SGA fic: Where Do I Go (When Your Eyes Say Goodbye and Your Body Says Hello); Teyla/Sora, PG-13
Title: Where Do I Go (When Your Eyes Say Goodbye and Your Body Says Hello)
Author: hivesix
Recipient: neigedens
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Teyla/Sora
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1430
Disclaimer: I do not own SGA or the characters.
Warnings: No standard warnings apply
Summary: There is a lot of time to think, in her cell that is not quite one, of all that has transpired between the Lanteans and her people.
Notes: Thanks to cyandragonfly for the beta-read. Title is from One for the Team's “I've Been Here So Long”
In the cage of force fields and thick horizontal bars, guards no older than she drop in plastic trays of food three times a day. Sora counts five of them altogether, alternating between the morning and evening shifts; they do not speak a word to her, nor to each other, and Sora wonders if they share the insanity that comes from isolation.
She wonders how the expedition came to be here on Lantea, wonders what they have seen of the Wraith. The younger ones have a naivete in their gaze still, as though they cannot quite imagine that Sora can be a captive of war. What have you done? their eyes question; how can you have done anything already?
Not everyone is groomed to be a soldier from the day they grow into womanhood, she wants to tell them, that fighting the Wraith is not something the Genii are allowed to volunteer for. She thinks Elizabeth Weir a fool, to have come to Lantea by choice; she thinks her guards greater fools for following her into this.
There is a lot of time to think, in her cell that is not quite one, of all that has transpired between the Lanteans and her people; of all that has transpired between her and Teyla Emmagan. Sora remembers meeting Teyla as a girl, standing by her father's side as the traders from Athos stepped through the ring, watching Teyla taking in Genia with wide eyes, excitement, and finally joy when Tyrus introduced my daughter, Sora; Teyla, the young woman who could not hide each flush as she and Sora danced under the cool harvest ceremony moonlight, their fingers entwining with each breathless turn and giggling tumble; Teyla, who lay with Sora on a pallet in the forest, whose lips claimed Sora’s in clumsy, eager kisses, who promised Sora always; Teyla, who dresses as the Lanteans do, who carries their weapons and fights as they do
(like cowards behind their guns, who leave their fallen to die);
Teyla, the girl, the woman, the warrior, the soldier.
Which is the daughter of Tagan now? For an uncountable time since she has been held, Sora recalls the anger in Teyla's face, the infuriated disappointment radiating from her as they fought hand to hand in the isolated corridors of Atlantis during the storm. Sora can still feel the pressure of Teyla's legs pinning her still, their breaths held as they both waited for Teyla to decide. One blow would have ended it all.
Sora's heart picks up, her skin flushing as she remembers the sudden rush of air back into her lungs when Teyla moved away and ran back to join Major Sheppard. She remembers the look on Teyla's face as they helplessly watched Koyla pull Elizabeth Weir to the ring, saw Teyla's shoulders fall with relief as they saw him stumble back empty-handed. It is clear where her loyalty lies now.
They did not look at each other as Sora was escorted to the brig.
One night, she picks up a discussion unfolding in low tones outside the door, between the guards and a woman’s voice, polite but firm -- “I will be fine. Please let me in.” -- before the doors slide open and Teyla walks in, allowing them to close behind her. The force field dissipates before her.
They watch each other silently, Teyla with her hands clasped behind her back, Sora with her head high.
“You look well, Sora,” Teyla says after several moments. Her expression is unreadable, her voice calm and measured. Sora can feel Teyla's careful gaze upon her skin. “I would have come sooner, but I did not feel...” Teyla trails off, and a sigh fills the chasm. “Dr. Weir agrees that you should not be kept here all day any longer. Will you train with me?”
The way Dr. Weir's name floats from Teyla's lips - familiar, easy - to Sora's ears sends a hard surge of something indescribable
(hate, spite, jealousy, anger)
against Sora's chest. Though her hands ache to hold a staff again and her body tingles against the cramp of her confinement, she says, “It is late,” and “I am tired.”
“As you wish,” Teyla replies, and leaves without another word.
*
A few days later, she is awoken by the hum of the force field deactivating. “Come along,” Sergeant Woods says as he shakes her awake, “You're being moved.”
Her new cell is not a cell but a small room, filled with a narrow bed and a window above. It is decidedly far more comfortable than the brig. “Why?” she attempts to demand, but it comes out as a simple question, one Sergeant Woods can only answer with a shrug. Her guards have become more relaxed as of late, as if Teyla's visit has erased an invisible line.
“Dr. Weir's orders,” he says, and leaves her to the unnamed feeling.
Teyla visits many more times, the only one of the Lanteans to do so. Each time she extends the offer of a spar, and each time Sora claims fatigue.
The cold gray of the metal door does not share opinion, but Sora turns her back on it all the same.
*
Tonight, Teyla's eyes are missing their light, and her shoulders not held as they are normally; Sora responds to the unspoken plea. Teyla has brought a change of clothing for her, and after Sora is dressed, they walk side by side to the gym. The Banto rods are different to the long staff she is used to, but the weight is welcome in her hands as she curls her wrists and firms her grip.
She has missed this.
Her movements are stilted, even with all her practice, but Teyla is barely with her. For the fifth time in as many minutes, Sora dismantles Teyla's attack and sweeps her feet from beneath her. Teyla does not rise, so Sora lies down beside her.
“Tell me,” she says, and Teyla tells her everything of her ability to feel the Wraith, and their experiments on her ancestors. Sora cannot help but think of her father, of the foolish mistake which cost him his life, and stares at the pattern of the training mat as Teyla hesitates over how she attacked Dr. Beckett, and absently touches her back where Sergeant Bates used a Wraith stunner against her.
The Wraith took her father, and now have taken a part of Teyla - or had that part of her already, long before Sora knew her.
When they stand, long after the light has faded, their foreheads meet for a fraction longer than is customary.
*
They return Sora to the Genii as part of the exchange for Cowen's atomic bombs.
“You do not have to do this,” Teyla says as they prepare to leave, even as she picks up her knife -- Tyrus’ knife -- and Lantean weaponry. Sora watches as Teyla’s slender fingers work at the clips and ties of her uniform and doesn’t look away quick enough when Teyla catches her eye.
“I have no place here,” she replies, and their shared gaze hangs in the air like the leaf that drifted between them while they danced a harvest ceremony away many moons ago, awaiting the breeze to carry it away.
(Teyla had reached up and snatched the leaf from the air, its edges crumbling into brown dust where her fingers made contact, and tucked the stalk behind Sora's ear.)
“Be well, Sora,” Teyla whispers, and her grips lingers on Sora's hips when their foreheads touch.
*
With Ladon’s successful coup, the Genii alliance with Atlantis improves. As trading becomes more efficient, off-world visits to Genia are met by Atlantis’ second and third teams; still, Sora dares to hope every time the Lantean delegation is due, and feels like a little girl each time the ring of the Ancestors shines blue from Atlantis.
Today, she is late, delayed by the preparation for the harvest ceremony. When Sora arrives at the tavern, out of breath, curls dampened with sweat and sticking to her forehead, it is not Major Lorne and his team seated at the table as she had been expecting. Instead, there is only Teyla, who stands and reaches for her like an old friend.
“Sora,” Teyla smiles, “It has been many days.”
“Too many,” she replies, and sees that it is the girl, the woman, the warrior and the soldier, who has met her always.
Author: hivesix
Recipient: neigedens
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Teyla/Sora
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1430
Disclaimer: I do not own SGA or the characters.
Warnings: No standard warnings apply
Summary: There is a lot of time to think, in her cell that is not quite one, of all that has transpired between the Lanteans and her people.
Notes: Thanks to cyandragonfly for the beta-read. Title is from One for the Team's “I've Been Here So Long”
In the cage of force fields and thick horizontal bars, guards no older than she drop in plastic trays of food three times a day. Sora counts five of them altogether, alternating between the morning and evening shifts; they do not speak a word to her, nor to each other, and Sora wonders if they share the insanity that comes from isolation.
She wonders how the expedition came to be here on Lantea, wonders what they have seen of the Wraith. The younger ones have a naivete in their gaze still, as though they cannot quite imagine that Sora can be a captive of war. What have you done? their eyes question; how can you have done anything already?
Not everyone is groomed to be a soldier from the day they grow into womanhood, she wants to tell them, that fighting the Wraith is not something the Genii are allowed to volunteer for. She thinks Elizabeth Weir a fool, to have come to Lantea by choice; she thinks her guards greater fools for following her into this.
There is a lot of time to think, in her cell that is not quite one, of all that has transpired between the Lanteans and her people; of all that has transpired between her and Teyla Emmagan. Sora remembers meeting Teyla as a girl, standing by her father's side as the traders from Athos stepped through the ring, watching Teyla taking in Genia with wide eyes, excitement, and finally joy when Tyrus introduced my daughter, Sora; Teyla, the young woman who could not hide each flush as she and Sora danced under the cool harvest ceremony moonlight, their fingers entwining with each breathless turn and giggling tumble; Teyla, who lay with Sora on a pallet in the forest, whose lips claimed Sora’s in clumsy, eager kisses, who promised Sora always; Teyla, who dresses as the Lanteans do, who carries their weapons and fights as they do
(like cowards behind their guns, who leave their fallen to die);
Teyla, the girl, the woman, the warrior, the soldier.
Which is the daughter of Tagan now? For an uncountable time since she has been held, Sora recalls the anger in Teyla's face, the infuriated disappointment radiating from her as they fought hand to hand in the isolated corridors of Atlantis during the storm. Sora can still feel the pressure of Teyla's legs pinning her still, their breaths held as they both waited for Teyla to decide. One blow would have ended it all.
Sora's heart picks up, her skin flushing as she remembers the sudden rush of air back into her lungs when Teyla moved away and ran back to join Major Sheppard. She remembers the look on Teyla's face as they helplessly watched Koyla pull Elizabeth Weir to the ring, saw Teyla's shoulders fall with relief as they saw him stumble back empty-handed. It is clear where her loyalty lies now.
They did not look at each other as Sora was escorted to the brig.
One night, she picks up a discussion unfolding in low tones outside the door, between the guards and a woman’s voice, polite but firm -- “I will be fine. Please let me in.” -- before the doors slide open and Teyla walks in, allowing them to close behind her. The force field dissipates before her.
They watch each other silently, Teyla with her hands clasped behind her back, Sora with her head high.
“You look well, Sora,” Teyla says after several moments. Her expression is unreadable, her voice calm and measured. Sora can feel Teyla's careful gaze upon her skin. “I would have come sooner, but I did not feel...” Teyla trails off, and a sigh fills the chasm. “Dr. Weir agrees that you should not be kept here all day any longer. Will you train with me?”
The way Dr. Weir's name floats from Teyla's lips - familiar, easy - to Sora's ears sends a hard surge of something indescribable
(hate, spite, jealousy, anger)
against Sora's chest. Though her hands ache to hold a staff again and her body tingles against the cramp of her confinement, she says, “It is late,” and “I am tired.”
“As you wish,” Teyla replies, and leaves without another word.
*
A few days later, she is awoken by the hum of the force field deactivating. “Come along,” Sergeant Woods says as he shakes her awake, “You're being moved.”
Her new cell is not a cell but a small room, filled with a narrow bed and a window above. It is decidedly far more comfortable than the brig. “Why?” she attempts to demand, but it comes out as a simple question, one Sergeant Woods can only answer with a shrug. Her guards have become more relaxed as of late, as if Teyla's visit has erased an invisible line.
“Dr. Weir's orders,” he says, and leaves her to the unnamed feeling.
Teyla visits many more times, the only one of the Lanteans to do so. Each time she extends the offer of a spar, and each time Sora claims fatigue.
The cold gray of the metal door does not share opinion, but Sora turns her back on it all the same.
*
Tonight, Teyla's eyes are missing their light, and her shoulders not held as they are normally; Sora responds to the unspoken plea. Teyla has brought a change of clothing for her, and after Sora is dressed, they walk side by side to the gym. The Banto rods are different to the long staff she is used to, but the weight is welcome in her hands as she curls her wrists and firms her grip.
She has missed this.
Her movements are stilted, even with all her practice, but Teyla is barely with her. For the fifth time in as many minutes, Sora dismantles Teyla's attack and sweeps her feet from beneath her. Teyla does not rise, so Sora lies down beside her.
“Tell me,” she says, and Teyla tells her everything of her ability to feel the Wraith, and their experiments on her ancestors. Sora cannot help but think of her father, of the foolish mistake which cost him his life, and stares at the pattern of the training mat as Teyla hesitates over how she attacked Dr. Beckett, and absently touches her back where Sergeant Bates used a Wraith stunner against her.
The Wraith took her father, and now have taken a part of Teyla - or had that part of her already, long before Sora knew her.
When they stand, long after the light has faded, their foreheads meet for a fraction longer than is customary.
*
They return Sora to the Genii as part of the exchange for Cowen's atomic bombs.
“You do not have to do this,” Teyla says as they prepare to leave, even as she picks up her knife -- Tyrus’ knife -- and Lantean weaponry. Sora watches as Teyla’s slender fingers work at the clips and ties of her uniform and doesn’t look away quick enough when Teyla catches her eye.
“I have no place here,” she replies, and their shared gaze hangs in the air like the leaf that drifted between them while they danced a harvest ceremony away many moons ago, awaiting the breeze to carry it away.
(Teyla had reached up and snatched the leaf from the air, its edges crumbling into brown dust where her fingers made contact, and tucked the stalk behind Sora's ear.)
“Be well, Sora,” Teyla whispers, and her grips lingers on Sora's hips when their foreheads touch.
*
With Ladon’s successful coup, the Genii alliance with Atlantis improves. As trading becomes more efficient, off-world visits to Genia are met by Atlantis’ second and third teams; still, Sora dares to hope every time the Lantean delegation is due, and feels like a little girl each time the ring of the Ancestors shines blue from Atlantis.
Today, she is late, delayed by the preparation for the harvest ceremony. When Sora arrives at the tavern, out of breath, curls dampened with sweat and sticking to her forehead, it is not Major Lorne and his team seated at the table as she had been expecting. Instead, there is only Teyla, who stands and reaches for her like an old friend.
“Sora,” Teyla smiles, “It has been many days.”
“Too many,” she replies, and sees that it is the girl, the woman, the warrior and the soldier, who has met her always.