Authors Note: Please let me know what you think of this, complaints, suggestions; any feedback would be helpful as long as it is constructive. Now beta-read by the wonderful Iona.

This leads into four other fics, in this order.
"A Sour Taste in the Mouth" complete
"The Days today" complete
"The Perfect Pair" work in progress
and "An Occasion to Remember" in planning

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Stargate in any incarnations of course and I'm not making any money, this is just some harmless fanfic fun.

Window to the Soul

The meeting had been simple enough. She'd wanted to tell AR-1 about the art competition before the rest of the base. A few select scientists had secretly manufactured the paints and she'd enlisted Teyla to get the help of Athosian craftsmen to make the tools, easels and brushes. In fact, she'd also enlisted Major Sheppard and Doctor Zelenka as the two judges, other than herself.
Of course Sheppard would have told Ford, so in reality she was really only telling Rodney despite the whole team being there.

Which was why she saw and had wondered about the look that had passed his face when he'd heard.
She hadn't been able to figure out if he was upset he wasn't a judge or that he wasn't involved in making any of the equipment.
She'd thought Dr. Zelenka and Major Sheppard were fairly impartial in regard to the military/civilian divide the base had developed and, of course, Rodney had more important tasks.
But the uncertainty, or perhaps hurt, that she had seen on Rodney's face had disturbed her.

Rodney McKay stood in the common room in front of an easel.
He'd never really painted before and he was nervous.
Afraid he'd fail at yet another art. How many had he tried unsuccessfully? He'd never even bothered trying to paint before.

He sure Elizabeth had arranged the whole contest to boost morale, get everyone involved.
The two least artistic looking types, Lieutenant Marlborough and Lieutenant Elberg, were instructing beginners on technique at the front of the room. He could see it was clearly meant to challenge the ideas that had created somewhat of a gaping rift between the scientists and the soldiers.

He just wasn't sure if this would boost his morale. He'd followed the 'teachers' instructions perfectly and if he did say so himself, his piece was much better than the example they had given but he still felt anxious.

He needed an opinion, no matter how harsh.
As luck would have it, John and Teyla approached him.
He broached the subject carefully.
"So what do you think of my masterpiece?"

Major Sheppard thoughtfully rubbed his chin with his hand whilst looking at the painting and Teyla stared at it briefly before turning her attention back to him.
McKay waited eagerly for an answer, hopeful.
"It is technically accurate but... it lacks.... something," her voice sounded apologetic to say such a thing but he knew she was right, he'd had the same feeling in his stomach when he thought about it.
Finally the Major responded, coming out of his musing, all he said was, "She's right."

And then McKay packed up his equipment without a word, his mouth pressed into a hard line.
It was obvious, even to John, he looked remarkably pained by the outcome of his painting.
Neither John nor Teyla being sure exactly why it mattered so much to their resident genius.

But it was Teyla who felt compelled to know or at least to help.
She stopped by Doctor McKay's lab, hopeful that he would have sought refuge in a place where he could be sure of his talents.
She entered, watching him silently.
He was staring grimly at another lacking painting, obviously consumed by his failing.

"Doctor McKay, I have suggestion."
She had startled him, he nearly jumped at her voice, his face drained of colour considerably.
Somehow she felt this problem with painting meant much more than she had first thought, for she did not think the distraught look upon his face as merely from surprise.
She noticed him swallow with difficulty and wipe his eye with his hand before responding, "Yes?"
He sounded ever so hopeful.
She prayed that what she was about to suggest would work because she knew anything that would cause the scientist to cry must surely be important.

Elizabeth sat down as she watched Rodney set up his easel with enthusiasm.
She hadn't been able to deny his request to paint her portrait, especially once Teyla had told her of Rodney's need to succeed at painting for a reason nobody knew and of her suggestion he paint something he cared about, perhaps someone.
Apparently Carson had been his first choice as one of his best friends but hadn't been able to sit still long enough to get anything painted, as well as the fact that Rodney had been no more pleased with the partial results of that try than of his previous paintings.
She had also noticed he had done an eartugging when he'd entered to ask her, a sure sign of his uncertainty or nervousness. She could tell by that alone it meant a lot to him.
And so she sat there, waiting patiently.

She tried to talk to him but he responded reluctantly, spending most of his time biting down on his lip in complete concentration.
He focused intently on her features, which had at first caused her to blush profusely, not being used to him paying quite so much attention to her person.

After quite some time he had stood back, glancing at it before drabbling on about how it wasn't very good and needed more work to make it just right.
As he was mumbling she moved round to stand behind him.
Her breath caught at the sight of the picture.
The elegance of the person in the portrait stunned her.
He carried on talking about how he'd wanted to capture her vitality and make the piece truly original rather than a mechanical copy of what he saw in reality. His artistic license.

He'd laughed briefly at his own comment before looking to her speechless form. The smile disappeared from his face, interpreting her silence as negative.

"If you don't like it I can just..." he started to say but she broke in trying to explain.

"No, no, I like it."
But maybe he couldn't hear the wonder in her voice or see it in her eyes as she stared at his work taking in the detail, so she said it for him,
"It's wonderful."

He grinned at that, looking so amazingly happy you'd think someone just told him he wasn't going to die after all
In his delight he started telling her about the background of the Atlantean stained glass windows, put in for effect.

"I was trying to paint you as I imagined you, I'm not sure if it came out right. I'm so much better at copying things, so many people have told me I just don't get art."
He looked sadly at the table, biting his lip and his face contorting in a look she'd never seen on him.

And so she said truthfully but mostly to wipe the sad look off his face, "No. No, this is art. This is wonderful."

She found she lacked the words to describe and at that moment she wanted to kiss him.
But they were in view of everyone outside and she told herself off, telling herself it would be inappropriate and wondering why she had such a thought in the first place.
Instead she pulled him into a hug, at which he put his brush down and gently and cautiously hugged her back like he'd barely ever been hugged by someone, a friend, a relative, a lover...

She released him and he looked happy, but also disappointed for a second before concern and embarrassment appeared on his face as he pointed to the smudge of paint on her uniform and reached for a rag, saying "Let me get that".

For a minute he concentrated solely on getting it out, then he tutted at it unhappily
"It won't come out. I'm sorry."
At that, he exited quickly, apologising several more times as he gathered up his things before leaving her alone with the painting.

Elizabeth silently wondered what had just happened, a bizarre moment she doesn't want to know the meaning of.
But she does wonder what the painting means because he said he was trying to paint her how he saw her and the painting shows only her best qualities.

She sees a version of herself imbued with strength, happiness, hope - she looks outward with the light coming onto her from the windows, something that he hadn't copied from this sitting.
It looked like that he'd seen it many times before, the light across her face, like he'd studied it so greatly.
Lastly she noted that the light hit her in such a way you could swear she looked like an angel.

A/N: The sequel to this is now up here called "A Sour Taste in the Mouth"