Scar
Title: Scar
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: SGA
Characters: Teyla and Rodney
Word count: 1,371
Rating/warnings: PG-13
Notes: Found this kicking about. Thought I'd posted this ages ago... oops.
Teyla stared at the long, thin scar in the mirror. She was shirtless, having just taken a shower, and she wanted to inspect the marking left on her skin by their latest encounter with the Wraith. She had been protecting Rodney as he worked with the crystals in the DHD, covering him while he tried to fix it, and she had not seen the Wraith behind her until it was too late.
It had been a shallow cut; John had called it a “tiny slice” as he wrapped a bandage around her torso later, while they were hiding in the forest. Rodney had been unable to fix the DHD. There were simply too many Wraith around for him to work safely. So they had hidden in the trees until nightfall, when John and Ronon had slipped back and cleared the area under the cover of darkness.
Rodney had been able to fix the DHD in less than an hour and they had dialed home.
Dr. Beckett had inspected the cut and pronounced it minor. “You’re lucky, lass,” he’d told her. “If he’d’ve been an inch closer, this wound would be much more serious.”
Teyla stared at it now, tracing its line with her fingers. It began just above her right hip and twisted up across her stomach to end below her left breast. She had felt the knife touch her skin and jerked away from it; the Wraith had leaned into her, trying to injure her as much as he could, and the knife had slid along her torso. Dr. Beckett had been correct: however ugly this cut might be, it was nothing compared to what it could have been.
She stared into the mirror, looking at the cut this way and that, tracing its curve over her body and in the reflection. Teyla did not consider herself a particularly vain woman, and this was certainly not her first scar, but for some reason it seemed much more pronounced, more shameful across her skin. It seemed to taunt her as she stared, hearing Dr. Beckett’s you’re lucky, lass and John’s tiny slice and trying to reconcile them with the line of raised flesh on her stomach. She did not feel lucky. She felt as if this scar, more than any other mark on her body, was something about which she should feel shame.
It should not have happened, Teyla decided. She was a warrior. She was trained to protect those around her, those like Rodney, whose jobs did not include fighting. She had the ability to detect the Wraith; why had she not detected the one who could easily have ended her life? How could she have let him get so close? She would bear his mark for the rest of her days, as she did many others, but the sight of this particular line suddenly sickened her. Teyla turned from the mirror and pulled on a loose tee that she had placed on her bed. She no longer wanted to be able to see the cut.
A sound broke into her thoughts, and Teyla realized that someone was ringing her door chimes. “Enter,” she called, struggling to compose herself. It would not do to have others know how much this bothered her. It was her own burden to bear.
The door slid open to reveal Rodney. Teyla blinked in momentary surprise before inviting him in; she had expected Ronon to stop by this evening, perhaps even John, but Rodney was not one to visit her in her own quarters, especially not this late at night. He walked in almost hesitantly and sat by her bed. Teyla sat on the bed itself and waited.
“I’m sorry,” Rodney said hurriedly. Teyla’s brow creased.
“For what?” she asked, wondering if he had done something of which she was, as of yet, unaware.
Rodney blinked his eyes at her. “For getting you injured while I was screwing around with the DHD today, that’s what. I mean, you could have been killed!” He rose from his chair and began to pace around the room. “That Wraith, he was right there, and that knife he had was huge! If I had just been able to fix the DHD, we could have dialed out of there and that never would have happened.” He paused in his circuit of her quarters and looked at her. “I’ll understand if you blame me. Hate me, even.”
“Rodney,” Teyla said, “I neither blame nor hate you. It was my own fault for not detecting him sooner.”
Rodney was already shaking his head. “I should have known you’d blame yourself,” he replied, sitting back in the chair. “At least it’s just a minor cut, right?”
Teyla flinched at the words, and her hand rose to trace the bottom of the mark. Rodney, for once, noticed.
“It is minor, right?” he asked anxiously. “Carson said it wasn’t that bad, that it would leave a mark, but that it wasn’t going to permanently affect your ability to move or anything. Oh, God, was he wrong? Did it cut deeper than he thought?” Rodney’s voice rose in panic. “His idea of medicine is voodoo, I swear. We should get you back to the infirmary. He can take another look at it-”
Teyla cut him off firmly, grabbing his wrist as it fluttered closer and closer to the edge of her shirt. “I am fine,” she insisted, only letting go of his arm when he stilled. “Dr. Beckett gave me medicine for the pain, and I have not needed to take it. The cut will… heal.”
Rodney frowned. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“It will heal,” Teyla said, suddenly tired. “I will always carry the mark, but the wound will heal.”
“It bothers you,” Rodney suddenly deduced, and Teyla wondered why it was that people said that Rodney was bad at reading people. “It bothers you that you’ll have this scar.”
Teyla looked away. “Yes,” she said softly.
“More than your other scars,” Rodney elaborated, and Teyla nodded. “Why?”
“I do not know,” she replied. “I feel… it should not have happened. This is a mark that I did not have to bear, and if I had been more careful, perhaps I would not carry it now.”
Rodney snorted. “Blame the Wraith, Teyla,” he said matter-of-factly. “If he hadn’t been there with that obscene piece of kitchen cutlery to begin with, this wouldn’t have happened.” He looked at her closely. “This is not your fault.”
Teyla shook her head and tried to smile. “Nor is it yours.”
“We’ll blame the Wraith, then,” Rodney said, as if it were that easy. “His fault. We’re blameless.”
Teyla kept the small smile pasted on her face, hoping that it would be enough to placate Rodney. Her hand moved up her torso, running over and over the line that lay under the shirt. Rodney reached out and caught her hand, pressing it lightly into the line over her hip. He suddenly looked nervous again.
“Teyla,” he began, then stopped. “I - thank you.” His hand moved hesitantly upwards, following the path that she had been marking out a moment before. “If you hadn’t been there - I would have died.”
Teyla blinked, startled. “You do not have to thank me, Rodney,” she said gently. “It is both my duty and my honor to protect you while we are in the field.”
“But you wouldn’t have this if it weren’t for me,” he continued in that odd, soft voice, resting his fingertips at the very top of the mark. “And you hate it.”
Teyla looked away. “I bear many marks.”
“You hate this one.” Rodney’s voice left no room for argument. “I’m sorry.” His fingers remained on her shirt, and Teyla took comfort in it suddenly. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Rodney’s shoulders. He stiffened slightly, unprepared for the contact, then raised his own arms awkwardly around her shoulders. They remained like that for a long moment, both contemplating the day, the fight, the mark across Teyla’s body, and when they drew apart, both saw the wetness in the others’ eyes.
“Thank you,” Rodney repeated.
Teyla smiled, a real smile, and brought Rodney’s forehead to hers. “No,” she said. “Thank you.”
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: SGA
Characters: Teyla and Rodney
Word count: 1,371
Rating/warnings: PG-13
Notes: Found this kicking about. Thought I'd posted this ages ago... oops.
Teyla stared at the long, thin scar in the mirror. She was shirtless, having just taken a shower, and she wanted to inspect the marking left on her skin by their latest encounter with the Wraith. She had been protecting Rodney as he worked with the crystals in the DHD, covering him while he tried to fix it, and she had not seen the Wraith behind her until it was too late.
It had been a shallow cut; John had called it a “tiny slice” as he wrapped a bandage around her torso later, while they were hiding in the forest. Rodney had been unable to fix the DHD. There were simply too many Wraith around for him to work safely. So they had hidden in the trees until nightfall, when John and Ronon had slipped back and cleared the area under the cover of darkness.
Rodney had been able to fix the DHD in less than an hour and they had dialed home.
Dr. Beckett had inspected the cut and pronounced it minor. “You’re lucky, lass,” he’d told her. “If he’d’ve been an inch closer, this wound would be much more serious.”
Teyla stared at it now, tracing its line with her fingers. It began just above her right hip and twisted up across her stomach to end below her left breast. She had felt the knife touch her skin and jerked away from it; the Wraith had leaned into her, trying to injure her as much as he could, and the knife had slid along her torso. Dr. Beckett had been correct: however ugly this cut might be, it was nothing compared to what it could have been.
She stared into the mirror, looking at the cut this way and that, tracing its curve over her body and in the reflection. Teyla did not consider herself a particularly vain woman, and this was certainly not her first scar, but for some reason it seemed much more pronounced, more shameful across her skin. It seemed to taunt her as she stared, hearing Dr. Beckett’s you’re lucky, lass and John’s tiny slice and trying to reconcile them with the line of raised flesh on her stomach. She did not feel lucky. She felt as if this scar, more than any other mark on her body, was something about which she should feel shame.
It should not have happened, Teyla decided. She was a warrior. She was trained to protect those around her, those like Rodney, whose jobs did not include fighting. She had the ability to detect the Wraith; why had she not detected the one who could easily have ended her life? How could she have let him get so close? She would bear his mark for the rest of her days, as she did many others, but the sight of this particular line suddenly sickened her. Teyla turned from the mirror and pulled on a loose tee that she had placed on her bed. She no longer wanted to be able to see the cut.
A sound broke into her thoughts, and Teyla realized that someone was ringing her door chimes. “Enter,” she called, struggling to compose herself. It would not do to have others know how much this bothered her. It was her own burden to bear.
The door slid open to reveal Rodney. Teyla blinked in momentary surprise before inviting him in; she had expected Ronon to stop by this evening, perhaps even John, but Rodney was not one to visit her in her own quarters, especially not this late at night. He walked in almost hesitantly and sat by her bed. Teyla sat on the bed itself and waited.
“I’m sorry,” Rodney said hurriedly. Teyla’s brow creased.
“For what?” she asked, wondering if he had done something of which she was, as of yet, unaware.
Rodney blinked his eyes at her. “For getting you injured while I was screwing around with the DHD today, that’s what. I mean, you could have been killed!” He rose from his chair and began to pace around the room. “That Wraith, he was right there, and that knife he had was huge! If I had just been able to fix the DHD, we could have dialed out of there and that never would have happened.” He paused in his circuit of her quarters and looked at her. “I’ll understand if you blame me. Hate me, even.”
“Rodney,” Teyla said, “I neither blame nor hate you. It was my own fault for not detecting him sooner.”
Rodney was already shaking his head. “I should have known you’d blame yourself,” he replied, sitting back in the chair. “At least it’s just a minor cut, right?”
Teyla flinched at the words, and her hand rose to trace the bottom of the mark. Rodney, for once, noticed.
“It is minor, right?” he asked anxiously. “Carson said it wasn’t that bad, that it would leave a mark, but that it wasn’t going to permanently affect your ability to move or anything. Oh, God, was he wrong? Did it cut deeper than he thought?” Rodney’s voice rose in panic. “His idea of medicine is voodoo, I swear. We should get you back to the infirmary. He can take another look at it-”
Teyla cut him off firmly, grabbing his wrist as it fluttered closer and closer to the edge of her shirt. “I am fine,” she insisted, only letting go of his arm when he stilled. “Dr. Beckett gave me medicine for the pain, and I have not needed to take it. The cut will… heal.”
Rodney frowned. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“It will heal,” Teyla said, suddenly tired. “I will always carry the mark, but the wound will heal.”
“It bothers you,” Rodney suddenly deduced, and Teyla wondered why it was that people said that Rodney was bad at reading people. “It bothers you that you’ll have this scar.”
Teyla looked away. “Yes,” she said softly.
“More than your other scars,” Rodney elaborated, and Teyla nodded. “Why?”
“I do not know,” she replied. “I feel… it should not have happened. This is a mark that I did not have to bear, and if I had been more careful, perhaps I would not carry it now.”
Rodney snorted. “Blame the Wraith, Teyla,” he said matter-of-factly. “If he hadn’t been there with that obscene piece of kitchen cutlery to begin with, this wouldn’t have happened.” He looked at her closely. “This is not your fault.”
Teyla shook her head and tried to smile. “Nor is it yours.”
“We’ll blame the Wraith, then,” Rodney said, as if it were that easy. “His fault. We’re blameless.”
Teyla kept the small smile pasted on her face, hoping that it would be enough to placate Rodney. Her hand moved up her torso, running over and over the line that lay under the shirt. Rodney reached out and caught her hand, pressing it lightly into the line over her hip. He suddenly looked nervous again.
“Teyla,” he began, then stopped. “I - thank you.” His hand moved hesitantly upwards, following the path that she had been marking out a moment before. “If you hadn’t been there - I would have died.”
Teyla blinked, startled. “You do not have to thank me, Rodney,” she said gently. “It is both my duty and my honor to protect you while we are in the field.”
“But you wouldn’t have this if it weren’t for me,” he continued in that odd, soft voice, resting his fingertips at the very top of the mark. “And you hate it.”
Teyla looked away. “I bear many marks.”
“You hate this one.” Rodney’s voice left no room for argument. “I’m sorry.” His fingers remained on her shirt, and Teyla took comfort in it suddenly. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Rodney’s shoulders. He stiffened slightly, unprepared for the contact, then raised his own arms awkwardly around her shoulders. They remained like that for a long moment, both contemplating the day, the fight, the mark across Teyla’s body, and when they drew apart, both saw the wetness in the others’ eyes.
“Thank you,” Rodney repeated.
Teyla smiled, a real smile, and brought Rodney’s forehead to hers. “No,” she said. “Thank you.”