Okay, brace yourselves.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

John sat on a short stool on Teyla's right side, attempting to stay out of the way. He wore a turquoise scrub suit, and a kind of helmet with a clear, plastic screen that shielded his face. However, he did not have to wear gloves, so Teyla could feel the touch of his skin on her hand and arm.

Another, shorter, tabletop screen had been erected, right beneath her breasts, so Teyla could not see the operation. Blinding lights hung overhead, their illumination flashing off the glinting instruments and plastic face-shields of the doctors and nurses above. John did not look to see what they were doing. The bloody instruments and sponges he caught sight of once in a while were enough to tell him that if he looked, he would probably get sick or faint, and that would mean that they would take him away from Teyla.

Teyla---who felt cold beneath his touch. Her head was turned toward him, her dark eyes dimly tracing the features of his face as if she was in a dream. She had been given a local anesthetic, so she would be awake to see her baby, but an IV tube had been inserted into her left arm, and she had been given an epidural to further ease the pain.

"How're ya doing?" John asked her quietly, his voice echoing inside against his mask. Teyla blinked slowly.

"I...do not feel well," she whispered, swallowing.

"Well, hang in there," he urged, stroking her forehead with his thumb.

"Suction," Dr. Keller requested. "Quick---I've got a bleeder and I can't see what I'm

doing."

John glanced up at Dr. Keller briefly before trying to give Teyla a reassuring smile.

"It's almost over. You're gonna make it."

She nodded listlessly and her eyelids fluttered. John's hands tightened on hers.

"Teyla---"

"All right, here we are," Dr. Keller announced. "I'm cutting through the membrane of the uterus and...Oh..."

John's head jerked up. Dr. Keller's hands went still. The nurses around her were looking down at Teyla's body in dismay.

"What?" he demanded. "What?"

Teyla's eyes went blank. Her head turned so that she stared stonily at the ceiling. Her jaw set, a grim expression settling over her features.

"The...The placenta tore away too soon," Dr. Keller's face contorted as she reached down inside the incision. John felt a terrible, sickening dread fill his blood with ice. He could not take his eyes from Dr. Keller. She bit her lip, then shortly shook her head.

"No," she whispered. "The baby...The baby is not alive."

Teyla's face stayed motionless.

"What...?" John rasped hoarsely.

"We still need to deliver quickly," Dr. Keller went on flatly, and John could tell she was heartbroken. "We can't leave her open like this---we need to fix the damage done inside and then close." She gave John a deliberate, sorrowful look. "I would advise that you look away, Colonel." Tears seared down his face and a cry lodged in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away as Dr. Keller silently removed the baby and the nurses set to work on stitching the incisions back together. John swiped at his eyes, his hand banging against the infernal plastic mask, but the most Teyla did during the entire ordeal was blink her long-lashed, lightless eyes twice.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

They helped John remove his scrubs right there, by Teyla's side. He threw the stupid helmet across the room the first chance he got, and it banged harshly against the hard floor. No one said anything.

They brought the baby out for Teyla to hold, wrapped in a blue blanket. John could not bear it. He leaned his head down on Teyla's pillow and screwed his eyes shut---he absolutely would not see this. Teyla did not move.

"It was a boy," Dr. Keller said unevenly. "Here, Teyla. You need to look at him for a minute."

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then John felt some semblance of life come back into Teyla's frame. She shifted. She reached. She clasped her baby in her arms.

John still did not lift his eyes.

Complete silence reigned for ten minutes. John fought to regulate it, but his breathing became ragged.

"I...will need a name for the record," Dr. Keller murmured. "Did you...have something in mind?"

John's heart could barely stand the horrible anguish of such a wickedly wrong moment. Teyla did not answer for a second. He heard her take a breath.

"John."

It was as if she had exercised omnipotent control over him---despite his blatant refusal to do so, he raised his head and looked at her. However, she was gazing down at the tiny, motionless face swathed in blankets.

"John?" Dr. Keller repeated, her pencil poised over a clipboard. Teyla's eyes flickered.

"That's...what I had planned..." She swallowed. "John."

Dr. Keller wrote it down. Inexpressible grief, piercing empathy and bitter regret swelled through him, pushing violently against the edges of John's heart until finally it broke.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

After they took the baby from her, Teyla's arms had fallen lifelessly down to her sides. They kept the IV in her left arm, for the pain medication, and slowly wheeled her into the recovery room. John stayed right beside her, holding her hand. Courteously, one of the nurses brought the stool back so that he could sit there.

It was midday, now, but they turned out all the lights so that Teyla could attempt to sleep. The only illumination was the dim blinking of a few monitors elsewhere. A few on-duty nurses whispered silently through the infirmary, keeping a respectful distance but a watchful eye.

John's mind was numb. He watched Teyla's chest rise and fall with her breathing, but he could absently tell that she was not asleep. His muscles felt like lead, and a dull, aching, almost literal pain pulsed through his veins.

He could not imagine what Teyla must be feeling.

He took her hand in both of his, slowly lifting each one of her fingers, running his fingertips along her knuckles and her palm. For hours he did this, never ceasing.

Thus, when she took a breath and spoke, the question she asked filled him with distress.

"John...are you still there?" she asked faintly.

"Yeah, I'm right here," he told her, his hand gripping hers as he leaned toward her. She was silent for a long moment. She licked her lips.

"John," she breathed.

"Yes?"

"I am cold." She swallowed. "And I cannot feel you."

John glanced around helplessly. She was covered in a thick blanket, and the room was even slightly warm. She was still a little shocky, he assumed. He thought it was a miracle she was even speaking.

"Okay, let me know if I bump you or anything," John muttered, got to his feet, and managed to slide gingerly onto the bed next to her. The bed was barely wide enough, and he had to lie on his side and put his head on her pillow, but now he was delicately pressed against her, holding her hand up against his chest.

"Is that better?" he asked quietly in concern, his breath fluttering her hair. She did not answer or turn her head, but her fingers gave his a small squeeze.

They lay like this for a long time and she gradually settled against him, accepting his warmth in a way that did not hurt her stitches. An untold time later, she took a deeper breath again.

"John...where did he go?"

John's heart twisted again, in such a way that his previous misery seemed like happiness in comparison. He could not answer. The next breath Teyla took sounded more urgent.

"Where did he go after they took him from me?"

John's brow furrowed deeply and he gently rubbed her fingers. He cleared his throat, closed his eyes and pushed his forehead into her hair. He could not possibly tell her what they did with dead bodies on Atlantis, or even mention anything about a funeral or a service. He could not inflict that kind of pain on her.

And then he realized that that was not what she had meant.

"He...He went to heaven," he told her, his tone thick with emotion.

She breathed unsteadily.

"Heaven..." she mouthed. "What is it like?" she wondered, her voice trembling.

"It's a..." John began, then stopped, abruptly realizing that this was going to be one of the most difficult tasks he had ever been assigned. He fought to maintain control of his voice, but he could not keep his hands from quivering. "From...From what I've heard...it's beautiful," he murmured, pushing his head closer so he could speak right into her ear. "There's a city there...made of pure gold...and an ocean that looks like glass---even prettier than the one just outside here. And there are green, sunny fields, and...trees and all sorts of animals...and God is there." John's heart was breaking again. "And since He's the boss, there's no pain...or sadness...or dying." "John..." Teyla choked, squeezing her eyes shut, and turning her head so her nose pressed against his cheek. "My baby..."

John could find no more words. Thus, he just wrapped his arm around her shoulders, held her tight, and cried with her.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Six months went by. Kanan eventually left with the rest of the Athosians, for Teyla had refused to speak to him. John actually felt genuine sympathy for the man---he had never gotten to see his son.

Ever after the terrible morning, John and Teyla walked hand in hand through Atlantis without a thought. It was as if there was no difference between his hand and hers, anymore. The night that their two hearts had broken together bound them forever.

No one said a word about their constant proximity, respectful and understanding of Teyla's loss. It appeared so natural, as if with a mere look at each other they could communicate volumes and anticipate what the other was about to do. Virtually the only time they separated was to go to their individual chambers to sleep.

But some nights, even half a year later, John could just tell when Teyla was not resting well. He would sigh, his own heart heavy, get up and open his door. Each time, he would find her standing out in the corridor, her head bowed, one hand absently touching her slender abdomen, which no longer bore the signs of a coming child. John would stop and cant his head, once more observing her beauty. Then, wordlessly, he would hold out his hand to her. Lifting her eyes to his, she would take his hand, and they would stroll through the silent city.

Eventually, they would end up at a small balcony where they would sit and listen to the waves.

"John, I am cold."

He would reach around her and pull her tight to his side. She would lean her head on his shoulder.

"Heaven, you say?" she would murmur tearfully.

"Yeah," he would rub her arm, and point to the stars. "See? There's holes in the floor of

it. The gold and the sun are shining through."

For a long, long while, neither would say anything. Then John would feel her tears against his neck.

"John...my baby..."

And he would just wrap his arm tighter around her shoulders, and cry with her.

THE END

Gee, I'm sorry guys. I almost made myself cry once or twice. Let me know what you think, though. And if this totally ruined your day, go and read "When You Taught Me How to Dance," and please forgive me.