SGA-fic: Lux (G)
John was having a very nice dream. Rodney was wearing a tux, and there was champange and a kiss in front of hundeds of flashing cameras. Someone was singing and Rodney was poking his head.
“John. John, wake up.”
Oh. That part wasn’t a dream then. John tried to burrow back underneath the covers where it was warm and comfy. His leg really didn’t like the climate in Stockholm and he wasn’t looking forward to getting out of bed at all.
“G’ away, Rodney, ’m sleeping,” he mumbled and turned his face into the pillow again.
The poking didn’t stop, however, and then Rodney hissed, “John, there’s a bunch of singing girls in our room and I think one of them’s on fire.”
Okay, that didn’t sound right. John peered out over the top of the covers. Apparently the singing hadn’t been part of his dream either. A group of young women clad in long white gowns were standing beside their bed. They all had red ribbons tied around their waists and green wreaths in their hair. The room was bathed in a warm yellow glow and... yes, Rodney was right; one of the women was on fire. Or rather, her hair was on fire - she was wearing a crown of white candles in her long black hair.
“This is weird,” John said, blinking in the light.
The singing was kinda nice though, even though he couldn’t understand a word.
“I know this song,” Rodney said, humming along. “Tu sei l’impero. Di armonia. Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia... Caruso recorded it! But they’re not singing in Italian...”
The woman with the candles in her hair was smiling, as were the rest of them. Rodney was waving his fingers unconciously, as if he was conducting the choir and John couldn’t hold back a smile. This feeling of wonder, of being with Rodney never really went away, not even after forty years and counting.
The scent of cloves and gingerbread and coffee was spreading through the room. John shifted a little, attempting to ease his aching joints. “You should win a Nobel more often,” he said and snuggled up to Rodney to enjoy the show.
Rodney snorted and rolled his eyes. Then his arm sneaked around John’s shoulders and a kiss was pressed against his temple. John sighed contentedly, leaned further into Rodney’s embrace, and let the women’s clear voices chase away the cold darkness of the Swedish morning.
- fin -
Additional notes: If you've never seen a Lucia procession, you've missed something. Watch one here! I have no idea who those people are, but they're pretty and they can sing...
“John. John, wake up.”
Oh. That part wasn’t a dream then. John tried to burrow back underneath the covers where it was warm and comfy. His leg really didn’t like the climate in Stockholm and he wasn’t looking forward to getting out of bed at all.
“G’ away, Rodney, ’m sleeping,” he mumbled and turned his face into the pillow again.
The poking didn’t stop, however, and then Rodney hissed, “John, there’s a bunch of singing girls in our room and I think one of them’s on fire.”
Okay, that didn’t sound right. John peered out over the top of the covers. Apparently the singing hadn’t been part of his dream either. A group of young women clad in long white gowns were standing beside their bed. They all had red ribbons tied around their waists and green wreaths in their hair. The room was bathed in a warm yellow glow and... yes, Rodney was right; one of the women was on fire. Or rather, her hair was on fire - she was wearing a crown of white candles in her long black hair.
“This is weird,” John said, blinking in the light.
The singing was kinda nice though, even though he couldn’t understand a word.
“I know this song,” Rodney said, humming along. “Tu sei l’impero. Di armonia. Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia... Caruso recorded it! But they’re not singing in Italian...”
The woman with the candles in her hair was smiling, as were the rest of them. Rodney was waving his fingers unconciously, as if he was conducting the choir and John couldn’t hold back a smile. This feeling of wonder, of being with Rodney never really went away, not even after forty years and counting.
The scent of cloves and gingerbread and coffee was spreading through the room. John shifted a little, attempting to ease his aching joints. “You should win a Nobel more often,” he said and snuggled up to Rodney to enjoy the show.
Rodney snorted and rolled his eyes. Then his arm sneaked around John’s shoulders and a kiss was pressed against his temple. John sighed contentedly, leaned further into Rodney’s embrace, and let the women’s clear voices chase away the cold darkness of the Swedish morning.
- fin -
Additional notes: If you've never seen a Lucia procession, you've missed something. Watch one here! I have no idea who those people are, but they're pretty and they can sing...