FIC: SGA JT: Lace and Combat Boots, PG, 1/1

Category: fic
Title: Lace and Combat Boots
Author: Doxymom
Rating: PG
Warning: spoilers up to Broken Ties.
Size: 882 words
File Format: text
Comments: This is for Beya's Black and White challenge.


Lace and Combat Boots
_____________________

Teyla cradled baby Torrin close, marveling at this perfection that came from her. The four month-old nuzzled her skin, rooting and latching on almost effortlessly as he had from day one.

"He's a boy!" Doctor Keller had crowed. "Knows right where the...uh...food is."

They had shared a laugh, but Jennifer was correct. Torrin knew how to do what she only vaguely knew how to teach him. "It will be much easier," she told him softly, "when you are old enough to hold a bantos."

Torrin blinked at her and she wondered again how much he understood her thoughts. That time in the Hive ship, their thoughts had definitely touched. He had given her an extra burst of strength to hold out against the Wraith Queen. It was a connection unsought by her, but freely given by him.

Wraith.

DNA.

Telepathy and Michael's prophecy.

It was too much. She would not think of it. Her child was NOT a mutant created by a monster to help take over the universe. No!

He was exquisite and normal and good--above all, good.

To clear her head she stood and padded on bare feet to the open sliding door and onto the balcony. The warm evening breeze lifted the loose tendrils of her hair about her face, tickling her cheeks.

Hearty laughter pulled her toward one edge of her balcony and she peered over.

The next tower, some quarter mile away, had a large flat surface a dozen feet below her level. It was now jammed with men, shirtless, sweaty men, playing basketball. Lorne, Ronon, Daniels, Chuck--she saw-- and John Sheppard. Shirtless, black pants riding low on his hips, muscles gleaming with sweat.

She swallowed hard against a sudden lump in her throat.

He never said, a little voice inside her whispered...never said.

She sighed, leaned back and let the sun-warmed wall spread soothing heat through the thin fabric of her dress. The men reeled and ducked, spun and leapt, the game an exhilarating dance.

She glanced down at Torrin. The setting sun painted a rosy glow on his chubby cheeks. She tucked her dress around him so no one could see her body and angled herself to watch the beauty of the men. John missed the ball, dodged, ran and stole it again from chuck. He leapt gracefully into the air, stomach muscles stretching taut, hip bones visible as his trousers slipped a little more. Her breath caught of its own accord. He tossed the ball into the hoop. Scored.

She smiled and inhaled, realizing she had stopped breathing for a moment.

Her heart raced, smile faded, thoughts began to race. "Teyla, do not be so foolish," she said aloud. With John she had run the gamut of emotions over the years since they had met--intrigue and lust, awe and respect, friendship and trust, finally, hope for love. But that was not to be. Not yet. Perhaps never. Perhaps only in her mind because he, he had never said. Her fear of rejection and her people's customs said it was too forward of her to ask him how he felt. Her fear of commitment and fear of losing him as she'd lost everyone else she loved ramped up that fear until she froze at the idea of asking him.

Finally, she accepted that he did not reciprocate her feelings or he would have told her. He flirted with many women. He kissed a few and even asked her blessing, sort of, for a date with Chaya.

Then there was the talk. Ladies Poker Night. Many women, a changing roster, most saying how handsome he was, how he'd flirted or how they imagined he'd flirted, speaking of his ease with women.

He told her nothing. He never said. She had to conclude he did not find her attractive. She would not have the white lacy dress the other women spoke of when they discussed love.

But a woman could not live alone forever. She had needs. So she gave in to the comfortable, the known, the similar. Now she had a mundane off-duty life with the man most like her in the galaxy.

She had not yet figured out why she got an upset stomach whenever she thought she should ask Kanaan to live with she and Torrin.

Nor why Kanaan had not asked to stay.

Cheers drew her attention back to the game. Unbidden, her gaze locked onto John. He ran both hands through his unruly dark hair and left two trails of spikes standing straight up.

She grinned. He looked so young. Longing heated her belly. It was a desire to smooth his hair down, she told herself. yes. That was the only urge. She ignored the other feeling of prickling heat through her body.

She would never have that lacy dress, but she had consistency, someone who would not argue when diapering time came, and she had a good friend in John who would stand by her whether she donned her combat boots or not. That was better, was it not? Better than foolish dreams and passion?

Mostly, she had hope for the future. She had the way John's gaze sometimes stayed on her a bit too long. She had her son.

Below her, John Sheppard scored again.


The End.