Title: Beauty

Rating: T

Summary: Thalan didn't just hunt when he was inside John's head – he brought them together. During and post 'The Long Goodbye'. Sheyla.

Disclaimer: No own, no money made, you know the drill.

Right, this is my first Atlantis fic, so I apologise in advance if it sucks. It's like a load of scenes from 'The Long Goodbye' from Thalan's POV. 'Cause that episode rocks.

Please R&R… And enjoy!

Beauty

one

It's strange.

I'm awake, and I'm me. But I feel… different. My body is different. Younger. Stronger. Oh yes, very different indeed. My eyes open and I register why, in one startled sentence.

I'm dead?

I frown at the body, lain before me. So familiar, yet so alien.

I am dead. Puzzling…

Tell me about it, another voice rumbles in my head, full of wry humour. I can't believe I let Elizabeth convince me to do this.

I blink, startled. Who are you?

Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. And you're inside my head.

Ah.

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two

Phoebus is here. I can feel it, somehow, but my question is directed at John – my sardonic host.

He chuckles. The sound/sensation ripples through our shared mind and I shiver. Yeah, she's here. We picked her pod up before yours. Don't worry. My fingers flex where they rest, reaching for an absent sidearm. I can feel John's sudden confusion as he feels the direction of my thoughts. Why d'you want a weapon?

I merge his consciousness with mine, just a little. His psyche tenses, shocked, as he realises. Phoebus is not my wife, I supply, almost regretfully. She is my enemy. And before this day is over, one of us will be dead.

The mental silence doesn't last long – it's soon shattered by his silent cries.

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three

It's definitely her. The familiar malicious sparkle in Weir's stolen gaze confirms that. The screams in the back of my mind never abate, and I feel something akin to sympathy for my unwilling Colonel, and for his people. Black drapes will grace the city's halls before long, however this chase ends. I feel fleeting, momentary sorrow, but I repress it – something I learned to do a long time ago.

And then Phoebus kisses me.

What the…?

I don't know whether to respond, whether I want to respond. It has been so long since I kissed, and since I was kissed, that I am vaguely confused. But John's mind knows exactly what it wants, and it's not this. I see a face in our linked psyche: dusky skin and dark eyes, feral grace and sleek danger. A shudder traces my spine as John slides into memories – lips on lips, hands in hair, tongues in a startled duel for supremacy.

I understand why John does not want this. He wants her, and because of that, I do not respond to my enemy or his leader. As Phoebus releases me, it is all I can do not to moan the name that trembles on my tongue, plucked from his open mind.

Teyla…

And then I am running, while Sheppard is quiet in the back of my head. He is remembering, and regretting, and learning.

I leave him to it.

---------

four

He is resisting me, and I don't have time for this.

Well then make time! I'm not going anywhere!

The corridors are dark, and I need to concentrate. I have waited so long to take Phoebus down, to win this war for my people. I can't lose. Quiet, Sheppard, or you'll get us both killed.

I might prefer that to this. He's not serious. I'm in his head, I can tell.

I smirk, very briefly. I don't envy him his position. You'll get out of this just fine, Colonel, I say.

And Elizabeth will be dead. Cold, solid fact.

I shrug mentally. A casualty of war.

It's not our war.

It is now.

I can feel his mounting anger. You made it ours! We have nothing to do with it!

Actually, you agreed to it. I take him down in one scything remark, and block his thoughts off.

I have to concentrate.

---------

five

I can almost hear his breath hitch as Ronon steps out into my path. I smile internally and begin to fake my way into the Satedan's trust. Lying always did come easy to me.

Ronon! he roars inside my skull. Ronon! Listen to me! That's an order!

He can't hear you, Colonel, I reproach.

John ignores me. Damnit Ronon, for God's sake, shoot me!

That surprises me, but only mildly. I can feel the beginnings of despair in my host's thoughts – he can't take much more of this. He is being hunted by his own people, looked upon with wariness and fear, ostracised, abandoned. Chin up, John, I murmur. I am surprised, too, at the odd phrase that trips off my mental tongue – I'm picking up on his mannerisms. Disturbing. It's not all bad.

What're you gonna do to Ronon?

Depends if the big man wants to play nice, I reply. He understands – he is military, after all. But there is a strange undercurrent to his understanding that puzzles me. It almost feels like… satisfaction? Guilty satisfaction?

I delve gently into his memories, his thoughts, and I understand.

Teyla. Ronon's friendship with her. John is jealous of Ronon; thinks their 'friendship' is something a little more. He wants what he perceives Ronon to have. And he feels guilty about that, too.

But it is only his perception. Not necessarily the truth. I ponder that for a fraction of a second. So much guilt within you, my friend, I say to him thoughtfully. So much loneliness.

He ignores me. Denial.

I chuckle, and focus on my next catch.

---------

six

The burst of crimson energy scythes from the weapon in my grip, and impacts upon the woman's back. She collapses to the hard floor with a startled groan – my gaze follows her.

Please let it be Phoebus, I silently plead, the bloodlust rising. I want to kill, to end this lifelong path of violence and torment.

I step forward, tense, ready… and sigh. It's not her.

But John gasps in my mind. Teyla! He is shocked into silence for the briefest of seconds, and then turns on me. You shot her! You sonuvabitch, you shot her!

The raw emotion in his voice startles me, throws me, and then I realise, with sickening certainty.

You love her.

But he's not listening.

His silence and grief shocks me, unsettles me. Who am I to wrench these peoples' lives apart? Who am I to destroy such love? The answer comes, and gives me false reassurance: I am the last of my people.

I step over Teyla's body, and retreat into anger-laced sarcasm. My façade, my protection against that which I cannot comprehend. "Will you people stop getting in the way!"

Never, is John's furious, passionate response.

I believe him.

---------

seven

The lights flicker on. And the doors slide shut.

Damnit!

Whatcha gonna do now? he taunts. Angry. Frustrated.

The Satedan's stolen weapon rises up: I blow a hole in the door release.

Oh.

The door is half-open, my muscles still straining, and I glance up. Hazel eyes connect with brown. John's joyous shout nearly deafens me. Teyla!

And then she shoots me.

Blackness. For both of us.

---------

eight

"He is regaining consciousness." John recognises her voice: joy and love thrum through him. My eyes open, his knowledge flooding into my receptive brain, and I see her. I am struck for a moment – John is right. She truly is beautiful.

"Teyla, it's me," I try.

Her smile is hard. "Do not waste your breath trying to convince me you are John Sheppard," she confides, kneeling down to face me. "I do not believe you."

That's my girl! I hear Sheppard yell in the back of my mind. It's all I can do not to roll my eyes.

I keep trying. "D'you see what they're doing? They're pitting us against each other." I let emotion seep into my voice; his emotion. "You know me!"

With no warning Phoebus joins the conversation. "Oh please. You call that acting?"

And the game begins in earnest.

I look up, and John quiets. "Phoebus."

"There's that look of defeat I love."

"Wrong again. Still hatred."

John is watching Teyla as I spar with Phoebus. He is shaking in my mind, trembling with so many conflicting emotions that I can't distinguish them.

"I guess I'm satisfied with this." I can hear the glee in her voice. "Teyla?"

The Athosian rises to her feet. I study her with professional detachment; John watches her with grief-ridden intensity. "Yes?" she asks in her melodious lilt. I can understand why he loves her.

"Kill him."

Teyla abruptly looks as though she is going to throw up. And with that, I realise that John's feelings are fully requited. Oh, what a mess…

"Don't listen to her," I bark out, my heart going out to this befuddled pair. It's odd, but I'm no longer concerned for my own life. Maybe the imprint of my consciousness on John's is fading – can feel my connection to existence fading, and it dulls the righteous anger that has fuelled me my whole life. I don't miss it.

"Kill him now, or I vent Haylon fire-suppressant into all the living spaces in Atlantis."

Her sickness intensifies, and sympathy moves through me. She goes for her radio, and I turn my attention to John. He is murmuring softly in my consciousness, meaningless rumbles of love and grief and fear. I abruptly join Teyla in sickness, and for once in my life, it is not stemming from my own plight. The situation these two find themselves in is a thousand times worse than anything I have ever suffered – I have never loved, and I have never lost.

Teyla turns to Phoebus. "Why are you doing this?" she pleads. Her heart is teetering on the verge of shattering – John's is on the same brink.

Phoebus launches her speech, but I only catch snatches of it. Sheppard's pain hurts, almost more than I can bear. I want to collapse and weep and curl into a ball and grab Teyla and kiss her senseless. All at once. But I can only kneel here, and half-listen.

"Don't believe her," I say softly as Phoebus's rant slows briefly. Teyla's gaze locks with mine again – I can see the beginnings of tears.

And my enemy is off again, but this time I listen. "Believe me when I say I have nothing to lose. In a very short time I will feel excruciating pain, this body will convulse and I will cease to exist. That's what is ahead for me. All I can hope for now is to achieve victory for my people." That was always Phoebus for you. She could never see the smaller picture – never see the humanity that rested behind the blasé smokescreens. She never had any sense of empathy whatsoever. That hasn't changed.

Teyla is fighting back. "Phoebus, your people are long dead. Who lost or won a war so many years ago, it does not matter!" She's right, and I'm beginning to realise this. So many years of meaningless deaths, and it took this hapless pair to make me realise exactly what it meant – nothing.

Phoebus's voice hardens. "It matters to me."

Teyla turns to me. Agony shines in her eyes. My lips move, unbidden by myself or my heartbroken host. "If you kill me, you're killing him."

She knows, John whispers painfully. She knows. He is certain that he is going to die – but he doesn't want to.

My eyes meet Teyla's again, and I realise that he wants to tell her. That he wants to tell her before he dies exactly how much his heart overflows every time he sees her smile. But he can't. Because of me. I have never actually hated myself before this moment; this frozen instant in time. He can't tell her.

So this is the next best thing. I tell the truth, for once in my life. "He cares for you more than you know."

John is silent for a long moment. Thank you, he breathes.

Teyla turns back to Phoebus. "Please do not make me do this," she pleads. Her voice trembles. She can't look at me. No. She can look at me. She can't look at John.

"You don't have to!" I manage. We plead in unison.

"Shoot him, or I release the gas and just hope it reaches the both of you."

Her radio chirps softly, and once again I look to John. She loves you, I say softly. He needs to be told. She loves you, not Ronon, not anyone else. You.

I…

"Kill him." Phoebus.

Teyla's gaze is full of grief and pain as she raises the weapon in her grasp, aims it at me. I meet her gaze. "Sheppard doesn't believe you'll do it," I say. I beg her silently with those words to remember him, to remember the man she loves, the man who loves her.

She doesn't listen – the gun is levelled at me once again. Her voice shakes. "Forgive me, John."

A burst of chatter over her radio. Relief flooding across her features. And Phoebus's angry exclamation hanging in the air.

John is startled back to coherence. McKay did it.

Teyla moves towards the door. John's heart jumps – so does mine. "Teyla." She stops, composed once more. "Come on," I say. "You can't leave me like this." Bound hand and foot, sat in the middle of the corridor, suffering a bout of schizophrenia.

What?

John is as calm as his Athosian. You're picking up on me.

I guess I am.

Damn.

Teyla turns back to me. Fire blazes in her dark eyes. "I will not let her harm you." For more than one reason, I muse to John. He doesn't answer – just watches her wistfully. I smile.

But Phoebus is mad now. She will hunt me until the world turns to ash – or she dies – or I die, whichever comes first. But I have no desire to die now, because I have no desire for John to die. I like this strange pair. I want to give them a chance.

Sudden, crippling pain lances through my body, and I gasp. I look up at Teyla; I have to warn her. "You don't know how determined she is," I manage, my mind almost overcome by this sudden, incapacitating agony. "You can't let her win!"

And then my body spasms.

Our body spasms.

Thalan? John calls hoarsely, his mental tone as filled with pain as mine.

John?

I am gifted with a sudden wave of gratification, and I almost collapse beneath its weight. Thank you.

I feel lighter, somehow. Happiness jolts through me – not self-gratification, not momentary pleasure; happiness. I have never been happy before. But now, with John's silent words, I am joyous.

I cease to exist.

---------

nine

Thalan and Phoebus are gone. Atlantis is restored to normalcy. Well. As 'normal' as Atlantis ever gets. But there are some things left unsaid, and some things that need to be tied up. Everyone knows.

Rodney McKay dodges doctors and nurses as he weaves his way to Elizabeth Weir's bedside. He greets her with a smile. "Hey."

She looks up. "Rodney." Her hand pats the side of the bed. "Sit down."

He complies, and taps the side of his skull jokily. "Feeling lonely up there?"

She chuckles. "I can assure you, that's something I never want to repeat," she replies with amused certainty.

He laughs with her, but his mind is elsewhere – she can tell. She ducks towards him. "Rodney?"

He glances back at her. "I was just wondering…" He clears his throat roughly. "Y'know when Phoebus was… in there?" He gestures vaguely towards her head.

"Yes?"

"Could she… could she see what you were thinking? Sort of, read your mind?" He shifts, uncomfortable with the personal nature of the question. And the unscientific phrasing.

She thinks, but only for a brief second. "Yeah. She could."

Rodney chews his lip.

Elizabeth folds her arms. "Why?"

He frowns. "It's what Thalan said to Teyla."

Her expression clears. "Ah."

"'He cares for you more than you know'," Rodney quotes, frowning. "I just wondered if… well, if it's the truth."

Elizabeth smiles secretively and pats his hand. "Ask John."

He quirks one eyebrow at her.

She grins. John Sheppard is talkative when confined to the Infirmary. "Tomorrow."

---------

ten

John watches Teyla.

She is stood out on a balcony, slender hands resting on the barrier between her and the sea. Her hair is loose, gusting around her shoulders as the breeze plays with gentle abandon. Her eyes are closed – she is simply revelling in the frozen moment.

His heart aches, and swells, in one bittersweet movement.

He steps forward. "Teyla." His voice is soft – these are the first words he's spoken to her since he got out of the Infirmary. He's been avoiding her.

"John." He finally got her to call him John. He smiles slightly.

They stand next to each other in tense silence for a minute. Two. Three.

Her hand brushes his. Immediately, instinctively, their fingers intertwine.

"Did he lie?" Her voice shakes. It would be imperceptible to anyone else, but he knows her. He hears it.

This is the last chance, John, his mind whispers to him. Last chance to run away.

But then he turns towards her, studying her. Her face is flushed from the wind, her eyes wide and earnest. He cannot resist her, cannot deny her anything. She is beauty – not beautiful, she is beauty. The ultimate. The perfect.

No, he replies to his own psyche. My last chance to escape was a very long time ago.

He reaches up; cradles one side of her face. She inhales sharply at his touch: melts as his thumb strokes the satin-soft skin of her cheek. Tentatively he swoops forwards, brushing a feather-light kiss to her lips. A question. And a promise. Her lips part beneath his, and he gently pulls her closer, hands at her waist.

He breaks contact, and rests his forehead against hers. She gazes up at him: hazel connects with brown. This is the start of something, he thinks. Something beautiful.

John smiles. "No."

--end--