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Happy Birthday, Lolmac!

Well, my muse, who has been a bit snippy lately, finally came up with something, resulting in the following conversation:


MUSE: Oh? That's all? Just "Oh"?

THOTHMES: Ummm... Not that I'm not grateful, but you see it's lolmac's birthday. This would have been perfect for fignewton, or maybe aurora_novarum, but -

MUSE: You are soooo whiny and demanding. You asked for a fic. Is this not a fic?

THOTHMES: But lolmac has such a lovely sense of humor that I was hoping that -

MUSE: Look, take it or leave it, but if you think I'm going to keep hanging around working my pen to the nib for someone who doesn't appreciate all I do for her...

THOTHMES: Thank you very much. You've been very helpful. May I have the fic now please?

MUSE: That's better. So long. Next time, even if you can't afford the hekatombs, at least a chicken, okay? Aesculapius gets those alllll the time. He's still crowing over the one from Socrates...

So here you are, lolmac. A fic. Not the funny one I wanted to offer (and Muse doesn't do MacGyver, for unexplained reasons of her own, so that was right out!), but nonetheless fic,to honor all the time you've touched me with your clever sense of humor. May your birthday (what was and what's left of it) be joyous and a chance to fill the batteries with energy of laughter for all the adventures yet to come!

Title: Touching
Season: After Atlantis Season 5
Warnings: None. Gen. Clean. Well, maybe if 'ya didn't know they went to -595, and feel horribly spoiled now...
Synopsis: Carter's the one in command now, but being Carter, she can't help thinking...
Disclaimer: Like all my fanfics, I'm not making money, I don't stake claims to the characters, but I love to mess with 'em. Don't worry, I'll put 'em back all nice and clean.


Sam Carter stood up from the command chair on the Hammond, and began pacing, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. All three of the SGC's generals had told her, at one time or another that it was always the waiting that was the hardest part, and although she had believed them wholeheartedly at the time, now she was beginning to understand viscerally. There was nothing to do, and would be nothing to do until the tech crew took the measurements and made the transmissions compatible with the local technology, and then and only then would she be able to begin to negotiate for the release of her missing crew members. Westerholm's suggestion that they forgo the video exchange, and do this all by radio had merit. It would be faster, but Sam remembered Daniel's lectures on the importance of body language in negotiations, and she wanted every bit of advantage she could get. Negotiations were Daniel's strength, not hers, but she was the captain, they wanted the person in charge, and that was her. Not for the first time, she missed her team.

Two paces left, turn, two paces right, turn. Two paces left, turn, two paces right, turn...

Speaking of Daniel and body language, why had she suddenly adopted his? She could see him in a thousand stressful situations, doing what she did now, hugging himself as he paced and planned the words he would use. Was it because she wanted to draw on his skills? It was not a posture of strength. She deliberately dropped her hands to her side, and swung them, taking care not to be careless and touch either of the crew members seated before her as she passed them. The urge to curl her arms up again was strong.

Then it came to her. She knew why she wanted to wrap arms around herself.

On -595, when the natives had appeared rising from the forest undergrowth like Tok'ra from the sand, everyone had raised weapons, and not knowing yet (this was, after all their very first trip through the gate after the unsuccessful attempt to rescue Sha're and Skaa'ra from Chulak) whether they could make themselves understood, the Colonel had told Daniel, "Do your thing, Daniel. Tell 'em we come in peace!" and sent him forward with a pat on the shoulder. He did the same thing with her when he would send her to talk tech with the locals or explain the gathering of samples. A subtle near-push to the small of her back to send her on her way. His way of saying "Go ahead. I've got your back."

Teal'c got a handshake. Less the valedictory of a superior, and more the parting of equals. But then Teal'c had put in enough years as a warrior to earn retirement with full pension in the USAF before the Colonel - the General now - was out of diapers. Teal'c accepted Jack O'Neill's command, and the airman returned trust with trust, holding the reins of command lightly in his hands.

She'd forged her commandatorial style from the things she'd learned from Jack O'Neill and George Hammond, and when she had commanded SG-1 she could remember now sending Daniel forth with a soft hand to his forearm. When she herself had been the one to speak up, Teal'c was always there, by her side or just behind, the massive gravity of his presence as tactile and present as if he were actually touching her. Indeed (she smiled here at unconsciously using his favorite word) if things got tense, he usually had her back so closely that she could feel the heat of him through her BDU.

She hadn't noticed during her command on Atlantis, perhaps because the city was vast, airy, and (for the most part) light, and in her work she was generally surrounded by friendlies, not foes, but here in the cramped quarters of the ship the unwritten rule was obvious. No one touches the leader. How many times had she seen Jack O'Neill stiffen and recoil from the touch of someone like Felger who was blind to the social niceties of body language and dominance? She'd recoiled like that herself, and in the restricted space of the ship she could remember a few times a crew member had performed a bit of a dance to clear out of her way. There would be no one here to steady her and send her on her way with a touch.

Two paces left, turn, two paces right, turn. Two paces left, turn, two paces right, turn...

She looked down at herself, arms hugged to her chest...

Oh, for crying out loud!

"Uhhhh..., Ma'am?"


"That tune?"


"When I think of you, I touch myself?"

Blushing. Dammit! I'm blushing!

[*ahem*] "Ear worm, lieutenant. The only way to get rid of them that I know is to sing ... ah...hum it out."

"Yes, Ma'am. I understand, Ma'am."

Whew! Dodged that one!

Then she sent her arms to her sides and straightened her posture, stepping unconsciously into parade rest, as Sgt. Morrison let her know the link was up, and the negotiations began.


Oct. 25th, 2010 06:43 am (UTC)
Actually I think that it's Muse that's putting words (or at least words for actions) in Aesculapius' mouth. I think Aesculapius is happy that his product pleased Socrates, and eased his passage.

I don't intend to go anywhere near the draft of hemlock. Ever. And if the government made me, I'd whine and tantrum and develop intractable lockjaw. I certainly wouldn't wax philosophical about it, but then I've always suspected that Xenophon glossed over the really difficult or awkward moments.

My husband and I have a deal. We're going to die (of natural causes) together, in our sleep at the age of 208. That's our story, and we're stickin' to it.

I've always thought of Socrates, and of the way Greek women were more or less chattel, cooped in their homes weaving - and we won't even get into the lives of the Helots in Sparta - when people wax poetic about Greek democracy.

I rather suspect that a weeks worth of MacDonalds' beef slaughter would entitle me to a decade's worth of NaNoWriMo output if I could only convince Muse that it's all for her. All she need do is bend over those Golden Arches, and smell the fat burning!

You're smart!
Oct. 31st, 2010 05:25 am (UTC)
when people wax poetic about Greek democracy
YES!! thank you! that always bugged the HELL out of me in school. 'everyone got to vote' err, exCUSE me?? between women and slaves, your 'every' is a mighty f-ing shameful section of the population



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