Finally, Stephen slept; he'd gone nearly seventy-two hours without a wink of sleep, so that his head had barely touched the pillow, and he was out like a light, falling swiftly and deeply, exactly as the needs of his body dictated. Likely he dreamed throughout those many hours-as the dusk outside the New York Sanctum changed first to the deep dark of the night, and then to rosy dawn, and finally to mid-day-but he did not remember them upon waking. Only one stayed with him, and he wasn't even certain it was a true dream-for when he awoke from it, it had seemed so vital, so true to life (and to his heart's desires) that he wished it was reality.
In this dream—or vision…or perhaps it was a sending from the mind and heart of his woman, who remained upon her impossibly distant world—he stood in the midst of the grove of keyanna trees which she had shown him before he took his leave of her. Their fragrance was as lovely as he had remembered, surrounding him as the gentlest of breezes whispered against his upturned face and through the errant locks of hair that hung perpetually upon his brow. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the trees perfume, and feeling the warmth of an alien sun kiss his face. It was good, so very good; a pause from his responsibilities and cares, a welcome respite from the burdens that he bore—not that he ever complained aloud, but some days…well, some days he wished for just a few hours without the worry that came along with being a Sanctum Master, and the constant knowing of the countless threats that existed to humanity, in all its blissful ignorance.
How relaxed he felt, how at peace, thinking this was as close to a vacation that he'd likely get in a very, very long time. He wasn't even wearing his usual tunic and breeches; just the same sort of casual attire he adopted on the nights when he and Teyla stole what time they could with one another, away from the confines of compound and sanctum. It occurred to him that the moment lacked only one thing—the most important thing—the one thing that was the most crucial of all to his happiness.
As if summoned by that thought alone, Teyla called out his name; Stephen smiled, hearing her as much in his mind and heart as with his ears-as he so often did these days. He opened his eyes to look for her, and saw her approaching from a distance, with a dreamlike grace that made his knees weak. The bright sunlight streamed through the flower-laden branches, painting her skin with a soft, healthy glow; the wind stirred the trees gently, wafting the pale lavender petals around her, leaving some to be caught in her unbound hair. Stephen covered his heart with his right hand; it felt so full of love and joy at the vision of his sweet woman that it seemed like it might burst, if he allowed it to.
Clad in a pale blue shift that was gathered beneath her breasts and fell in soft ripples mid-calf, Teyla walked barefoot through the drifts of fallen keyanna blossoms. Her eyes were set upon him, and she was smiling a beckoning smile, pure with her love for him, as she held out her arms to motion him closer. "Stephen… Beloved," she called to him, like a perfect piece of music meant for his ears alone, and as an irresistible whisper in his mind. "This is the place, my Beloved; the place where I would lay with thee, beneath the bright sun, beneath the sister-moons and diamond-stars." Stephen swallowed hard, awe-struck, love-struck, feeling her quiet beauty in his blood, recognizing his weakness for her, and happy that of all the souls in the cosmos, she was the one that had claimed his heart. "This, Stephen; this is the place where I would gladly give myself to thee."
His dream-self recognized with a soft pang of regret that she had meant it to be the place, and thus was surely no small part of the reason that Teyla had brought him to the grove, so vividly awash in Nonya's beneficent light. Once there, she had revealed that she'd dreamed of them together in this place; dreams in which they lay together skin-on-skin. And swept up in that longing, she had then shown him her desire.
As he pondered the meaning of his vision—astounded at how real it felt-Teyla closed the distance between them easily, and stood before him, soft and sweet and oh so willing. Why, Stephen could taste her willingness on the very breeze that caressed his skin, feel it in the way the sunlight danced through the keyanna leaves, hear it in the rapid beating of his heart. She smiled serenely, and with perfect understanding of everything he was feeling—including his suspicion that something, or someone, might prevent her from returning to Earth—she whispered his name as she draped her arms around his neck. "Dismiss that fear, Beloved, for I will return to thee—no force in the universe can keep me from your side for long." Teyla rose up on her toes—as she so often needed to do when she faced him in the flesh-to reach his lips and kiss him tenderly.
"Of course; how could I think otherwise?" he answered, relief flooding his veins-finding her dream-form substantial enough to embrace; not the mist of some sweet reverie, but the real woman whom he ached for with every breath he drew. "Am I dreaming this, or are we somehow here together?"
"We are together, my love, in a realm somewhere between dreams and waking." How wise she was, how patient and loving; his Teyla, his beloved one, and in that moment he knew he'd be willing to sell his soul to have her be his forever. "Oh, my love, my Stephen—know you not that I already am?" Her smile dazzled him, as he accepted the knowledge from her mind to his, that come what may, her heart had chosen him, had committed to him eternally as was the ancient way of her people; only later, as he considered his dream-vision upon waking, did he realize that Teyla's mother had bonded in the same way with Walter Charles-which had to account for much of the beauty in his creations featuring her.
"Yes. My sweet Teyla," he smiled, drawing her against him, patient enough for the future that awaited them together. He let his face hover over hers, drinking in the purity of the love and trust reflected in her eyes, and letting it fill him to the brim, refreshing him as no twelve-hour sleep ever could. He took her offered lips with his, slowly and softly to begin with, tasting all that she promised, her devotion, her desire. Tasting all that she offered him; a lifetime spent at his side as lover and helpmate; as his 'better half' in the parlance of Earth. Stephen had never desired such a profound connection to another soul in his old life—but now, it seemed essential not only to his existence, but to the accomplishment of his mystical purpose.
When he broke from their kiss, Teyla sighed against his lips, then buried her face against his neck, breathing him in, humming contentedly. "What comes next, honey?" Stephen stroked her hair, soothing himself as much as he did her, "How long do you think it will take until can rejoin me on Earth?"
She sighed hard this time, delivering regretful news, "I cannot say with certainty, Beloved. To fulfill my obligation, and for the sake of my people, it may be several days." Teyla hesitated briefly, before quietly admitting that Moraine might present a further obstacle to her departure from Hadeeth. "She will use every entreaty at her disposal to keep me close—but I will show her, Stephen—I will show her that I know my own mind and heart, and that I will not be dissuaded from the course I have chosen." She spoke gently, but with full conviction against his ear, "The course that you and I have chosen together."
Despite her avowal, Stephen wanted to hold onto her tighter than ever—but strangely, he began to feel their embrace weakening. Teyla answered before he could ask. "I will be called to Council chambers shortly. I regret I must turn my focus from thee now." She backed out of his arms just enough to face him squarely, "And you, my love, must rest yourself, return to your world, and focus on the duties that await you." She kissed him once more, and faced him with a knowing smile, before brushing her fingertips from the edge of his hairline to between his eyebrows, tracing a wee circle there. His sight began to dim, as true sleep overtook him, and as he exhaled his exhaustion, he fell away from her arms.
Upon awakening—and after mulling over his dream-vision, wishing with heartfelt immediacy to find his way back to the keyanna grove-Stephen's first impulse was to check the Sanctum library for any texts that might explain his extraordinary experience. It had been far too real to be the mere fantasy of a man missing his lover, every sensory detail vivid enough that it seemed he could still taste Teyla's kisses on his tongue and feel her tender caress against his cheek, while he swore that his room retained traces of scent from the keyanna trees. But as ever, his needs and wants were secondary to his duties, forcing him to set that quest aside until far later in the day.
Instead, he made his first order of business sending messages along to Wong and Master Salma, explaining Teyla's absence from Kamar-Taj, and that he could not give them a timeframe for how long she might be detained upon Hadeeth. Though she had assured him in his dream that she would return, Stephen was left to wait—just as they were-with no clear idea of when to expect her.
His daily duties kept Stephen busy for a good part of the afternoon and early evening, so that he didn't see himself clear to visit the library until after wolfing down a late supper. Fortunately, his gift of eidetic memory was crucial to his research, and in less than a couple of hours, he thought he had answers enough to understand what he'd experienced.
Lucid dreaming. That seemed to be the closest explanation for what had happened. Certainly Teyla had initiated it, across the immeasurable distances between them, enabled by her empathic gifts to reach out to him in spirit as he never could have imagined possible. In his studies since his first day at Kamar-Taj, and through a multitude of experiences since becoming a Master, Stephen had learned how powerful pure thought could be, capable of bridging time and vast distances beyond even the speed of light. But he had never imagined it affecting him so personally, so intimately. And now that he knew it was possible, he hoped he might reach out to Teyla in return.
Each night that followed, he settled into bed, relaxed enough from meditation to practice the techniques he had studied, his mind and heart focused on reaching her, spirit to spirit. But each night, to his disappointment, sleep took him before he even came close to succeeding.
By the fourth morning, Stephen's exasperation with such failures—coupled with frustration that their separation seemed to be stretching on indefinitely—left him irritable, to carry out his responsibilities perfunctorily, while being uncharacteristically curt with those around him. Watching over the multiverse from his privileged vantage point of the Window of the World, he was tempted for the first time to use that auspicious tool for his own benefit, to hone in on Hadeeth and discover how Teyla was faring, and if indeed there was any hope she'd be free to return to Earth soon. Wisely, Stephen denied himself that urge, knowing that the use of magic for such a selfish purpose would ultimately rebound bitterly upon the user, and sometimes even exact unanticipated collateral damage.
On day five, his concern for her welfare far surpassed his need to have her at his side, as he imagined Moraine holding her daughter hostage of sorts, believing she was doing a mother's service to a misguided child's heart. Intellectually he knew it couldn't be so, but the tender heart Teyla had awakened within him worried all the same. Even knowing that he might cause damage to Earth's alliance with Hadeeth by acting rashly, Stephen had to tap into a lifetime habit of discipline—the selfsame that had forged his brilliant path to medical supremacy-to resist conjuring a portal directly to the People's Citadel, or to the homey little cottage which Teyla called home. This fifth day, as he went about a Master's tasks and continued his perpetual watch for threats against humanity-all while waiting for the night to come again-felt like the longest in his memory.
Exhausted in spirit and low on optimism Stephen took to his bed, thoughts of Teyla fixed in his mind's eye, sending everything he felt for her out into the universe. Not trying to force his way to achieve his aim, and expecting nothing from the universe in return. And perhaps that was the simple, missing element needed to span the realities that lay between them.
His dream-self opened his eyes, and she was finally there before him, making his doubts and concerns evaporate like thin wisps of mist by day's new light. They stood in a moonlit meadow, surrounded by Teyla's talat akeylum, countless fragrant blossoms fully opened and nodding almost imperceptibly in the light breeze. The night was deep around them, filled with the lulling nighttime sounds of whatever small Hadeethan creatures and insects called the meadow home. The three moons rode high and brightly in the sky, one full, one half, and one a silvery crescent, their combined light painting the scene with lovely clarity—though that loveliness paled for him, as his eyes drank in the bewitching sight of his woman, the most exquisite blossom of them all. His Teyla.
For a moment, Stephen forgot how to breathe, overcome with awe, his heart beating like a trip-hammer in his chest. Even clad in the simple homespun robe she had worn at their first meeting, her hair piled up in a loose bun once again, Teyla stole his ability to reason. "Oh god," he whispered, memorizing the details of her face as though he'd hadn't already committed them to memory dozens of time; he breathed hard to keep his voice from breaking with emotion, "I miss you so much, honey…it feels like years since I've touched you…held you. Why haven't you returned to me?"
She smiled and gave a little sigh before she answered. "My love-though I tarry here, all my soul is bent upon returning to your side. To your arms." She stepped into him, and though Stephen knew they met in a realm of dreams, of spirit, the sweet, familiar scent of her hair and skin filled each breath he drew, putting to shame the fragrance of the moon blossoms around them. He wanted to taste her scent on his tongue, wear it on his skin, embed it in his very cells. "Stephen…Beloved…our time draws near, and I swear that your patience with me will find true fruition." She lowered her lashes as she moved in to brush her lips on his, laying both hands against his chest.
How blessedly real it felt—and how he ached for more! He took her face in his hands, kissing her soundly, sinking into the dream as deeply as he could. The silk of her tongue against his, the little sounds she made in reply to his bold advances, the press of her body against him blessedly, sinfully real.
Soon enough, he had loosed the knot on the neck of her robe and tucked his fingers beneath the material to slide it from her shoulders. Teyla lowered her arms and shimmied the cloth away, leaving her robe to hang loose around her waist, laying her torso bare to him. Stephen nearly growled, grown desperate with hunger, grown rougher than he meant to be, raining fierce kisses on her dainty neck and slim shoulders, relishing her surprised gasps and how readily she yielded herself to his raw need.
He planted one hand against the small of her back, trapping Teyla against him, while she wove her fingers in his hair, purring deep in her throat when he cupped her breast in his free hand. He was certain the fury of his kisses had to be bruising her tender flesh, but she offered no complaint; she began to kiss his neck instead, her lips ever soft but insistent. She drifted one hand down to slide beneath the sleeve of his tee shirt, massaging his flesh firmly and surprising him when she murmured against his hair, "Please, Stephen…let me feel your skin against mine…I need to feel you…I need… you…"
He released her for only as long as it took to pull his shirt over his head, greedy to have her softness against him at last, no longer questioning how she could feel so real in his arms, nor how this dream, not-a-dream, surpassed any erotic dream he had ever had.
He pulled her to him, losing himself in the heated press of her naked flesh against his, in the divine sensation of her flawless little breasts rubbing against his chest, her tightened nipples evidencing her desire for him. Teyla moaned and let her head fall back as Stephen laid open mouthed kisses upon her throat, tasting the salt of her skin upon his tongue. She shuddered his name, sliding her arms beneath his to grip his shoulders, becoming her softest self, softly pliant as he lowered her onto a bed of moon blossoms.
He paused, hovering over her, mesmerized by her half-lidded eyes, her sweet parted lips, the quickened pant of her breath, nearly convinced that he had somehow transported bodily to her, and that Teyla lay beneath him at last, and for real. "I would I were, Beloved," she told him, her smile bittersweet and piercing his heart, "I would couple with thee now, have you sate yourself inside of me…" Stephen took her welcoming mouth with his, a frisson of lust hastening through his blood when she slowly traced her tongue along the inner edge of his lips. The small part of his brain that remained rational, that knew this encounter was closer to dream than truth, was clouded by his desperate desire to know Teyla in every possible way.
"So beautiful, so perfect," he panted as he kissed a path down her neck to her sternum, while she arched into his hands, whimpering softly at the greedy insistence of his grasp, and crying out when he circled her areola with the tip of his tongue, then tickled the stiff bud of her nipple before drawing it into his mouth. Teyla laid one palm on his cheek, and anchored her other hand in his hair, encouraging his play to continue.
He felt her beneath him as fully substantial; she moved against him as he touched her, arched into his caresses as lovers do, and he wondered how far they might actually go in this dream-like state—and if it was fair to Teyla to do so. She was touching him now as she never had before, sweeping her hands across his bare skin, sparking every nerve of his body with the ache to sink himself inside her. Stephen groaned hard, impatiently grinding his hips into hers, the thin material of his pajama bottoms unable to conceal his lust. Frustrated as much by the layers of cloth between them as by the knowledge of the actual physical distance separating them, he exclaimed shamelessly, "I want you…all of you…so badly, baby," then licked his lips, craving her every flavor.
"I know, my love," she assured him, "Even in my sleep, I have felt you wanting me, as far away as you are—and as I have longed for thee as well."
Wanting her to comprehend the depth of his hunger, of his keen thirst for her, he raised his head enough to look into her eyes. "Teyla, my darling…my dear one...this is so much more than physical."He read eager, equal desire in her soft, dark eyes. "I need you, honey. I need your presence. Need you at my side, filling my days with your patience and kindness…filling my heart with…with the wonder of your love."
She nodded in quiet understanding, drawing his face close, and kissing him tenderly, "Even so, Stephen; you have become the cool shadow wherein I find my soul's ease." She murmured against his lips, "I shall have no peace of mind, no rest until I am with thee again."
She drew his tongue into her mouth, giving such patient, gentle suction that the sensation surged through his solar plexus, his loins, his throbbing erection. Stephen grunted into her mouth, concentrating on stilling himself, fighting the urge to come—knowing that Teyla, in her innocence, was likely unaware of the power she held over him.
He rolled to her side, pulling her along with him, allowing some small space between them as they lay face to face, space enough for him to catch his breath and to restore his reason. Teyla blinked open her eyes, the trust there unwavering, silently signaling she would follow his lead wherever he wished. Stephen kissed her brow, as she snuggled against him, the raging of his blood receding a bit as he traced small, soothing circles along her cheek and the side of her neck. When he had calmed a bit more, he trusted himself to speak. "When, honey?" He sounded exhausted to his own ears, worn and ready for the oblivion of sleep. "When will you return to me, Teyla? Give me some hope I can hold you…and love you…for real, sometime soon."
She was silent a moment, considering the most honest way to answer him. "No more than two days, Beloved. I have submitted to the repeated questioning of the Council, and they have gleaned all they can from my vision." She did not mention that Moraine had applied what pressure she could to keep her on Hadeeth, but Stephen felt the truth from her nevertheless. "I am certain there is no more that I can do to provide for the safety of my people." She moved in to kiss his jaw, unable to resist that smallest affection, while pressing one warm, soft hand against his chest. "I shall leave it to their wisdom, and follow my heart back to its home." Her voice quavered, and Stephen knew that she was staving off tears for his sake. Teyla slid her hand to rest over his heart, adding softly, "Here, my love, is my heart's true home. I will not be fully myself until you hold me in your strong, loving arms."
He threaded his fingers in her hair, kissing her brow, feeling himself start to fade from her side, "I don't want to leave you yet," he whispered, "I'd just be happy to sleep here with you in my arms."
"I know," she sniffled, moving her hand into his hair as well, preparing to kiss him farewell, "But you are weary, Stephen, and cannot hold this form much longer. I have not the strength to hold you here myself, though I would if I could—believe me, love, I would!" Her kiss was pure and powerful, and sent visions into his mind of all the sweetness that they would share once she returned to Earth.
A few stolen minutes more was all they had, and Stephen—his blood fully cooled-held her chastely, exchanging quiet kisses and reassurances of what the near future held for them. Though he could feel himself withdrawing slowly from their shared dream as a sort of numbness overtook him, Stephen was surprised that Teyla faded away completely before he did—perhaps because the brunt of sustaining their connection had fallen upon her, and drained her more vitally. But she managed in those final moments, to charge him with preparing a special place for them, a bower that might suit a hungry suitor and his willing, waiting lover. Still caught halfway between the dream-world, and his own reality, Stephen rolled onto his back, watching wisps of clouds pass across the full moon, breathing deep the sweetness of the talat akeylum—and as sleep finally stole him completely back to his body on Earth, he began to imagine what sort of place might be worthy of the sweet gift that was Teyla's promise to him.