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"Th' thing is," Elizabeth says, tilting alarmingly to the right, "someday, s'going to happen."
Teyla puts her hands on Elizabeth's shoulders and centers her again. "What's going to happen?"
Elizabeth purses her lips and looks down into her mug. The firelight picks out the silver in her hair; more's there every year. "'M going to lose someone and know it was preventable." She finishes off the ale she's holding.
"It is always, and never, preventable," Teyla tells her. She sits down on the log, her thigh flush against Elizabeth's, and slips an arm around her waist. "That is the hard part."
Elizabeth sighs and slowly relaxes into Teyla, leaning on her until their heads are resting against each other. "It was never like this before." Her diction is clearing, as if in response to the seriousness of their discussion. "I keep waiting for the time when someone doesn't come back, and I can't believe myself when I say that I did the best I could to keep them safe."
Teyla takes Elizabeth's hand and lifts it, presses a kiss to the palm. "Then I'll tell you that you did the best you could. Until you believe it."