Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Title: Attrition
Rating: G
Genre/pairing/warnings: Teal'c and Sam friendship, Angst, Canon-compliant Daniel/Vala
Setting: Episode tag, S10 E20 Unending
Word count: 640
Summary: It pains him to talk with them now of those fifty lost years, years that for him are still very real and very recent.
~o0o~
The early years had been the hardest for Colonel Carter to bear. Her anger had been at its strongest then, her self-reproach still sharp and poisonous, its edges yet to be blunted by the wear of years and hard-won wisdom. As time had passed, so had the urgency to find the answer. If she had not found peace with their captivity, she had at least come to terms with her own fierce sense of accountability.
Teal'c remembers the way her eyes would track the progress of her teammates during their worst moments. At first he had interpreted the sorrow he'd see there as guilt, as the realisation that her actions had brought them all to this.
Just as when they'd first come upon Colonel Mitchell in the gymnasium, crumpled and defeated, hands bloodied and broken against the unyielding metal of Odyssey's grey walls; when Daniel and Vala would charge past shrieking, incandescent in their fury with each other, objects clattering to the ground in the wake of their spectacular wrath; when General Landry's bearing would switch capriciously from aggressively jovial to simply aggressive, the burden of command twisting the fallible man beneath as the weight of years bore down on otherwise concealed fault lines.
He'd slowly come to recognise the scrutiny for what it was: not shame, but envy. She'd longed for the release she denied herself, for the breakdown she didn't deserve or the partner she'd never take to channel her frustrations through.
Teal'c would have been that for her if she had asked. If he'd have thought she needed it. She is stronger than she knows.
For Teal'c's own part, he'd striven every day not to see the differences in them as they grew ever older, their human bodies succumbing to the merciless passage of time while his own remained youthful. His very presence had been a reminder of all they were losing and all they had left behind. He had borne that knowledge with grace, but not gladly.
It pains him to talk with them now of those fifty lost years, years that for him are still very real and very recent.
It pains him to hear the deep base of cello music, to know that the younger Colonel Carter will always find a reason to devote her attention elsewhere. In moments of weakness he considers suggesting she take the time to learn, but reason always wins out. He has always been patient of her faults - of all of their flaws, many of which he knows he shares - but the difference now is that he takes the time to remind her to forgive her own shortcomings. The burden of expectation they place on her is great, and she must be allowed to fail. His faith in her abilities is unwavering.
It pains him to keep his own counsel with regards Daniel and Vala. He will not risk souring any closeness they may naturally come to develop by loading their shoulders with expectation. He will not give them unrealised standards to live up to. He is confident that, given time, they will find their path.
It pains him most of all to endure their admiration. They believe him capable of great sacrifice. The generous gift of years he has returned to them at the expense of his own is to them beyond praise, worthy of their adoration and trust and completely without precedent.
What he will not tell them is that the truth is very different. His act was motivated not purely by love, nor nobility, nor even cold practicality. A large part of his decision was selfish, defeated and, he is reluctant to admit - even to himself - in no small part borne of terror.
His secret fear had always been to outlive them all, and to be left alone on that desolate ship.