FIc: On the Right Note (SGA) Part 5 of 5
This storyline is now complete with this part of the story. I need to connect the stories but will probably post this to AO3 so will just post the link to that instead of the individual parts. Like I said in the previous post, I reserve the right to play in this 'verse a bit more. It was too fun not to return to.
Title: On the Right Note (5/5)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis AU
Characters: John/Teyla (FINALLY!), Ronon, Jeannie, Torren
Word Count: 3197
Prompt: memory for the stargateland Multimedia Bingo challenge
Disclaimer: I don't own. I only play around with it from time to time.
Author's Note: Much love to my beta, Aster, who is not responsible for anything in this story that doesn't work and only for the things that do.
Summary: John Sheppard's a small town boy wanting to make it big in the music industry. While he loses the family he was born into because of this decision, he gains a whole new one along the way.
John can only stare straight ahead, his sunglasses dangling from unresponsive fingers. He's forgotten that he and Ronon are in a crowded airport and are currently holding up the stream of foot traffic that has been forced to veer around them. "You could have told me," he mutters but only because he can't think of a damned thing to say to the person he really wants to talk to.
"You always were horrible at the thank you," Ronon mumbles back but his hulking presence is reassuring because, not only can John not turn and run, Teyla can't make a break for it, either.
He's not sure where they've found her but he's not going to waste breath on meaningless questions when she's there in front of him, all five foot four inches of her, as beautiful as he remembers her but infinitely more real than his memories could ever make her. The smile on her face is brighter than he deserves, warmer than he can handle. In this instant, he can hear a new melody running through his head and it's happier than anything he's ever created.
"Hello, John."
"Teyla." Her name tumbles off his tongue, as if he'd only just learned it.
Her smile falters and he realizes that he doesn't seem like he's happy to see her. If he's not careful, she might just turn around and get back on the plane that brought her here. To him. To him? He doesn't know that for sure. With his luck, her being here might just be a coincidence. Somewhere might be the cheese shipment he'd been expecting to pick up and his path just happened to coincide with hers. Coincidence does exist. Doesn't it?
Torren laughs at something Jeannie is saying to him but John just barely registered the little boy. Does he remember me? On cue, the little boy begins to make an excited sound and, instead of the gibberish he was using the last time John saw him, he's using words in full sentences. A little adult with a childish lisp.
John puts his hand out but he's not certain what he wants to happen. Does he want to touch her? Does he want her to meet him halfway? He looks at the fingers, moves them experimentally, before sticking the hand back in his pocket. If there's one thing he knows for sure, it's that he can't do this. Not here. Not with the press of humanity threatening to push him down at the first available opportunity.
She's always been the strong one, pushing him toward the best course when he was unsure where to go. At different times in his life, she's been a mentor and an older sister. This is the first time she can't make the decision for him first, inspiring him to act on it. He needs to do that for himself and John wonders if he's capable.
"You've been pouting ever since she left," Ronon hisses from behind him and he's the one who's pushing him now. "At least act like you're happy to see her."
"Adam hasn't stopped playing the new album. It's... better than even I imagined it could be."
Even with the "in" she gives him, he doesn't let himself be drawn in. Even though the songs have been for her, he doesn't want to talk about the album or how much he's missed her. There's only one question he wants to ask and this isn't the time or the place. Unfortunately, John knows himself and he knows that if they pile into the van, one big happy (or just a little less miserable) family (as dysfunctional as the day is long but still a family when it all comes down to it), he's going to chicken out and the strain will eventually go away but this sudden urge to cut to the root of the problem won't. If he doesn't get it out of the way now, it will eat at him until he can't look her in the eye.
It's here, surrounded by irritated strangers, that he's going to have to ask the question. But not here. Not this exact spot. John looks around for something better but there's nothing that he can see. He acts on instinct, something he hasn't followed enough in his life because he's let people make his decisions for him. His father and Dave in his growing up years. Teyla and Adam later on. Now Elizabeth and Atlantis Records. Today, Ronon and Jeannie finally joined in that group because they should have told him. Plain and simple, he should not have had to walk into this situation blind. Not that he blames them but he's still angry.
Instinct wrote those songs that are still streaking up the charts but they were never for public consumption. He'd been angry and bitter when he wrote them and he didn't care who knew about his heartbreak. It was better, in a way, that he shared it with the world. Made it hurt a little less.
Now instinct is prodding him to take her hand and drag her forward. "I'll call you when we're done," he says over his shoulder as he tries not to look at the shocked expression on their faces.
"John," Teyla protests, her free hand trying to loosen his grip on her arm.
He understands that he's being abrupt and hurtful but he can't stop. Not without losing his momentum. His death grip is unnecessary and he does move from her arm to tangle his fingers with hers. It feels so right to walk like this with her that a lump of emotion blocks off his airway. They're enough out of the thoroughfare that he feels like maybe he can pull her into a tight embrace.
"I just... I want to talk, okay? Just a question and then we can do whatever it is that they have planned." He buries his face in her hair so that his words are muffled and nearly lost but she must hear enough of them because she nods, her free hand coming up to stroke the side of his neck. They stand this way for several moments before John is able to break free. The new song is still running through his head but it's muted. The words aren't all there yet and the melody is still strained. It's working itself out, he realizes.
Doors slide open and they're outside. The cool afternoon air is fragrant with the flowers lining the walkways. They're near the concourse leading to one of the parking structures but it's relatively deserted. John loosens his hold on her so that he can pull off his jacket because she's just come from a much warmer climate. The leather hangs on her but she wraps her arms around her to keep it in place. There isn't a bench or anything designed to sit on but the ledge lining one of the planters is high enough that when he lifts her up on to it, their eyeline is nearly level.
"Do you remember the first time we met?" It's not the question he means to ask but it feels better to get on the same page.
"Sure. It was my first day shift. You ordered the ham and cheese but without the cheese and I asked you why you did not order the ham sandwich instead."
"Less vegetables." That wasn't the memory he was thinking of, although now he remembers the one she brought up, and suddenly he realizes he's asked the wrong question entirely. "Do you remember the first time we talked? I mean, really talked? Not just me giving you my order and you trying to convince me to eat more salad."
Her smile is wide and glorious. In her eyes, he can see that she is remembering the same thing he is. Instead of answering, she nods.
"You asked me about my dad and I spilled my guts. It didn't take more than six words from you before I just let it all out, tears and all. It didn't embarrass me to tell you, though. Not at all. You rubbed the back of my hand with your thumb and told me that my mom would have been proud of me for standing up to him as much as I had and how she wouldn't be disappointed if I didn't follow the path he'd laid out for me."
"She would be proud of you now. I am sure of it as I have been sure of nothing else."
Teyla reaches out her hand to him, an invitation for the same physical touch that she had so often given him over the years. He had always been passive about the gesture, letting her rub his hand or lace their fingers together. It had made him feel good because it meant that someone cared enough about him to offer it.
Now, when he takes her hand, he holds it in front of his mouth and kisses the tip of each finger gently. He isn't sure where he'd learned how to give instead of just taking but the way her eyes widen tells him that he's taken her away from the course she thought he was taking her on. She's no longer pushing him down this path because she has no idea where they're going. He's in complete control and it scares him, possibly more than he's ever been scared before.
"I told you everything, Teyla. Except maybe that I had a crush on you but I think you knew that. Even then, you still let me bunk out on your couch. You opened up your home and shared your family with me. You listened to my hopes and dreams. You heard something that made you held me even though everyone else just thought I was dreaming too big."
She nods, almost shy in the face of the reality of it all. Just when she thinks she knows where they're heading, once again, he lays her hand on his chest, over his thumping heart.
"I told you everything and you told me nothing. Not even when I asked. At first, I didn't want to make you angry because I didn't know if I'd ever have another friend like you. Then, I didn't want to pry. I wrote those songs for you, not just to tell you that I loved you but because I wanted a response. I wanted something back from you. Isn't that what Adam used to always tell me? A good song will always tell you truths about yourself when you hear it. I wrote those songs so that you might come to the realization that you loved me back."
"Of course I do." She smiles but she's trying to pull back her hand with the slightest of tugs. "Of course I love you, John. I have for a very long time."
"Tell me your secrets, Teyla. Tell me who Torren's father is."
She pales. "I don't see how that's important."
When she tugs at her hand, this time, he lets it fall away. "Then you didn't hear my song at all. You're hiding from me, Teyla. I laid it every part of my self out there with those lyrics. With my phone calls. With my texts. There's nothing you don't know. What you saw with Larrin was a sham. A power play to remind me just how pathetic I really was in the grand scheme of things."
"Have you been back?" she asks, as breathless as if she'd run up three flights of stairs.
"Nope. Told Elizabeth to take it off the roster. She threw a fit. Turns out Larrin owns quite a few clubs on the East Coast and she's a big deal on the music scene. Everyone who is anyone has been traumatized by her at one time or another. You should have seen what she did to Rodney after the set. Poor guy stammered for a couple of days before he got it all out of his system."
"You nearly ruined your career... for me?"
"It's just a job. At the end of the day, I wanted to be able to look myself in the mirror and know that I didn't give in to her just for a few more record sales. Right now, I happen to be giving the public what they want to hear. They'll get tired of me soon enough and then I'll just fade into the background and someone else will have the right sound. It's all just... well, it's all sort of pathetic, really. I don't want to be a one-hit wonder. I want to play music from my soul. You know? I don't want to be bought."
He takes a step away from her as he lets out a sigh. "There you go again. Giving me an opportunity to talk about myself. I've got enough money I can pay for a shrink now. I don't need you cleansing my soul for free."
"That's not-" but he waves her into silence. They stare at each other until she covers her face with her hands. "I didn't want you to hate me."
"Why would I hate you?"
"Because... because... does the name Michael ring a bell?"
He wants to say It's a very common name until he remembers the smarmy man who worked for his father. He'd never come over much but John remembered him on two very distinct occasions. The man had been at his mother's funeral, hovering on the outskirts as he waited for the perfect excuse to be helpful. He hadn't given it much thought at the time but he'd also shoed up at John's graduation.
"He worked for my father." He doesn't want to acknowledge the creeping pain taking over his mid-section but he knows it's only going to get worse. She's got the look on her face that boded nothing good for the rest of this conversation.
"And I worked for him."
John runs a hand through his hair because he can't think of anything else to do. "But how it that possible? He didn't... I mean, he wasn't... how?"
"He finds secrets. That is his gift, if you will. My father had an addiction for awhile, one that he worked very hard to keep from all of us and from his employer. Michael found out and was going to tell. It scared my father straight but it was a constant temptation for him. That is why I started working at Brody's. It kept him away because he knew I was there. My sister took a similar job at one of the other local pubs. But still, Michael could have told his employer that it had been a problem so we were still forced to negotiate with him."
"So you..." but he couldn't bear to finish that sentence.
She lets her hands drop from in front of her face and her shoulders stiffen but she doesn't meet his gaze. "Not at first. He knew you liked to frequent Brody's so he wanted me to keep an eye on you. I was happy to until that moment you asked about. You told me everything as if we were friends and, I realized, we were. I told him, that night, that we no longer had a deal."
"And Torren?"
"He offered to let the whole thing go if I spent my free time with him. My father found out and went to his employer, telling him the whole story himself. It was too late to be completely free of him." There was a finality to her words that indicated why John hadn't seen Michael much in recent history. That was a secret she could take with her because he had no desire to know what had happened to the man.
"I... thank you. For telling me. I can see why it wasn't something you wanted brought up again."
A tear drop falls onto the lapel of the jacket. He almost misses it but he was staring at the pulse point in her throat, imaging what it would be like to kiss it and chastising himself a thousand different ways for thinking she would welcome the gesture now. Instead, he reaches out and flicks the moisture away. Teyla shies away from him as if she's afraid he's reaching out to hit her. There's a flash of fear in her quick glance and he begins to understand just what the memory has cost her. His life sucks a little less as he realizes what all she's been through.
"Torren's pretty terrific," he says quickly, wishing he could think of something more eloquent to say. "And you're a great mom. I mean, look at the kid. He's the spitting image of you. And, well, you'd never know. You know?" He's babbling but he can't stop because he's afraid that, in the next silence, she might run away and he'll never find her this time. What he really wants to do is to take her hand again but he knows this will be a bad thing, no matter how he means the gesture.
So he's taken completely off-guard when she reaches out to grab his shirt and drags him toward her. When he's standing between her thighs, she wraps her legs around his waist and lays her head on his shoulder, her hands not losing their death grip on his clothing. They stay like that for a long while because John's afraid to move or breath or do something wrong. When she places a small kiss on his skin just above the neckline of his shirt, he wraps his arms around her in a tight embrace.
"I'm sorry I ran away." Her whisper is a mere vibration against his skin.
He buries his face in her hair again but he can't get enough of the satiny feel of it. "I'm more sorry than you can ever know that I didn't move heaven and hell to find you."
"But you did." When he stiffens, his mind trying to figure out the meaning of her words, she lets her lips drift higher along the column of his neck. "A good song will always tell you truths about yourself when you hear it, remember? It was the only way you knew how to reach me and the only way I would hear."
"Don't ever leave me. If you need to be closer to your family, I'll make it work. I'll-"
She moves her lips over his in the most extraordinary kiss John has ever experienced. The words and the music all coalesce together in his head as she nips at his bottom lip with her teeth and John finds himself near tears from how perfect it all is. In this moment, he has everything and it doesn't matter that he's starting to shiver as the wind picks up or that his phone has started to ring or that one of Teyla's hands is tangled in his hair and she's trying to work it free with painful tugs. This is exactly what John has wanted all his life, he just didn't realize it until this moment and, now that he has it, he never wants it to end.
This entry was cross posted at dreamwidth - where the cool kids hang out.
Title: On the Right Note (5/5)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis AU
Characters: John/Teyla (FINALLY!), Ronon, Jeannie, Torren
Word Count: 3197
Prompt: memory for the stargateland Multimedia Bingo challenge
Disclaimer: I don't own. I only play around with it from time to time.
Author's Note: Much love to my beta, Aster, who is not responsible for anything in this story that doesn't work and only for the things that do.
Summary: John Sheppard's a small town boy wanting to make it big in the music industry. While he loses the family he was born into because of this decision, he gains a whole new one along the way.
John can only stare straight ahead, his sunglasses dangling from unresponsive fingers. He's forgotten that he and Ronon are in a crowded airport and are currently holding up the stream of foot traffic that has been forced to veer around them. "You could have told me," he mutters but only because he can't think of a damned thing to say to the person he really wants to talk to.
"You always were horrible at the thank you," Ronon mumbles back but his hulking presence is reassuring because, not only can John not turn and run, Teyla can't make a break for it, either.
He's not sure where they've found her but he's not going to waste breath on meaningless questions when she's there in front of him, all five foot four inches of her, as beautiful as he remembers her but infinitely more real than his memories could ever make her. The smile on her face is brighter than he deserves, warmer than he can handle. In this instant, he can hear a new melody running through his head and it's happier than anything he's ever created.
"Hello, John."
"Teyla." Her name tumbles off his tongue, as if he'd only just learned it.
Her smile falters and he realizes that he doesn't seem like he's happy to see her. If he's not careful, she might just turn around and get back on the plane that brought her here. To him. To him? He doesn't know that for sure. With his luck, her being here might just be a coincidence. Somewhere might be the cheese shipment he'd been expecting to pick up and his path just happened to coincide with hers. Coincidence does exist. Doesn't it?
Torren laughs at something Jeannie is saying to him but John just barely registered the little boy. Does he remember me? On cue, the little boy begins to make an excited sound and, instead of the gibberish he was using the last time John saw him, he's using words in full sentences. A little adult with a childish lisp.
John puts his hand out but he's not certain what he wants to happen. Does he want to touch her? Does he want her to meet him halfway? He looks at the fingers, moves them experimentally, before sticking the hand back in his pocket. If there's one thing he knows for sure, it's that he can't do this. Not here. Not with the press of humanity threatening to push him down at the first available opportunity.
She's always been the strong one, pushing him toward the best course when he was unsure where to go. At different times in his life, she's been a mentor and an older sister. This is the first time she can't make the decision for him first, inspiring him to act on it. He needs to do that for himself and John wonders if he's capable.
"You've been pouting ever since she left," Ronon hisses from behind him and he's the one who's pushing him now. "At least act like you're happy to see her."
"Adam hasn't stopped playing the new album. It's... better than even I imagined it could be."
Even with the "in" she gives him, he doesn't let himself be drawn in. Even though the songs have been for her, he doesn't want to talk about the album or how much he's missed her. There's only one question he wants to ask and this isn't the time or the place. Unfortunately, John knows himself and he knows that if they pile into the van, one big happy (or just a little less miserable) family (as dysfunctional as the day is long but still a family when it all comes down to it), he's going to chicken out and the strain will eventually go away but this sudden urge to cut to the root of the problem won't. If he doesn't get it out of the way now, it will eat at him until he can't look her in the eye.
It's here, surrounded by irritated strangers, that he's going to have to ask the question. But not here. Not this exact spot. John looks around for something better but there's nothing that he can see. He acts on instinct, something he hasn't followed enough in his life because he's let people make his decisions for him. His father and Dave in his growing up years. Teyla and Adam later on. Now Elizabeth and Atlantis Records. Today, Ronon and Jeannie finally joined in that group because they should have told him. Plain and simple, he should not have had to walk into this situation blind. Not that he blames them but he's still angry.
Instinct wrote those songs that are still streaking up the charts but they were never for public consumption. He'd been angry and bitter when he wrote them and he didn't care who knew about his heartbreak. It was better, in a way, that he shared it with the world. Made it hurt a little less.
Now instinct is prodding him to take her hand and drag her forward. "I'll call you when we're done," he says over his shoulder as he tries not to look at the shocked expression on their faces.
"John," Teyla protests, her free hand trying to loosen his grip on her arm.
He understands that he's being abrupt and hurtful but he can't stop. Not without losing his momentum. His death grip is unnecessary and he does move from her arm to tangle his fingers with hers. It feels so right to walk like this with her that a lump of emotion blocks off his airway. They're enough out of the thoroughfare that he feels like maybe he can pull her into a tight embrace.
"I just... I want to talk, okay? Just a question and then we can do whatever it is that they have planned." He buries his face in her hair so that his words are muffled and nearly lost but she must hear enough of them because she nods, her free hand coming up to stroke the side of his neck. They stand this way for several moments before John is able to break free. The new song is still running through his head but it's muted. The words aren't all there yet and the melody is still strained. It's working itself out, he realizes.
Doors slide open and they're outside. The cool afternoon air is fragrant with the flowers lining the walkways. They're near the concourse leading to one of the parking structures but it's relatively deserted. John loosens his hold on her so that he can pull off his jacket because she's just come from a much warmer climate. The leather hangs on her but she wraps her arms around her to keep it in place. There isn't a bench or anything designed to sit on but the ledge lining one of the planters is high enough that when he lifts her up on to it, their eyeline is nearly level.
"Do you remember the first time we met?" It's not the question he means to ask but it feels better to get on the same page.
"Sure. It was my first day shift. You ordered the ham and cheese but without the cheese and I asked you why you did not order the ham sandwich instead."
"Less vegetables." That wasn't the memory he was thinking of, although now he remembers the one she brought up, and suddenly he realizes he's asked the wrong question entirely. "Do you remember the first time we talked? I mean, really talked? Not just me giving you my order and you trying to convince me to eat more salad."
Her smile is wide and glorious. In her eyes, he can see that she is remembering the same thing he is. Instead of answering, she nods.
"You asked me about my dad and I spilled my guts. It didn't take more than six words from you before I just let it all out, tears and all. It didn't embarrass me to tell you, though. Not at all. You rubbed the back of my hand with your thumb and told me that my mom would have been proud of me for standing up to him as much as I had and how she wouldn't be disappointed if I didn't follow the path he'd laid out for me."
"She would be proud of you now. I am sure of it as I have been sure of nothing else."
Teyla reaches out her hand to him, an invitation for the same physical touch that she had so often given him over the years. He had always been passive about the gesture, letting her rub his hand or lace their fingers together. It had made him feel good because it meant that someone cared enough about him to offer it.
Now, when he takes her hand, he holds it in front of his mouth and kisses the tip of each finger gently. He isn't sure where he'd learned how to give instead of just taking but the way her eyes widen tells him that he's taken her away from the course she thought he was taking her on. She's no longer pushing him down this path because she has no idea where they're going. He's in complete control and it scares him, possibly more than he's ever been scared before.
"I told you everything, Teyla. Except maybe that I had a crush on you but I think you knew that. Even then, you still let me bunk out on your couch. You opened up your home and shared your family with me. You listened to my hopes and dreams. You heard something that made you held me even though everyone else just thought I was dreaming too big."
She nods, almost shy in the face of the reality of it all. Just when she thinks she knows where they're heading, once again, he lays her hand on his chest, over his thumping heart.
"I told you everything and you told me nothing. Not even when I asked. At first, I didn't want to make you angry because I didn't know if I'd ever have another friend like you. Then, I didn't want to pry. I wrote those songs for you, not just to tell you that I loved you but because I wanted a response. I wanted something back from you. Isn't that what Adam used to always tell me? A good song will always tell you truths about yourself when you hear it. I wrote those songs so that you might come to the realization that you loved me back."
"Of course I do." She smiles but she's trying to pull back her hand with the slightest of tugs. "Of course I love you, John. I have for a very long time."
"Tell me your secrets, Teyla. Tell me who Torren's father is."
She pales. "I don't see how that's important."
When she tugs at her hand, this time, he lets it fall away. "Then you didn't hear my song at all. You're hiding from me, Teyla. I laid it every part of my self out there with those lyrics. With my phone calls. With my texts. There's nothing you don't know. What you saw with Larrin was a sham. A power play to remind me just how pathetic I really was in the grand scheme of things."
"Have you been back?" she asks, as breathless as if she'd run up three flights of stairs.
"Nope. Told Elizabeth to take it off the roster. She threw a fit. Turns out Larrin owns quite a few clubs on the East Coast and she's a big deal on the music scene. Everyone who is anyone has been traumatized by her at one time or another. You should have seen what she did to Rodney after the set. Poor guy stammered for a couple of days before he got it all out of his system."
"You nearly ruined your career... for me?"
"It's just a job. At the end of the day, I wanted to be able to look myself in the mirror and know that I didn't give in to her just for a few more record sales. Right now, I happen to be giving the public what they want to hear. They'll get tired of me soon enough and then I'll just fade into the background and someone else will have the right sound. It's all just... well, it's all sort of pathetic, really. I don't want to be a one-hit wonder. I want to play music from my soul. You know? I don't want to be bought."
He takes a step away from her as he lets out a sigh. "There you go again. Giving me an opportunity to talk about myself. I've got enough money I can pay for a shrink now. I don't need you cleansing my soul for free."
"That's not-" but he waves her into silence. They stare at each other until she covers her face with her hands. "I didn't want you to hate me."
"Why would I hate you?"
"Because... because... does the name Michael ring a bell?"
He wants to say It's a very common name until he remembers the smarmy man who worked for his father. He'd never come over much but John remembered him on two very distinct occasions. The man had been at his mother's funeral, hovering on the outskirts as he waited for the perfect excuse to be helpful. He hadn't given it much thought at the time but he'd also shoed up at John's graduation.
"He worked for my father." He doesn't want to acknowledge the creeping pain taking over his mid-section but he knows it's only going to get worse. She's got the look on her face that boded nothing good for the rest of this conversation.
"And I worked for him."
John runs a hand through his hair because he can't think of anything else to do. "But how it that possible? He didn't... I mean, he wasn't... how?"
"He finds secrets. That is his gift, if you will. My father had an addiction for awhile, one that he worked very hard to keep from all of us and from his employer. Michael found out and was going to tell. It scared my father straight but it was a constant temptation for him. That is why I started working at Brody's. It kept him away because he knew I was there. My sister took a similar job at one of the other local pubs. But still, Michael could have told his employer that it had been a problem so we were still forced to negotiate with him."
"So you..." but he couldn't bear to finish that sentence.
She lets her hands drop from in front of her face and her shoulders stiffen but she doesn't meet his gaze. "Not at first. He knew you liked to frequent Brody's so he wanted me to keep an eye on you. I was happy to until that moment you asked about. You told me everything as if we were friends and, I realized, we were. I told him, that night, that we no longer had a deal."
"And Torren?"
"He offered to let the whole thing go if I spent my free time with him. My father found out and went to his employer, telling him the whole story himself. It was too late to be completely free of him." There was a finality to her words that indicated why John hadn't seen Michael much in recent history. That was a secret she could take with her because he had no desire to know what had happened to the man.
"I... thank you. For telling me. I can see why it wasn't something you wanted brought up again."
A tear drop falls onto the lapel of the jacket. He almost misses it but he was staring at the pulse point in her throat, imaging what it would be like to kiss it and chastising himself a thousand different ways for thinking she would welcome the gesture now. Instead, he reaches out and flicks the moisture away. Teyla shies away from him as if she's afraid he's reaching out to hit her. There's a flash of fear in her quick glance and he begins to understand just what the memory has cost her. His life sucks a little less as he realizes what all she's been through.
"Torren's pretty terrific," he says quickly, wishing he could think of something more eloquent to say. "And you're a great mom. I mean, look at the kid. He's the spitting image of you. And, well, you'd never know. You know?" He's babbling but he can't stop because he's afraid that, in the next silence, she might run away and he'll never find her this time. What he really wants to do is to take her hand again but he knows this will be a bad thing, no matter how he means the gesture.
So he's taken completely off-guard when she reaches out to grab his shirt and drags him toward her. When he's standing between her thighs, she wraps her legs around his waist and lays her head on his shoulder, her hands not losing their death grip on his clothing. They stay like that for a long while because John's afraid to move or breath or do something wrong. When she places a small kiss on his skin just above the neckline of his shirt, he wraps his arms around her in a tight embrace.
"I'm sorry I ran away." Her whisper is a mere vibration against his skin.
He buries his face in her hair again but he can't get enough of the satiny feel of it. "I'm more sorry than you can ever know that I didn't move heaven and hell to find you."
"But you did." When he stiffens, his mind trying to figure out the meaning of her words, she lets her lips drift higher along the column of his neck. "A good song will always tell you truths about yourself when you hear it, remember? It was the only way you knew how to reach me and the only way I would hear."
"Don't ever leave me. If you need to be closer to your family, I'll make it work. I'll-"
She moves her lips over his in the most extraordinary kiss John has ever experienced. The words and the music all coalesce together in his head as she nips at his bottom lip with her teeth and John finds himself near tears from how perfect it all is. In this moment, he has everything and it doesn't matter that he's starting to shiver as the wind picks up or that his phone has started to ring or that one of Teyla's hands is tangled in his hair and she's trying to work it free with painful tugs. This is exactly what John has wanted all his life, he just didn't realize it until this moment and, now that he has it, he never wants it to end.
This entry was cross posted at dreamwidth - where the cool kids hang out.