three_fathers | Fic: Body and Soul the Same

Title: Body and Soul the Same
Author:

ladycat777
Rating: PG
Summary: Teyla had been born to the knowledge that she would lead after her father.
Words: 1408
Warnings: general s4
A/N: For

beadattitude and

margarks who could both use some snuggling comfort. This could possibly be seen as in the same 'verse as my Inside Your Hands story. Title's from Whitman. Originally posted 3-11-08.

The moment the door shut, she sagged onto the bed and squinched her eyes shut.

Teyla had been born to the knowledge that she would lead after her father. It was never spoken of so plainly, of course. Formalities had to be observed and there was always a conclave, a question, a choice put before all of the Athosians, however disparate they might be, as to whom should be the newest to shoulder the burden of Athosian needs.

There was never any doubt, although Teyla herself often had many. But Tegan was a wise leader and a good father: he prepared his daughter well.

She had been born into leadership and even as a child, she lived her life accordingly. It was not a bad life, and Teyla would object quite painfully to any who suggested as such. But it was, perhaps, a limited life. Even as a child, she had been aware of her demeanor, the tenor of her voice and the power of her words. As a young girl, she had denied herself the liaisons others so frequently participated in, choosing instead carefully and as dispassionately as any girl of fifteen was able, learning with an eagerness that never hid the watchful eye her father had instilled her in from her earliest memories. She was the leader, no matter that her father did most of the leading. When she was not called upon as a voice in his absence -- and she was, quite early on -- then it was up to her to learn all that her father knew and more, all the wisdom he possessed and anything else should could find to honor the Athosians who so honored her.

And the secret knowledge her father whispered to her in the quiet of their home, lessons on how to inform without declaration, to hide this most precious gift that Teyla could warn others of the approaching Wraith.

That, as much as anything else, had taught Teyla who she was and who she might be. More than being Tegan's daughter, more than being the future leader. Her skills were necessary each day, regardless of what frivolous matters might be.

It had given Teyla a quietness, a strength that few others could match.

Except.

Except, except.

The winds of the Ancestors blew only where they saw fit, a pretty idiom that Teyla still thought of, still believed in, long after she lost all revere for the Ancestors. Fate was a fickle thing and Teyla found herself in situations she could have never imagined as a child. To live in the city of the Ancestors, to see their great wonders...

And their failures. And their mistakes, so frequent and painful each time.

To be with new, wonderful people who offered her galaxies in ways the Ancestor's Ring never had.

But also alone. Not just a leader lacking her people, but a woman cut off from her family. Among strangers. Alien.

Pregnant.

And, though she hated to admit it, hurting. For all the new life within her was a joy, it was also a growing, changeable life. She ached in ways she never knew her body could ache, from tender breasts to a low, damning pulse that never eased in her back. Each day brought new discoveries, new things she had to learn and there was no one to share it with. No aunt, or sister, no cousin or heart-friend who had done this before. None of the women on Atlantis had ever given birth and no matter how the nurses clucked at her, how their rote platitudes meant to comfort, it was meaningless.

They were as new to this as she was, and blast, she promised herself that she wouldn't cry again this day. Twice was more than enough, it was.

And yet she knew her cheeks were wet, the skin tightening as she flushed in shame.

She wanted her father. She wanted Charin. She wanted someone, anyone at all, who would not berate her for her tears, would instead just --

"Tey -- oh, whoa, hey."

Strong, solid arms that smelled of sizzling electricity, the tang of plastics and metal, surrounded her. She was tugged, too easily shifted until she was held against the warmth of someone's -- no, not someone's, Rodney's -- body, caught up in a hold that was nearly suffocating in its intensity.

For one precarious moment, Teyla told herself that she would pull away. That she would be Teyla, strong and alone amongst a crowd.

"Oh, will you just stop? Besides, this is probably a once-in-a-lifetime offer, so don't think I'm ever going to do this again if you don't want it now."

The moment shattered, swept away by tidal forces.

Teyla cried until she hiccuped and gasped for air like a child, completely worn out. Through it all, Rodney held her and shushed her, kissing the painfully tight skin of her forehead, her wet cheeks, her hair, his arms never releasing no matter how she shifted, so tight around her that it was almost too hot.

Perfect.

She didn't mean to fall asleep. In fact, she had no knowledge of it before blinking awake. Her eyes felt gritty, her body sore in yet new and interesting ways, but her heart felt lighter.

"Easy," Rodney said from above her. "You don't roll so well anymore." Carefully, he helped her up from her pillow -- his thigh -- tucking her against him before she could take back her own weight. It was easy to lean against him, trusting the strength he so seldom let others see. Easy and good.

Slowly, she took in her surroundings, noting Ronon stretched with a feline's grace over the foot of her bed, whittling something. The steady rasping sound had masked the presence of so many in her room, for Teyla was surprised to see him. And John, seated so close to her that she could reach out and touch, if she wanted, laying a card out on the bed where others were scattered.

"Go fish," he told Rodney, face impish. He cut a glance to her, then studied his cards again as if she hadn't caught him. "You should be glad that it was Rodney who found you first, you know. Jeanie's been emailing him all kinds of stuff about her pregnancy, and you know Rodney."

"Yes, you mean the Rodney right here, able to listen to your every word?"

"Yeah, that one," John said. "Anyway, Rodney here's always interested in making an effort when it benefits himself." The implication, of course, that it was only for himself that he would touch her, let alone hug her so closely. It was an expected gambit, and Rodney immediately rumbled into a rant about Jeanie's letters and how unappreciated his efforts were.

An amusing distraction, of course.

Except the arm around her shoulders never so much as twitched. And John's hand dropped to her bare -- when had that happened? -- right foot, fingers seeking out the place where arch became heel and pressing carefully. The sensation caused her to groan, head reeling at the release of pressure as she sagged more fully into Rodney's hold.

"Oh, right, like you totally didn't learn that from Jeanie!" Rodney accused, while beneath them Ronon rumbled into the hoarse, creaking chuckle that only they ever heard.

"Better?" John asked.

He wasn't looking at her. All his attention was given to the fan of cards he held, totally divorced from the way he tweaked her pinky toe playfully, eyebrows caught in a frown of worry that had nothing to do with his very poor hand.

"I am w -- I am better, yes. And Rodney, you should ask for an eight."

She deserved the sharp scrape of a thumbnail against the sole of her foot, more tickling then hurtful, and it surprised a giggle out of her.

A giggle. She hadn't done that since she was a child.

"You're prettier when you smile," Ronon said without looking at her.

"Yes, you've said." She had only to twitch and suddenly both Rodney and John were there, helping to ease her onto her back, head tucked against Rodney's belly while John rubbed her feet -- with the air of a man trying to avoid chores, perhaps, but his touch was surprisingly skillful, delicate and knowledgeable as he worked away the aches -- and Ronon worked with steady concentration on another toy for her son to play with.