"You can't tell me it's my fault."
Teyla arches an eyebrow and finishes sipping her tea before answering him. "I did not accuse you of anything."
She's right, of course. It isn't particularly fair to vent his frustration at her in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, but she's his target by virtue of having been in the mess hall when he came in for coffee.
"Elizabeth blames me." He isn't sure of that, really, but she was angry as hell when Stargate Command recalled her to Earth. It took seven years and a new administration to decide that the scientific information being gathered from Atlantis itself is no longer the most important mission of the team and to officially militarize the expedition. The changes have been called "temporary" and "provisional," but if things don't change back home, things here could easily get worse instead of better. He's even surprised that they let him and Ford remain here in command, given the way the SGC is cleaning house.
Elizabeth was angry about a lot of things, and, like Teyla is now, he just happened to be the closest target.
"I do not believe that she truly thinks you are at fault for what happened."
The coffee tastes terrible. "I should have fought harder." And
the fighting shouldn't have been with her. She was the one who made the
decision to go along with it, to go back Earth-side and try to change
their minds. He was angry, too, at her even though it wasn't her fault.
He couldn't figure out what to do instead. Cutting themselves off from
Earth completely would have certainly been possible -- one accidentally
misplaced ZPM and no one on Earth would ever know -- but that reaction
would have been extreme, even for him.
He fantasizes about their first year here, totally cut off and
dependent only on each other. The sense of community was stronger then.
All the personnel changes with the recent orders have affected the mood
considerably, and without Grodin here, the will for a holiday party
seems to be gone. John certainly doesn't have the drive to force one
into existence by himself.
"I should have said something more. Done something."
It has been six weeks already, to the day, but her absence feels even more pressing and desperate than it usually does.
"You still can. The Generals on Earth will listen to anything more you have to say." Teyla pushes her tea mug aside and skewers him with a pointed look. "Have you decided what to say to Elizabeth in your message?"
Trust Teyla to get right to the point. Scarily enough, she has become even more perceptive during her pregnancy.
"What can I say?" He has been trying to record a short message to her for Christmas transmission back to Earth for two days now. She won't be at Stargate Command to receive the message live -- a thirty-second communiquĊ½ isn't worth her giving up her family Christmas -- and he feels strangely uncomfortable about relaying anything personal through a telegram courier.
"You can tell her that you love her," Teyla suggests. "Or that you miss her. Or that you are sorry. If those things are true."
"Yeah." He doesn't want to be doing this. This is more long-distance relationship than anyone can possibly be expected to stand. He thinks, and not for the first time since having to re-learn to sleep alone, that he could have resigned or begged a transfer. He could have gone back to Earth with her. She asked him to stay. He wanted to stay; Earth isn't home anymore. He just wants her here, too, wants things on Atlantis to be the way they were before news of the command change came through the Stargate. He means that both professionally and personally.
"She is not so angry with you that she will not be happy to hear from you," Teyla reminds him gently. "I am sure you will come up with something."
He walks Teyla back to her quarters -- Atlantis is certainly safe enough for her to walk through when it isn't under attack, but something about the idea of an unborn child has kicked his chivalry into high gear -- before going back to his own to think.
Elizabeth left most of her things here, even though the new Lieutenant General in charge of all Stargate-related operations told her not to count on a return trip. He isn't sure if she did it for herself or for him. That her nightgown is still here tells him that she hasn't given up, that she'll wheedle and bully and beg the entire American government until she gets Atlantis back the way it needs to be.
That he keeps her nightgown on her pillow instead of in a drawer or a box means something, too.
It's finally the scheduled contact time -- a decent hour in Colorado, if not here -- and he makes his way to the command center. When it's his turn, he says the only thing he can think of.
"Come home soon."
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