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kat_lairTitle: Cartography
Author: Mistress Kat /![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kat_lair
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Category: Gen, drabble-series, character studies
Rating: PG
Word count: 5 x 100
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing.
Summary: Five snapshots placed within Season For All Things
Author notes: Sweet Charity drabbles fordfledermaus. Beta duty by slash4femme and trialia - many thanks ladies!
Cartography
North
Ronon is the last to fall asleep. Even Dr. Beckett has dozed off, his head resting on a pile of paperwork. The sickbay is quiet and calm, the lights of the monitors blinking like stars on a cloudy night.
It’s difficult to convince his body to relax. Every time there’s a noise, Ronon feels himself tense, eyes straining in the darkness, looking for the enemy.
He’s had to unlearn many things since coming to Atlantis: habits from his old life that don’t fit well into his new one. But this – watching, keeping guard – is one he doesn’t want to forget.
West
This is the bit Rodney loves most, maybe even more than showing off the end product to an awed audience, thought that’s pretty good too.
But the beginning, when there’s nothing but the problem, just Rodney and millions of questions swimming around him like silver fish, and all he has to do is grab one, turn it over, cast a net and find the answer...
Moments like that, he can see it all; infinite combinations of infinite choices, universe stretching on forever. And nothing is impossible, nothing.
That’s the best part, standing on the precipice and knowing you can fly.
South
John wipes the condensation off the bathroom mirror, startled to find he’s smiling. Drops of water are running down his neck, over the bruise on his shoulder. His muscles ache with that deep, vaguely pleasant pain that comes from an honest day’s work. There are blisters already forming on his palms.
Today no one got killed, not because of John and not in spite of him either. Today, the only thing John had to wash off his hands was dirt and dust.
He stays there for a long time, naked and grateful, looking his own reflection square in the eye.
East
She is still up when the dawn breaches the horizon pale and fearless. The fires have grown low and around her people sleep undisturbed, curled into pairs and groups like seeds in the field.
Underneath her the ground is packed tight and hard by countless steps. When Teyla presses her hand against it she can already feel the approaching change of seasons.
For the first time in too long, the inevitability of it doesn’t fill her with dread. Everything, everyone, she loves is within touching distance and every new day is as much a possibility as it is a struggle.
Origin of Coordinates
Morning hits the spiral towers first, light spilling over the domes and bridges like a promise, an affirmation: this city is forever. It is the edge and the centre, a moving constant in the intersection of time and space, whole in itself but filled only by others.
It does not think and it does not feel. But poised between the sea and the stars, Atlantis keeps the lives given in its service and it remembers. Every breath taken, every heartbeat long stilled, and every life, burning bright and furious – all are safe and endless like grains in an hour glass.
Author: Mistress Kat /
kat_lairFandom: Stargate Atlantis
Category: Gen, drabble-series, character studies
Rating: PG
Word count: 5 x 100
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing.
Summary: Five snapshots placed within Season For All Things
Author notes: Sweet Charity drabbles for
dfledermaus. Beta duty by slash4femme and trialia - many thanks ladies!Cartography
North
Ronon is the last to fall asleep. Even Dr. Beckett has dozed off, his head resting on a pile of paperwork. The sickbay is quiet and calm, the lights of the monitors blinking like stars on a cloudy night.
It’s difficult to convince his body to relax. Every time there’s a noise, Ronon feels himself tense, eyes straining in the darkness, looking for the enemy.
He’s had to unlearn many things since coming to Atlantis: habits from his old life that don’t fit well into his new one. But this – watching, keeping guard – is one he doesn’t want to forget.
West
This is the bit Rodney loves most, maybe even more than showing off the end product to an awed audience, thought that’s pretty good too.
But the beginning, when there’s nothing but the problem, just Rodney and millions of questions swimming around him like silver fish, and all he has to do is grab one, turn it over, cast a net and find the answer...
Moments like that, he can see it all; infinite combinations of infinite choices, universe stretching on forever. And nothing is impossible, nothing.
That’s the best part, standing on the precipice and knowing you can fly.
South
John wipes the condensation off the bathroom mirror, startled to find he’s smiling. Drops of water are running down his neck, over the bruise on his shoulder. His muscles ache with that deep, vaguely pleasant pain that comes from an honest day’s work. There are blisters already forming on his palms.
Today no one got killed, not because of John and not in spite of him either. Today, the only thing John had to wash off his hands was dirt and dust.
He stays there for a long time, naked and grateful, looking his own reflection square in the eye.
East
She is still up when the dawn breaches the horizon pale and fearless. The fires have grown low and around her people sleep undisturbed, curled into pairs and groups like seeds in the field.
Underneath her the ground is packed tight and hard by countless steps. When Teyla presses her hand against it she can already feel the approaching change of seasons.
For the first time in too long, the inevitability of it doesn’t fill her with dread. Everything, everyone, she loves is within touching distance and every new day is as much a possibility as it is a struggle.
Origin of Coordinates
Morning hits the spiral towers first, light spilling over the domes and bridges like a promise, an affirmation: this city is forever. It is the edge and the centre, a moving constant in the intersection of time and space, whole in itself but filled only by others.
It does not think and it does not feel. But poised between the sea and the stars, Atlantis keeps the lives given in its service and it remembers. Every breath taken, every heartbeat long stilled, and every life, burning bright and furious – all are safe and endless like grains in an hour glass.