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Yes I finally finished something. I'm planning to do more on this, but as it seem stand alone now, figured I'd post while I'm ahead....
Author: Bounty
Title: If You Could Read My Mind
Rating: PG
Season: 2
Pairing: Weir/Ronon, but only a little.
Summary: Weir’s thoughts on meeting Ronon
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and its characters are © Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., the Sci Fi Channel, and Acme Shark. No infringement is intended. This story was created for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
Author notes: This is the beginning of a series I’m planning around Weir, and well a sort of crush I guess – lol. Feedback welcome. And hugs and chocolates to the YIM writer’s conference for putting up with my pasting ;)
“If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts could tell….” – Gordon Lightfoot.
Above all else, I consider myself an intellectual. Not a Rodney McKay I-know-it-all-and-you-don’t sort, but an intellectual nonetheless.
My entire life has been dedicated to finding peaceful resolutions between people groups I use reason, research, intelligent discussion. I don’t make snap judgments, I don’t jump to conclusions.
Truth be told, I tend to overanalyze pretty much any situation. But look where’s it’s taken me.
Atlantis. An ancient floating city. Aliens and earthlings living and working together. .
Okay so maybe there are some shiploads of life sucking aliens that eat humans for lunch, and the Genii with their unhealthy appetite for nuclear explosions, but nowhere is perfect.
The men in my life have always reflected my lifestyle; scientists, philosophers, artists, other dreamers like me, who hold the words of John Lennon as scripture. Imagine all the people, living in harmony…
Then Sheppard’s team returned through the ‘gate with Ronon Dex. With his matted dreadlocks, tattooed neck and necklace of wraith teeth, he is the antithesis of everything I have ever been attracted to in a man.
Not to mention the soap opera and low budget SciFi movie name. And I’m sure I’ve seen his likeness on the covers of at least a dozen bodice rippers. Not that I’d ever read that sort of thing…
The first I’d heard of him was when John requested Carson Beckett’s assistance with an injured man. I later learned that he had Dr Beckett removed a wraith tracking device from his shoulder, without anesthesia.
This was not a sensitive man.
Then I see him, standing there staring at the images the MALP was sending back from his homeworld. A smoking ruin of rubble. As he turns away I see the glint of tears in his eyes. And something inside me twists.
John is pleading with me to let him stay.
“Come on Elizabeth,” he says. “You’ve got to see this guy in action.” Apparently he’s a better shot than any of our airmen, who are supposed to be the cream of the crop of the US Air Force. “And he’s ex military.”
“Not our military,” I point out. Though it makes me wonder about ours…
“He’s got no place else to go.”
It’s hard to say no to John when he uses those puppy dog eyes.
“You’re just being charitable,” I say defensively.
“Am not,” John folds his arms. “I think he’d make a great addition to my team.”
His team which is down a man. I wince slightly. I know I’m losing this argument.
“But we don’t know anything about him,” I say.
“What’s to know?” John asks.
For starters how does he get his hair to do that…. But then I’ve also often wondered that about John. “Anything would be nice.” Conversation does not seem to be Ronon’s strong point. “He’s not very forthcoming.”
“He’s been running from the wraith for seven years, what do you expect?” John shakes his head. “Listen, just talk to the guy. You owe him that much.”
I sigh. He did save McKay. And will arguably be easier to get a word in edgewise with. “Okay.”
Ronon is of course in the gym. So far he’s spent all of his time in Atlantis either in the gym or in the mess hall. I stand outside and take a deep breath. Just talk to him, that’s all.
The doors open just in time for me to see Ronon grab the arm of the marine he is sparring with. In a fluid move he twists the marine’s arm behind his back. His other hand welds a very large, very jagged knife. He brings it to the marine’s throat and presses lightly, teeth bared. His arm muscles are glistening with sweat.
I feel the heat rush to my face and quickly look at the wall. “Ronon.” My voice comes out a croak. I swallow. “Could I have a word?” That comes out a bit stronger.
He releases the marine, and hands the knife to another one, who has been watching him with a look of wary respect on his face. He walks toward me and stands there looking at me. Waiting for me to speak.
I lift my head and relax my shoulders. Speaking slowly, in full emissary mode, I say, “I understand Sheppard has extended you an invitation to join his team.”
“Yeah,” Ronon shifts his weight slightly from one foot to the other.
“He was supposed to speak to me about that first.” I smile disarmingly.
He shrugs, absolutely no expression on his face. “Okay.”
I feel the sudden need to defend myself. “Look, it’s not as if I don’t trust you, or wouldn’t value any contribution that you would make if you do join us, it’s just that it’s, well, a rather big decision…” I’m rambling. I stop and wait for him to speak.
He just stares at me.
“Well how do you feel?” I ask, a bit impatient now.
“I’m thinkin’ about it.”
“Okay, good.” A whole sentence! I smile expansively. “I’m thinkin’ about it too. So I guess we’ll just keep in touch then?”
“Okay.”
He turns away from me and walks back to the marines, who are practicing the move he taught them on each other, and not nearly as smoothly.
“Okay,” I call after him.
As I leave the gym I reflect that if I were to ask him to teach me to fight, I might get more than one sentence. The very idea makes my neck ache. Rubbing it, I escape to my office.
John corners me later in the control room. “So,” he says, sidling up to me, “did you get a chance to talk to Ronon?”
Talk at him, more like. “Yes,” I answer. “Chatty fellow isn’t he.”
John rolls his eyes. “And?”
And the man scares me half to death. “He would be your responsibility.”
He grins. “I knew it! Knew you’d say yes.”
“I haven’t said yes,” I fold my arms.
“Well, you were about to.”
He’s giving me the puppy dog eyes again. I narrow my own at him, and think. I see Ronon in the gym, effortlessly ‘killing’ one of our men. I think how he could easily kill half of Atlantis before breakfast. I think that we want a weapon like that to be on our side. Then I remember his face when he saw his home, the tears in his eyes. Of course he can stay.
“Yes.”
~end~
Author: Bounty
Title: If You Could Read My Mind
Rating: PG
Season: 2
Pairing: Weir/Ronon, but only a little.
Summary: Weir’s thoughts on meeting Ronon
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and its characters are © Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., the Sci Fi Channel, and Acme Shark. No infringement is intended. This story was created for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
Author notes: This is the beginning of a series I’m planning around Weir, and well a sort of crush I guess – lol. Feedback welcome. And hugs and chocolates to the YIM writer’s conference for putting up with my pasting ;)
“If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts could tell….” – Gordon Lightfoot.
Above all else, I consider myself an intellectual. Not a Rodney McKay I-know-it-all-and-you-don’t sort, but an intellectual nonetheless.
My entire life has been dedicated to finding peaceful resolutions between people groups I use reason, research, intelligent discussion. I don’t make snap judgments, I don’t jump to conclusions.
Truth be told, I tend to overanalyze pretty much any situation. But look where’s it’s taken me.
Atlantis. An ancient floating city. Aliens and earthlings living and working together. .
Okay so maybe there are some shiploads of life sucking aliens that eat humans for lunch, and the Genii with their unhealthy appetite for nuclear explosions, but nowhere is perfect.
The men in my life have always reflected my lifestyle; scientists, philosophers, artists, other dreamers like me, who hold the words of John Lennon as scripture. Imagine all the people, living in harmony…
Then Sheppard’s team returned through the ‘gate with Ronon Dex. With his matted dreadlocks, tattooed neck and necklace of wraith teeth, he is the antithesis of everything I have ever been attracted to in a man.
Not to mention the soap opera and low budget SciFi movie name. And I’m sure I’ve seen his likeness on the covers of at least a dozen bodice rippers. Not that I’d ever read that sort of thing…
The first I’d heard of him was when John requested Carson Beckett’s assistance with an injured man. I later learned that he had Dr Beckett removed a wraith tracking device from his shoulder, without anesthesia.
This was not a sensitive man.
Then I see him, standing there staring at the images the MALP was sending back from his homeworld. A smoking ruin of rubble. As he turns away I see the glint of tears in his eyes. And something inside me twists.
John is pleading with me to let him stay.
“Come on Elizabeth,” he says. “You’ve got to see this guy in action.” Apparently he’s a better shot than any of our airmen, who are supposed to be the cream of the crop of the US Air Force. “And he’s ex military.”
“Not our military,” I point out. Though it makes me wonder about ours…
“He’s got no place else to go.”
It’s hard to say no to John when he uses those puppy dog eyes.
“You’re just being charitable,” I say defensively.
“Am not,” John folds his arms. “I think he’d make a great addition to my team.”
His team which is down a man. I wince slightly. I know I’m losing this argument.
“But we don’t know anything about him,” I say.
“What’s to know?” John asks.
For starters how does he get his hair to do that…. But then I’ve also often wondered that about John. “Anything would be nice.” Conversation does not seem to be Ronon’s strong point. “He’s not very forthcoming.”
“He’s been running from the wraith for seven years, what do you expect?” John shakes his head. “Listen, just talk to the guy. You owe him that much.”
I sigh. He did save McKay. And will arguably be easier to get a word in edgewise with. “Okay.”
Ronon is of course in the gym. So far he’s spent all of his time in Atlantis either in the gym or in the mess hall. I stand outside and take a deep breath. Just talk to him, that’s all.
The doors open just in time for me to see Ronon grab the arm of the marine he is sparring with. In a fluid move he twists the marine’s arm behind his back. His other hand welds a very large, very jagged knife. He brings it to the marine’s throat and presses lightly, teeth bared. His arm muscles are glistening with sweat.
I feel the heat rush to my face and quickly look at the wall. “Ronon.” My voice comes out a croak. I swallow. “Could I have a word?” That comes out a bit stronger.
He releases the marine, and hands the knife to another one, who has been watching him with a look of wary respect on his face. He walks toward me and stands there looking at me. Waiting for me to speak.
I lift my head and relax my shoulders. Speaking slowly, in full emissary mode, I say, “I understand Sheppard has extended you an invitation to join his team.”
“Yeah,” Ronon shifts his weight slightly from one foot to the other.
“He was supposed to speak to me about that first.” I smile disarmingly.
He shrugs, absolutely no expression on his face. “Okay.”
I feel the sudden need to defend myself. “Look, it’s not as if I don’t trust you, or wouldn’t value any contribution that you would make if you do join us, it’s just that it’s, well, a rather big decision…” I’m rambling. I stop and wait for him to speak.
He just stares at me.
“Well how do you feel?” I ask, a bit impatient now.
“I’m thinkin’ about it.”
“Okay, good.” A whole sentence! I smile expansively. “I’m thinkin’ about it too. So I guess we’ll just keep in touch then?”
“Okay.”
He turns away from me and walks back to the marines, who are practicing the move he taught them on each other, and not nearly as smoothly.
“Okay,” I call after him.
As I leave the gym I reflect that if I were to ask him to teach me to fight, I might get more than one sentence. The very idea makes my neck ache. Rubbing it, I escape to my office.
John corners me later in the control room. “So,” he says, sidling up to me, “did you get a chance to talk to Ronon?”
Talk at him, more like. “Yes,” I answer. “Chatty fellow isn’t he.”
John rolls his eyes. “And?”
And the man scares me half to death. “He would be your responsibility.”
He grins. “I knew it! Knew you’d say yes.”
“I haven’t said yes,” I fold my arms.
“Well, you were about to.”
He’s giving me the puppy dog eyes again. I narrow my own at him, and think. I see Ronon in the gym, effortlessly ‘killing’ one of our men. I think how he could easily kill half of Atlantis before breakfast. I think that we want a weapon like that to be on our side. Then I remember his face when he saw his home, the tears in his eyes. Of course he can stay.
“Yes.”
~end~
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From:
no subject
So, where's the football fic? Huh huh huh?
From:
no subject
At least after this weekend I'll know what teams to put in....
And started scribbling two more of these ones last nite during CSI commericals - lol
From:
no subject
But I do like the fact that you're scribbling fic notes during CSI. Hope you're planning a whumper. CSI is good for that.