The 'Harlequin Romance' Challenges

WHY: The LJ community sga_flashfic held a challenge in October 2005 with the keyword 'harlequin' - as in 'romance'. It turned into an excuse for crackfic romance, and my muse began ODing.

By the time the challenge was over, I'd written five of these suckers, and had ideas for another. They're all linked from this page, mostly because I don't take them seriously, with the exception, perhaps, of 'To Serve A Queen' - it's a little difficult to brush off 50,000 words as 'just a lark'.

Being 50,000 words, 'To Serve A Queen' has it's own page, of course.

Anyway, there's:

Though Duty Keep Us Parted (Sheppard/Weir)

Hunter In A Deerfringe Skirt (Sheppard/Teyla)

Risk Of The Heart (Weir/Ronon)

Pinocchio Syndrome (Sheppard/Teyla)

To Serve A Queen (Weir/Ronon, background Sheppard/Teyla)

Read, point, snigger, laugh...or possibly be converted to the pairing! Other than 'To Serve A Queen', there almost certainly aren't going to be sequels to any of them!

Though Duty Keep Us Parted

From the moment she looked into his hazel eyes and felt the air crackle between them, Elizabeth knew that she was deeply in trouble. Gone were the thoughts of her lover, Simon and her attention to duty and responsibility faded in the light of his smile. In spite of her best efforts to resist him, John Sheppard called to her with his soulful expressions, his voice of rough velvet, his unshaven jaw and his lingering streak of nobility and heroism.

Her soul trembled in the Atlantis night, longing for his touch. She yearned to feel the touch of his lips against her skin, and the caress of his hands on her body, longed for the sound of his voice calling for her - only for her.

Yet the harsh requirements of her role as expedition leader forced her to keep distant from him, she dared not give in to the desires of her heart. For, through his actions, John was responsible for destroying all hope of her people finding easy peace in the Pegasus galaxy...

From the moment John Sheppard lays eyes on Teyla of the Emmagen, he knows he is in trouble. Not only is the young Indian woman an accomplished warrior, she is also a challenge and a mystery - two things that the Major cannot resist. But what secrets does she hide from him as she guides him and his men through the mountains? And does he dare lose his heart to this woman who might as well come from another world?

Hunter In A Deerfringe Skirt

The faintest rustle of grass heralded the arrival of John's second-in-command.

"Major, the new Indian guide has arrived."

He glanced over his shoulder at the young man whose dark eyes automatically flickered down towards the army in the valley below. "Then send him in."

The young negro's mouth quirked in dry humour. "Uh, there's a problem with that, Major."

John slipped back from the ridge into the forest with a grimace.

Problems were nothing new to him. Life was in the habit of dumping problems in his lap - then laughing uproariously as John tried to deal with it all.

Two years ago, he'd been wooing a young woman who turned heads with her looks, then dropping jaws with her bluestocking opinions. While he'd had considerably competition for the young lady's hand, he'd thought he'd been in with a chance - until the telegram came from an old commander and family friend, hinting at troubled times in the south. John had gone from being the Eastern-educated son of wealthy Western ranchers, to the commander of a reconnaisance group down among Confederate lines.

A year ago, he'd heard that Miss Elizabeth Weir of Boston, had become engaged to Simon Wallis of Baltimore, a prudent and sensible match, also rumoured to be one of love.

As he strode through the woodlands, John savagely reflected on the vagaries of fate. But for the General's call, he would not have joined this war. But for the General's request, the name being engraved on wedding invitations, even now, might have been his alongside Elizabeth's.

And, but for the General's foresight, the damage in the south might have been considerably worse.

John and his men had provided valuable information as to the troop numbers and positioning of many an army in this area. They'd acted as spies and informants, as a tourniquet - squeezing tight to minimise the damage - but that didn't change that the damage was bad.

He slipped into their cold camp, closely followed by Ford. "Bates? What's the troub--?"

Then he saw what the trouble was.

Five feet, nine inches of tan-skinned, sleekly-curved Indian trouble - the kind of trouble that would steal a man's breath with one fiery glance from dark eyes. Not pretty in the conventional way of society women back East, but beautiful in the raw, untamed wildness that John sensed lurked beneath the deceptively quiet surface.

Exquisitely beautiful trouble standing in his camp, her feet planted as though for battle, and her hands clenching two sticks that - and furious at the watch of four men standing guard over her.

"You are the leader here?" It was as much a challenge as a question.

His eyes narrowed at her tone. "That would be me."

"Your men's manners leave much to be desired." She was fluent in English - and more than fluent. She wielded words like weapons, the timbre of her voice like a whip, poised to flay skin from muscle.

John didn't like the tone this miss was taking with him. "They're not the ones who walked into our camp without so much as an invitation," he said harshly. "We tend to take objection to that."

"I have an invitation," she said. "You desired a guide from the Emmagen to take you through the mountains. I am that guide."

Marrying for a business arrangement, Elizabeth Weir is no stranger to duty. But the heart wants what the heart wants, and from the moment she lays eyes on Ronan Dex, she knows here is a man whom she can trust with her soul. Can she overcome the desires of her heart and resign herself to a marriage of convenience, or will she take the risk of truly loving and being loved?

Risk of the Heart

Liz was aware of John's restlessness as they made the rounds of their guests.

His impatience grated against her already-strained nerves, tense from all the pleasantries of the engagement party. She wasn't any more comfortable with these displays than he, but she understood that they had to be seen, that this engagement - this partnership between them - had to be made as public as possible.

John only understood that this was a waste of time.

Just to spite him, she remained talking to her father's business associates from GenniiCorp longer than she otherwise would have. They had a tendency towards...forcefulness.

"Arrogant bastards," John muttered in her ear as they turned away. "I don't know why you put up with them. And that Kolya... Is that his first or his last name?"

Liz didn't know any more than he did. But she knew that his behaviour was getting on her nerves. "John," she interrupted, "will you get me a drink?"

"You want a drink?"

Liz curbed the urge to snap that she'd just said she wanted a drink. He had a habit of questioning her requests. "Orange juice. Please."

She watched him walk away and smoothed her hands down the rich red silk of her dress. It wasn't that she didn't like John, they were good friends, she was familiar with him - comfortable in a way. But their personalities grated and they saw the world from two very different viewpoints that were somehow irreconcilable every time they came up in conversation.

Oh, they'd make this marriage work - at least, Liz figured that John was stubborn enough to keep at it. She hoped so. He had an eye for good-looking women, and they usually had an eye for him.

He was at the drinks table now, speaking with on of his old friends from college. Liz recognised the woman - Chaya Sar from Santiago, Chile. She'd arrived in the city a fortnight ago, all dark mystery and flirting eyes, and John had seemed happy enough to flirt right back.

Liz hadn't exactly minded, but she hadn't been all that comfortable around the woman, either.

Then again, these days, she wasn't all that comfortable with anyone.

It's probably just engagement jitters, she told herself as John leaned over, murmuring something in the ear of the exotic beauty. You're reliving what happened with Simon, that's all. It's not going to be like that this time. Chaya's laugh rang out through the room, turning heads. It's not going to be like that this time!

"Elizabeth?"

She turned, startled out of her preoccupation, and met the dark gaze of a very tall man.

The Diamond ballroom at the Plaza Hotel was large and reasonably crowded, but he stuck out like a wolf in the middle of a herd of sheep.

Perhaps it was his height, looming far above most of the people in the room; perhaps it was the air of distance he carried about him - a man who held his own space; perhaps it was just that he still wore a sheepskin jacket against the chill bite of a Boston February.

Or perhaps it was the way he looked at her, with unexpected gentleness, a complete stranger in a room of people who were hardly less. Liz felt the shock of that kindness reverberate through her, electric, and felt naked, stripped bare.

She tore her gaze from the stranger, and her eye alighted on the woman who'd called her name and was even now crossing the room to greet her.

Liz smiled, "Teyla!" Their hands met and the women kissed cheeks, the shorter Teyla smiling up at her friend. "I'm glad you could make it."

"I am glad we could make it, too," confessed the other woman. "You look lovely."

"Thank you," Liz said, focusing on the part of Teyla's sentence that intrigued her most. "'We'?"

A man moved up behind Teyla, clearly accompanying her, and Teyla turned to catch his eye with a smile. "Elizabeth, I would like you to meet Ronan - Ronan Dex, this is Elizabeth Weir."

Liz looked up into the dark eyes of the man she'd seen from across the room and, once again, felt her world spin on the unexpected pivot of this stranger.

And then he spoke her name, soft and low, light and tender.

"Elizabeth."

Then she discovered that they hadn't connected her to an AI interface; they'd connected her to a man - to John Sheppard, ex-military ops, now anchor to Teyla's recep.

To make matters worse, there's trouble brewing out on the slip, and more than just her relationship with John is about to change...

The Pinocchio Syndrome

She was sitting in the Atlantis bar with her friends when they first noticed the guy watching her.

Liz had paused in recounting her latest diplomatic foray into the Gennii empire when Kate shifted slightly, drawing all eyes to her.

"Teyla?" Kate said, the start of a smile on her mouth. "Don't look now, but there's a guy at the bar who's been watching you for the last fifteen."

"Ishtar!" Sam hissed as the daringly-dressed blonde promptly turned around in her chair. "Don't stare!" She rolled her eyes as Janet covered her smile.

"I don't know," said Liz from where she sat beside Kate. "He's worth staring at."

"More than worth staring at," Ishtar said, grinning broadly when she turned back.

"Careful now," Janet teased, "Or we'll tell Teal'c."

Ishtar smirked and tossed her head. "Well, he is definitely staring at you, Teyla. Go on, stare back!"

Deciding that subtlety was long since lost, Teyla turned her head to look at the bar with its brightly coloured display of bottles and glasses.

The Atlantis bar was reasonably full tonight, filled with the personnel of four or five different sections, brought together at Stargate Central. It was one of the reasons for tonight: one of the few nights when the women could meet up and catch up in person instead of through the Webworks.

But Teyla had no trouble identifying the man who'd been staring. Dark hair, pale skin, eyes warm with laughter lines, mouth curved at the corners; long face, athletic build, handsome in a careless way.

She could also see the gleam of amusement as he regarded her with the knowing look of a man who'd caught the eye of a pretty woman - or a whole group of them - and was both amused and appreciative of the attention. Before she could turn away, he lifted his glass in silent toast to her, and the other woman broke into laughter.

Teyla looked away, hoping that her darker skin and the understated lighting hid her flush. Liz was right: the man was worth staring at. That did not make her self-consciousness at the boldness any less. "I do not know him," she said. "At all."

"Would you like to?" Janet asked wickedly.

"You should go over there and confront him," said Ishtar.

Teyla glanced around at her friends. All were smiling, although their expressions indicated varying degrees of avidity in her situation. "I do not know him," she repeated, "and I would not feel comfortable speaking with a stranger."

"But--"

"Ishtar," Sam said, the warning plain in her voice.

The blonde woman rolled her eyes. "I would."

"Yes, but you're not Teyla."

"Well, maybe Teyla wants to--"

Impulsively, Teyla turned to look back at the man, but a group of guys had just sidled up to their table and were blocking the view of the bar.

By the time she could get a clear view, the stranger was gone.

--

Hey, beautiful.

Teyla quirked a smile as she palmprinted into her building. Hello, John. When they'd first given her the implant, they'd told her to interact with the anchor like any other person. It would make things easier for both of them.

Good night out with the girls? John was programmed with a slight drawl, and in moments like these, she could almost picture him leaning back in a chair in some imaginary room in the complex, talking to her by cell.

She flashed him her memories of the night; the conversation, the drinks, the gossip, the shop talk, and the stranger who'd watched her from the bar. For some reason, she'd found herself thinking of him for the rest of the evening. Even the not-so-subtle invitation from one of the guys from the Sateda section had been turned down, although she wasn't sure why. Ronan was a handsome man and a known quantity. They would have enjoyed each other for the night and walked away with no regrets.

So you have a secret admirer? John sounded amused. You didn't want to meet him?

It is not a case of not wanting to, Teyla said as she navigated the corridor down to her quarters. It is a case of not knowing anything about him. As she paused outside her rooms, she sent the query: Can you run an ID on him?

If he'd had eyebrows to raise, she could imagine them lifting, right now. You want me to run an illegal filesearch on a complete stranger? Teyla, I'm shocked!

There was a kind of glee in his tone, and she could only imagine that he was amused - in as much as an AI could know amusement. I hope you're not finding this funny.

Would I do that? Whoever had programmed his sarcasm had overdone the subroutine, but Teyla had learned to let it pass. It wasn't as though John belonged to her, anyway.

While she waited for his answer, she let herself into her quarters. They were nothing special - she was outside them more often than she was in - slip-running, practising, socialising, or even simply training. She had no need of special quarters although she could have asked for them. Other slip-runners had taken up that option, but Teyla was content with simplicity.

She'd stripped down to her underwear when John replied. Teyla, he's not showing up on the standard personnel files of Stargate Central. And he's not assigned to any of the sections.

A floater?

Well, I wouldn't say that, John replied, sounding injured. Isn't he a bit too good-looking to be a floater?

Teyla smiled, I imagine that floaters have as much right to be attractive as any other group in society.

So you thought he was attractive?

Maybe. She pulled on a sleeping tunic and began plaiting back her hair.

Oh, come on, admit it. You thought he was gorgeous.

I wouldn't use the word gorgeous. That is your word.

Then what word would you use?

Teyla considered this. Handsome.

Handsome? For a moment, John sounded as though he didn't know whether to smirk or scoff. Well, I suppose that's not so bad.

She rolled her eyes. John's programmer obviously had been blessed with a quirky sense of humour. And you can't find him anywhere on the files?

He's not assigned to any of the sections and he's not in the personnel files of Central. There was a pause. You really liked him?

Teyla grinned as she climbed into bed and pulled the quilt over her. Jealous?

Why would I be jealous of him? John demanded.

Why indeed? Teyla lay back and stared up into the darkness. It had been a good day, and she was tired. I'm going to sleep, John.

Dream of electric sheep.

He had some of the oddest sayings she'd ever heard. From the sound of it, Old Earth had been a very strange place. Get out of my head.

Sleep well, beautiful.

Teyla slept well.

--

John sat back in his quarters after disconnecting the link with Teyla.

Her teasing question echoed in his ears. Jealous?

Technically, it should be impossible to be jealous of yourself. Stupid. But the man he'd been out in the bar had a real, physical attraction to her, as compared to the purely cerebral contact she had with him through their Quandem link.

No man liked being thought of as a computer, but he'd found it easier than confessing he was as human as she. That might take the conversation into areas John wasn't comfortable discussing, such as why he hadn't told her the instant he found out she thought he was an AI, or, worse yet, why he hadn't told her the first time he found himself along for the ride during one of her sexual experiences.

He drank down the last bit of water in the bottle and tossed the empty at the dispenser.

"He shoots, he scores! The crowd goes wild!" With one booted foot, he pushed himself off and spun gently around in his chair as the rollers slid across the floor until they hit the mat by the bed.

John figured he really did need to get out more. Get a life as the General was always telling him. Not that the General could talk.

He kicked the chair back over to the terminal desk and lay down, horizontally across his bed. Two thumps marked his boots falling to the ground as he toed them off.

The foray out into Central was unusual for him; he rarely left the compound anymore and most people didn't know he existed.

His friends were dead; that last mission out in to the Afghani territories had been fatal for them all. John had figured he was just taking a little longer to die than his men. He certainly hadn't been thought fit to command anyone else after that and resigned himself to pushing paperwork until his liver gave out from the alcohol.

Then O'Neill had come to him, sat him down, and offered him the Quandem link. With nothing to lose, John took it.

He was told he'd be given a 'recep' - a receptive to his anchor - a field operative whose brain patterns matched his own, who could feed him intel from the field as he fed her intel from the systems.

He got Teyla.

The Wraith were both hungry and deadly, and the slip-runners were the outermost defences for the Millekwa and Pegasi systems. Slip-runners were generally thought to be half-insane anyway; anyone who ran the slip on even a semi-regular basis had to be crazy.

Teyla loved it.

And John found himself caring about Teyla.

She dragged him out of his solitude and back into the world, forcing him to see the possibilities. She thought of him as an AI, but treated him as a person. And she shared a lot of her life with him - things he knew she wouldn't have told him if she'd known he was a real person - memories of her father and of her people, her thoughts and feelings, her hopes and fears.

There were times when he felt like a bit of a voyeur, only too aware that she didn't think he was human, that she was disadvantaged when it came to their interaction. He shared nothing with her: what did an AI have to share? And she gave him everything.

John stripped and climbed into bed. He nearly reached out to Teyla, wanting to touch her mind just one more time, and pulled back at the last moment.

Tonight had been good. In a way. He'd wanted to see her with his own eyes, not just the stillpics he'd found in the files. And she'd been...beautiful. More beautiful in motion than in the posed stillpics, staring at the camera with her serene, neutral expression.

No surprise that the other women had noticed him staring - he hadn't exactly been subtle.

And he was both relieved and regretful that she hadn't come over to speak with him.

But what could he have said? Hey, Teyla, I'm your anchor, John. Nice to meet you in the flesh. She'd have wiped the floor with him.

At least she would have known he was real.

Rodney called it 'Sheppard's Pinocchio syndrome', and sounded insufferably smug about it. Then again, Rodney was always insufferably smug.

Teyla had no idea.

That was probably what stung the most; that she hadn't clued in that he wasn't just an AI. Then again, he hadn't disabused her of the notion, too amused by it at first, and then finding it difficult when he woke up one night with her orgasm in his mind and a raging hard-on in his pants. How did a guy explain that?

So, yeah. He was pretty screwed up. But he hadn't needed a recep to show him that.

He wanted her to know that he was real - to really see him. John-her-anchor, not as handsome-guy-staring-in-a-bar. Okay, so not just as handsome-guy-staring-in-a-bar.

John sighed as he climbed into bed.

One of these days, he'd tell her. Maybe.

Of course, his inner commentator snarked, And then you'll be a real boy?

Shut up and go to sleep! He told himself.

He shut up and went to sleep.

--