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TITLE: Cold Moonlight
SUMMARY: A discussion that disturbs John; he's not yet ready to accept this ending.
CATEGORY: romance
RATING: PG-13
WORDCOUNT: ~900
NOTES: Last, last, lucky last! I'm not sure this qualifies as a 'last kiss' per se but it's the last of these kisses I'm going to write!
Five Last Kisses
1. The Weight Of Things Unsaid
2. Hello And Goodbye
3. A Good Ally
4. Crossing Over
5.Cold Moonlight
The city sensors tell him where she is - sitting on one of the outermost piers of the city, bathing in cold moonlight.
John frowns to himself and ponders taking a 'jumper out to see her, lazy as it would be. As Keller would say, the walk would do him good.
It takes longer than it once did to walk so far, through halls and corridors that are hushed but not silent. Like New York, Atlantis never sleeps. Its complement of a thousand personnel from a dozen worlds of the Milky Way and Pegasus continue to give the Earth Oversight Committee organisational indigestion, and John revels in it.
Here and there, people pass him, some of them greeting him, others merely watching him with awed eyes - General John Sheppard, First Son of the Ancestors, Harbinger, Wraith-Destroyer, Pain-In-The-Ass to military commanders everywhere.
But to the woman who sits on the chilly pier, he's just John.
"Don't tell me you're not cold out here," he says as he eases himself down beside her. Joints over-worked in his youth and prime ache a little, but he learned to operate past the pain a long time ago.
He loves the smile that tips her lips - wide and serene - as she looks over at him and holds out her hand. "I do not notice it so much anymore."
Fingers intertwine, skin pressing against skin, and John slides his arm across her back and draws her in against him. "Gave Cassie the slip?"
"She is an excellent doctor," Teyla says after a while, her voice reflective. "But I did not wish to be fussed over. Dying is a part of living, too."
"You're not dead yet," he murmurs and brushes his lips across the cold skin of her shoulder - she chills so easily now - before releasing her hand to tug the slipped coat shoulder back up over her. The motion doesn't hide the sudden tension in her shoulder, and he watches the moonlight off her profile for a long moment. "What?"
"I would like to be buried in the way of my people, John."
Now he's the cold one.
He looks away, out to the edge of the endless sea. "The Ring ceremony?"
"Yes." Her fingers find his again. "I survived the Wraith, it is my right." No-one's going to argue that with her - even though the Wraith are little more than stories now. "My memories and thought patterns are stored in Rodney's hologram program for recall. And Jinto and Torran know how my things are to be distributed among the children."
Last rites, last rituals, an ending to the story of them that began the day John Sheppard stepped forward in an Athosian tent.
The doctors murmur about advanced cellular aging, the scientists debate the 'natural selection' of races with a lengthy youth that swiftly fades into age, the anthropologists talk about social norms and the Pegasus perspective on death.
All John knows is that Teyla's losing a battle that neither of them can fight.
"You don't like talking about this," she says gently, and her eyes are too clear, too piercing on his face.
Years of familiarity allow him to say, just, "No."
Years of familiarity allow her to understand why.
"You cannot stop it, John."
"I know." And he hates his helplessness.
"Can you accept it?"
"Hey, I'm not about to drown myself just because you're gone!"
Her mouth curves. "Good. I would not have you do so."
John looks at her a long moment then leans in towards her.
Lips touch, move, meld - familiar as the morning sunlight, easy as loading a gun. He knows that when he cups her throat with his hand, she'll tilt her mouth up to him. She knows that when he flicks his tongue against hers, he's inviting her to close her teeth - lightly - around his lip.
And familiarity breeds only sweetness.
John's forgotten how long ago it was that he stopped seeing the parts of her and saw only the whole - Teyla Emmagan, a friend and a team-mate and an ally and the woman he loved; so much person in such a small package. It's been a long time between start and finish, even if it took them some time to find their stride.
He doesn't regret a moment.
Well, maybe a couple of moments. But mostly, John wouldn't change a thing. He had his scars to heal; she had her people to placate. He doesn't resent the year she lived with Kanaan - it opened his eyes to what he hadn't been willing to admit until then. She doesn't cast up to him his brother's words on discovering John Sheppard was in love with a single mother of apparently mixed-race background.
The wide mouth quirks again as they draw back, and her eyes slant up at him in laughter. "What are you thinking?"
He shifts a little and lets out a long stream of condensation in his let-out breath. "I think I'm a bit old for sitting out on moonlit piers all night."
"Time to sleep?"
"Time for bed, anyway."
Laughter rings out. "So you are too old for sitting out in the moonlight, but not too old to take me to bed?"
"I'm a guy," he says as they help each other up, no longer as limber as they once were. "There's no such thing as too old."
They walk back together, beneath the pale moon in a sky of midnight sparkles, with the wash of waves around them, and the lights of the city guiding them home.
- fin -
SUMMARY: A discussion that disturbs John; he's not yet ready to accept this ending.
CATEGORY: romance
RATING: PG-13
WORDCOUNT: ~900
NOTES: Last, last, lucky last! I'm not sure this qualifies as a 'last kiss' per se but it's the last of these kisses I'm going to write!
1. The Weight Of Things Unsaid
2. Hello And Goodbye
3. A Good Ally
4. Crossing Over
5.Cold Moonlight
The city sensors tell him where she is - sitting on one of the outermost piers of the city, bathing in cold moonlight.
John frowns to himself and ponders taking a 'jumper out to see her, lazy as it would be. As Keller would say, the walk would do him good.
It takes longer than it once did to walk so far, through halls and corridors that are hushed but not silent. Like New York, Atlantis never sleeps. Its complement of a thousand personnel from a dozen worlds of the Milky Way and Pegasus continue to give the Earth Oversight Committee organisational indigestion, and John revels in it.
Here and there, people pass him, some of them greeting him, others merely watching him with awed eyes - General John Sheppard, First Son of the Ancestors, Harbinger, Wraith-Destroyer, Pain-In-The-Ass to military commanders everywhere.
But to the woman who sits on the chilly pier, he's just John.
"Don't tell me you're not cold out here," he says as he eases himself down beside her. Joints over-worked in his youth and prime ache a little, but he learned to operate past the pain a long time ago.
He loves the smile that tips her lips - wide and serene - as she looks over at him and holds out her hand. "I do not notice it so much anymore."
Fingers intertwine, skin pressing against skin, and John slides his arm across her back and draws her in against him. "Gave Cassie the slip?"
"She is an excellent doctor," Teyla says after a while, her voice reflective. "But I did not wish to be fussed over. Dying is a part of living, too."
"You're not dead yet," he murmurs and brushes his lips across the cold skin of her shoulder - she chills so easily now - before releasing her hand to tug the slipped coat shoulder back up over her. The motion doesn't hide the sudden tension in her shoulder, and he watches the moonlight off her profile for a long moment. "What?"
"I would like to be buried in the way of my people, John."
Now he's the cold one.
He looks away, out to the edge of the endless sea. "The Ring ceremony?"
"Yes." Her fingers find his again. "I survived the Wraith, it is my right." No-one's going to argue that with her - even though the Wraith are little more than stories now. "My memories and thought patterns are stored in Rodney's hologram program for recall. And Jinto and Torran know how my things are to be distributed among the children."
Last rites, last rituals, an ending to the story of them that began the day John Sheppard stepped forward in an Athosian tent.
The doctors murmur about advanced cellular aging, the scientists debate the 'natural selection' of races with a lengthy youth that swiftly fades into age, the anthropologists talk about social norms and the Pegasus perspective on death.
All John knows is that Teyla's losing a battle that neither of them can fight.
"You don't like talking about this," she says gently, and her eyes are too clear, too piercing on his face.
Years of familiarity allow him to say, just, "No."
Years of familiarity allow her to understand why.
"You cannot stop it, John."
"I know." And he hates his helplessness.
"Can you accept it?"
"Hey, I'm not about to drown myself just because you're gone!"
Her mouth curves. "Good. I would not have you do so."
John looks at her a long moment then leans in towards her.
Lips touch, move, meld - familiar as the morning sunlight, easy as loading a gun. He knows that when he cups her throat with his hand, she'll tilt her mouth up to him. She knows that when he flicks his tongue against hers, he's inviting her to close her teeth - lightly - around his lip.
And familiarity breeds only sweetness.
John's forgotten how long ago it was that he stopped seeing the parts of her and saw only the whole - Teyla Emmagan, a friend and a team-mate and an ally and the woman he loved; so much person in such a small package. It's been a long time between start and finish, even if it took them some time to find their stride.
He doesn't regret a moment.
Well, maybe a couple of moments. But mostly, John wouldn't change a thing. He had his scars to heal; she had her people to placate. He doesn't resent the year she lived with Kanaan - it opened his eyes to what he hadn't been willing to admit until then. She doesn't cast up to him his brother's words on discovering John Sheppard was in love with a single mother of apparently mixed-race background.
The wide mouth quirks again as they draw back, and her eyes slant up at him in laughter. "What are you thinking?"
He shifts a little and lets out a long stream of condensation in his let-out breath. "I think I'm a bit old for sitting out on moonlit piers all night."
"Time to sleep?"
"Time for bed, anyway."
Laughter rings out. "So you are too old for sitting out in the moonlight, but not too old to take me to bed?"
"I'm a guy," he says as they help each other up, no longer as limber as they once were. "There's no such thing as too old."
They walk back together, beneath the pale moon in a sky of midnight sparkles, with the wash of waves around them, and the lights of the city guiding them home.
- fin -
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Larissa.
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Love your John and Teyla, whether it's angst or ship.
Great job.
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Excellent piece, my dear.
You are in a shippy mood, aren't you? :P
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As much because a lot of people are fleeing the pairing now that it's "no longer canon/canonical" as because I like my shippy when I'm depressed.
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Larissa.
no subject
no subject
Love your John and Teyla, whether it's angst or ship.
Great job.
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Excellent piece, my dear.
You are in a shippy mood, aren't you? :P
no subject
As much because a lot of people are fleeing the pairing now that it's "no longer canon/canonical" as because I like my shippy when I'm depressed.
no subject