Guilt. It dripped down his mind and trickled over contours until it thudded dully against his heart, guilty feelings wrenching themselves around, squeezing and plying the pain in a low rhythm. Sheppard sighed heavily, an attempt to expell the unrelenting hammering on his conscience, his mind shifting to Teyla. Strong as she was, her friend had died. The man worried.
Sitting up, and swinging his legs over to the side, Sheppard got up and headed to the door, his fingers passing over the sensor. The doors opened, and there she was. Standing in front of him. His hands hung at his sides as he said quietly, "...I was just about to come and see you, but I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me..." His eyes flickered to her face, waiting for a response. Hoping it wasn't rejection. Or anger.
But, she moved forward, not looking at him, her arms sliding around him in a tight hug. Partial shock embedded in John, having expected an opposite reaction from her. Hesitantly, he returned her hug, wrapping his arms around her, around her grief, pulling her closer against him. His cheek rested lightly against her head, the tips of his fingers grazing lightly against the soft skin of her back, silently comforting his friend, who'd lost a friend.
Teyla hadn't cried yet, and clinging to John, she didn't still. Her emotions were many and they were all over the place, yet his arms seemed to secure everything. Pushing the two of them together. Soothe. John stroked her hair, a feathery touch that imprinted deep. Did he know how he made her feel? The simple contact of a hug had made her feel i better /i .
Pulling away, her hand resting on his shoulder, she looked at him. Finally. Relief flooded through him. "Thank you, John." she said softly, her eyes reflecting what she felt. Sheppard watched her momentarily before reaching and lightly pressing his palm against her cheek. His feelings for her, bubbling to the surface. "Teyla, I..." He trailed off as Teyla merely smiled, her hand sliding up his arm to his wrist, to his hand that laid against her skin, smaller fingers wrapping around his longer ones. Lips, brushing against his knuckles.
"...Thank you, John."