time he's had the courage to really say it. "They needed me. They believed in me. They were my men and I couldn't just leave them there to die because one of the Powers That Be decided that these little dots on his strategy board had outlived their usefulness."
"And they are nothing more. Don't you understand? Their purpose is to obey you. Your responsibility is to save them if you can and punish them if you must. You believe in making sacrifices for your nation. You have killed in the name of Belief. Do not deny it."
John can't deny it, he believes in neccessary sacrifices, but there's a difference between neccessary and convenient.
John remembers Ferris Wheels. He remembers the face of his fourth grade teacher and his hometown. He remembers the soft sounds of lullabies on his mother's tongue and the flame that consumed the bodies of those that served under him like a sacrificial frenzy while he tried in vain to save them. He remembers how to kill.
He doesn't remember learning how to add. He doesn't remember his second day of school. He doesn't remember the name of a single member of his graduating class or going with his father to the grocery store or what posters he put on the wall of his high-school room or even who was his best friend before he came to Atlantis. He doesn't remember learning right from wrong.
But he knows that you use your power to help people, that you make tough choices, that you exterminate the enemy to the last soul if you have to in order to keep your people safe, and that it's not love that drives the universe, but loyalty.
Loyalty and faith.
He's still working on the latter.
He remembers the decision to disobey orders. He remembers smoke and screaming and death. But he doesn't remember why they couldn't be saved.
Vala's favorite Earth movie is not Star Wars, like Teal'c, or Back to the Future, which John saw for the first time just a few years ago. It's not even Ocean's Eleven, though she did take a few notes during that one.
Vala's favorite movie is Ferris Bueller's Day Off, because it has nothing whatsoever to do with good and evil or doomed romances and true love. That and she likes Matthew Broderick in tight jeans.
If General Hank Landry ever talked to John about his past (assuming that John spoke with anyone about it), he might realize that he must have known Sheppard's father, a General, graduated from the only Academy that trains officers like him (men who are celebrated, even worshiped).
But after his family kicked him out, John acts as though he has no one, and Hank has never met a General Sheppard. He certainly has not met John's father.
Rodney finds Daniel sprawled, half asleep, in the database room, faces and bodies scrolling by, not one of them familiar.
"Well, this is a valuable use of your time," Rodney huffs.
"Hm?" Daniel lifts his head up. "I don't think he's here. But I'm running it a second time, just to be sure."
"If he's not here, he's not here. I mean, Sheppard, a descended Ancient? Come on. I mean, you with all your moralistic little . . ."
Daniel glares.
"Right. Okay, well, you I can kind of see. But Sheppard? Sure, he shares your tendency to masochistic heroism, but the man can barely sit still for five minutes, let alone meditate. And his love of big space guns doesn't really spank of ‘Thou shalt not interfere,' now does it?"
"He could have Ascended later," Daniel points out. "Like I did."
"Yes, and then any strategic knowledge we could squeeze out of him would be about as useful as you are."
Daniel scowls at that.
"I mean about once-Ascended beings , of course. It's probably just another one of Beckett's nucleotide- in- a- haystack wild goose chases anyhow. Sheppard's had more contact with partially-Ascended space tramps and experimental Ancient technology than anyone other than yourself. It could be a result of anything."
Daniel sighs and Rodney presses forward. "You know I'm right. I'm sure that Beckett will fry a few mice brains and figure it out eventually. Come on, I have this tablet in my lab that the anthropologists have been thoroughly unhelpful with . . ."
Rodney guides Daniel out of the room, voice booming with the certainty of a preacher at the Sunday pulpit.
There's one way Sheppard could have descended that he didn't think of, another database he wouldn't think to search. But he doesn't, because if Rodney has faith in anything other than the almighty objectivity that is science or his own brilliance, he has faith that John Sheppard is always on the side of good.
Or maybe it begins before and after time. Maybe it takes place in a great castle called Celestis. Or maybe it begins in a dream. There are stories on Earth about swans, showers of golden light, a touch, an innocent seduction.
I can't tell you how it came about. Well, maybe I could, if it were in my best interests to do so. But I can tell you this – that knowledge, thought forms, never fade, even when they are stripped violently away. They might leave us, they might be lost to the ages or the ether or the realm of light and fire and power over which only Gods may reign, but knowledge is not learnt; it breeds.
"Well, that was close. Why did I have to hide again?" Vala asks, strolling out of the bathroom and leaping onto John's narrow bed beside him, pigtails and naked breasts both bouncing as she jumps up and down excitedly. She likes the Ancient's taste in beds, if the rest of their furniture is ultra-modern junk.
John shrugs. "So we don't have to wait for Rodney to finish a jealous little freak- out before we can do this." He smiles before cupping her cheek and pulling her down for a kiss.
Vala laughs with a delight that speaks of great trials overcome and great pleasures taken. "Sounds like a perfectly rational reason to me," she says, straddling his hips.
"You don't mind the white lie, do you?"
She snorts at that. "You do know who I am, right?"
"Actually, I have no idea. You're an alien,. I remember that much."
"Well, if you're counting that," Vala complains, rocking her hips forward to distract him. "I'm also sort of a thief. But a good one. Ethical, I mean . . . completely upstanding."
"Really?" he raises his eyebrows.
She frowns, thrusting her hips again, for good measure.. "That doesn't bother you, does it?"
He shrugs, hands coming up to steady her, gripping her tight. "There are worse things."
"I'll go fifty- fifty with you on the loot," she offers, magnanimous. He's not like Mitchell, squeaky clean and desperate to stay that way. He's not even like Daniel, determined to listen to every opinion, drain himself dry just trying not to upset anybody. He's like her – he knows right from wrong, but also that big wonderful grey area in-between. He's pretty enough to make things easy for him, but he doesn't rely on his looks. He's fun-loving, childishly selfish sometimes, but noble. There's a rebelliousness in him that she likes, cherishes even, a familiarity that she's felt from the moment she laid eyes on him, a kinship that she has felt for no one, except perhaps her prodigal daughter.
But the biggest reason what she reaches out to him is because despite all the people who believe in him, he seems lonely. She doesn't want him to be. She doesn't want to be lonely either.
"And why is the SGC suddenly employing thieves?" he asks, kissing a line along her jaw, hands roaming, setting her skin alight.
She pulls away. "Are you saying we're not employable? Because I'll have you know . . ."
He grins, letting her know that he's not judging her, but rather the ridiculously uncompromising institution they both now serve.
"Oh, because I'm the unwilling mother of the demon-spawn that's currently trying to take over the galaxy. It's not as far-fetched as it sounds, trust me."
He freezes, hands leaping from her hips as though he's been burned.
John's favorite song is not ‘Folsom Prison Blues,' like you might expect of a fan of the Man in Black. It's not a prayer in song, like Chaya's or a lullaby like Teyla's. It's not a great symphony in a thousand complicated parts, like Rodney's, or a whistful French serenade like Elizabeth's.
John's favorite song is Cash, but not for the twang of the guitar or the haunting drawl of good ‘ole Johnny's voice.
John Sheppard's favorite song is ‘Ring of Fire' and he likes it for the lyrics, though I promise you he doesn't understand them as you do.
He dreams of flames, haunted by men who died in a fiery death for no good reason. Despite how much he loved flying, he loved them too.
I know what you're thinking, but the truth is that John thinks he met his 'Ring of Fire' in the dusty sands outside of Kabul. The truth is that he's never even been to Afghanistan.
They say that the last temptation of Christ was the temptation of the flesh, but it was by far not the most powerful.
First, he was presented with stones and asked to transform them into bread in order to sate his hunger or perhaps the hunger of the people. John has seen the Wraith. It is not a hard temptation to overcome.
Next he was shown all the kingdoms of Earth and promised them in return for worship of the devil. But there is no freedom in servitude, no matter how many domains you can reign over.
No, it is the last temptation that proves the most difficult. Jump from this pinnacle, the devil pleads. Prove your divinity when the angels sweep you up in their wings. It is the habit of people to believe in miracles. And you cannot find me a being that does not want to be believed in.
John has jumped many times, but he's only fallen once.