cedar_grove (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cedar_grove) wrote2010-12-07 01:32 am
cedar_grove) wrote2010-12-07 01:32 am
Short Fic: Hindsight
Finally getting around to posting this series of short fic. All written for a Last Author Standing competition. I just got knocked out in the 6th round... so, I'll post the things here now that I can.
Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis and its associated characters. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no revenue is being gained. No copyright infringement is intended and existing copyright remains the property of the original author.
Hindsight
I wake in a sudden icy rush, sweat prickling my brow and trailing like the echo of a familiar touch between my breasts, to find my belly – empty now.
Breathing hard, I know it will take many long minutes to calm myself after the dream that I cannot fully recall, but which fills me with an almost overwhelming sense of conflict; an inner turmoil as I have woken again caught between relief and self-loathing. Relief, because I wake to an unfamiliar pattern of stars, yet turning my head I still see that my son sleeps safely in his crib, and self-loathing, because of what I have done. It is so deep inside that it steals my breath and fills my eyes with the sting of tears.
The feelings deny me the permission I need to move closer to the man at my side. At such times the denial of comfort is a ritual I impose upon myself for my lack of compassion.
As my thoughts turn back toward that time, hindsight empowers the realisation that my actions have shaped what happened to me; that compassion, had I shown it in that time, as I always had before, would have changed the progress of the customs through which I travelled day by day with the one who has always been my shadow.
I realise now that the two of us have always shared routines – whether they have been simply the way in which we always greeted one another, or the more complex forms into which we fell; by which we danced around our love/hate relationship.
By this I know that there will be no more sleep, and silently I rise and make my way to my son's crib; kneel beside him and as always, take his trusting little hand in mine.
"I understand you're refusing to take food. It's not poisoned if that's what you're worried about." He tastes the food on the end of his finger, then with an almost ironic shrug, approaches and offers me the bowl. "Take it. You need to keep up your strength."
"What do you care about my wellbeing?"
"I care a great deal. I may not be foolish enough to consider us friends, but we do have a history and even thought you've betrayed me repeatedly, you're still the only one, Human or Wraith who's ever come close to understanding what I've been through."
"Really?"
"We're not that different, Teyla."
He came to me daily, and filled with fear for my son, I failed to be the woman I have always been. Hindsight, a double edged sword brings me to the conclusion that, as he told me, day by day, there was no need for my fear, that he never harboured an intent to harm either me, or the precious child who, even now, wakes and looks at me with knowing eyes. Uncomfortably, I admit that I know, and always have, that all of the things he did; the passage of daily walks, constant testing, and the regular injections were simply a reflection of his need to show his care, his concern, and not merely the machinations of whatever plan he harboured. He was, in his own way, trying to demonstrate his love.
More uncomfortable still, I cannot help but wonder if, somewhere inside, that compassion I have always felt for him, had become a reflection of his love, returned yet betrayed in anger and in fear.
"We're not that different, Teyla. You're a Human with Wraith DNA; a hybrid just like me."
"I'm no murderer!"
Yet a murderer I became - acting contrary to my nature to push him to his death, and not to help him to safety as I should have done.
"Teyla?"
I turn my head at the sound of Kanaan's voice and try to give him a smile I do not feel. He rises and comes to me, and though his arms are no real shelter, not any longer, I lean into his embrace.
"I was speaking with Colonel Sheppard today. He said that such feelings as these have a name among their people." I know Kanaan senses what I feel and he worries, but for all our closeness I do not think that even he will ever understand. "He said it is called 'Stockholm Syndrome,' and that with therapy there is hope for relief."
Wordlessly I nod, agreeing to whatever will bring my friends what they need. Let them believe what they will. I know the routine of my own punishment.
I miss Michael.
I always will.
Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis and its associated characters. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no revenue is being gained. No copyright infringement is intended and existing copyright remains the property of the original author.
I wake in a sudden icy rush, sweat prickling my brow and trailing like the echo of a familiar touch between my breasts, to find my belly – empty now.
Breathing hard, I know it will take many long minutes to calm myself after the dream that I cannot fully recall, but which fills me with an almost overwhelming sense of conflict; an inner turmoil as I have woken again caught between relief and self-loathing. Relief, because I wake to an unfamiliar pattern of stars, yet turning my head I still see that my son sleeps safely in his crib, and self-loathing, because of what I have done. It is so deep inside that it steals my breath and fills my eyes with the sting of tears.
The feelings deny me the permission I need to move closer to the man at my side. At such times the denial of comfort is a ritual I impose upon myself for my lack of compassion.
As my thoughts turn back toward that time, hindsight empowers the realisation that my actions have shaped what happened to me; that compassion, had I shown it in that time, as I always had before, would have changed the progress of the customs through which I travelled day by day with the one who has always been my shadow.
I realise now that the two of us have always shared routines – whether they have been simply the way in which we always greeted one another, or the more complex forms into which we fell; by which we danced around our love/hate relationship.
By this I know that there will be no more sleep, and silently I rise and make my way to my son's crib; kneel beside him and as always, take his trusting little hand in mine.
"I understand you're refusing to take food. It's not poisoned if that's what you're worried about." He tastes the food on the end of his finger, then with an almost ironic shrug, approaches and offers me the bowl. "Take it. You need to keep up your strength."
"What do you care about my wellbeing?"
"I care a great deal. I may not be foolish enough to consider us friends, but we do have a history and even thought you've betrayed me repeatedly, you're still the only one, Human or Wraith who's ever come close to understanding what I've been through."
"Really?"
"We're not that different, Teyla."
He came to me daily, and filled with fear for my son, I failed to be the woman I have always been. Hindsight, a double edged sword brings me to the conclusion that, as he told me, day by day, there was no need for my fear, that he never harboured an intent to harm either me, or the precious child who, even now, wakes and looks at me with knowing eyes. Uncomfortably, I admit that I know, and always have, that all of the things he did; the passage of daily walks, constant testing, and the regular injections were simply a reflection of his need to show his care, his concern, and not merely the machinations of whatever plan he harboured. He was, in his own way, trying to demonstrate his love.
More uncomfortable still, I cannot help but wonder if, somewhere inside, that compassion I have always felt for him, had become a reflection of his love, returned yet betrayed in anger and in fear.
"We're not that different, Teyla. You're a Human with Wraith DNA; a hybrid just like me."
"I'm no murderer!"
Yet a murderer I became - acting contrary to my nature to push him to his death, and not to help him to safety as I should have done.
"Teyla?"
I turn my head at the sound of Kanaan's voice and try to give him a smile I do not feel. He rises and comes to me, and though his arms are no real shelter, not any longer, I lean into his embrace.
"I was speaking with Colonel Sheppard today. He said that such feelings as these have a name among their people." I know Kanaan senses what I feel and he worries, but for all our closeness I do not think that even he will ever understand. "He said it is called 'Stockholm Syndrome,' and that with therapy there is hope for relief."
Wordlessly I nod, agreeing to whatever will bring my friends what they need. Let them believe what they will. I know the routine of my own punishment.
I miss Michael.
I always will.