Fic: Breve (SGA, John/Teyla, G
Author:
wojelah
Title: Breve
Rating: G
Spoilers: through Doppelganger.
Author's Notes: Breve - a rest with a duration equal to eight quarter notes. Also called a "double whole".
Summary: Hug fic, written to comfort a friend.
She comes here often. This balcony is quiet, tucked away in the lee of a tower, open more to the sky than the sea. Her people were farmers, and while Teyla has come to love this city on the water, the stars are her comfort and the open sky her solace. She comes here to breathe.
She'd come here after Kate died, after she'd recovered herself enough to notice the stiff set to John's shoulders and the awkward, if welcome, weight of his hands. She'd straightened in his hold and composed herself, backing away into the safer confines of tradition, her forehead to his. He also grieved, and John Sheppard had never been easy with emotion. Unfair of her to force this on him, and almost shameful to let herself fall to pieces so carelessly, where anyone might see. She'd murmured something she couldn't remember and backed out of his grasp, forcing herself to keep her steps slow and measured until she'd stepped out through the doors and lost herself in the sound of the wind.
John's voice recalls her to herself, pitched just low enough to avoid startling her and rough around the edges. "Hey," he manages, shoving a hand through his hair, shoulders hunched. "I - you - I didn't mean - "
She hadn't wanted this. Had wanted to be alone, in the absence of better comfort. Had wanted to be alone, free from needing to be patient, or understanding, or wise, or any of the traits that scribed and circumscribed the woman she was when she lived in Atlantis. Because it is John, who knows her better than most, she permits herself to be blunt. "I merely wish to be alone," she says, forcing calm, and turns away.
The hand on her arm startles her; anger flares, unreasoning and unexpected, as she shakes it off and backs away. Sheppard holds up his hands, looking tired. "Okay. Hey. I just - " he reaches out, clasps her shoulder, friend to friend. She stands still, waiting. "I just suck at this," he mutters, dropping his arm. "But I'm here," he adds, "if you want."
She doesn't move, not for what feels like eternity. Eventually he turns away with a shrug that hurts to see, and the gesture loosens her tongue. "John," she croaks, and tries again. "John, wait," she says, reaching out, catching hold.
He just looks at her, watches her till she has to turn away, tired and sad and worn and terrified he'll read it all. When his palm cups her cheek, fingers warm against her skull, she has to close her eyes. When he puts his arms around her, gently, as though afraid she'll bolt, she swallows something like a sob. When his hand spreads out over her back, still clumsy and hesitant, but eloquent now that she understands how to listen, she lets herself breathe, and just holds on.
wojelah
Title: Breve
Rating: G
Spoilers: through Doppelganger.
Author's Notes: Breve - a rest with a duration equal to eight quarter notes. Also called a "double whole".
Summary: Hug fic, written to comfort a friend.
She comes here often. This balcony is quiet, tucked away in the lee of a tower, open more to the sky than the sea. Her people were farmers, and while Teyla has come to love this city on the water, the stars are her comfort and the open sky her solace. She comes here to breathe.
She'd come here after Kate died, after she'd recovered herself enough to notice the stiff set to John's shoulders and the awkward, if welcome, weight of his hands. She'd straightened in his hold and composed herself, backing away into the safer confines of tradition, her forehead to his. He also grieved, and John Sheppard had never been easy with emotion. Unfair of her to force this on him, and almost shameful to let herself fall to pieces so carelessly, where anyone might see. She'd murmured something she couldn't remember and backed out of his grasp, forcing herself to keep her steps slow and measured until she'd stepped out through the doors and lost herself in the sound of the wind.
John's voice recalls her to herself, pitched just low enough to avoid startling her and rough around the edges. "Hey," he manages, shoving a hand through his hair, shoulders hunched. "I - you - I didn't mean - "
She hadn't wanted this. Had wanted to be alone, in the absence of better comfort. Had wanted to be alone, free from needing to be patient, or understanding, or wise, or any of the traits that scribed and circumscribed the woman she was when she lived in Atlantis. Because it is John, who knows her better than most, she permits herself to be blunt. "I merely wish to be alone," she says, forcing calm, and turns away.
The hand on her arm startles her; anger flares, unreasoning and unexpected, as she shakes it off and backs away. Sheppard holds up his hands, looking tired. "Okay. Hey. I just - " he reaches out, clasps her shoulder, friend to friend. She stands still, waiting. "I just suck at this," he mutters, dropping his arm. "But I'm here," he adds, "if you want."
She doesn't move, not for what feels like eternity. Eventually he turns away with a shrug that hurts to see, and the gesture loosens her tongue. "John," she croaks, and tries again. "John, wait," she says, reaching out, catching hold.
He just looks at her, watches her till she has to turn away, tired and sad and worn and terrified he'll read it all. When his palm cups her cheek, fingers warm against her skull, she has to close her eyes. When he puts his arms around her, gently, as though afraid she'll bolt, she swallows something like a sob. When his hand spreads out over her back, still clumsy and hesitant, but eloquent now that she understands how to listen, she lets herself breathe, and just holds on.