Disclaimer: I don't own them. Oops, sorry, that was kind of harsh. Maybe I should have broken that to you more gently. Sorry if your universe just exploded.
Title: A Harvest Dance
Author: ChaosCarter
Character/Pairing: Ronon, Teyla, Ronon/Teyla, plus some more people that I made up.
Rating: T (or PG-13, if you like)… just because I don't want people yelling at me.
Timeline: Well, it would certainly help if you had seen Runner. I don't think there are any particular spoilers… set sometime during Season 3 when life is good and nobody's trying to blow up Atlantis.
A/N: Hi everybody! So, I just have a few things to say. First and Foremost, I need to add Julie (aka FullMetalRaven) to my list of important people. Julie is amazing. So, this chapter goes out to her. Three cheers for Julie! Yay! (okay, Julie, feel better now? Of course I didn't forget you!) Secondly, I must apologize for taking so long to get this chapter up. Actually, it wasn't really my fault – like many of you, I was unable to log in for several days when the site's hard drive failed. So… sorry for keeping you waiting!
Finally, for all of you who didn't notice last chapter, the doc upload system and my computer are about ready to kick off world war three. What that basically translates into is this: the chapter is gonna look really, really ugly because my formatting won't carry over. So… if you see something that looks like this " – break –", it means time has passed. Thanks in advance for your understanding.
As always, thanks to rach0486 for her lovely beta work. hugs
CHAPTER THREE
It had been an unproductive walk. Disappointing, even. Despite repeated interrogations and threats of bodily harm on Teyla's part, Ronon's mouth had remained shut; the only clues she would get were the spark in his eye and a tiny smirk. Teyla had decided that, if there was ever a man to trust with secrets, it would be Ronon. She doubted even the wraith had had any more success than she.
Arden's house was empty as promised – and dark. Ronon opened the door slowly, feeling his way around the table until he could light a torch on the opposite wall. A series of smaller torches and oil lamps followed until the room was bright with flickering candlelight.
For the duration of this process, Teyla had remained in the entryway, one hand cautiously resting on the doorframe as a late summer breeze caressed the back of her neck.
Ronon glanced at her and laughed. "You can come in, you know. I won't bite."
"And how can I be sure of that until you tell me what you are planning?" she countered, stepping lightly into the room and shutting the door behind her.
"Not feeling very patient, are we?" He chuckled. The rather large grin on his face only irritated her more.
"Okay, okay." He paused momentarily, even clearing his throat for effect before meeting her eyes. "So…" his voice was hesitant. "How do you feel about tattoos?"
Her heart stopped. "Ronon – Ronon, no, you can't… I mean I've never…" she stuttered for words for several seconds, finally taking a deep breath and starting over. "Ronon, you are NOT giving me a tattoo."
He winced, hands coming up apologetically. "Wait, okay, I didn't explain that well enough." She tried to argue, but he cut her off. "No, listen. It's not permanent, okay? The plants I showed you…" He gestured to the black stems now sitting on the table. "Ivel stalks. We used to have them on Sateda – at least, something alarmingly similar to them. They're slightly acidic: they'll stain the skin, like ink. It lasts for a month or two, depending on how long you leave the dye on."
Teyla still looked mildly terrified. He sighed. "Look, you don't have to do it if you don't want to. It's just… something I'd like to share with you. Totally your call."
She bit her lip. After a moment of silence, she finally took a deep breath. "Will it hurt?" The question was tentative, as if she wasn't sure she wanted an answer.
Ronon raised an eyebrow. "This from the woman who frequently kicks grown men's asses at sparring?" His face quickly grew serious at the death glare she shot him. "Yeah, a little. I'm not breaking skin, so there won't be any blood, but again, the juices are a little acidic. It'll burn a bit, and you should probably put some salve on it for the next few days, but nothing too bad."
She shut her eyes, then nodded, once, twice, the movement so small that it was barely visible.
Ronon held his breath. "Is that a yes?"
Teyla held out for a few more seconds before finally meeting his eyes. "That is a yes."
- break -
As nervous as she was, Teyla found it all very fascinating. Ronon coated his hands in oil first, to protect them from the dye, then gently slit and crushed the stalks as all of the juice trickled out into a tiny bowl. Reaching into his bag, he produced a number of other supplies, including cloth, water, disinfectant solution (pilfered from the jumper's first aid kit, no doubt) and several thick reeds that Teyla remembered seeing along the beach. The reeds were promptly sharpened into a series of quill-like objects, the pointed tips left to soak in the ivel juice. He hummed while he worked.
Ronon, humming. Now there was an interesting concept. The sound was low and rough, some nameless tune Teyla had never heard before. She assumed it was Satedan, although with his distracted, disproportionate pauses, Teyla was unsure she would even recognize the song were it Athosian. She was entranced, so much so that it took her several long moments to notice when he stopped moving.
Ronon coughed quietly, tapping the edge of the table with his hand. "Up here, so I can see you." He appeared to be eyeing her neck; it was quite unsettling. "And you'll need to take that coat off."
She obeyed, folding her jacket neatly on the edge of the table and climbing up hesitantly. Her feet didn't even reach the ground.
He stared at her forehead until she raised her gaze to meet his own. His eyes were searching; she could see the barely suppressed anticipation behind them as they darted to watch each of her eyes in turn.
"Ready?"
"Yes," she murmured. "Now, before I think about this enough to change my mind again."
Ronon obeyed, quickly soaking one of the cloths with disinfectant. He began to wipe down the right side of her neck, from just below her ear to just above her collarbone. His moments were gentle, careful even, as if one wrong stroke would shatter her. Teyla's heart was beating much faster than she would have liked. He covered every curve, every inch of trembling skin. The night air was warm, yet she was shaking. Teyla cursed herself silently; this was foolish.
Finally he seemed satisfied. Reaching for the largest of the reed quills, he tapped it on the edge of the bowl, shaking off the excess juice. The tip was stained a dark black.
He brought it up to her neck, just below her ear. Hesitation. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, placing a hand around the back of her neck to steady her, as if she was going somewhere. Finally, he took a deep breath and touched quill to skin.
Teyla gasped involuntarily, more from surprise than pain. The reed was rough on her neck, and a burning feeling set in almost instantaneously. She adjusted quickly – the pain level wasn't bad. It reminded her hot water splashed back from a pot the fire.
Ronon's hands moved tortuously slowly; the quill slid in a single broad stroke down her neck. He brought it up again, perhaps halfway to her ear, and started once more at a slightly different angle, this time in a thicker, sweeping curve that fell across her collarbone. She watched his eyes; they were focused, reverent almost. He went over each stroke again before replacing the quill in the dish and taking up a second, smaller reed. With this he made a wispy arc over the second stroke. Teyla tried to picture the shape in her mind, but it was unfamiliar.
The burning was stronger now; she winced slightly. Ronon noticed her discomfort and pulled away immediately, his grip tightening on her shoulder. "You okay?
She nodded, taking a deep breath. "The pain is not great, simply irritating. I am fine." He paused anyway, putting the brush down, and leaned back. Teyla had not realized how closely he had been standing. This was probably a good thing, she reminded herself, as she tried to calm her heart. But she never got the chance. Without warning, Ronon leaned in, his lips almost touching her neck. He breathed out softly, his breath cool and soothing compared to the heat in her skin. Teyla tried to fight back the sensory overload as he stood back up again. She studied the dark flame behind his eyes as he watched her, his gaze almost challenging. He knew exactly what he was doing.
To Teyla's relief, Ronon finally took up the third brush. Five hollow circles appeared along the left side of his symbol, three full ones along the arc. He was finished.
"There," he murmured, a touch of self-satisfaction obvious in his voice. "You'll want to let that sit for a little while. Well, maybe you won't want to, but you have to if you want it to last."
Teyla nodded, her mind still spinning. She slid off of the table, landing gently on the balls of her feet. She was fully aware that she was standing well within Ronon's personal space. Raising her chin, she met his gaze, his challenge reflected in her own eyes. Two could play this game.
Ronon backed down first, which surprised her. He moved around to stand behind her and placed a hand on each of her shoulders, guiding her over to a small mirror mounted on the wall. He grabbed a torch, holding it over her shoulder.
Teyla gasped quietly. It was beautiful. Dark, black lines wove down her neck in an intricate symbol, arcing around her pulse point and sweeping over her collarbone. Her flushed skin only made them stand out more. She struggled for words, the pain forgotten. "Ronon, it… it is beautiful."
"It's Satedan," he stated plainly, shrugging off the compliment. "Tattoos were part of the tradition on my planet; each person picked a symbol, usually depicting a characteristic or ideal, and marked themselves with it when they became an adult. The idea was to pick something that defined you, so that if all anyone ever knew about you was your tattoo, they could understand at least one part of who you were."
"So the tattoo on your neck…" she trailed off, questioning.
Ronon smiled. "It means fire." He didn't need to explain.
Teyla wasn't sure she was ready to hear the answer to her next question. "And mine…"
She watched him in the mirror as his eyes dropped, fingers grazing the edge of the symbol lightly. He frowned slightly, visibly hesitating before speaking. Although he didn't even really speak – the whisper was barely audible.
"Grace."
- break -
"Shut up!" Teyla giggled, almost dropping the salve-soaked cloth she was holding to her collarbone. She rarely used the earth phrases she had picked up, but sometimes they really were the most effective methods of expression.
Rheana was now laughing even harder. "I can't believe it! You've been branded!" She pulled the cloth away, examining the dark strokes against Teyla's almond skin. "Did it hurt?"
Teyla chuckled. "A little," she said, not without a tinge of pride.
"That's Satedan, right?" Her friend sounded genuinely curious as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "Does it mean anything?"
Teyla reddened slightly. "Yes." Rheana gestured encouragingly. "It means… grace," she murmured quietly.
Rheana only burst out laughing again. "Grace?! A man called you graceful. To your face. Or your neck. Whatever." Her voice turned serious in record time. "Are you courting?" she gasped.
Teyla choked. "Not that I know of."
Rheana rolled her eyes. "You are foolish, child. The man's a hard worker; he can hunt; he's hot…" she giggled at her own use of the earth term. "And, with the way he treats you, I'm surprised hasn't declared intentions yet."
Teyla sighed. "Ronon… is not often open about his emotions. Even if there were something… I would never… we would never know."
Rheana rolled her eyes. "Teyla, just because people do not declare things out loud does not mean they are not 'open'. Trust me, Ronon has made it more than clear that he cares for you. You two are the talk of the village right now. I suspect he has been trying to tell you how he feels – in some strange, Ronon-esque way." She gestured to the tattoo.
"Perhaps you're just not allowing yourself to listen."
END CHAPTER THREE
A/N: Wow, so that was the shippiest chapter I think I have ever written. Ever. Huzzah! Hope y'all liked it, and if you did, please tune in for the next chapter. I think there are going to be about four more (which means we're not even halfway there!). And remember, reviews are kittens and thick, fluffy towels fresh out of the dryer.