Abandonment Issues

A pathetically small amount of sunlight, dim, gray, and diffuse, struggled through the cloud cover, only to be swallowed up by the rain spearing down out of the darkling sky. The wind, stiff and cold, lashed the ocean into a fury. The ocean, in turn, beat futilely at the lower edges of the city. Lightning slashed at the tall spires, only to be shunted away into the water. The storm roared in frustration at its impotence – thunder shook the heavens, and still Atlantis remained, sprawling, arrogant, lazily defying Nature's power.

It was on this dark, ragged morning that John Sheppard woke to find himself alone. Again.

The side of the bed where Teyla had lain last night was cold, as it always was in the morning. She had left in the middle of the night, while he slept. Again.

His throat tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the threat of tears. He loved her, truly and deeply, as he had loved no other woman. He had told her as much, but she never answered him. She came to him at night of her own volition, and her passion matched his as they made love… maybe that's the wrong phrase, he thought bitterly. During the day, their relationship was formal, professional. Which was one thing when they were on duty, but in their off hours, it was unbearable. Even when they were alone, it was the same.

He felt… used. He couldn't live like this anymore. It was time to do something about it. One way or another, he decided, this ends today.

They had a sparring session scheduled for this morning – he would speak to her then. He dressed quickly, gathered his sticks and his resolve, and strode toward the gym.

Teyla glanced up in surprise as the multicolored doors hissed open. "Colonel Sheppard… you are early."

She had no idea what she was doing to him. Last night, she had screamed his name as they had hurtled together over the edge… to hear her address him by his rank, now, felt like a slap across the face. Sheppard bit back a scathing comment as he set down his duffel bag and withdrew the sticks, dropping into a combat-ready stance. Teyla faced him, her own sticks in hand, and they began to circle each other, waiting for the right moment to attack. "We need to talk," Sheppard said, staring into her eyes.

"You should be concentrating," Teyla replied, and took advantage of his momentary distraction to strike at his weaker left side.

To her astonishment, he blocked her blows easily and shoved her backward so hard she nearly lost her balance. "I can multitask."

Teyla nodded warily. "Very well. What is it you wish to talk about?"

"Us." Sheppard launched an attack of his own, raining down upon her such a flurry of blows that she was forced backward several steps. With a deft twist, he tangled his sticks with her own, locking her arms in an awkward position, momentarily immobilizing her. "I can't do this anymore."

Teyla frowned. "You mean our sparring sessions?" She shifted her grip on her sticks, but made no other move to free herself.

She didn't need to – John released her with another shove, putting several paces' distance between them. He turned his back to her, staring at the floor, struggling to keep calm. "No, Teyla," he said softly, tonelessly, "I don't mean our sparring sessions." Without warning, he spun back around and struck at her again, forcing her onto the defensive. For the moment, they were evenly matched, neither one able to gain the upper hand.

"Then what is it?" Teyla asked as she ducked a sweeping horizontal blow.

Strike, block. "I have been alone all my life." Feint, strike, parry, duck. "My parents never really cared about me – and anyway, they're dead now. My sister hasn't spoken to me–" block, parry, strike– "since I joined the Air Force." Spin, duck, step, strike. "I didn't have many real friends in school, or afterward. Everyone I got close to–" step, parry– "either got transferred or killed."

Teyla was confused, and a little frightened. "I'm sorry" was all she could think of to say.

But John either didn't hear her, or chose to ignore her. He continued his tirade, his voice growing angrier, his attacks more aggressive. "The few times I thought I was in love–" strike, step– "they abandoned me, too." Step, step, strike. He drove her backward relentlessly. "Even here, I'm an outsider." Strike, step, block. "As the 'ranking military officer,' I'm forbidden by regulations from 'fraternizing' with my subordinates, or anyone under my command." Strike, step, feint, strike. "But I say, to hell with the regs. I've finally found out what love is." Step, strike. "But it seems you're only taking advantage of me!" He was shouting now, pressing his attack fiercely.

Teyla was stunned. She hadn't seen this coming, hadn't had the faintest inkling of what he had been feeling. And that only served to exacerbate the guilt. She lowered her sticks. "John, I… I would never… I'm sorry…"

But Sheppard, swept up in a storm of too-long-pent-up emotion that made the tempest outside look like a sun shower, failed to notice that she had lowered her defenses. "Like hell you are!" he roared, and his next blow caught her under the chin, knocking her sprawling on the gym floor at the same instant a deafening peal of thunder shook the whole tower.

Sheppard stopped dead, his anger evaporating, leaving behind dumbfounded horror. He dropped his sticks and extended his hand to help her up. "Oh… I didn't… oh, my God, Teyla, I'm sorry… I wasn't thinking… Are you okay? Oh, God, you're bleeding…"

Teyla took his hand and stood up. She tasted blood where she had bitten her lip. "I am fine," she said, rattled.

Sheppard felt sick. He'd meant to talk to her… and now she stood there bleeding, because of him. Guilt consumed him. All of a sudden, he needed to get away from her. Stammering another semi-coherent apology, he fled the gym.

Teyla watched him leave, her voice caught in her throat. Only when the door had closed behind him did she let the tears fall.

She cursed herself for her inability to give voice to her feelings. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt him, but her cowardice, may the Ancestors forgive me, kept her silent, and it was her guilt for that cowardice that drove her from his bed in the darkest hours of the night.

She collapsed to her knees and sobbed in the agony of knowing that her weakness caused so much pain to the man she loved.

The thunder died down to a murmur, and the rain streamed down the window as if in silent commiseration.

But she took no notice.