A/N: And once more, be warned - this chapter contains sexual situations.
Chapter 5
Lorne stepped out of the event horizon and into Atlantis' gate room, covered with mud and slime and wet to the very marrow of his bones.
"A small storm? I get it, Williams, you're from Alaska. I'm sure that this is nothing for you but for me it's a goddamn downpour," Lorne grumbled at his sheepish teammate.
They were just returning from the town they visited off-world when the storm hit, and had to cover the next two klicks in a run and still got sodden wet. Lorne could still taste the slimy mud that found its way into his mouth after Miller slipped and the rest of them tripped on him. After that Williams was all smiles when he asked them why they were making such a big fuss out of such a small storm.
Lorne turned to walk out of the gate room when a familiar figure approached him.
"Major Lorne," Teal'c smiled at him warmly, and bowed his head when he was close enough.
Lorne smiled back, stepping up the stairs to meet him. "Teal'c!" he said as warmly as the Jaffa, and nearly reached his hand to clasp Teal'c's forearm before remembering that he was covered in dirt from head to toe. Instead, he smiled and spread his hands to the sides helplessly.
Teal'c looked as distinguished as Lorne remembered him to be, though his hair was longer and a broad white stripe adorned the right side of his head. He wore the long tunic of the free Jaffa.
"I see that you are well enough, Major Lorne. I hope that you are practicing hard," Teal'c said, amusement coloring his voice. Lorne smiled.
"Just the usual in the Pegasus galaxy. Wraith, rain storms… but I practice, sure. I even had some of the younger marines asking me to teach them the technique," Lorne admitted. Since his first encounter with Teal'c on P3X-403, where he puked his guts out in front of his men, Teal'c had trained with him in hand to hand combat and Jaffa fighting techniques. He was one of a selected number of SGC personnel to receive personal training from him, and it helped upping his skills level and keeping his stomach down.
"What about you? Why are you here?" Lorne asked Teal'c. They began walking out of the gate room together, and Lorne couldn't help but wonder why Teal'c was alone. Maybe Carter was in a meeting.
"I am here to assist Ronon Dex to prepare for his IOA evaluation," Teal'c stated.
"Oh, right. There was talk about something like this happening. I heard Teyla did good, but Colonel Carter fears that Ronon wouldn't know how to handle the committee, right?"
"Indeed." Teal'c confirmed gravely.
"So how's it going?"
"It is not. Ronon Dex does not desire my assistance," Teal'c seemed disturbed by that fact, but somehow to someone who knew Ronon it wasn't such a big surprise.
"Maybe he'll come around. Have you tried telling him what the committee is likely to ask?" Lorne asked, curious. Tht was something he would never have to go through, thankfully, not being an alien. But he had heard stories about Teal'c's, Nyan's and now Teyla's interviews and none of them sounded like a pleasant experience. In most of the interview the committee was busy making sure none of the aliens who risked their lives for their human teammates on a daily basis will try to betray Earth.
"I have not. I was not given a chance," Teal'c answered shortly.
"Oh. Well, he's in the mess hall right now," Lorne said as they passed the mess hall. Inside he could see Ronon sitting alone. "Maybe he'll listen over lunch? Ronon tends to be more receptive if food is involved," Lorne advised.
Teal'c paused and thought it over, his head tilted and lips pulling down. "You might be correct, Major Lorne. I believe I shall try again, thank you," he said, grave and serious.
Lorne smiled. "Sure thing. I'll hit the showers and then maybe I'll swing by to see how you're doing," he offered. Teal'c bowed his head.
"It has been nice to see you again, Major Lorne. I wish you a most effective shower, you seem to need it," Teal'c teased once more.
Lorne smiled. Jaffa humor was weird. "Thanks. You too, and good luck," Lorne called after him before heading for his quarters.
Sheppard told him later that he'd missed one hell of a fight.
####
Lorne examined his work. It was the easy part, painting Atlantis' spires and towers. The lights were dazzling and bright and the outline of the buildings very clear with two moons to illuminate it. He was now facing the real challenge and the reason why he began painting again: how to depict the enchanted blue-green light that the two moons were casting over the city and the ocean surrounding it.
He placed his easel on the highest balcony in one of the outer buildings on the northern pier, far away from the city. The light was good and bright and the wind was gentle and cool. He had his water-soluble colors on a simple square palette, a glass of murky water at his feet and a drying rug tucked into his pocket.
He was alone since no one came to that particular balcony in the tower, despite the tower being a very popular hang-out spot. From below he could hear laughter and the quiet murmur of conversation, and it helped him focus and eased his mind. It meant that there was no emergency, like the last time he had picked up painting.
He took village-green, porcelain-blue and pearly-white and mixed them together, adding one shade and then another until he was satisfied. He then applied it experimentally on the pencil sketch he had made before starting on the canvas. It needed fixing.
He was just about to add some more porcelain-blue when the door behind him opened and nearly made him dip his brush in his sunset-orange. He turned to see who it was, and found Sheppard staring at him with mild surprise.
"Sir," Lorne greeted, smiling. Sheppard was wearing his uniform pants and the standard black shirt that every military member in Atlantis was equipped with, with the V-shaped zipper pulled down. He even had his M9 strapped on. Lorne himself was already off-duty, as the time was nearly 2430, and wore plain jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt.
"Major," Sheppard returned, approaching the easel. "So you really can paint," he said, amazed. "And you're good, too!"
Lorne chuckled. "You didn't believe it?" he asked. He remembered that the first time Sheppard learned about his painting skills was when Lorne confessed to be a pretty good foot masseuse.
"I did. But there's a difference between doodling pretty flowers on the edges of an office pad and this," he examined the painting closely. Interested, Lorne watched him looking at the painting and comparing it to the reality as was seen from the balcony. "It's incredible," Sheppard said eventually, sincerely. "Is it finished?"
"No," Lorne answered, returning to mixing his paints. Sheppard watched with evident interest. "I'm only now beginning to paint the most beautiful thing about the view. The light," he answered.
Sheppard looked at the scenery with a frown. "You mean the moons?" he asked, dubious.
"Sure," Lorne answered. When Sheppard still looked confused, Lorne joined him by the railing. "You want to tell me you never thought it was gorgeous?" he asked, gesturing at the sea and the city in the dark.
"Well… I suppose I have," Sheppard's brows drew down.
"Look. See how the light reflects on the water? How it colors the piers? How the clouds look like mist?" Lorne pointed out the various places where the unusual light turned the scenery almost magical.
Sheppard nodded his head. "You can paint all that?" he asked, amazed.
"Sure. That's why I started this painting."
"Is this your first?"
"At all? Hardly. I used to paint every weekend with my mother before joining the Air Force."
"And in Atlantis?" Sheppard asked, curious. Lorne looked down.
"It's my second," he admitted, weary and uncomfortable all of the sudden. He hated remembering his first painting of Atlantis.
"Where's the first?" Sheppard asked. He wasn't looking at Lorne so he didn't notice the way Lorne's mouth thinned in sadness. It was inevitable to tell Sheppard about it.
"It's in Scotland. I drew it on that Sunday a year ago, right before Doc Beckett died. I asked for, and got permission, to give it to his mother. I told her it was scenery from a book we both liked," Lorne told him, a heaviness in his voice that was never gone when talking about Dr. Beckett. He was a dear friend and a good man, and was the first person who was really close to Lorne who died in Atlantis. Other people told him he was fortunate that Beckett was the only one. He never thought of it like that.
Sheppard's face softened with sorrow. He said nothing for a while, and then changed the subject. Lorne expected it.
"What makes you paint?" Sheppard asked, leaning with his back against the rail.
Lorne's brows lifted. "Uh… I paint when I see things that are worthy of being portrayed on the canvas, I suppose," he answered. He never thought of it, he simply painted whatever he wanted to if and when he had the time.
"You do people too?" Sheppard gestured with his head at Lorne's sketchbook where brushes of color obscured the graphite lines.
"Sure. A lot, actually," as a matter of fact, Lorne had a good hand for people. He was good with proportions and with catching the little nuances of the human body. His portraits always came out very satisfying.
Sheppard got a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So…" he drawled. Lorne prepared himself. "What you're saying is that I, for example, am not worthy of being painted," he stated.
Lorne stood straighter, indignant. "I never said that!"
"No. But you said that you only paint things that are worthy of being portrayed onto the canvas and that you do a lot of portraits, yet I never received an invitation to sit in front of you," Sheppard countered, smug.
Lorne smiled and shook his head. Sheppard was one of a kind, you could never be fully prepared for him. "Would you like me to draw your portrait, sir?" he asked, taking his sketchbook in his hand.
"Sure," Sheppard agreed amiably, though his eyes lit up with excitement.
"Have a seat, then," Lorne gestured towards one of the two benches lining the balcony's walls. He could finish his other painting tomorrow.
Lorne looked at people with an eye of an artist, from time to time. He found their lines interesting, unique. McKay's lopsided mouth, Teyla's straight-backed pride, Ronon's dreadlocks framing his face, Zelenka's haloing hair, Dr. Backett's startling blue eyes, Stackhouse's expressive brows, Dr. Keller's round face, Dr. Weir's accomplished smile… but he never thought of painting any of their portraits. He had no idea why, but painting one of them suddenly thrilled him, especially because it was Sheppard.
Painting Sheppard, beyond strange, was a challenge. The thing the painter in Lorne liked most about Sheppard was the way his feelings were reflected in his eyes. He wanted to try and capture them, now that he had a chance to.
"Okay, what do I do now?" Sheppard asked. Lorne took his sketchbook and his HB pencil in his hand and took a good look at Sheppard, gauging the smooth, clean lines of his face and the cowlicks in his hair.
"Now," Lorne drew an experimental line on a new sheet of paper and looked back at Sheppard. "Now you tell me what you're doing on this balcony." The line was accurate. He had a knack for portraits, though he liked nature and color best.
Sheppard shrugged. "I was down at the pier with James Watson. We're thinking of setting some buoy markers to help us measure the distance and such. I passed by this balcony on my way to the transporter and saw the light on, so I went to have a peak," he explained. "Are you sure you don't need me to look at something, make a face or something?"
Lorne chuckled. "I can draw the general shape of your face quicker if you look only at me," he said, distracted. When he looked up next, Sheppard had the kind of look in his eyes that defied against what Lorne just said, like trying to say, 'I already look at you only'.
Lorne's hand began the brisk work of depicting Sheppard's hair. "You sure you have the time to sit here and model for me?" he asked, instead of thinking about his unintended innuendo.
"How long is it going to take?"
"An hour or so."
"Sure. I have an hour. I was planning on making a late start tomorrow anyway," Sheppard announced. "Thought I'd give you the opportunity to choose the song to start the playlist with," he added playfully.
Lorne snorted. "Like that would help. You'll change the song as soon as you'll step into the office," he said. Surprisingly, the lack of order in Sheppard's hair made it easier to draw him, and Lorne was done after only a short time. "I already got used to you cheating," he added.
Sheppard was about to reply when the lights suddenly went out.
"Lorne, did you do that?" Sheppard asked, on edge.
"No, sir," Lorne said, looking at the door and then at the city. "Though it seems like a regional malfunction. Look, the control tower still has power," he pointed at the rest of the city, now bright and far away from their dark balcony.
Sheppard tried to hit the door's control crystals just in case. "Damn it. You're right. Sheppard to the control room," he said into his radio.
"Go ahead, Colonel," Amelia's voice confirmed. Lorne peered down and heard bewildered voices, but if they all carried their radios with them then they should be able to listen to what Sheppard was asking.
"The north tower just went dark," Sheppard reported.
"Yes, thank you, we know," McKay's voice snapped instead of Amelia's.
"Rodney, what happened? Is everything alright?" Sheppard asked, concerned.
"No. Everything is not alright because Doctor Pipt here couldn't even perform the simplest of simulations without disrupting power to the entire city!" McKay was shouting angrily, presumably at someone who was standing in front of him.
"What happened?" Sheppard repeated, calmer.
"The conduit leading power to the north section of the city was overloaded when Dr. Geisel, instead of performing a simulation to see how the city would react in case of a ZPM power fluctuation, accidentally sent the marco to the actual system," Zelenka's voice explained, calmer. "It's no big deal. We'll have it fixed in an hour or so."
"No big deal! Are you kidding me? His incompetence is beyond even me to describe! Even my brother-in-law could do it better, and he's an English major!" McKay snipped angrily over the comm.
"You're going to fix it though, right?"
"No, Colonel. We're going to sit here, twiddling our thumbs and cry over the bitter fate that is our lot in life. Care to join in!" McKay was on a roll, apparently.
"Just get it fixed, Rodney. I need that power back," Sheppard said, discouraged.
"Why, you've got a hot date and you want to keep the lights on?" McKay asked in his patented angry sarcasm voice. Sheppard sighed.
"Not exactly."
"What? That means that you do?" McKay sounded more interested than was probably healthy.
"McKay, I'm stuck on a cold balcony with Lorne. Just get the damn conduit fixed, will you?" Sheppard ordered him, his voice hard and uncompromising.
"Oh," McKay sounded disappointed. "Sure. Be with you in an hour," he added before the radio went silent again.
Lorne looked down and could see a few silhouettes waving at him from far below. Some were already settling on the pier and pointing out stars. "Looks like we're in for a long wait," he told Sheppard, gesturing at the people below them.
"They okay?" Sheppard joined him by the rail. It was dark on the northern pier since it was the farthest from the city and the city's lights didn't illuminate it. Only the moons were casting a strange and pale glow that was just enough to see where to put your foot without stumbling.
"They heard everything. They've already settled down to stargaze," Lorne said. He wasn't concerned. Dr. Geisel, who was very short in height as McKay had so delicately pointed out, was new to Atlantis. He couldn't possibly cause too much damage. That took a lot of luck and incredible competency.
"Not much to stargaze at, with all these clouds," Sheppard commented, looking up and then at the Atlantis painting that still stood on Lorne's easel. "Think you can finish my portrait while we wait?"
Lorne looked at Sheppard's face. There was plenty of moonlight but it varied in degree whenever a cloud swept over one of the moons. But even when the light was strong the blue-green quality of it made everything look strange, somehow distorted. Shadows existed where there were none, and Sheppard's face had dips and rises to it that were not visible in full light.
"I don't think so, not in this light. I can see your face well enough, but the light is deceptive and the portrait will come out wrong," he admitted regretfully.
Sheppard was quiet for a moment, looking at the sky and then at his unfinished portrait. "You know, I heard that there are blind people who can paint by feeling their subject's faces. Think you can do it?" Sheppard asked challengingly.
Lorne swallowed. He could do it. Had already done so, after his sister bet him he couldn't paint her portrait if the basement light was off. But it meant touching Sheppard's face. He remembered the last time he had an intensive touching session with Sheppard, and was not keen on repeating it again.
Rationally, at least. There was a part of him that was thrilled at the idea. That was thrilled when Sheppard confided in him by the fire on M9G-103, that he had asked Lorne to paint his portrait. That he was now asking Lorne to touch him.
"You want me to touch you?" he asked, simply to clarify things. Maybe Sheppard had some other idea.
"Yeah, sure. Why not? It's for a noble cause such as my portrait, right?" Sheppard agreed easily. "Besides, I didn't bring any cards and unless you want to play twenty questions…" he trailed off and shrugged, unperturbed. Conversation was never an option because as it always was whenever two people were forced to talk none of them had anything to say.
Things suddenly made sense to Lorne. It never occurred to Sheppard that his feelings might be reciprocated. He never really noticed Lorne's reactions to his proximity or touch. He was certain, Lorne realized, that Lorne was straight and oblivious to Sheppard's feelings, so he never even expected Lorne to reciprocate. And he was doing the only thing an officer attracted to another, straight officer, could do: jump at every opportunity to be alone and touching one another without looking like he was trying to hit on Lorne. Lorne knew this because he was there once, too.
"No. I don't want to play twenty questions," Lorne answered Sheppard's question. "Come here and stand in front of me," he ordered, putting his painting of Atlantis down and replacing it with his sketchbook on the easel. Maybe it was pity, maybe it was that he wanted to touch Sheppard as much as Sheppard wanted to be touched, and maybe it was that he was trying to get back at Sheppard for driving him crazy without even being aware of it, but he would do it.
Something in Lorne gave in. His resolve, his strength, his common sense or maybe all three together. But he wanted to touch Sheppard and was tired of denying it. It was exactly the sort of thing that got him closer to the inevitable explosion between them, two steps at a time, but right now he wasn't thinking about anything other than the next hour and the immediate future.
There were so many reasons to do this, all of them wrong. All the right reasons, the reasons not to do it, eluded Lorne if he tried to remember them. So he took a deep breath and simply didn't try. He was getting ready to explore the enticing man in front of him, who was his exclusively for the first and maybe last time in his life.
Sheppard obediently came and stood before Lorne, and Lorne picked up his HB pencil and placed his 2B pencil on the easel next to him. He then, very slowly, reached his hand and touched Sheppard's brow. He ran the tips of his fingers along the slight creases there, gauging the distance between his hairline and his brows, allowing sensitive nerves to fill in for what he couldn't see.
He slid over the thin brows, feeling their uneven shape, the slightly coarse hair tickling the pads of his fingers when he disrupted it. Sheppard's brows were short, ending just at the edges of his eyes. He drew their shape in as great detail as he could, making a two-dimensional representation of what he felt under his hand, what he saw in the deceptive moonlight and what he remembered in his mind. They anchored his painting.
The sky became darker as a cloud moved to cover one of the moons.
Lorne's fingers strayed to Sheppard's eyes and he watched, entranced. He watched his fingers trailing the small space between Sheppard's brow and his eye, and felt the thin, fragile skin under his fingertips. He watched as his fingers moved to the edge of Sheppard's eye, where the fold of skin made them look more slanted than they really were, even if the moonlight showed him only darkness. He felt the creases of laughter and sun in that darkness.
"Don't close your eyes. Look at me," Lorne commanded in a low voice when Sheppard's eyes slid close at the intrusion of Lorne's fingertips. Sheppard snapped his eyes open, looking at Lorne with amazement. Lorne never took that tone of voice with him before.
Lorne felt the shape of Sheppard's eyes, almond-like, and matched it to the one he remembered. His memory of Sheppard's face was surprisingly vivid and accurate, matching the patterns his fingers were drawing on Sheppard's skin.
He held Sheppard's cheek cupped in his hand while he drew, his thumb sweeping charted territory when he needed to refresh his memory. He could feel Sheppard shivering lightly in his hold, but he doubted that it was due to the cold. Sheppard's skin was so warm it nearly scorched Lorne's hand.
Lorne moved on to Sheppard's nose. He felt the uneven line of it, the way his nostrils made the sides of his nose arch up slightly. He never noticed the slight curve of Sheppard's nose before he saw him in the moonlight. He must've broken it at some point. It healed nicely, but the moonlight made it prominent and crooked.
When Lorne's fingers skimmed Sheppard's nostrils, feeling the slightly bigger right one, Sheppard's breath puffed over his fingers and the tense edge around him ebbed away. He was laughing, and somehow it bothered Lorne. He wanted Sheppard gasping and shaking, not laughing.
Lorne brought both hands down to his sketchbook. He still had a lot of work to do, but it was vital that he get the main features of Sheppard's face on paper. Later, when he would have his light back, he could add the necessary shading to create depth and depict the finer lines of Sheppard's face.
Lorne then looked at Sheppard once again. Sheppard was still smirking, and Lorne felt an urge to replace that smirk in favor of a more sensual expression. He touched Sheppard's cheek, cupping it with his hand instead of feeling it with his fingertips, and the smirk indeed died. Sheppard tried to yank his face free, eyes wide and panicked, but Lorne's other hand was quicker. He cupped both of Sheppard's cheeks in his hands, avoiding his radio, and forced him to meet his eyes.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked. His voice was a demanding whisper, and Sheppard's was hoarse and quiet when he answered.
"No."
Lorne knew he should stop. Sheppard was getting uncomfortable, was becoming aware of what he'd asked Lorne to do. But Lorne's own body felt alive and hot, and his hand got used to the feel of Sheppard's skin. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to, and he didn't. He was enchanted by the look of Sheppard in the moonlight and under his hand.
The sky turned brighter again as the cloud obscuring one of the moons was blown away by high winds.
Lorne marked with his 2B pencil the faint lines of Sheppard's cheeks and the small dot that was a beauty spot on the lower half of his left cheek. Cheeks could not be drawn, only come to view with the proper shading. As is a chin, though Lorne felt the shape of Sheppard's round and firm chin nonetheless. The stubble on Sheppard's cheeks and chin prickled his fingertips, making him ache deep in his chest from the sensation.
Lorne's thumb then rose to the patch of skin just under Sheppard's bottom lip, once more feeling the stubble that adorned it. Sheppard stepped forward, and it seemed like both moons were covered now especially for him.
Lorne realized that he was painting, was seeing his painting and comparing it to his model, without it really registering in his brain. All he could see, all he could think of, was his finger going up to trace Sheppard's slightly parted lips.
Lorne's finger circled the outline of Sheppard's lips, feeling the curve of his upper, thinner one, the narrow cannel that went up to his nasal septum and then the two mounds shaping it. They were surrounded with coarse stubble, but when Lorne's thumb traveled to brush Sheppard's lower lip he was met with soft and silky skin. He wondered how it would feel to be kissed by Sheppard, how it would feel to have Sheppard's soft lips on his while his coarse stubble was causing beard-burns on Lorne's face.
Sheppard's breath was shuddering against his fingers. His eyes were closed and he looked like someone trying to fight his own body's reactions. He swallowed convulsively a few times before he managed to get his throat to work. "Lo-" he began, but Lorne's thumb on his lips sealed them together.
"Shh," he hushed Sheppard, watching his thumb press against those luscious lips. He wondered what would happen if he slipped his finger into Sheppard's mouth, whether Sheppard would suck it in or turn away in disgust. Instead he moved to trace a small scar just in the middle of Sheppard's lower lip, barely visible if not for the strange light that made the way it cut his lip in the middle so prominent.
Sheppard was standing so close now. Close enough that Lorne could feel his warm breath on his face. Somehow Lorne's hand was resting against the curve of Sheppard's jaw and his thumb still caressing Sheppard's lips.
The light became dimmer still, and it felt like he was inside a dream. In dreams everything was allowed. Lorne leaned in, slowly, watching Sheppard's closed eyes and starting to close his. He licked his lips and a tremor of excitement went through him.
But good dreams always ended too soon.
The light overhead suddenly flared to life, casting a too strong glare that hurt their eyes. The radio crackled to life and McKay's voice was heard. "Sheppard, is everything okay? The problem should be fixed."
Sheppard opened his eyes and look straight into Lorne's. Lorne could see the panic and horror seeping into him and felt the tightening of muscles where his hand now rested on Sheppard's arm. He was going to bolt.
Lorne grabbed his arm and held him still, seating him on the balcony's bench and checking the door. It worked perfectly fine. "McKay, this is Lorne. Power has returned to the north pier and everything is fine," he reported, turning his back on Sheppard to give them both time to regain their composure.
"Okay. That's good to hear. We'll be heading there to perform a system analysis and test for secondary damages in a minute," McKay said, more to himself than to Lorne, and no more chatter was heard.
Lorne turned to Sheppard. Everything was strange, but he forced all thought away until later. He needed to get this done with. "Sit here. I'll be finished in just a moment," he told Sheppard, showing him the rough sketch he had made in the dark. It still needed shading and refining, but it was near completion. It was somehow very important that he completed it.
Sheppard looked at the portrait with confusion and… disappointment? Did he think that Lorne was as gone to the intimacy as Sheppard was and was disappointed to be proven wrong? He wasn't far off, though Lorne knew that Sheppard hadn't even the first clue that Lorne was touching him in any way that was not professional. Emotions and arousal tended to cloud one's judgment like that.
Yet Lorne was very unprofessional and if the lights hadn't returned, he would've kissed Sheppard. Kissed for real, with lips and tongue and hands and everything.
"I need you to look at the southern pier now," Lorne instructed. "That's it. Raise your head a little… good. Tilt it to your left… good." Sheppard obediently did as he was told, and looked at the southern pier as if his life depended on it. Lorne couldn't really blame him. He worked in silence, feeling the thick tension like water-laden mist around them.
Twenty minutes after the power returned, Lorne released Sheppard.
####
Teyla was keeping John company in the mess hall when Major Lorne appeared. She was tired from the pregnancy and nauseous from the very smell of Earth's food. The smells of meat, especially an animal they called pork, of an assortment of milk-based sauces and dishes and of burnt coffee were making her mouth water in an unpleasant way.
John was just telling her of a famous golf game he participated in as a child, a fascinating story she was sure, when Major Lorne stopped by their table. He was dressed for a mission and the first thing Teyla noticed was that he was extremely nervous. In his hand he held a big manila envelope.
"Major, going to M2N-856?" John greeted casually. Teyla turned to look at him with surprise. Did he not notice the Major's discomfort? It was palpable.
"Yes, sir," Major Lorne replied. "We're heading out in five minutes. I just wanted to give you this, from yesterday," he handed John the envelope. Teyla expected John to comment about his behavior, maybe ask if he was sure he was alright and fit to go on a mission, but John remained silent and oblivious.
"What is it?" he asked, instead.
"Your portrait. I really have to go, sir. Enjoy your meal. Teyla," Major Lorne nodded to her and fled the room. That was what Teyla would call his actions.
She liked Major Lorne. He was always nice to her, especially now that she was pregnant, and was the first of the people of Earth to actually congratulate her whole-heartedly for it and sooth her fears. She knew that John was fond of him as well, but his behavior confused her.
She turned from looking after Major Lorne's retreating back to John, planning on asking him if something happened to the Major, but stopped. John was staring at a large piece of thick white paper with a huge smile on his face.
"Look," he said brightly. "My portrait. Lorne drew this. You should see his other works, that man has talent. I never really thought he could do this," John said proudly, still looking at the paper in front of him.
"Did you not believe him when he said that he could paint well?" Teyla inquired.
John looked at her with confusion in his eyes. "Uh… I believed him," he said, as if pulled from his thoughts. Teyla had a feeling that it was not only Major Lorne's painting skills that John doubted. She also found his pride in his portrait misplaced since he was not the artist and he was not in the habit of taking credit for other people's works, but seeing as they both knew who the artist really was she let it go.
She was once again about to approach the subject of Major Lorne's obvious discomfort and John's lack of reaction to it when he handed her the portrait.
In the portrait John was wearing his uniform shirt and was looking at the upper right corner of the page. His gaze was intense and firm. He seemed like he was about to step out of the portrait and walk through a wormhole to face a new adventure. The lines were at once soft and hard, fine and broad. John's face was full of little nuances that made his portrait as accurate as a picture taken with a camera, yet it was more than that. The drawing wasn't flattering in any way, nor was it crooked or distorted. It presented John at his best natural self.
The Athosians respected painting. Every child could scribble with a piece of charcoal on a stone, but it took real talent to paint people and scenery. Teyla's people believed that being painted by someone required the outmost trust in each other and in the friendship two people shared since a painting reflected the way the artist sees his model. It was drawn with the mind's eye as well as with the hand and it could not lie.
This painting told her only one thing. The person who drew it was very familiar with John, and felt for him deeply. The very fact that he managed to capture the intense look in John's eyes said it. He did not try to idolize John, make him younger or prettier or fiercer, but did not try to diminish him either. The flaws were depicted along with the perfections. He knew John's face intimately, depicted it with sure hands and long strokes of charcoal. Teyla's sharp eyes detected only a handful of deletions barely seen on the paper, pointing at a sure image the artist had in mind.
It was more than mere talent or respect. The person who drew John loved him very much.
The person who drew John was Major Lorne.
Was this why he was so uncomfortable? Because he knew that people could tell how he felt by looking at this astounding portrait? And most importantly, was John not aware of the Major's feelings?
"You're awfully quiet," John commented after a while. Teyla took her eyes off the painting.
"When was this drawn?" she asked.
"Yesterday, when we got stuck on a balcony together with no light. Lorne started painting me when the light was still on, but most of it he did in partial darkness," there was something in the way John held his body, something in the way his eyes shifted downwards and sideways for a second, that told her that something else had happened regarding that portrait.
"It is very nice," she said, almost absently. Had Major Lorne confessed his love and was rejected? John did not seem as embarrassed about his presence as he was when alien women tried to string a conversation with him after he rejected their advances.
Will he even reject the Major?
"Good," John said, startling her. "I'm going to look for a place to put it in my room. You want to come with me?" he asked, gesturing at the portrait.
"No, thank you. My feet hurt and I do not wish to walk at the moment," Teyla declined. She needed some time to think this over.
"Suit yourself," John said easily, leaving her behind. Like with Major Lorne, Teyla looked at John's retreating back until he was gone.
John had not expressed interest in alien women, or Earth women, for a long time now, Teyla was startled to realize. She remembered their first year as a team. John would eye every attractive female that crossed his way, and if he had time he would actively seek them out and talk to them. He usually got plenty of smiles and adoring looks, and even some… 'action', as Rodney so eloquently called it. However, it has been a while now since he went to any length to seek out company. He still looked after attractive women, but most of the time he would forget about them as soon as they were out of his sight.
Teyla did not notice it at the time. She had been preoccupied recently, with the disappearance of her people and Kanaan and the pregnancy, but now that she thought it over it seemed odd.
She tried to recall previous encounters between John and Major Lorne, and was astonished at what she could see in her mind's eye. John was always standing close to the Major, was always in contact with him in one way or another. She never noticed it because the touches were always friendly and light, well within Earth's social norms. But he did not do so with other people.
He was always around the gate room when Major Lorne's team embarked on or returned from a mission. Teyla knew it because she was often the one who walked the halls with him, talking to him and not really paying attention to where he was steering her. Even now she had no doubt that he was walking to his room via the control tower.
He gazed after Major Lorne whenever the Major left before him, and he always knew when Major Lorne entered the room. He remembered the brand of aftershave Major Lorne used. He was more playful when the Major was around. He was strangely proud of Major Lorne's portrait… no. It was not that he was proud of having his portrait painted as much as he was proud in the Major's skills, almost like a lover would be. He…
Did John harbor feelings for Major Lorne as well? He must be, but she was too in love with Kanaan around the time John stopped looking at others and was later too concerned about her people to see it.
John was not the type to sit idly by and wait. When he wanted something he usually went out of his way to have it. Then why was he not going after Major Lorne? It was obvious, from the drawing if not from anything else, that the Major returned his feelings.
Confused, Teyla decided she needed help. John was her friend, and if he was in love yet unable to act upon it she wanted to know why.
Rodney and Radek were sitting at a table alone and discussing something that involved, if Rodney's flailing hand was any indication, large circles and long pipes. "…log indicates that it would take a massive-"
"Gentlemen, may I sit with you?" Teyla interrupted the two arguing men. Rodney and Radek looked confused for a moment before realizing she was talking to them and about their table. Teyla wondered if being absent-minded was a quality all the scientists from Earth shared.
"Of course! Here, sit and I'll bring you some tea!" Radek said, pulling a chair for her and hurrying to the line to get the tea before she could tell him that she desired none. He meant well, she knew.
Rodney was looking at her apprehensively, as if she was a riddle he could not quite decipher. She knew that he found her pregnancy beyond him, and that it was this fact that was making him nervous.
"I come looking for assistance, Rodney," she said when Radek returned and poured her a cup of tea. She was relieved that it was Athosian tea and not the dark brand that the people of Earth seemed to like.
"Oh," Rodney looked surprised. "Of course," he said.
Teyla debated whether to mention John's name, but decided against it. She was there, after all, to find out about Earth's customs regarding coupling, and if there was some taboo that prevented John from going after Major Lorne then she did not wish to embarrass him.
"I was wondering if there are any restrictions or inhibitions in your society regarding marriage and coupling," she said, simply. Rodney and Radek exchanged bewildered looks.
"Actually there are many," Radek said slowly, pushing his glasses up his narrow nose. "You can't marry someone who's already married. You can't marry someone who's not of legal age-"
"Can't marry someone by force-" Rodney interjected.
"Can't marry someone who's dead-"
"Ew, Radek!"
"What? It's true!"
"Fine, fine, whatever. Um... you can't marry your first degree relatives-"
"Can't marry more then one person in most modern countries-"
"Can't marry fictional characters-"
"There are places where you can't marry someone whose religion is different than your own-"
"Oh, please!" Rodney wore one of his most degrading expressions. "That's a bad one," he said scathingly.
"Maybe it is, but it's also true. Christians and Jews can't marry, for example, according to the religious law!" Radek reproved him.
"The religious law is a joke. For all you know Jesus was a Prior and God was an Ori," Rodney snorted, and suddenly they both went silent and contemplative, shifting uncomfortably in their chairs.
"You know, Rodney, you scare me sometimes," Radek said uneasily.
Rodney looked equally disturbed. "I sometimes scare myself," he admitted reluctantly.
Teyla did not know what was said that caused both man such disquiet so she decided to bring the subject back on track, and give it a little nudge forward.
"What about gender restrictions?" she asked, drawing both men's attention to her.
"You mean homosexuality?" Radek asked, somewhat confused.
"Like she knows what that is. Did you mean same-sex relationships? Then the answer is that while it is not forbidden in modern countries, most of them don't allow two people of the same sex to get legally married," Rodney clarified. Now they were getting closer, and Teyla was relieved.
"But they can be together and form a relationship, do they not?" she asked.
"In Canada, yes. Where he comes from, it's still a crime," Rodney jerked his thumb at Radek, who shrugged helplessly.
"Are you a… homosexual, Radek?" Teyla asked. Rodney confused her with his stressing the differences between his country and Radek's.
Rodney snorted while Radek smiled and shook his head. "Him? Yeah, right. He's practically Casanova. Every chick in Atlantis has a phase where she thinks he's cute," he said derisively and, Teyla could tell, with no small amount of envy.
"What about the United States? Is it acceptable there?" Teyla continued to probe instead of lingering over her mistake, but she seemed to have run out of Rodney's patience.
"Yes, there too. But you know, it would be a lot easier if you'd simply asked us what you want to know," he said, impatient.
Teyla considered it for a moment. Then she decided to supply partial information. "I have seen two of the marines looking and behaving around each other in a manner that made it clear to me that they both have feelings for each other, yet they do not seem to act upon it. I was wondering why that is," she said, thinking and double-thinking every word. Even if the United States permitted such relationships, something must have kept John from pursuing Major Lorne, and it was not insecurity regarding Lorne's feelings. To her, it was clear as daylight.
"Ah," was all Radek and Rodney said.
"I'm sorry?"
"The Americans still haven't made significant progress since the middle ages, you see, though they certainly made more progress than his country," Rodney once again pointed at Radek, who was now starting to get upset. "Homosexuals aren't allowed to serve in the military. They get discharged with dishonor and their rights revoked, or they get thrown into jail, if they're discovered," he said. Teyla was horrified.
"Simply because a man preferrs male companions over females?" she asked, incredulous.
"See? Primitive societies are better at these kinds of things than our 'oh so advanced industrialized world'. Though Canada, of course, has long since allowed gays to serve openly in the military."
"My society is not primitive, Rodney!"
"Uh… right. Um… sorry."
"It's not entirely true, though," Radek said thoughtfully. "They now have that 'Don't Ask Don't Tell' business."
"And that is…?"
"A deliberate loophole they created in the military law. It dictates that no senior officer is allowed to ask you about your sex life and you are not allowed to volunteer information. That way, unless you get caught in the act, you can do whatever you want as long as you're discreet," Radek explained.
"If there is a loophole, why the two marines I saw do not use it?" Teyla asked. That loophole seemed very convenient. No one would ask John and Major Lorne about their actions since they were the two senior officers in Atlantis other than Colonel Carter, and to Teyla Colonel Carter seemed very open-minded.
"Uh…" Radek appeared to be thinking it over.
"Was one of them more senior than the other? Maybe a direct commanding officer?" Rodney asked. Radek suddenly looked sharply at Teyla, waiting for her answer.
"Yes. They are a commanding officer and a direct subordinate," she confirmed. Radek looked down at the table and Teyla suspected that he knew she was not talking about marines, but she dared not speak out loud.
"Oh. Then there are the regulations against fraternization, meaning against any kind of romantic involvement between commanders and subordinates," Rodney said. "It's actually one I agree with," he added. Teyla looked at him, surprised.
"You do?"
"Yes. It makes sense," Rodney argued.
"I do not understand how your people could possibly hope to contain human emotions with laws and regulations. It makes absolutely no sense," Teyla stressed.
"It doesn't say not to have feelings for people under your command, for example, but it does say that you shouldn't act upon them," Rodney explained, exasperated.
"Rodney, I disagree," Teyla said, disbelieving. Has Rodney learned nothing during his time in the Pegasus galaxy? How could he say such things? "Happiness is so sparse, and life is so short, that one must embrace whatever happiness life bestows upon him!" she told Rodney passionately.
"If it was any other situation I might've agreed," Rodney's voice broke slightly on the words. "But imagine that I'm your commanding officer and your lover, and now I need to send you on a suicide mission or a situation you can't possibly survive, in order to save the city. How would you feel? How would I feel? Or imagine that I'm your commanding officer and I'm injured and you need to go without me, how would you feel? Imagine that I would have to choose between your life and the lives of ten Athosians, or you between my life and the Athosians, how would you do that, huh? What about the fact that I love you and don't want to put you in a direct line of fire, how's that fair to the other soldiers under my command? How would I look as a commander then?" Rodney said heatedly.
Teyla bowed her head. She could not deny the justice of his words.
A/N: No one would be surprised if I said I don't really know how to paint, right?
Also on a different note - When I researched the subject I came across a list online of countries where homosexuality was illegal and the Czech Republic was in it. Since then I've checked Wikipedia and learned that it's been legal since the 70's and so please forgive my mistake but it still works well for the story.
