Title: Black on White
Summary: The black ink stained her fingers, as the white around it dimmed. AU.
Characters: Teyla, Ronon, Rodney & Torren John
Pairing: John/Teyla
Rating: K+-T
Notes: Despite the name of the child being the same, this is an AU, set on Earth in the future and Torren John is John & Teyla's.
Notes2.0: Written for the Beya Black & White challenge.
She remembered crying as they pulled up in front of the large manor house. She remembered the way her body had fallen, almost in slow motion, to the floor as they slipped off their sunglasses and removed their hats. She remembered hearing the words but wishing them away. She remembered the feel of the young soldiers hand as he helped her up, sliding a piece of paper into her hand as he did.
She remembered the pain.
Blinking, the fat tear fell over her lid and followed a path down the angles of her face to her chin, where it dropped to the paper below, blotting the words there.
She remembered thanking them, and showing them out, quiet still. She remembered the older one's hesitancy to leave her alone but she reassured him – she would be fine.
Rodney had arrived, not too long afterwards. His face had been tear streaked and blotchy, the pain etched clearly onto his face. She'd had to turn him away; her own pain had still been too fresh, too painful for her to see it in the others.
Ronon had called, his voice gruff and full on the line and she knew he was barely keeping himself together. She could hear it in the way his voice hitched as he answered her hello and in the way he hung up the phone when she'd started to sob.
The paper crackled beneath her and she turned to it, saw the black ink running across the white page and she crumpled it up in her hand.
For hours, she'd sat pouring over the words, the heartfelt goodbye of a man who knew he wasn't coming back. For hours, she cursed him and the Air Force and the life he'd chosen to live. For hours, she'd sat, alone, on the bottom step of her staircase, watching as the piece of paper in front of her became soft and pliant, the black ink staining her fingers as she traced over his jagged loops and swirls, over the last words on the page.
And for hours, she'd cried.
Afterwards, she'd folded the piece of paper and hid it in the drawer, willing it away. Wishing the truth was lies and that he would be coming back; that he wouldn't leave her like that. Not like that.
She remembered Torren John finding the letter, some days later and handing it to her, the tears quivering at the edge of his eyelids, his lips trembling in fear.
"Is Daddy gone?" He'd asked and she'd found the lie on her tongue was easier than the truth in her heart.
"Only for a little while," she'd replied, knowing that she would regret the lie later.
He had watched her with eyes wide with innocent trust and she'd pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around his tiny frame and cradling him to her.
In bed, his space was cold and empty and her eyes had never wavered from it. The black night stole the whiteness from the sheets and even in her dreams, the darkness followed. Blackness, bleeding into pure brilliant white.
And she had cried.
"I will honour you and cherish you until the day I die."
And she had smiled, her white dress brilliant in the afternoon sun. She'd returned the vows, exchanged the rings and they had smiled happily, kissing gaily to the loud cheers from their friends. Their bodies melded together, his black suit crisp against her white dress.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife."
And she had smiled, happy – so happy.
"How does it feel, Mrs Sheppard?"
"Mrs Sheppard?" A young boy walked over to her, his black suit in place and she remembered a time not so long ago he'd worn it on a happier occasion. She looked to him and pulled her lips between her teeth, willing the tears away. "It's time."
She nodded and Rodney moved to help her up as Ronon lifted little Torren John into his arms, the sobbing boy holding onto his with all his strength.
And as she walked up to the podium, she remembered it all so clearly.
She looked to the piece of paper in her hand; the words were different, but the tears were the same. Black on white, the words merged as the tears fell and Teyla knew she couldn't do this alone. She sniffed and bit back a sob, hoping the others would be patient with her, watching as the small group of Athosians wilted at her lack of strength; they had never approved of her marriage to John but they had accepted it.
She felt weak and her knees buckled. She gripped onto the podium with white knuckles and desperate fingers, willing strength back into her body.
The she felt it, the warmth spreading through her body from her fingers and she closed her eyes and let it take her over. She could feel him, could feel his heart meeting hers in her chest and in a moment of beautiful connection, she could feel all the words he had written to her, could feel all he had ever wanted to tell her, could feel his strength willing her on.
And when she looked down to their son, his fingers clutching a piece of white paper, Teyla knew a part of John lived on.
In their son, she could be happy and she could love.
The warmth receded and she mourned it, felt the pain well up within her once more but she knew what the moment had meant.
He was there for her, with her – whenever she needed.
"Only for a little while."
As she took a breath and cleared her throat the sea of black suits before her shifted and she smiled, knowing that he was there, somewhere, watching over her.
Just like he had been when he'd been alive.