Summary: '100 Kisses' He finds her on the south pier, much like he expected to.
Characters: John & Teyla
The rain is like an orchestra to me
Little gifts from above meant to say
You're falling at his feet
It isn't lovely or stunning today
He finds her on the south pier in much the same place he'd found Rodney days before only this time he knows it's different. For one, she's injured and he's been sent to find her by Weir because while they'd all been preoccupied by their own grief, she'd disappeared from under their noses. He's not mad because he knows what Teyla is like.
He's long since stopped caring that his clothes are sticking to his back, or that the rain is cascading its merry way down his face and he knows that Teyla has too. The think white scrub trousers she wears are almost transparent and stick to her like a second skin; the jacket she wears barely covers her hips and as he watches her, she shivers but he knows she doesn't feel the cold. She's too numb.
He knows this because he is too.
He's standing beside her before she tilts her head in his direction, her face staring straight ahead at the horizon, dark and eerie with heavy clouds. Her hair is bedraggled and clings to her face in thick strands and he's sure that most of the wetness on her face is not rain. It falls vertically in the absence of wind. The racket echoes in his ears and the sound he once loved seems loud and painful in his ears.
He covers her with the jacket he's shrugged off but he knows the drenched material will do no good to keep her dry. His own shirt is quickly transparent, also and she turns to him, her face vacant as she stares at his nose. He drops his hands from her shoulders when she turns back to the horizon and he closes his eyes.
"Are Carson's family well?"
He nods and gulps, turning back to the horizon, his eyes misting over at the thought of Carson's mother buckling under the weight of their news. She'd cried for hours and even Rodney had been sympathetic. John had never seen him like that before. His sad eyes had risen to meet John's and John had had to leave the room for fear that he too would break down. He'd found himself in the kitchen of the small cottage on the outskirts of Glasgow – closer to a place called Ayr than the actual city itself – when his fist pounded against the worktop, shuddering the dishes that rested, half washed, on the drainer.
It was all he could afford, right then.
But now, standing on the farthest pier from the city with one his closest friends by his side, he could feel his resolution crumbling fast. Her pain seeped across the atmosphere into his body and he shuddered at it.
"As well as they can be, given the circumstances."
He can see her nod but he doesn't turn towards her – he can't.
"I feel... I feel a great emptiness." John nods in agreement and turns to her slightly when he hears her try to catch a sob. "I... I cared for Carson dearly and I mourn his death most profoundly..." She sobs again and John refrains from reaching out to her; he's not very good at this. "And yet I find myself glad it was not you – or Ronon, or Rodney."
He's been having a hard time with that too. Because as much as he wishes Carson hadn't died, he's so very glad it hadn't been her. When he'd seen her on the stretcher with the shard of metal sticking out alarmingly close to her heart so soon after his conversation with Ronon, he hadn't been able to make sense of the emotions that were running through him.
Silence falls along with the rain and he closes his eyes, trying to ward off the dark thoughts at the peripherals of his mind. She sighs and he turns to her, opening his eyes enough to see the sad frown on her face. He sighs too, though he's sure he's it's swallowed up by the rain.
"Elizabeth sent you to find me."
"I wanted to come," he's murmured before she's even finished speaking. He doesn't need her to think he's doing this as a duty; he does want to help her; he does want to be here.
She eyes him again, taking in the light green shirt and dark blue denims he'd worn since his flight to Scotland before pursing her lips and squinting at him.
"How are you?"
He turns to her again and purses his own lips, mirroring her frown.
"It still hasn't hit me yet... but it's coming."
She nods and glances down and he takes the opportunity to look away from her. He's frightened by the strength of emotions that are coursing through him, urging him to take her in his arms and comfort her from the pains he knows she's feeling. But he doesn't – he can't; he's not very good at this.
They turn their bodies from one another again but as he breathes, he can feel his arms brushing against hers. The touch is comforting and he sighs. He can feel the swarm of emotions building up in his gut, pushing their way to the surface. He swipes a hand across his face, rubbing at his eyes.
She notices, of course, and when his hand falls back to his side, he feels hers slide into it, gripping his tightly. He smiled and doesn't hesitate as he laces his fingers through hers.
When the tears come, they don't try to stop them. This is for Carson, for the loss of a friend, a hero and they can let themselves mourn. John's walls tumble down around him as he hears her sob, her body migrating closer to his and his arm rises of its own accord and winds around her waist, holding her to him.
He hasn't been looking forward to this but it's not as bad as he thought it would be.
His lips brush her temple and he tightens his hold on her, trying to comfort himself as well as her.
It's when she winds her arm around his waist and places her ear over his beating hear that he hears it again.
The melody of the falling rain.