SGA: Inked

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It was Ronon who had technically suggested it, not that it surprised anyone.  The mark on his neck was far from the only ink on his body.  He didn’t flaunt them, but his team had seen each and every one under various circumstances, some pleasant, some not.

It was during one of the more agreeable circumstances that Rodney had blurted out, “Did that hurt?” leading to a discussion on techniques and meanings and when they had happened and how.  It was months later, as they all lounged together on some backwater planet, feeling the sun warm their bodies and the breeze fight to chill their skin after an impromptu dip in a lake that the topic came up again.

“We should commemorate this,” Rodney had said, lolling his head back against both a tree and Teyla’s thigh.

“This?” Sheppard had questioned, using a vague gesture to encompass the world around them as well as the events that led to the circumstances that led to the impromptu dip.

“Yeah, this,” the scientist had agreed, nodding as emphatically as he could in his current position with Teyla’s hand in his hair.  Later, he would swear it was the local moonshine that made him as agreeable as he was, but all four knew there was not a drop of alcohol shared that day.

“I would not object to such a thing,” Teyla had shrugged, or at least as close to it as she ever got.

“Are we talking building a shrine with those pretty rocks over there, getting matching shiny bracelets, or getting it etched into our skin?” Sheppard had asked, not sounding like he was complaining about any of the options.  He was propped up against a tree trunk, watching the sun glint off the water and create glittering patterns in the leaves above.

“I know a place,” Ronon had suggested, and so it was decided.

The design was up for debate and eventually an amalgam of Satedan, Athosian, and Earth symbology was agreed upon.  It was uniquely theirs, as was their bond.

Rodney was oddly complacent throughout the whole ordeal, barely making a whimper as the ink was pressed beneath his skin.  He made a show later with complaints of the likelihood of sepsis and other infections, but treated the mark itself reverently, with the awe and respect he would give an Ancient supercomputer instead of any casual artwork.

The Medical department went berserk, calling in Botany and Social Sciences for samples and documentation.  Upon later reflection, the team decided that perhaps they should not have said it was part of an initiation ritual of a specific and remote tribe.  Carson offered many times to remove the marking, his suspicions raised when no one took him up on it.  Elizabeth seemed almost disappointed at first, then seemed to glean an understanding of the event’s significance to the team, smiling knowingly and never mentioning it again.

Others rarely saw the inkings, though speculation ran wild when Teyla’s was seen by a Marine she floored during a particularly rigorous workout.  He was a recent addition to the city and did not know what was and was not allowed as topics of conversation.  He commented on how similar it appeared to the one he had observed on the Lieutenant Colonel during a recent mission.  He asked if it had something to do with leadership or ranking.  She had simply smiled and agreed, “Something like that.”

Later, as all four lay in a boneless sprawl in one of the many observation rooms on the far side of the city, fingertips traced the markings, ghosting over skin so rarely exposed for others to see. 

“You know,” Ronon mused, his voice a deep grumble echoing throughout the once abandoned room.  “If we’re going to mark every special event this way, we’re going to need more ink.”

“And a better excuse to give Carson and Elizabeth,” Sheppard added mildly.

The others variously nodded or grunted in approval.

He watched as Rodney idly fingered the design, seemingly miles away from the moment, and yet focused on everything at once.  “Any regrets?” he asked hesitantly.

The motion stilled as the scientist regarded him, and the others waited silently for the answer.  “Never,” came the emphatic response, followed by a crooked grin.  “You?”

Sheppard felt Teyla settle on his shoulder, shifted slightly against the bulk that was Ronon behind him.  He looked down at Rodney who, for someone with supposed back problems, was making the most unusual pillow out of pretty much each and every one of his teammates at once.  “Not a one,” he swore, feeling rather than hearing the assent of the others in response.

He leaned back and smiled, contemplating the symbol etched into his skin.  Each line had meaning, each color told a story.  It was unique, not tied to any single world or theology, and yet this dissonance created something more, something he truly could call beautiful.  Just like his team.

End.

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