NOTES: Written for the chocfic Characters-of-Colour Love-A-Thon to the prompt "Stargate Atlantis, Teyla/John: food or cooking - laughing till you cry"
Take The Heat: Staying Out Of The Kitchen
John couldn't get his mind around the boots.
"They eliminate the need for a box," Ms. Emmagan - Teyla - pointed out as they brought in the wardrobe and makeup head to look her over.
Kate Heightmeyer pursed her lips and shot a surreptitious glance at John. "Ms. Emmagan, it's just a standard precaution - no boots in the kitchen."
"No boots in my kitchen," John added firmly. "It's just not safe in heels."
Teyla Emmagan regarded her footwear with a thoughtful expression before looking up. "They are wide-heels, Mr. Sheppard. Rubber-soled for a non-slip grip, and I am quite adept at moving in them."
Considering the way she'd commanded his attention the instant she walked on set that morning, John could attest to her skill at moving in the boots. The problem was not the matter of boots on Teyla Emmagan; the problem was the matter of boots in his kitchen.
"At the least we'll need an insurance waiver," muttered Rodney. John turned his head towards the set where the set manager was fussing over the placement of the foods that were to be used in this episode and glared. The last thing he needed was for his guest to get the idea that she could get away with this on his show.
Too late.
"Then I will sign an insurance waiver," she said. "And Mr. Sheppard, let me assure you that I have navigated everything from steps to cobblestones in these heels and am not given to falling over in them."
John could have chewed Rodney out for giving her an easy way out. But with her agreement to sign a waiver, he could either kick up a stink and declare that the boots had to go, or he could give in gracefully and resign himself to defeat.
Beneath the query in large, dark eyes, John took the graceful option. After all, she'd proven easy enough to work with so far, from her agreement with the menu that they'd planned out, to her willingness to go along with their suggestions.
He could allow her the boots - as long as she didn't break her ankle while shooting his show. If she did, then they were all in major trouble.
"All right," he said. "Rodney, get us a waiver. Kate, is Ms. Emmagan otherwise okay in the dress and makeup department? Where the hell is the lighting and sound department for this run-through? And what are you smiling at?"
With her outfit and makeup okayed, Teyla dimpled at him as people scattered, moving into their places like parts of a well-oiled machine slipping into gear. "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that you would give certain actors I have worked with a run for their money in the prima donna department."
"It's my show," he pointed out mildly as he walked up to the edge of the set. "I like it to run smoothly."
"Of course," she said as she followed him into the kitchen, bringing with her the faint scent of tea rose. "And I would like this to run smoothly also."
"Then it's a good thing you're here for the run-through." There'd been some concern about that. Apparently Teyla's manager had made a fuss about her taking the time out to do the run-through. At first, Elizabeth hadn't even been sure she'd turn up; but when Teyla appeared at the studios - once again, early - they supposed that matters had been suitably resolved.
And John had not felt like this was his first show - nerve-wrackingly excited at the prospect of working with this woman. At all. Really.
The crazy thing was, he'd never been a fan of her work or particularly interested in her as an actress. To John, Teyla Emmagan had always been just one more pretty face on the movie circuit. A good actress, a hot body, with a couple of out-of-the-public-view flings here and there, the occasional linkage with a fellow actor, but no really juicy gossip.
He was playing it cool - or hoped he was. Rodney hadn't yet made any sneering comments about John 'kirking it', which was a good sign - or as good as he could hope for. John was hoping to keep it that way.
"So," he said as he rested his hands proprietarily on the bench, "are you any good in the kitchen?"
Even as the words left his mouth, he tried to catch them back.
An eyebrow rose delicately above gold-dusted eyelids, but her smile tilted lopsidedly. "I do not usually cook for myself," she admitted, picking up a small bowl of chopped ingredients and studying it. "My godmother swears I can burn water. But then she is an excellent cook herself and has always despaired of teaching me."
John regarded her with some surprise. "So what are you doing on my show?"
"Cooking." She must have sensed his roll of the eyes because she put the bowl down and turned directly to him. "Actually, it was at my godmother's encouragement that I applied. She said that if she could not hope to teach me to cook, then perhaps the handsome young man on the television could."
Torn between embarrassment and pleasure, John didn't know which way to look. Teyla caught his expression and burst into a peal of laughter, causing heads to turn towards them.
"Your expression, John!"
"So glad to have amused you," he said, hoping he didn't sound too sour about it.
"Never mind," Teyla told him, waving one hand around them at the studio. "You will have your revenge in full when you teach me to cook."
John wasn't convinced.
Then, over the next hour, he discovered just how bad a cook Teyla Emmagan really was.
It wasn't that she was scatterbrained, or didn't follow instructions. She did - he watched her. Hell, after the smoking wreck of the first pan of onions, the whole studio watched her. She could follow instructions like an obedient child, and yet the synergy of cooking simply didn't work for her. At all.
"I did say that I was a bad cook," she said apologetically at the midmorning break.
"And I didn't believe you," John said, throwing himself into a chair. "I still don't know how you burned those onions."
After the first disaster, John had watched her fry the onions until they were nearly ready. A minute more and they'd have been fine. The heat was perfect and everyone from the least critical (Miko) to the most (Rodney) swore that Teyla hadn't touched the controls. Still, when they scraped the onions into the bowl, the burned scent was unmistakable.
Elizabeth was just on the verge of tearing out her hair - a famous guest that they couldn't use in the kitchen? Disaster.
"Anyway," he said, accepting the beer handed to him by one of the ubiquitous aides hanging around the place and offering her the just-opened canister of Pringles. "We're going to work around that. Somehow." He just hadn't considered the details of it just yet. A cooking show with a guest who didn't cook at all? Crazy.
On the other hand, there were ways and means of getting around the situation. As long as her jinx - or whatever it was - didn't extend to all activities in the kitchen.
"Rodney?"
"I'm busy!"
"And I'm about to make you even more busy," he said. Rodney was always busy; besides, it was John's job to make him even more busy. "Get over here."
Rodney huffed over, clipboard in hand. "What?"
"She can't cook."
"Yeah, you know, I think I might have noticed that, what with the, oh, scent of burned food everywhere in the studio. Do you know how much trouble we've had with the studio smoke alarms today?"
"So we use her as something else?"
"What? Like, scanty clothing and... Is she going to use that knife on me?"
John watched as Teyla began peeling an apple with swift, sure strokes. From the glittering smile on her lips, he guessed that her thoughts on Rodney at this moment weren't exactly appreciative. "Interesting as it might be watching her use the knife on you, Rodney, I thought that maybe she could use the knife on the ingredients instead."
"What? Like a two-parter? Preparation and cooking?"
"Most people have to do both," John pointed out. "We usually just show the cooking. Switch it around."
"Oh, great. Do you know how much more effort and time that will take? We're a cooking show, Sheppard, not an all-around 'things you do in the kitchen' show! Why don't we just show the washing up while we're at it?" Rodney threw his hands up in the air and stalked around to the end of the room where he poured himself a cup of coffee.
Teyla sliced off a chunk of apple and nibbled at it. The downlights of John's break-room gleamed off the polished ovals of her fingernails. "Will the change be troublesome?"
"Everything is troublesome when it comes to Rodney," John explained wryly. "Including Rodney."
"I heard that!"
"You were supposed to!" But the retort relaxed John a little. The fact that Rodney wasn't holding forth on the sheer stupidity of this idea was a good indicator that the man was thinking about it. And if Rodney was thinking about it, he'd see that John was right. Once he came to that conclusion, it would be easy flying. Rodney was the main impediment as far as logistics went, since Elizabeth would agree to anything if John could only make it work.
"All right, all right," Rodney planted his cup of coffee on the table with a thump, either not noticing or ignoring that a little coffee spilled out over the side and beginning to pat himself down, looking for his phone. "We'll work on setting things up so she chops and you cook with her looking over your shoulder. Partnership in the kitchen or something - the pundits will love it. Except we'll need an insurance indemnity in case she slices herself with a knife..."
Even as he spoke he was dialling a number, and a moment later was on the phone to someone and jabbering away as he walked out of the room.
John shook his head. "He can be a pain in the ass, but he's the best at what he does. He'll get it sorted out." He studied her. "You're okay with this?"
Her lips quirked. "It is a solution that works for us all," she said. "Although Sharon will be disappointed that you could not make a cook out of me."
"Well, maybe another time." It was only once the words were out of his mouth that John hoped that she'd take it as an invitation, and hoped he hadn't been too obviously fishing. "Will you have to talk to your agent?"
"Most likely." Teyla shrugged. "If I do not object, Halling will probably not cause trouble." She sliced off another piece of apple, absently offering it to John.
It was a casual gesture, without thought or premeditation.
John leaned across and tugged it out of her fingers with his teeth. He stopped short of brushing his mouth against her fingers, although God knew he was tempted, and just chewed as though he casually ate out of a beautiful woman's hand every day.
"It's probably best you talk with your agent as soon as possible," he said, swallowing beneath the suddenly watchful gaze of gold-dusted eyelids. "The sooner we have it arranged in contract, the sooner we can get things moving."
The practicality helped. There might have been a slight flush on her cheeks as she finished off the last slice herself and stood, but her tone was brisk. "I'll call Halling now, then."
John leaned back. "See, we might not be able to make you good at cooking, but you can be useful in the kitchen."
He cursed himself for the inanity. If he'd been intending to send her mixed signals then he was doing an excellent job. But her lips curved and her eyes held a limpid gleam as she looked back from the door.
"Actually," she said sweetly, "I'm very good in the kitchen, John. I'm just not good at cooking."
And she walked out of the breakroom, boots and all, leaving John to pick up the pieces of his brain in the wake of that thought.
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