Fic: The Redemption From Wilderness (gen, coda for episode 3.09 "Phantoms")
Title: The Redemption From Wilderness
Author: randomeliza
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Rating: G
Pairing: none (gen)
Word Count: 617
Summary: ' - to God's perfect Darkness - Death, stay thy phantoms!'
John is scared all the time.
Teyla never realized it until she saw him look at her, all calm voice and tight, pale face, and see Captain Holland. She never truly realized just how much the team meant to him, not until she saw the ghosts of his old, long-gone comrades through his Wraith-induced madness.
She knew, of course, that they had become more to each other than a team. Ronon smiled now, often, bright flashes that made her grin in return even when she wasn't quite sure why he was smiling. When he first joined them his smiles were feral, the baring of teeth that resembled the hiss of a big cat just before it pounced on its pray more than an actual human facial expression. Now it is genuine, happy, and she is beyond grateful to John for bringing all of them together, for the bond that has become more important than anything she'd ever had.
But now she knows why. Lorne's team has never bonded the way theirs has, and all of the Marines look at John and Ronon and Rodney and Teyla with a mixture of awe and envy, though they hide it well. No team has what they have. No team is as certain of each other as they are.
And it is John's doing, Teyla sees now. He brings them together, inspires them, scares them, sometimes, until they've forgotten that they were ever anything but a family. And it is not, as John might suggest, because that's what teams do. It is because John himself can't function without someone to pull him back from himself, without someone to keep safe, without respect and camaraderie and yes, even love. He'd deny it to his last breath - or, more than likely, not even be able to get out a denial, mostly because he wouldn't quite understand what he was denying. But somehow, in a galaxy light-years from the tiny rock on which he was born, John Sheppard has put together another family.
And if ever they needed rescuing, he would move Atlantis itself to get to them. To John Sheppard, that's just what teams do.
She can still see the look on his face as the light in the generator cable in his hand blinked out. She remembers very clearly the rush of confusion, the realization of where he was, the flash of disappointment that this was not a second chance for Captain Holland. She also remembers the momentary relief in John's eyes that he was not having to relive what must have been the experience that scared him the most.
She remembers the guilt, the crushing, heart-breaking guilt on his face when he realizes that he shot Rodney and not the shadowy enemy he'd seen himself taking down. The worry, that he'd hurt someone that meant so much to him, the worry that it might have been truly serious.
Teyla wanted to put her arms around him then, to hug him close until he looked more like Sheppard and less like a scared, lonely little boy.
A part of her regrets that she did not. Next time, she tells herself, knowing that despite their best efforts there will be a next time. She thinks about this as she drifts off to sleep in her warm bed in Atlantis, hugging her knees. Try as she might, she cannot remove Sheppard's pale face as he looked down at a bleeding Rodney from her mind's eye.
Someday, she thinks, someday he might understand. He was as much family to them as they were to him. It would take more than he was capable of to change that.
Author: randomeliza
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Rating: G
Pairing: none (gen)
Word Count: 617
Summary: ' - to God's perfect Darkness - Death, stay thy phantoms!'
John is scared all the time.
Teyla never realized it until she saw him look at her, all calm voice and tight, pale face, and see Captain Holland. She never truly realized just how much the team meant to him, not until she saw the ghosts of his old, long-gone comrades through his Wraith-induced madness.
She knew, of course, that they had become more to each other than a team. Ronon smiled now, often, bright flashes that made her grin in return even when she wasn't quite sure why he was smiling. When he first joined them his smiles were feral, the baring of teeth that resembled the hiss of a big cat just before it pounced on its pray more than an actual human facial expression. Now it is genuine, happy, and she is beyond grateful to John for bringing all of them together, for the bond that has become more important than anything she'd ever had.
But now she knows why. Lorne's team has never bonded the way theirs has, and all of the Marines look at John and Ronon and Rodney and Teyla with a mixture of awe and envy, though they hide it well. No team has what they have. No team is as certain of each other as they are.
And it is John's doing, Teyla sees now. He brings them together, inspires them, scares them, sometimes, until they've forgotten that they were ever anything but a family. And it is not, as John might suggest, because that's what teams do. It is because John himself can't function without someone to pull him back from himself, without someone to keep safe, without respect and camaraderie and yes, even love. He'd deny it to his last breath - or, more than likely, not even be able to get out a denial, mostly because he wouldn't quite understand what he was denying. But somehow, in a galaxy light-years from the tiny rock on which he was born, John Sheppard has put together another family.
And if ever they needed rescuing, he would move Atlantis itself to get to them. To John Sheppard, that's just what teams do.
She can still see the look on his face as the light in the generator cable in his hand blinked out. She remembers very clearly the rush of confusion, the realization of where he was, the flash of disappointment that this was not a second chance for Captain Holland. She also remembers the momentary relief in John's eyes that he was not having to relive what must have been the experience that scared him the most.
She remembers the guilt, the crushing, heart-breaking guilt on his face when he realizes that he shot Rodney and not the shadowy enemy he'd seen himself taking down. The worry, that he'd hurt someone that meant so much to him, the worry that it might have been truly serious.
Teyla wanted to put her arms around him then, to hug him close until he looked more like Sheppard and less like a scared, lonely little boy.
A part of her regrets that she did not. Next time, she tells herself, knowing that despite their best efforts there will be a next time. She thinks about this as she drifts off to sleep in her warm bed in Atlantis, hugging her knees. Try as she might, she cannot remove Sheppard's pale face as he looked down at a bleeding Rodney from her mind's eye.
Someday, she thinks, someday he might understand. He was as much family to them as they were to him. It would take more than he was capable of to change that.