FIC: Because I Could Not Stop For Love (4/?)
Title: Because I Could Not Stop For Love (4/?)
Genre: Angst, Teyla/Sheppard
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nada. Set around S2.
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is not mine.
Summary:After John gets infected by a techno virus making it impossible to remain in Atlantis, he goes to live on the mainland, with the Athosians.
“You really need to stop laughing at me.”
“I’m sorry.”
She’s really not and two seconds later, she’s chuckling again.
“That was...interesting tea! How could you not have known?!”
Because you are aliens. Because you worship what is essentially a big tree root and because you can sense the probability for rain head in the air, sniffing the wind or just by staring at the sky. Because even after all this time, you remain foreign to me and nothing and everything surprises me. Including having to wash the damn tea leaves.
The little amount of pride he retains has him shrugging instead of trying to explain. It would lead nowhere, unlike Teyla who’s headed towards the river. He does allow himself a single sigh at the thought that checking ‘making tea’ and ‘cooking bread’ off the list of all the things he needs to learn to make it here might have been a bit premature. He wonders how long it takes to fit seamlessly into a new people. How long before the Athosians stop thinking of him as the plagued one from the city? How long before he stops being the exiled virus carrier and gets to go home? And how long before he accepts the improbability of the latter?
“Thank the Ancestors Jenna treated us to a decent meal or I would be going home famished.”
And thank God Jenna never gets tired of opening her doors to him. He genuinely enjoys the woman’s company. He’d thought Teyla was quiet until he’d met Jenna, a sweet tempered, generous woman but harboring deep hurt and a permanent longing for the husband who was taken so long ago. She is what John’s grandmother used to call an ‘old soul’. Her deep brown eyes are always melancholic, always fixed on a faraway place, even when her mouth is smiling, even when she’s laughing.
In the early days, when John first got there, she humored his delusions of returning to the city while knitting a blanket for him and arranging for a fireplace to be set up in his tent. She nodded when he refused to order any furniture cause he’d been leaving soon but by the end of the week, Arkil was delivering his first pieces. All this was done discreetly, even gracefully so John put up with the meddling. The turning point came when she sat him down in the late hours, over a cup of drinkable tea and told him about her husband.
On day like any other Teyla came running into camp, too out of breath to speak. Everyone caught her meaning though, she had felt the cold and the Wraith were coming. Then there was the wild dash for the caves, everyone running in the woods and the shadows on the ground, trying to intimidate and confuse. Jenna talked of waiting in the caves and finally coming out after the whining of the darts faded away and Charin turned to Teyla who gave the okay. Her voice faltered when she described exiting the caves and beginning her search for her mate. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, even in the face of the obvious she’d wandered, desperately looking for him. She hadn’t known how to stop, how to stand still and accept the obvious until exhaustion, and finally sleep knocked her out. When she woke up, alone, on the ground, instantly she’d remembered and then she’d relented.
It had taken everything John had to stay seated throughout the story .The parallel to his own situation had been only too clear and at the time he’d wanted no help, no ties and no grounding. He hadn’t been, and probably still wasn’t ready to lie down, fall asleep and wake up in a new life. But he’d stayed in his seat and by the end of the night, not only did he know her but he’d taken comfort and advice from her. Jenna had become his friend.
“Where is the bridge?”
“Huh?”
Teyla points to the road ahead, washed out during the week’s violent rains and practical concerns reclaim his attention. He turns to the forest lining the path, gets his bearings and remembers Halling’s directions, calculates a little bit and finally points: “That way.”
Teyla gestures for him to lead the way and falls into step next to him.
“What happened to the bridge?”
“Got washed out in the last rain. It got pretty bad but luckily the camp’s settled on higher terrain. On the other hand, the crops near the riverbank got lots of water so that’s good.”
She tilts her head and smiles:
“It’s not luck John, we have done this quite a few times. As for the crops, have you been helping with the planting?”
He almost laughs at the sheer idea of him working in a field. The otherworldliness of it is funny. Until he realizes it really isn’t that far off, and probably is creeping nearer as time passes. Working the land as a productive part of Athosian society would be even worse than talking about dead husbands. It’d be investing, settling in, waiting and watching, being present in a way he just cannot muster up.
“I’m really not much of a farmer.”
“So what are you much of?”
Pilot, soldier, Ancient gene carrier. But right now, he’s the person who knows where to find something she’ll love. He doesn’t answer her but instead guides her by the elbow, off the path and into the forest. When she makes to speak, he puts one finger on his lips and she follows him silently, an intrigued look on her face. Past the big tree that looks like a nuclear mushroom and just beyond to the left…
“Mikalas…!”
Bullseye. The moon hits her face just in time for him to see a gigantic smile spread across her face and he sees the little girl who knew and loved mikalas a long time before this traveler from Earth ever laid eyes on them.
Once they clear the trees, the odor is overwhelming, emanating from the entire orchard, stretching out for a least 100 yards in any direction. The white flowers streaked with red gleam in the moonlight, flattering both sight and smell. The two of them move closer and enter into the cloud; the spicy, sweet smell of an edible flower Matti was only too happy to explain is an aphrodisiac.
When Teyla makes to pick one, his hand rises instinctively to wrap around hers and hold it back. She looks up at him, expectantly almost, and leans in slightly, as if responding to an invitation.
“These are the crops for sale.”
She blinks and he sees instantly that she’d forgotten the rule. While the Athosians engage in much trade through the gate, the mikala trade secures most of their earnings. As a result, the orchard is a sort of communal hallowed ground and the flowers are cared for almost ceremoniously. No one would ever think to pick a single flower here. Even John had needed no telling. If the care put in maintaining this orchard hadn’t tipped him off, the fact that someone had dug up and dragged mikala roots through the gate while the Wraith scorched and burned Athos to a cinder says it all. The main root sits in the center of the camp, a treasured reminder of Athos.
“The harvest isn’t till next week…”
Her expression is unreadable as she takes her hand back, leaving his feeling cold and empty.
“I’ll keep some for you.”
He tries to smile and she does too. But the absurdity of the situation is too big to dance around. He lives in her home and the thought is painful to both of them, though probably not for the same reasons. She’d forgotten about the flowers and by now, there’s probably a dozen things John’s forgotten about Atlantis. The thought stings and when Teyla turns away from the orchard and John follows as if he is tethered to her. In a way, he is, by a profound sense of loss.
“I have always loved the smell of mikalas. It reminds me of home. Though it seems I no longer know my home.”
“This is your home Teyla, I just live here.”
The minute the words are out, he knows them to be a mistake. Living here may be his second choice, an option he’d walk away from at the drop of a dime, but Teyla’s people are her home. And she remains unable to stay in her home. He opens his mouth to take it back somehow but Teyla beats him to the punch.
“It is alright John. It is just the way things are. I have made my choice.”
Ah choice. The good old days when he could go where he chose without crashing jumpers or endangering lives. The good old days when he had the luxury of being able to choose his home. But then again, as much as Teyla loves Atlantis, and he knows she does, maybe it’s not a luxury she has either.
“What do you miss most?”
She pretends to think about it, drawing out her answer and then, with a shiver in her voice:
“The precise day the mikalas bloom. You open the tent in the morning, the wind shifts and their perfume hits you, wafts into your tent and you just know…”
“That it’s here to stay.”
Her smile is as broad as he’s ever seen it, as sincere as he’s ever known it.
“For a little while.”
“For a little while.”