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SGA: Lyric of a Ghost (Teyla, Ronon, John)

Written for choc_fic, with the prompt, Stargate: Atlantis, Teyla, Ronon, gen: society - sense and sensibility.

Title: Lyric of a Ghost
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters: Teyla, Ronon, John
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Flesh and bone, blood and bone—and cursed the robbery of tithes.
Notes: Set early in S2

John clapped a hand against Ronon's shoulder, and his smile was all camaraderie and congratulations.

From across the room, Teyla saw Ronon's jaw shift, saw his fingers curl into a fist before loosening again. John did not see. He was, indeed, already turning away by the time Teyla reached them.

She caught Ronon's glance first, narrowed her gaze for a moment. Ronon nodded, and his stance shifted back, almost imperceptibly.

"John," she said, eyes still on Ronon, "could we speak for a moment?"

"Sure," John said, and his brow wrinkled. "What about?"

She allowed Ronon to retreat before she began to explain.

*


The next afternoon, she sparred with Ronon, discarding her sticks for hand-to-hand. By the end of a half-hour she grinned, sweat beading on her skin.

Ronon paused his attack, the intensity in his eyes wavering as he recognized her smile. "What?"

Teyla relaxed her posture. "It has been a while since I have felt so challenged," she confessed.

"Right." Ronon tilted his head, then lunged at her.

She ducked, rolled sideways. "It is very different here," she said, then swept her legs around, imbalancing him. She leapt, jabbed, knocked him over. She settled over him, her forearm pressing against his throat.

He twitched under her, but she increased the pressure against his windpipe. For a second, his eyes went dark, and she felt him draw a strangled breath.

"Ronon," she said, her voice calm, her breath even.

He blinked, and when she saw he recognized her again, she released him and backed away.

"You are safe on Atlantis," she told him.

He rose to his feet, and a shrug was his only answer.

*


Teyla watched Ronon eat the next morning. He hunched over as he ate, and he seemed focused only on his meal. Each time someone passed behind him, however, his shoulders tensed. His hand curled around his fork, and he turned his head a fraction, as if waiting to hear an attack.

John strolled up to her, a sandwich in hand. "You think we should sit with him?" he asked, his voice careless and calculated.

"Yes," she murmured, "but do not approach him from behind."

"Wouldn't dream of it," John said.

Teyla raised her eyebrows, but as they approached, she saw Ronon begin to smile.


###

A/N: Title and summary adapted from Carl Hancock Rux's Kuta Near Seminyak.

Crossposted to choc_fic.

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