(if you let me try)

but he found himself heading for Teyla's quarters. She was better at the touchy-feely stuff anyway, and less likely to annoy him. Also more likely to have sweet tea and comfortable furniture. John wasn't overanxious to spend the night scuffing it up with his other half in the infirmary, and if he, this John, the one standing in front of Teyla's door, was secretly a sleeper agent programmed to maim Atlantis, Teyla would sweep his legs and brain him before he got out of the room.

"Hey," he said, when she answered the door.

"John," she said cautiously, her eyes searching his face.

"Sort of," he allowed.

"Please, come in," she said, and smiled, a warm, real Teyla smile, and John relaxed a little for the first time that day. She took his arm and led him into her room. He breathed deep, the smell of spices and the heavy cloth tapestries braided with fragrant bark, and underneath it all, the thin, sweet scent of steeping Athosian tea. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what it was like to be just one person, in one place at a time.

He was quiet for a long time, and Teyla let him be, sitting crosslegged on her bed, her face open, listening.

Eventually he said, "Look, I don't know if I'm the real thing or what, but I get the feeling that this is temporary. That... I'm temporary."

She nodded and said gently, "You must be very frightened."

He didn't answer, but then he didn't need to. She held out one hand and he took it, awkwardly, and she towed him nearer, and he knelt, finally, on her bed beside her. She drew him down and touched her forehead to his, and he closed his eyes and tried to center himself, but then she slid her hands into his hair and he let himself press his face against the smooth, hot skin of her throat.

"It will be all right, John. You will not disappear. You will be whole again," she whispered, and he nodded blindly. She kissed his ear and he tightened his hands in the dense fabric of her shirt, and she said, "We are all of us temporary. But we may have this moment."

He drew away then, a little awed, and cupped her cheek. Her eyes were vivid and deep, and he moved toward her incrementally, giving her every chance to change her mind, to decide that she hadn't just made him an offer, but he was lonely and there were two of him and he didn't know how long he had, and hell, he loved her, she was team and he'd never thought they'd have this.

In the end, she took his hands and kissed him first, her mouth warm, smiling against his.

*

Later, in the panting dark of afterglow, her head heavy on his shoulder, her hand spread protectively against the center of his chest, John slept and didn't dream.

She jostled him awake some time later and helped him dress, slowly, zipping his pants and adjusting his crumpled shirt. Then she combed her fingers through his hair with a vague smile and cupped the back of his neck to being his forehead to hers once more before sending him back to the infirmary with a solid little shove to the small of his back.

"I will see you again, John Sheppard," she said firmly, and then closed the door on him.

John wanted to believe her; more than that, he did.

END