Despite relaxation exercises meant to clear his mind and free his body from worldly stresses, sleep eluded Stephen for hours, in the wake of Teyla's startling disclosure. A good part of his unease was due to the growing realization that he had over reacted to her confession—and that he owed her an apology come daylight.
Initially, he'd been dumbfounded to discover that Teyla-stranger that she was-had been aware of his devastating loss, before they'd even met. For nearly a decade before they had met. His shock had quickly turned to anger at the idea of a total stranger quietly carrying that vital, unspoken knowledge around, well before his accident had occurred-as though somehow she might have crossed his path and given him fair warning in the interim, thus enabling him to avoid such a cruel outcome.
Stephen hadn't snapped at her, but had grown cold and terse with Teyla, restraining himself from angrily lashing out. Considering it in the hours since, it occurred to him that she must have been well aware—powerful empath that she was-of his ire; both for her knowing, and for the notion that his fate had been somehow predetermined. Her eyes had filled with sorrow, for surely she had sensed his unspoken hostility—and the portion of blame that he had thoughtlessly, albeit silently, laid at her feet. His mind had even fleetingly considered the idea that somehow her dreaming had conjured his unfortunate fate—the most foolish of notions. If she had read that from him—and in light of the childhood memory she had just shared with him—he realized that had to have stung Teyla doubly worse. As he had turned to leave the library, she had bowed her head to hide the tears his reaction had evoked.
The man he'd been before Kamar-Taj would likely not have noticed that he had hurt the young woman—or if he'd taken note, he would have dismissed it as unimportant, and certainly not worth his valuable time to even contemplate offering an apology. Single-minded and driven he had been, selfish even, as he pursued knowledge and honed his skills, rising to the top of his profession; arrogant too, as he achieved unparalleled expertise, shedding common niceties without compunction when they proved a distraction from his goals. His mind having been awakened by his studies and extraordinary experiences in the mystic arts eventually enlightened his soul to his past callous, egoistic behaviors, leaving him appropriately humbled—and desirous of being a better man in all matters.
Teyla had clearly deserved better of him, and he knew that he must make amends. Having resolved to seek her out first thing in the morning, Stephen finally found peace of mind enough to sleep.
He headed for the dining hall as soon as he was dressed, hoping to catch Teyla over breakfast for a quiet conversation. She was nowhere in sight when he arrived, so Stephen grabbed some ohkar and banana pancakes layered with blueberry curd, along with a black coffee, and took a seat, thinking perhaps she might still come by. He waited about twenty minutes before deciding to check the main courtyard, thinking he might find her there, or at least passing through on the way to her morning training exercises.
He saw her amidst a group of their youngest novices, who stood watching in delighted awe as she worked a magic unfamiliar to him. Teyla waved her hands in the air above the circle of children, weaving them gracefully in a pattern made easy to discern by the glowing trails of vivid blue that followed in their wake. With each completed pass, Stephen observed a cascade of colors appear midair; as he moved closer, he could tell that they were flower petals-and could hear the children's exclamations of pleasure as they giggled and twirled beneath the fairy shower, while holding their hands out to catch what they could. Those petals left uncaught landed with a little pop upon the children's hair and happy, upturned faces, to evaporate in a spark of vibrant color. Grinning at the happy, unexpected sight, Stephen came to the edge of the circle, noting that as Teyla wove her spell, she was humming a cheery series of notes, which fit perfectly with the scene before him.
"Good morning, children," he chuckled, so that one by one the little faces turned his way.
"Good morning, Master Strange," they intoned back, some in English, some in Nepali, and all not quite in unison, so that he could hear the individual piping of even the youngest child.
"Good morning, Miss Teyla," he grinned, "What magic is this-and might you teach me to charm rose petals from thin air?"
Surprised by his greeting, Teyla bobbed her head, too shy it seemed—or perhaps unwilling, he surmised-to meet his eyes. "It is just a small magic, Doctor Strange," she told him meekly, "Meant only to entertain these young ones."
"Well, it's a lovely bit of magic all the same," he assured her, hoping to soften her reticence towards him and set her at ease. "Don't you think so children?"
Again they answered, nearly as one, in an excited chorus of 'yeses', with several of them appearing ready to begin such a lesson at once.
Stephen could tell that she was quietly pleased with their reaction, a little smile ticking up the corners of her mouth, though her tone and manner remained deferential, "Thank you, Doctor. You are most kind to say so."
He crouched down to address the young novices directly, "I need to speak with Miss Teyla privately now, so I'm going to steal her away a bit. You wouldn't mind that, would you?" Some regarded him quite solemnly, nodding their understanding before dispersing, with a few lingering to thank her before she bid them on their way.
Stephen rose and approached her gently, sensing that she was still a bit skittish in his presence. "I meant that sincerely, Teyla. That was a sweet little spell you worked for them. Perhaps sometime you could show me how it's done?"
"Oh…well…it is only the simplest of magics, Doctor," she reiterated, "One of the first taught to Hadeethan children who are found to be apt. But I…I would never presume to have anything to teach a Master."
"None of us are ever too skilled, or even too old, to learn something new. Knowledge is a gift, Teyla," he told her sagely, "And so long as it brings no harm to others, a gift we should never turn away."
"You are right, of course", she admitted, brave enough from his encouragement to finally meet his eyes, "And I would be glad for the opportunity to share what I might, of our magic, with you." Her dark, doe-eyes watched him expectantly as he drew nearer, but flitted downward as he stood before her. Clearly, his reaction of the evening before had left its sting—giving Stephen even stronger motivation to cure what he had soured.
"Please look at me, Teyla." Patiently he waited while she raised her face to his. "I owe you an apology about last night…"
"Oh no, Doctor Strange—the error was entirely mine," she insisted, shaking her head emphatically, "I should not have spoken so candidly, of such a private matter." Sincerely contrite, she blushed in embarrassment, "It is I who must tender my regrets."
Stephen laid a hand upon her shoulder, "You did nothing wrong, Teyla." Unconvinced, she shook her head slightly, compelling him to greater urgency. "Believe me, please—and please forgive me for my foolishness. I treated you rudely. You didn't deserve that at all—and I am truly sorry."
Genuinely surprised, she answered graciously, "That is not necessary, Doctor. You could not have been prepared for such a confession—your reaction was more than reasonable. And I was the foolish one, to take it so to heart."
He took her by both shoulders, moved by her honest desire to assume responsibility-and by how easily she had already absolved him. "I haven't known you long—and I haven't your gift for reading people's emotions—but I can see your heart is kind, and honestly in the right place." She made no reply, quietly modest in the face of his declaration, "There's a special magic in that, and one that cannot be taught. Trust your instincts, Teyla of Hadeeth. They will rarely steer you wrong."
She gazed at him quite frankly, searching for the truth in his eyes, leaving him to feel that his own heart was being scrutinized. Satisfied his compliment was honestly paid, she told him, "I am honored that you say so, Sir—and will count you advice as valuable as any lesson I will gain in Kamar-Taj."
The matter seeming to be settled, neither spoke—but Stephen felt he should not let her leave without touching on a lighter topic. "Soooo," he started, keen to prove that he was well past any resentment—and that she could feel comfortable in discussing the subject going forward, "Did you dream at all last night?"
She arched a brow, smirking softly at his effort to cement the peace between them, "I did, but they were just ordinary dreams. Nothing of import."
"Nothing for your journal then?" Teyla shook her head, so that he followed up, "Can you be sure of that?"
"Oh yes, Doctor. Absolutely sure—for I dreamt of my father, as I usually do when he is much on my mind." She grew wistful in the remembering, "It has been several years since I saw him last—and returning to Earth now, my heart feels impatient to see him again."
Further testament of a tender heart, Stephen thought, recalling Master Salma's observation that Teyla would need to be taught how to safeguard her mind and heart from any negative side effects that her powerful empathy could trigger. He wondered, too, if her earnest, gentle nature was actually suited for the plans her mother had for her—a testing of sorts, which Moraine had intimated could entail some unknown danger. Already he felt rather protective of his Hadeethan charge, realizing a time might come when he would have to play the advocate for Teyla's best interests.
Without a second thought, he found himself extending a surprising proposal, "How about we see how your training progresses over the next few weeks? If all goes well, maybe we can arrange for you to visit him."
Teyla nearly jumped up and down with delight, her soft, brown eyes shining brightly. "Truly, Doctor Strange? I had not dared to hope for such a chance. I will do everything the Masters ask of me, without fail," she vowed, "I swear I shall prove worthy of your offer!"
Amused by her unabashed enthusiasm, Stephen grinned and nodded, "I believe you'll do exactly that, Teyla."
The smile she flashed him held a joy that seemed contagious—until she looked away, suddenly self-conscious. "If I am to fulfill your terms, than I must be on my way to morning training, good Doctor. Thank you for the hope you have promised me. It will lighten whatever tasks lay ahead." She bowed her head respectfully, then moved along her way.
Strange watched Teyla as she went, pondering the streak of playfulness he had witnessed as she worked that pretty magic, appreciative of how it complimented her confidence of purpose and her seriousness about the work she hoped to do. She was turning out to be a much more intriguing challenge than he had assumed he would face, when Moraine had charged him with furthering her education.
As if she had read his thoughts, Teyla turned back at the edge of the courtyard, looking perplexed. Stephen shrugged, feeling as though he'd been caught red-handed at the cookie jar, and witnessed her bewilderment melt into a sunny smile. Had she actually heard those thoughts, or did she just pick up on his feelings? Either way, she had an uncanny knack for reading him, as though he was a favorite book that she had already nearly memorized. She raised a hand to wave farewell, and sallied off to class, leaving him pleasantly unsettled—and resolving to keep his growing fascination with his newest, favorite student buried, deeper down than she might inadvertently detect it.