Fic: Athosian For Beginners (Rodney/Teyla, 1/2)
Hi! I'm not dead! Also: fic!
Title: Athosian For Beginners
Pairing: Rodney/Teyla
Rating: PG (alas!)
Length: ~11,000 words
Summary: She knew what was happening, but it was impossible. Like suddenly knowing, The sun won't rise in the morning. Gravity doesn't work. The Wraith don't mean any harm...
A/N: Written for empressvesica's sticksandsnark prompt(s), which included Teyla discovering something about Rodney, Rodney giving Teyla a gift, and Teyla's fears. I hope the combination satisfies!
A/N2: Huge thanks to siriaeve, wychwood, and in fact my roommate for vast amounts of beta and translation help. (ETA: And trobadora for the save!) A warning: this story mucks about with a certain, unspoken piece of canon, but hopefully in a way that's not too terribly distressing to anyone. Also, in this fic, the role of the English language will be played by German, so my apologies to all my German readers. All mistakes are very, very much mine.
Athosian For Beginners
PART I
Teyla wasn't proud of it, but in the years she had known him, and worked with him, and listened to him, she had gotten pretty good at tuning Rodney out.
It wasn't that she didn't respect or care for him; she did, very much. It was that most of what he said had a tendency to blur into something like this:
"Long and highly technical explanation of something pertaining to physics and/or Ancient technology punctuated by heavy sighs and comments about the sad lack of intelligence among those listening; smirking reference to Earth culture that only John will get, and will spend the next ten minutes riffing on even after trying and failing to explain to herself and Ronon what is so hilariously funny about, say, 'Atari'; extensive list of physical complaints, ponderings, and worries; random comment about someone's breasts (though honestly, within her hearing, never hers); 'Teyla, hold this'; the Nobel Prize and why I, Rodney McKay, deserve it; reasons Sheppard is stupid and annoying; reasons Ronon is stupid and annoying; reasons everyone in the universe is stupid and annoying; reasons Sam Carter is stupid, annoying, and incredibly hot and brilliant; food; we're all going to die; cats: the only worthwhile companions; and, 'Shit! Run!'"
So Teyla had learned to latch onto the important parts ("Teyla," "Run!") while vaguely scanning the rest. She would feel bad about it, but she'd caught Rodney surreptitiously writing an e-mail under the table the last time she had (at Ronon's request!) started to describe a few of Athos' more interesting geographical features. At least she tried to smile and look attentive when Rodney (not to mention some of their more long-winded trading partners) went on about "various substances I have at times been allergic to" or "girls who were totally into me. Really!" for what felt like hours.
They were having dinner now, and Teyla was aware of Rodney speaking and making animated gestures with his fork; she was aware of John nodding along, a slightly sly smile curling across his face; she was aware of Ronon chewing vigorously while suppressed laughter crinkled the corner of his eyes; she was aware that the chicken was undercooked, and that she was content. She felt there, in the moment, even though she wasn't necessarily listening to every word.
So when suddenly Rodney went from making his usual odd, approximate, Rodney-sort-of-sense to making no sense at all, she noticed it instantly. Like a switch had been flicked, mid-sentence: Rodney was talking, saying nothing that particularly interested her but that she could nevertheless understand, and then...it was like he was speaking in a foreign language.
Rodney didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong. Neither did John: he laughed, then opened his mouth to add a counterpoint. Only what came out sounded like gibberish, too. Teyla felt a rush of panic, then pushed it down. There might be something wrong with her, but it would be okay. It was not a Wraith thing. It had nothing to do with her DNA.
It was almost a relief to see Ronon leaning forward and frowning. "Sheppard," he said, and then there were more words, but they were likewise lost to her. John and Rodney stopped talking. More significantly, Rodney set his fork down. John turned to her. "Teyla...?"
"I can't understand you," she said. She could see the worry in their faces though, the panic; she felt it herself. She knew what was happening. But it was impossible. Like suddenly knowing, The sun won't rise in the morning. Gravity doesn't work. The Wraith don't mean any harm...
Something had happened to the translators. She couldn't wrap her head around it, but she knew it must be true. The translators were such a fact of life: like the Ancestors' rings, like the Wraith. So omnipresent that even as a sensible adult you forgot sometimes that these things were not permanent, that they too could be damaged.
But unlike the Wraith or the system of gates, she had never even imagined that the entire translation network could go down.
John and Rodney looked like they had never considered it, either. John had pushed back his chair abruptly, at the same time tapping his com; she understood "Elizabeth?" and nothing else. But she knew the routine, was part of the team enough to know where they were all going. They got up and went to the conference room. Elizabeth and, a few minutes later, Radek, met them there.
Teyla always appreciated being included in these meetings, while at the same time she disliked the feeling-hers? theirs?-that it was a privilege she was being afforded. She knew she was a valued member of the Lantean community, and of John's team; she considered them all friends, and knew they felt likewise. But she was still not from Earth, not quite one of them. They all did the best they could, but simple facts could not be changed.
Even when Teyla felt she herself had nothing to contribute, she could always listen, and weigh each side of an argument, make up her own mind-to discuss with Ronon or Elizabeth or John later, or even just to keep to herself. Now the conversation buzzed around her but she felt totally removed. Everyone's eyes darted to her or to her and Ronon periodically, but it was like they were behind a glass wall. In a different room.
Worse, they were separated from each other, too. Ronon was not a big talker, but he could be very funny, there with a quick aside when the mood struck him. Now he spoke to her, a short quick sentence, but his rolling sounds were as alien to her as the strange, guttural speech the Terrans were now producing. Was that English? Teyla found she was somewhat disappointed.
Ronon shrugged and raised an eyebrow at her. At least he was still gifted at communicating without words.
"...Wir müssen herausfinden, wie umfassend dieses Ereignis ist. Wir können zum Lager der Athosianer gehen, Teyla?"
Hearing words she knew, she looked up. John was gesturing between the two of them and their other two teammates. "Wir," he said. "Gehen." He made a circle with his other hand and put the "wir" finger through it. "Wir gehen."
Teyla waited patiently while several people in several languages made what were sure to be the obvious sex jokes.
She nodded. "We can go to my people's settlement," she agreed, fairly sure that she was deducing John's poor sign language skills correctly. "We can find out if the problem is localized." I can talk to somebody, she quietly prayed.
Elizabeth frowned and expressed to John what were probably some safety concerns. John, typically, waved them away by smiling a lot. Teyla realized that she knew this script so well she almost didn't need a coherent soundtrack.
The mission was approved. Radek scurried off to do something technical. Elizabeth stopped Teyla on her way out the door. She gestured between them, made a motion by her mouth to indicate speech. Teyla nodded; she understood. She had already known that if there was a problem, Elizabeth would do her best to try to talk with her about it.
*
They gated to the Alpha site, where Jinto greeted her with a wonderfully coherent, incoherent ramble about the house he was helping to build and the huge vegetables he had grown and the game he and Wex had invented that, as far as Teyla could discern, had something to do with climbing trees and throwing rocks at one's friends. Teyla laughed; John and Ronon looked puzzled; Rodney looked about as afraid as he would had they been greeted a small troop of hostile Genii, or a somewhat lazy and already pleasantly full Wraith. "Where's your father?" Teyla asked.
Jinto frowned. "He's in a meeting. Traders came from Eishan only they talk like this now." He made a series of mangled noises. "They're trying to figure out what's wrong."
Widespread then; Teyla wasn't sure whether that was better or worse. Worse, probably; it would certainly make interplanetary trade difficult, and cooperation on a larger scale-the kind of cooperation that she was beginning to think might be the only way of defeating the Wraith-nigh impossible.
"Can you go get him?" she asked. "Tell him we have information about what's going on."
Jinto did not seem sufficiently intrigued; he had almost lost interest in her entirely and was beaming at John. "How long are you staying? Do you want to see my new knife? Will you tell us a story?"
John was smiling hesitantly, like he was being forced to explain something inappropriate and potentially embarrassing that he had done. "Ich kann dich nicht verstehen, Kleiner."
Jinto stared. He looked like he'd just been told that while the Ancestors were supposed to come back someday, it probably wouldn't be next week, in time for his birthday.
"Them too?" He clearly did not like lumping in cool people like Colonel Sheppard with boring old traders like the Eishans.
"Has your father ever told you about the translators?"
Jinto frowned. "Kinda."
That meant no. Teyla put a guiding hand on Jinto's shoulder and started walking toward the settlement, motioning with her head for her teammates to follow. "Since the Ancestors scattered the first peoples on many worlds, we have all grown up speaking different languages. But the Ancestors wanted us to be able to work together, to understand each other, so when they built the gates they created a network to translate all the different tongues." She was not sure how much of this she still believed. Until today, the translators had been no more than a highly probable theory passed around and generally agreed upon from world to world; their very absence now confirmed them, made them real. As for the Ancestors and their intentions...she was not stupid nor sentimental, and she had seen too much on Atlantis to still believe them gods, or even benevolent.
But Jinto didn't need to know any of that. He looked at her with wide eyes. "And it's stopped working?"
"Yes. But we're going to fix it."
They had reached the dwelling Halling had built for himself; it looked well, Teyla was pleased to note. Jinto went in to fetch his father. In the brief lull, Teyla turned to her teammates and tried to figure out a way to convey the small but vital piece of information she had gathered. "It's not just us," she said, gesturing at them and shaking her head, then stretching her neck to look at the heavens and gesturing broadly. "It's everyone."
Rodney made a couple cranky noises. Teyla was willing to bet they amounted to, "Oh. Great."
"Teyla!" Halling came out and Teyla gratefully touched her forehead to his. "Jinto tells me the Terrans are afflicted with the same problem."
"We all are," Teyla said. "It seems the translators are real, and they have stopped working."
Halling nodded. "Yes, that could be a theory."
Teyla bit her lip to suppress a frown. "What else would you suggest?"
"Well," said Halling, first making sure that Jinto was not in hearing distance. "It could be a punishment. From the Ancestors."
He looked genuinely concerned. It was not right, Teyla thought, for her to be angry with him, just because she herself was disenchanted. "I do not think they would punish us, Halling." No, they were too indifferent. "Or that they have anything to punish us for."
Halling glanced briefly at John, though his eyes were without heat. "Perhaps we have made questionable alliances."
Unfortunately, Teyla thought, he was right-more than he knew. But his gaze was misdirected, and anyway, that was not the issue here. She repeated what she had told Jinto. "We'll figure out how to fix it."
"You will join me in praying to the Ancestors?" Halling asked, and for a second, it seemed like a non sequitur. Teyla took a deep breath. Language was not being kind to her today.
She avoided it: shaking her head, declining. "I wish you luck," she told him. She realized she was turning to leave and felt foolish; they had only just got here. "Have you managed to learn anything from the Eishan traders?"
"They seem to think the end of the world is upon us," Halling said, smiling a little. Teyla laughed, relieved. Pleased that they could still share a little bit of gallows humor, that old Athosian specialty.
"You will of course stay with us until this is resolved," Halling said.
"I-" Teyla faltered. She hadn't even thought of that, but in a way, it was the logical thing to do. These were her people; they could understand her. What good would she do in Atlantis, silent and strange, marked more than ever as different, as not one of them?
"I-I can't," she said finally, annoyed at the slight stutter, but firmly aware of her reasons. "They need me. And Ronon-" She looked back and saw him standing there, doing a poor job of pretending to look engaged, an expression she knew well from meditation lessons. "Ronon's people are all gone; I can't leave him alone."
"He can stay, too." It was an offer Halling had extended before, graciously.
"I'm sorry."
Teyla was. She said her goodbyes, promising Halling that she would come back immediately if she changed her mind, and in return getting his promise that he would let her know if he discovered anything. He wished her luck in the same tone she had offered it to him: well-meant but disbelieving.
They drifted back toward the gate, Teyla feeling unmoored. She hadn't been lying when she said she felt a duty to Ronon to stay, to endure equally whatever he was enduring. But it was more than that. More even than a distant hope that she would actually be of use in what was likely to be a mostly technical crisis, and more than simple loyalty to her teammates, to her friends.
They paused when they reached the gate, Rodney apparently anxious to make some examination of its structure, and that of the DHD. While he poked around, John ambled over to her. He began again a serious of somewhat convoluted gestures; even when he actually tried, communication was not his strong suit.
She understood his general meaning, however. "Thank you, but no. I'd rather be on Atlantis."
It sounded too loud, like too much of a proclamation among everyone else's muddled words. Just like back at the settlement, she realized, the sound of all her firm wes: We'll figure it out, she had said. She had not meant her and Halling.
John, unthinking and thus much more articulate, gave her a skeptical, somewhat worried look. She smiled at him in a way she knew he understood: reassuring; slightly false.
She watched as Rodney, grousing and pressing a hand to his back, allowed himself to be lifted to his feet by Ronon before entering Atlantis' address into the DHD. John touched her shoulder, lightly, then quickly dropped his hand away. Teyla straightened her shoulders and let the Ancestors' ring take her home.
PART II
Teyla had always been a self-sufficient person; even as a little girl she had understood that she was in some way set apart, made to stand alone. In part it was her mother's death, in part the few words her father bestowed upon her in between his frequent absences. In part it was the example of Charin, who radiated independence even after she could no longer walk on her own. And of course, it was in part-in large part-herself: her gift, her Wraith heritage.
It was not so bad, then, this period of odd, wordless isolation. In the mornings she got up; she showered and stretched. Training she could do without words, so she did lots of it: fighting with Marines, the thuds of their backs hitting the mat and their swears-the ones they rather stupidly thought she couldn't understand-being entirely universal, and entirely satisfying. She would fight with John and Ronon, too, although this she enjoyed less because she missed their banter: John's constant and playful, Ronon's sporadic and sly. She won even more often than usual, however, now that they lacked the tools to distract her.
After another shower and a nice lunch, she and Elizabeth would attempt their mutual language lessons. It was tough going: Elizabeth had training, but circumstances where both parties were without any kind of outside guide were foreign to each of them. She often heard Elizabeth sigh, "Something something something, Daniel Jackson." In fact, many of the expedition's members could at times be heard making what could only be interpreted as longing requests for Dr. Jackson. Teyla got some pleasure out of translating these in her head. "Whither Daniel Jackson?" "If only we had the vast body of knowledge belonging to Daniel Jackson!" "I would give this entire city for but a moment in the presence of the inimitable Daniel Jackson!"
This of course culminated the only way it could, with a loud declaration of annoyance from Rodney. Teyla was pretty sure it came down to, "Enough about Daniel Jackson already!"
Anyway, pleas aside, Daniel Jackson could not be summoned as he was otherwise occupied, dealing with some other crisis in his own galaxy. Teyla felt a mixture of annoyance and sympathy.
Mostly, though, she felt lonely, alone. It shamed her a little: that in the middle of meditating, a time when she should be relishing the peace and quiet and lack of interruptions, she would have to break off, pause, and reassure herself that she was really still here. She'd once told Kate-when she could still talk to Kate-that when she wasn't dreaming that she saw her hideous Wraith-self staring back from the mirror, she had dreams of becoming invisible, of fading right away. Like a special sort of culling: the white beams coming down, silently, silently, and taking her away from the place she pretended to call home. Sweeping her up for the swallowing, for the welcoming back to the fold.
She was walking back to her quarters, sweaty from a workout and chiding herself for such dark thoughts, when she heard Rodney call her name. She turned and saw him jogging up, and for a wonderful second she thought he'd come to tell her that he'd fixed it. But what came out of his mouth was still that unwelcome, guttural speech; it had gotten so she could hardly stand the sound. "Sag etwas, sag etwas! Hier-na los!"
She raised an eyebrow at him. He lifted the device, impatiently-a datapad he had in some way modified. She took his meeting and spoke into the area he indicated. "I hope this works, Rodney."
It did not, apparently, work. Rodney looked down at the screen and swore-cursing being one of the few forms of expression she could consistently translate. Then he was stomping off again, tread much heavier than it had been mere moments before.
She wondered what he was working on. While she was drying her hair, it occurred to her that he might be attempting to invent his own translation device, a replacement for the broken or damaged (or sabotaged-had anyone thought of that? She would try to find a way to ask John) network. She hoped not. They needed the network. The people of Pegasus needed to unify; they needed to stand together, not let themselves become isolated and alone.
Whatever Rodney was doing, he did not give up. He started coming to her once or twice a day with new devices or modifications to try; Teyla suspected he found her less intimidating than Ronon. Often he had something he wanted her to speak into; another time he wanted her to enter text into a keyboard that no longer entirely made sense to her. Once he seemed to want to put something down her ear canal; her "NO!" was luckily vehement enough to make sense in any language. (Interestingly, so was Rodney's pout.)
She had by this time, of course, picked up some English from her slow, careful lessons with Elizabeth. As much as she hated sounding like an awkward child, she found she was so desperately, pathetically starved for conversation that she made an effort to speak with him, proclaiming, "Hello, Rodney. How are you?" in the harsh words of his native tongue.
He'd blinked at her the first time, then grinned. "Ich will etwas zu essen," he'd said. This wasn't a response she'd heard Elizabeth give; Elizabeth tended to be either "fine," or "well," or, when she allowed herself to be honest, "tired." Rodney sensed her confusion and mimed rubbing his belly and looking wistful. "Oh! Hungry!" she said. His fingers snapped and pointed: You got it.
He'd had to run off then, but the next time he surprised her: before even offering a clunky headset thing (which didn't work) he'd asked, in awkward, halting Athosian, "How does your day, Teyla?"
Elizabeth must have taught him; she had it right now, but at the beginning she had messed up the pronunciation in exactly the same way. "I'm fine," she started to say, taking a page out of Elizabeth's book, but then something made her change her mind. "I'm bored," she said honestly. He twirled his finger, waiting for an explanation. "Bored," she repeated, then let her head lull to the side and imitated Ronon's snoring-but rolling her eyes at the same time, so he would understand she was not sleepy.
"Bored," he echoed, nodding. Then, contemplatively, "Bored?"
His fingers snapped, and he disappeared, almost like a magic trick if you didn't count the quick jog to the transporter.
She didn't see him again for almost two days, and after a day and a half was feeling so itchy without his stupid interruptions that she went to go watch videos with Ronon, which appeared to be his creative way of learning another language. Unfortunately most of the videos in Atlantis seemed to be a) bad sci-fi films, b) bad daytime television dramas, and c) really awful porn. This meant that Ronon seemed to mostly have learned to say things like "We've got company" and "What's that supposed to mean?" and "Ooops! I seem to have misplaced all my clothes!" Or so Teyla supposed, anyway.
If Teyla were a better person, she knew she'd be making more of an effort to learn Satedan, too. But she was so exhausted from even her small inroads with English that she hadn't managed to learn how to exchange more than the most basic pleasantries with Ronon. It didn't seem to matter as much as she knew it should; instead it was enough just to be able to bask in his quiet, steady company while the TV murmured gibberish and Ronon kept the popcorn moving back and forth. Almost as it was; almost as it should be.
Rodney found her shortly after she left. He was bouncy again, although Teyla knew now that logically he would tell her if he had fixed it-that would be the whole point, that he could say the words. He had in his hand a cylindrical device with an LCD screen set into it and a sensor at one end. He gestured with it, asking her to follow him, which she did. He led her over to a balcony where she was surprised to see a variety of objects set out on the ledge. An apple, a candle, a book, a Jell-O cup, a com device. With a festival performer's flourish, Rodney pointed the device at each object in turn. After a second held on each one, an echoey, mechanical voice pronounced the English word for the object. When Rodney showed her that it also displayed the corresponding characters for the object on the screen, Teyla nearly clapped her hands with joy.
What she did do was say "Thank you" carefully in English and then, after a moment's hesitation, bring her forehead down so they could touch. Rodney made a surprised little noise but followed her, awkward and blushing. He didn't allow her to hold the embrace as long as she'd like, long enough to show the proper amount of respect and affection she felt for him. Instead he removed himself so quickly that among her people, among those who knew better, it would have verged dangerously close to an insult. However he followed this immediately by telling her, "Your welcome," sincerely if incorrectly, and she parted with a smile on her face, clutching the gift he had given her to her breast.
She took the device back to her room and was halfway though pointing it at everything she could find before she realized she should really share this wonder with Ronon. They both amused and educated themselves for the rest of the afternoon, repeating words after the device and to each other, creating to outsiders what would have surely seemed like a bizarre word soup. It was also interesting, and educational, Teyla thought, to see where the device failed, or supplied clearly inaccurate or inadequate responses; it painted an intriguing picture of Rodney's priorities. Ronon, for instance, was somewhat disgusted to learn that whether they pointed at a Beretta or a P-90 or his own special sidearm, the device merely provided a merry echo of "gun" "gun" "gun." He was much more impressed with the device's vast knowledge of different types of food. Teyla, however, was surprised to note the care the device gave to identifying a wide variety of plants. Katie Brown's influence? she wondered, then tried to imagine Rodney actually listening while Katie rambled on and on about botany. Rodney had not only given the impression, he had explicitly stated that he had no patience for that.
They took the device with them when they went to dinner, Teyla holding it rather possessively. In the chow line, Ronon coaxed it from her, then seemed to take great pleasure in making his meal selections by pointing the device at his chosen items and having its robotic voice say for him, "Macaroni and cheese." "Broccoli." "Milk." "Pudding." Teyla was pleased by his amusement, but then she caught a glimpse of the looks the mess workers and other people in line were giving them. Their expressions were...indulgent. They seemed to be offering Ronon and herself the kind of look you would give to a small child who was trying really hard to overcome his natural slowness. They weren't unkind, but they were utterly condescending.
Teyla felt her stomach knot. She wanted to turn around and shout, Have you even tried to learn my language? But what would be the point? They wouldn't understand her.
She followed Ronon back to the table, no longer anxious to grab the device back from him.
Rodney was already there, sitting with John in enviable silence, the kind Teyla knew could be broken at any time by an easy exchange of words. He looked up when they approached and immediately nudged John's shoulder, smiling excitedly and demanding of her, "Show him! Show him!" only with a lot of (Teyla correctly assumed) extra and unnecessary verbiage.
Ronon offered to let her show off the device, but she declined with a shake of her head. Instead she allowed him and Rodney fight over it; Rodney seemed as excited as Jinto, eager to show John his new knife. Teyla felt a little bit of the tightness in her chest relax. From those who mattered to her the most, the attitude toward her had been generous and full of good intentions. That had to count for something, didn't it?
She chewed and swallowed, still frowning. John was making a good show of being utterly unimpressed by Rodney's invention; in pantomime, Rodney's indignation grew while Ronon chuckled. Then John absently turned the device on his own chest and they all got to listen as it solemnly pronounced, "Kirk. Kirk. Kirk." The axis of amusement and indignation abruptly flipped. Ronon easily switched alliances and continued chuckling; after a while, Teyla found that she was laughing, too.
*
Halling came to see her the next day; he had worrisome news of a conflict that had broken out between the Malfei and the Geshar. They had never got along, and apparently the inability to easily make themselves understood had created the perfect opportunity-or excuse-for several grave misunderstandings to occur. Using, among the three of them, a combination of awkward English (Teyla), awkward Athosian (Elizabeth), awkward Ancient (both), and poorly conceived hand gestures (John), Halling's intel was passed on and discussed. Teyla was very relieved when they eventually agreed with her assessment that having a largely unknown and foreign-tongued power charging in with guns would probably only make things worse.
The meeting concluded, Teyla stole a few minutes alone with Halling. She could see that he was anxious to get back, but even though they did not really have all that much to say to each other, for a few moments it was a relief just to talk. She asked after Jinto, and a few other mutual acquaintances. Halling seemed to think it only polite to inquire about her and her teammates in return, and after a moment's hesitation, Teyla found herself explaining, and then displaying, the device Rodney had built for her. Halling seemed only mildly impressed-like John's affectation of indifference, only more convincing. "Has Doctor McKay built one for himself?"
Teyla, feeling a little internal twist of frustration, prepared to explain that Rodney of course had no need of a device that instructed him in his own language. Then she remembered that Halling was not, in fact, an idiot, and realized that that wasn't at all what he meant.
"Ah. No," she said, and once again stopped herself from beginning a long explanation: It's not so important that he learn Athosian; after all, there's only one of me and...
"No," she said again, straightening her shoulders, "Not yet."
*
On to PART III
Title: Athosian For Beginners
Pairing: Rodney/Teyla
Rating: PG (alas!)
Length: ~11,000 words
Summary: She knew what was happening, but it was impossible. Like suddenly knowing, The sun won't rise in the morning. Gravity doesn't work. The Wraith don't mean any harm...
A/N: Written for empressvesica's sticksandsnark prompt(s), which included Teyla discovering something about Rodney, Rodney giving Teyla a gift, and Teyla's fears. I hope the combination satisfies!
A/N2: Huge thanks to siriaeve, wychwood, and in fact my roommate for vast amounts of beta and translation help. (ETA: And trobadora for the save!) A warning: this story mucks about with a certain, unspoken piece of canon, but hopefully in a way that's not too terribly distressing to anyone. Also, in this fic, the role of the English language will be played by German, so my apologies to all my German readers. All mistakes are very, very much mine.
Athosian For Beginners
PART I
Teyla wasn't proud of it, but in the years she had known him, and worked with him, and listened to him, she had gotten pretty good at tuning Rodney out.
It wasn't that she didn't respect or care for him; she did, very much. It was that most of what he said had a tendency to blur into something like this:
"Long and highly technical explanation of something pertaining to physics and/or Ancient technology punctuated by heavy sighs and comments about the sad lack of intelligence among those listening; smirking reference to Earth culture that only John will get, and will spend the next ten minutes riffing on even after trying and failing to explain to herself and Ronon what is so hilariously funny about, say, 'Atari'; extensive list of physical complaints, ponderings, and worries; random comment about someone's breasts (though honestly, within her hearing, never hers); 'Teyla, hold this'; the Nobel Prize and why I, Rodney McKay, deserve it; reasons Sheppard is stupid and annoying; reasons Ronon is stupid and annoying; reasons everyone in the universe is stupid and annoying; reasons Sam Carter is stupid, annoying, and incredibly hot and brilliant; food; we're all going to die; cats: the only worthwhile companions; and, 'Shit! Run!'"
So Teyla had learned to latch onto the important parts ("Teyla," "Run!") while vaguely scanning the rest. She would feel bad about it, but she'd caught Rodney surreptitiously writing an e-mail under the table the last time she had (at Ronon's request!) started to describe a few of Athos' more interesting geographical features. At least she tried to smile and look attentive when Rodney (not to mention some of their more long-winded trading partners) went on about "various substances I have at times been allergic to" or "girls who were totally into me. Really!" for what felt like hours.
They were having dinner now, and Teyla was aware of Rodney speaking and making animated gestures with his fork; she was aware of John nodding along, a slightly sly smile curling across his face; she was aware of Ronon chewing vigorously while suppressed laughter crinkled the corner of his eyes; she was aware that the chicken was undercooked, and that she was content. She felt there, in the moment, even though she wasn't necessarily listening to every word.
So when suddenly Rodney went from making his usual odd, approximate, Rodney-sort-of-sense to making no sense at all, she noticed it instantly. Like a switch had been flicked, mid-sentence: Rodney was talking, saying nothing that particularly interested her but that she could nevertheless understand, and then...it was like he was speaking in a foreign language.
Rodney didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong. Neither did John: he laughed, then opened his mouth to add a counterpoint. Only what came out sounded like gibberish, too. Teyla felt a rush of panic, then pushed it down. There might be something wrong with her, but it would be okay. It was not a Wraith thing. It had nothing to do with her DNA.
It was almost a relief to see Ronon leaning forward and frowning. "Sheppard," he said, and then there were more words, but they were likewise lost to her. John and Rodney stopped talking. More significantly, Rodney set his fork down. John turned to her. "Teyla...?"
"I can't understand you," she said. She could see the worry in their faces though, the panic; she felt it herself. She knew what was happening. But it was impossible. Like suddenly knowing, The sun won't rise in the morning. Gravity doesn't work. The Wraith don't mean any harm...
Something had happened to the translators. She couldn't wrap her head around it, but she knew it must be true. The translators were such a fact of life: like the Ancestors' rings, like the Wraith. So omnipresent that even as a sensible adult you forgot sometimes that these things were not permanent, that they too could be damaged.
But unlike the Wraith or the system of gates, she had never even imagined that the entire translation network could go down.
John and Rodney looked like they had never considered it, either. John had pushed back his chair abruptly, at the same time tapping his com; she understood "Elizabeth?" and nothing else. But she knew the routine, was part of the team enough to know where they were all going. They got up and went to the conference room. Elizabeth and, a few minutes later, Radek, met them there.
Teyla always appreciated being included in these meetings, while at the same time she disliked the feeling-hers? theirs?-that it was a privilege she was being afforded. She knew she was a valued member of the Lantean community, and of John's team; she considered them all friends, and knew they felt likewise. But she was still not from Earth, not quite one of them. They all did the best they could, but simple facts could not be changed.
Even when Teyla felt she herself had nothing to contribute, she could always listen, and weigh each side of an argument, make up her own mind-to discuss with Ronon or Elizabeth or John later, or even just to keep to herself. Now the conversation buzzed around her but she felt totally removed. Everyone's eyes darted to her or to her and Ronon periodically, but it was like they were behind a glass wall. In a different room.
Worse, they were separated from each other, too. Ronon was not a big talker, but he could be very funny, there with a quick aside when the mood struck him. Now he spoke to her, a short quick sentence, but his rolling sounds were as alien to her as the strange, guttural speech the Terrans were now producing. Was that English? Teyla found she was somewhat disappointed.
Ronon shrugged and raised an eyebrow at her. At least he was still gifted at communicating without words.
"...Wir müssen herausfinden, wie umfassend dieses Ereignis ist. Wir können zum Lager der Athosianer gehen, Teyla?"
Hearing words she knew, she looked up. John was gesturing between the two of them and their other two teammates. "Wir," he said. "Gehen." He made a circle with his other hand and put the "wir" finger through it. "Wir gehen."
Teyla waited patiently while several people in several languages made what were sure to be the obvious sex jokes.
She nodded. "We can go to my people's settlement," she agreed, fairly sure that she was deducing John's poor sign language skills correctly. "We can find out if the problem is localized." I can talk to somebody, she quietly prayed.
Elizabeth frowned and expressed to John what were probably some safety concerns. John, typically, waved them away by smiling a lot. Teyla realized that she knew this script so well she almost didn't need a coherent soundtrack.
The mission was approved. Radek scurried off to do something technical. Elizabeth stopped Teyla on her way out the door. She gestured between them, made a motion by her mouth to indicate speech. Teyla nodded; she understood. She had already known that if there was a problem, Elizabeth would do her best to try to talk with her about it.
*
They gated to the Alpha site, where Jinto greeted her with a wonderfully coherent, incoherent ramble about the house he was helping to build and the huge vegetables he had grown and the game he and Wex had invented that, as far as Teyla could discern, had something to do with climbing trees and throwing rocks at one's friends. Teyla laughed; John and Ronon looked puzzled; Rodney looked about as afraid as he would had they been greeted a small troop of hostile Genii, or a somewhat lazy and already pleasantly full Wraith. "Where's your father?" Teyla asked.
Jinto frowned. "He's in a meeting. Traders came from Eishan only they talk like this now." He made a series of mangled noises. "They're trying to figure out what's wrong."
Widespread then; Teyla wasn't sure whether that was better or worse. Worse, probably; it would certainly make interplanetary trade difficult, and cooperation on a larger scale-the kind of cooperation that she was beginning to think might be the only way of defeating the Wraith-nigh impossible.
"Can you go get him?" she asked. "Tell him we have information about what's going on."
Jinto did not seem sufficiently intrigued; he had almost lost interest in her entirely and was beaming at John. "How long are you staying? Do you want to see my new knife? Will you tell us a story?"
John was smiling hesitantly, like he was being forced to explain something inappropriate and potentially embarrassing that he had done. "Ich kann dich nicht verstehen, Kleiner."
Jinto stared. He looked like he'd just been told that while the Ancestors were supposed to come back someday, it probably wouldn't be next week, in time for his birthday.
"Them too?" He clearly did not like lumping in cool people like Colonel Sheppard with boring old traders like the Eishans.
"Has your father ever told you about the translators?"
Jinto frowned. "Kinda."
That meant no. Teyla put a guiding hand on Jinto's shoulder and started walking toward the settlement, motioning with her head for her teammates to follow. "Since the Ancestors scattered the first peoples on many worlds, we have all grown up speaking different languages. But the Ancestors wanted us to be able to work together, to understand each other, so when they built the gates they created a network to translate all the different tongues." She was not sure how much of this she still believed. Until today, the translators had been no more than a highly probable theory passed around and generally agreed upon from world to world; their very absence now confirmed them, made them real. As for the Ancestors and their intentions...she was not stupid nor sentimental, and she had seen too much on Atlantis to still believe them gods, or even benevolent.
But Jinto didn't need to know any of that. He looked at her with wide eyes. "And it's stopped working?"
"Yes. But we're going to fix it."
They had reached the dwelling Halling had built for himself; it looked well, Teyla was pleased to note. Jinto went in to fetch his father. In the brief lull, Teyla turned to her teammates and tried to figure out a way to convey the small but vital piece of information she had gathered. "It's not just us," she said, gesturing at them and shaking her head, then stretching her neck to look at the heavens and gesturing broadly. "It's everyone."
Rodney made a couple cranky noises. Teyla was willing to bet they amounted to, "Oh. Great."
"Teyla!" Halling came out and Teyla gratefully touched her forehead to his. "Jinto tells me the Terrans are afflicted with the same problem."
"We all are," Teyla said. "It seems the translators are real, and they have stopped working."
Halling nodded. "Yes, that could be a theory."
Teyla bit her lip to suppress a frown. "What else would you suggest?"
"Well," said Halling, first making sure that Jinto was not in hearing distance. "It could be a punishment. From the Ancestors."
He looked genuinely concerned. It was not right, Teyla thought, for her to be angry with him, just because she herself was disenchanted. "I do not think they would punish us, Halling." No, they were too indifferent. "Or that they have anything to punish us for."
Halling glanced briefly at John, though his eyes were without heat. "Perhaps we have made questionable alliances."
Unfortunately, Teyla thought, he was right-more than he knew. But his gaze was misdirected, and anyway, that was not the issue here. She repeated what she had told Jinto. "We'll figure out how to fix it."
"You will join me in praying to the Ancestors?" Halling asked, and for a second, it seemed like a non sequitur. Teyla took a deep breath. Language was not being kind to her today.
She avoided it: shaking her head, declining. "I wish you luck," she told him. She realized she was turning to leave and felt foolish; they had only just got here. "Have you managed to learn anything from the Eishan traders?"
"They seem to think the end of the world is upon us," Halling said, smiling a little. Teyla laughed, relieved. Pleased that they could still share a little bit of gallows humor, that old Athosian specialty.
"You will of course stay with us until this is resolved," Halling said.
"I-" Teyla faltered. She hadn't even thought of that, but in a way, it was the logical thing to do. These were her people; they could understand her. What good would she do in Atlantis, silent and strange, marked more than ever as different, as not one of them?
"I-I can't," she said finally, annoyed at the slight stutter, but firmly aware of her reasons. "They need me. And Ronon-" She looked back and saw him standing there, doing a poor job of pretending to look engaged, an expression she knew well from meditation lessons. "Ronon's people are all gone; I can't leave him alone."
"He can stay, too." It was an offer Halling had extended before, graciously.
"I'm sorry."
Teyla was. She said her goodbyes, promising Halling that she would come back immediately if she changed her mind, and in return getting his promise that he would let her know if he discovered anything. He wished her luck in the same tone she had offered it to him: well-meant but disbelieving.
They drifted back toward the gate, Teyla feeling unmoored. She hadn't been lying when she said she felt a duty to Ronon to stay, to endure equally whatever he was enduring. But it was more than that. More even than a distant hope that she would actually be of use in what was likely to be a mostly technical crisis, and more than simple loyalty to her teammates, to her friends.
They paused when they reached the gate, Rodney apparently anxious to make some examination of its structure, and that of the DHD. While he poked around, John ambled over to her. He began again a serious of somewhat convoluted gestures; even when he actually tried, communication was not his strong suit.
She understood his general meaning, however. "Thank you, but no. I'd rather be on Atlantis."
It sounded too loud, like too much of a proclamation among everyone else's muddled words. Just like back at the settlement, she realized, the sound of all her firm wes: We'll figure it out, she had said. She had not meant her and Halling.
John, unthinking and thus much more articulate, gave her a skeptical, somewhat worried look. She smiled at him in a way she knew he understood: reassuring; slightly false.
She watched as Rodney, grousing and pressing a hand to his back, allowed himself to be lifted to his feet by Ronon before entering Atlantis' address into the DHD. John touched her shoulder, lightly, then quickly dropped his hand away. Teyla straightened her shoulders and let the Ancestors' ring take her home.
PART II
Teyla had always been a self-sufficient person; even as a little girl she had understood that she was in some way set apart, made to stand alone. In part it was her mother's death, in part the few words her father bestowed upon her in between his frequent absences. In part it was the example of Charin, who radiated independence even after she could no longer walk on her own. And of course, it was in part-in large part-herself: her gift, her Wraith heritage.
It was not so bad, then, this period of odd, wordless isolation. In the mornings she got up; she showered and stretched. Training she could do without words, so she did lots of it: fighting with Marines, the thuds of their backs hitting the mat and their swears-the ones they rather stupidly thought she couldn't understand-being entirely universal, and entirely satisfying. She would fight with John and Ronon, too, although this she enjoyed less because she missed their banter: John's constant and playful, Ronon's sporadic and sly. She won even more often than usual, however, now that they lacked the tools to distract her.
After another shower and a nice lunch, she and Elizabeth would attempt their mutual language lessons. It was tough going: Elizabeth had training, but circumstances where both parties were without any kind of outside guide were foreign to each of them. She often heard Elizabeth sigh, "Something something something, Daniel Jackson." In fact, many of the expedition's members could at times be heard making what could only be interpreted as longing requests for Dr. Jackson. Teyla got some pleasure out of translating these in her head. "Whither Daniel Jackson?" "If only we had the vast body of knowledge belonging to Daniel Jackson!" "I would give this entire city for but a moment in the presence of the inimitable Daniel Jackson!"
This of course culminated the only way it could, with a loud declaration of annoyance from Rodney. Teyla was pretty sure it came down to, "Enough about Daniel Jackson already!"
Anyway, pleas aside, Daniel Jackson could not be summoned as he was otherwise occupied, dealing with some other crisis in his own galaxy. Teyla felt a mixture of annoyance and sympathy.
Mostly, though, she felt lonely, alone. It shamed her a little: that in the middle of meditating, a time when she should be relishing the peace and quiet and lack of interruptions, she would have to break off, pause, and reassure herself that she was really still here. She'd once told Kate-when she could still talk to Kate-that when she wasn't dreaming that she saw her hideous Wraith-self staring back from the mirror, she had dreams of becoming invisible, of fading right away. Like a special sort of culling: the white beams coming down, silently, silently, and taking her away from the place she pretended to call home. Sweeping her up for the swallowing, for the welcoming back to the fold.
She was walking back to her quarters, sweaty from a workout and chiding herself for such dark thoughts, when she heard Rodney call her name. She turned and saw him jogging up, and for a wonderful second she thought he'd come to tell her that he'd fixed it. But what came out of his mouth was still that unwelcome, guttural speech; it had gotten so she could hardly stand the sound. "Sag etwas, sag etwas! Hier-na los!"
She raised an eyebrow at him. He lifted the device, impatiently-a datapad he had in some way modified. She took his meeting and spoke into the area he indicated. "I hope this works, Rodney."
It did not, apparently, work. Rodney looked down at the screen and swore-cursing being one of the few forms of expression she could consistently translate. Then he was stomping off again, tread much heavier than it had been mere moments before.
She wondered what he was working on. While she was drying her hair, it occurred to her that he might be attempting to invent his own translation device, a replacement for the broken or damaged (or sabotaged-had anyone thought of that? She would try to find a way to ask John) network. She hoped not. They needed the network. The people of Pegasus needed to unify; they needed to stand together, not let themselves become isolated and alone.
Whatever Rodney was doing, he did not give up. He started coming to her once or twice a day with new devices or modifications to try; Teyla suspected he found her less intimidating than Ronon. Often he had something he wanted her to speak into; another time he wanted her to enter text into a keyboard that no longer entirely made sense to her. Once he seemed to want to put something down her ear canal; her "NO!" was luckily vehement enough to make sense in any language. (Interestingly, so was Rodney's pout.)
She had by this time, of course, picked up some English from her slow, careful lessons with Elizabeth. As much as she hated sounding like an awkward child, she found she was so desperately, pathetically starved for conversation that she made an effort to speak with him, proclaiming, "Hello, Rodney. How are you?" in the harsh words of his native tongue.
He'd blinked at her the first time, then grinned. "Ich will etwas zu essen," he'd said. This wasn't a response she'd heard Elizabeth give; Elizabeth tended to be either "fine," or "well," or, when she allowed herself to be honest, "tired." Rodney sensed her confusion and mimed rubbing his belly and looking wistful. "Oh! Hungry!" she said. His fingers snapped and pointed: You got it.
He'd had to run off then, but the next time he surprised her: before even offering a clunky headset thing (which didn't work) he'd asked, in awkward, halting Athosian, "How does your day, Teyla?"
Elizabeth must have taught him; she had it right now, but at the beginning she had messed up the pronunciation in exactly the same way. "I'm fine," she started to say, taking a page out of Elizabeth's book, but then something made her change her mind. "I'm bored," she said honestly. He twirled his finger, waiting for an explanation. "Bored," she repeated, then let her head lull to the side and imitated Ronon's snoring-but rolling her eyes at the same time, so he would understand she was not sleepy.
"Bored," he echoed, nodding. Then, contemplatively, "Bored?"
His fingers snapped, and he disappeared, almost like a magic trick if you didn't count the quick jog to the transporter.
She didn't see him again for almost two days, and after a day and a half was feeling so itchy without his stupid interruptions that she went to go watch videos with Ronon, which appeared to be his creative way of learning another language. Unfortunately most of the videos in Atlantis seemed to be a) bad sci-fi films, b) bad daytime television dramas, and c) really awful porn. This meant that Ronon seemed to mostly have learned to say things like "We've got company" and "What's that supposed to mean?" and "Ooops! I seem to have misplaced all my clothes!" Or so Teyla supposed, anyway.
If Teyla were a better person, she knew she'd be making more of an effort to learn Satedan, too. But she was so exhausted from even her small inroads with English that she hadn't managed to learn how to exchange more than the most basic pleasantries with Ronon. It didn't seem to matter as much as she knew it should; instead it was enough just to be able to bask in his quiet, steady company while the TV murmured gibberish and Ronon kept the popcorn moving back and forth. Almost as it was; almost as it should be.
Rodney found her shortly after she left. He was bouncy again, although Teyla knew now that logically he would tell her if he had fixed it-that would be the whole point, that he could say the words. He had in his hand a cylindrical device with an LCD screen set into it and a sensor at one end. He gestured with it, asking her to follow him, which she did. He led her over to a balcony where she was surprised to see a variety of objects set out on the ledge. An apple, a candle, a book, a Jell-O cup, a com device. With a festival performer's flourish, Rodney pointed the device at each object in turn. After a second held on each one, an echoey, mechanical voice pronounced the English word for the object. When Rodney showed her that it also displayed the corresponding characters for the object on the screen, Teyla nearly clapped her hands with joy.
What she did do was say "Thank you" carefully in English and then, after a moment's hesitation, bring her forehead down so they could touch. Rodney made a surprised little noise but followed her, awkward and blushing. He didn't allow her to hold the embrace as long as she'd like, long enough to show the proper amount of respect and affection she felt for him. Instead he removed himself so quickly that among her people, among those who knew better, it would have verged dangerously close to an insult. However he followed this immediately by telling her, "Your welcome," sincerely if incorrectly, and she parted with a smile on her face, clutching the gift he had given her to her breast.
She took the device back to her room and was halfway though pointing it at everything she could find before she realized she should really share this wonder with Ronon. They both amused and educated themselves for the rest of the afternoon, repeating words after the device and to each other, creating to outsiders what would have surely seemed like a bizarre word soup. It was also interesting, and educational, Teyla thought, to see where the device failed, or supplied clearly inaccurate or inadequate responses; it painted an intriguing picture of Rodney's priorities. Ronon, for instance, was somewhat disgusted to learn that whether they pointed at a Beretta or a P-90 or his own special sidearm, the device merely provided a merry echo of "gun" "gun" "gun." He was much more impressed with the device's vast knowledge of different types of food. Teyla, however, was surprised to note the care the device gave to identifying a wide variety of plants. Katie Brown's influence? she wondered, then tried to imagine Rodney actually listening while Katie rambled on and on about botany. Rodney had not only given the impression, he had explicitly stated that he had no patience for that.
They took the device with them when they went to dinner, Teyla holding it rather possessively. In the chow line, Ronon coaxed it from her, then seemed to take great pleasure in making his meal selections by pointing the device at his chosen items and having its robotic voice say for him, "Macaroni and cheese." "Broccoli." "Milk." "Pudding." Teyla was pleased by his amusement, but then she caught a glimpse of the looks the mess workers and other people in line were giving them. Their expressions were...indulgent. They seemed to be offering Ronon and herself the kind of look you would give to a small child who was trying really hard to overcome his natural slowness. They weren't unkind, but they were utterly condescending.
Teyla felt her stomach knot. She wanted to turn around and shout, Have you even tried to learn my language? But what would be the point? They wouldn't understand her.
She followed Ronon back to the table, no longer anxious to grab the device back from him.
Rodney was already there, sitting with John in enviable silence, the kind Teyla knew could be broken at any time by an easy exchange of words. He looked up when they approached and immediately nudged John's shoulder, smiling excitedly and demanding of her, "Show him! Show him!" only with a lot of (Teyla correctly assumed) extra and unnecessary verbiage.
Ronon offered to let her show off the device, but she declined with a shake of her head. Instead she allowed him and Rodney fight over it; Rodney seemed as excited as Jinto, eager to show John his new knife. Teyla felt a little bit of the tightness in her chest relax. From those who mattered to her the most, the attitude toward her had been generous and full of good intentions. That had to count for something, didn't it?
She chewed and swallowed, still frowning. John was making a good show of being utterly unimpressed by Rodney's invention; in pantomime, Rodney's indignation grew while Ronon chuckled. Then John absently turned the device on his own chest and they all got to listen as it solemnly pronounced, "Kirk. Kirk. Kirk." The axis of amusement and indignation abruptly flipped. Ronon easily switched alliances and continued chuckling; after a while, Teyla found that she was laughing, too.
*
Halling came to see her the next day; he had worrisome news of a conflict that had broken out between the Malfei and the Geshar. They had never got along, and apparently the inability to easily make themselves understood had created the perfect opportunity-or excuse-for several grave misunderstandings to occur. Using, among the three of them, a combination of awkward English (Teyla), awkward Athosian (Elizabeth), awkward Ancient (both), and poorly conceived hand gestures (John), Halling's intel was passed on and discussed. Teyla was very relieved when they eventually agreed with her assessment that having a largely unknown and foreign-tongued power charging in with guns would probably only make things worse.
The meeting concluded, Teyla stole a few minutes alone with Halling. She could see that he was anxious to get back, but even though they did not really have all that much to say to each other, for a few moments it was a relief just to talk. She asked after Jinto, and a few other mutual acquaintances. Halling seemed to think it only polite to inquire about her and her teammates in return, and after a moment's hesitation, Teyla found herself explaining, and then displaying, the device Rodney had built for her. Halling seemed only mildly impressed-like John's affectation of indifference, only more convincing. "Has Doctor McKay built one for himself?"
Teyla, feeling a little internal twist of frustration, prepared to explain that Rodney of course had no need of a device that instructed him in his own language. Then she remembered that Halling was not, in fact, an idiot, and realized that that wasn't at all what he meant.
"Ah. No," she said, and once again stopped herself from beginning a long explanation: It's not so important that he learn Athosian; after all, there's only one of me and...
"No," she said again, straightening her shoulders, "Not yet."
*
On to PART III