Title: Falling Vigil
Summary: It could have been her... 'Sunday' tag.
Characters: John, Teyla & Rodney & Ronon
Pairing: John/Teyla
Rating: K
He sat by her bedside, a silent rigorous vigil as the night slowly wound into early morning. The quiet of the infirmary soothed his throbbing head, the sterile walls dimmed with the lights, the moonlight streaming in through the windows, glittering off any and all surfaces in its glorious path.
Her skin was pale in the night, against the bed sheets. She looked tiny and fragile in the bed, broken even in her slumber and John wasn't sure how he resisted the urge to touch her face to make sure she was still alive.
He'd come to the infirmary to herd Rodney out of Carson's empty office. The Canadian was taking the Scots death harder than any of them; survivors guilt, some called it. But John knew it was something else. Rodney blamed himself and there was no cure for it; words were no palm; gestures were no sutures for the wounds of losing a best friend. John knew.
It had been when he'd finally managed to pry himself from Carson's office an hour or so after Rodney had left that his eyes caught her on the bed. He hadn't been able to resist going to her and standing by her bedside, just to make sure she was okay.
Four hours later, he was still there.
Sleep was far off, as it had been for days. The weight in his chest was heavy; too heavy but being there with her – it helped. In more ways than he could understand.
She eased the pain of losing Carson just by breathing, her chest rising and falling beneath the sheets that covered her. John knew she hated the infirmary; especially now. She hated the unfamiliar sheets, the uncomfortable beds, the clean smell. He hated that it represented the fact that she'd almost died.
He closed his eyes, the breath left him in a quick rush and his shoulders sagged, his head falling into his hands. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. His breaths sped up, grinding out past his teeth and he dug his fingers into his scalp, wishing away the sudden searing pain behind his eyes. It burned, his entire body but he wouldn't let the pain escape.
"Sheppard."
He sat up and turned in his chair, meeting Ronon's eyes. The Satedan looked tired too and suddenly John remembered that Carson was the reason Ronon was in Atlantis. He felt the surge of pain in his gut and he turned away from the Satedan, his eyes falling on Teyla's still body. She'd never know he was here; just like all the other times.
"We have a briefing in the morning," Ronon reminded him quietly and John nodded, listening as the Satedan moved away, his footfalls surprisingly gentle.
Carson meant so much more to people other than himself. He couldn't imagine what they were feeling.
He stayed there for a while longer, until the blackness outside the windows faded to grey, until fog crept into his mind, into his vision and his eyes blinked with slowness that emphasised his tiredness. He needed to sleep.
Standing, he hovered over her for a few moments, his eyes taking in her body again, his teeth biting his bottom lip. He didn't want her to wake up alone but he knew he needed to sleep. He looked down when he felt skin against his fingers and saw her arm gripped loosely in his fingers. He watched the colours of their skin for a moment or two, before stroking her wrist with his thumb, mumbling words to her that even he didn't understand. She didn't stir. He took a breath and pried himself from her side, casting a glance over his shoulder at her as he walked away from her bedside.
When he paused at the door, ready to turn around he faltered as trepidation filled him. Slowly, he turned back, bracing himself against the door as the thought that it could have been her really hit him, his eyes burning with something akin to tears, his heart suddenly aching with a loss he shouldn't feel.
He realised something else then too. Something so inappropriately right that he couldn't shift it, couldn't rationalise it – didn't want to.
He was falling in love with her.
And he had been for a long time.