[nano] Stained Glass Masquerade
Nov. 11th, 2007 08:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeThe first night Teyla was out there all Sheppard could think of was that she was out there on her own, in the middle of a jungle where something had clearly happened to her. Something that had upset her, enough to go back out there and try and confront whatever it was. Which, in turn, upset him. Which kept him awake at night and found him wandering through the halls looking for a distraction.
Ronon was a distraction. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Yeah," Sheppard's mouth twisted in one of his grins that wasn't quite a grin. "Thought I'd try and walk it off."
"You and Teyla have a fight or something?"
Maybe Ronon wasn't a distraction he wanted. "No, Teyla and I didn't have a fight. I just couldn't sleep, that's all."
"Sure." Ronon grinned a little. "Want to go a couple rounds?"
"No." Pause. "Was Teyla acting weird to you just before she left?"
Ronon paused in mid-step and turned, looking at him. "She almost died and lost one of her closest friends, one of the only people she has left. How should she be acting?"
Put that way, Sheppard could feel his cheeks heating a little. Maybe it was just him. Maybe he was just being an idiot, as usual. "Nothing. Never mind."
Ronon frowned at the man's back as he turned and headed towards his room again. "You think something's wrong?"
John waved to his friend over his shoulder. "See you in the morning."
The first night Teyla was out there all by herself she felt more odd about moving Michael from his bed than anything else. Apparently the laws of hospitality among the Wraith were similar to those among most human cultures; either that or he had thought that she would be more comfortable with the courtesy. It was hard to tell his motivations, even with all that she had learned about him and as much as they had slowly come to be more at ease with each other.
It had been strange, too, to hear about the life of a Wraith as fact and from their perspective rather than as speculation from McKay and Zelenka. Sooner than she had thought, within minutes even, she had found herself entranced by his stories and what he told her. Little things, nothing (she noted that he had been very careful of that) current or of strategic value, but memories of everyday things. The sorts of things that must have seemed trivial to him at the time.
Little things that were no longer trivial because he could never have them again, and Teyla suddenly realized that she knew what he meant by that, how he felt. She rolled over and curled up on her side, fighting against the tears that still sometimes came.
How strange it was, the little things that they remembered when they couldn't have them any longer. A conversation between friends, or the things done in the hours of leisure, when there remained no more duties for a period of time. He had told her of friends he had had and she had been struck in at least one instance of how similar they seemed, not so much to the erratic Dr. McKay, but how she thought Zelenka seemed with his co-workers.
He had spoken of family in a way that made it seem as though there was so much he could not bring himself to talk about yet. She wondered what he hadn't been saying, had realized then although somehow it had not occurred to her before that, how much older he must be. Dr. Beckett had speculated that the Wraith might live a long time, but it had never before been a practicality for her. Michael might very well have seen generations of humans go by. Several times her lifespan over. He hadn't said anything to that effect, though.
What would that have been like, or meant, had he stayed in human form? Thousands of years of life and experience and suddenly compacted into a human form that might only have a human lifespan? Did he think of that? A thousand and one questions and they had both retired to their beds and she wasn't sure she would remember this in the morning.
Perhaps that was better, this way. Perhaps there were some topics that they shouldn't touch on, or at least not yet. Family, lifespan, touchy subjects like that. Whenever it occurred to her next would be soon enough to talk about it.
She was just sliding into sleep when she heard it, and not even so much heard it as felt it shiver through her body and screaming in her mind. Immediately she was up and out of bed, racing down the hall.
The first night Teyla was there in his temporary dwelling was strange to him. To have her just down the hall, his own bed hastily crafted out of what bedding remained (and there was plenty of it), and yet knowing this place was not his own for at least a short time… It was all strange. Almost too strange.
He sat on the bed rather than stretching out or laying down, staring at the wall opposite. It was still amazing to him, perhaps too good to be true, that she had come out simply to talk to him. That she had listened at all, to anything he had said. Why now, when she hadn't seemed to before?
Or, perhaps that was unfair. Of all of them, she had been the only one to try to talk to him as though he was a person who might want some sort of say in what happened to him. As though he deserved respect, whether or not she had been able to let him live free at the time. Which begged the question, why was she doing so now? Why hadn't she told Atlantis about him? He hadn't truly expected that she would keep his secret.
And now he had given her a great many more secrets to keep. Hard to say whether or not she would, but. They had come this far.
His eyes were just closing when he heard the clatter in what sounded like the kitchen, bounding off the bed and heading for the room. His eyes widened in shock, betrayal.
"Sheppard."
"Michael." Sheppard smiled. Not at all nice. "Good to see you again, Lieutenant."
It was something in the way he said it. He found himself looking down at his hands, stumbling back in horror as the pale pink flesh of human hands spread out under his incredulous stare. The light shifted downward, darkened.
"What's the matter, Lieutenant?" He looked up again. The Queen, his Queen, was staring at him as he had seen her stare at hundreds of human prisoners before her. Impassive, uncaring. Interested only for as long as it took to achieve the desired effect. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
"Don't you recognize me?" He flexed his hands, trying to will himself back to what he had been. It wasn't working. "Don't…" Words. Words were so inadequate, and yet when he reached he couldn't feel anything. Couldn't find anyone. Locked inside his own skull, a prisoner of his own altered body, of what they had done to him. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't! Don't touch me!" He knocked the person away, far too aware of what his people did to humans under their control. In front of him, she laughed. She laughed. "Don't touch…"
Ronon was a distraction. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Yeah," Sheppard's mouth twisted in one of his grins that wasn't quite a grin. "Thought I'd try and walk it off."
"You and Teyla have a fight or something?"
Maybe Ronon wasn't a distraction he wanted. "No, Teyla and I didn't have a fight. I just couldn't sleep, that's all."
"Sure." Ronon grinned a little. "Want to go a couple rounds?"
"No." Pause. "Was Teyla acting weird to you just before she left?"
Ronon paused in mid-step and turned, looking at him. "She almost died and lost one of her closest friends, one of the only people she has left. How should she be acting?"
Put that way, Sheppard could feel his cheeks heating a little. Maybe it was just him. Maybe he was just being an idiot, as usual. "Nothing. Never mind."
Ronon frowned at the man's back as he turned and headed towards his room again. "You think something's wrong?"
John waved to his friend over his shoulder. "See you in the morning."
The first night Teyla was out there all by herself she felt more odd about moving Michael from his bed than anything else. Apparently the laws of hospitality among the Wraith were similar to those among most human cultures; either that or he had thought that she would be more comfortable with the courtesy. It was hard to tell his motivations, even with all that she had learned about him and as much as they had slowly come to be more at ease with each other.
It had been strange, too, to hear about the life of a Wraith as fact and from their perspective rather than as speculation from McKay and Zelenka. Sooner than she had thought, within minutes even, she had found herself entranced by his stories and what he told her. Little things, nothing (she noted that he had been very careful of that) current or of strategic value, but memories of everyday things. The sorts of things that must have seemed trivial to him at the time.
Little things that were no longer trivial because he could never have them again, and Teyla suddenly realized that she knew what he meant by that, how he felt. She rolled over and curled up on her side, fighting against the tears that still sometimes came.
How strange it was, the little things that they remembered when they couldn't have them any longer. A conversation between friends, or the things done in the hours of leisure, when there remained no more duties for a period of time. He had told her of friends he had had and she had been struck in at least one instance of how similar they seemed, not so much to the erratic Dr. McKay, but how she thought Zelenka seemed with his co-workers.
He had spoken of family in a way that made it seem as though there was so much he could not bring himself to talk about yet. She wondered what he hadn't been saying, had realized then although somehow it had not occurred to her before that, how much older he must be. Dr. Beckett had speculated that the Wraith might live a long time, but it had never before been a practicality for her. Michael might very well have seen generations of humans go by. Several times her lifespan over. He hadn't said anything to that effect, though.
What would that have been like, or meant, had he stayed in human form? Thousands of years of life and experience and suddenly compacted into a human form that might only have a human lifespan? Did he think of that? A thousand and one questions and they had both retired to their beds and she wasn't sure she would remember this in the morning.
Perhaps that was better, this way. Perhaps there were some topics that they shouldn't touch on, or at least not yet. Family, lifespan, touchy subjects like that. Whenever it occurred to her next would be soon enough to talk about it.
She was just sliding into sleep when she heard it, and not even so much heard it as felt it shiver through her body and screaming in her mind. Immediately she was up and out of bed, racing down the hall.
The first night Teyla was there in his temporary dwelling was strange to him. To have her just down the hall, his own bed hastily crafted out of what bedding remained (and there was plenty of it), and yet knowing this place was not his own for at least a short time… It was all strange. Almost too strange.
He sat on the bed rather than stretching out or laying down, staring at the wall opposite. It was still amazing to him, perhaps too good to be true, that she had come out simply to talk to him. That she had listened at all, to anything he had said. Why now, when she hadn't seemed to before?
Or, perhaps that was unfair. Of all of them, she had been the only one to try to talk to him as though he was a person who might want some sort of say in what happened to him. As though he deserved respect, whether or not she had been able to let him live free at the time. Which begged the question, why was she doing so now? Why hadn't she told Atlantis about him? He hadn't truly expected that she would keep his secret.
And now he had given her a great many more secrets to keep. Hard to say whether or not she would, but. They had come this far.
His eyes were just closing when he heard the clatter in what sounded like the kitchen, bounding off the bed and heading for the room. His eyes widened in shock, betrayal.
"Sheppard."
"Michael." Sheppard smiled. Not at all nice. "Good to see you again, Lieutenant."
It was something in the way he said it. He found himself looking down at his hands, stumbling back in horror as the pale pink flesh of human hands spread out under his incredulous stare. The light shifted downward, darkened.
"What's the matter, Lieutenant?" He looked up again. The Queen, his Queen, was staring at him as he had seen her stare at hundreds of human prisoners before her. Impassive, uncaring. Interested only for as long as it took to achieve the desired effect. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
"Don't you recognize me?" He flexed his hands, trying to will himself back to what he had been. It wasn't working. "Don't…" Words. Words were so inadequate, and yet when he reached he couldn't feel anything. Couldn't find anyone. Locked inside his own skull, a prisoner of his own altered body, of what they had done to him. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't! Don't touch me!" He knocked the person away, far too aware of what his people did to humans under their control. In front of him, she laughed. She laughed. "Don't touch…"