Title: I Find That I'm Not There
Summary: Four ways John and Teyla didn't meet and one way they did.
Characters: John Sheppard, Teyla Emmagan plus others.
Pairing: John/Teyla, Teyla/Carson
Rating: K+
Pegasus – Millennia ago
Jan closed his eyes, hoping that the defeat would turn out to be just another one of his dreams. Helia had told him not to travel this way – through the heart of the Wraith quadrant – but his desire – his need – to return to Atlantis had been too great and he'd over-estimated his ship's speed and ability.
He opened his eyes and fought back the groan when he saw two Wraith drones and a Commander waltz through the bridge doors. He had never been face to face with a live Wraith that was outwith captivity but he could not find it in him to be afraid. He knew the mechanics of how they fed – he had studied it for many years – and he had heard tale of the great pain. But still, the fear refused to surface.
He was glad of that.
"Our Queen wishes to speak with you," the Commander sneered and it took a moment for Jan's translator to change the language for his response.
"And does your Queen have a name? I would like to properly introduce myself to her when we meet."
The Wraith looked startled for a moment and Jan fought back the small smile that threatened to erupt. The Commander narrowed his eyes and his head jerked to the side and Jan felt the first bubbling of uncertainty.
As they dragged him through the halls – though it was entirely unnecessary for he was not struggling against their grip – he fought to keep his eyes away from the carcasses of his crew. Still, many caught his eye and he wondered if it was only the three Wraith who had boarded the ship, or if the others had already left.
He glanced to one of the walls as he passed and, at his thought, the panel revealed the time he had left. He was certain they would not leave the ship before time ran out.
He flicked his eyes over the door to his lab as they pulled him passed and he felt a pang; he would not be one of the ascended and he only hoped that others would continue his research. The device back on Atlantis was far from ready – there were too many complications – and he regretted having to destroy the device he believed would rectify the problems along with his beautiful ship.
They made it to the large hanger where a lone Wraith scouting ship sat. He looked around, beyond the walls of the ship and thought of home. He thought of his research and of the life he would not lead.
A panel beeped and he closed his eyes. His time was up.
--
Philadelphia – 1709
"Jonathon!"
John slid down from the oversized bed and padded out onto the landing outside of his bedroom. Looking left and right, he tried to pinpoint the direction his father's voice had come from and it was only when he called out again that John realised he had called him from down the stairway. He picked up the candle-lamp that was outside his room and carried it carefully to the stairway, taking his time as he descended the wide, spiralling staircase.
"Yes, father?"
John hoped that one day he would grow to be as tall as his father simply because he hated having to crane his neck to look up. He knew he was still only a child and that he had many years ahead still to grow but he did not enjoy being beneath his father.
"I have bought you a new friend," his father responded and John frowned up to him. "A slave girl; I purchased her and her father to work around the house," he continued and John recoiled at the thought.
He and his mother had spoken often about the use of slaves and while his father used them to work in the fields, they had prided themselves on the fact that they had no slaves around the house. Many of their family's friends' had slaves and John had always deferred to his mother whenever they were in a household where slaves were kept but John did not like to think his father as one of those men.
"I have friends," John retorted and his father merely clucked his tongue against his teeth.
"Do not think of her as a friend, then."
John sighed and sat the lamp on the table at the foot of the staircase.
"What is her name?"
His father scoffed and started walking away.
"We will name her when she gets here."
Four days later, they received news that the ship carrying the Sheppard family purchases had been sunk off the coast of the Caribbean.
--
Tanzania – 1899
Holy mother of... Jack Sheppard swiped a hand over his brow and it came away soaked and dripping with the sweat that had slid down his forehead. Stupid uniforms. He looked around to the young soldiers, sweating still despite having removed their shirts.
It would be useless to try and cool down when the scorching African sun burned down on them from high overhead. God damn it was hot.
Ahead, he could see a small cluster of huts and he hoped it wasn't a mirage. He did not think he could handle it if it was. What he would not give for some cool water and shelter.
News of the tribe had reached the Brits a long, long time ago; the first set of missionaries had gone in almost a decade ago and now it was Jack's turn. What had gotten his attention was the fact that the leader was a woman; that was a rarity if it had ever happened before in any western civilisation. Her reputation had been somewhat tarnished amongst his men by the fact that she had gotten involved with one of the doctors sent out a few years before – a Doctor Beckett, whose forefathers had pioneered medical research during the Scottish Enlightenment – but to Jack, she was still a sight to behold.
"I am Kanahan," a young man said as they approached the village. Jack assessed him; he rarely was one for prejudgement but there was something about this man that Jack did not like. "I am leader to these tribe," he continued in his pigeon English and Jack instantly narrowed his eyes.
"I thought the woman named Teyla was the leader here?"
Something passed through the other man's eyes – something dark and unnameable but it was gone before Jack could put a name to it. Kanahan looked down and tilted his head back to the tribe, who had moved to gather around him. Behind them, Jack could see a few other Brits – red from the exposure to the sun – who looked mournful. He felt something coil in his gut.
"A rebel tribe came through the night some days ago," an older man spoke as he came through the crowd in polished English. Jack stared at him. "The leader here was killed – as was Doctor Beckett."
Jack looked down and away, mimicking the new leader's pose from earlier.
He had been days away from meeting a woman who had promised to be very interesting.
--
Chicago – 1961
The state issued police cruiser swept along the slick streets of Chicago's downtown area. His radio crackled as he continued to ignore his partner. He cracked the window open in an attempt to rid the small space of the stench of Ford's body odour.
"I'm telling you, man," the younger man said from his seat in the passenger side and John turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "These cars are not made for the kind of weather this shitty assed city throws at 'em."
John simply nodded and navigated the cruiser into the spot behind the ambulance. The cars involved in the accidents were wrecked. He stepped up beside another young officer and nodded to him.
"All dead, sir."
John winced.
"Names?" He said as he flipped up the collar of his trench coat and pulled his notebook from his pocket and tapping the end of his pen against the blank page. The young man handed something to him and John took it, flipping the wallet open.
"Imogen, I think it is. Black folks from the other side of town."
John looked to the wallet and the license inside of it before flipping it closed.
"Emmagan," he corrected and handed it back to the officer.
"You know them, sir?"
John shook his head despite the tug he felt inside his stomach.
"No."
--
San Fransisco - 2004
Heads stay. Tails go.
One flip, that was all. He couldn't believe he was even contemplating this. He'd considered flipping the coin just to decide whether he should flip a coin or not. He didn't even know which he wanted it to be. He had nothing tangible holding him to Earth but did he really want to go to another galaxy and probably never come back?
He wasn't sure.
He'd half thrown the coin in the air a few times, catching it in his fist again before it could land.
Heads he stays. Tails he goes.
He took a breath and tossed it, letting it land in his open palm. He clenched his fist around it, twisted his hands and laid the coin flat on the back of his hand. He took another breath and looked down.
Heads.
He sighed and dropped his head.
"Best out of five," he said to himself and cast a quick glance out over the water again before tossing the coin.
Atlantis lost eleven more times.
He went anyway.