Title: Recurrence
Summary: For her, he'd be good at that type of thing. Because they needed him to be.
Characters: John
Pairing: John/Teyla, John/Nancy, Teyla/Kanan
Rating: K
Spoilers: Season 4
Lying in his bed, John Sheppard couldn't breathe.
The first time, it had been bad; he wasn't sure how he was meant to cope with it this time. He actually believed that, despite What Had Happened (round two), he'd gotten over her. He grunted into the covers under his mouth and shook his head incredulously. He'd resigned himself to the fact that he – cared for her but he'd wanted to believe that it wasn't like that.
Rolling onto his back, John breathed in deeply and threw an arm over his sweaty forehead, shielding his eyes from the piercing sunlight. He shook his head again and rolled his eyes, wondering just how stupid he really was.
He guessed he shouldn't really have been surprised, despite what she'd gone through with Doran. It stood to reason – and his understanding of Teyla – that she'd try again to try and get over what had happened, first time around.
When she'd approached him as he'd returned from a mundane mission to some even more mundane planet and ushered him behind a curtain in the infirmary, his heart had constricted with fear. Then she'd broken down in tears, muttering words that he had difficulty understanding and he'd tried to be the friend he'd promised them both he would be.
He'd even managed to wait a few minutes before he ran. He didn't know long he'd been running for but he'd found himself outside the gym, sweat dripping from his hair. Then he'd found himself sparring – okay, being beaten up – by Ronon, Lorne, Keter (the new member of the Athos team stationed on Atlantis) and then running again for close on two hours. If his plan had been to exhaust his body to a point where he couldn't physically think of anything else besides the pain in his muscles, then he'd succeeded.
But when he'd tumbled into bed, still wearing the same clothes from the mission, the run, the spar and then the final run, the adrenaline had left him pumped up so much that sleep was not a viable option. And that left him with more than enough time to think about Teyla and her pregnancy, round two.
He felt it like a two tonne truck when she had collapsed onto the bed beside him, tears wreaking havoc on her beautiful features. He could only imagine what she had to be going through, especially so soon after losing Doran. The anguish on her features as she had hidden her face behind her hands and tried to control the earth-shuddering sobs had been enough for him to reach out and rub his hand soothingly across her shoulders. She hadn't responded to the touch and John wondered if she even remembered that he was there.
But then her eyes had turned up to look into his and he'd felt it all over again. The unadulterated fear there was so plain for him to see that he took a step back as the force of it sent something lurching in his stomach.
He'd lowered his eyes, not knowing what to say. His hand involuntarily reached out to touch her but he snapped it back to his side and he ordered it to stay there. He'd known it was neither appropriate nor what she had needed but he murmured his congratulations, touched her arm before he'd fled.
As the moon's rays splintered his room, guilt weighed heavily down on him. She'd needed him and he'd been too much of a coward to be there for her. But when she'd looked at him... He still didn't understand the rush of emotions that had surged through him and he was really not good at that type of thing. But she'd needed him. He kicked, idiotically, at the empty air around his bed before laughing incredulously at himself.
"What are you doing?" He admonished himself and pushed himself up from the bed, tugging his stale, smelly shirt over his head and tossed it to the other side of the room. He wandered into the bathroom and flipped the shower on. Stopping in front his mirror, he took in his soaked hair that was sticking to his forehead in a manner most unusual for his trademark cow's licked hair. He watched his reflection slowly disappear as the mist covered the room, condensing on the cool glass.
He dropped his head onto the mirror and closed his eyes. After What Had Happened, he'd promised he'd be her friend – the friend he'd promised her years ago that he would always be. He hadn't been there for her when she had needed him the most, when her son had died; when she'd cried around the cremated remains of the tiny casket. He'd been too selfish and ignorant and on Earth. He let out an agonised laugh at that. He'd been on Earth with Nancy when her son had died and she'd been in pain.
Part of him knew his guilt was ill-founded and misplaced but it didn't mean the rest of him listened to it. He was her friend, her family – he should be there for her. And he'd failed her.
Resolved, he stripped the rest of his clothes off and stepped under the scalding water, burning off his coat of distance.
For her, he'd be good at that type of thing. Because they needed him to be.