Too Much by The Moonmoth

Too Much von The Moonmoth

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I said that I'd wait for your friend if there was time. Now there's time. What else do you want from me?

Too much, I fear.

***

She found him in the refectory. He sat, arms crossed, long legs stretched out under the table -- a relaxed posture. Deceptive, she knew. From where she stood she could see clearly his profile in the dim, after-hours lighting. Face set in the moment before action, his eyes glittered as he stared hard at the opposing wall. They were alone in the room at this late hour, but he had not acknowledged her. Still, she knew he was aware of her as she silently walked over.

'May I join you, Major?'

He didn't move; only his eyes flicked up to meet hers. He seemed to consider her for a moment, shrewd, intense, and then he sat up, smiling winningly. 'Sure, Teyla,' he said in a calm, sing-song tone of voice, though his face was oddly blank. 'Siddown.'

'Orrin and his family have settled into their accommodations for the time being.'

'Good,' he replied with pleasant insincerity.

'They have yet to decide about the mainland. They are just glad to be safe, for the moment.'

He snorted. 'For the moment...'

Teyla frowned at his tone of voice. Mocking, almost. 'Major, I-'

'Teyla,' he said, 'you said it -- we've brought them here, only to face death in Atlantis.' He carefully placed his hands on either side of the coffee mug he'd been nursing before she came in, palms down to the table, leaning forward conspiratorially. 'You wanna know what I think? That energy beam we saw? Not a weapon.' He took in her expression and grinned. She shook her head, confused.

'Then what...?'

'I think -- it sucks the life out of every living thing on the face of the planet.' He paused, letting that sink in. 'I think feeding on human life just became obsolete for the Wraith. They're just-' he waved his arm vaguely around the room- 'eating up the scraps.'

Teyla leaned towards him, mimicking his pose, an eyebrow raised. 'I think,' she said, picking up his coffee cup and eyeing the clear liquid in the bottom, 'you've been drinking, Major.'

John stared at her, grin frozen in place for a split second as she looked at him expectantly, then launched to his feet, slapping the mug from her hand, sending it clattering across the floor.

'Don't!' He shouted. Then, lowering his voice, he sounded absurdly reasonable when he said, 'Don't try to tell me they're not coming. They're coming.'

'Then you will fight them,' she replied in a forceful whisper, rising to her feet in reaction to the cold, uncoordinated fury she saw in his eyes.

'I already told you,' he said, taking a step towards her, eyes dangerously alight, 'I don't fight battles I can't win.'

'Major, you're drunk,' she said. He was close, now, and she took a step back, and another, disconcerted by his behaviour.

'Major,' she warned, then stumbled as she knocked her thigh on a chair. He caught her, gripping her upper arms tightly. Then he was pushing her roughly against the wall, face inches from hers, eyes dark but still strangely unfocussed.

'What else do you want from me, Teyla?' He murmured, suggestive, mimicking, twisting. Even as his fingers dug into her flesh, he stroked the bare skin of her arms with his thumbs, letting his eyes fall to her mouth, and then lower.

'John,' she warned him again, 'do not-'

But he ignored her, and pressed his body against hers, bruising her lips with his own.

***

He knew, the split second before she moved, what she would do. Before he could react, or maybe because he didn't want to, he was on his back, her knee at his throat.

'Do not -- ever --' She didn't finish, voice shaking in anger.

John knew exactly how to get out from under her, how to disable her and have his gun pointed at her head before she could put more of her fancy moves on him. But he didn't. Instead, he laughed, and once he'd started he found he couldn't stop.

He could feel her eyes burning into him, hot embers of rage, but that was easy -- just turn away and keep on laughing. It was kinda hard to breathe with her weight on his chest, and he began to splutter, gasping as she pushed her knee slightly harder into his neck. She looked down at him, furious, triumphant, then rose in one fluid motion and left.

John stayed where he was, staring up at the ceiling. After he'd caught his breath, he started laughing again.

***

This is hard to sit and watch.

If we save Orrin and his family, we will have done something.

... Something...

***

John considered his mug on the floor, lying on its side.

It hadn't smashed, which would have been satisfying, but there was a chip on the rim. The mug was ceramic, painted dark blue, and the white of the underlying pottery was stark in contrast.

The spirits he had gotten from one of his men, who'd kept a supply of Athosian moonshine after Teyla's people had moved to the mainland. It was scentless, strong, burned the back of his throat. And after swallowing, he was left with a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. She no doubt would have tasted it on him.

That was good. It was fine by him for her to think he was drunk.

The spirit had splattered across the floor of the commissary in a wide arc, tracing the path on the floor of the cup in the air. The cup with the chip that he had filled with alien liquor, trying to comfort himself with the idea of intoxication.

Crouching down, he began to mop up the mug's spilled contents with the cloth he had taken from the galley.

As he did this, John thought about Colonel Sumner. He thought about not being the military leader of Atlantis. He thought about not being responsible for the lives of his men and the civilians they protected. He thought about following orders and not giving them.

Finished, he picked up the mug and returned it to the galley. He thought about how it would feel, to have someone waiting on Earth for news of his death, of his failure and the destruction of Atlantis.

He thought about not kidding himself.

Everything he had was here, and soon it would be gone. As of now the only outcome he could see was defeat.

He thought about what a release it would have been, to drink more than a couple of sips. Clear-headed and sober, John headed for his quarters, to stare at different walls.

***

I consider Orrin as family, Major. I am sorry if you do not understand what that means.

***

It was a cruel thing to say -- she knew that he understood. He waited because she asked him to, because she was on his team and his team was his family. Just as it was hers. And then, just then, as if to prove her right, human shadows appeared across the clearing, running through the mist. And as they ran, more appeared behind them -- too many, so desperate for help, but they couldn't possibly take them all. The intel was why they were there, and that was the thing above all else that had to make it back to Atlantis. They couldn't take them all. It was too much.

Then the darts appeared, screaming overhead, and there was no longer any question. They ran in chaos, afraid, and some were taken. John was the last survivor, diving for the jumper with a little girl in his arms, Wraith transporter beam missing his legs by inches.

He got up, expressionless, and walked to the cockpit, sat down. She followed, fighting to conceal the aftershocks of fear coursing through her body and the void the Wraith left deep within. Then she looked at him.

In that instant, she thought he would fly up into the night and attempt to destroy as much as he could before their own inevitable deaths. And in that instant, if he had, she would not have stopped him. Sometimes the desire to explode was overwhelming.

She watched him, as he stared out of the window, unseeing and unbreathing, doing whatever it was he did to maintain his inscrutable calm. The intelligence was why they were there. They had to protect their own, their family.

Every movement controlled, as though with great effort, he dialed the gate and flew them home.

***

'Teyla?' John stood at the door to the gym in his workout gear, sports bag slung over one shoulder. The evening sunlight streamed in through a window behind him, casting his long shadow at her feet.

'Major.' She straightened herself up from the kata she had been practicing with her staffs and stood facing him, one eyebrow raised in question, imperious. John dropped his bag to the floor and bowed, as was the custom before entering. He bowed very much deeper than was necessary.

When she didn't respond he gestured into the room. 'May I?'

She stared hard at him for a moment longer, then slowly inclined her head, allowing him entrance.

Teyla watched silently as John unpacked the staffs she had given to him and assumed the combat stance before her.

'I thought you would not fight battles you could not win,' she said, cocking her head minutely to one side, challenging.

He let the staffs swing down from his shoulder and around, once, twice. 'Figured I better start learning.'

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Too Much von The Moonmoth

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