Spoilers: Post-episode fic for Be All My Sins Remember'd
Pairing/Character: John, Ronon. Implied John/Teyla UST
Word count: 504
Author's Notes: Written in first person just to see if I could still do it. Just a one-off scene after the episode is over. Many thanks to madjm for the on-demand beta. Title somewhat pilfered from Pushing Daisies.
We’re finishing up dinner when Katie Brown wanders into the mess, wearily pouring herself a cup of coffee, but when her eyes meet Rodney’s both sets brighten, and I take this as my cue to leave. I don’t share his sudden and very overt love of xenobotany, and I’ve never enjoyed being the third wheel, so I wish him luck and take my leave.
Bad timing. As I’m walking out of the mess Ronon is walking into it, and we stop and stare at each other for a moment like two strange cats. We’re blocking the doorway, and I realize that we’re about to pass each other without saying a word, and we’re friends, right? And that’s not what friends do. So I manage to grind out a few words past my pride. “How’d… how’s she doing?”
He gives me that vague, slightly indolent look. “Like you care,” he says.
“Hey,” I say sharply, maybe a little loudly because the trio of scientists trying to edge their way past us all start and scatter. “I care.” Probably a little too much, in fact, and that’s the problem, but that’s not something I’m going to admit to him. Or myself, if I can help it.
“Don’t act like it,” he says. The as-few-words-as-he-can-get-away-with ploy is calculated to aggravate me. Fine, maybe I deserve it, at least a little bit. Maybe I could have handled it a little better. It was just… “I was surprised,” I say, pitching my voice low, seeing as how not everyone needs to know our business.
“So was I,” he says. It doesn’t really make me feel any better, the fact that he didn’t know, but I guess if he had known it would have made me feel even worse. There’s an ache in my stomach that reminds me a little of a knife wound, although I’ve never actually been stabbed in the stomach. This is probably how it would feel.
I’m trying not to think about why it feels that way. In fact, my head is pretty much chock-full of the things I’m trying not to think about. The anger. The worry. The hurt. The fear. There’s too much of it, this big wet wad of emotion.
But when it comes down to it, this is Teyla. And we’re friends. Right? And friends don’t yell at friends and bench them and stalk away and leave them standing there and go on a dangerous mission without even saying goodbye and come back and continue to pretend they don’t exist. Except that’s pretty much exactly what I did, and I said it was because I was mad she waited two months to tell me.
“Tell her…” I begin.
But Ronon gives me that feral smile and shrugs his way past me. “Tell her yourself,” he says, again without a hint of animosity, just a momentary tic in his expression that tells me a little about his own emotional wad, a glimmer of concern for her, a winkling of disappointment in me.