FIC:Drowning
Title: Drowning
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John/Teyla
Main Characters: John, Teyla, tiny bit of Ronon and Rodney
Genre: Angst
Summary: It's so hard to get past her resentment.
Spoilers: Nothing special.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended.I was going to write fluff, then I read the story by seldear with Teyla stuck in the city and this came out instead. I edited a minimum and am posting it as personal one-hour challenge. I can't decide whether I like it, but it's more a snapshot of an inspired mood than anyhting else. So I kept it and am posting it.
Teyla’s back is turned and she’s lost in reverie, looking out the window. He’s not sure she heard the door open so he lets his jacket drop heavily to alert her to his presence. She still doesn’t turn and he wonders if it’s a defiance of her senses or a triumph of her will. Is she ignoring or disregarding him? Neither option leads him to go stand next to her, longing does.
Maybe she’s thinking about it too, about the last time they were here. About all that’s changed since then, everything and nothing. He looks out the window alongside her, for once completely in tune with her, allowing his mind to form the thought, however painful it is. It’s so much prettier out there.
“You have to talk to me. You won’t, but you have to cause we can’t go on like this.”
She brushes against him as she sweeps past on her way out. It isn’t intentional but it makes her tense. And it makes him sad. She’s not even listening anymore.
They sit side by side in the cafeteria and he pretends to smile at something Rodney’s saying. Ronon never takes long to eat so John eyes Rodney attentively, watching the pile on his plate dwindling. He wills himself to seem casual, drinks a gulp of water, makes a sarcastic comment back, reaches for bread. But his entire being is focused on one objective, timing it so accurately that he’ll get to talk, that she’ll have to listen, that she won’t get leave. Ronon finishes wolfing down his dinner and gets up to get jello. The Sheppard-gods inspire Rodney to get some too.
He doesn’t move at first, just puts down his fork really slowly and rests his hands on either side of his tray. His voice comes out low, loud enough for her to hear and discreet enough for everyone else to disregard.
“It didn’t mean anything, I get it. It was…”
She crosses Ronon and Rodney on her way out and doesn’t respond when the latter holds out a bowl of blue jello towards her. She just keeps going and John picks his fork back up.
It’s so hard to get past her resentment. To rationalize it, miniaturize it and get past it. He wants to, he really does. Forget it all and go back to the way things were. But he can’t begin to because he’s received no explanation, no reason to hold onto and fool himself with.
He volunteered to fly the supplies out to the mainland last minute and she couldn’t stop him. For a little while now, she’s his. Except the minutes keep passing in pregnant silence and the words still don’t come. The ship dips imperceptibly, to her. He feels the lapse in his self-control, the shattering that takes place in his mind every time he dares to even imagine that she might not relent, that they might stay like this from now on.
He doesn’t speak to her till the ride back.
“Teyla…”
“Please, John.”
“You kissed me Tey!”
He waits for her to answer. But she won’t and in the end, he can’t make her.
The light from the hallway stands out like a halo around her body. He sits up in bed and shakes off his dream to focus on the real thing, in his room, at night. The doors shut and the only awareness he has of her is that he hasn’t heard her move. She’s standing in the same place and her hurried breathing tells him she ran. His own breath becomes more ragged and he wonders if she’s hearing it too, the strained pants as he forces himself to keep still, to let her come to him rather than risk scaring her away.
A movement in the darkness and he feels her lips against his, hesitant but pressing, her hands on his shoulders making their way up to his hair. She pushes closer and he feels his back giving in as he lies back in the bed, dragging her down with her, his lips glued to hers, unwilling to stop or let go.
The change comes when he flips her onto the mattress, grounding his hips against hers. She feels less present as she slips away into the darkness, retreating where he can’t follow. His kisses come faster and harder, his hands try to hold on but it’s just a matter of time.
“John?”
Time rewinds itself and he could almost swear nothing’s happened since she was in the doorway, hesitant to come in. But in she came. She’s kissed him twice now so he knows exactly what she’s asking for, how much it’ll hurt but doesn’t hesitate for more than half a second before seeking out her lips. He’s always known it and distantly mocks himself for having ever imagined it could go differently.
There’ll be sex, yes. Kisses, caresses, and passionate nights. But Teyla will never admit or commit to anything, to him. She’ll keep running and he’ll run right behind her. Sometimes seizing, sometimes losing her. She’ll never say and she might not stay. That’s how the story will go.