Chiaroscuro

1/3/07

Notes: Immense thanks to a kind reviewer, Lenyia, for correcting my horrible Czech. I lay no claim to things such as relevancy, characters, humor, or timeline. Chiaroscuro means the distribution of light and shade, usually in a painting.

"What am I going to get her?" Rodney hisses.

"Co?" Radek looks up from his work. The way Rodney is leaning forward, glancing about with narrowed eyes, reminds him of schoolchildren sharing a secret.

"Elizabeth!" he replies explosively. "It's her birthday. What do you get your expedition leader for her birthday?"

"So that's all she is," Radek says mildly. He looks back at his laptop, not because he's turned his attention away, but because he knows it will infuriate Rodney.

It does. "You – you – Don't play games! This is important. Really, Radek," he goes on, "I haven't had to buy a woman a present in years."

"Not that you can buy things on Atlantis." Spinning his stool to face Rodney puts him directly in his face, which is just what he wants; it halts the vitriolic words forming in his friend's mouth, too surprised to verbalize them. "Yes, yes, Rodney, I see your problem. I cannot help you. It is simply your gift."

"What are you talking about?"

"Elizabeth asks for a gift from Rodney, from her friend, as romance. She does not ask this from me."

"She hasn't asked me anything!"

Radek sighs. Exasperation wins out over amusement. "You will never understand women," he mutters. "Alright, I tell you this. Here is my advice."

"Yes, yes, go on."

He looks at him, making sure he pauses to signify what he thinks of this interruption. Rodney's eye twitches. "My advice: be impulsive. Women, they like gifts that mean things."

"Be impulsive? Radek, I don't do impulsive. I'm a scientist."

"We know," he answers dryly, and then swivels his seat again. This time he really is concentrating on his work.

Silence.

"They don't cover this in grad school, you know." Rodney scowls as he leaves.

"Colonel Sheppard," he hears from behind him. John keeps walking. He is hungry, and he is going to eat.

"Colonel Sheppard!"

Nope. It's time for food, not time for Rodney.

His commlink turns on. His first name is growled into his ear.

"This better be serious," he grumbles back.

"It most certainly is," comes Rodney's indignant reply.

John enters the mess, picks up his food, and sits at a table. Rodney dashes in shortly thereafter, clearly out of breath as he takes his seat. "It's Elizabeth's birthday tomorrow," he bursts out.

"That's nice," John says idly, digging into his meal.

Rodney frowns at his lack of food. He steals a piece of fried PX4-692 vegetable. "Hey," says John, "that's mine. Go get your own, thief." It's not a stellar reply. He's too busy eating.

Ignoring this, Rodney insists, "John. Birthday! What do I get her?"

"I don't know, I always got my girlfriend lingerie and flowers. Maybe a weekend trip if I liked her a lot, or she was really hot."

Now bright red, Rodney says, "You're no help. No one's any help! Radek told me to 'be impulsive,' you're giving me tips on my sex life – "

"You have a sex life?"

" – and I don't dare ask Carson, his reply probably will be useful but singularly unintelligible from that stupid, inarticulate Scots accent!"

"I thought I told you that mocking the chief medical officer is a bad idea, Rodney," states Elizabeth calmly, eyes light with humor. She joins them abruptly at their table.

Rodney makes a noise similar to a squawk, his color ripening like a tomato. "E-Elizabeth." John snickers into his almost-a-starch, and when Rodney rounds on him, infuriated, only raises his eyebrows.

Standing, Rodney turns around and storms, for the second time that day, out of a room.

Elizabeth is, ultimately, unsurprised that Rodney does not hand her a present on her birthday. Not many people do give her one, after all; it's not information she's made obvious by any means, although anyone curious could simply view her public file. But truthfully, she knows he's gotten her something. Rodney may be inconsiderate, but only a fool would confuse the trait with unthinking. He is anything but unthinking.

So when she enters her office and finds a small, precisely wrapped present on her desk, she only smiles. For a second she's nostalgic, and wonders if Rodney will ever give her a gift to her face. Elizabeth's not in a hurry, though. She's always preferred opening things by herself, her expression unschooled.

Inside she finds a necklace, which is appropriate given the size of the package. It's no Tiffany's: the cord is a strip of hewn, untreated dark leather; the pendant, pale driftwood. It looks slightly too perfect to have been carved by hand, and she strongly suspects Rodney used Ancient technology to ease the process for him.

Elizabeth stands quiet, not thinking, merely digesting. Then she reaches up and unclasps the delicate sterling silver clasp at the back of her neck, and brings the jewelry forward. She lays them side by side on her desk, the new and the old. They are the picture of chiaroscuro.

She thinks, now. She thinks that, were she to wear them both, they would become tangled, and it would nag at her all day, unseen under her shirt. Elizabeth takes the rawhide strap and ties it, slowly, near her clavicle. She slides the cord around to her nape, which takes some effort, as it is uneven.

Looking down, she thinks that the unclosed triangle, a dot atop the apex, looks right there.