A/N: No Beta. All mistakes belong to moi. The dialogue came from GateWorld.

~Sandy

Remembrances of Sunday

Teyla

Though it was quiet in the Infirmary at the moment, the sound of machines and occasional moans of pain reminded one that not long before it had been a bustling center of activity. Several people had died and more were wounded. The physical injuries would quickly heal, but the emotional injuries would last much longer. The death of Carson Beckett would take the greatest toll. The chief medical officer was loved by all who knew him, even those who would never admit to it even under oath.

Teyla turned back the covers, sat up and eased her legs over the side of the bed just as John approached. He looked handsome in his dress blues though she barely noticed.

"Where do you think you're going?"

With a small grunt of pain, she came to a sitting position on the side of the bed. "I would like to go to the memorial."

"I don't think you should be going anywhere."

"I am fine." She tried to stand, grimacing with pain.

"Alright. I'll get a wheelchair." He started to turn away.

"No." Her voice was firm. "I would like to stand, as a testament to him." Her eyes met his. Though he tried to hide it, he was affected very deeply by what had happened. "How are you doing?"

"Me?" He made a valiant attempt to convince Teyla that he was… "I'm fine, but I didn't get major surgery two days ago."

The Athosian could always see through him. "That is not what I meant."

"Well, it hasn't hit me yet. I'm not looking forward to it when it does."

Her eyes dropped to the floor so he wouldn't see the pain. "I feel a great sadness. He…I feel a great sadness." She sighed as John took a step closer.

"Here. I got you." His arm went around her waist as he helped her to her feet and they made their way slowly out of the Infirmary.

~~O~~

Teyla touched the biosensor, her door sliding open showcasing the Athosian touches she'd added since coming to live on Atlantis. John released her so abruptly she stumbled, her hand grasping at his to keep from falling.

"Whoa! Sorry." He kept hold of her until she was stable again. She walked painfully to the closet, took out clothing and tossed it on the foot of the bed. "I'll, uh, wait for you out in the hall."

"You cannot. I require assistance with changing." She almost laughed at the look of panic that lit up his hazel eyes.

"But…"

"John, we are both adults." He didn't respond, though his eyes darted around the room as if seeking escape making her smile for the first time since her injury. "You have seen women undressed before. Perhaps even participated in the…unveiling."

"Well, yeah, but this is…"

"Pretend I am your sister."

John's trapped animal look disappeared, replaced by his usual half-smile. "If you were my sister, this would be weird."

"Then imagine that I am your mother."

"Now that would be even worse. Let's go with sister for now."

~~O~~

John lifted the right side of Teyla's scrub top as she pulled her arm down and out. Gathering the material in both hands, he closed his eyes as he brought it up and over her head then down and off of her left arm. He tossed it away then reached for her top on the foot of the bed, tripping on a shoe and bumping his shin on the footboard. "Ow! Crap!" He rubbed the area as he cracked one eye to locate his target then closed it again and turned back to Teyla. Holding the top by the shoulders, he extended it in her direction…or so he thought.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping you get dressed."

"John, open your eyes. Please." She sighed deeply. "I have never met people with so many strange ways. If you trust someone with your life, how can you not also trust that person in such a situation such as this?"

"But…" Again he cracked one eye then opened both. Teyla stood with her back to him, the sharp edges of her shoulder blades moving beneath the skin and the ridges of her spine calling out to him to run a finger down them as if along the keys of a piano. He barely managed to stop a loud sigh of relief. "Um, how do we…"

Teyla turned toward him slightly. "Unfasten the back and hold it in front of me so that I can put my arms into it…I can only lift my left arm a few inches. That side must be lower…" After several abortive attempts, she faced him yanking the garment from his hands. When she turned, he immediately closed his eyes again. "John, this will not work if you cannot look at me."

"Okay, but remember, I'm a guy so don't take it the wrong way if things…" he waved a hand helplessly.

"You are already forgiven. Now we must hurry. The service will be starting soon."

Cautiously he did as she told him. Involuntarily, his eyes dropped down to her bare chest then quickly back to her face. It was difficult not to look at her because she was much shorter than he. She was right though, and with his eyes open he was now easily able to help her into the top. He moved behind her again and did up the back. It came down just low enough to cover the incision while still leaving a portion of her midriff bare.

Before he knew what she intended, both hands pushed the waistband of her scrub pants down to her hips, inching them lower with just her right hand when pain twinged along her left side. They'd just reached her thighs when John grabbed the sides and slid them down to her feet where she stepped out of them. His head turned to the side so he wouldn't be looking right at her uncovered backside, he moved the scrubs out of the way to keep her from tripping. Going back to the bed, he looked around but didn't see what he was looking for. "Um, Teyla, where're your, um…"

He made a vague gesture that she didn't comprehend, her eyebrows coming together in confusion. "My what?"

John motioned to the lower half of his torso. "You know…"

"I am sorry. I do not understand."

Rubbing his forehead as if a headache were coming on and trying to look at the floor instead of at her, he mumbled, "Underpants."

"Under…I do not…oh, you mean garments worn under the clothing." One eyebrow lifted in amusement. "My people do not wear them." She looked at the top of John's head when he made a choking sound, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. "John, are you alright?"

"Peachy." He gathered the material of one pants leg to make it easy for her to put her left foot into the hole while she balanced herself by holding onto his shoulder. Repeating on the right, he stood up, holding onto the waistband of the pants and bringing them up to her waist. She turned around and he quickly fastened them.

Using one foot, she nudged the mate of the shoe he'd tripped over from under the edge of the bed, slipping her feet into them then going into the bathroom. She waited but he didn't join her. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to brush my hair. Please."

~~O~~

She grinned to herself when she heard John mumble something that sounded like "oh, crap" just before he came up behind her. He took the brush from her hand as she waited patiently for him to start. In the mirror, she saw him pause just for a moment then felt his hand slip between her hair and her neck, his knuckles grazing the skin there and holding the thick strands. With an expression of intense concentration, he began to brush her hair, the strokes gentle yet firm, starting at her scalp and continuing to the end as if he'd done this before. His reflection told her his mind was on his task though she could tell he wasn't seeing her. He confirmed her assessment moments later.

"I, uh, used to do this for Nancy when we were first married. She had hair down to her waist, dark brown and just a little wavy, especially on the ends, and very soft." He paused and she saw a nostalgic smile come to his lips before he resumed. "She, uh, got tired of taking care of it and cut it to her shoulders. It just wasn't the same after that. The hair, I mean. Not our marriage, although it, uh…"

"I am sorry that it did not work out for the two of you."

As if suddenly realizing that he'd given away more of himself than he meant to, he cleared his throat and laid the brush on the counter. "All done." He led her out to the hall, she tucked her right hand into the crook of his arm, leaning on him as they walked to the transporter together.

In the Gate Room, she reclaimed her hand and went to take her place between Rodney and Ronon. She stood straight and proud even though it hurt to do so. Looking to her right she could see Radek, Major Lorne, Amanda Cole, and others whose names she could not immediately recall. She already knew the room was filled to capacity, a tribute to the man that Carson had been.

Elizabeth stood beside the casket draped in the Saltire, the national flag of Scotland, a white cross on a field of blue. Though she could not see the faces of the others, she knew they all felt the same sorrow that she did. Now and then, the sound of sniffling could be heard during Elizabeth's speech.

But the words didn't matter. All that mattered was that the universe had lost one of the kindest, bravest souls she'd ever known.

Never had the sound of the bagpipes been more evocative, the haunting notes filling the Gate Room and moving beyond signaling the end of one journey and the beginning of another.