Title: Solitary Man
Summary: John thinks he finally understands now.
Characters: John Sheppard
Pairing: Sheppard-Teyla
Rating: PG
Episode: Season 4, Be All My Sins Remember'd
Word Count: 1242
In the quiet of your quarters, you sit and watch the wind whip the rain across the spires of the city. It's bleak out and you know it's stupid but you want to take a Jumper and sail through the undulating wilderness beyond. You know it won't make you feel any better; that the Jumper's inertial dampeners take most of that simple pleasure away but the urge is there none-the-less. You almost wish you could commandeer a 302 from the bay of the Daedalus, still in orbit around Atlantis.
Flying the Jumper is too easy, requires no thought, no attention paid when what you really need is something to consume your tension, consume your thoughts, not let you think about anything else. You almost wish there was another intergalactic crisis so you didn't have to sit on your ass, in your quarters thinking about taking a Jumper –or a 302 – and flying a few orbits around your planet. You'd run with Ronon but he'd only give you the long stare he'd been practicing since you got back to Atlantis. You'd go to Rodney but he's probably cooped up in bed with Katie and you can't really be bothered with his inattention tonight. Carter's out; too many shared memories of a time long forgotten and he's left with no one. You know you could find Lorne, watch a movie – maybe even spar with the Marines but your ego's already bruised and you know you'll not pay attention to the movie anyway.
It's times like these that you really miss Carson. You used to slip quietly into the infirmary and watch him do his rounds, watch him as he would pretend he didn't see you. You wouldn't say anything to him, just sit on a bed until he came over with the pills in a cup and you'd leave, and fall into a sound slumber when you fell into your bed minutes later.
Of course, you could always go to Teyla but you don't know that you'll be able to look at her, let alone have a civil conversation with her. You can imagine it now, your eyes not managing to fight their way passed the bump you can't believe you didn't see before – but maybe she just isn't trying to hide it anymore. She'd been waiting in the control room when you'd gotten back – for you, maybe but you didn't stick around to see. You can't let yourself feel guilty about that. You saw her with Ronon in the mess hall – Ronon had given you one of his patented stares – but instead of joining your team mates, you'd slid back into the hall with a sandwich and retreated to your quarters.
You'd played with your guitar, tightening the strings, strumming a few chords but you couldn't bring yourself to play anything. Johnny watched down on you from the fall, his gaze pitiful and you'd laid the guitar aside and lay on your bed instead. Johnny wasn't allowed to pity you, even when you played as badly as that. You'd tossed the football on your night stand up in the air a few times but when you missed the catch and it almost burst your nose, you laid it aside.
Maybe a 302 was a bad idea; with the way your thoughts are scattered you don't think you've got enough comprehensive thought left to try and control the hybrid bird. But a Jumper's too easy and there's nothing left to do because you know that if you sit there, pretending you're not thinking about what you're really thinking about, then your brain will turn to mush and you'll be no good to anyone for a very long time.
So you swing your legs off the bed and stand, not really thinking about anything other than the act of defying gravity itself. In your fridge, your take out a chilled bottle of beer, popping the cap before taking a long swig. You know it's not right to drink and drive but the Jumper's too intelligent to let your stupid mind do anything stupid.
You take the long route to the Jumper bay, bypassing the transporters and everyone else you think you might come into contact with. You bypass the gym and glance in but it lies eerily empty and you hate that; you glance at your watch noting the time and you feel a pitiful tug in your chest. You shake your head, stubbornly ignoring the emotion and continue on, nodding a few times to people you know you should know but don't. In that sense, Atlantis is no different than Earth.
At a juncture you turn right without thought, the city guiding you on your path and you are thankful that comprehensive thought is something you don't need to give because you're pretty sure you couldn't give it even if you tried.
At the bay, you look up, willing the door open but it doesn't, so you reach out and touch the panel at the side. You frown for a moment when the doors don't open instantly and you wonder if one of the scientists sealed it for an experiment. Knowing only Rodney is that anal, you doubt that, so you try again more persistent this time and it's only when you concentrate that you realise you're not actually at the Jumper bay.
That the door in front of you is too small, that you can hear a faint murmur of chimes from the other side and you panic. In your head, the city chuckles but before you can flee, she opens the door looking haggard and tired and you realise your insistent taps on the panel had woken her up.
She looks up you at frowns and you know your eyes are far too wide, that your eyeballs will fall from the sockets if you don't narrow them slightly but she's frowning up at your, her belly on show for you in her just-too-tight nightdress and what you thought would happen is happening. You can't lift your eyes passed the bump you can't believe you missed, only her hand is there, cradling the oddity. You take a breath, a gulp but the stubborn lump in your throat doesn't move.
You lift your eyes to hers and she takes a startled step back and you know that she has seen in your eyes everything you've been trying to deny. The pain, the anger, the confusion. But instead of running away, you find your hand slowly rising, your fingers stretching out and she looks at you, her own mixture of confusion and insecurity. You want to yank your hand back and disappear into the walls and you almost do when your fingers graze the soft silk of her gown. Her body is hard beneath the softness and you find the paradox too much for you to handle and now that you want to stay, your legs deem it acceptable now to run.
You're at the Jumper bay in minutes but you can't bring yourself to fly it anymore. You drop your head to your forearms and hope that no one comes in to find you. You don't acknowledge the city's gentle probes, you ignore the way the panel hums in invitation beneath you. The city wants to help you but you realise you don't want its help.
In your head, Johnny Cash strums a guitar and you finally understand – truly understand.
You're that solitary man.