Parallels
Title: Parallels (Parts One & Two)
Author: eclipse (aka gigerisgod)
Rating: Mature for violence, some language (I think) and slashiness, though nothing too heavy
Spoilers: through Company of Thieves, S10
Characters: Mostly Teal'c & Mitchell, Carter, Vala, Daniel
Disclaimer: Stargate, SG-1 material is not mine, no claims and no infringement intended
Summary: Slight AU that describes what might have happened if Teal'c hadn't recognized Mitchell aboard Netan's vessel. Told from Teal'c's POV. Part One checks in at about 2,400 or so words. Part two finishes somewhere around 3,500, just so you know what you're in for.
I've been tweaking this story in my journal for weeks now and felt it was finally time to post.
PARALLELS - Part One
His brain is buzzing like an amplifier overpowered by the enormous sound reverberating through it. It penetrates his whole physical being, a current that conducts itself along muscles, skin and bone.
Undisciplined emotions are typically kept in check by rigorous mental arts training, exercised through regular practice of the kel’no’reem and calling upon the teachings of his mentor, Bra’tac. But should something akin to rage be given a chance to flourish, it is like a fire that burns wildly, feeding upon violence and destruction like the air itself.
Provoked by the terrible pain of his recent interrogations, Teal’c gives in to his rage.
There’s no balance.
No control.
There is only the wild abandon and physical satisfaction of bloody retribution; primal instinct that he so frequently denies himself.
He will indulge those urges now.
Teal’c unleashes his fury and in the blink of an eye, Netan’s men lie on the ground like broken kindling.
The release is far too fleeting to satisfy his thirst for violence, not after the suffering that’s been inflicted upon him by such men, and not with the destruction of Dakara weighing so heavily on his mind and spirit; a hideous void that demands to be filled, its appetite indiscriminate.
There remains one other in the chamber, one more outlet with which to channel his aggressions. His body has already seized the man before his brain makes the connection.
He seizes his enemy by surprise and it takes just two swift movements before his former tormentor writhes underneath him, firmly in his grasp. He is the last of Netan’s men come to execute him, no doubt, only now Teal’c has become the executioner.
Like Vashin, now lying on the floor in a mangled pulp, this is merely another faceless butcher of the Lucian Alliance and his features become obscured in Teal’c’s white, hot rage. Infuriated, Teal’c is unable to think clearly. The only thing that matters to him right now is inflicting suffering and death in exchange for his anguish, tasting this bittersweet fruit that he intends to savor.
Teal’c’s body is stretched out on top of the other man, keeping him pinned. Both of his large hands easily wrap around his opponent’s throat in a constricting embrace. In his haze of pain and aggression, Teal’c is reduced to the most rudimentary of senses, relying more on hearing and the sensation of touch, rather than his sight. The feel of his enemy’s rasping, labored breaths is a soothing balm to his nerves.
He’s immune to the hands that are clutching and clawing at his arms, desperate efforts to gain leverage against him. They are bruising, but ineffective attempts that hardly give him pause.
The male bucks in a vain effort to dislodge him. The hips are slim and hard, painful contact against his own. Teal’c responds by pressing down, bringing more weight to bear on the struggling body, quickly stilling most of his opponent’s movements.
He growls as he squeezes the soft throat more tightly. It will soon be over.
Tiny whines and muffled grunts draw Teal’c’s attention to terrified blue eyes, filled with watery tears that catch the light from above, full lips and slack mouth vainly trying to gasp for air, skin ashy blue. The eyes are beginning to roll upward, the whites now awful to look upon.
Suddenly, the feel of something hard and cold strikes him repeatedly from one of those hands and instinctively he knows it's a weapon. The man is still battling, stubbornly clinging to life and refusing to give up, but Teal’c doesn’t concern himself.
It turns out to be a mistake…and not his only one.
A shot cuts through the buzzing in his head like an explosion. His vision flashes, wavers to black and then back again. Teal’c’s comprehension kicks in with the searing pain in his leg, registering that he’s been shot and wounded, but he doesn’t budge. He looks down at his enemy, muscles locked in rigid tension.
Teal’c concentrates on his enemy’s face, wills the blinding haze of aggression to recede in order to gaze upon the features and watch as the life is snuffed out of them. He will match eyes with his opponent in his last moments and acknowledge that he is triumphant, the survivor.
The pain from the gunshot wound has shaken him considerably. When his vision focuses again on the face, he finds that it’s familiar……a face that he knows….sudden spark of recognition that touches off a storm of emotion.
He’s unable to process the identity; overwhelming tide of conflict rising and confusion that becomes comprehension, melding into utter revulsion. The sound of his heartbeat is like a great drum that drowns out his senses.
Short-cropped brown hair, full mouth, blue eyes, once bright, now closed.
Taur'i.
Not his enemy, but a friend.
Mitchell. MITCHELL.
What have I done?
Instantly his hands release Mitchell and he climbs off his body, staring in disbelief and shock. Teal’c’s mind grapples for understanding, desperately trying to piece together the events of the last few minutes. The drum resounds even louder in his head, primal rhythm that’s infused by his exertions and stress in equal measure.
His fury displaced him beyond all reason, causing him to make the same error as the Reole chemical did for Netan - mistaking Mitchell as one of his own. Teal’c however, has no such drug to blame his delusions on.
Mitchell had shot him in a last bid to save himself, to bring Teal’c back to his senses. Teal’c disregards his injury, instead brings fingertips still trembling with adrenaline overload to feel for a pulse.
Tremendous relief washes over him. Mitchell’s heartbeat and respiration are weak, but detectable. He’s lost consciousness due to the oxygen deprivation, but should awaken.
Teal’c was a hair’s breadth from killing the man.
He has just attacked a member of his own team, his commanding officer, no less. The ramifications of his actions begin to sink into his clearing thoughts. The guilt increases that much more when Mitchell finally opens his eyes a few agonizing minutes later, and fix on him.
Mitchell’s whole body flinches when Teal’c moves toward him and he stops abruptly, respectfully backing away and allowing the Taur'i space to recover.
Colonel Mitchell sits up with painful slowness and braces his weight on shaky arms. His hands go to his throat, gingerly feeling around the damage, attempting to soothe with touch. He winces. When the Colonel looks back at him, there’s no rage, only hurt.
Teal’c can see that now.
“Forgive me, Mitchell. I thought you were…”
Mitchell grunts and nods only.
He moves to help Mitchell stand, but the Colonel starts, almost jumps back. The Colonel controls his reaction, waving a dismissive hand at him, but carefully averts his eyes. He’s still massaging the soft part of his neck in a protective gesture and Teal’c accepts the shame that consumes him.
Teal’c bows his head, abandoning any further attempts at assistance.
“I have grown weary of this torture, Colonel Mitchell.”
“That’s pretty obvious…but right now, we gotta go.”
The voice is barely audible, harsh rasping from a bruised throat. He recovers quickly enough and they stride out of the chamber and through the maze of corridors, deciding their next move.
When they meet up with Colonel Carter, Daniel Jackson and Vala back aboard the Odyssey, the mutual silence between them does not go unnoticed. The others are clearly confused, and exchange speculative glances. Colonel Mitchell promptly instructs Teal’c to report to the infirmary. His commanding officer barely looks at him, but his determined expression makes it plain there is to be no debate. Mitchell does not follow suit.
The bullet’s trajectory left a clean entrance and exit, resulting in little more than a painful grazing, now properly cleansed and dressed, as are his other injuries. Teal’c is able to rejoin his teammates as they discuss the plight regarding the Lucien Alliance.
Daniel Jackson and Vala have begun quibbling about the merit of her numerous affiliations for future missions. And while Daniel remains critical, Vala deflects his skepticism with her signature wit and confidence in her own abilities. Teal'c admires these things about her and continues to watch as Vala's character develops amongst them.
It takes Daniel Jackson a moment or two to realize that she has surreptitiously taken possession of his beverage during their bantering, the mug hot and steaming in her grip. She bats her eyes innocently and smiles, obviously very pleased with herself.
He appreciates her brand of humor, despite his melancholy mood.
He chances a look over at Colonel Mitchell, who is uncharacteristically quiet. Not surprisingly, it’s Samantha Carter that appears most affected by his lack of participation.
Teal’c watches her eye Mitchell carefully.
“Cam, you okay?”
He’s standing, propped against the wall at the far corner of the room with arms crossed in a guarded stance, not his usual open, casual demeanor. He tilts his head at the barest angle to acknowledge her. Mitchell is between Colonel Carter and Vala, but several feet away. Teal’c observes that the distance he keeps is at odds with his predisposition for closeness.
“Yeah, Sam, just bushed,” He says, keeping his voice low. The sound is grainy to Teal’c’s ears.
“You know, Cam, you’re still the worst liar.”
She glides into his personal space, dipping her head to peer at him with her curious, good-natured smile. It seems Mitchell is about to say something when Vala breaks the silence.
“You’re awfully sullen, Colonel Mitchell. Perhaps you should go to the infirmary.” Vala proposes.
Colonel Mitchell’s eyes widen in surprise. Vala appears unaffected as she sips from Daniel Jackson’s mug, swatting the archaeologist’s hand away without looking away from Mitchell.
“Netan has absolutely no fashion sense whatsoever. Those uniforms the Alliance is sporting look terribly uncomfortable. See, you’ve contracted a rash of some sort, there.” Vala says, jutting her lower lip out in consternation and pointing to Mitchell’s neck.
Colonel Mitchell’s shoulders hunch up and he twists away, batting her hand and spearing her with a warning glance. Everyone is staring at her.
“What? Rashes always make me cranky.” Vala adds, cocking her head and gauging their collective responses.
“She’s right you know, that uniform was awful,” Daniel offers and repossesses his drink from Vala in a gruff gesture.
The woman feigns a sulky expression, but cants her hips and bumps him just enough to almost spill the contents of Daniel’s mug. Teal'c is distracted enough by Vala and Daniel's amusing interaction to nearly miss Mitchell's reply.
“It’s not a rash.” Mitchell counters in a mumble, sounding exasperated.
Samantha Carter then appears to squint, intensifying her gaze on Colonel Mitchell. He tries to avoid scrutiny by twisting his body, this time in the opposite direction, but his subtle maneuver doesn’t deter her curiosity. When she lifts her hand to Mitchell’s collar, Teal’c knows she’s spied the bruising. Her smile evaporates, but Daniel Jackson and Vala seem oblivious.
“I’m gonna get some coffee.” And Mitchell abruptly disappears down the corridor.
Vala and Daniel hesitate, looking over at Mitchell’s vacated spot.
“He’s acting strangely.”
“I’ll talk to him, Daniel.”
Colonel Carter leaves Teal’c with his teammates, who are now looking over at him curiously. He meets their countenance, but is too weary to offer up conversation.
He desperately needs to lie down and rest, but Teal’c is still too disturbed by his own actions to find any measure of peace.
He’s been walking the corridors of the Odyssey like a wraith, but he’s just stumbled upon the cadence of familiar voices. Curious, he stops at the next juncture and finds he is able to look into the next cell, where Colonels Carter and Mitchell are seated having a quiet discussion.
“Jesus, Cam. It looks bad.”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine, Sam.” He raises his hand to block her touch. They tangle their fingers together for a long moment, almost reluctant to break contact.
The pair is seated informally, facing each other with legs parted over the seats, their torsos canted toward one another. Their arms are folded and resting over the backing of the chairs, chins propped on their hands, and faces drawn very close together. The outline of their bodies forms a shape not unlike the top of a pagoda or a pyramid, a most interesting parallel.
Mitchell and Carter seem to have always been unusually relaxed around each other, as though they have known each other for much longer than any of them suspect. Teal’c wonders at a possible shared history.
“Teal’c was tortured, remember?”
“He’ll be alright, Cameron. He’s a strong man, body and soul.”
Teal’c cannot help but swell with pride at Samantha Carter’s praise. There’s a long moment of quiet that settles between them. Mitchell looks exhausted, lost.
“It’s not your fault he was captured, Cam.”
She fixes the Colonel with a very serious look and his eyes lift up.
“C’mon, Sam. I’m the CO. ‘Course it’s my fault.”
Samantha clasps Mitchell’s chin with a light touch.
“You think it's all about you?"
“No, no I don't. But I know you understand command, the responsibility."
“I do, but just as you can't accept all the credit for a job well done, you can't shoulder all the blame when things fall apart. Command carries the brunt of responsibility, but there's no way we can prepare for every possible contingency, especially not with this job. Listen, you did what you could in the situation, used your head, improvised and it got the both of you out alive.”
“As I recall, you did pretty damn well yourself, lady.”
She smiles, nodding her head in agreement.
“So, stop beating yourself up.”
“Yeah, okay. Besides, I got Teal’c for that anyway.”
And to Teal’c’s bewilderment, they both chuckle. Although he is not offended per se, he does not seem the humor in Colonel Mitchell’s jest either. The Taur'i can be most puzzling at times.
Samantha Carter extends her hand over toward Mitchell, lightly skimming the hair just above his ear. Then her hand drops, curled loosely, grazing her knuckles over Mitchell's throat in a soothing gesture. Teal'c watches as he lifts his chin to give her better access, then takes her hand away and places a delicate kiss on it.
There is such reverence and closeness between these two that he can’t help but wonder what small feat it would require to crossover as lovers.
Perhaps, he muses, they have already done so.
Teal'c feels strangely bereft by the accord he witnesses. Feeling even more removed and distant than he did before, he moves on without making a sound.
He doesn’t notice that Samantha Carter had already spotted him just before he left.
“You’re not the only one who’s beating himself up.”
Mitchell already knows who she’s talking about. Samantha cants her head toward the door and says, “Go talk to him, Cam.”
But she stops him before he can fully rise from his seat.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll live, Sam, really.”
Mitchell sighs heavily and stands up, offering Carter a somewhat sloppy salute and a curt, “Yes, Ma’am, ” just before she slaps his ass.
Parallels - Part Two
He’s been standing here a long time, alone in silence, eyes fixed on the shape before him. For how long he’s uncertain, but it’s long enough that he’s beginning to lose sensation, the numbness creeping into his extremities as well as the fringes of his consciousness and its arrival is something he welcomes.
This section of the ship is generally reserved for cargo and other miscellaneous supplies, so utilities like heat and illumination are employed sparingly. Here in this compartment, it’s dark and the air is chilled, which make it an ideal place to keep a body.
A vessel the size of the Odyssey has been equipped with medical facilities, but even here space is a valuable commodity. A morgue can easily be facilitated in any region, simply by rerouting heated air. Many more could have been put to rest here on this day, but for now it is only Colonel Emerson.
Teal’c traces the outline of the white sheet that’s been draped over his body, mapping the relief of peaks and valleys that have become a familiar sight in his time; the dead laid to rest under a hastily tossed shroud.
He has seen so much death in his experience that it has become a backdrop to his dreams, occurring as frequently as stars in the nighttime sky, a specter walking hand in hand with his waking thoughts; the steady companion of the warrior.
Colonel Emerson’s loss is a profound one for the crew of the Odyssey and Stargate Command and Teal’c is likewise, saddened by his passing. He was a man of dedication and skill, cut down in a brutal, senseless murder. There is no honor in it.
Anateo’s men forced Colonel Carter and numerous others to watch as Emerson died in front of them, powerless to render any sort of assistance or any mercy. The act served as a frightening example to enforce their cooperation. He lay quietly on the deck bleeding for some time before he finally succumbed to unconsciousness and finally death.
Teal’c despises that brand of helplessness, empathizes with Samantha Carter and the rest of the crew for the ordeal they have emerged from. He only wishes he had more emotion to spare for any of them.
Teal’c came here to pay his respects, and stayed to contemplate his own history and the people that have made up his life, those he has lost from his home on Dakara.
It is a deep wound in his heart, one that will never heal over, a darkness that he fears he will never escape.
Teal’c’s thoughts descend into war and death, the minutes passing without acknowledgment until finally he is filled with nothing, like an amplifier that’s been blown, which now is unable to resonate any sound at all.
It should be a relief, but strangely, it’s not. It’s like a void that has opened up inside of him, ominous and dark, waiting for him to fill it. The emptiness has been gnawing at him like vermin ever since the destruction on Dakara.
Attacking Netan’s men brought a brief respite, but it vanished when he saw Mitchell in his grasp. If he was really honest with himself, he’d admit that he experienced some of that relief while touching Mitchell, but Teal’c can’t decipher if that means he found pleasure in harming the man, which is too shameful to consider, or if perhaps it points to something else entirely. He lacks the focus to examine his own motivations, his many years of training seemingly vanishing at a time when he needs it the most.
Teal’c fears that if he does not find a way to satisfy this need, it will consume him, but at this very moment he’s unsure which would be worse, to give in to his impulses, or risk losing himself as a result.
Standing in the dark, it’s easy to see the light. So, when a warm presence takes its place just to his right, his senses reach out to it instinctively, picking out the subtle way the feet shift, the changes in breathing, and the scent he’s only recently become accustomed to, whisper light trail of lemons and shaving cream carried on the warmth stolen into the room with the new presence.
He is not surprised at Colonel Mitchell’s arrival, only that he did not find him sooner.
They remain standing at each other’s side in solemn reverence for Colonel Emerson, and for once, Mitchell has no words to offer.
Teal’c feels like granite, hard and cold and unable to move, but he forces himself to do so, feeling the strain of his injuries and his self-imposed stillness. He looks over at Colonel Mitchell’s bowed head and folded hands and it makes him think of peace, of prayer and serenity, makes him ache with longing, knowing how far removed he is from such lofty goals.
“Colonel Mitchell.”
“Hey, Teal’c.”
He speaks softly, reverently, not with his usual brand of enthusiasm.
“May I ask how you knew where to find me?” He asks. It’s a reasonable enough question. After all, the Odyssey is an enormous vessel.
“Just a hunch is all.”
“I see.”
Looking down at Colonel Mitchell he sees…many things; courage, strength, stubbornness, friendship, vulnerability. His eyes drift to the bruising around his throat like a siren call and the guilt resurges.
He hears Mitchell call his name.
“Teal’c.”
He repeats his entreaty, spoken louder to gain his attention.
“Hey, man, it’s time to rejoin the living. C’mon, let’s go.”
The Colonel doesn’t touch him, for which Teal’c is silently grateful. He’s staring blankly at Mitchell, who’s watching him carefully. He hesitates for a moment further, but then decides the Taur'i is correct, that it is time to rejoin the living and so he follows him reluctantly out into the corridor.
Teal’c walks at a measured pace, keeping his eyes forward. He can almost feel the weight of Mitchell’s anticipation, the worry that hangs on him - for him. It’s unnerving to say the least. He would prefer some other response after the attack on board Netan’s ship. He doesn’t want Mitchell’s empathy or his understanding right now, although he has no idea why.
“I know that the infirmary checked you out, but you really ought to be resting, T.”
“I am unable to rest.”
Teal’c doesn’t shift his eyes from the far end of the deck, just keeps going.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Colonel Mitchell’s offer is genuine, which only irritates him that much more. He stops and turns abruptly, pinning Mitchell with a curt, sour reply.
“There is nothing you can do for me, Colonel Mitchell. I wish to be alone.”
Mitchell doesn’t flinch, just looks up at him with those perceptive, blue eyes.
“You know, I don’t think that’s one hundred percent true, Teal’c. Maybe you and I could talk.”
The Taur'i is looking intently at him, refusing to be pushed aside.
“Do you wish to discuss what happened on Netan’s vessel? I am deserving of disciplinary action for attacking my commanding officer.”
Mitchell shakes his head, waving a hand in a swatting motion.
“Aw, don’t give me that bullshit, T. We both know you weren’t seeing things on the level back there. You’ve been wound all wrong since…”
Teal’c cuts him off.
“Do not speak of it, Colonel Mitchell.”
The warning is crystal clear, but ignored.
“…Dakara.”
The buzzing begins to surge like static in his brain once again, building like a reaction. It culminates when Mitchell lays a hand on his shoulder.
Teal’c snaps and shoves Mitchell hard against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. He traps him with the weight of his body and a hand around his throat, his other arm cocked back, ready to strike.
Mitchell stiffens against him, lifts his chin in defiance, daring Teal’c to hit him.
“You should know it is unwise to provoke me, Colonel Mitchell.” He grates the words out, aggression poisoning every syllable.
Mitchell is breathless. Teal’c can feel his pulse hammering beneath him, awakening his senses.
“Yeah…I still got the marks…don’t care.”
Teal’c’s hand is cupping his neck tightly, finding the track of damage from before like it was made for him. Thoughts of violence are whispering in his ear, pleading for his attention. Mitchell is bracing his arms on top of his own, the tension threading through his skin.
“It felt good, didn’t it? Bashing their skulls in, beating that asshole into a pulp, right?”
Mitchell is sneering at him, his lip curling up like a cornered animal. Teal’c can literally feel the desire to inflict damage in the very fabric of his skin, teasing him with tiny twinges and muscle contractions, almost willing him to act without thought.
Mitchell is glaring at him, waiting for an answer. He gives the only answer he is capable of.
He gets right in Mitchell’s face, breathes hot on his mouth and says, “Yes.” drawing out the word out with lethal slowness.
“Did it feel just as good hurting me?”
That gives him pause, but he doesn’t back off and he doesn’t let go of Mitchell either.
“When I thought you were one of them, yes, I enjoyed it, savored it even.”
And as he anticipated, Mitchell reacts to that, shudders at the look in Teal’c’s eyes. It’s satisfying and disconcerting at the same time. He needs Mitchell to understand.
“When I realized the grievous error in my judgment - when I saw you, I felt shamed by my actions.”
Mitchell exhales roughly, his emotion as contained as his breaths.
“Fair enough, but what the hell do you think you’re doing now?”
Teal’c silently observes him, but this time he does loosen his grip around Mitchell’s throat just enough to let him breathe and speak easier. He’s still unwilling to break contact. The Taur'i’s hands are frozen on his forearms. Teal’c feels like all of his senses have suddenly awoken in response to Mitchell, life sparking inside him, refusing to let its heat fade.
“I’m not gonna insult you, say I understand what you’re going through. But I understand hurting, that you wanna hurt someone, feel something, and it doesn’t matter what. I get that.”
Teal’c is at a loss for the sudden anger that takes hold of him. He resents Mitchell’s insight, rejects his unfathomable concern.
“Are you volunteering, Colonel Mitchell?” he counters with bitter humor in his voice and a wry grin twisting his face.
“To be your whipping boy, hell no!” and he laughs, sounding a little manic.
“In the end, that’s not going to help you and it certainly ain’t gonna help me. Besides, already been there, done that, but…”
“But WHAT, Colonel Mitchell?” he says, shoving him back against the wall. His tone is loud and defiant and it’s more effective than any choke hold he’s used up until now. Mitchell looks stricken, like he wasn’t expecting his reaction, but Teal’c has moved too far beyond the guilt that plagued him earlier.
“What counsel can you possibly offer me?” He bellows the words at him, full of contempt.
“I don’t know, Teal’c, like I said, I’m making it up as I go along. But you’re not a self-destructive man, and you don’t get off on hurting others.”
“Are you so certain, Colonel Mitchell? There is much about me that you know nothing about.” He challenges, his voice low and dangerous.
“I don’t have all the answers like Sam, I can’t read into things like Jackson, I’m here because I want to help, that’s all. You just have to let me.”
Mitchell has schooled himself into a strange kind of calm, but Teal’c is suddenly, acutely aware of his own breathing, hard and faster than it should be. He’s looking at Mitchell and feeling so much all at once that it’s dizzying. The truly amazing thing is he’s feeling something, not the suffocating vacuum that overwhelmed him before.
He presses himself against the other man and within seconds, Mitchell’s calm begins to evaporate. The hairs all over his body are standing straight up, eyes fastening on Mitchell’s face, frozen there. One of his hands brushes across the Taur'i’s hip, and then centers itself, holding firmly there. His thumb is grazing inside the hipbone, detecting a gradual tightening of the fabric and Mitchell’s breath hitches several times.
“Teal’c.”
Mitchell’s voice is cautious, sounding almost fearful, but other factors point to another, far different conclusion.
He almost killed this man today, so what difference would it make if he were to reverse tactics and now kiss him? Teal’c should attempt to find a suitable explanation for his seamless transition from aggression to desire, but he will not waste this pivotal moment in self-examination. There will be time enough for that later on. Right now, all he wants is to drown himself in sensation, and to that end, Mitchell appears to be his best bet.
Teal’c leans in even closer, until their lips are nearly touching. He tilts his head off to one angle, then back, like he’s trying to look inside the other man, filling all his senses. His hand hasn’t moved from Mitchell’s throat, but his palm is now lighter over the skin, fingers reaching and stroking softly, no longer a threat. The other hand is comfortably resting just above Mitchell’s hip, and his pelvis is leveraged against Mitchell’s.
“What are you doing, Teal’c?”
He can hear absolute fear in Mitchell’s voice; feel the tremor just under his fingertips.
“I am helping myself, Colonel Mitchell.”
He slams into Mitchell with fervor, mouth hard and punishing on the Taur'i’s lips. Mitchell stiffens like a length of steel, hands clenched over his biceps, a cry of surprise muffled inside Teal’c’s open mouth. It’s an attack of another kind and the release Teal’c experiences is like a wave washing over him, reviving him at last.
He keeps his eyes closed as his tongue pushes its way into Colonel Mitchell’s mouth. Teal’c relishes the warmth and rush, the desire spiraling outward from deep in his gut. But he knows this pleasure will be brief, that he cannot force Mitchell.
Teal’c can attribute the other man’s arousal to several things, and they need not point to the conclusion he is in favor of simply because it suits him. The man is a pilot, what is popularly known as an adrenaline junkie to the Taur'i, a thrill seeker, and it’s entirely possible that the threat of violence provokes an unorthodox physiological response in the Colonel. Such things are not uncommon, even among the Jaffa.
Mitchell’s reputation as reckless precedes him, something Teal’c generally disputes, but there have been instances that make him speculate further. Considering the risks, Teal’c will have to sustain himself with a mere taste only, no matter how much he hates the idea of pulling away.
As it turns out, things are often not what he expects when it comes to Colonel Mitchell. In this instance, Mitchell’s body has proven to be the definitive factor.
In the semi-darkness of the corridor, Mitchell reaches forward with his whole body, fighting to connect with Teal’c’s mass with a harsh groan. Teal’c doesn’t mask his surprise, and he doesn’t hide his approval either. He quickly shifts his hand from Mitchell’s throat to his head, grabbing a short tuft of hair and pulling back slowly. The other man allows it, follows Teal’c’s eyes with his own as they regard him. The lure of bright, azure eyes distract him, but soon flick to the soft mouth, lips lush and full and wet from the initial kiss. Teal’c can smell mouthwash, something medicinal, but clean, and he inhales deeply.
“I’ve never…” Mitchell hesitates, struggles with his speech. “I mean, I don’t make a habit out of…”
“Words are not necessary, Colonel Mitchell.”
The first contact was swift and intense, but when Teal’c reaches back down to kiss him again, Mitchell returns his enthusiasm with a roughness and near desperation that closely match it.
The feel of his enemy’s rasping, labored breaths is like a soothing balm to his nerves.
Like his struggle for survival, Mitchell’s breath is now heavy, only now with excitement, and it soothes Teal’c in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time, far more gratifying than killing ever was.
He’s immune to the hands that are clutching and clawing at his arms, desperate efforts to gain leverage against him. They are bruising, but ineffective attempts that hardly give him pause.
Those hands are clutching at him now, although now for a much different reason, alive with the desire to touch and stimulate. Teal’c’s nerves light up like a series of spot fires.
The male bucks beneath him, vain effort to dislodge him. The hips are slim and hard, painful contact against his own and Teal’c responds by pressing down, bringing more weight to bear on the struggling body, quickly stilling most of his opponent’s movements.
He cups Mitchell’s face possessively, and Mitchell shivers, the sensation still notable even as he presses against his chest and hips fiercely, covering him, feeling all of his body at once through his own. Teal’c enjoys kissing Mitchell, the feeling and taste of his warm, sweet mouth and the way he moves his tongue over his own. It’s slow and tentative now, lips and tongue sweeping over one another as they build the reaction between them.
Tiny whines and muffled grunts draw Teal’c’s attention to terrified blue eyes filled with watery tears that catch the light from above, full lips and slack mouth vainly trying to gasp for air, skin ashy blue. The eyes are beginning to roll upward, the whites now terrible to look upon.
Teal’c can feel the outline of Mitchell’s sex, a hard, thick match to his own. He fits a hand into the curve of the other man’s waist, gripping him firmly as he angles his hips and thrusts. Mitchell’s eyes water and glisten with the brutal contact, but its effect is clear. His jaw falls slack as he draws a ragged breath, stunted whines coming from deep in his throat. Mitchell’s face is flushed pink with arousal and his eyes roll upward in his head with pleasure. Teal’c is unprepared for so much raw need and desire. His impulses take over and before he can stop himself, he fits his mouth just where Mitchell’s neck meets his shoulders. He tastes sweat and lineament just before he bites down hard and Mitchell shouts helplessly.
Teal’c falls back, needing to look at Mitchell and gauge his reaction. He has to hold him back to find a measure of space, a moment of reflection in the midst of so much heat and physical attraction. The man is looking at him with such depth and awe, such affection, that it reminds him of the intimate look he shared earlier with Samantha Carter.
Perhaps Colonel Mitchell is guilty of loving them all equally.
That thought is as powerful a blow as the comprehension of nearly killing him, yet there are no feelings of bleakness, of hopelessness.
His mouth is reddened and swollen, palpable temptation by itself and Teal’c is ready to pull Mitchell towards him once again when their communicators flare to life.
“Cam, Cam…where are you?”
“Jesus. Awww, Hell,” Mitchell huffs, staring at Teal’c with marked disappointment. Teal’c is breathing hard, struggling to contain his own displeasure.
“Sam, I’m with Teal’c.”
He fails to mention where they are located.
“You boys playing nice?” she questions, sounding teasing and playful, her voice almost smoky.
Teal’c makes a quick assessment for security cameras, although he finds none. Mitchell is looking at him incredulously.
“Now it occurs to you to look?” he whispers, cupping his palm over his communicator.
Mitchell and Teal’c both cock an eyebrow at each other, but mutual smiles quickly exchange.
“We are indeed, playing nice, Colonel Carter.”
“Hi Teal’c! You okay?”
Teal’c feels enough relief now that he can assume some semblance of normalcy in his life, by practicing the kel’no’reem, calling upon Bra’tac , and meditating once again. He has much ground to make up, but he feels alive; not entirely whole, but neither is he as hollow as he was.
Mitchell has helped in his own way, his strong will to survive matched by the quick appraisal of his passion, and the parallels Teal’c has drawn upon give him much to reflect upon.
A great deal, indeed.
Teal’c’s hand finds its way to Mitchell’s jaw, lightly tracing a path to his mouth, gingerly thumbing his lower lip. Mitchell closes his eyes and tilts his head down, flicks his tongue lightly. This time it’s Teal’c that shivers, from his neck to his toes.
Teal’c thinks back once again to how Colonel Carter touched Mitchell and he’s compelled to repeat that gesture. He relaxes his hand, turning the knuckles outward and glides them along Mitchell’s throat, following the marks of his hands and looks to Mitchell in mute apology.
Mitchell’s eyes flutter with the sensation, at the gesture itself. He intonates his head down and Teal’c raises his hand, skimming his jaw line. Mitchell presses his lips to the pads of Teal’c’s fingers, eyes hooded and fierce, like he is about to initiate combat.
“Yes, Colonel Carter, I am feeling much better now.”
THE END
Author: eclipse (aka gigerisgod)
Rating: Mature for violence, some language (I think) and slashiness, though nothing too heavy
Spoilers: through Company of Thieves, S10
Characters: Mostly Teal'c & Mitchell, Carter, Vala, Daniel
Disclaimer: Stargate, SG-1 material is not mine, no claims and no infringement intended
Summary: Slight AU that describes what might have happened if Teal'c hadn't recognized Mitchell aboard Netan's vessel. Told from Teal'c's POV. Part One checks in at about 2,400 or so words. Part two finishes somewhere around 3,500, just so you know what you're in for.
I've been tweaking this story in my journal for weeks now and felt it was finally time to post.
PARALLELS - Part One
His brain is buzzing like an amplifier overpowered by the enormous sound reverberating through it. It penetrates his whole physical being, a current that conducts itself along muscles, skin and bone.
Undisciplined emotions are typically kept in check by rigorous mental arts training, exercised through regular practice of the kel’no’reem and calling upon the teachings of his mentor, Bra’tac. But should something akin to rage be given a chance to flourish, it is like a fire that burns wildly, feeding upon violence and destruction like the air itself.
Provoked by the terrible pain of his recent interrogations, Teal’c gives in to his rage.
There’s no balance.
No control.
There is only the wild abandon and physical satisfaction of bloody retribution; primal instinct that he so frequently denies himself.
He will indulge those urges now.
Teal’c unleashes his fury and in the blink of an eye, Netan’s men lie on the ground like broken kindling.
The release is far too fleeting to satisfy his thirst for violence, not after the suffering that’s been inflicted upon him by such men, and not with the destruction of Dakara weighing so heavily on his mind and spirit; a hideous void that demands to be filled, its appetite indiscriminate.
There remains one other in the chamber, one more outlet with which to channel his aggressions. His body has already seized the man before his brain makes the connection.
He seizes his enemy by surprise and it takes just two swift movements before his former tormentor writhes underneath him, firmly in his grasp. He is the last of Netan’s men come to execute him, no doubt, only now Teal’c has become the executioner.
Like Vashin, now lying on the floor in a mangled pulp, this is merely another faceless butcher of the Lucian Alliance and his features become obscured in Teal’c’s white, hot rage. Infuriated, Teal’c is unable to think clearly. The only thing that matters to him right now is inflicting suffering and death in exchange for his anguish, tasting this bittersweet fruit that he intends to savor.
Teal’c’s body is stretched out on top of the other man, keeping him pinned. Both of his large hands easily wrap around his opponent’s throat in a constricting embrace. In his haze of pain and aggression, Teal’c is reduced to the most rudimentary of senses, relying more on hearing and the sensation of touch, rather than his sight. The feel of his enemy’s rasping, labored breaths is a soothing balm to his nerves.
He’s immune to the hands that are clutching and clawing at his arms, desperate efforts to gain leverage against him. They are bruising, but ineffective attempts that hardly give him pause.
The male bucks in a vain effort to dislodge him. The hips are slim and hard, painful contact against his own. Teal’c responds by pressing down, bringing more weight to bear on the struggling body, quickly stilling most of his opponent’s movements.
He growls as he squeezes the soft throat more tightly. It will soon be over.
Tiny whines and muffled grunts draw Teal’c’s attention to terrified blue eyes, filled with watery tears that catch the light from above, full lips and slack mouth vainly trying to gasp for air, skin ashy blue. The eyes are beginning to roll upward, the whites now awful to look upon.
Suddenly, the feel of something hard and cold strikes him repeatedly from one of those hands and instinctively he knows it's a weapon. The man is still battling, stubbornly clinging to life and refusing to give up, but Teal’c doesn’t concern himself.
It turns out to be a mistake…and not his only one.
A shot cuts through the buzzing in his head like an explosion. His vision flashes, wavers to black and then back again. Teal’c’s comprehension kicks in with the searing pain in his leg, registering that he’s been shot and wounded, but he doesn’t budge. He looks down at his enemy, muscles locked in rigid tension.
Teal’c concentrates on his enemy’s face, wills the blinding haze of aggression to recede in order to gaze upon the features and watch as the life is snuffed out of them. He will match eyes with his opponent in his last moments and acknowledge that he is triumphant, the survivor.
The pain from the gunshot wound has shaken him considerably. When his vision focuses again on the face, he finds that it’s familiar……a face that he knows….sudden spark of recognition that touches off a storm of emotion.
He’s unable to process the identity; overwhelming tide of conflict rising and confusion that becomes comprehension, melding into utter revulsion. The sound of his heartbeat is like a great drum that drowns out his senses.
Short-cropped brown hair, full mouth, blue eyes, once bright, now closed.
Taur'i.
Not his enemy, but a friend.
Mitchell. MITCHELL.
What have I done?
Instantly his hands release Mitchell and he climbs off his body, staring in disbelief and shock. Teal’c’s mind grapples for understanding, desperately trying to piece together the events of the last few minutes. The drum resounds even louder in his head, primal rhythm that’s infused by his exertions and stress in equal measure.
His fury displaced him beyond all reason, causing him to make the same error as the Reole chemical did for Netan - mistaking Mitchell as one of his own. Teal’c however, has no such drug to blame his delusions on.
Mitchell had shot him in a last bid to save himself, to bring Teal’c back to his senses. Teal’c disregards his injury, instead brings fingertips still trembling with adrenaline overload to feel for a pulse.
Tremendous relief washes over him. Mitchell’s heartbeat and respiration are weak, but detectable. He’s lost consciousness due to the oxygen deprivation, but should awaken.
Teal’c was a hair’s breadth from killing the man.
He has just attacked a member of his own team, his commanding officer, no less. The ramifications of his actions begin to sink into his clearing thoughts. The guilt increases that much more when Mitchell finally opens his eyes a few agonizing minutes later, and fix on him.
Mitchell’s whole body flinches when Teal’c moves toward him and he stops abruptly, respectfully backing away and allowing the Taur'i space to recover.
Colonel Mitchell sits up with painful slowness and braces his weight on shaky arms. His hands go to his throat, gingerly feeling around the damage, attempting to soothe with touch. He winces. When the Colonel looks back at him, there’s no rage, only hurt.
Teal’c can see that now.
“Forgive me, Mitchell. I thought you were…”
Mitchell grunts and nods only.
He moves to help Mitchell stand, but the Colonel starts, almost jumps back. The Colonel controls his reaction, waving a dismissive hand at him, but carefully averts his eyes. He’s still massaging the soft part of his neck in a protective gesture and Teal’c accepts the shame that consumes him.
Teal’c bows his head, abandoning any further attempts at assistance.
“I have grown weary of this torture, Colonel Mitchell.”
“That’s pretty obvious…but right now, we gotta go.”
The voice is barely audible, harsh rasping from a bruised throat. He recovers quickly enough and they stride out of the chamber and through the maze of corridors, deciding their next move.
When they meet up with Colonel Carter, Daniel Jackson and Vala back aboard the Odyssey, the mutual silence between them does not go unnoticed. The others are clearly confused, and exchange speculative glances. Colonel Mitchell promptly instructs Teal’c to report to the infirmary. His commanding officer barely looks at him, but his determined expression makes it plain there is to be no debate. Mitchell does not follow suit.
The bullet’s trajectory left a clean entrance and exit, resulting in little more than a painful grazing, now properly cleansed and dressed, as are his other injuries. Teal’c is able to rejoin his teammates as they discuss the plight regarding the Lucien Alliance.
Daniel Jackson and Vala have begun quibbling about the merit of her numerous affiliations for future missions. And while Daniel remains critical, Vala deflects his skepticism with her signature wit and confidence in her own abilities. Teal'c admires these things about her and continues to watch as Vala's character develops amongst them.
It takes Daniel Jackson a moment or two to realize that she has surreptitiously taken possession of his beverage during their bantering, the mug hot and steaming in her grip. She bats her eyes innocently and smiles, obviously very pleased with herself.
He appreciates her brand of humor, despite his melancholy mood.
He chances a look over at Colonel Mitchell, who is uncharacteristically quiet. Not surprisingly, it’s Samantha Carter that appears most affected by his lack of participation.
Teal’c watches her eye Mitchell carefully.
“Cam, you okay?”
He’s standing, propped against the wall at the far corner of the room with arms crossed in a guarded stance, not his usual open, casual demeanor. He tilts his head at the barest angle to acknowledge her. Mitchell is between Colonel Carter and Vala, but several feet away. Teal’c observes that the distance he keeps is at odds with his predisposition for closeness.
“Yeah, Sam, just bushed,” He says, keeping his voice low. The sound is grainy to Teal’c’s ears.
“You know, Cam, you’re still the worst liar.”
She glides into his personal space, dipping her head to peer at him with her curious, good-natured smile. It seems Mitchell is about to say something when Vala breaks the silence.
“You’re awfully sullen, Colonel Mitchell. Perhaps you should go to the infirmary.” Vala proposes.
Colonel Mitchell’s eyes widen in surprise. Vala appears unaffected as she sips from Daniel Jackson’s mug, swatting the archaeologist’s hand away without looking away from Mitchell.
“Netan has absolutely no fashion sense whatsoever. Those uniforms the Alliance is sporting look terribly uncomfortable. See, you’ve contracted a rash of some sort, there.” Vala says, jutting her lower lip out in consternation and pointing to Mitchell’s neck.
Colonel Mitchell’s shoulders hunch up and he twists away, batting her hand and spearing her with a warning glance. Everyone is staring at her.
“What? Rashes always make me cranky.” Vala adds, cocking her head and gauging their collective responses.
“She’s right you know, that uniform was awful,” Daniel offers and repossesses his drink from Vala in a gruff gesture.
The woman feigns a sulky expression, but cants her hips and bumps him just enough to almost spill the contents of Daniel’s mug. Teal'c is distracted enough by Vala and Daniel's amusing interaction to nearly miss Mitchell's reply.
“It’s not a rash.” Mitchell counters in a mumble, sounding exasperated.
Samantha Carter then appears to squint, intensifying her gaze on Colonel Mitchell. He tries to avoid scrutiny by twisting his body, this time in the opposite direction, but his subtle maneuver doesn’t deter her curiosity. When she lifts her hand to Mitchell’s collar, Teal’c knows she’s spied the bruising. Her smile evaporates, but Daniel Jackson and Vala seem oblivious.
“I’m gonna get some coffee.” And Mitchell abruptly disappears down the corridor.
Vala and Daniel hesitate, looking over at Mitchell’s vacated spot.
“He’s acting strangely.”
“I’ll talk to him, Daniel.”
Colonel Carter leaves Teal’c with his teammates, who are now looking over at him curiously. He meets their countenance, but is too weary to offer up conversation.
He desperately needs to lie down and rest, but Teal’c is still too disturbed by his own actions to find any measure of peace.
He’s been walking the corridors of the Odyssey like a wraith, but he’s just stumbled upon the cadence of familiar voices. Curious, he stops at the next juncture and finds he is able to look into the next cell, where Colonels Carter and Mitchell are seated having a quiet discussion.
“Jesus, Cam. It looks bad.”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine, Sam.” He raises his hand to block her touch. They tangle their fingers together for a long moment, almost reluctant to break contact.
The pair is seated informally, facing each other with legs parted over the seats, their torsos canted toward one another. Their arms are folded and resting over the backing of the chairs, chins propped on their hands, and faces drawn very close together. The outline of their bodies forms a shape not unlike the top of a pagoda or a pyramid, a most interesting parallel.
Mitchell and Carter seem to have always been unusually relaxed around each other, as though they have known each other for much longer than any of them suspect. Teal’c wonders at a possible shared history.
“Teal’c was tortured, remember?”
“He’ll be alright, Cameron. He’s a strong man, body and soul.”
Teal’c cannot help but swell with pride at Samantha Carter’s praise. There’s a long moment of quiet that settles between them. Mitchell looks exhausted, lost.
“It’s not your fault he was captured, Cam.”
She fixes the Colonel with a very serious look and his eyes lift up.
“C’mon, Sam. I’m the CO. ‘Course it’s my fault.”
Samantha clasps Mitchell’s chin with a light touch.
“You think it's all about you?"
“No, no I don't. But I know you understand command, the responsibility."
“I do, but just as you can't accept all the credit for a job well done, you can't shoulder all the blame when things fall apart. Command carries the brunt of responsibility, but there's no way we can prepare for every possible contingency, especially not with this job. Listen, you did what you could in the situation, used your head, improvised and it got the both of you out alive.”
“As I recall, you did pretty damn well yourself, lady.”
She smiles, nodding her head in agreement.
“So, stop beating yourself up.”
“Yeah, okay. Besides, I got Teal’c for that anyway.”
And to Teal’c’s bewilderment, they both chuckle. Although he is not offended per se, he does not seem the humor in Colonel Mitchell’s jest either. The Taur'i can be most puzzling at times.
Samantha Carter extends her hand over toward Mitchell, lightly skimming the hair just above his ear. Then her hand drops, curled loosely, grazing her knuckles over Mitchell's throat in a soothing gesture. Teal'c watches as he lifts his chin to give her better access, then takes her hand away and places a delicate kiss on it.
There is such reverence and closeness between these two that he can’t help but wonder what small feat it would require to crossover as lovers.
Perhaps, he muses, they have already done so.
Teal'c feels strangely bereft by the accord he witnesses. Feeling even more removed and distant than he did before, he moves on without making a sound.
He doesn’t notice that Samantha Carter had already spotted him just before he left.
“You’re not the only one who’s beating himself up.”
Mitchell already knows who she’s talking about. Samantha cants her head toward the door and says, “Go talk to him, Cam.”
But she stops him before he can fully rise from his seat.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll live, Sam, really.”
Mitchell sighs heavily and stands up, offering Carter a somewhat sloppy salute and a curt, “Yes, Ma’am, ” just before she slaps his ass.
Parallels - Part Two
He’s been standing here a long time, alone in silence, eyes fixed on the shape before him. For how long he’s uncertain, but it’s long enough that he’s beginning to lose sensation, the numbness creeping into his extremities as well as the fringes of his consciousness and its arrival is something he welcomes.
This section of the ship is generally reserved for cargo and other miscellaneous supplies, so utilities like heat and illumination are employed sparingly. Here in this compartment, it’s dark and the air is chilled, which make it an ideal place to keep a body.
A vessel the size of the Odyssey has been equipped with medical facilities, but even here space is a valuable commodity. A morgue can easily be facilitated in any region, simply by rerouting heated air. Many more could have been put to rest here on this day, but for now it is only Colonel Emerson.
Teal’c traces the outline of the white sheet that’s been draped over his body, mapping the relief of peaks and valleys that have become a familiar sight in his time; the dead laid to rest under a hastily tossed shroud.
He has seen so much death in his experience that it has become a backdrop to his dreams, occurring as frequently as stars in the nighttime sky, a specter walking hand in hand with his waking thoughts; the steady companion of the warrior.
Colonel Emerson’s loss is a profound one for the crew of the Odyssey and Stargate Command and Teal’c is likewise, saddened by his passing. He was a man of dedication and skill, cut down in a brutal, senseless murder. There is no honor in it.
Anateo’s men forced Colonel Carter and numerous others to watch as Emerson died in front of them, powerless to render any sort of assistance or any mercy. The act served as a frightening example to enforce their cooperation. He lay quietly on the deck bleeding for some time before he finally succumbed to unconsciousness and finally death.
Teal’c despises that brand of helplessness, empathizes with Samantha Carter and the rest of the crew for the ordeal they have emerged from. He only wishes he had more emotion to spare for any of them.
Teal’c came here to pay his respects, and stayed to contemplate his own history and the people that have made up his life, those he has lost from his home on Dakara.
It is a deep wound in his heart, one that will never heal over, a darkness that he fears he will never escape.
Teal’c’s thoughts descend into war and death, the minutes passing without acknowledgment until finally he is filled with nothing, like an amplifier that’s been blown, which now is unable to resonate any sound at all.
It should be a relief, but strangely, it’s not. It’s like a void that has opened up inside of him, ominous and dark, waiting for him to fill it. The emptiness has been gnawing at him like vermin ever since the destruction on Dakara.
Attacking Netan’s men brought a brief respite, but it vanished when he saw Mitchell in his grasp. If he was really honest with himself, he’d admit that he experienced some of that relief while touching Mitchell, but Teal’c can’t decipher if that means he found pleasure in harming the man, which is too shameful to consider, or if perhaps it points to something else entirely. He lacks the focus to examine his own motivations, his many years of training seemingly vanishing at a time when he needs it the most.
Teal’c fears that if he does not find a way to satisfy this need, it will consume him, but at this very moment he’s unsure which would be worse, to give in to his impulses, or risk losing himself as a result.
Standing in the dark, it’s easy to see the light. So, when a warm presence takes its place just to his right, his senses reach out to it instinctively, picking out the subtle way the feet shift, the changes in breathing, and the scent he’s only recently become accustomed to, whisper light trail of lemons and shaving cream carried on the warmth stolen into the room with the new presence.
He is not surprised at Colonel Mitchell’s arrival, only that he did not find him sooner.
They remain standing at each other’s side in solemn reverence for Colonel Emerson, and for once, Mitchell has no words to offer.
Teal’c feels like granite, hard and cold and unable to move, but he forces himself to do so, feeling the strain of his injuries and his self-imposed stillness. He looks over at Colonel Mitchell’s bowed head and folded hands and it makes him think of peace, of prayer and serenity, makes him ache with longing, knowing how far removed he is from such lofty goals.
“Colonel Mitchell.”
“Hey, Teal’c.”
He speaks softly, reverently, not with his usual brand of enthusiasm.
“May I ask how you knew where to find me?” He asks. It’s a reasonable enough question. After all, the Odyssey is an enormous vessel.
“Just a hunch is all.”
“I see.”
Looking down at Colonel Mitchell he sees…many things; courage, strength, stubbornness, friendship, vulnerability. His eyes drift to the bruising around his throat like a siren call and the guilt resurges.
He hears Mitchell call his name.
“Teal’c.”
He repeats his entreaty, spoken louder to gain his attention.
“Hey, man, it’s time to rejoin the living. C’mon, let’s go.”
The Colonel doesn’t touch him, for which Teal’c is silently grateful. He’s staring blankly at Mitchell, who’s watching him carefully. He hesitates for a moment further, but then decides the Taur'i is correct, that it is time to rejoin the living and so he follows him reluctantly out into the corridor.
Teal’c walks at a measured pace, keeping his eyes forward. He can almost feel the weight of Mitchell’s anticipation, the worry that hangs on him - for him. It’s unnerving to say the least. He would prefer some other response after the attack on board Netan’s ship. He doesn’t want Mitchell’s empathy or his understanding right now, although he has no idea why.
“I know that the infirmary checked you out, but you really ought to be resting, T.”
“I am unable to rest.”
Teal’c doesn’t shift his eyes from the far end of the deck, just keeps going.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Colonel Mitchell’s offer is genuine, which only irritates him that much more. He stops and turns abruptly, pinning Mitchell with a curt, sour reply.
“There is nothing you can do for me, Colonel Mitchell. I wish to be alone.”
Mitchell doesn’t flinch, just looks up at him with those perceptive, blue eyes.
“You know, I don’t think that’s one hundred percent true, Teal’c. Maybe you and I could talk.”
The Taur'i is looking intently at him, refusing to be pushed aside.
“Do you wish to discuss what happened on Netan’s vessel? I am deserving of disciplinary action for attacking my commanding officer.”
Mitchell shakes his head, waving a hand in a swatting motion.
“Aw, don’t give me that bullshit, T. We both know you weren’t seeing things on the level back there. You’ve been wound all wrong since…”
Teal’c cuts him off.
“Do not speak of it, Colonel Mitchell.”
The warning is crystal clear, but ignored.
“…Dakara.”
The buzzing begins to surge like static in his brain once again, building like a reaction. It culminates when Mitchell lays a hand on his shoulder.
Teal’c snaps and shoves Mitchell hard against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. He traps him with the weight of his body and a hand around his throat, his other arm cocked back, ready to strike.
Mitchell stiffens against him, lifts his chin in defiance, daring Teal’c to hit him.
“You should know it is unwise to provoke me, Colonel Mitchell.” He grates the words out, aggression poisoning every syllable.
Mitchell is breathless. Teal’c can feel his pulse hammering beneath him, awakening his senses.
“Yeah…I still got the marks…don’t care.”
Teal’c’s hand is cupping his neck tightly, finding the track of damage from before like it was made for him. Thoughts of violence are whispering in his ear, pleading for his attention. Mitchell is bracing his arms on top of his own, the tension threading through his skin.
“It felt good, didn’t it? Bashing their skulls in, beating that asshole into a pulp, right?”
Mitchell is sneering at him, his lip curling up like a cornered animal. Teal’c can literally feel the desire to inflict damage in the very fabric of his skin, teasing him with tiny twinges and muscle contractions, almost willing him to act without thought.
Mitchell is glaring at him, waiting for an answer. He gives the only answer he is capable of.
He gets right in Mitchell’s face, breathes hot on his mouth and says, “Yes.” drawing out the word out with lethal slowness.
“Did it feel just as good hurting me?”
That gives him pause, but he doesn’t back off and he doesn’t let go of Mitchell either.
“When I thought you were one of them, yes, I enjoyed it, savored it even.”
And as he anticipated, Mitchell reacts to that, shudders at the look in Teal’c’s eyes. It’s satisfying and disconcerting at the same time. He needs Mitchell to understand.
“When I realized the grievous error in my judgment - when I saw you, I felt shamed by my actions.”
Mitchell exhales roughly, his emotion as contained as his breaths.
“Fair enough, but what the hell do you think you’re doing now?”
Teal’c silently observes him, but this time he does loosen his grip around Mitchell’s throat just enough to let him breathe and speak easier. He’s still unwilling to break contact. The Taur'i’s hands are frozen on his forearms. Teal’c feels like all of his senses have suddenly awoken in response to Mitchell, life sparking inside him, refusing to let its heat fade.
“I’m not gonna insult you, say I understand what you’re going through. But I understand hurting, that you wanna hurt someone, feel something, and it doesn’t matter what. I get that.”
Teal’c is at a loss for the sudden anger that takes hold of him. He resents Mitchell’s insight, rejects his unfathomable concern.
“Are you volunteering, Colonel Mitchell?” he counters with bitter humor in his voice and a wry grin twisting his face.
“To be your whipping boy, hell no!” and he laughs, sounding a little manic.
“In the end, that’s not going to help you and it certainly ain’t gonna help me. Besides, already been there, done that, but…”
“But WHAT, Colonel Mitchell?” he says, shoving him back against the wall. His tone is loud and defiant and it’s more effective than any choke hold he’s used up until now. Mitchell looks stricken, like he wasn’t expecting his reaction, but Teal’c has moved too far beyond the guilt that plagued him earlier.
“What counsel can you possibly offer me?” He bellows the words at him, full of contempt.
“I don’t know, Teal’c, like I said, I’m making it up as I go along. But you’re not a self-destructive man, and you don’t get off on hurting others.”
“Are you so certain, Colonel Mitchell? There is much about me that you know nothing about.” He challenges, his voice low and dangerous.
“I don’t have all the answers like Sam, I can’t read into things like Jackson, I’m here because I want to help, that’s all. You just have to let me.”
Mitchell has schooled himself into a strange kind of calm, but Teal’c is suddenly, acutely aware of his own breathing, hard and faster than it should be. He’s looking at Mitchell and feeling so much all at once that it’s dizzying. The truly amazing thing is he’s feeling something, not the suffocating vacuum that overwhelmed him before.
He presses himself against the other man and within seconds, Mitchell’s calm begins to evaporate. The hairs all over his body are standing straight up, eyes fastening on Mitchell’s face, frozen there. One of his hands brushes across the Taur'i’s hip, and then centers itself, holding firmly there. His thumb is grazing inside the hipbone, detecting a gradual tightening of the fabric and Mitchell’s breath hitches several times.
“Teal’c.”
Mitchell’s voice is cautious, sounding almost fearful, but other factors point to another, far different conclusion.
He almost killed this man today, so what difference would it make if he were to reverse tactics and now kiss him? Teal’c should attempt to find a suitable explanation for his seamless transition from aggression to desire, but he will not waste this pivotal moment in self-examination. There will be time enough for that later on. Right now, all he wants is to drown himself in sensation, and to that end, Mitchell appears to be his best bet.
Teal’c leans in even closer, until their lips are nearly touching. He tilts his head off to one angle, then back, like he’s trying to look inside the other man, filling all his senses. His hand hasn’t moved from Mitchell’s throat, but his palm is now lighter over the skin, fingers reaching and stroking softly, no longer a threat. The other hand is comfortably resting just above Mitchell’s hip, and his pelvis is leveraged against Mitchell’s.
“What are you doing, Teal’c?”
He can hear absolute fear in Mitchell’s voice; feel the tremor just under his fingertips.
“I am helping myself, Colonel Mitchell.”
He slams into Mitchell with fervor, mouth hard and punishing on the Taur'i’s lips. Mitchell stiffens like a length of steel, hands clenched over his biceps, a cry of surprise muffled inside Teal’c’s open mouth. It’s an attack of another kind and the release Teal’c experiences is like a wave washing over him, reviving him at last.
He keeps his eyes closed as his tongue pushes its way into Colonel Mitchell’s mouth. Teal’c relishes the warmth and rush, the desire spiraling outward from deep in his gut. But he knows this pleasure will be brief, that he cannot force Mitchell.
Teal’c can attribute the other man’s arousal to several things, and they need not point to the conclusion he is in favor of simply because it suits him. The man is a pilot, what is popularly known as an adrenaline junkie to the Taur'i, a thrill seeker, and it’s entirely possible that the threat of violence provokes an unorthodox physiological response in the Colonel. Such things are not uncommon, even among the Jaffa.
Mitchell’s reputation as reckless precedes him, something Teal’c generally disputes, but there have been instances that make him speculate further. Considering the risks, Teal’c will have to sustain himself with a mere taste only, no matter how much he hates the idea of pulling away.
As it turns out, things are often not what he expects when it comes to Colonel Mitchell. In this instance, Mitchell’s body has proven to be the definitive factor.
In the semi-darkness of the corridor, Mitchell reaches forward with his whole body, fighting to connect with Teal’c’s mass with a harsh groan. Teal’c doesn’t mask his surprise, and he doesn’t hide his approval either. He quickly shifts his hand from Mitchell’s throat to his head, grabbing a short tuft of hair and pulling back slowly. The other man allows it, follows Teal’c’s eyes with his own as they regard him. The lure of bright, azure eyes distract him, but soon flick to the soft mouth, lips lush and full and wet from the initial kiss. Teal’c can smell mouthwash, something medicinal, but clean, and he inhales deeply.
“I’ve never…” Mitchell hesitates, struggles with his speech. “I mean, I don’t make a habit out of…”
“Words are not necessary, Colonel Mitchell.”
The first contact was swift and intense, but when Teal’c reaches back down to kiss him again, Mitchell returns his enthusiasm with a roughness and near desperation that closely match it.
The feel of his enemy’s rasping, labored breaths is like a soothing balm to his nerves.
Like his struggle for survival, Mitchell’s breath is now heavy, only now with excitement, and it soothes Teal’c in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time, far more gratifying than killing ever was.
He’s immune to the hands that are clutching and clawing at his arms, desperate efforts to gain leverage against him. They are bruising, but ineffective attempts that hardly give him pause.
Those hands are clutching at him now, although now for a much different reason, alive with the desire to touch and stimulate. Teal’c’s nerves light up like a series of spot fires.
The male bucks beneath him, vain effort to dislodge him. The hips are slim and hard, painful contact against his own and Teal’c responds by pressing down, bringing more weight to bear on the struggling body, quickly stilling most of his opponent’s movements.
He cups Mitchell’s face possessively, and Mitchell shivers, the sensation still notable even as he presses against his chest and hips fiercely, covering him, feeling all of his body at once through his own. Teal’c enjoys kissing Mitchell, the feeling and taste of his warm, sweet mouth and the way he moves his tongue over his own. It’s slow and tentative now, lips and tongue sweeping over one another as they build the reaction between them.
Tiny whines and muffled grunts draw Teal’c’s attention to terrified blue eyes filled with watery tears that catch the light from above, full lips and slack mouth vainly trying to gasp for air, skin ashy blue. The eyes are beginning to roll upward, the whites now terrible to look upon.
Teal’c can feel the outline of Mitchell’s sex, a hard, thick match to his own. He fits a hand into the curve of the other man’s waist, gripping him firmly as he angles his hips and thrusts. Mitchell’s eyes water and glisten with the brutal contact, but its effect is clear. His jaw falls slack as he draws a ragged breath, stunted whines coming from deep in his throat. Mitchell’s face is flushed pink with arousal and his eyes roll upward in his head with pleasure. Teal’c is unprepared for so much raw need and desire. His impulses take over and before he can stop himself, he fits his mouth just where Mitchell’s neck meets his shoulders. He tastes sweat and lineament just before he bites down hard and Mitchell shouts helplessly.
Teal’c falls back, needing to look at Mitchell and gauge his reaction. He has to hold him back to find a measure of space, a moment of reflection in the midst of so much heat and physical attraction. The man is looking at him with such depth and awe, such affection, that it reminds him of the intimate look he shared earlier with Samantha Carter.
Perhaps Colonel Mitchell is guilty of loving them all equally.
That thought is as powerful a blow as the comprehension of nearly killing him, yet there are no feelings of bleakness, of hopelessness.
His mouth is reddened and swollen, palpable temptation by itself and Teal’c is ready to pull Mitchell towards him once again when their communicators flare to life.
“Cam, Cam…where are you?”
“Jesus. Awww, Hell,” Mitchell huffs, staring at Teal’c with marked disappointment. Teal’c is breathing hard, struggling to contain his own displeasure.
“Sam, I’m with Teal’c.”
He fails to mention where they are located.
“You boys playing nice?” she questions, sounding teasing and playful, her voice almost smoky.
Teal’c makes a quick assessment for security cameras, although he finds none. Mitchell is looking at him incredulously.
“Now it occurs to you to look?” he whispers, cupping his palm over his communicator.
Mitchell and Teal’c both cock an eyebrow at each other, but mutual smiles quickly exchange.
“We are indeed, playing nice, Colonel Carter.”
“Hi Teal’c! You okay?”
Teal’c feels enough relief now that he can assume some semblance of normalcy in his life, by practicing the kel’no’reem, calling upon Bra’tac , and meditating once again. He has much ground to make up, but he feels alive; not entirely whole, but neither is he as hollow as he was.
Mitchell has helped in his own way, his strong will to survive matched by the quick appraisal of his passion, and the parallels Teal’c has drawn upon give him much to reflect upon.
A great deal, indeed.
Teal’c’s hand finds its way to Mitchell’s jaw, lightly tracing a path to his mouth, gingerly thumbing his lower lip. Mitchell closes his eyes and tilts his head down, flicks his tongue lightly. This time it’s Teal’c that shivers, from his neck to his toes.
Teal’c thinks back once again to how Colonel Carter touched Mitchell and he’s compelled to repeat that gesture. He relaxes his hand, turning the knuckles outward and glides them along Mitchell’s throat, following the marks of his hands and looks to Mitchell in mute apology.
Mitchell’s eyes flutter with the sensation, at the gesture itself. He intonates his head down and Teal’c raises his hand, skimming his jaw line. Mitchell presses his lips to the pads of Teal’c’s fingers, eyes hooded and fierce, like he is about to initiate combat.
“Yes, Colonel Carter, I am feeling much better now.”
THE END