Waylaid (by siria) (T)
Jul. 29th, 2019 12:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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stargateficrecShow: SGA
Rec Category: Het fic
Characters: Teyla Emmagan/Rodney McKay
Categories: F/M
Warnings: Nil. Minor OC death in the excerpt below.
Author on DW:siria
Author's Website: See the AO3
Link: Waylaid on AO3
Why This Must Be Read: Mostly this is a "stranded off-world" fic where Rodney and Teyla survive a jumper crash then have to find the Stargate, but there's also a gently developing relationship between them that underlies their adventures. Siria's a lovely writer who tells the tale well, with great characterisation. An excellent read, and a nice reminder of the well-named sticks and snark LJ community of days gone by.
On the evening of the fifth day, they had to bury the sergeant. Teyla wrapped a clean cloth around his head, letting white cotton hide the worst of his injuries, all the bright, bruised places where his face had collided with the console during the crash landing; then Rodney helped her to dig the grave and lower the body into it, swaddled in a tarpaulin they had found in the back of the jumper.
When they had smoothed the last handful of earth back in place over the grave and Rodney had placed a small makeshift marker on it that gave the man's name and rank and the date of his death, Rodney turned to her and said, "I didn't."
Teyla knew him well enough to wait.
After a moment's fidgeting, he said, "I didn't know him very well. Jimenez, I mean. Not at all, really. And I don't know if he was Catholic or Protestant or Buddhist or, or Jedi—I mean, I don't know what his religion was, or if he had one at all, or if he had a family, or what he would have wanted me to say or do. And it doesn't, it's not like I believe in all that histrionic religious mumbo-jumbo? But it doesn't feel right to just leave him here, without—we were the last ones with him and I don't know, I—"
"I know, Rodney," Teyla said quietly, reaching out to take his hands in hers, feeling how they too were covered with the dark, sticky soil of this planet, and how Rodney's skin felt cool and clammy beneath it. He fell silent, and after a moment, she began to sing, one of the slow, measured songs that were meant for mourning and farewell. She could not know if Mark Jimenez would have appreciated it any more than Rodney did—she had known him only in passing before this mission, nodded at him in Atlantis' hallways and learned his name only when he was already dying—but she knew for whose comfort she was singing.
Rec Category: Het fic
Characters: Teyla Emmagan/Rodney McKay
Categories: F/M
Warnings: Nil. Minor OC death in the excerpt below.
Author on DW:
siria Author's Website: See the AO3
Link: Waylaid on AO3
Why This Must Be Read: Mostly this is a "stranded off-world" fic where Rodney and Teyla survive a jumper crash then have to find the Stargate, but there's also a gently developing relationship between them that underlies their adventures. Siria's a lovely writer who tells the tale well, with great characterisation. An excellent read, and a nice reminder of the well-named sticks and snark LJ community of days gone by.
On the evening of the fifth day, they had to bury the sergeant. Teyla wrapped a clean cloth around his head, letting white cotton hide the worst of his injuries, all the bright, bruised places where his face had collided with the console during the crash landing; then Rodney helped her to dig the grave and lower the body into it, swaddled in a tarpaulin they had found in the back of the jumper.
When they had smoothed the last handful of earth back in place over the grave and Rodney had placed a small makeshift marker on it that gave the man's name and rank and the date of his death, Rodney turned to her and said, "I didn't."
Teyla knew him well enough to wait.
After a moment's fidgeting, he said, "I didn't know him very well. Jimenez, I mean. Not at all, really. And I don't know if he was Catholic or Protestant or Buddhist or, or Jedi—I mean, I don't know what his religion was, or if he had one at all, or if he had a family, or what he would have wanted me to say or do. And it doesn't, it's not like I believe in all that histrionic religious mumbo-jumbo? But it doesn't feel right to just leave him here, without—we were the last ones with him and I don't know, I—"
"I know, Rodney," Teyla said quietly, reaching out to take his hands in hers, feeling how they too were covered with the dark, sticky soil of this planet, and how Rodney's skin felt cool and clammy beneath it. He fell silent, and after a moment, she began to sing, one of the slow, measured songs that were meant for mourning and farewell. She could not know if Mark Jimenez would have appreciated it any more than Rodney did—she had known him only in passing before this mission, nodded at him in Atlantis' hallways and learned his name only when he was already dying—but she knew for whose comfort she was singing.
