Addicted to You...
Teyla opened her eyes and noticed with some curiosity that her room had turned into a verdant field, her bed a luxurious and springy moss underneath a bower of verdant branches. The field was riddled with wildflowers, the likes of which she had never seen before, the brilliant reds exploding outwards from a black center and filling the air with a scent that smelled vaguely familiar. The sky was bright with a warm amber sun tracking slowly through the wispy clouds, its heat bathing her in a comfortable warmth. She climbed from her moss-covered pallet, the light fabric of her gossamer night gown (night gown? hadn't she gone to bed in sleep pants and a t-shirt?) brushing against her body, and her bare feet barely indenting the ground upon which she trod. She spread her arms welcomingly and threw her head back as she greeted the day, for a truly glorious day it was.
"I see you like it here," a voice from behind her said, a hint of a smile present in them. Teyla's heart leapt at the cadence and she turned, wrapping her arms around him.
"Of course I like it here," she replied, looking into his eyes. "It is perfect."
"As is my love for you, Teyla."
"Dearest Michael." She gifted him with a kiss.
A searing pain burned her as their lips touched, and she tried to pull away, but to no avail. She was forced to endure the pain as they were locked together, and the pain began to radiate throughout her body until icy fingers gripped her mind and began to squeeze. The sharp spike of agony gave her the strength to break the embrace, and she fell to her knees, hands clutching her head. Doubling over in a mild convulsion, she began to cry, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. The idyllic images began to waver and Michael was blown away as if he were made of nothing but smoke. The calm blues and yellows and radiant reds coalesced into darkness and the diabolical reds of suffering and suddenly she was on a charred hillside on a planet in the middle of its apocalypse, volcanic ash raining down on her.
Burning embers fell upon arms, igniting them, and she clawed at them frantically, trying to put out the flames. She was in so much pain that she didn't even notice when she ripped her skin and the blood began to run, dripping into growing pools mixed with dirt. Another cry, this one of anguish as she tried to stem the flow of blood, was ripped from her, piercing the night...
Teyla sat up in her bed, covered in sweat and breathing hard. Her room was still on Atlantis and she was in the proper clothing, and the serenity of the softly glowing city was still in place, incongruent to the horrors that her mind had envisioned. She scrambled from her bed and headed to the washroom, where she promptly threw up. As the following dry heaves subsided, and her body calmed, she fell backwards onto the floor, leaning up against the wall weakly as she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. She noticed the shaking first in her hands, until her whole body shivered as if she were ill.
Her mind was strangely empty and devoid, as the part of it that occupied itself with Michael usually was after they had parted. She craved the contact with his mind like never before, and that tiny taste of him from her dream was almost cruel in its fleetingness. She had to fill herself with something, anything that screamed Michael to her, but she had nothing. She had felt like this only once before, though it had been before she and Michael had become friends, let alone lovers. The paroxysm of withdrawal she had felt after Aiden Ford had injected her with his Wraith enzyme was very much like this...
She barely noticed as she pushed herself up off the floor and began to move inexorably towards the door. She half-stumbled, half-ran to the infirmary, ducking around security patrols and the night-duty medics until she came to the enclosed cabinets that housed the more potent medications. Her eyes skimmed all the labels, and she groaned softly in frustration as she realized that they no longer had a supply of the enzyme. Aiden had taken it before he fled and they never procured more.
Crying softly, and shaking with need, she backed up into a corner and curled up into a ball.
The withdrawal symptoms would pass like they always did.......wouldn't they?
"I see you like it here," a voice from behind her said, a hint of a smile present in them. Teyla's heart leapt at the cadence and she turned, wrapping her arms around him.
"Of course I like it here," she replied, looking into his eyes. "It is perfect."
"As is my love for you, Teyla."
"Dearest Michael." She gifted him with a kiss.
A searing pain burned her as their lips touched, and she tried to pull away, but to no avail. She was forced to endure the pain as they were locked together, and the pain began to radiate throughout her body until icy fingers gripped her mind and began to squeeze. The sharp spike of agony gave her the strength to break the embrace, and she fell to her knees, hands clutching her head. Doubling over in a mild convulsion, she began to cry, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. The idyllic images began to waver and Michael was blown away as if he were made of nothing but smoke. The calm blues and yellows and radiant reds coalesced into darkness and the diabolical reds of suffering and suddenly she was on a charred hillside on a planet in the middle of its apocalypse, volcanic ash raining down on her.
Burning embers fell upon arms, igniting them, and she clawed at them frantically, trying to put out the flames. She was in so much pain that she didn't even notice when she ripped her skin and the blood began to run, dripping into growing pools mixed with dirt. Another cry, this one of anguish as she tried to stem the flow of blood, was ripped from her, piercing the night...
Teyla sat up in her bed, covered in sweat and breathing hard. Her room was still on Atlantis and she was in the proper clothing, and the serenity of the softly glowing city was still in place, incongruent to the horrors that her mind had envisioned. She scrambled from her bed and headed to the washroom, where she promptly threw up. As the following dry heaves subsided, and her body calmed, she fell backwards onto the floor, leaning up against the wall weakly as she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. She noticed the shaking first in her hands, until her whole body shivered as if she were ill.
Her mind was strangely empty and devoid, as the part of it that occupied itself with Michael usually was after they had parted. She craved the contact with his mind like never before, and that tiny taste of him from her dream was almost cruel in its fleetingness. She had to fill herself with something, anything that screamed Michael to her, but she had nothing. She had felt like this only once before, though it had been before she and Michael had become friends, let alone lovers. The paroxysm of withdrawal she had felt after Aiden Ford had injected her with his Wraith enzyme was very much like this...
She barely noticed as she pushed herself up off the floor and began to move inexorably towards the door. She half-stumbled, half-ran to the infirmary, ducking around security patrols and the night-duty medics until she came to the enclosed cabinets that housed the more potent medications. Her eyes skimmed all the labels, and she groaned softly in frustration as she realized that they no longer had a supply of the enzyme. Aiden had taken it before he fled and they never procured more.
Crying softly, and shaking with need, she backed up into a corner and curled up into a ball.
The withdrawal symptoms would pass like they always did.......wouldn't they?