Title: Determination
Summary: When she opened her eyes it was with a renewed sense of determination – she would beat Michael; he would not win. Kindred/Last Man tag.
Characters: Teyla, John
Pairing: Teyla/John
Rating: K
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"Teyla?"
She opened her eyes, blinking against the darkness of the room. It took a moment to register that the voice had come from beside her and when she turned onto her back, into the welcoming touch of his hand on her shoulder she groaned against the pain from her stiff muscles.
"John," she smiled up at him slowly, her eyes taking in the black top she had come to know, the tousled hair. He was a welcomed sight. She watched him for a moment as he smiled down at her, his hand rising to stroke her face, brushing back the matted hair there. The relief that washed through her at his touch was almost painful and she let out a small sob of appreciation as he stroked her cheek. "I knew you would find me," she murmured quietly into his hand, closing her eyes against the familiarity of his tender caress.
"How are you feeling?" He whispered quietly and Teyla could not bring herself to wonder at the quietness of his voice.
She drew back from his touch for a moment to look up at him and smile reassuringly.
"I am well enough."
He smiled down at her.
"Good. That's good."
She nodded with him, her hand finding its way to her son, still cocooned inside of her and she smiled as she stroked her stomach, relishing in restful state he found himself in at John's presence.
"What of Michael?" She asked, trepidation tainting the edge of her happy haze. Whatever Michael had really affected her, knocking her out almost instantly. It felt like some of the drugs Carson used to give her sometimes after surgery.
John's fingers lingered in her hair and she watched his eyes as they scanned her face, the gentle smile tugging at his lips.
"He can't hurt you here."
Tears welled in her eyes and she turned away from him, trying to muffle the sob on empty air. Pain ripped through her chest, shredding the last tendrils of her hope, her body feeling like it would tear in two with the intensity and depth of the pain that scorched through her.
"This is a dream..." She managed out in a strangled breath, the tears flowing down her cheeks. She felt his hand on her chin, urging her gaze back to him and when she looked back to him she saw the
tears in his own eyes, saw her own pain reflected there. He nodded and she bit her lip, the sob echoing in her throat. She shifted her eyes to the door, past John's familiar shoulder, to where the gentle sound of footsteps penetrated her sleepy fog. He urged her to look at him again, his stare intense as his hazel eyes bore into hers.
"Stay with me, stay here; he won't hurt you – I won't let him."
She pushed his hand away with a heavy arm and for a moment he looked crushed.
"You are not here."
He took her face in both hands, his face inches above hers as he hovered over her.
"I will be – soon." She tried to look away but he held her face still, making her see the truth. "I'm coming for you; don't give up on me yet." She felt the pain rise in her chest again, the urge to give in to Michael's will and open her eyes – to leave this place of rest but she fought it, if even for only a moment. "Promise me." He searched her eyes, pleading with her. "Promise me."
And she nodded, the promise lingering on her lips as his image disappeared. When she opened her eyes, it was with renewed determination – a renewed sense of hope. She would beat Michael; he would not win.
John was coming for her. And she would be ready.