Drabble Meme Response - ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wraithsinger
Apr. 28th, 2011 09:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cedar_groveThe hum of the force-field around him was maddening, and he paced like a caged animal, unable to escape it, only in her presence did it fade beneath his notice. Her presence was a balm. He knew he could count on her to give him the truth.
"What's going to happen to me?" he asked.
"You will be transported to another planet where we are establishing an offworld base." He could feel the candour in her voice, and beneath it, the discomfort.
He dreamed. It was an annoyance that had never left him, even as he established a certain comfort in this form of his own choosing – no, that wasn't right. It was a compromise... driven by his need to feel closer to her.
"We would like to continue the drug treatments." She clearly felt uncomfortable with the decision, perhaps her use of the inclusive pronoun 'we' was her own compromise... was she driven to use it to distance herself from him? He closed his eyes. " Doctor Beckett believes that an increased dose would fully suppress any Wraith urges you may still be experiencing. " He lowered his head. Was it a gesture of resignation or regret? "The alternative is death."
He woke with a start, and gasping, pulled against the restraints that bound him to the bench in the rear of the jumper. The warmth of her hand settled over his, and he almost, almost, pulled away. In the end he turned his head to look at her.
"It is all right," she told him softly. "You are safe. You have my word; I will not let anyone harm you."
He almost laughed, but instead a pain twisted inside his chest as his Prime's memory flooded through him.
"Teyla..." he sighed, echoing his Prime's last word before he fell. He closed his eyes and looked away. Her fingers tightened around his for a moment, and instinct had him loosen his grasp on the bench enough that when she pressed her touch against the back of his hand once more, she could interlace their fingers. The alternative is death. He closed his eyes.
"I promise you, Michael, on Earth you will receive a fair trial. I will make sure of it," she said and held his hand more tightly.
"Why?" he asked, exhausted with the endeavour to even try to understand how she could have done as she had and yet, years later, risk herself and her liberty as his voice, his advocate... his lifeline.
...Not here, Michael. Not now...
Her mental voice was as warming as his hand was suddenly cold, as she removed the touch – as if snatching it away. He felt the flood of guilt, and the pain tightened in his chest.
"Mama!" A little voice, lost beneath the soaring mental presence that suddenly pushed aside all other thought except the need to be held, to be in her arms. His eyes snapped open to meet the cold steel of the other – the Child's father, as the boy wriggled himself free and crossed the space in the rear of the Jumper to climb into his mother's lap.
The Child turned as he settled, and looked at him – clearly curious. Michael turned his own head to meet the young gaze. The young one reached out a tiny hand toward his face.
"Torren!" the father spoke harshly; the Child frowned.
"I will not harm him," Michael said. Oh, but how many times have I made that promise before and never been believed.
"Perhaps you should go and sit with Colonel Sheppard up front, Kanaan," Teyla said.
"I'll take Torr—"
"He will be fine."
The following silence was uncomfortable. Michael closed his eyes again. They were hot, heavy like the pain in his chest. He heard the movement, felt the tension lessen, and then jumped at the touch of a tiny hand on his shoulder. He hadn't felt it coming, but strangely, it wasn't unwelcome, but it made him doubt the wisdom of all that he had done since Waking. The hot, heaviness in his eyes increased... and he felt wetness on his cheeks; felt the track of it down toward his jaw, before the softness of her hand cupped his face. He leaned in to the touch and the band of pain around his chest lessened just as much as it tightened... Hope.
She moved closer, and drew his head toward her shoulder as the Jumper lifted off and began its ascent toward the ship waiting in orbit. He did not fight the intimacy of it – though it was uncomfortable, unfamiliar, but not unwelcome – even so he did not understand.
Right now he did not need to. They would be almost three weeks on board the ship. Three weeks in which she might share with him the changes that had brought her to champion him so fervently.... he raised his head to look into the caramel of her eyes, almost pleading with her to understand him.
"What's going to happen to me?" he asked.
"You will be transported to another planet where we are establishing an offworld base." He could feel the candour in her voice, and beneath it, the discomfort.
He dreamed. It was an annoyance that had never left him, even as he established a certain comfort in this form of his own choosing – no, that wasn't right. It was a compromise... driven by his need to feel closer to her.
"We would like to continue the drug treatments." She clearly felt uncomfortable with the decision, perhaps her use of the inclusive pronoun 'we' was her own compromise... was she driven to use it to distance herself from him? He closed his eyes. " Doctor Beckett believes that an increased dose would fully suppress any Wraith urges you may still be experiencing. " He lowered his head. Was it a gesture of resignation or regret? "The alternative is death."
He woke with a start, and gasping, pulled against the restraints that bound him to the bench in the rear of the jumper. The warmth of her hand settled over his, and he almost, almost, pulled away. In the end he turned his head to look at her.
"It is all right," she told him softly. "You are safe. You have my word; I will not let anyone harm you."
He almost laughed, but instead a pain twisted inside his chest as his Prime's memory flooded through him.
"Teyla..." he sighed, echoing his Prime's last word before he fell. He closed his eyes and looked away. Her fingers tightened around his for a moment, and instinct had him loosen his grasp on the bench enough that when she pressed her touch against the back of his hand once more, she could interlace their fingers. The alternative is death. He closed his eyes.
"I promise you, Michael, on Earth you will receive a fair trial. I will make sure of it," she said and held his hand more tightly.
"Why?" he asked, exhausted with the endeavour to even try to understand how she could have done as she had and yet, years later, risk herself and her liberty as his voice, his advocate... his lifeline.
...Not here, Michael. Not now...
Her mental voice was as warming as his hand was suddenly cold, as she removed the touch – as if snatching it away. He felt the flood of guilt, and the pain tightened in his chest.
"Mama!" A little voice, lost beneath the soaring mental presence that suddenly pushed aside all other thought except the need to be held, to be in her arms. His eyes snapped open to meet the cold steel of the other – the Child's father, as the boy wriggled himself free and crossed the space in the rear of the Jumper to climb into his mother's lap.
The Child turned as he settled, and looked at him – clearly curious. Michael turned his own head to meet the young gaze. The young one reached out a tiny hand toward his face.
"Torren!" the father spoke harshly; the Child frowned.
"I will not harm him," Michael said. Oh, but how many times have I made that promise before and never been believed.
"Perhaps you should go and sit with Colonel Sheppard up front, Kanaan," Teyla said.
"I'll take Torr—"
"He will be fine."
The following silence was uncomfortable. Michael closed his eyes again. They were hot, heavy like the pain in his chest. He heard the movement, felt the tension lessen, and then jumped at the touch of a tiny hand on his shoulder. He hadn't felt it coming, but strangely, it wasn't unwelcome, but it made him doubt the wisdom of all that he had done since Waking. The hot, heaviness in his eyes increased... and he felt wetness on his cheeks; felt the track of it down toward his jaw, before the softness of her hand cupped his face. He leaned in to the touch and the band of pain around his chest lessened just as much as it tightened... Hope.
She moved closer, and drew his head toward her shoulder as the Jumper lifted off and began its ascent toward the ship waiting in orbit. He did not fight the intimacy of it – though it was uncomfortable, unfamiliar, but not unwelcome – even so he did not understand.
Right now he did not need to. They would be almost three weeks on board the ship. Three weeks in which she might share with him the changes that had brought her to champion him so fervently.... he raised his head to look into the caramel of her eyes, almost pleading with her to understand him.
