Summary not available.


by obaona

A/N: Bri requested SGA, smitten. I went with it. ;)


John Sheppard believed it was not possible to be smitten with a ship. Or a city.

But this was damn close.

When he made those first steps onto Atlantis, she woke to him. She breathed, and they breathed. There was more than the simple action/reaction of flying an Apache helicopter, of the wind and the engines and that awesomely complex combination, hardly able to be defined by mathematics and yet so clearly understand in instinct, in intuition.

“Did I do that?” he had asked, but he had known the answer.

She responded to his thought, to the vague desire of ‘want’ when he asked a door to open and close, a console to come online and speak. There was no barrier of thought and then action.

It had disturbed him at first. With flying there was thought and action defined to such absolute levels of concentration that he could not and did not worry or fear. There was just flying. Even when he had been taught by the best and excelled beyond that training, and learned how to do other things and fly, strategize and hum along to rock songs, it was never first nature to fly. Always second.

This was first.

When he sat in the chair and felt Atlantis before him, it was thought/action and thought/action. It was first nature. It was natural, perfect like the white seas of Antarctica.

No, he was not smitten with a city.

He was smitten with thought/action. He was smitten with a complete world that was something more than mechanical, for all of McKay’s brilliant understanding and amazing fixes.

He was smitten with a city that was living.


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