New SGA fic: The Best Portion, part three of four
Part One, with header, may be found here
”There will be more time,” Teyla promises, her hand smoothing over his shoulders, his chest, pausing to trace her mark on him, and she is pleased when he shivers. ”If you so wish it.”
”I've wished it for a very long time,” Carson admits, and Teyla sees the truth in his face, always so expressive. ”In all honesty, I just never thought I'd get a second look from you.”
Teyla slides over him, pausing to kiss his mouth, and rolls to her feet easily. She feels looser and more relaxed than she has in a very long time, satisfied, and she stretches, luxuriously. ”Why would you think such a thing?”
”Good god,” he says, and she turns to see him watching her with a flattering appreciation. ”Have you bothered to look in a mirror? It's been my experience that women as beautiful as you seldom show interest in my type.”
”Then their foolishness is my gain, and I cannot be sorry for that,” she says, and is rewarded by his brilliant smile. ”I find you very pleasing, for many different reasons.” She offers him her hand and they pull him to his feet. He makes an unhappy face and plucks at the front of his boxers, wet and dark from his climax. Teyla wishes she had been able to hold him in her hand, to stroke and taste him while hard, but there will be many more opportunities to do so.
They dress quickly, stealing glances at one another, and Carson leaves first after catching her for a kiss sweet enough to make her smile against his mouth. The room smells of them, of sex and musk and sweat, and she opens the window a little to air it out so that Biro and Gasquet will not find it so oppressive when they come to rest. She rebuilds the fire, no more than coals at this point, and then steps out to work, tying back her hair. When Carson looks up at her from the screen of his notebook and his blue, blue eyes crinkle at the corners in a smile, she cannot help but return it in full, feeling warmer and more pleased than she has in recent memory, filled to the brim with hope and possibilities.
§§§
”We have the medical department working around the clock to produce sufficient quantities of the medication, so there should be no problem in supplying the Sueltans with what they need,” Dr. Weir says through their comm link via the Gate. ”I'm just thankful that they were able to isolate the organism and then find a medication that worked so quickly.”
”Dr. Beckett said that it was, in his words, 'no more than bloody luck,' but I have seen how hard they have worked in the past few days, and I know that it is anything but that. They were very determined. Are very determined yet.” The event horizon of the Gate shimmers brightly in the cold night air, always in motion, but somehow serene, like gazing over a sun-sparkled lake.
”Did Carson say how much longer he would be holding everyone in quarantine? I can't imagine that it's been easy for anyone with all the precautions that have been necessary.”
”Indeed it has not,” Teyla replies, and looks down at her hands, reddened and chapped from all the washing and disinfecting, from the constant use of latex gloves. ”But no, he has not said anything in regard to that yet other than his desire to see the patients on antibiotics at least two more days before he makes a final decision.” The days on Suelta are shorter than the Atlantis standard and it is not difficult to calculate precise times, but she knows that Carson, left to his own devices, errs on the side of caution, and given what she has seen, she cannot blame him.
”If you can hold out just a little longer, I'll send reinforcements the moment he determines that it's safe to do so. All of you are due a long-deserved rest once you get back home.”
”It will be most welcomed,” Teyla replies. She thinks longingly of her shower, of her soap that smells of Athosian spices, of her soft, comfortable bed, and she thinks of sharing all these with Carson. In all likelihood they will sleep the better part of their first day back; they have not had much more than three or four hours of sleep at any one time, and even that frequently interrupted. Given the volume of patients, the stress of working with the ill, she is beyond tired.
”Understood,” Dr. Weir says. ”Did you need any other supplies at the moment?”
Teyla looks around at the chests of prepared antibiotics and other medical essentials she has yet to load into the cart she brought to the Gate. ”I think not. It appears that you have given us almost everything that Dr. Beckett requested. We appreciate your efforts.”
”Not a problem,” Dr. Weir says. ”I just wish we could do more for everyone, but even with regular runs of the Daedalus, our supplies are limited.” She pauses, and then Teyla can hear a thread of amusement in her voice when next she speaks. ”Oh, I'm to pass along Rodney's congratulations that you've not blown up his valuable naquadah generator yet.”
Teyla cannot help but grin. ”Please tell Rodney that I am most pleased by his faith in my abilities and that I will strive to remain...unblownup.”
With a laugh, Dr. Weir signs off, and the Gate whooshes into nothingness.
Working by lamplight, Teyla wrestles the boxes and containers into the back of the cart, secures them, and arrives back in town late into the night. Unloading and helping Dr. Biro put everything where she wishes it takes another hour, and by the time they have finished, she is exhausted, her thoughts furry; except for a short nap caught in the afternoon, she has been up since long before dawn. Though they had initially attempted to keep to regular shifts of a sort, it had proved to be impossible to maintain any kind of schedule, and so they sleep when they can, usually only when they are in imminent danger of literally falling over. If nothing else, Teyla has gained a new appreciation for the dedication and hardiness of the medical staff.
Biro thanks her, and tells her that in the hours Teyla has been gone, most of the patients are showing a definite improvement, and the two who had been on respirators have been weaned from those to regular oxygen. And that is news that she welcomes joyfully; it looks as if they will lose no more-they have lost seven to this disease-far too many.
She stops by Danal's bed, and although he lies still, it looks like a normal restful sleep, his breathing regular and even. Although she wants to touch and reassure herself that he is fine, she does not, wishing to let him continue sleeping. She will say something to him tomorrow.
”Teyla,” Biro says in her ear, and it is a testament to Teyla's tiredness and dulled awareness that she has not noticed Biro's approach. ”Go sleep. Don't make me drag you there.”
At this point, Biro probably could, Teyla thinks, though the woman looks as tired as she surely does. Biro sleeps no more than the rest of them.
”I think that I shall,” Teyla replies, and offers Biro a half smile. ”Dragging will be entirely unneccessary.”
”Finally, someone who actually listens to me. How refreshing,” Biro says with asperity, and Teyla's half smile goes to full. ”And Teyla? For what it's worth, I'm glad for you and Carson. He's a good man beneath all that Scots bullheadedness, and you'll be very good for him.” She tips her head to one side, curiously birdlike. ”If it's more than just stress relief, I mean. Though I can't say there's anything wrong with just that, either.”
Of course Teyla did not truly think that what they had done together would go unnoticed by anyone, but she had, for Carson's sake, wished it would go without comment. She should have known better; this is Biro, after all. But her words are wholly without malice; Biro seems genuinely pleased. Teyla merely inclines her head in a non-answer because even though there is no true privacy in a population as small as that in Atlantis, she thinks that Carson likes to pretend that there is, and she will defer to his wishes until he says otherwise. Biro smiles at her and pats her shoulder before Teyla goes to strip out of her gear and wash up.
When she gets to their shared quarters, Carson is asleep, the only thing visible his shock of dark hair. She pulls off her clothes, not caring where or how they fall, tugs on the blankets wrapped tightly around him-he has not been asleep long enough for the bad dreams to take him, and so sleeps soundly--until she unrolls enough to slide beneath. With a sigh she curls around his back, her cheek pressing between his shoulder blades; he is so warm, like a fire. He murmurs something that might be her name, fumbling for her hand, pressing it against his stomach beneath his own hand, before sliding back into sleep. She follows a breath or two later.
It seems no time passes before Biro calls them, and Teyla struggles out of sleep, feeling so heavy, weighted by weariness that she can barely move. Carson has curled around her at some point, and he strokes her belly, presses a kiss to the top of her shoulder, and whispers, ”Sleep a bit more then, love, you were out late last night.” Teyla does not argue, and falls asleep again.
Biro rousts her out an hour later, apologetic, but she and Gasquet need to sleep, and so Teyla rises, pulls on her clothes, and goes to work. Carson has left some of the tea for her, bread and cheese, and she eats quickly, looking at the wakening patients.
They look considerably better, even to her untrained eye-no pallor, no fever flush, no gasping for air like a caught fish brought to land. Some still cough, but it lacks the horrible throat-tearing sound of before, and fewer now wear oxygen. She has not had to clean up the results of unsteady stomachs for at least a day. Clearly, the medication works for them, and as she sees no new faces since yesterday, she fervently hopes the disease has begun to run its course.
With her own breakfast taken, Teyla goes to the kitchen and begins bringing up broth and bread for the patients. Most can now feed themselves, which makes the work of the caretakers much easier. She and Aln and Nadna, the two volunteers, have worked out a system of caring for them, as Rhan and Dr. Gasquet work more with the physicians. Nadna sleeps now, but Aln is about, and always has something optimistic to say, a kind word; she had traded with Teyla's father, years ago, and so Teyla had been glad to work with her, to see her again, though she wishes it had been under far different circumstances.
The day passes, as have the others, rapidly, filled with work. Teyla watches Carson from the corner of her eye as he moves from patient to patient, giving medications, performing examinations, soft-spoken and gentle. He always has a touch to offer, and that had been one of the things that first caught her eye when she came to live in Atlantis; unlike her own people, they do not touch often, spending most of their lives isolated from something that offers so much comfort. Carson touches, connects, and unlike most Atlantean men, is not afraid or ashamed to let his emotions show; she likes this honesty very much.
When Biro rises, she and Carson confer, dark and light heads close as they study lab results, charts and graphs and what appears to be a blob surrounded by a halo. She steps up closer between them to look at it, and Carson's hand rests lightly on her back.
”Is this it? The cause of all this?” she asks.
”Aye, it is,” Carson answers. ”The source of all our grief here. Looks rather innocent, doesn't it?”
”It is almost pretty,” Teyla observes, watching the representation spin on the screen, layers of red and blue and green, oddly-shaped internal parts of yellow and orange and purple.
”Color enhancement,” Biro replies, ”so we can see the structure more clearly. But yes, you're correct-it is almost pretty.”
”I am no scientist, but it remains true in most situations that what appears most fair is often foul,” Teyla says.
”Unfortunately, you're quite right in that,” Carson says. ”And there's little to be done about it.” He makes a little musical hum, his eyes thoughtful. ”Anne and I will be taking samples shortly from all the afflicted. We'll culture them, and see what, if anything, grows. With a wee bit of luck we'll have beaten it.”
”Cultures take twenty-four hours,” Biro continues, ”so we'll know late tomorrow. And if nothing grows out, we can drop the quarantine and get some help in from Atlantis.” She rolls her shoulders, which are clearly drawn tight with tension. ”I for one will be glad for reinforcements. Never thought I'd end up being a Jill-of-All-Trades.”
”It never harmed anyone to learn a new skillset, and think of how it builds character,” Carson says, and even behind his mask his grin is teasing.
”As you so frequently say, bugger off. My character has been fully constructed for some time, thank you,” Biro says. ”And now my character and I will start collecting specimens. Feel free to join me at any time.”
And with that, she turns away to pick up supplies. Aln has gone to rest, and Nadna has taken her place, glancing at them occasionally, curiosity very clearly written on his face. The Sueltans are traders, but their tech level is low, and everything the Atlanteans brought seems miraculous to them. Teyla herself had thought so when first she and her people went to Atlantis, and even now, after all this time, the wonder has not worn away. Often she wonders how far they could have advanced as a culture had the Wraith not culled them almost to extinction-hundreds of years ago and uncounted planets in the past, they had once been as advanced as the Satedans. She is not sure anyone knows where they once originated.
Carson's hand slides down to her lower back, a little caress before leaning in closer. ”You look suddenly serious. Are you all right, my dear?”
Teyla pushes away her thoughts, as it serves no purpose to dwell on an unchangable past. She finds a smile and offers it to him. ”I am fine. I was just...woolgathering, as you would say.”
”I've been known to do a bit of that myself,” Carson replies. His eyes suddenly crinkle in amusement. ”And there's a statement I'll never be saying in front of Rodney. Lord, I'd never hear the end of it.”
”No you would not,” Teyla replies. ”He is quite tenacious.” She does not understand all the references they make, but fully understands the sentiment behind them. Though they are frequently sharp and biting with one another, they are still good friends beneath it all, and she is very glad, for Rodney has so few of them.
They separate to their tasks, working steadily into the evening. Teyla finds a moment to stop and speak with Danal, alert and awake, breathing with the help of oxygen. She holds his cool hands in her own, wishing she could touch skin to skin, and tells him of the events of the past few days, as he has no memory of much of it. When she steps away to work and to let him sleep, she feels bouyed by hope; Danal has been a part of her life since she was a small girl, going on diplomatic missions with her father, trading missions with her mother. She has so little stability in her world that she holds fiercely to everything and everyone she can.
When it is time to sleep, Teyla goes alone, as Carson and Biro are working on medications and premliminary test results. She has given up any pretense of sleeping on her own pallet, and dragged her own over to his; with both sets of mats and blankets, she finds their bed much more comfortable. Carson comes in sometime later, and she rouses at the brush of his beard-rough cheek, such a contrast with his soft, uncallused hands, his warm mouth.
”Lovely Teyla,” Carson murmurs and pulls her close. He is half hard against her, and she makes an effort to wake more fully, but he says, ”No, sleep now.” Teyla feels her mouth curve into a little smile, and with a final kiss to the corner of her mouth, he wraps himself around her and she falls back to sleep, warm and content.
§§§
”We're ready to check lab results,” Carson says the next evening, his voice low in her ear, and Teyla cannot prevent the little start; she had not heard him approach. Partly that is from her slowed responses, but Carson is surprisingly light on his feet, and in his rubber-soled sneakers, he is almost silent. ”Ah, sorry,” he says, and squeezes her shoulder gently.
”It is not a problem, Carson,” she says, and closes the box of supplies she has open, resisting the urge to rub the back of her neck, where the hair has risen.
”I thought you might wish to be with us when we look at them, as you've worked as hard as anyone I've ever seen. You deserve to be in on the news, for good or ill.”
Teyla feels touched by his offer. But then Carson has always treated her with respect, has never been condescending or considered her unintelligent because of her lack of formal education. She cannot say that about everyone on Atlantis. Warmth suffuses her, and she smiles up at him. ”Thank you,” she says simply.
”Not a problem,” he says, and they go to the table where Biro and Gasquet already wait, Biro bouncing a little on her toes. Her excitement is contagious, and a little frisson of anticipation spiders down Teyla's spine.
Carson pulls her close so that she can see, and then hits a key on the laptop. At first, she cannot see what she should look for amidst the scroll of numbers, but Carson reaches forward and taps the screen where the words NO GROWTH NOTED AFTER 27 HOURS shine in blue script.
It isn't until Carson scrolls through multiple screens, and Teyla sees it on every report that Biro says, ”Thank God,” reaching to give Carson a quick hug, that Teyla really believes they have their weapon, their cure.
There is a quick round of hugs and congratulatory back pats. Carson holds her the tightest and longest, his blue eyes shining with happiness, and she squeezes him just as hard in return.
”Wonderful news, undeniably,” Carson says to them, ”But this doesn't mean our work is done here. Although the town elders have done a remarkable job of enforcing quarantine, we still need to send people around the town and into the outlying areas just to make certain we've not missed anything. After fighting it this far, I'd hate to see a re-occurrence happen simply because we were lax at the last moment. We've seen a few secondary infections, but I think we've gotten atop those in time. Most that still remain on oxygen I think we can begin weaning slowly. And there will undoubtedly be last minute problems that crop up-I've yet to see things run absolutely smoothly, so expect it, and if nothing does happen, well, it's a lovely surprise, right?”
”I'll be glad to see the reinforcements from Atlantis,” Biro says. ”I think we're all worn to the bone.”
”And that's the bloody truth,” Carson says. ”You've all done a wonderful job, worked harder than anyone could ask or expect, and you've done it without complaint. I'm right proud of the lot of you. If I could give raises or bonuses-not that they have any bearing here-I would.”
Biro gives another little bounce. ”Well. I happen to know that you have a bottle of Glenmorangie you've kept hidden away from the rest of us, you selfish bastard, and that would do nicely.”
Carson's chin lifts, but his smiling eyes spoil the effect. ”I'm not that proud of you,” he says, and Biro laughs.
Cheered and enlivened by the good news, they break apart, because there still remains more than enough work to do. Carson catches Teyla's hand before she can move away. ”I know that it's very late,” he says, ”and if you'd rather wait until morning, I couldn't blame you, but if you feel up to a trip to the Gate to call for a bit of help, I think we'd all be grateful.”
It is indeed very late, but the news is so good, and help so close at hand that Teyla cannot possibly decline. ”I think I would rather go now. I am not sure that sleep would come now even if I did try, so I cannot see the point in waiting.”
”Thank you, Teyla,” Carson says, and smiles at her. He pats the table until he finds a pen, and a piece of paper, and scribbles something. ”This is a strictly volunteer mission, and I'd like for you to make that very clear if you would,” he says as he writes. ”I'm not ordering anyone to come.”
”From what I have seen, I do not think that there will be a shortage of people willing to help,” Teyla replies, trying to read over his arm.
”Aye, we're all mad as hatters, the lot of us,” he replies with a grin that she wishes she could see in its entirety. He hands her the note, and Teyla glances over it again, but closer examination does not seem to help her decipher it. ”Ah, I'm a walking cliché,” he says, and takes it back, flipping over the paper to write the list again, this time in clear, blocky script. ”Back home, doctors are noted for their abysmal writing,” he says, and hands her the note again. ”I guess that holds true here, as well.”
”It does not seem very wise given such responsibility,” she says, and this time, she can read what he has written, a list of requested supplies.
”Most of the things about us as a culture make no sense at all,” Carson says agreeably, and that is true enough. ”Be careful, then,” he says simply, with a gentle touch to her forearm, and Teyla smiles up at him before turning to leave.
By the time Teyla finds someone to get a saddled olaka for her, rides out to the Gate, gives her message to Dr. Cheung, the scientist in charge while Dr. Weir sleeps, and returns, it is the half-light of predawn. Carson waits for her outside the Great Hall beneath a lantern hanging on a hook beside the door. His hands are stuffed into his mission jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold, his breath a white cloud around him. He looks tired and cold and miserable, but when he sees her, he smiles, and it is such a sweet smile that she cannot help but return it.
”You should not have waited,” she says, gently chiding as she walks toward him, rubbing her hands together to warm them. ”I expected you to sleep. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
”As if I didn't know that. I've never seen anyone more self-sufficient,” Carson says, and shivers.
Frost lies heavy and white on everything, the air has a bitter bite, and more than once on her journey Teyla had wished for something heavier than her mission jacket. Her cheeks ache with the cold, and her fingers feel numb.
”I had to get all my notes in order for those coming, anyway,” he says. ”I'll rest better knowing that I've done that.”
”Why are you out here in the cold?” She steps up to him, and he grins and gives a little shrug.
”Well. I've not been outside in fresh air since this all began. I'd started to think I'd forgotten what it smelled and felt like, so I thought I'd step out and rediscover it.”
”And is it everything you dreamed it to be?” Teyla cannot help but tease.
”Everything and more,” he says cheekily. He pulls his hands from his pockets and cups her face in his hands. Compared to her skin, his is very warm, and his mouth on hers warmer yet, their breaths mingling whitely together. His beard is prickly, but his lips soft, and the pleasure he takes in kissing her makes something within her soften and melt, like chocolate left out in the sun. Teyla wraps her arms around him and gives herself over to sensation; it has truly been too long since she had a lover, and it is easy to forget how alive something as simple as kissing can make her feel.
He pulls away slowly, reluctantly, after a last suck on her lower lip. ”I'd give a king's ransom to not be so tired, to have time, to have privacy and a proper bed.” He wipes the wetness from her mouth with his thumb. His face is soft with longing, and Teyla wonders if her own reflects it as well.
”I would give much for the same,” she says. ”But we have none of those things, and in less than four hours we shall be busier than before. If either of us wish any sleep, then we had best take it now before they arrive.” She runs her hand over his cheek; in another day or two, his beard will be long enough to be softer, though she thinks she prefers him without a beard to hide his features.
”Aye, true enough,” he says, and the corners of his mouth curve up. ”Come along then, and we'll do the practical thing, if not the thing we want.” His hand in the small of her back guides her gently into the Great Hall, where the heat hits her like a hammer after the cold of outside.
When she crawls into their pallet, she removes only her boots and jacket, and after a moment's hesitation, Carson does the same, and curls around her. She puts her cold hands under his shirt to warm them and he jumps and swears before laughing and allowing them to remain. Teyla kisses him in apology, then again because she can, and when they are almost asleep, heavy and drowsy and warm, she kisses him again, a brush of lips over the corner of his mouth, simply because she likes it and she can.
Three and a half hours later, Teyla wakes to the arrival of the Atlantis medical team, led by Dr. Raavi and Dr. Borzakov. She does not know either well; they are recent additions from the Daedalus. Also present are a handful of nurses whose faces she recognizes simply from the repeated visits to the infirmary of her team, post-mission, and a dark-haired woman in science blue seen frequently with Dr. Zelenka. And of course there are Marines, three of them, probably there at the insistence of Colonel Sheppard, given the sheer number of personnel now on-planet. Everyone wears gowns and gloves and masks, at least until the doctors decide if enough time has passed since starting the medications that it is safe to work without them at no risk to themselves.
As Teyla had predicted, she finds herself very busy. Dr. Vargas, the engineer, catches her first and together they check over the naquadah generator, their makeshift power center, and Vargas makes unhappy noises at the unruly tangle of heavy power cables and wires leading off to various pieces of medical equipment and to the power strips for their laptops. It is not an elegant design, nor most likely as efficient as Vargas could make it, but neither Teyla or Biro are well-versed in that field, and to their credit, what they cobbled together has served them well for the past few days.
While Carson and Biro speak with the new doctors, Teyla, Aln, and Nadna speak with the nurses, filling them in with what they have done, what still needs to be done for the day, of the schedule of care they've set up. It is reassuring and gratifying to see professionals approve of what they have done and how they have done it. Aln and Nadna almost glow from the praise given them, and Teyla finds pleasure in that, because the two of them have worked so hard and deserve to hear appreciation. They divide up the patients and nurses, and the three of them introduce the new staff, reassure the patients that all will be fine, that their care will be excellent.
By the time they have finished, it is late afternoon, and Teyla realizes she has not eaten since yesterday. She brings food from the kitchen, sits in her usual place, and watches the whirl of activity as she eats. Although she is very glad to see the people here to help, curiously, she feels displaced and at loose ends. It is almost as if she has been running for a very long time and then suddenly slams into a wall, in an utter and complete stop. Even more oddly than that, she feels a twinge of resentment. She does not like housing these feelings, and turns them over in her mind, examining them carefully.
Perhaps it is because this has been her world, her responsibility, for many days, and while the greater part is happy and willing to give over everything to the new people and take a well-deserved time away, a small part feels fiercely possessive of all the patients with whom she has spent so much time. Undoubtedly, the lack of rest, the irregular hours and meals, the unceasing worry, along with the inability to take time for the meditation that centers her, have left her feeling off-kilter, as if something is somehow slightly askew. When she returns to Atlantis, catches up on her sleep, and resumes her meditiation, she will feel more herself.
After she finishes and returns her dishes, she puts her isolation gear back on hopefully for the last time, and visits the patients. Because of the others, she has time to sit and talk with Danal for a few moments, who is awake and alert, who has a bright, engaged look, the same as before he fell ill. His recovery seems assured now, though Teyla knows never to assume-it is almost like tempting fate. But still, some of the heaviness weighing her down slips away, and she feels lighter, just for seeing his smile.
She says goodbye to the patients, leaving them with as many kind and encouraging words as she can find, then thanks Rhan, Aln, and Nadna for the opportunity and the privilege of working with them. At one end of the ward, Carson and Dr. Borzakov are deep in conversation, and it does not necessarily look as if it is pleasant. Carson has squared his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest, and it makes him look bigger, broader, more intimidating, and his heavy brows are drawn down. If she could see his mouth below the mask, she thinks it would be set in a straight, thin line. Borzakov, a smaller man the size of Dr. Zelenka, matches him in an identical stance, apparently every bit as stubborn as Carson. It seems to be a common trait amongst doctors, whether they are Atlantean or any other healer she has ever known.
They keep their voices low enough she cannot understand them and patients cannot hear them. She is not certain how long they will argue, but she is too weary to wait for Carson's attention. With a sigh, she strips off her isolation gear, washes and disinfects, and returns to their room to pack up. Dr. Gasquet has already made noises about leaving now that reinforcements are here, and has packed up his own equipment, but it looks as if perhaps Carson and Biro are not quite ready. A tiny part within her contemplates leaving Biro and Carson in the care of the Marines and returning to Atlantis. She has no doubts that the Marines who came with them can offer more than adequate protection-she has sparred against them all, and she knows their strengths-but that is not the point. It is more a matter of keeping faith with the trust those in Atlantis placed with her when she agreed to accompany them to Suelta. It is her appointed task, and she will complete it, it is only weariness that makes her think such a thing at all.
After Teyla hunts down Malan and arranges for him to bring around the wagon they had used several days ago, Teyla then searches for and finds Biro typing rapidly in an out of the way corner, her expression focused and intent. Biro does not look up as Teyla approaches, but stops for a bare second to point to several cases stacked by the outer door, out of the way. ”Things I'm taking back,” she says, then swears and backspaces over whatever she had typed. ”Get one of those handsome, strapping young Marines to load them for us. They're not doing much of anything other than flexing their muscles anyway. It's good to give them purpose.”
”Are you otherwise ready, Dr. Biro?” Teyla hesitates to ask, well-conditioned by Rodney to never interrupt typing. But if Biro has not packed her personal belongings, Teyla can do so for her; she has little to do until they are all ready.
”Yes. And more than willing to leave. A hot shower, a hot meal, and a warm bed. Those are my priorities, in that order. Well. After getting all this to the lab and getting the specimens stowed safely away, then they're my priorities.” She glances up and flashes a quick grin.
”And they are mine as well. I find that I long for my shower and my soap with a strength previously reserved only for chocolate,” Teyla replies, and Biro laughs, sharp and bright.
”That's a lot of longing, all right,” she says. ”I'll be done in a few moments. Gasquet was carrying on about leaving as well. Carson, the last time I saw, was arguing with Borzakov. A Scot and a Russian. It's bound to turn out badly.”
Teyla does not bother to ask about the subject of their argument-it is their field, not hers, and does not concern her. ”I will see if I can convince Dr. Beckett that it is time to leave.”
”You do that,” Biro says absently, already absorbed again in what she types. At first Teyla had taken offense at how most of the scientists would summarily dismiss her, but she has since learned they mean nothing negative by it; they seldom bother with the niceties of proper social conduct, their minds already running on to the next set of problems. They treat her no differently than they treat their own comrades, so she lets it go.
She finally tracks Carson down, finding him speaking with Dr. Raavi, a tiny woman with huge dark eyes and a firm set to her jaw. Carson's body language does not seem aggressive now, his hands describing arcs as he speaks. Although she cannot hear his words, she can hear the lilt of his native tongue in his voice, the music there much more apparent when he is tired or stressed or annoyed. She thinks she would like, sometime, to hear him speak in his own language when he is happy; it would be quite pleasant to the ear.
When Dr. Raavi nods and turns away, Carson looks a little less troubled. He makes a movement that she has seen often enough on Atlantis; had he been wearing his long white coat, he would have put his hands in the pockets. As it is, he fumbles the movement into something else. Teyla thinks that when they return, she will offer him one of the smooth stones that she keeps in her pocket to use as a focus to help calm herself.
”Dr. Beckett,” she says, raising her voice, and he looks up. She can see the flicker of thoughts through his eyes, the shuffle and catagorization of information; like Rodney, he never stops thinking, and even tired, he can outpace most. Although she wishes to say, it is time to go home now, she does not, knowing that more demands will not be met well by him at this time, and tries a different road to the same destination. ”I came to see if you needed any help with last minute packing before we return to Atlantis.”
Carson blinks at her, and she can see his focus shift. He has shed his isolation gear, because he and Raavi were not close to patients, and he rubs his eyes. ”I think not,” he says finally. ”Anne is the one with the samples. I've only my laptops and backpack and my personal equipment. Everything else stays here for Raavi and Borzakov.” The sharp little twist Carson gives to Dr. Borzakov's name proves that whatever they argued about, Carson remains angry beneath the surface calm.
”I will then start packing the wagon for our return trip to the jumper. I do not think it will take very long, and will come to get you when we are finished.”
”Aye, fine then,” Carson replies, and Teyla can see that it is not fine, truly, but that he will not take issue with her, and Teyla is glad, because she is tired enough herself that she feels edgier, and to her shame she does not think it would take much of Carson's stubbornness to tip her into saying something she ordinarily would not. She knows it is not Carson's fault, nor hers, but words said in anger are not easily forgotten.
Teyla inclines her head, then turns on her heel to find the Marines. Fitzgerald and Jackson are willing to help, and between the three of them, it takes little time to load everyone's sample cases, equipment, and personal belongings. Biro takes the front bench seat of the wagon with Malan, and Gasquet settles in amongst boxes and bags, along with Fitzgerald, who has decided to accompany them to help load everything into the jumper. It leaves only Carson, and Teyla heaves a mental sigh and goes off to find him once more. She had not thought it would be so difficult to pull him away.
Carson stands at the entrance to the ward, watching the buzz of activity, his arms crossed over his chest. Teyla steps up next to him, following the direction of his gaze.
”I too felt reluctance to leave them after caring for them so long,” she says after a moment. ”I felt...that they were mine, that no one could care for them as I could. It is foolish for me to think such a thing, is it not?”
Carson stirs, and some of the tension she feels radiating from him eases, if only a little. ”No,” he says finally. ”It isn't, really. The act of nursing someone is intimate. Not in the sexual sense, of course, but you've been close both physically and emotionally, you've been responsible for every aspect of their care, and they've depended on you for everything, even for their very lives. You become involved, invested. It's difficult to let go of that, sometimes.”
”Yes,” Teyla replies. ”I find it so. But our lives are not here, now. We have other responsibilities, and the Sueltans will be cared for as well as we could. Better, given that it was you and Dr. Biro who found the cure, found the way to lift the quarantine so that more hands could come to help. It is something of which you can be glad, Carson. Let others continue on where you began, and be proud of what you have done. All the lives you have saved.”
For a handful of heartbeats Carson stands quiet and unmoving, but then he stirs, his hand folding over her shoulder, squeezing gently. ”One of the things I've always treasured about you is your ability to see things so clearly.” His mouth curves into a smile, small but true. ”Let's go home, shall we?”
”Yes,” Teyla replies, and gives his fingers on her shoulder a quick stroke with her own.
Outside, the day is bright and sharp, and Teyla breathes in the scent of cold and woodsmoke and leaves, tucking it away in memory. At the wagon, Carson settles while Teyla zips up her tac vest and clips on her P90. She feels certain they will not need it, but cannot resist old habits; it is always best to be prepared for the unexpected. Carson sits on the back of the wagon and moves over to give her room, and his thigh is warm against her own.
Once they arrive at the jumper and uncloak it they load in all their equipment as well as the supplies received in trade from the Sueltans, left beside the Gate, protected by a tarp. When they close the back hatch, they are surrounded by the scents of autumn, dry and crisp, of herbs and spices, welcomed after nothing but days of the smell of sickness and sweat and fear. Biro takes the co-pilot's seat, and Teyla stands behind Carson who sits in the pilot's chair, one hand on his shoulder. From the front viewscreen, Fitzgerald gives them a jaunty wave as they rise into the air, and then Carson dials the Gate, Teyla inputs her code, and they slide through the event horizon, toward Atlantis, home.
”Welcome back,” Dr. Weir says through the radio as they brake to a stop and then begin lifting upward to the docking bay. ”It's good to see you home.”
”And it's very good to be home,” Carson replies, his attention on the controls, though by this time Atlantis has taken control of the whole docking procedure. ”Elizabeth. Be advised that Atlantis may lock us down in quarantine once we open the hatch, even though we've been as careful as humanly possible. If so, have Dr. Jameson initiate Protocol A.”
”Understood,” Dr. Weir replies.
Carson releases the hatch, and it thumps slightly as it hits the decking. They all look at one another, and then Carson gets up and walks out onto the ramp, his movements cautious, as if expecting an attack of some sort. He steps out into the jumper bay, but no alarms go off, no secondary blast doors sliding closed to seal them in. He smiles, and then the rest of them step out, and never has Teyla been so glad to have such an unremarkable welcome home.
The bay doors slide open, and Dr. Weir steps in with a smile. ”And there you all are,” she says, her gaze taking in all of them. ”We've missed you.”
”And I must say, I'm gratified that you didn't blow yourself up,” Rodney says, stepping around the doorway, Colonel Sheppard and Ronon close behind. ”Um. Not that I was particularly worried, or anything. I did provide excellent instruction in how to set up the generator, after all.”
”Of course you did, Rodney,” Teyla says, warmed by their presence; she had not expected them to meet her, as it is late into Atlantis' evening though it was mid-afternoon on Suelta. ”I could not have done it without you.”
She sees Sheppard roll his eyes, but Rodney smiles, pleased, and his hands move in some sort of complicated pattern that means something only to him. ”Of course not. I mean, you do have some natural, native intelligence, but even so, I doubt that without my clear and concise instructions you could have...”
Sheppard interrupts with an elbow to Rodney's ribs before Rodney can say anything else. ”Good to have you home, Teyla,” he says, and the corner of his mouth crooks upward. ”And you brought back everyone in one piece.” His greenish eyes glint in amusement as they slide to Carson, standing at her side; he has, on occasion, had difficulties with Carson on away missions. ”Congratulations. I'm not sure I'd have been able to do it.”
Carson's chin lifts a little, but before he can say anything in reply, Ronon shoulders through them and grinning, pulls her into a brief, but heartfelt hug. ”Missed you. Sheppard's been uppity since you were gone, and McKay's been an ass. More than usual.”
”Hey! I'm standing right here and not deaf!” Rodney says, ruffled and offended.
”And of course you were your own sweet and gentle self all the time I was gone,” Teyla replies, and Ronon's grin grows bigger.
”Of course,” he replies, and then his nose wrinkles. ”You should really take a shower. You all smell like a herd of rasvaar.” His dark eyes laugh at her when she raises an eyebrow.
Biro most likely does not get the reference-highly insulting-but she laughs anyway. ”Yes, we're all pretty ripe by now,” Biro says. ”I plan on using all the hot water in Atlantis when I hit the shower.”
”And I think that's our cue to let you all go for some well-deserved rest,” Dr. Weir says, rubbing her hands together. ”Everyone looks exhausted. I think that Dr. Jameson and his assistants are perfectly capable of taking care of things for a while. Go, shower, sleep. Debriefing can wait until tomorrow sometime. Carson, Anne, a word with you two before you go?”
”Of course, Elizabeth,” Carson replies. His hand brushes lightly over Teyla's arm. ”Rest well,” he says softly. ”I'll see you later.”
”Certainly,” Teyla replies, and allows her team to lead her away, but she pauses at the bay door for one last glance back. Carson stands next to Elizabeth, his head tilted to listen to whatever she says, but evidently he feels her gaze and looks up for a brief moment, his eyes growing warm.
As always, Rodney speaks almost non-stop as they walk toward her room, his words bright and sharp-edged, and their spiky cadence, quite unlike Carson's soft burr, comforts her. His hands in his pockets, Sheppard ambles along at her side, the very picture of relaxation, though Teyla can almost feel the hum of tightly-leashed tension just beneath his skin. Ronon walks along behind her, light on his feet, alert as a predator, his care and loyalty all the more precious because they earned it. Though she is far from helpless, she feels reassured by them, safe and cared for; they will always be there for her.
At her door, they bid her good night, Ronon offering to get her something from the mess, which she declines; all she wants is a shower and to sleep. Their attention warms her, makes her feel a part of something greater, and she finds herself pleased to discover that they had felt as off-kilter without her as she had without them. Sheppard takes her tac vest and P90 to return to the armory, and his murmured, ”Glad you're back,” before he leaves, Ronon's nod, and Rodney's little farewell wave makes her smile.
She starts stripping the moment the door to her quarters slides closed behind her. Her room is warm, smells comfortingly of candles and familiar herbs and spices, and her bed, with its heavy embroidered covers and pillows, has never looked so welcoming. Stepping beneath the hot shower spray makes her moan in appreciation, and she washes and rinses and shampoos until she can no longer smell sickness and sweat on her skin, until she feels like herself once more, Suelta left behind in the water that swirls down the drain. For a moment, the warm water sluicing down her body makes her think of the stroke of Carson's hand down her belly, and she shivers in remembrance of his confident, deft touch.
Cursorily drying off, she stumbles out of the bathroom and barely thinks to pull back the covers before tumbling into bed. Pulling up the blankets around her shoulders, she thinks of how much she had liked feeling him curled around her, how she wishes she could feel him there again before she gives herself over into sleep.
§§§
Part Four
”There will be more time,” Teyla promises, her hand smoothing over his shoulders, his chest, pausing to trace her mark on him, and she is pleased when he shivers. ”If you so wish it.”
”I've wished it for a very long time,” Carson admits, and Teyla sees the truth in his face, always so expressive. ”In all honesty, I just never thought I'd get a second look from you.”
Teyla slides over him, pausing to kiss his mouth, and rolls to her feet easily. She feels looser and more relaxed than she has in a very long time, satisfied, and she stretches, luxuriously. ”Why would you think such a thing?”
”Good god,” he says, and she turns to see him watching her with a flattering appreciation. ”Have you bothered to look in a mirror? It's been my experience that women as beautiful as you seldom show interest in my type.”
”Then their foolishness is my gain, and I cannot be sorry for that,” she says, and is rewarded by his brilliant smile. ”I find you very pleasing, for many different reasons.” She offers him her hand and they pull him to his feet. He makes an unhappy face and plucks at the front of his boxers, wet and dark from his climax. Teyla wishes she had been able to hold him in her hand, to stroke and taste him while hard, but there will be many more opportunities to do so.
They dress quickly, stealing glances at one another, and Carson leaves first after catching her for a kiss sweet enough to make her smile against his mouth. The room smells of them, of sex and musk and sweat, and she opens the window a little to air it out so that Biro and Gasquet will not find it so oppressive when they come to rest. She rebuilds the fire, no more than coals at this point, and then steps out to work, tying back her hair. When Carson looks up at her from the screen of his notebook and his blue, blue eyes crinkle at the corners in a smile, she cannot help but return it in full, feeling warmer and more pleased than she has in recent memory, filled to the brim with hope and possibilities.
§§§
”We have the medical department working around the clock to produce sufficient quantities of the medication, so there should be no problem in supplying the Sueltans with what they need,” Dr. Weir says through their comm link via the Gate. ”I'm just thankful that they were able to isolate the organism and then find a medication that worked so quickly.”
”Dr. Beckett said that it was, in his words, 'no more than bloody luck,' but I have seen how hard they have worked in the past few days, and I know that it is anything but that. They were very determined. Are very determined yet.” The event horizon of the Gate shimmers brightly in the cold night air, always in motion, but somehow serene, like gazing over a sun-sparkled lake.
”Did Carson say how much longer he would be holding everyone in quarantine? I can't imagine that it's been easy for anyone with all the precautions that have been necessary.”
”Indeed it has not,” Teyla replies, and looks down at her hands, reddened and chapped from all the washing and disinfecting, from the constant use of latex gloves. ”But no, he has not said anything in regard to that yet other than his desire to see the patients on antibiotics at least two more days before he makes a final decision.” The days on Suelta are shorter than the Atlantis standard and it is not difficult to calculate precise times, but she knows that Carson, left to his own devices, errs on the side of caution, and given what she has seen, she cannot blame him.
”If you can hold out just a little longer, I'll send reinforcements the moment he determines that it's safe to do so. All of you are due a long-deserved rest once you get back home.”
”It will be most welcomed,” Teyla replies. She thinks longingly of her shower, of her soap that smells of Athosian spices, of her soft, comfortable bed, and she thinks of sharing all these with Carson. In all likelihood they will sleep the better part of their first day back; they have not had much more than three or four hours of sleep at any one time, and even that frequently interrupted. Given the volume of patients, the stress of working with the ill, she is beyond tired.
”Understood,” Dr. Weir says. ”Did you need any other supplies at the moment?”
Teyla looks around at the chests of prepared antibiotics and other medical essentials she has yet to load into the cart she brought to the Gate. ”I think not. It appears that you have given us almost everything that Dr. Beckett requested. We appreciate your efforts.”
”Not a problem,” Dr. Weir says. ”I just wish we could do more for everyone, but even with regular runs of the Daedalus, our supplies are limited.” She pauses, and then Teyla can hear a thread of amusement in her voice when next she speaks. ”Oh, I'm to pass along Rodney's congratulations that you've not blown up his valuable naquadah generator yet.”
Teyla cannot help but grin. ”Please tell Rodney that I am most pleased by his faith in my abilities and that I will strive to remain...unblownup.”
With a laugh, Dr. Weir signs off, and the Gate whooshes into nothingness.
Working by lamplight, Teyla wrestles the boxes and containers into the back of the cart, secures them, and arrives back in town late into the night. Unloading and helping Dr. Biro put everything where she wishes it takes another hour, and by the time they have finished, she is exhausted, her thoughts furry; except for a short nap caught in the afternoon, she has been up since long before dawn. Though they had initially attempted to keep to regular shifts of a sort, it had proved to be impossible to maintain any kind of schedule, and so they sleep when they can, usually only when they are in imminent danger of literally falling over. If nothing else, Teyla has gained a new appreciation for the dedication and hardiness of the medical staff.
Biro thanks her, and tells her that in the hours Teyla has been gone, most of the patients are showing a definite improvement, and the two who had been on respirators have been weaned from those to regular oxygen. And that is news that she welcomes joyfully; it looks as if they will lose no more-they have lost seven to this disease-far too many.
She stops by Danal's bed, and although he lies still, it looks like a normal restful sleep, his breathing regular and even. Although she wants to touch and reassure herself that he is fine, she does not, wishing to let him continue sleeping. She will say something to him tomorrow.
”Teyla,” Biro says in her ear, and it is a testament to Teyla's tiredness and dulled awareness that she has not noticed Biro's approach. ”Go sleep. Don't make me drag you there.”
At this point, Biro probably could, Teyla thinks, though the woman looks as tired as she surely does. Biro sleeps no more than the rest of them.
”I think that I shall,” Teyla replies, and offers Biro a half smile. ”Dragging will be entirely unneccessary.”
”Finally, someone who actually listens to me. How refreshing,” Biro says with asperity, and Teyla's half smile goes to full. ”And Teyla? For what it's worth, I'm glad for you and Carson. He's a good man beneath all that Scots bullheadedness, and you'll be very good for him.” She tips her head to one side, curiously birdlike. ”If it's more than just stress relief, I mean. Though I can't say there's anything wrong with just that, either.”
Of course Teyla did not truly think that what they had done together would go unnoticed by anyone, but she had, for Carson's sake, wished it would go without comment. She should have known better; this is Biro, after all. But her words are wholly without malice; Biro seems genuinely pleased. Teyla merely inclines her head in a non-answer because even though there is no true privacy in a population as small as that in Atlantis, she thinks that Carson likes to pretend that there is, and she will defer to his wishes until he says otherwise. Biro smiles at her and pats her shoulder before Teyla goes to strip out of her gear and wash up.
When she gets to their shared quarters, Carson is asleep, the only thing visible his shock of dark hair. She pulls off her clothes, not caring where or how they fall, tugs on the blankets wrapped tightly around him-he has not been asleep long enough for the bad dreams to take him, and so sleeps soundly--until she unrolls enough to slide beneath. With a sigh she curls around his back, her cheek pressing between his shoulder blades; he is so warm, like a fire. He murmurs something that might be her name, fumbling for her hand, pressing it against his stomach beneath his own hand, before sliding back into sleep. She follows a breath or two later.
It seems no time passes before Biro calls them, and Teyla struggles out of sleep, feeling so heavy, weighted by weariness that she can barely move. Carson has curled around her at some point, and he strokes her belly, presses a kiss to the top of her shoulder, and whispers, ”Sleep a bit more then, love, you were out late last night.” Teyla does not argue, and falls asleep again.
Biro rousts her out an hour later, apologetic, but she and Gasquet need to sleep, and so Teyla rises, pulls on her clothes, and goes to work. Carson has left some of the tea for her, bread and cheese, and she eats quickly, looking at the wakening patients.
They look considerably better, even to her untrained eye-no pallor, no fever flush, no gasping for air like a caught fish brought to land. Some still cough, but it lacks the horrible throat-tearing sound of before, and fewer now wear oxygen. She has not had to clean up the results of unsteady stomachs for at least a day. Clearly, the medication works for them, and as she sees no new faces since yesterday, she fervently hopes the disease has begun to run its course.
With her own breakfast taken, Teyla goes to the kitchen and begins bringing up broth and bread for the patients. Most can now feed themselves, which makes the work of the caretakers much easier. She and Aln and Nadna, the two volunteers, have worked out a system of caring for them, as Rhan and Dr. Gasquet work more with the physicians. Nadna sleeps now, but Aln is about, and always has something optimistic to say, a kind word; she had traded with Teyla's father, years ago, and so Teyla had been glad to work with her, to see her again, though she wishes it had been under far different circumstances.
The day passes, as have the others, rapidly, filled with work. Teyla watches Carson from the corner of her eye as he moves from patient to patient, giving medications, performing examinations, soft-spoken and gentle. He always has a touch to offer, and that had been one of the things that first caught her eye when she came to live in Atlantis; unlike her own people, they do not touch often, spending most of their lives isolated from something that offers so much comfort. Carson touches, connects, and unlike most Atlantean men, is not afraid or ashamed to let his emotions show; she likes this honesty very much.
When Biro rises, she and Carson confer, dark and light heads close as they study lab results, charts and graphs and what appears to be a blob surrounded by a halo. She steps up closer between them to look at it, and Carson's hand rests lightly on her back.
”Is this it? The cause of all this?” she asks.
”Aye, it is,” Carson answers. ”The source of all our grief here. Looks rather innocent, doesn't it?”
”It is almost pretty,” Teyla observes, watching the representation spin on the screen, layers of red and blue and green, oddly-shaped internal parts of yellow and orange and purple.
”Color enhancement,” Biro replies, ”so we can see the structure more clearly. But yes, you're correct-it is almost pretty.”
”I am no scientist, but it remains true in most situations that what appears most fair is often foul,” Teyla says.
”Unfortunately, you're quite right in that,” Carson says. ”And there's little to be done about it.” He makes a little musical hum, his eyes thoughtful. ”Anne and I will be taking samples shortly from all the afflicted. We'll culture them, and see what, if anything, grows. With a wee bit of luck we'll have beaten it.”
”Cultures take twenty-four hours,” Biro continues, ”so we'll know late tomorrow. And if nothing grows out, we can drop the quarantine and get some help in from Atlantis.” She rolls her shoulders, which are clearly drawn tight with tension. ”I for one will be glad for reinforcements. Never thought I'd end up being a Jill-of-All-Trades.”
”It never harmed anyone to learn a new skillset, and think of how it builds character,” Carson says, and even behind his mask his grin is teasing.
”As you so frequently say, bugger off. My character has been fully constructed for some time, thank you,” Biro says. ”And now my character and I will start collecting specimens. Feel free to join me at any time.”
And with that, she turns away to pick up supplies. Aln has gone to rest, and Nadna has taken her place, glancing at them occasionally, curiosity very clearly written on his face. The Sueltans are traders, but their tech level is low, and everything the Atlanteans brought seems miraculous to them. Teyla herself had thought so when first she and her people went to Atlantis, and even now, after all this time, the wonder has not worn away. Often she wonders how far they could have advanced as a culture had the Wraith not culled them almost to extinction-hundreds of years ago and uncounted planets in the past, they had once been as advanced as the Satedans. She is not sure anyone knows where they once originated.
Carson's hand slides down to her lower back, a little caress before leaning in closer. ”You look suddenly serious. Are you all right, my dear?”
Teyla pushes away her thoughts, as it serves no purpose to dwell on an unchangable past. She finds a smile and offers it to him. ”I am fine. I was just...woolgathering, as you would say.”
”I've been known to do a bit of that myself,” Carson replies. His eyes suddenly crinkle in amusement. ”And there's a statement I'll never be saying in front of Rodney. Lord, I'd never hear the end of it.”
”No you would not,” Teyla replies. ”He is quite tenacious.” She does not understand all the references they make, but fully understands the sentiment behind them. Though they are frequently sharp and biting with one another, they are still good friends beneath it all, and she is very glad, for Rodney has so few of them.
They separate to their tasks, working steadily into the evening. Teyla finds a moment to stop and speak with Danal, alert and awake, breathing with the help of oxygen. She holds his cool hands in her own, wishing she could touch skin to skin, and tells him of the events of the past few days, as he has no memory of much of it. When she steps away to work and to let him sleep, she feels bouyed by hope; Danal has been a part of her life since she was a small girl, going on diplomatic missions with her father, trading missions with her mother. She has so little stability in her world that she holds fiercely to everything and everyone she can.
When it is time to sleep, Teyla goes alone, as Carson and Biro are working on medications and premliminary test results. She has given up any pretense of sleeping on her own pallet, and dragged her own over to his; with both sets of mats and blankets, she finds their bed much more comfortable. Carson comes in sometime later, and she rouses at the brush of his beard-rough cheek, such a contrast with his soft, uncallused hands, his warm mouth.
”Lovely Teyla,” Carson murmurs and pulls her close. He is half hard against her, and she makes an effort to wake more fully, but he says, ”No, sleep now.” Teyla feels her mouth curve into a little smile, and with a final kiss to the corner of her mouth, he wraps himself around her and she falls back to sleep, warm and content.
§§§
”We're ready to check lab results,” Carson says the next evening, his voice low in her ear, and Teyla cannot prevent the little start; she had not heard him approach. Partly that is from her slowed responses, but Carson is surprisingly light on his feet, and in his rubber-soled sneakers, he is almost silent. ”Ah, sorry,” he says, and squeezes her shoulder gently.
”It is not a problem, Carson,” she says, and closes the box of supplies she has open, resisting the urge to rub the back of her neck, where the hair has risen.
”I thought you might wish to be with us when we look at them, as you've worked as hard as anyone I've ever seen. You deserve to be in on the news, for good or ill.”
Teyla feels touched by his offer. But then Carson has always treated her with respect, has never been condescending or considered her unintelligent because of her lack of formal education. She cannot say that about everyone on Atlantis. Warmth suffuses her, and she smiles up at him. ”Thank you,” she says simply.
”Not a problem,” he says, and they go to the table where Biro and Gasquet already wait, Biro bouncing a little on her toes. Her excitement is contagious, and a little frisson of anticipation spiders down Teyla's spine.
Carson pulls her close so that she can see, and then hits a key on the laptop. At first, she cannot see what she should look for amidst the scroll of numbers, but Carson reaches forward and taps the screen where the words NO GROWTH NOTED AFTER 27 HOURS shine in blue script.
It isn't until Carson scrolls through multiple screens, and Teyla sees it on every report that Biro says, ”Thank God,” reaching to give Carson a quick hug, that Teyla really believes they have their weapon, their cure.
There is a quick round of hugs and congratulatory back pats. Carson holds her the tightest and longest, his blue eyes shining with happiness, and she squeezes him just as hard in return.
”Wonderful news, undeniably,” Carson says to them, ”But this doesn't mean our work is done here. Although the town elders have done a remarkable job of enforcing quarantine, we still need to send people around the town and into the outlying areas just to make certain we've not missed anything. After fighting it this far, I'd hate to see a re-occurrence happen simply because we were lax at the last moment. We've seen a few secondary infections, but I think we've gotten atop those in time. Most that still remain on oxygen I think we can begin weaning slowly. And there will undoubtedly be last minute problems that crop up-I've yet to see things run absolutely smoothly, so expect it, and if nothing does happen, well, it's a lovely surprise, right?”
”I'll be glad to see the reinforcements from Atlantis,” Biro says. ”I think we're all worn to the bone.”
”And that's the bloody truth,” Carson says. ”You've all done a wonderful job, worked harder than anyone could ask or expect, and you've done it without complaint. I'm right proud of the lot of you. If I could give raises or bonuses-not that they have any bearing here-I would.”
Biro gives another little bounce. ”Well. I happen to know that you have a bottle of Glenmorangie you've kept hidden away from the rest of us, you selfish bastard, and that would do nicely.”
Carson's chin lifts, but his smiling eyes spoil the effect. ”I'm not that proud of you,” he says, and Biro laughs.
Cheered and enlivened by the good news, they break apart, because there still remains more than enough work to do. Carson catches Teyla's hand before she can move away. ”I know that it's very late,” he says, ”and if you'd rather wait until morning, I couldn't blame you, but if you feel up to a trip to the Gate to call for a bit of help, I think we'd all be grateful.”
It is indeed very late, but the news is so good, and help so close at hand that Teyla cannot possibly decline. ”I think I would rather go now. I am not sure that sleep would come now even if I did try, so I cannot see the point in waiting.”
”Thank you, Teyla,” Carson says, and smiles at her. He pats the table until he finds a pen, and a piece of paper, and scribbles something. ”This is a strictly volunteer mission, and I'd like for you to make that very clear if you would,” he says as he writes. ”I'm not ordering anyone to come.”
”From what I have seen, I do not think that there will be a shortage of people willing to help,” Teyla replies, trying to read over his arm.
”Aye, we're all mad as hatters, the lot of us,” he replies with a grin that she wishes she could see in its entirety. He hands her the note, and Teyla glances over it again, but closer examination does not seem to help her decipher it. ”Ah, I'm a walking cliché,” he says, and takes it back, flipping over the paper to write the list again, this time in clear, blocky script. ”Back home, doctors are noted for their abysmal writing,” he says, and hands her the note again. ”I guess that holds true here, as well.”
”It does not seem very wise given such responsibility,” she says, and this time, she can read what he has written, a list of requested supplies.
”Most of the things about us as a culture make no sense at all,” Carson says agreeably, and that is true enough. ”Be careful, then,” he says simply, with a gentle touch to her forearm, and Teyla smiles up at him before turning to leave.
By the time Teyla finds someone to get a saddled olaka for her, rides out to the Gate, gives her message to Dr. Cheung, the scientist in charge while Dr. Weir sleeps, and returns, it is the half-light of predawn. Carson waits for her outside the Great Hall beneath a lantern hanging on a hook beside the door. His hands are stuffed into his mission jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold, his breath a white cloud around him. He looks tired and cold and miserable, but when he sees her, he smiles, and it is such a sweet smile that she cannot help but return it.
”You should not have waited,” she says, gently chiding as she walks toward him, rubbing her hands together to warm them. ”I expected you to sleep. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
”As if I didn't know that. I've never seen anyone more self-sufficient,” Carson says, and shivers.
Frost lies heavy and white on everything, the air has a bitter bite, and more than once on her journey Teyla had wished for something heavier than her mission jacket. Her cheeks ache with the cold, and her fingers feel numb.
”I had to get all my notes in order for those coming, anyway,” he says. ”I'll rest better knowing that I've done that.”
”Why are you out here in the cold?” She steps up to him, and he grins and gives a little shrug.
”Well. I've not been outside in fresh air since this all began. I'd started to think I'd forgotten what it smelled and felt like, so I thought I'd step out and rediscover it.”
”And is it everything you dreamed it to be?” Teyla cannot help but tease.
”Everything and more,” he says cheekily. He pulls his hands from his pockets and cups her face in his hands. Compared to her skin, his is very warm, and his mouth on hers warmer yet, their breaths mingling whitely together. His beard is prickly, but his lips soft, and the pleasure he takes in kissing her makes something within her soften and melt, like chocolate left out in the sun. Teyla wraps her arms around him and gives herself over to sensation; it has truly been too long since she had a lover, and it is easy to forget how alive something as simple as kissing can make her feel.
He pulls away slowly, reluctantly, after a last suck on her lower lip. ”I'd give a king's ransom to not be so tired, to have time, to have privacy and a proper bed.” He wipes the wetness from her mouth with his thumb. His face is soft with longing, and Teyla wonders if her own reflects it as well.
”I would give much for the same,” she says. ”But we have none of those things, and in less than four hours we shall be busier than before. If either of us wish any sleep, then we had best take it now before they arrive.” She runs her hand over his cheek; in another day or two, his beard will be long enough to be softer, though she thinks she prefers him without a beard to hide his features.
”Aye, true enough,” he says, and the corners of his mouth curve up. ”Come along then, and we'll do the practical thing, if not the thing we want.” His hand in the small of her back guides her gently into the Great Hall, where the heat hits her like a hammer after the cold of outside.
When she crawls into their pallet, she removes only her boots and jacket, and after a moment's hesitation, Carson does the same, and curls around her. She puts her cold hands under his shirt to warm them and he jumps and swears before laughing and allowing them to remain. Teyla kisses him in apology, then again because she can, and when they are almost asleep, heavy and drowsy and warm, she kisses him again, a brush of lips over the corner of his mouth, simply because she likes it and she can.
Three and a half hours later, Teyla wakes to the arrival of the Atlantis medical team, led by Dr. Raavi and Dr. Borzakov. She does not know either well; they are recent additions from the Daedalus. Also present are a handful of nurses whose faces she recognizes simply from the repeated visits to the infirmary of her team, post-mission, and a dark-haired woman in science blue seen frequently with Dr. Zelenka. And of course there are Marines, three of them, probably there at the insistence of Colonel Sheppard, given the sheer number of personnel now on-planet. Everyone wears gowns and gloves and masks, at least until the doctors decide if enough time has passed since starting the medications that it is safe to work without them at no risk to themselves.
As Teyla had predicted, she finds herself very busy. Dr. Vargas, the engineer, catches her first and together they check over the naquadah generator, their makeshift power center, and Vargas makes unhappy noises at the unruly tangle of heavy power cables and wires leading off to various pieces of medical equipment and to the power strips for their laptops. It is not an elegant design, nor most likely as efficient as Vargas could make it, but neither Teyla or Biro are well-versed in that field, and to their credit, what they cobbled together has served them well for the past few days.
While Carson and Biro speak with the new doctors, Teyla, Aln, and Nadna speak with the nurses, filling them in with what they have done, what still needs to be done for the day, of the schedule of care they've set up. It is reassuring and gratifying to see professionals approve of what they have done and how they have done it. Aln and Nadna almost glow from the praise given them, and Teyla finds pleasure in that, because the two of them have worked so hard and deserve to hear appreciation. They divide up the patients and nurses, and the three of them introduce the new staff, reassure the patients that all will be fine, that their care will be excellent.
By the time they have finished, it is late afternoon, and Teyla realizes she has not eaten since yesterday. She brings food from the kitchen, sits in her usual place, and watches the whirl of activity as she eats. Although she is very glad to see the people here to help, curiously, she feels displaced and at loose ends. It is almost as if she has been running for a very long time and then suddenly slams into a wall, in an utter and complete stop. Even more oddly than that, she feels a twinge of resentment. She does not like housing these feelings, and turns them over in her mind, examining them carefully.
Perhaps it is because this has been her world, her responsibility, for many days, and while the greater part is happy and willing to give over everything to the new people and take a well-deserved time away, a small part feels fiercely possessive of all the patients with whom she has spent so much time. Undoubtedly, the lack of rest, the irregular hours and meals, the unceasing worry, along with the inability to take time for the meditation that centers her, have left her feeling off-kilter, as if something is somehow slightly askew. When she returns to Atlantis, catches up on her sleep, and resumes her meditiation, she will feel more herself.
After she finishes and returns her dishes, she puts her isolation gear back on hopefully for the last time, and visits the patients. Because of the others, she has time to sit and talk with Danal for a few moments, who is awake and alert, who has a bright, engaged look, the same as before he fell ill. His recovery seems assured now, though Teyla knows never to assume-it is almost like tempting fate. But still, some of the heaviness weighing her down slips away, and she feels lighter, just for seeing his smile.
She says goodbye to the patients, leaving them with as many kind and encouraging words as she can find, then thanks Rhan, Aln, and Nadna for the opportunity and the privilege of working with them. At one end of the ward, Carson and Dr. Borzakov are deep in conversation, and it does not necessarily look as if it is pleasant. Carson has squared his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest, and it makes him look bigger, broader, more intimidating, and his heavy brows are drawn down. If she could see his mouth below the mask, she thinks it would be set in a straight, thin line. Borzakov, a smaller man the size of Dr. Zelenka, matches him in an identical stance, apparently every bit as stubborn as Carson. It seems to be a common trait amongst doctors, whether they are Atlantean or any other healer she has ever known.
They keep their voices low enough she cannot understand them and patients cannot hear them. She is not certain how long they will argue, but she is too weary to wait for Carson's attention. With a sigh, she strips off her isolation gear, washes and disinfects, and returns to their room to pack up. Dr. Gasquet has already made noises about leaving now that reinforcements are here, and has packed up his own equipment, but it looks as if perhaps Carson and Biro are not quite ready. A tiny part within her contemplates leaving Biro and Carson in the care of the Marines and returning to Atlantis. She has no doubts that the Marines who came with them can offer more than adequate protection-she has sparred against them all, and she knows their strengths-but that is not the point. It is more a matter of keeping faith with the trust those in Atlantis placed with her when she agreed to accompany them to Suelta. It is her appointed task, and she will complete it, it is only weariness that makes her think such a thing at all.
After Teyla hunts down Malan and arranges for him to bring around the wagon they had used several days ago, Teyla then searches for and finds Biro typing rapidly in an out of the way corner, her expression focused and intent. Biro does not look up as Teyla approaches, but stops for a bare second to point to several cases stacked by the outer door, out of the way. ”Things I'm taking back,” she says, then swears and backspaces over whatever she had typed. ”Get one of those handsome, strapping young Marines to load them for us. They're not doing much of anything other than flexing their muscles anyway. It's good to give them purpose.”
”Are you otherwise ready, Dr. Biro?” Teyla hesitates to ask, well-conditioned by Rodney to never interrupt typing. But if Biro has not packed her personal belongings, Teyla can do so for her; she has little to do until they are all ready.
”Yes. And more than willing to leave. A hot shower, a hot meal, and a warm bed. Those are my priorities, in that order. Well. After getting all this to the lab and getting the specimens stowed safely away, then they're my priorities.” She glances up and flashes a quick grin.
”And they are mine as well. I find that I long for my shower and my soap with a strength previously reserved only for chocolate,” Teyla replies, and Biro laughs, sharp and bright.
”That's a lot of longing, all right,” she says. ”I'll be done in a few moments. Gasquet was carrying on about leaving as well. Carson, the last time I saw, was arguing with Borzakov. A Scot and a Russian. It's bound to turn out badly.”
Teyla does not bother to ask about the subject of their argument-it is their field, not hers, and does not concern her. ”I will see if I can convince Dr. Beckett that it is time to leave.”
”You do that,” Biro says absently, already absorbed again in what she types. At first Teyla had taken offense at how most of the scientists would summarily dismiss her, but she has since learned they mean nothing negative by it; they seldom bother with the niceties of proper social conduct, their minds already running on to the next set of problems. They treat her no differently than they treat their own comrades, so she lets it go.
She finally tracks Carson down, finding him speaking with Dr. Raavi, a tiny woman with huge dark eyes and a firm set to her jaw. Carson's body language does not seem aggressive now, his hands describing arcs as he speaks. Although she cannot hear his words, she can hear the lilt of his native tongue in his voice, the music there much more apparent when he is tired or stressed or annoyed. She thinks she would like, sometime, to hear him speak in his own language when he is happy; it would be quite pleasant to the ear.
When Dr. Raavi nods and turns away, Carson looks a little less troubled. He makes a movement that she has seen often enough on Atlantis; had he been wearing his long white coat, he would have put his hands in the pockets. As it is, he fumbles the movement into something else. Teyla thinks that when they return, she will offer him one of the smooth stones that she keeps in her pocket to use as a focus to help calm herself.
”Dr. Beckett,” she says, raising her voice, and he looks up. She can see the flicker of thoughts through his eyes, the shuffle and catagorization of information; like Rodney, he never stops thinking, and even tired, he can outpace most. Although she wishes to say, it is time to go home now, she does not, knowing that more demands will not be met well by him at this time, and tries a different road to the same destination. ”I came to see if you needed any help with last minute packing before we return to Atlantis.”
Carson blinks at her, and she can see his focus shift. He has shed his isolation gear, because he and Raavi were not close to patients, and he rubs his eyes. ”I think not,” he says finally. ”Anne is the one with the samples. I've only my laptops and backpack and my personal equipment. Everything else stays here for Raavi and Borzakov.” The sharp little twist Carson gives to Dr. Borzakov's name proves that whatever they argued about, Carson remains angry beneath the surface calm.
”I will then start packing the wagon for our return trip to the jumper. I do not think it will take very long, and will come to get you when we are finished.”
”Aye, fine then,” Carson replies, and Teyla can see that it is not fine, truly, but that he will not take issue with her, and Teyla is glad, because she is tired enough herself that she feels edgier, and to her shame she does not think it would take much of Carson's stubbornness to tip her into saying something she ordinarily would not. She knows it is not Carson's fault, nor hers, but words said in anger are not easily forgotten.
Teyla inclines her head, then turns on her heel to find the Marines. Fitzgerald and Jackson are willing to help, and between the three of them, it takes little time to load everyone's sample cases, equipment, and personal belongings. Biro takes the front bench seat of the wagon with Malan, and Gasquet settles in amongst boxes and bags, along with Fitzgerald, who has decided to accompany them to help load everything into the jumper. It leaves only Carson, and Teyla heaves a mental sigh and goes off to find him once more. She had not thought it would be so difficult to pull him away.
Carson stands at the entrance to the ward, watching the buzz of activity, his arms crossed over his chest. Teyla steps up next to him, following the direction of his gaze.
”I too felt reluctance to leave them after caring for them so long,” she says after a moment. ”I felt...that they were mine, that no one could care for them as I could. It is foolish for me to think such a thing, is it not?”
Carson stirs, and some of the tension she feels radiating from him eases, if only a little. ”No,” he says finally. ”It isn't, really. The act of nursing someone is intimate. Not in the sexual sense, of course, but you've been close both physically and emotionally, you've been responsible for every aspect of their care, and they've depended on you for everything, even for their very lives. You become involved, invested. It's difficult to let go of that, sometimes.”
”Yes,” Teyla replies. ”I find it so. But our lives are not here, now. We have other responsibilities, and the Sueltans will be cared for as well as we could. Better, given that it was you and Dr. Biro who found the cure, found the way to lift the quarantine so that more hands could come to help. It is something of which you can be glad, Carson. Let others continue on where you began, and be proud of what you have done. All the lives you have saved.”
For a handful of heartbeats Carson stands quiet and unmoving, but then he stirs, his hand folding over her shoulder, squeezing gently. ”One of the things I've always treasured about you is your ability to see things so clearly.” His mouth curves into a smile, small but true. ”Let's go home, shall we?”
”Yes,” Teyla replies, and gives his fingers on her shoulder a quick stroke with her own.
Outside, the day is bright and sharp, and Teyla breathes in the scent of cold and woodsmoke and leaves, tucking it away in memory. At the wagon, Carson settles while Teyla zips up her tac vest and clips on her P90. She feels certain they will not need it, but cannot resist old habits; it is always best to be prepared for the unexpected. Carson sits on the back of the wagon and moves over to give her room, and his thigh is warm against her own.
Once they arrive at the jumper and uncloak it they load in all their equipment as well as the supplies received in trade from the Sueltans, left beside the Gate, protected by a tarp. When they close the back hatch, they are surrounded by the scents of autumn, dry and crisp, of herbs and spices, welcomed after nothing but days of the smell of sickness and sweat and fear. Biro takes the co-pilot's seat, and Teyla stands behind Carson who sits in the pilot's chair, one hand on his shoulder. From the front viewscreen, Fitzgerald gives them a jaunty wave as they rise into the air, and then Carson dials the Gate, Teyla inputs her code, and they slide through the event horizon, toward Atlantis, home.
”Welcome back,” Dr. Weir says through the radio as they brake to a stop and then begin lifting upward to the docking bay. ”It's good to see you home.”
”And it's very good to be home,” Carson replies, his attention on the controls, though by this time Atlantis has taken control of the whole docking procedure. ”Elizabeth. Be advised that Atlantis may lock us down in quarantine once we open the hatch, even though we've been as careful as humanly possible. If so, have Dr. Jameson initiate Protocol A.”
”Understood,” Dr. Weir replies.
Carson releases the hatch, and it thumps slightly as it hits the decking. They all look at one another, and then Carson gets up and walks out onto the ramp, his movements cautious, as if expecting an attack of some sort. He steps out into the jumper bay, but no alarms go off, no secondary blast doors sliding closed to seal them in. He smiles, and then the rest of them step out, and never has Teyla been so glad to have such an unremarkable welcome home.
The bay doors slide open, and Dr. Weir steps in with a smile. ”And there you all are,” she says, her gaze taking in all of them. ”We've missed you.”
”And I must say, I'm gratified that you didn't blow yourself up,” Rodney says, stepping around the doorway, Colonel Sheppard and Ronon close behind. ”Um. Not that I was particularly worried, or anything. I did provide excellent instruction in how to set up the generator, after all.”
”Of course you did, Rodney,” Teyla says, warmed by their presence; she had not expected them to meet her, as it is late into Atlantis' evening though it was mid-afternoon on Suelta. ”I could not have done it without you.”
She sees Sheppard roll his eyes, but Rodney smiles, pleased, and his hands move in some sort of complicated pattern that means something only to him. ”Of course not. I mean, you do have some natural, native intelligence, but even so, I doubt that without my clear and concise instructions you could have...”
Sheppard interrupts with an elbow to Rodney's ribs before Rodney can say anything else. ”Good to have you home, Teyla,” he says, and the corner of his mouth crooks upward. ”And you brought back everyone in one piece.” His greenish eyes glint in amusement as they slide to Carson, standing at her side; he has, on occasion, had difficulties with Carson on away missions. ”Congratulations. I'm not sure I'd have been able to do it.”
Carson's chin lifts a little, but before he can say anything in reply, Ronon shoulders through them and grinning, pulls her into a brief, but heartfelt hug. ”Missed you. Sheppard's been uppity since you were gone, and McKay's been an ass. More than usual.”
”Hey! I'm standing right here and not deaf!” Rodney says, ruffled and offended.
”And of course you were your own sweet and gentle self all the time I was gone,” Teyla replies, and Ronon's grin grows bigger.
”Of course,” he replies, and then his nose wrinkles. ”You should really take a shower. You all smell like a herd of rasvaar.” His dark eyes laugh at her when she raises an eyebrow.
Biro most likely does not get the reference-highly insulting-but she laughs anyway. ”Yes, we're all pretty ripe by now,” Biro says. ”I plan on using all the hot water in Atlantis when I hit the shower.”
”And I think that's our cue to let you all go for some well-deserved rest,” Dr. Weir says, rubbing her hands together. ”Everyone looks exhausted. I think that Dr. Jameson and his assistants are perfectly capable of taking care of things for a while. Go, shower, sleep. Debriefing can wait until tomorrow sometime. Carson, Anne, a word with you two before you go?”
”Of course, Elizabeth,” Carson replies. His hand brushes lightly over Teyla's arm. ”Rest well,” he says softly. ”I'll see you later.”
”Certainly,” Teyla replies, and allows her team to lead her away, but she pauses at the bay door for one last glance back. Carson stands next to Elizabeth, his head tilted to listen to whatever she says, but evidently he feels her gaze and looks up for a brief moment, his eyes growing warm.
As always, Rodney speaks almost non-stop as they walk toward her room, his words bright and sharp-edged, and their spiky cadence, quite unlike Carson's soft burr, comforts her. His hands in his pockets, Sheppard ambles along at her side, the very picture of relaxation, though Teyla can almost feel the hum of tightly-leashed tension just beneath his skin. Ronon walks along behind her, light on his feet, alert as a predator, his care and loyalty all the more precious because they earned it. Though she is far from helpless, she feels reassured by them, safe and cared for; they will always be there for her.
At her door, they bid her good night, Ronon offering to get her something from the mess, which she declines; all she wants is a shower and to sleep. Their attention warms her, makes her feel a part of something greater, and she finds herself pleased to discover that they had felt as off-kilter without her as she had without them. Sheppard takes her tac vest and P90 to return to the armory, and his murmured, ”Glad you're back,” before he leaves, Ronon's nod, and Rodney's little farewell wave makes her smile.
She starts stripping the moment the door to her quarters slides closed behind her. Her room is warm, smells comfortingly of candles and familiar herbs and spices, and her bed, with its heavy embroidered covers and pillows, has never looked so welcoming. Stepping beneath the hot shower spray makes her moan in appreciation, and she washes and rinses and shampoos until she can no longer smell sickness and sweat on her skin, until she feels like herself once more, Suelta left behind in the water that swirls down the drain. For a moment, the warm water sluicing down her body makes her think of the stroke of Carson's hand down her belly, and she shivers in remembrance of his confident, deft touch.
Cursorily drying off, she stumbles out of the bathroom and barely thinks to pull back the covers before tumbling into bed. Pulling up the blankets around her shoulders, she thinks of how much she had liked feeling him curled around her, how she wishes she could feel him there again before she gives herself over into sleep.
§§§
Part Four