(Part 2) Author R
"Sometimes though, he knew, one phrase could mean a great many things."John paused, his grip tightening on the book he held.
One phrase...
"Teyla?"
John shifted forwards on his chair, closer to Teyla's bed. He placed his hand next to hers on top of the sheet.
"Can you even hear me?" He said quietly. He moved his hand to cover hers, wincing at how cold it was to the touch. Her skin was cold. Her lips were silent. The only sign she was still alive was the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and the sound of the machines monitoring her broken body.
John closed his eyes, his fingers tightening around her icy ones.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Teyla… I'm so sorry," John whispered, his eyes still closed. "One phrase… it would have been so easy to… I just didn't know how to… I'm so sorry."
He opened his eyes and looked up at her unchanged face, at her closed eyes and the bruises along her jaw, slowly fading to yellow. He squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile.
"Well, I'm not gonna tell you now," he said, forcing a light tone into his voice. "I'm sure you can hear me, but I wouldn't want to deprive you of the chance to look at me like I'm an idiot while I stumble over my words."
John looked back down at the book – the words were swimming in front of him. He let go of her hand to wipe away his unshed tears and cleared his throat.
"Okay, on with the story," he said. "He turned back to face her, searching her face for any kind of indication that there had been a double meaning to her words."
John reached out for Teyla's hand again, and threaded his fingers through hers.