Sword Dance

Author's note: This story was originally published in my SGAtlantisLight Livejournal in November, 2005. The cover was created by Livejournal user aquaangel.

Colonel Sheppard was improving, though not as quickly as she would prefer. Her people, with stronger motivation, learned much more quickly. For him, though, there was the comfort of the weapons his own people carried-- the weapons that spit death from a distance. She liked these weapons and the safety of the range they offered. But she was realistic enough to know that there would likely come a time when they would have to rely on the simpler means of force transferred through the extensions to herself that were her fighting sticks. Colonel Sheppard sensed it, too, but not strongly enough, too reliant on bullets and charm.

"And then he makes this incredible pass, oh, you should have seen--" He falls silent suddenly, skids to a halt in a way that would be graceless in other men but somehow takes on a strange dignity with him, and backs up a couple of paces.

She pauses and follows him, curious as to what has caught his attention.

He steps up to a doorway and leans on the frame, loose and confident. "Hey, doc. Whatcha doin'?" he enquires of whoever is inside.

She peers into the room and sees Doctor Zelenka carefully laying out metallic rectangles on the floor.

"I am laying out a piste," the scientist answers, hair falling around his face as he works.

"Uh, a what?"

Doctor Zelenka makes a motion with his hand. "A piste. Um... a fencing strip."

"Fencing as in white picket or as in swords?" Colonel Sheppard asks.

"Swords."

"Wow. I didn't know you were into that."

Doctor Zelenka smiles and shrugs. "I would have gone to Olympics in 1984, but Czechoslovakia boycotted that year. In 1988, I had broken leg."

"Ouch! Tough break! So, you're setting up this..."

"Piste."

"... piste for folks to fence here?"

The scientist nods, then stands, steps onto the long metal strip, and motions Colonel Sheppard over. "If you would please be standing here with me."

The colonel shrugs and walks over, tentatively stepping onto the piste, noting the wires extending from it to a display in the scientist's hands. "This thing won't electrocute me, will it?"

"That is what I'm testing now." Doctor Zelenka depresses a button and nods in satisfaction. "Excellent. Now, please, step off, colonel." Colonel Sheppard complies and the doctor once again nods happily. "Good. Very good."

"Glad to be of service, doc. I've gotta go clean up before the staff meeting."

Doctor Zelenka nods distractedly, already working on something else.

Colonel Sheppard smiles at her as he passes. "See you tomorrow, Teyla."

"Tomorrow, then, colonel," she answers and then returns her attention to the other man.

He is lost in complete concentration on his work and it reminds her of her own meditations. His hands move skillfully and with confidence as he works and she watches them, realising she has never paid him much heed. She observes as he erects some sort of display beside the metal strip of the piste and runs through some tests with it, apparently satisfied. He then steps over to a long crate and pulls out some padding material followed by a long, thin sword the likes of which Teyla has rarely seen. The tip is blunted, she presumes to avoid injury while sparring. A small smile quirks his lips as he tests the blade. She is surprised to see how flexible the blade is, bending and then springing back into position.

The smile touches his eyes as he firms his grip on the handle and then takes a strange sideways stance, one foot out straight while the other is turned almost behind, knees bent slightly, hand with the slender sword held in front in a sure but fluid position while the other balances his weight behind. She studies the position and realises it presents a smaller target to an opponent.

And then he moves and is transformed, his body moving fluidly through what she can only assume are various attack and defense maneuvers. He is suddenly catlike in his grace, all motion and concentration, and she finds herself considering him anew, as if seeing him for the first time. He pauses, a short burst of laughter bubbling from his lips, and then transfers the sword to his left hand, reversing his stance, and runs through several maneuvers again.

He sets it aside and digs back into the crate and unpacks several similar weapons. Then he draws out a slightly heavier sword, the blade rigid. She watches as he takes a similar stance, though the back foot is less turned, and runs through a series of maneuvers with it, the smile lighting his face.

He is quicker to return to the crate, pulling out more of the second kind of sword. Then an exclamation of delight escapes his lips, though she does not know the words, and he lifts a third kind of sword. While the others were thrusting weapons alone, Teyla can see that this one is designed to cut as well as impale, though she suspects the edge on this one is not sharp any more than the tips have been. The stance this time is different, free hand on hip rather than bent behind, the sword arm held lower.

Watching him with this one is like watching a dance and she finds her breath catching at the grace of it, of him, hair flying, steps sure and quick, moving through attacks and defenses with facility. When he stops, she lets out the breath she had not even known she had been holding and he starts suddenly at the sound.

He turns and sees her there in the doorway and blushes, suddenly the mouse again. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and smiles shyly. "Sorry," he says and she wonders why anyone would apologise for such a display of agility.

"It is all right, Doctor Zelenka. I was simply admiring your combat skill. I was unaware you were trained as a warrior."

"Ah. I'm not trained as warrior. This, this is more sport than skill."

"But it could be used in combat, could it not?" she asks.

"Well, yes. At least, if you remember that in real combat there is real injury, real pain, real death. Possibly there will be more than one opponent and those opponents won't care about right of way, proper target area, or whether a touch would count in competition or not. Here," he says, pointing with the sword in his hand, "both competitors walk away. Out there... not so much."

She nods. "I would be interested in learning this sport. Are you planning to teach it?"

He looks at her nervously. "Well, yes, that was... that was the idea. I'm afraid you will likely be disappointed."

She smiles. "I believe I will not be disappointed, doctor. When can we start?"

He considers. "I still have to test all the equipment and I believe you have mission tomorrow?"

"Yes. We should be returning tomorrow evening if all goes well."

"Perhaps Thursday then?"

"7:00?" she asks.

"Yes, that would be good," he answers, once again nervously adjusting his glasses.

"It is... a date, then," she says, hoping she is using the word correctly.

He blushes and nods. "Yes. A date."

She smiles brightly at him. "Good. I must go and assure that I am prepared for tomorrow. Good night, Doctor Zelenka."

"Good night, Miss Emmagan."

"Teyla," she corrects.

"Teyla. Yes," he answers. "I would be pleased for you to be calling me Radek."

She nods. "Very well, Radek. I will see you Thursday."

And as she walks down the corridor, Teyla realises she is very much looking forward to Thursday and seeing the return of the cat-like grace of Doctor Radek Zelenka with a weapon in his hand.