Title: One Safe Place
Summary: It hadn't hit him yet but it wasn't far off.
Characters: John, Teyla
Pairing: John/Teyla
Rating: K+
Episode: Season 3, Sunday
Word Count: 1208
It took her longer than he'd have liked for her breathing to even out. In the quiet of her room her breaths were like gales, echoing off the walls. The City had refused to respond to his presence, her room in seemingly eternal darkness with the curtains drawn but he wasn't sure he'd have it any other way. Their walk had jarred her stitches and his wounds and he was finding it more difficult than he liked to admit to hold himself together.
It hadn't hit him yet but it wasn't far off.
He shuffled his feet, wanting to feel uncomfortable but not able to. She sat on the bed, gripping her side as she fought the pain for a breath of air and he marvelled at her strength. In the infirmary, she had managed to hold back the tears, while he'd managed to gulp down the lump in his throat. But now, he could see the silvery tracks on her tawny cheeks and the lump in his throat rose higher with every breath, stubbornly refusing to dislodge.
He'd lost people before. But Atlantis was like a family and he didn't think he'd ever get used to losing someone that close to him. He took a breath, deep and calming and his eyes flitted from one object to the next. If their quarters were a reflection of their lives, then the fullness and richness of Teyla's past was evident in the warm tones and thick downs, the candles dotted around the room and the soft fabrics hanging from walls and hooks and chairs. He almost envied her that pleasure as he thought of his own room, unchanged except for a few items brought back from Earth.
"I..." she began but trailed off, the room swallowing her words before he could think up a response. He nodded and looked up to meet her eyes for a moment before glancing away. He wasn't sure if the vulnerability he'd glimpsed was hers or his own but he was afraid he might find out. She patted the space beside her on the bed, the soft sound vibrating off the walls and John met her eyes as he moved to sit beside her. "Thank you," she said quietly, her shoulder brushing his and he dipped his head smiling.
"You don't have to thank me," he murmured, looking down to his clasped hands. His nails were ragged at the edges, spots of blood flecking around the skin there and he picked at them. He felt something in his chest, a pressure at the back of his eyes and he blinked, moving his hands to the bed beside him, digging his fingers into the thick quilt beneath him. He was tired, so very tired and the thought of what they still had to do brought a fresh wave of exhaustion over him. His shoulders sagged and he dropped his chin to his chest and heaved a sigh, his breath harsh in the quiet room. He tilted his head to her, saw her hands gripping her wound through her scrubs and he sucked his lips between his teeth. "You all right?" She turned to him and smiled sadly, her eyes glassy and he returned the nod. "Me neither."
She let out an airy laugh and looked away, her tongue peaking out to touch her lips. Part of him was appalled that his body reacted to that while another rationalised the sudden spike of desire as his way of dealing with grief and the thought that he was lucky she was still alive. He smirked at that and shook his head slightly; if near-death experiences were an aphrodisiac then the porn industry would lose business in Atlantis quickly.
"Could you...?" She asked quietly, some minutes later as she gestured to the large cupboard against the wall and he nodded, standing. At the doors, he turned to her and raised an eyebrow, trying not to think of how very domestic this moment was. "The purple one, with the ties." He nodded and slipped the top off the hanger, and repeated the motion with the trousers that hung on the other side. Her wardrobe was smaller than he'd imagined, though the variety of wear inside astounded him. He glanced to the chest of drawers beside the cupboard, contemplated retrieving her underwear but vetoed that motion as his body responded – again, so inappropriately – to the thought of what he might find there. "Thank you," she said again as he draped the clothing across a chair at the dresser.
He hovered for a moment, glancing at the items there – tubs of cream, pencils, a tube of mascara, some hair brushes – before glancing at her reflection in the mirror. He met her eyes for a long moment, stunned by how easy his presence in her room seemed. He quirked a smile and swallowed, glancing away only when she closed her eyes as pain washed through her. He leaned his fists against the table top and closed his eyes, leaning heavily on his fists, his fingers digging into his palm. They shouldn't be here; shouldn't be dealing with this. He could feel something snare his chest – a feeling not unlike heartbreak and he tried to hold back the sudden burst of air that threatened to escape in a sob. A hand rose to his face and covered his mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut, vying for power over his own body.
"I have lost many people to the Wraith," she said and he wanted to tell her to stop. "But losing Carson..." her voice clogged up and she choked on her words, gasping for a moment before surrendering to her pain – physical, emotional and John turned to her, opening his eyes to her. She looked so small on the bed, her white scrubs stark against the warmth of the room. If the scrubs reminded John of Carson, it was no wonder Teyla wanted out of the infirmary. "I feel... It feels as though the City is missing something – like we will never be complete again."
John nodded quickly, thinking of the emptiness that vibrated from his connection to the City. They'd lost many but even the City could feel Carson's loss. He bit the inside of his lip.
"I know." He looked around, suddenly suffocating and pushed himself from the drawers. "I'll get Elizabeth to come help you get dressed."
Teyla looked up sharply then, her face almost fearful and John hesitated, his breath hitching slightly at the raw vulnerability there. He saw the debate in her eyes, the battle to decide which way to sway.
"No..." she said quietly, watching him with eyes that knew too much pain. "Stay, for a while longer."
John hesitated again before nodding, glancing around the room. He took the two steps to the bed and perched on the edge, hovering, ready for flight. But then her hand on his thigh grounded him and he sagged back into the small comfort. He paused for a moment, weighing the next move, before he lifted his arm and drew her into his side, ducking his head to rest against the top of hers.
"It'll be all right."
They both nodded, though neither felt the truth the words lacked.