FIC. One Step Forward... (Teyla-gen fic)
Oct. 12th, 2006 07:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mirageofmaeTITLE. One Step Forward…
AUTHOR. mirageofmae
RATING. General Audience
DISCLAIMER. I do not own Stargate Atlantis or any of the characters or concepts related. I am merely borrowing.
SPOILERS. The Return Part 1
SUMMARY. One step forward, five steps back. Takes place in the span of 6-weeks where Teyla and the Athosians settle in their new home. Teyla-gen fic.
NOTES. Unbeta’d, so if someone would like to take a crack at this, I would be most grateful. Otherwise, all mistakes are my own.
WORD COUNT. 2,000+
POST. x-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
teylafen and atlantislovers and lostcityfound
--
“It is finished.”
Teyla turns slowly to her right until she can see the Stargate out of the corner of her eye. The wormhole has already collapsed in on itself.
It feels like a piece of her heart has collapsed in on itself.
She thinks of the city, glowing and gleaming in the dwindling light of evening. She thinks of the settlement on the mainland. By the next heavy storm, the land will bear no visible traces of her people beyond the clearings for their crops. She thinks of those who left for another galaxy—
She doesn’t finish her turn.
Her mind cannot comprehend this new distance to all she once knew.
In front of her, Ronon sulks and her people, though laden with the generosity of the living ancestors, their own house wares and growing seeds, are scattering listlessly, unsure of themselves.
She takes a step forward and does not look back.
--
The tents are all set up. They have dug post holes, cut wood, stretched leathers, lifted thatch from the earth, and built a home out of the untouched wilderness. They find a small croft of a valley and claim it for their use as generations of her people have done before.
The Athosians are a nomadic people. They flit from place to place. Their tents are quickly packed and unpacked. Their wares are light: earthen pots and wooden spoons and stretched leather.
They are a simple people. They carry all they need and make the rest. They hunt, they farm, and they grow anew. The climate on this planet picked by their ancestors is fair. It has a long growing season, or so the trusted database has foretold. They have arable soil, there is the prospect of a herd of deer in the eastern forests, and a Stargate that does not require a jumper ride to travel through.
They place spears and long bows and knives next to the entrances of their tents. Teyla and the others search for caves and other natural shelters against possible Wraith attacks. They have been told that this planet has been uninhabited long enough that the Wraith may not visit for some time. They still stock food in case the fields are destroyed, hide weapons, look for avenues to run and hide, and bundle their children tightly into bed when the sun sets.
These days, this is all they can do.
The Athosians, when all is said and done, have all they will ever need: The plentiful earth and the ingenuity of traditions of knowledge and lore. Teyla searches through her belongings looking for something she thinks she has left behind.
It is hours before she realizes it is hope.
--
Of all the stories ever told about the ancestors, this new one does not seem to fit.
Her people try to understand, but they have never built a city with their hands, never claimed a piece of land that could not be shared, never welcomed strangers only to turn them out the next day.
Teyla plants tavvo beans with a hoe and her bare hands. She surveys the mounds of soil that stretch across their newly tilled field. She watches Ronon in the distance, building a fence along the eastern edge that will turn out animals.
She wonders if the ancestors are building fences of their own.
--
Teyla teaches a young woman the art of wielding sticks like deadly weapons rather than just pieces of dead wood. She stretches and bends. Her student is apt. She follows her teacher’s movements gracefully, with careful attention.
This young slip of a thing has no passion for this, no artistry, and she does not laugh when she makes mistakes.
Teyla carries on the traditions of her people but it now feels sour in her mouth.
--
While offworld for trade, Teyla overhears the words of another party. She listens to a tale of the wraith destroying an entire settlement. The news is not new. It is the same story told over and over again with new names in place of old ones.
Teyla’s hand tightens around her mug of the local brew. Her shoulders itch under the weight of a pack not there. She looks to Ronon and sees a look in his eyes that must be reflected in her own.
She has responsibilities to her people. She has always understood this.
It is the responsibility to others, to fight against the wraith, to lash out against the inevitable, the urges that are crawling up her throat and burning in her blood—
This is something recent.
Unused, it burns until it is just an unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach. She is left feeling like a husk, a shell of her former being.
She takes a sip and turns back to her new trading partners.
--
She watches her people adjust to their new landscape. She watches her people adjust to her presence in their landscape.
Halling, who had become a pseudo-leader in her stead, now bows down gracefully when she nears his sight. She cringes inside whenever he does this.
It is irrational, but she feels she has disappointed them. She had thought that the separation from her people’s every day lives was necessary and worth the sacrifice. Now, with the only outcome being these awkward glances and the difficultly of rebuilding trust, she wonders idly if it would ever have been worth it.
The ancestors seem to have made sure of that.
No longer does she have a place amongst those who would bring down the wraith. No longer do her hands hold weapons or radios or cameras. She longs to smooth her hands over the consols and walls of the ancient city. She burns to feel the heat of battle again.
It is all just outside her reach, just like the sense of belonging she once had with her people. She is not even at home with those who she would call her own.
It is too high a price to pay when there is no victory to sweeten the pain, when there is no team for her to be claimed by, when there are no friends to share with.
--
She decides she does not miss the screaming. Or the blood.
Three days ago, a man was injured while building a pen for the pastured animals. He wounded himself with his own axe.
It was bloody and she wrapped the wound tightly with linen straps of fabric.
She measures out the medicine that Dr. Beckett has entrusted her with. Carefully she checks her stores and knows that when they are empty, her people will have to go back to relying on the kindess of the ancestors (both living and dead) to save her people from infections and blood poisoning. She knows of poultices and keeping wounds clean and sterilizing bandages—
She misses Dr. Beckett’s gentle touch and soft murmurs. She thinks more lives were saved by the strength of his spirit and compassionate purpose than by the vials of medicines he held so dear.
She pats the injured man on the knee like she has seen Dr. Beckett do time and time again. She wishes he were here to make this better.
--
Her people speak in shuttered voices, about the city they once adored, the ancestors they once revered, and the ones from Earth who they may never see again.
It is only in these moments of over-hearing that she allows herself to think on the people she once saw everyday.
She imagines Rodney complaining loudly about the new crop they have recently traded for. If John’s description is to be trusted, the fair-sized fruit strongly resembles the citrus Rodney so dreaded. She tastes the fruit, knows it is only sweet, and imagines sharing it with Rodney after long cajoling from Ronon and John and gentle encouragement from her.
She tries to remember Elizabeth’s patience when she is conducting trade negotiations. While Teyla has never been one to lose her temper in front of others, she still finds it helpful to imagine Elizabeth’s calm in the face of anything when faced with a recalcitrant trader.
Teyla sees John when she least expects it.
Ronon is not hard to find as he has barely left her side. His size and strength have made him a precious commodity in the slowly growing village. He works hard and silently. He is only surly to her though never towards her.
She shares his sentiments, if not the words.
She wishes she could give him something to do. He is restless and she knows that soon enough she will not be able to keep him here as a mere farmer. She asks herself if she will leave with him and if either of them will ever return.
--
She wonders if John could have been happy here, if he had taken her up on the offer of taking shelter with the Athosians.
She wonders if he would be like Ronon, able to pretend, able to contribute, but always moving elsewhere.
She sees him along the tree line, taking point in one of their missions.
She sees him in her kitchen, laughing at her attempt to cook tuttleroot soup.
She sees him in her trainings sessions, blocking successfully but losing ground to her in the process.
She wonders if John could have learned to appreciate the simple joys of planting something in the ground and watching it grow. If he would have taken the time to learn the art of the long bow and spear. If he would have brought his book with him and read by candlelight.
She wonders if John could have been happy here, and then she wonders if she would have been happy to let him.
--
Then there are days where she wishes she could have taken him up on his offer.
Though she has only been there once in a dream, she thinks she can imagine what Earth could give her.
She would live in a house and enjoy long hot showers. She would watch football with John, invade Rodney’s lab space when he became too distracted to take her phone calls, and go to lunches with Elizabeth in fancy restaurants that she has heard about. She wants to see a Ferris wheel and a rollercoaster and visit a movie theatre. She wants to be thrilled by watching Jeopardy and see the constellations John sometimes tells her about. She wants to see grand cities that were built by everyday humans like her people. She wants chocolate and popcorn and for John to take her to the beach in a red convertible like he promised once.
She thinks that she might have joined the Stargate Program.
Inevitably, however, her thoughts turn serious.
She knows the people of Earth and the Milky Way are fighting a war for existence. They are taking up arms and defending their lives and the right to live as they choose.
She thinks of the stories of entire villages being swallowed up by the wraith and then she knows.
Her place is here.
--
Sometimes, she lets herself think that so is his.
--
Then--
Their place is out there, with a P-90, a mission, and a team.
--
It has already been six long weeks before the Genii take interest. She sits and listens patiently while Ronon bristles beside her.
She thinks of the possibilities. She is not as quick to condemn as her companion is.
She has no desire to become a foot solider. She will not take orders from just anyone. The Genii have given little cause for enlisting her trust.
Still, she cannot help but wonder if it would be worth it. If it would make this feeling of uselessness go away.
--
She is confused and angry though few would know it by looking upon her.
She wants to take this feeling of impotent rage against the first wraith she could come across.
In the end, all it takes is a flippant comment from the darkened path to turn her rage into sheer joy.
--
They have settled in the puddle jumper and she feels a peculiar pleasure in shrugging on the tac-vest and hooking up the P-90. John has not changed in six weeks, except for where his eyes suddenly shine when his hands move over the ancient controls.
Looking at him now, she knows that every minute of not quite belonging has been shared across the galaxies.
Every itch to fight and take back what was theirs is reflected in the lines of his shoulders and the quirk of his mouth.
She is tense and knows that this mission is perhaps one of the most dangerous they have undertaken. Inwardly, she feels terror at the idea that not even the ancestors could hold their beloved city against its enemies for more than two months. She is alert and ready and feels powerful underneath her skin.
Teyla closes her eyes and breathes in a new sensation—
It is hope renewed.
AUTHOR. mirageofmae
RATING. General Audience
DISCLAIMER. I do not own Stargate Atlantis or any of the characters or concepts related. I am merely borrowing.
SPOILERS. The Return Part 1
SUMMARY. One step forward, five steps back. Takes place in the span of 6-weeks where Teyla and the Athosians settle in their new home. Teyla-gen fic.
NOTES. Unbeta’d, so if someone would like to take a crack at this, I would be most grateful. Otherwise, all mistakes are my own.
WORD COUNT. 2,000+
POST. x-posted to
teylafen and atlantislovers and lostcityfound--
“It is finished.”
Teyla turns slowly to her right until she can see the Stargate out of the corner of her eye. The wormhole has already collapsed in on itself.
It feels like a piece of her heart has collapsed in on itself.
She thinks of the city, glowing and gleaming in the dwindling light of evening. She thinks of the settlement on the mainland. By the next heavy storm, the land will bear no visible traces of her people beyond the clearings for their crops. She thinks of those who left for another galaxy—
She doesn’t finish her turn.
Her mind cannot comprehend this new distance to all she once knew.
In front of her, Ronon sulks and her people, though laden with the generosity of the living ancestors, their own house wares and growing seeds, are scattering listlessly, unsure of themselves.
She takes a step forward and does not look back.
--
The tents are all set up. They have dug post holes, cut wood, stretched leathers, lifted thatch from the earth, and built a home out of the untouched wilderness. They find a small croft of a valley and claim it for their use as generations of her people have done before.
The Athosians are a nomadic people. They flit from place to place. Their tents are quickly packed and unpacked. Their wares are light: earthen pots and wooden spoons and stretched leather.
They are a simple people. They carry all they need and make the rest. They hunt, they farm, and they grow anew. The climate on this planet picked by their ancestors is fair. It has a long growing season, or so the trusted database has foretold. They have arable soil, there is the prospect of a herd of deer in the eastern forests, and a Stargate that does not require a jumper ride to travel through.
They place spears and long bows and knives next to the entrances of their tents. Teyla and the others search for caves and other natural shelters against possible Wraith attacks. They have been told that this planet has been uninhabited long enough that the Wraith may not visit for some time. They still stock food in case the fields are destroyed, hide weapons, look for avenues to run and hide, and bundle their children tightly into bed when the sun sets.
These days, this is all they can do.
The Athosians, when all is said and done, have all they will ever need: The plentiful earth and the ingenuity of traditions of knowledge and lore. Teyla searches through her belongings looking for something she thinks she has left behind.
It is hours before she realizes it is hope.
--
Of all the stories ever told about the ancestors, this new one does not seem to fit.
Her people try to understand, but they have never built a city with their hands, never claimed a piece of land that could not be shared, never welcomed strangers only to turn them out the next day.
Teyla plants tavvo beans with a hoe and her bare hands. She surveys the mounds of soil that stretch across their newly tilled field. She watches Ronon in the distance, building a fence along the eastern edge that will turn out animals.
She wonders if the ancestors are building fences of their own.
--
Teyla teaches a young woman the art of wielding sticks like deadly weapons rather than just pieces of dead wood. She stretches and bends. Her student is apt. She follows her teacher’s movements gracefully, with careful attention.
This young slip of a thing has no passion for this, no artistry, and she does not laugh when she makes mistakes.
Teyla carries on the traditions of her people but it now feels sour in her mouth.
--
While offworld for trade, Teyla overhears the words of another party. She listens to a tale of the wraith destroying an entire settlement. The news is not new. It is the same story told over and over again with new names in place of old ones.
Teyla’s hand tightens around her mug of the local brew. Her shoulders itch under the weight of a pack not there. She looks to Ronon and sees a look in his eyes that must be reflected in her own.
She has responsibilities to her people. She has always understood this.
It is the responsibility to others, to fight against the wraith, to lash out against the inevitable, the urges that are crawling up her throat and burning in her blood—
This is something recent.
Unused, it burns until it is just an unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach. She is left feeling like a husk, a shell of her former being.
She takes a sip and turns back to her new trading partners.
--
She watches her people adjust to their new landscape. She watches her people adjust to her presence in their landscape.
Halling, who had become a pseudo-leader in her stead, now bows down gracefully when she nears his sight. She cringes inside whenever he does this.
It is irrational, but she feels she has disappointed them. She had thought that the separation from her people’s every day lives was necessary and worth the sacrifice. Now, with the only outcome being these awkward glances and the difficultly of rebuilding trust, she wonders idly if it would ever have been worth it.
The ancestors seem to have made sure of that.
No longer does she have a place amongst those who would bring down the wraith. No longer do her hands hold weapons or radios or cameras. She longs to smooth her hands over the consols and walls of the ancient city. She burns to feel the heat of battle again.
It is all just outside her reach, just like the sense of belonging she once had with her people. She is not even at home with those who she would call her own.
It is too high a price to pay when there is no victory to sweeten the pain, when there is no team for her to be claimed by, when there are no friends to share with.
--
She decides she does not miss the screaming. Or the blood.
Three days ago, a man was injured while building a pen for the pastured animals. He wounded himself with his own axe.
It was bloody and she wrapped the wound tightly with linen straps of fabric.
She measures out the medicine that Dr. Beckett has entrusted her with. Carefully she checks her stores and knows that when they are empty, her people will have to go back to relying on the kindess of the ancestors (both living and dead) to save her people from infections and blood poisoning. She knows of poultices and keeping wounds clean and sterilizing bandages—
She misses Dr. Beckett’s gentle touch and soft murmurs. She thinks more lives were saved by the strength of his spirit and compassionate purpose than by the vials of medicines he held so dear.
She pats the injured man on the knee like she has seen Dr. Beckett do time and time again. She wishes he were here to make this better.
--
Her people speak in shuttered voices, about the city they once adored, the ancestors they once revered, and the ones from Earth who they may never see again.
It is only in these moments of over-hearing that she allows herself to think on the people she once saw everyday.
She imagines Rodney complaining loudly about the new crop they have recently traded for. If John’s description is to be trusted, the fair-sized fruit strongly resembles the citrus Rodney so dreaded. She tastes the fruit, knows it is only sweet, and imagines sharing it with Rodney after long cajoling from Ronon and John and gentle encouragement from her.
She tries to remember Elizabeth’s patience when she is conducting trade negotiations. While Teyla has never been one to lose her temper in front of others, she still finds it helpful to imagine Elizabeth’s calm in the face of anything when faced with a recalcitrant trader.
Teyla sees John when she least expects it.
Ronon is not hard to find as he has barely left her side. His size and strength have made him a precious commodity in the slowly growing village. He works hard and silently. He is only surly to her though never towards her.
She shares his sentiments, if not the words.
She wishes she could give him something to do. He is restless and she knows that soon enough she will not be able to keep him here as a mere farmer. She asks herself if she will leave with him and if either of them will ever return.
--
She wonders if John could have been happy here, if he had taken her up on the offer of taking shelter with the Athosians.
She wonders if he would be like Ronon, able to pretend, able to contribute, but always moving elsewhere.
She sees him along the tree line, taking point in one of their missions.
She sees him in her kitchen, laughing at her attempt to cook tuttleroot soup.
She sees him in her trainings sessions, blocking successfully but losing ground to her in the process.
She wonders if John could have learned to appreciate the simple joys of planting something in the ground and watching it grow. If he would have taken the time to learn the art of the long bow and spear. If he would have brought his book with him and read by candlelight.
She wonders if John could have been happy here, and then she wonders if she would have been happy to let him.
--
Then there are days where she wishes she could have taken him up on his offer.
Though she has only been there once in a dream, she thinks she can imagine what Earth could give her.
She would live in a house and enjoy long hot showers. She would watch football with John, invade Rodney’s lab space when he became too distracted to take her phone calls, and go to lunches with Elizabeth in fancy restaurants that she has heard about. She wants to see a Ferris wheel and a rollercoaster and visit a movie theatre. She wants to be thrilled by watching Jeopardy and see the constellations John sometimes tells her about. She wants to see grand cities that were built by everyday humans like her people. She wants chocolate and popcorn and for John to take her to the beach in a red convertible like he promised once.
She thinks that she might have joined the Stargate Program.
Inevitably, however, her thoughts turn serious.
She knows the people of Earth and the Milky Way are fighting a war for existence. They are taking up arms and defending their lives and the right to live as they choose.
She thinks of the stories of entire villages being swallowed up by the wraith and then she knows.
Her place is here.
--
Sometimes, she lets herself think that so is his.
--
Then--
Their place is out there, with a P-90, a mission, and a team.
--
It has already been six long weeks before the Genii take interest. She sits and listens patiently while Ronon bristles beside her.
She thinks of the possibilities. She is not as quick to condemn as her companion is.
She has no desire to become a foot solider. She will not take orders from just anyone. The Genii have given little cause for enlisting her trust.
Still, she cannot help but wonder if it would be worth it. If it would make this feeling of uselessness go away.
--
She is confused and angry though few would know it by looking upon her.
She wants to take this feeling of impotent rage against the first wraith she could come across.
In the end, all it takes is a flippant comment from the darkened path to turn her rage into sheer joy.
--
They have settled in the puddle jumper and she feels a peculiar pleasure in shrugging on the tac-vest and hooking up the P-90. John has not changed in six weeks, except for where his eyes suddenly shine when his hands move over the ancient controls.
Looking at him now, she knows that every minute of not quite belonging has been shared across the galaxies.
Every itch to fight and take back what was theirs is reflected in the lines of his shoulders and the quirk of his mouth.
She is tense and knows that this mission is perhaps one of the most dangerous they have undertaken. Inwardly, she feels terror at the idea that not even the ancestors could hold their beloved city against its enemies for more than two months. She is alert and ready and feels powerful underneath her skin.
Teyla closes her eyes and breathes in a new sensation—
It is hope renewed.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 06:58 pm (UTC)This was great. I especially liked the part about Teyla considering the Genii's offer, and the part where she imagines what it would have been like if John had been able to stay with her. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 07:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 09:20 pm (UTC)Gorgeous.
She decides she does not miss the screaming. Or the blood.
She wonders if John could have been happy here, and then she wonders if she would have been happy to let him.
She would watch football with John, invade Rodney’s lab space when he became too distracted to take her phone calls, and go to lunches with Elizabeth in fancy restaurants that she has heard about.
Are especially touching.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 09:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 09:23 pm (UTC)great Teyla's voice btw!
and I do love her reflections of going to Earth and sharing all those things that you beautifully incorporated...nicely done!
thanks for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-13 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-13 08:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-13 08:17 pm (UTC)I particularly liked the lines: Teyla searches through her belongings looking for something she thinks she has left behind. It is hours before she realizes it is hope. Mmm, ow.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-13 08:40 pm (UTC)Mmm, ow.
I'm glad you didn't think it was too overdone, I thought it might be a little melodramatic.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-15 09:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-15 09:14 am (UTC)