By Enola Jones

Teyla loved furloughs to Earth. Because of her commitments to her people, she rarely had the opportunity to go.

But this was one of those rare opportunities. She enjoyed Earth – the scenery was alien but absolutely lovely. And a world where nobody had to worry about the Wraith? Never had and probably never would?

Well, that was Teyla’s own personal view of heaven.

She had managed to get some time alone this trip – no mean feat. The night before, the four of them had attended a “Who concert”, John had called it.

Teyla had had a headache after, though her ears had stopped ringing a couple of hours after the music had stopped, thanks to Rodney’s earplugs. The music was primal and raw and sophisticated – like John’s people – and she had seen the beauty in it.

This morning, she had craved solitude. So she had left Ronon snoring in his bed and checked on John and Rodney through the connecting room door. John was sprawled over his bed, and had cracked an eye open. Seeing it was just Teyla, the eye had closed again.

Rodney was curled so deep under the covers in his bed that only the top of his head showed. Teyla had smiled to see it. She had backed out and closed the door.

Knowing she had to be back at noon for them to begin the return journey to the Gate, she slid out of the hotel and to the deserted beach to meditate and move.

The beach wasn’t quite deserted. A blond man was seated on a rock, watching the sunrise.

Teyla sat down and meditated. Then she stood and moved through several forms before she noticed the man was watching her.

And she realised where she had seen him before. “You are the singer we saw last night.”

He smiled. “Caught me out. I was enjoying the quiet before our trip home. We leave at noon.”

She nodded. “I, too, leave for home at noon. Why were you watching me so intently?”

The smile grew. “Your Tai Chi. It was beautiful.”

Teyla nodded. John had often compared her patterns to Tai Chi. This one had obviously seen it as well. “Thank you.”

“I’m Roger.” He came closer. “Teach me a little?”

“I am Teyla.” And she spent two hours teaching him the simplest of forms – the ones children learned.

When his dark-haired friend arrived to pick him up, he introduced the friend as Pete. “This is Teyla.”

She nodded at them both, then smiled at Roger. “You sing very well.”

“Thank you!” Roger grinned. “I’d be a mute without this one, though.” He hugged Pete one-armed, making Pete half-laugh and half-scowl. “He writes the words.”

With more pleasantries, they parted and Teyla went back to her hotel.

John was incredulous when she told him of the encounter. “And you didn’t even get their autograph?”

And Teyla frowned. “What is an autograph?”


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