[nano] Stained Glass Masquerade
Dec. 5th, 2007 09:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeSheppard insisted on being there when they met. She could understand the need for security, for him to make sure she was safe and Atlantis was safe, but Teyla was not all that happy about the thought of Michael's response. Neither of them liked or trusted each other. Both of them could very quickly turn this into a deadly, brief meeting.
He landed the jumper a little ways outside of the magnetic field and somehow she was able to persuade him to walk a little behind her; she still wasn't sure how she had managed that. Maybe simply the idea of all of them dying in a blaze of crossfire. Maybe she was giving him too little credit for trusting her and trusting her judgment. Which was more likely, she admitted finally to herself.
"I'll be right back," she told him, lightly touching his arm to keep him where he was. It seemed to work; he gave a curt nod and stayed back.
As long as it worked so well on Michael.
She took a step forward, then another, then slowed her pace. Hard to tell where he might be, but she could reach out with her mind and try to find him. It couldn't be that hard, could it? She had practiced. She had sensed him before, in the bunker.
Her breathing was coming faster. Anticipation, difficulty, she wasn't certain what. Labored, she felt as though she was sweating. No, she was sweating. [Michael. Are you there?]
Displeasure and near-anger slammed into her almost hard enough to knock her over. She kept her balance only by remembering that if Sheppard saw her stumble and attributed it to an attack by Michael this would all be over very, very quickly. Teyla caught her breath, braced herself and squared her shoulders back, and made herself stand tall. "Michael." This time aloud. He was close, she had gotten that much in his last sending. Close enough to be in earshot, hopefully.
[What. Do you want.]
He'd seen Sheppard; that was the only reason she could think of why he would be this upset. And if he had seen Sheppard that probably meant that he had some sort of weapon trained on both of them.
"Michael. He offered to fly me out here, he is no danger to you…"
Which brought Sheppard running up, of course. "What the hell do you mean? Of course I'm a danger to him…" It wasn't quite a whisper. She hoped it wasn't loud enough for Michael to hear.
"Do you mean to do him harm?" she hissed back.
"Not at the moment…"
"Then be quiet and let me talk to him."
Sheppard scowled, but was quiet after that. Teyla took another step, then another, closer towards Michael. Further away from Sheppard. She wasn't sure which was more accurate towards her goal.
"Michael. He only wanted to meet you, and I had no way of coming out here by myself without drawing further attention. It was the only way." Please. Surely he had to see that. Please.
She projected the plea more silently when she received no response, taking a breath and attempting to focus as best she could. She had reached him before, they had spent some time discussing her telepathic abilities and skill, at least as compared with his. She should be able to do this. [Michael.] She tried again.
She perceived several things at once: the sound of fabric and metal as Sheppard raised his P-90, the crunch of footsteps as Michael stepped out behind her, between her and Sheppard. The abrupt surge of emotion from Michael, which gave her an almost-instant headache. She took a step back and made herself say "Stop!" before either of them did anything rash. They didn't move any further, at least, but Sheppard did not lower his gun either.
Michael, it seemed, was unarmed. She wondered if that was by choice or simply because he didn't have any weapons in the complex.
"John, please." She held out a hand, gesturing for him to lower his weapon. Michael glanced back and forth between them, expressionless. "Please."
The moment stretched out between the three of them until Teyla thought her heart chest would cave in on itself from the pressure. Finally, slowly, Sheppard lowered his weapon. Michael seemed to relax, if only the tiniest bit. And then there was more staring.
"What do you want?" Michael asked finally, and Teyla started to answer. But he was facing and addressing Sheppard, and she kept quiet when she realized. And almost held her breath. Sheppard wasn't half so bad as Ronon, but all the conversations about jealousy and protectiveness were playing through her head now, reminding her that Sheppard had as many reasons, good ones too, he probably thought, to shoot Michael now as he had bullets in his gun.
"I don't know," Sheppard said finally, relaxing just a little bit as well. "Teyla?"
"I only wanted to talk."
"What do you think we have to talk about?"
Whatever progress she had made in those clandestine visits seemed to have been entirely undone. His tone was as hostile as it had been when she had first realized who he was, although thankfully not as bad as when he had first found out, when he had been human that first time.
"I think…" Teyla said, moving slowly towards him, one hand out. "We could continue any one of a number of conversations we have begun. There is still much we can learn from each other, and …" she paused there, not really sure she wanted to say it with Sheppard standing back there.
Whether because she had been in contact with him or because he was simply perceptive, Michael's expression softened enough that she thought he understood what she hadn't said anyway. "I see."
"I don't," Sheppard said, and then didn't finish whatever he was thinking as both Teyla and Michael looked at him with varying degrees of irritation and concern. He sighed. "Teyla, are you sure you're going to be all right?"
It was a monumental leap of faith, and Teyla smiled gratefully at Sheppard, trying not to wonder why he was giving in so suddenly and so easily. Perhaps he was simply tired of the fighting.
"I'm sure, John," she told him, crossing back to him and putting her hand on his arm again. He looked down, seemed to be avoiding her gaze. "John."
She wished he wasn't so upset over this, or at least he seemed to be. She wished she could make it better, or tell him that it would be all right. Truthfully she did not know how things would turn out, but she wanted him to think better of this. He did look at her, finally. The fact that his eyes reflected more hurt and disappointment than the righteous anger of a commander was disarming.
"You be careful," he told her. Again, really, since he had been telling her the whole flight out. And then, louder, so that Michael could hear. "I'll be back to pick you up in a few days."
She didn't turn around to watch Michael's face as Sheppard turned and headed back to the Jumper. She kept her eyes on Sheppard's back, tense and rigid, until he was out of sight. And then she kept her eyes on the Jumper until it lifted off, watching until it was gone. Behind her, she had the feeling Michael was watching it too.
He was still angry when they sat down to dinner that evening, although he tempered it with fixing her food from the MREs along with her supplements that she had harvested with the botanists. Which meant that he had been watching her then, somehow. She wondered why, how she hadn't noticed him, what he had been thinking that he had been watching her for, possibly, days.
"I cannot pilot the Jumper by myself, and I cannot go out unescorted for days at a time without someone noticing," she pointed out, when the silence between them stretched too long and too far. "This way, if someone asks, Sheppard will … back up my story." Exactly what story that was, she wasn't sure yet. Most likely Sheppard would be the one coming up with it.
Michael nodded, but he didn't say anything. She watched him, waiting for him to argue with her or ask her something, but he didn't do that either.
His head tilted back to look at her. It was a peculiarly Wraith-like gesture, and then it struck her as peculiar that she thought of it as odd that he should act Wraith-like. Was he not more Wraith than human? At least at the moment.
"Michael…" she reached out before she could figure out what she was she meant to say. And in the end the only thing she managed was that one word, his name, and her hand covering his.
He smiled a little at her, turning his hand upwards to hers and his fingers against her palm, and it was only then that she realized which hand was open underneath hers. And that was a strange sensation, as much mental as physical, she suspected. Knowing what she knew.
His smile had faded by the time she regained enough focus of thought to realize that he had picked up on her confusion.
"How do you do that?" she asked, picking on another subject and closing her hand around his before he could withdraw. "How do you hear what I am going to say without my saying it?"
"How do you imagine I do that," he said, but he looked away, as though embarrassed or ashamed of what he had done. "It is not something I should be doing."
"Why?"
It wasn't so much for the sake of knowing as for the sake of making conversation. And even so, he gave her a look as though he were wondering if she were stupid. She gave it to him right back.
"It's not polite to listen in on the thoughts of others."
Again, before she could think about what she was saying: "You are free to listen to my thoughts, if you want to know them."
He looked at her warily, measuringly, and with what appeared to be some shock. The shock was understandable; opening her mind up to his took a great deal of trust, which she felt he had earned in their last few meetings. The wariness was likely because of what tended to happen when they touched minds, always in bad circumstances. Measuringly, she wasn't sure.
"You aren't…" he said, then seemed to be having trouble finding the right words. "This is not something you are used to. I am a Wraith, I was born into this. Are you sure this is something you want to do?"
Teyla nodded slowly, certain of her intent
He landed the jumper a little ways outside of the magnetic field and somehow she was able to persuade him to walk a little behind her; she still wasn't sure how she had managed that. Maybe simply the idea of all of them dying in a blaze of crossfire. Maybe she was giving him too little credit for trusting her and trusting her judgment. Which was more likely, she admitted finally to herself.
"I'll be right back," she told him, lightly touching his arm to keep him where he was. It seemed to work; he gave a curt nod and stayed back.
As long as it worked so well on Michael.
She took a step forward, then another, then slowed her pace. Hard to tell where he might be, but she could reach out with her mind and try to find him. It couldn't be that hard, could it? She had practiced. She had sensed him before, in the bunker.
Her breathing was coming faster. Anticipation, difficulty, she wasn't certain what. Labored, she felt as though she was sweating. No, she was sweating. [Michael. Are you there?]
Displeasure and near-anger slammed into her almost hard enough to knock her over. She kept her balance only by remembering that if Sheppard saw her stumble and attributed it to an attack by Michael this would all be over very, very quickly. Teyla caught her breath, braced herself and squared her shoulders back, and made herself stand tall. "Michael." This time aloud. He was close, she had gotten that much in his last sending. Close enough to be in earshot, hopefully.
[What. Do you want.]
He'd seen Sheppard; that was the only reason she could think of why he would be this upset. And if he had seen Sheppard that probably meant that he had some sort of weapon trained on both of them.
"Michael. He offered to fly me out here, he is no danger to you…"
Which brought Sheppard running up, of course. "What the hell do you mean? Of course I'm a danger to him…" It wasn't quite a whisper. She hoped it wasn't loud enough for Michael to hear.
"Do you mean to do him harm?" she hissed back.
"Not at the moment…"
"Then be quiet and let me talk to him."
Sheppard scowled, but was quiet after that. Teyla took another step, then another, closer towards Michael. Further away from Sheppard. She wasn't sure which was more accurate towards her goal.
"Michael. He only wanted to meet you, and I had no way of coming out here by myself without drawing further attention. It was the only way." Please. Surely he had to see that. Please.
She projected the plea more silently when she received no response, taking a breath and attempting to focus as best she could. She had reached him before, they had spent some time discussing her telepathic abilities and skill, at least as compared with his. She should be able to do this. [Michael.] She tried again.
She perceived several things at once: the sound of fabric and metal as Sheppard raised his P-90, the crunch of footsteps as Michael stepped out behind her, between her and Sheppard. The abrupt surge of emotion from Michael, which gave her an almost-instant headache. She took a step back and made herself say "Stop!" before either of them did anything rash. They didn't move any further, at least, but Sheppard did not lower his gun either.
Michael, it seemed, was unarmed. She wondered if that was by choice or simply because he didn't have any weapons in the complex.
"John, please." She held out a hand, gesturing for him to lower his weapon. Michael glanced back and forth between them, expressionless. "Please."
The moment stretched out between the three of them until Teyla thought her heart chest would cave in on itself from the pressure. Finally, slowly, Sheppard lowered his weapon. Michael seemed to relax, if only the tiniest bit. And then there was more staring.
"What do you want?" Michael asked finally, and Teyla started to answer. But he was facing and addressing Sheppard, and she kept quiet when she realized. And almost held her breath. Sheppard wasn't half so bad as Ronon, but all the conversations about jealousy and protectiveness were playing through her head now, reminding her that Sheppard had as many reasons, good ones too, he probably thought, to shoot Michael now as he had bullets in his gun.
"I don't know," Sheppard said finally, relaxing just a little bit as well. "Teyla?"
"I only wanted to talk."
"What do you think we have to talk about?"
Whatever progress she had made in those clandestine visits seemed to have been entirely undone. His tone was as hostile as it had been when she had first realized who he was, although thankfully not as bad as when he had first found out, when he had been human that first time.
"I think…" Teyla said, moving slowly towards him, one hand out. "We could continue any one of a number of conversations we have begun. There is still much we can learn from each other, and …" she paused there, not really sure she wanted to say it with Sheppard standing back there.
Whether because she had been in contact with him or because he was simply perceptive, Michael's expression softened enough that she thought he understood what she hadn't said anyway. "I see."
"I don't," Sheppard said, and then didn't finish whatever he was thinking as both Teyla and Michael looked at him with varying degrees of irritation and concern. He sighed. "Teyla, are you sure you're going to be all right?"
It was a monumental leap of faith, and Teyla smiled gratefully at Sheppard, trying not to wonder why he was giving in so suddenly and so easily. Perhaps he was simply tired of the fighting.
"I'm sure, John," she told him, crossing back to him and putting her hand on his arm again. He looked down, seemed to be avoiding her gaze. "John."
She wished he wasn't so upset over this, or at least he seemed to be. She wished she could make it better, or tell him that it would be all right. Truthfully she did not know how things would turn out, but she wanted him to think better of this. He did look at her, finally. The fact that his eyes reflected more hurt and disappointment than the righteous anger of a commander was disarming.
"You be careful," he told her. Again, really, since he had been telling her the whole flight out. And then, louder, so that Michael could hear. "I'll be back to pick you up in a few days."
She didn't turn around to watch Michael's face as Sheppard turned and headed back to the Jumper. She kept her eyes on Sheppard's back, tense and rigid, until he was out of sight. And then she kept her eyes on the Jumper until it lifted off, watching until it was gone. Behind her, she had the feeling Michael was watching it too.
He was still angry when they sat down to dinner that evening, although he tempered it with fixing her food from the MREs along with her supplements that she had harvested with the botanists. Which meant that he had been watching her then, somehow. She wondered why, how she hadn't noticed him, what he had been thinking that he had been watching her for, possibly, days.
"I cannot pilot the Jumper by myself, and I cannot go out unescorted for days at a time without someone noticing," she pointed out, when the silence between them stretched too long and too far. "This way, if someone asks, Sheppard will … back up my story." Exactly what story that was, she wasn't sure yet. Most likely Sheppard would be the one coming up with it.
Michael nodded, but he didn't say anything. She watched him, waiting for him to argue with her or ask her something, but he didn't do that either.
His head tilted back to look at her. It was a peculiarly Wraith-like gesture, and then it struck her as peculiar that she thought of it as odd that he should act Wraith-like. Was he not more Wraith than human? At least at the moment.
"Michael…" she reached out before she could figure out what she was she meant to say. And in the end the only thing she managed was that one word, his name, and her hand covering his.
He smiled a little at her, turning his hand upwards to hers and his fingers against her palm, and it was only then that she realized which hand was open underneath hers. And that was a strange sensation, as much mental as physical, she suspected. Knowing what she knew.
His smile had faded by the time she regained enough focus of thought to realize that he had picked up on her confusion.
"How do you do that?" she asked, picking on another subject and closing her hand around his before he could withdraw. "How do you hear what I am going to say without my saying it?"
"How do you imagine I do that," he said, but he looked away, as though embarrassed or ashamed of what he had done. "It is not something I should be doing."
"Why?"
It wasn't so much for the sake of knowing as for the sake of making conversation. And even so, he gave her a look as though he were wondering if she were stupid. She gave it to him right back.
"It's not polite to listen in on the thoughts of others."
Again, before she could think about what she was saying: "You are free to listen to my thoughts, if you want to know them."
He looked at her warily, measuringly, and with what appeared to be some shock. The shock was understandable; opening her mind up to his took a great deal of trust, which she felt he had earned in their last few meetings. The wariness was likely because of what tended to happen when they touched minds, always in bad circumstances. Measuringly, she wasn't sure.
"You aren't…" he said, then seemed to be having trouble finding the right words. "This is not something you are used to. I am a Wraith, I was born into this. Are you sure this is something you want to do?"
Teyla nodded slowly, certain of her intent