Fic: Gifts Unasked For (Atlantis, J/R/T, NC-17, 2/4)
(Part 1 here.
Something cold brushed her face, wet and very irritating. She swiped at it, but her hand was caught in a warm grip before she could wipe the damp away. She pulled back, and the hand let her go.
"Teyla," someone called softly.
She scrubbed at her cheek. A damp cloth rested against the back of her head, wrapping around to touch her face. She pushed it aside and opened her eyes. John and Dr. McKay hovered above her.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, her voice slightly roughened.
John smiled, but it seemed sad somehow. "Not anymore."
Her mouth was dry, and her head ached fiercely. She pushed herself up, both John and Dr. McKay reaching out to assist her. They were in a shadowed room, and she finally realized it was the same rustic shelter that they had passed the night in that first night on the planet.
"I fainted?"
Dr. McKay smiled. "Passed out," he said, then his eyebrows pulled down, his mouth taking a sharp turn to the side. "What do you remember?"
She squinted at him. "This is becoming repetitive."
"Well if you would stop passing out, it wouldn't be an issue," he said mildly, his voice thick and softer than his usual sharp tones.
"Rodney," John said softly. "What do you remember, Teyla?"
She sighed and laid back on the bedding. The throbbing in her head eased as she did so, but she was very tired. "Aiden attacked us, then you went after him alone, and Dr. McKay and I followed. You were unable to stop him," she finished, closing her eyes as the memory returned. She was worried for Aiden, but so very angry with him as well.
Somebody shook her shoulder.
"Stay with us, Teyla," John said. She opened her eyes to see him waving his hand in her face. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Two, " she said tiredly.
He nodded. "I think you have a concussion. A brain bruise," he added, as if she did not know what that meant. "You need to stay awake."
She raised a hand to cover her eyes, already annoyed by the headache. "I shall endeavor to do so, but I do not promise to be pleasant."
They both laughed. "Well, hell, Teyla," John said. "You can't be any worse than McKay."
"Oh, ha ha," Dr. McKay shot back. "Just because some of us don't feel the need to seduce everything in our path, we get labeled misanthropes."
"Bring out the big words, Rodney. It doesn't change anything."
"Please," she said sharply. She tried to gentle her tone. "Could you speak more softly?"
"Oh sorry, sorry," Dr. McKay whispered loudly. John squeezed her shoulder. They stood and walked away, the scuff of their shoes loud across the floor. They resumed their conversation, but now it was the mere rise and fall of distant male voices, soothing rather than stabbing.
She drifted, the pull of sleep nearly irresistible. She kept jerking awake, trying not to fall asleep. The sound of voices grew louder, strident. She opened her eyes in time to see John storm out of the hut, the rickety door shaking in his wake. Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched Dr. McKay watching the door, his whole body stiff and poised as if for a fight.
"Is there a problem?"
He turned his head toward her, but his eyes took a moment to leave whatever they were watching. "Ah, good, you're still awake," he said finally, and then turned away from her to occupy himself with something on the floor.
Teyla clenched her back teeth, but that aggravated the pain in her head. She breathed through her nose, then relaxed her jaw and let the air flow out her mouth. "At what point did you determine that I was brain-damaged?"
Dr. McKay spun around, his eyes wide. "What?"
"I was unaware that you considered me of insufficient intelligence to grasp whatever situation has occurred."
He gaped at her in a most satisfying way-until he shook his head once. "Please. I consider everyone but myself to be of insufficient intelligence to grasp much of anything."
She waited, but he did not add anything. "So then you should be used to explaining yourself to others," she prompted. "What has happened?"
Dr. McKay sighed, tossing the protein bar in his hand to the ground. "Colonel Sheppard is having some difficulty grasping the hard truths of our situation. He's off taking a little stroll through the park while I play the good wife back here."
The wife? =she wanted to ask, but Teyla reminded herself not to get distracted by Dr. McKay's idiosyncrasies. She rubbed her eyes as she asked, "And what are the hard truths of the situation?"
"I was getting to that," he muttered, but Teyla recognized another stalling tactic. That was unusual; in the past he had been more than forthright about the details of their endangerment. She waited impatiently as he turned to face her. He sat down awkwardly next to the sleeping bag.
"Fact," he said sharply. "Lieutenant Ford has taken the power supply to the jumper. Fact: The stargate is in orbit around the planet. Fact: No one on Atlantis knows where we are." He sighed again, then met her eyes. "Fact: Lieutenant Ford is highly unstable, to the point of being dangerous to our own well-being. Fact: I cannot make the jumper fly without those power crystals."
He paused, tilting his head backwards as the corner of his mouth dipped into a bitter, twisted smile before he looked back at her, face serious. "Supposition: We are stuck here for the rest of our natural lives unless Lieutenant Ford comes to his senses."
Teyla frowned. "But surely Dr. Weir will send a team after us. Even if-"
He huffed. "Yes, of course Elizabeth will send a team. But it was pure chance that we found the right gate address in the first place. If the colonel hadn't talked to that boy, if he hadn't mentioned the forbidden addresses, if I hadn't been smart enough to figure out how to dial star sixty-nine, if Ford hadn't just been through the gate in the last day, we wouldn't even be here. The odds are astronomical that the same chain of events will occur to lead them to us."
It was a strange sensation. Realization broke apart, hitting different parts of her body in drawn-out moments. First her breath locked in her chest, then a tingling chill crawled up her lower back. The tips of her fingers felt huge and extraordinarily sensitive. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she laid back down to wait it out.
"Surely Aiden will return," she said faintly.
"Yes, that is a possibility," Dr. McKay agreed, but she could tell he did not believe it.
She swallowed heavily. Her thoughts spun and looped. Halling and her people, who had already grown too distant, would be lost to her forever. They would be dependent on the good will of Dr. Weir and the Earthers, without Teyla to intercede when tempers grew hot.
She turned her head to the side, blinking away wetness. Aiden would not abandon them, even if their encounter earlier had not gone well. She could not, would not believe that he would. They might be on this world longer than they had originally foreseen, but that could be dealt with. Later, when she felt better, she would make plans to see them through until Aiden returned.
John eased the door shut, though his care didn't really matter. Both Teyla and Rodney watched him-no sneaking back in this evening. Teyla was propped up against one of the bedrolls. She looked tired, and in pain, but more alert than she had been when he'd left.
Rodney just looked pissed.
John sighed. He couldn't blame Rodney at all. He'd left his teammates behind, not once but twice, and he knew that Rodney hated him for it. It was a damned irresponsible thing to do, and John would have reamed any soldier good in his place. Rodney was going the silent route, however, which John had found to be much more effective than any in-the-face lecture he'd ever received.
"How're you feeling, Teyla?"
She smiled slightly, a polite lift of her lips that did nothing to convey happiness. "Better, although my head still hurts."
John nodded as he knelt beside her. He grasped her chin and tilted her head toward the light, waiting as she fought against the instinct to close her eyes. Her pupils looked even, thank goodness. He hadn't been sure before. A minor concussion, if that.
He sat back on the gritty floor, a small groan escaping as his own bruises made themselves known. He was tempted to find one of the cool packs from the med kit and curl up in his sleeping bag, but there were still things to be done.
"Let's talk about options," he announced. Silence answered him. Teyla inclined her head, obviously waiting. He didn't bother to look at Rodney; John could feel the force of his glare like a sunburn on his back. "O-kay. So. McKay doesn't think he can get the jumper flyable. So we try something else. Can we make some kind of beacon, some way we can alert Atlantis to our whereabouts?"
Rodney threw up his hands. "Yes, good, let's hang up a neon sign flashing 'free all-you-can-eat buffet' for the Wraith. Any other stupid ideas you'd like to share? Because really, I'm just warming up. Two for the price of one, I'll be here all night."
John grit his teeth, trying not to lash back. Rodney rarely aimed the worst of his cutting remarks at John, and he'd forgotten how irritating it could be. It didn't help that he should have thought of the Wraith threat himself.
"Fine," he said. "What about boosting the remote dial, getting a quick signal through that way?"
"That's-" and Rodney paused, his face going slack with thought, and John knew he had him. "A good idea, actually. If," he said, raising a warning finger, "if I can actually do it, which is a very big if. There's still the power issue, and it's not without danger. Ford said the Wraith will be close soon."
Ford. John rubbed a hand over his eyes, careful to steer around the puffy area under his cheekbone. He was more than amazed the blow hadn't broken his jaw, let alone knocked out any teeth. Yet another rescue mission gone horribly wrong. At least he hadn't woken an entire species of man-hunting aliens this time.
"Good enough," he told Rodney. "Just worry about making it work."
Rodney nodded, and that felt like more than it should be. John relaxed against the wall, letting the cool of the stone soak into the stiff muscles of his back.
"We should consider our supplies," Teyla said quietly. "I inventoried the rations earlier, and they will last us a week, perhaps more."
And even if Rodney had a breakthrough, they might be stuck waiting for the Wraith to move on for longer than a week. Water wasn't an issue, shelter was sufficient for their current environment, but food could definitely become a problem.
"I guess that means hunting," he said, wrinkling his nose a little at the thought. He'd never been a fan of the fresh-from-the-field menu. "Have you seen any good prospects?"
Teyla did that odd little head tilt, the one that said yes and no at the same time. "There are some large rodents that should prove sufficient, at least for the short term. If we have wire or cording I can build snares."
"Fishing line," Rodney said suddenly, and John nodded.
"There should be some in one of the kits. Will that work?"
"We shall see," she hedged.
"What about fishing?" John asked.
She shrugged. "I have not seen any fish in the streams yet, but then, I was not searching for them. Perhaps there is a better location away from this area. We could follow the streams to their confluence."
John shook his head. "No, I don't want to leave this area. Ford could show up any time, and we need to be here when he does."
"Why, so he can beat the snot out of you again?" Rodney asked, more worry than snap to the question.
"We'll just have to be careful not to provoke him," John said patiently, hoping against hope that was true. He didn't want to fight Ford in an effort to save them all. "He told us himself that he was amped up on something the Wraith did to him. It's not his fault."
Rodney didn't look pacified. "He could have killed you." He glanced over at Teyla, then back at John. "We were lucky. Don't pretend that Ford's not dangerous just because he's a friend."
"I'm not," John snapped. A tense silence filled the small room. John found himself missing the constant hum of Atlantis, the sound of people always in the background somewhere. Here, there was nothing but an occasional rattle of the wind and the high-pitched drone of insects. Not enough sound to drown out the thoughts he didn't want to have, like the possibility that Rodney might not be Superman this time, or that Ford might end up an enemy.
"Anything else we should focus on?" John asked finally.
Teyla shook her head fractionally. Her eyes were looking glazed again, probably both from pain and exhaustion. It was probably safe for her to sleep if he woke her on occasion. He looked over at Rodney, but Rodney was tapping away at his tablet notebook, his brows drawn in concentration.
John sighed, and settled more comfortably against the wall. He'd take a twenty-minute power nap, then check their perimeter again. Tomorrow they'd see about making their stay a little more comfortable.
Teyla rose from her squat, satisfied that the run she had spotted was from one of the planet's small rodent species. She backtracked to the stream where Dr. McKay was waiting, and squatted down on the bank. The motion wasn't as smooth as it should be; though she felt much better after two days of rest, her muscles were stiff and she still had a slight headache.
"Please hand me one of the snares," she asked Dr. McKay as she coated her hands in the sticky mud. He handed her the loop of cording without a word, and she rubbed it thoroughly with the mud.
"Follow me," she told him, "but try not to touch the area where I am setting the trap. You will leave your scent, and the animals will avoid it."
"Of course," Dr. McKay said, picking up the pack with their supplies and falling in step behind her. "Is that what the mud's for? To mask the scent?"
She inclined her head as she navigated away from the stream. She did not want to disrupt the area more than necessary, but she feared that it would be unavoidable with Dr. McKay following her. Still, he would not learn if she did not teach him. She had been surprised when he had volunteered to accompany her, but she suspected that he was becoming discouraged with his efforts to get them back to Atlantis.
"Stop there," she said, indicating a fallen log not far from the area she had chosen.
"Okay, right," he said, and sat heavily. "So, the idea is to get the animal to run into the loop, right?"
Teyla began tying the end of the cord to the sapling next to the break in the undergrowth. "Yes. There are several methods to anchor the snare, but you must keep the noose at head height so it catches around the neck. The animal then strangles as it attempts to get free."
"Ah," Dr. McKay said. "Is that, uh, really necessary? I mean, of course it's necessary, food and all, but it seems a little, I don't know, barbaric?"
Teyla turned back toward him. "Barbaric?"
He smiled wryly. "Never mind," he said and waved her to continue.
She watched him for another moment, but he just raised his eyebrow and waved again. Teyla returned to her work, snugging the cord against one of the small branches before she began adjusting the position of the noose.
"It bothers you, does it not?"
"I wouldn't exactly say it bothers me," Dr. McKay hedged. "It's just that they're so small, and defenseless, and gee wouldn't it be nice if we had an endless supply of PowerBars."
Teyla smiled at his attempt to hide his compassion with humor.
"I suppose this is old hat for you," he continued. "Getting back to basics."
She checked the snare over one last time. She was once again reminded of how little the Earthers knew of her people.
"Not really, no," she told him. "I have not done this since I was a child." The feel of the muddy cord brought back bittersweet memories of her father teaching her the basics of survival. She had been so eager to learn, but she could empathize with McKay's discomfort. She remembered tears streaming down her cheeks as she beheld her first catch, a small echen-limp, fuzzy, and still warm. Her father had been kind but firm as he reminded her of the realities that faced them. Their people had to be prepared for any eventuality.
"Oh," Dr. McKay said, and then he fell silent.
Teyla worked her way back to his position, debating where to lay the next snare. By the stream itself, where the animals watered? She began to retrace their steps.
"Can I ask you something, Teyla?"
The question surprised her. Dr. McKay was rarely tentative, and she wondered what he might want to know.
"Of course," she told him. "You may ask anything of me."
He did not answer immediately. She assumed he was concentrating on navigating through the woods. It was far from an old forest, and the undergrowth was thick away from the trails. All of the land she had seen thus far told a tale of past inhabitants, despite the relative lack of structures. She was sure this world had been culled to extinction some time in the past.
"Were you and Ford involved?" he asked at last. "You know, romantically?"
Teyla stumbled over a loose rock near the stream bed, catching herself with a hand on one of the sturdier trees. She stopped, feeling like she had been struck a blow. "No," she answered, but her voice was scratchy and she had to repeat herself to be heard. "We were not."
That would have been sufficient with most people, but then, Dr. McKay was not most people. "It's just that you called him Aiden several times," he continued. "Colonel Sheppard explained your custom, and I thought maybe-"
She turned to face him, and she did not know what was showing on her face, but he fell silent. His eyebrows were quirked with worry, and his face was slightly pink. Teyla took a deep breath.
"Aiden is my friend," she told him. "But there have been times that I thought we might become more." Times when his warm eyes sparkled with interest, and times they grew black with concern. Her stomach felt like it had knotted itself into an unworkable tangle. "It is not something I dwell upon."
Dr. McKay nodded. "I'm sorry."
She held his eyes, uncertain of what to say. The woods grew active as they stayed silent, distant birds singing and flies buzzing nearby. Teyla found that she wanted to tell him more, tell him about her concerns and her hopes, about the ways that Aiden had supported her through difficult times. But she could not find the words.
"Rodney," he blurted.
"Excuse me?"
Dr. McKay rolled his eyes. "I mean, you should call me Rodney. You know, if you'd like. There's no reason to call me doctor."
Some of the knot melted away with happy surprise. "You do not have to permit that out of a sense of obligation," she told him anyway.
He snorted. "Please. When have you known me to do something because of societal expectation?"
She tried to gauge his sincerity. "Very well, Rodney," she smiled. He smiled back warmly. "Thank you."
The moment dragged out into awkwardness as neither of them found anything to say. Teyla turned back toward the stream. "We should resume our work. We have to place many snares in order to capture one animal."
"Ah, yes," Rodney said from behind her. "Probability. I wonder if there's a way to determine the best ratio of snares to rabbits per plot of land."
Teyla smiled as he continued to discuss applying mathematics to hunting. She did not understand much of what he said, but that did not matter at all.
The big continent was coming up again, the jagged line of the shelf growing on the curve of the planet. Aiden decided he was going to name that one New Chicago, 'cause it kind of looked like a bear. He wasn't so sure of the others, two small chunks of land on the other side of the planet that didn't look like much of anything. Maybe on the next swing he'd figure out the smallest one. If not, well, he didn't have much else on his schedule.
He tried to look away as the land mass grew, but his eyes were drawn to the same spot every time he circled the planet. A few hundred miles interior of the coastal mountain range, but before the major river system that cut the continent in half. They were down there somewhere. He couldn't pick out their lifesigns from that of the flora and fauna, which made him grateful and worried at the same time. The Wraith would have to get closer to the planet to notice three lone humans, and they had no reason to do so. The advance ships had already passed through the system without paying any attention to this planet.
Aiden sighed. The memories just kept replaying in his head, every step he'd taken on the cruiser two days ago. Foot soldiers everywhere, but they were dumb, never doing anything unless one of the fancy dudes told them to. The key was to blend in, follow along, don't call any attention to his differences, then slip in and make his move. The whole ship smelled like frogs, like summer evenings gigging on the pond with his grandpa. Didn't sound like it, though. Just the heavy steps of the soldiers and the weird hum of the ship.
There was always a lab. Slip in, hold out his arm, get a shot of the goo. The witch doctor dude never asked anything, not on any of the ships he'd infiltrated. The Wraith couldn't conceive of their food trying anything so ballsy. That was fine with him; walking right into the engine room for a little sabotage was beyond easy. He remembered the old Dr. Weir talking about the Ancients trying to negotiate, of all things, and then tucking tail and running when their fancy ships and satellites didn't work. He bet they'd never tried taking the fight to the Wraith.
He rubbed at the weird ridges on the side of his face. Going on three months now, stealing meds and blowing up engines whenever he could, and every mission had kept getting easier. Until this last one. He knew they all kept a supply of humans, had even seen the cocoons a time or two, but those had only held dead bodies, desiccated husks that he could ignore. This time, right after he'd gotten the shot, he'd passed by a honeycomb of people, wrapped and paralyzed but still alive.
He'd expected the fury, and the disgust. There was no way in hell he'd been prepared for the...yearning that ate at him. He'd wanted to touch those people and see what was inside.
Aiden shuddered and pushed the thought away. New Chicago was drifting away below him, taking away the temptation to see his team again. They were safe down there, he knew that, even if he couldn't see them on his display. Teyla was too big of a bad-ass to let anything take them down, and Dr. McKay would either think or talk a problem to death. And Major Sheppard was too stubborn to let anything happen to his people.
He smiled. No, his team would be just fine. There wasn't any reason to go looking in on them like they were babies. Aiden had his own mission to worry about.
Rodney stared at the stew pot perched precariously over the open flames, thinking about internal combustion engines as steam escaped from the lid. If only. Ancient technology was so far beyond that stage that to even contemplate some kind of interface between the two was ludicrous. Not that he could make an engine if he wanted to; twigs and stones were fine for a cooking fire, but didn't do much for creating and harnessing explosive power. No, he'd need to find metal ore, and mine it, smelt and cast it, all of which would take most of a single lifetime with the equipment he had now.
He might as well resign himself to squirbit stew for a very long time. The snares they had set had yielded a catch after only a day. He wondered if they'd have to worry about overhunting, or if the population would increase to keep up with their predation.
"I don't think it's going anywhere, Rodney."
He blinked, breaking away from the state he'd been locked in. John was squatting beside the fire, cautiously lifting the lid of the pot.
"No, that seems to be the common theme lately," he muttered. John ignored him.
"Well, it doesn't smell awful," John said, wrinkling his nose as he peered through the steam. "Maybe it won't be so bad."
Rodney snorted. "What do you care? Don't they train you to eat dead opossum and worms?"
John rolled his eyes. "I'm not a Marine, Rodney. We don't feel it's necessary to prove our masculinity by playing chicken with botulism."
"No, no, you just like to perform death-defying acts at speeds humans were not meant to survive, encased in a flimsy metal shell kilometres above nice, safe land."
John grinned, and Rodney could see the stereotypical flyboy come out to play. "Well, yeah, but that's fun." All he needed were those aviator shades and a bevy of blonde bombshells hanging off his arm, and John could have his own leading role in an eighties movie. Top Air Dog, or Steel Eagles, or something equally as ridiculous.
Rodney shook his head and let it go. He had to admit that flying the puddlejumper was a hell of a thrill. He had a lot more faith in Ancient engineering than he did human, though. John peered back down at the pot, shrugged, and dropped the lid.
"At least we won't starve to death," he said to John. "Die of misaligned discs, that's a distinct possibility."
Teyla returned from wherever she'd been, stopping to check the stew before she seated herself across from Rodney.
"The floor's better than a lot of ground we've slept on, McKay."
Rodney shrugged. "Which isn't saying much. Why didn't the SGC think ahead and pack inflatable mattresses? They don't take up that much room."
"And we wouldn't even need an air compressor with you around," John said quietly, just loud enough that Rodney knew John was trying to get a rise out of him.
"Oh, ha ha. I'm just saying, a fighting force would be that much more efficient if they weren't creaking and groaning every day because they had to sleep on the ground."
"I agree," Teyla said.
"Really?" Rodney asked, rather surprised that someone as tough and used to hardship as Teyla would admit to such a thing.
She nodded. "It would not be difficult to fashion a mattress from these grasses," she said, pointing to the waving green that surrounded them. "Once dried, they would provide some padding under our bedding."
"Oh, fabulous," he said. "We can use one of the tarps as a casing. Wait. What about mold? And are we sure the grass is safe? I don't want to die in my sleep from my lungs shutting down."
"You walk through it every day, Rodney," John said, but Teyla cocked her head to the side, looking thoughtful.
"I do not believe it will cause any problems," she said. "It will need to dry thoroughly, and we must take care to not let it get damp. But I think it is worth the attempt. If it is not successful, we do not have to use it."
Rodney smiled at the thought of honest-to-goodness padding. "That's an excellent point," he conceded. "Very practical."
Teyla smiled back at him. He turned to John, waiting for some smart remark about his practicality, but John was staring off into the distance, making a face similar to when he'd checked out the stew.
"Mowing the lawn, huh?" John asked, still not looking at Rodney. He stood up, brushing at the back of his pants. "We'll take care of it, and you come up with a way to get us home."
John pulled out his knife and Teyla followed suit. Rodney watched them, John's optimism a wedge in his throat that pretty much killed his appetite.
John tossed a twig into the fire, watching the sparks spin upwards on the heat draft, then get tossed to the side as the cooler breeze gusted. His stomach was full, but he felt far from sated. Nearly a week of mostly wild game, barely enough of their diet supplemented by divvied-up MRE's to make a difference. The thought of a stale cracker with lumpy jelly made his mouth water like crazy. If they were here much longer, they'd have to start experimenting with the local vegetation. If, he told himself. If.
He was warm from the fire, so he slipped off his jacket, wadded it into a ball for a pillow, and lounged back to stare up at the sky. His eyes slowly recovered from the fire dazzle, stars taking the place of the false brightness. So many stars. It was a decectively beautiful sight. He'd never be able to look up again without knowing the truth. When he was younger, he'd dreamed of flying among the stars, finding peace and connection and everything else he'd wanted. Now the stars were simply a reminder of their enemies out there.
Rodney stirred beside him, tossing a twig of his own into the fire. John could see the sparks rise in his peripheral vision. Something about fire was magnetic to the human soul. Teyla had bragged to him that first day that her people had mastered fire. He thought that was overly hopeful. Men could do a lot with fire-roast rodents, power jets, make hive ships explode-but that wasn't the same as mastery.
"Do you think we should try some different type of hunting, Teyla?" Rodney asked. It was out of the blue, his voice loud in the quiet, but John was deep enough into his own thoughts that the sudden intrusion didn't bother him. "Give the squirbits a rest?"
Teyla said something, but John was busy trying to process Rodney's last statement into something that made sense. Usually he only had a hard time following Rodney when Rodney went into theoretical astrophysicist mode. "Squarebit? Is that what you said?"
John could feel their stares in the sudden silence, the crackle of the fire loud and close. He bet Teyla looked startled, wondering at his rudeness. Rodney was probably rolling his eyes and deciding whether he was worth answering.
"Squirbit, Colonel. As in a cross between squirrel and rabbit?"
John snorted. "That's as bad as anything Ford's ever come up with. No more naming for you, either."
The silence was different this time. Fraught. Waiting. John swallowed and concentrated on the stars. There was an elongated loop that reminded him of the fall of fireworks on the fourth of July. The purple and green kind.
Rodney laughed softly. "He was always suggesting new ones whenever you were out of earshot," he said quietly. "Remember that horsecart back on M3-995?"
"He called it a," Teyla paused, her voice incredulous, "booger?"
"A boogy," Rodney corrected with a laugh. "Because it was a buggy that looked like it was dancing."
"No," John ordered flatly.
"No?" Rodney asked, a moment before Teyla's "Is there something wrong?"
John sat up, blinking at the brightness of the fire. "We are not doing this. Ford isn't dead, and we're not going to sit around eulogizing him."
"Excuse me? We're just talking."
John picked up a fat stick and poked the fire. "No, you're not just talking. You're sitting around remembering all the good things about the friend you've lost. Believe me, I've heard it all before, and we're not doing it for Ford. Not yet, not ever if I can help it."
Another twig came flying at the flames. "And how do you intend to do that, Colonel? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like we're stuck on this planet, awaiting the good lieutenant's whim to come back and save our asses. That's assuming he doesn't get himself killed doing whatever crazy thing he's off doing."
John shoved against one of the logs, snapping his stick in half. "Why do you have to be so damn pessimistic all the time, Rodney?"
"Why can't you accept reality?"
He tossed the other end of the stick into the flames. "I'm very aware of reality, McKay. I just don't give up when things get a little hard."
That was harsh-too harsh, not to mention untrue. Rodney should have his head for it, but he didn't say a word. John thought about apologizing, but he was so sick of the what-ifs and things he couldn't fix, sick of the thought of Ford out there by himself, that his tongue tangled on all of the different things he wanted to say.
"I simply want to talk about my friend," Teyla said. "Is that so wrong?"
He shook his head, then got to his feet. Teyla was always so sure of herself, always so sure of the right path. He liked that about her, but it also drove him nuts when the only thing he could see was a tangle of bad and worse choices.
"You do that," he told her, and then gave in to the urge to get away. He stalked toward the northern woods, figuring he'd give the jumper a once-over. They were getting lax with security, not even bothering to keep watch at night anymore. But the planet was barren, and the door to the cabin was so damn creaky Ford wouldn't be able to sneak in. Sharing a bed together kept them warmer, anyway, even if it was a little cramped.
John was being an ass and he knew it. Rodney was right. John had never known anyone as brilliant as Rodney, and sometimes he thought Rodney could do anything he set his mind to doing. But John knew that something couldn't be created from nothing-not without some Ancient handwaving, anyway. They couldn't even figure out how to send a signal home. They were stuck here-Rodney and Teyla were exiled from everyone and everything they cared about-unless Ford came to his senses.
Unless Ford had some sense knocked into him.
It was a hell of a thing, having to choose between lives, but he'd done it before. He wasn't going to give up on Ford, not yet. But Rodney and Teyla deserved better. Ford was a good kid, a great second in command, maybe a even a brother in some ways. He was military, though, a Marine.
As John waded through the thick grass of the second clearing, he knew that he would do whatever he had to do. That didn't stop the sick feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with squirbit stew. He opened the jumper hatch, climbed in, and shut it behind him. He headed right to his seat and settled in. It was too dark outside for anything to show through the hazy front screen, but he stared at it anyway.
John ran his hands over the controls, but they were only dead cylinders, nothing more than joysticks on a broken video game. His thumbs worked restlessly over the strange plastic-y feel of them as he finally acknowledged the truth that had been hiding in the back of his mind for a very long time.
He would choose Rodney and Teyla over Aiden.
John let go of the controls and sat back, snugging his hands under his armpits. He wasn't sure what he wouldn't do for Rodney and Teyla, and that scared him more than the Wraith.
If he didn't know better, Rodney would say they were completely oblivious to his presence. But he did know better, and he was sure that even though Teyla and John seemed intent only on each other, on the sticks flying between them, that they had noticed him as soon as he had taken a seat.
The sky was hazy, that late afternoon aqua that came before the red shift of the setting sun. It'd be dark in a few hours, but for now the light was good, the air was warm but not too warm, and John and Teyla looked like they planned on going at it until it was too dark to see. John had been withdrawn the past couple of days, and Rodney thought he was trying to burn off whatever was bothering him.
Rodney had seen them spar before, a few times, but he had always taken surreptitious glances, not wanting to intrude, not wanting to look too interested. But right now they were the equivalent to TV, the movies, and a good book all rolled into one, so he watched. John was much better than he used to be. Teyla was in control, but John pressed her closely. Rodney tried to watch for the individual movements, tried to notice their technique, but they moved so quickly and smoothly that it was impossible.
John burst into motion, his sticks beating down against Teyla's over and over furiously, driving her into retreat. Rodney felt himself standing, disconnected, worried, as suddenly John planted a foot behind her own and hooked an arm across her neck.
John went flying.
Rodney sat back down.
Teyla kicked the stick John still had out of his hand, then pressed a knee into his chest. Rodney could only see the side of her face; her hair wild and free, strands stuck to her cheek and neck with sweat, her lips pursed and her eyebrow arched. He wasn't sure if she was pissed or not, but she looked fierce.
"I think perhaps we are done for the day," she told John. They held the pose for a long moment. Rodney couldn't see John's face at all, but he was probably scowling, grumpy that Teyla was calling the shots. Then she stood back and extended a hand, helping John up. They did the forehead thing before they both turned towards Rodney, faces almost identically bland and pleasant.
"Rodney," John said, and Teyla nodded.
"Have fun getting the crap beat out of yourself, Colonel?"
John smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. Rodney tensed, knowing that something bad was coming.
"Oh, I had a great time," John said. "But I've been thinking. We should really spend some more time working on your defensive abilities. Say, right now."
Oh, yes. Definitely bad. "I don't see the point," he protested quickly. "Trapped on an empty planet, remember? Not a lot of bad guys to beat up." Or be beaten up by, which was by far the more likely scenario.
John crossed his arms, retrieved sticks poking out like skeletal fingers. "You never know when you're going to have to defend yourself," he said. "I think it's a very good idea."
Rodney crossed his own arms. "Well, I don't."
John dropped his arms with a gusty sigh. "Look. Just try. It might make a difference some day."
Rodney glanced at Teyla, who was watching them carefully. It occurred to him that John had pretty much volunteered her as well.
"I will not hurt you, Rodney," she said quietly.
He somehow doubted that, though he was sure she'd be a lot nicer to him starting out than she was to John. He looked back at John, already feeling himself giving in, but not quite ready to concede yet. Maybe it was the way John wouldn't quite meet his eyes, or maybe it was the honest concern in his voice.
"I'll do your weapon maintenance today," John wheedled, completely losing his hard-ass command attitude. Rodney nearly laughed, but he knew a good deal when he heard one. Not that he couldn't handle something as simple as cleaning his gun, but he wasn't going to let that offer go.
"Fine," he said. "I suppose I can work it into my pressing schedule this afternoon."
John grinned at him. He grinned back.
Then John handed him the sticks, and Rodney remembered what he'd volunteered to do. Teyla stepped forward as John walked over to the sitting rock. She simply began explaining how to hold the sticks properly, however, and he relaxed a little. Soon enough they were going through the different steps and stances, which weren't too bad. He felt like a lumbering giant next to her, slow and stiff and awkward, but she was very patient. Nothing like he'd be if he were teaching, that was for sure.
"Let us try a basic attack and response," she said, and his stomach knotted up again.
"I will step forward and swing at you, and you step back, into the defensive position, and bring your stick up to block my own."
They stepped through the exercise very slowly, and Rodney nodded. Not so bad. Then Teyla increased the pace a little. He started to get frustrated. At least one in three of her attacks got through, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. He couldn't get the rhythm down at all. He was either moving too fast or too slow or in the wrong direction. He stopped, dropping his arms to the side.
"I'm doing this wrong," he said with disgust.
Teyla smiled, still encouraging. "You are doing fine. Do not be so hard on yourself."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yes, good. Now quit pampering me and tell me what I'm doing wrong."
He could tell he'd surprised her. She frowned in thought, licking her lips once before she nodded.
"Think of it as if I am the fire, leaping forward with great force and energy. You are water, ebbing gently away only to surge forward and quench my flames."
Rodney blinked back at her. He found himself fighting down a blush as he tried to decipher what she had said. "Oh. That's very, uh, poetic," he groped. And it made about as much sense as poetry, but he wasn't about to tell her that when she had those sticks ready and waiting.
Teyla inclined her head. "It is a metaphor, a way of thinking about movement. When one takes the form of water, one may retreat like a river flowing away, or one may attack like a great storm surge. It is not strength or weakness, merely being."
Rodney nodded. "Right. Flowing. I can do that." Or he could pretend until she knocked him on his ass, and they all came to the mutual realization that stick-fighting was not for astrophysicists.
John cleared his throat, right behind him, and Rodney tried not to jump out of his skin.
"Think of it this way," John said, holding his hands up in front of him in explanation. "When she attacks on a straight line, you need to get off of that line. So you step out and back at a forty-five-degree angle, and she can't reach you."
The words made more sense, and as John nodded to Teyla and they moved to demonstrate his point, it all clicked into place. There was a geometrical logic to their motions, one that should be simple enough to recreate. If he could make his body do it, of course.
"You see?" John asked.
Rodney nodded, feeling much more confident. "I think so. Can we try it again?"
Teyla squared up with Rodney as John moved out of the way. As she stepped forward, he stepped for the forty-five. It was a bit clumsy, but her stick missed him.
"Very good," Teyla said, smiling at both of them. "Now attack."
Rodney stepped back onto the line, bringing his right stick forward to snap against Teyla's.
"Good," she crooned, "now again, a little faster."
They repeated the combination several times, increasing the tempo slightly each time. Rodney failed to get out of the way on the last, and Teyla's stick tapped his shoulder yet again. He winced, but she was obviously taking it easy on him.
"Now what did I do wrong?"
"It is only a matter of letting the motion become natural," Teyla said gently. "You are concentrating too much on stepping, and that takes time."
"Yes, tell the genius not to think. That'll work," he muttered, but it was only half-hearted. He found that he really wanted to get this right, and it was irritating that his usual gifts were hampering him.
He did jump this time when John snuck up behind him, but that was mostly because of the warm hand suddenly on his lower back. John rarely touched anybody, and usually it meant something bad was happening.
"Easy, McKay," John said, soft and deep, right in his ear. A thumb stroked over the tension in his lumbar muscles. "Just let yourself go with it."
He had a moment of panic as John hooked his fingers in his waistband, remembering childhood depantsings, but then Teyla took her position. She stepped forward to attack, and-
He was yanked backwards, dragged by John's hand in his pants. Rodney kept his feet, but just barely.
"Jesus!" he yelled after he recovered enough to realize he had landed perfectly out of the way of Teyla's strike. "Warn a guy next time."
John snickered, a wholly unpleasant noise, then thumped Rodney lightly on the back. "Did you feel that? No standing up when you move. You just sort of let yourself fall into position."
Falling was exactly the right word. He turned to glare at John. "How was I supposed to feel anything? I was too busy not landing on my ass."
"Exactly," John agreed brightly. "Now let's do it again, but pay attention this time."
He grabbed onto Rodney's waistband again, nudging him to turn back to Teyla. She had a small smile on her face, and she nodded before she settled into position again. Then they were moving again. He could feel John behind him, guiding him literally by the seat of his pants, pulling just enough to get him into position without pulling him to the ground.
"Okay, now attack," John said, giving Rodney another tiny push.
Rodney moved forward into his awkward attack. Teyla met his strike easily. He felt bound up on himself, locked in place and weak compared to what he knew was the ideal.
"Wait," John called. Rodney started to turn, but stopped himself as John darted around and knelt in the grass.
"You need to pivot your foot before you step forward again," he said. Then he actually turned Rodney's foot, pivoting it on the heel so his toes pointed more outward. "Otherwise you get hung up."
John looked up, and Rodney had to smile. John looked puzzled for a moment before he grinned back.
"Okay," Rodney told him. He looked back at Teyla, determined to make this work. "Again?"
They began again. He slowly figured out the pivot and got it coordinated with the previous steps. Finally, Teyla stopped.
"Excellent," she said. "Do you feel the motion of the wave? Ebb away, then crash forward?"
Rodney nodded, amazed that the poetic words actually made sense. It was a type of sinusoidal motion, when it came down to it. "I get it." He grinned at her, and she smiled widely enough to show off her beautiful teeth.
"All right," she said. "I believe we shall move on to falls, then."
"On second thought," he said quickly, "I don't think I have the attack thing quite right."
John laughed, but Teyla just looked more predatory.
"Do I have to remind you that the brain is a very delicate organ, and mine is very, very important to our survival?"
"Relax, Rodney," John said. "This is to help you keep that brain safe."
"It is for your benefit," Teyla agreed.
He looked at John, saw that same, carefully guarded something in his eyes as before. "You first," he said.
Teyla smiled. "Of course," she said, and latched on to John's wrist. John threw him a glare, and then Teyla did something to his wrist and John dove to the ground, rolling across his shoulder and coming back up to his feet.
"See," John said. "No problem."
"Great," Rodney muttered, but stepped forward.
Aiden guided the ship down quickly, eagerly. He was on a huge high-that hive ship was doomed next time it jumped, and they'd have no clue what happened-and he just had to see his team. His friends. He was careful to avoid the maneuvers that made the dart scream like a banshee, but he wanted to loop the loops and do some barrel rolls just because. The juice was singing inside him, pumping him up like nobody's business. This was the shit, man. As nasty as the Wraith were, maybe this one thing wasn't so bad.
He gave in and rolled the dart once as he spotted the jumper. Totally the shit.
Leaves lashed and branches sawed together as a sudden wind whipped downwards, unlike any storm she had encountered before. A high-pitched hum followed; not the terrifying wail of the Wraith that she was used to, but probably a ship nonetheless. Teyla looked up, but it was impossible to see anything through the thick canopy. Cold clenched in her gut. A split-second debate-back to the camp or forward to the clearing-and then she was running. She pushed her way through the last branches in time to see the strangely gleaming ship touch down amid the flattened grasses.
They pounded through the trees, not bothering to push stray branches aside, just letting them whip across skin in their haste. John was ahead of him, but not by much. Rodney concentrated on moving, on breathing, on trying not to let fear and worry and hope overwhelm him. It was a vain attempt, but he tried. Hell, the dart might not even be Ford-though it was acting out-of-character for a Wraith.
Just run, he told himself. Just run.
"Teyla, report," her radio crackled, just as Aiden emerged from the far side of the ship. She stepped forward, his name on her lips, but caution overrode her enthusiasm at the last second. She clicked her radio.
"Lieutenant Ford has returned," she said quietly. "I am at the edge of the south field."
"Stay put," John responded, his voice slightly labored. "We're on our way."
She did not bother answering. Aiden was walking towards her. She could tell the instant he saw her by the toothy grin that spread across his face.
"Teyla!" Aiden picked up his pace. "How's it going, girl?"
She smiled at him. Damn, she looked good. Her hair was getting long, really long.
"We have been worried," she called to him.
He stopped an arm's length away, trying to hold himself back. He was practically bouncing and vibrating as it was, making it hard to keep his cool. "Aw, don't worry about me," he told her. "I can take care of myself."
"I am aware of that," she said dryly, rubbing at the back of her head. She gave him a meaningful look, and it took him a few seconds to remember that he had knocked her out the last time. Guilt flashed through him, and he stared at her hand, wondering if she was mad.
"Yeah, sorry about that," he said, but he was distracted from her response when the major burst out of the trees, running full tilt toward them. Aiden fell back into a ready stance. He'd hit the major, too.
"Teyla!" the major shouted, then pulled up into a defensive position to Teyla's right, hands ready on his P90. Aiden watched, waiting.
"Ford," the major drawled. "It's about time you showed up."
Aiden stiffened. It sounded like Sheppard was ready to dress him down, and that wasn't at all what he had in mind when he came back here. He had news-fantastic news-and that didn't jive with the way the major was fondling his gun. Teyla took a half-step forward, putting herself between them.
"Lieutenant Ford was just apologizing for our last encounter," she prompted. Teyla was always working it, always trying to get people to get along. That was, whenever she wasn't kicking ass. Aiden supposed that he should go along with her for now.
"Yes, sir," he said. "I, uh, sometimes get a little crazy. This stuff gives me awesome reflexes," he said, smiling. "I won't hurt anybody, though."
Major Sheppard nodded. "I'd like to believe you, Lieutenant. How about you make a show of good faith, and hand over those crystals for a start?"
It was killing him to resist orders, but they still weren't getting the big picture. "It's not that simple, Major. You don't understand..."
"No, you don't understand," Sheppard butted in. "Oh, and by the way it's 'Lieutenant Colonel' now. Things have changed back on Atlantis. We're in touch with Earth, so the situation isn't as desperate as you're thinking. You don't have to do the personal war thing that you've cooked up in that jar head of yours. We'll help you."
"Everything will be fine," Teyla soothed.
Aiden looked at them, glancing back and forth between them. So, Sheppard had gotten a promotion. Good for him. He wondered what else had gone down while he was gone. He wondered if his grandparents had gotten his letter. And help sounded good-but they didn't have what he had now, didn't have the skills and the strength and ability to blend in that he did. They'd get themselves killed, and the Wraith would keep advancing, and sooner or later the Wraith would end up snacking on Earth. He couldn't let that happen.
"No can do, sir," he said finally, knowing that he'd get flak for it. "You don't know the Wraith like I do. I have to do this."
"Ford," the colonel growled, but Aiden just raised a hand and started backing away. His news would have to wait.
"Look. I just came back to see you guys. I don't need this shit." He glanced around, realizing that something was off. "Where's Dr. McKay, anyways?"
"He's fine. Let's go," Sheppard snapped.
That wasn't an answer. Aiden scanned the tree line, finally sighting blue amongst the green. They had laid a fucking ambush. So not cool.
"No, I don't think so," he said, and walked backwards.
"So help me Ford, I will shoot if I have to!"
Part 3
Something cold brushed her face, wet and very irritating. She swiped at it, but her hand was caught in a warm grip before she could wipe the damp away. She pulled back, and the hand let her go.
"Teyla," someone called softly.
She scrubbed at her cheek. A damp cloth rested against the back of her head, wrapping around to touch her face. She pushed it aside and opened her eyes. John and Dr. McKay hovered above her.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, her voice slightly roughened.
John smiled, but it seemed sad somehow. "Not anymore."
Her mouth was dry, and her head ached fiercely. She pushed herself up, both John and Dr. McKay reaching out to assist her. They were in a shadowed room, and she finally realized it was the same rustic shelter that they had passed the night in that first night on the planet.
"I fainted?"
Dr. McKay smiled. "Passed out," he said, then his eyebrows pulled down, his mouth taking a sharp turn to the side. "What do you remember?"
She squinted at him. "This is becoming repetitive."
"Well if you would stop passing out, it wouldn't be an issue," he said mildly, his voice thick and softer than his usual sharp tones.
"Rodney," John said softly. "What do you remember, Teyla?"
She sighed and laid back on the bedding. The throbbing in her head eased as she did so, but she was very tired. "Aiden attacked us, then you went after him alone, and Dr. McKay and I followed. You were unable to stop him," she finished, closing her eyes as the memory returned. She was worried for Aiden, but so very angry with him as well.
Somebody shook her shoulder.
"Stay with us, Teyla," John said. She opened her eyes to see him waving his hand in her face. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Two, " she said tiredly.
He nodded. "I think you have a concussion. A brain bruise," he added, as if she did not know what that meant. "You need to stay awake."
She raised a hand to cover her eyes, already annoyed by the headache. "I shall endeavor to do so, but I do not promise to be pleasant."
They both laughed. "Well, hell, Teyla," John said. "You can't be any worse than McKay."
"Oh, ha ha," Dr. McKay shot back. "Just because some of us don't feel the need to seduce everything in our path, we get labeled misanthropes."
"Bring out the big words, Rodney. It doesn't change anything."
"Please," she said sharply. She tried to gentle her tone. "Could you speak more softly?"
"Oh sorry, sorry," Dr. McKay whispered loudly. John squeezed her shoulder. They stood and walked away, the scuff of their shoes loud across the floor. They resumed their conversation, but now it was the mere rise and fall of distant male voices, soothing rather than stabbing.
She drifted, the pull of sleep nearly irresistible. She kept jerking awake, trying not to fall asleep. The sound of voices grew louder, strident. She opened her eyes in time to see John storm out of the hut, the rickety door shaking in his wake. Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched Dr. McKay watching the door, his whole body stiff and poised as if for a fight.
"Is there a problem?"
He turned his head toward her, but his eyes took a moment to leave whatever they were watching. "Ah, good, you're still awake," he said finally, and then turned away from her to occupy himself with something on the floor.
Teyla clenched her back teeth, but that aggravated the pain in her head. She breathed through her nose, then relaxed her jaw and let the air flow out her mouth. "At what point did you determine that I was brain-damaged?"
Dr. McKay spun around, his eyes wide. "What?"
"I was unaware that you considered me of insufficient intelligence to grasp whatever situation has occurred."
He gaped at her in a most satisfying way-until he shook his head once. "Please. I consider everyone but myself to be of insufficient intelligence to grasp much of anything."
She waited, but he did not add anything. "So then you should be used to explaining yourself to others," she prompted. "What has happened?"
Dr. McKay sighed, tossing the protein bar in his hand to the ground. "Colonel Sheppard is having some difficulty grasping the hard truths of our situation. He's off taking a little stroll through the park while I play the good wife back here."
The wife? =she wanted to ask, but Teyla reminded herself not to get distracted by Dr. McKay's idiosyncrasies. She rubbed her eyes as she asked, "And what are the hard truths of the situation?"
"I was getting to that," he muttered, but Teyla recognized another stalling tactic. That was unusual; in the past he had been more than forthright about the details of their endangerment. She waited impatiently as he turned to face her. He sat down awkwardly next to the sleeping bag.
"Fact," he said sharply. "Lieutenant Ford has taken the power supply to the jumper. Fact: The stargate is in orbit around the planet. Fact: No one on Atlantis knows where we are." He sighed again, then met her eyes. "Fact: Lieutenant Ford is highly unstable, to the point of being dangerous to our own well-being. Fact: I cannot make the jumper fly without those power crystals."
He paused, tilting his head backwards as the corner of his mouth dipped into a bitter, twisted smile before he looked back at her, face serious. "Supposition: We are stuck here for the rest of our natural lives unless Lieutenant Ford comes to his senses."
Teyla frowned. "But surely Dr. Weir will send a team after us. Even if-"
He huffed. "Yes, of course Elizabeth will send a team. But it was pure chance that we found the right gate address in the first place. If the colonel hadn't talked to that boy, if he hadn't mentioned the forbidden addresses, if I hadn't been smart enough to figure out how to dial star sixty-nine, if Ford hadn't just been through the gate in the last day, we wouldn't even be here. The odds are astronomical that the same chain of events will occur to lead them to us."
It was a strange sensation. Realization broke apart, hitting different parts of her body in drawn-out moments. First her breath locked in her chest, then a tingling chill crawled up her lower back. The tips of her fingers felt huge and extraordinarily sensitive. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she laid back down to wait it out.
"Surely Aiden will return," she said faintly.
"Yes, that is a possibility," Dr. McKay agreed, but she could tell he did not believe it.
She swallowed heavily. Her thoughts spun and looped. Halling and her people, who had already grown too distant, would be lost to her forever. They would be dependent on the good will of Dr. Weir and the Earthers, without Teyla to intercede when tempers grew hot.
She turned her head to the side, blinking away wetness. Aiden would not abandon them, even if their encounter earlier had not gone well. She could not, would not believe that he would. They might be on this world longer than they had originally foreseen, but that could be dealt with. Later, when she felt better, she would make plans to see them through until Aiden returned.
John eased the door shut, though his care didn't really matter. Both Teyla and Rodney watched him-no sneaking back in this evening. Teyla was propped up against one of the bedrolls. She looked tired, and in pain, but more alert than she had been when he'd left.
Rodney just looked pissed.
John sighed. He couldn't blame Rodney at all. He'd left his teammates behind, not once but twice, and he knew that Rodney hated him for it. It was a damned irresponsible thing to do, and John would have reamed any soldier good in his place. Rodney was going the silent route, however, which John had found to be much more effective than any in-the-face lecture he'd ever received.
"How're you feeling, Teyla?"
She smiled slightly, a polite lift of her lips that did nothing to convey happiness. "Better, although my head still hurts."
John nodded as he knelt beside her. He grasped her chin and tilted her head toward the light, waiting as she fought against the instinct to close her eyes. Her pupils looked even, thank goodness. He hadn't been sure before. A minor concussion, if that.
He sat back on the gritty floor, a small groan escaping as his own bruises made themselves known. He was tempted to find one of the cool packs from the med kit and curl up in his sleeping bag, but there were still things to be done.
"Let's talk about options," he announced. Silence answered him. Teyla inclined her head, obviously waiting. He didn't bother to look at Rodney; John could feel the force of his glare like a sunburn on his back. "O-kay. So. McKay doesn't think he can get the jumper flyable. So we try something else. Can we make some kind of beacon, some way we can alert Atlantis to our whereabouts?"
Rodney threw up his hands. "Yes, good, let's hang up a neon sign flashing 'free all-you-can-eat buffet' for the Wraith. Any other stupid ideas you'd like to share? Because really, I'm just warming up. Two for the price of one, I'll be here all night."
John grit his teeth, trying not to lash back. Rodney rarely aimed the worst of his cutting remarks at John, and he'd forgotten how irritating it could be. It didn't help that he should have thought of the Wraith threat himself.
"Fine," he said. "What about boosting the remote dial, getting a quick signal through that way?"
"That's-" and Rodney paused, his face going slack with thought, and John knew he had him. "A good idea, actually. If," he said, raising a warning finger, "if I can actually do it, which is a very big if. There's still the power issue, and it's not without danger. Ford said the Wraith will be close soon."
Ford. John rubbed a hand over his eyes, careful to steer around the puffy area under his cheekbone. He was more than amazed the blow hadn't broken his jaw, let alone knocked out any teeth. Yet another rescue mission gone horribly wrong. At least he hadn't woken an entire species of man-hunting aliens this time.
"Good enough," he told Rodney. "Just worry about making it work."
Rodney nodded, and that felt like more than it should be. John relaxed against the wall, letting the cool of the stone soak into the stiff muscles of his back.
"We should consider our supplies," Teyla said quietly. "I inventoried the rations earlier, and they will last us a week, perhaps more."
And even if Rodney had a breakthrough, they might be stuck waiting for the Wraith to move on for longer than a week. Water wasn't an issue, shelter was sufficient for their current environment, but food could definitely become a problem.
"I guess that means hunting," he said, wrinkling his nose a little at the thought. He'd never been a fan of the fresh-from-the-field menu. "Have you seen any good prospects?"
Teyla did that odd little head tilt, the one that said yes and no at the same time. "There are some large rodents that should prove sufficient, at least for the short term. If we have wire or cording I can build snares."
"Fishing line," Rodney said suddenly, and John nodded.
"There should be some in one of the kits. Will that work?"
"We shall see," she hedged.
"What about fishing?" John asked.
She shrugged. "I have not seen any fish in the streams yet, but then, I was not searching for them. Perhaps there is a better location away from this area. We could follow the streams to their confluence."
John shook his head. "No, I don't want to leave this area. Ford could show up any time, and we need to be here when he does."
"Why, so he can beat the snot out of you again?" Rodney asked, more worry than snap to the question.
"We'll just have to be careful not to provoke him," John said patiently, hoping against hope that was true. He didn't want to fight Ford in an effort to save them all. "He told us himself that he was amped up on something the Wraith did to him. It's not his fault."
Rodney didn't look pacified. "He could have killed you." He glanced over at Teyla, then back at John. "We were lucky. Don't pretend that Ford's not dangerous just because he's a friend."
"I'm not," John snapped. A tense silence filled the small room. John found himself missing the constant hum of Atlantis, the sound of people always in the background somewhere. Here, there was nothing but an occasional rattle of the wind and the high-pitched drone of insects. Not enough sound to drown out the thoughts he didn't want to have, like the possibility that Rodney might not be Superman this time, or that Ford might end up an enemy.
"Anything else we should focus on?" John asked finally.
Teyla shook her head fractionally. Her eyes were looking glazed again, probably both from pain and exhaustion. It was probably safe for her to sleep if he woke her on occasion. He looked over at Rodney, but Rodney was tapping away at his tablet notebook, his brows drawn in concentration.
John sighed, and settled more comfortably against the wall. He'd take a twenty-minute power nap, then check their perimeter again. Tomorrow they'd see about making their stay a little more comfortable.
Teyla rose from her squat, satisfied that the run she had spotted was from one of the planet's small rodent species. She backtracked to the stream where Dr. McKay was waiting, and squatted down on the bank. The motion wasn't as smooth as it should be; though she felt much better after two days of rest, her muscles were stiff and she still had a slight headache.
"Please hand me one of the snares," she asked Dr. McKay as she coated her hands in the sticky mud. He handed her the loop of cording without a word, and she rubbed it thoroughly with the mud.
"Follow me," she told him, "but try not to touch the area where I am setting the trap. You will leave your scent, and the animals will avoid it."
"Of course," Dr. McKay said, picking up the pack with their supplies and falling in step behind her. "Is that what the mud's for? To mask the scent?"
She inclined her head as she navigated away from the stream. She did not want to disrupt the area more than necessary, but she feared that it would be unavoidable with Dr. McKay following her. Still, he would not learn if she did not teach him. She had been surprised when he had volunteered to accompany her, but she suspected that he was becoming discouraged with his efforts to get them back to Atlantis.
"Stop there," she said, indicating a fallen log not far from the area she had chosen.
"Okay, right," he said, and sat heavily. "So, the idea is to get the animal to run into the loop, right?"
Teyla began tying the end of the cord to the sapling next to the break in the undergrowth. "Yes. There are several methods to anchor the snare, but you must keep the noose at head height so it catches around the neck. The animal then strangles as it attempts to get free."
"Ah," Dr. McKay said. "Is that, uh, really necessary? I mean, of course it's necessary, food and all, but it seems a little, I don't know, barbaric?"
Teyla turned back toward him. "Barbaric?"
He smiled wryly. "Never mind," he said and waved her to continue.
She watched him for another moment, but he just raised his eyebrow and waved again. Teyla returned to her work, snugging the cord against one of the small branches before she began adjusting the position of the noose.
"It bothers you, does it not?"
"I wouldn't exactly say it bothers me," Dr. McKay hedged. "It's just that they're so small, and defenseless, and gee wouldn't it be nice if we had an endless supply of PowerBars."
Teyla smiled at his attempt to hide his compassion with humor.
"I suppose this is old hat for you," he continued. "Getting back to basics."
She checked the snare over one last time. She was once again reminded of how little the Earthers knew of her people.
"Not really, no," she told him. "I have not done this since I was a child." The feel of the muddy cord brought back bittersweet memories of her father teaching her the basics of survival. She had been so eager to learn, but she could empathize with McKay's discomfort. She remembered tears streaming down her cheeks as she beheld her first catch, a small echen-limp, fuzzy, and still warm. Her father had been kind but firm as he reminded her of the realities that faced them. Their people had to be prepared for any eventuality.
"Oh," Dr. McKay said, and then he fell silent.
Teyla worked her way back to his position, debating where to lay the next snare. By the stream itself, where the animals watered? She began to retrace their steps.
"Can I ask you something, Teyla?"
The question surprised her. Dr. McKay was rarely tentative, and she wondered what he might want to know.
"Of course," she told him. "You may ask anything of me."
He did not answer immediately. She assumed he was concentrating on navigating through the woods. It was far from an old forest, and the undergrowth was thick away from the trails. All of the land she had seen thus far told a tale of past inhabitants, despite the relative lack of structures. She was sure this world had been culled to extinction some time in the past.
"Were you and Ford involved?" he asked at last. "You know, romantically?"
Teyla stumbled over a loose rock near the stream bed, catching herself with a hand on one of the sturdier trees. She stopped, feeling like she had been struck a blow. "No," she answered, but her voice was scratchy and she had to repeat herself to be heard. "We were not."
That would have been sufficient with most people, but then, Dr. McKay was not most people. "It's just that you called him Aiden several times," he continued. "Colonel Sheppard explained your custom, and I thought maybe-"
She turned to face him, and she did not know what was showing on her face, but he fell silent. His eyebrows were quirked with worry, and his face was slightly pink. Teyla took a deep breath.
"Aiden is my friend," she told him. "But there have been times that I thought we might become more." Times when his warm eyes sparkled with interest, and times they grew black with concern. Her stomach felt like it had knotted itself into an unworkable tangle. "It is not something I dwell upon."
Dr. McKay nodded. "I'm sorry."
She held his eyes, uncertain of what to say. The woods grew active as they stayed silent, distant birds singing and flies buzzing nearby. Teyla found that she wanted to tell him more, tell him about her concerns and her hopes, about the ways that Aiden had supported her through difficult times. But she could not find the words.
"Rodney," he blurted.
"Excuse me?"
Dr. McKay rolled his eyes. "I mean, you should call me Rodney. You know, if you'd like. There's no reason to call me doctor."
Some of the knot melted away with happy surprise. "You do not have to permit that out of a sense of obligation," she told him anyway.
He snorted. "Please. When have you known me to do something because of societal expectation?"
She tried to gauge his sincerity. "Very well, Rodney," she smiled. He smiled back warmly. "Thank you."
The moment dragged out into awkwardness as neither of them found anything to say. Teyla turned back toward the stream. "We should resume our work. We have to place many snares in order to capture one animal."
"Ah, yes," Rodney said from behind her. "Probability. I wonder if there's a way to determine the best ratio of snares to rabbits per plot of land."
Teyla smiled as he continued to discuss applying mathematics to hunting. She did not understand much of what he said, but that did not matter at all.
The big continent was coming up again, the jagged line of the shelf growing on the curve of the planet. Aiden decided he was going to name that one New Chicago, 'cause it kind of looked like a bear. He wasn't so sure of the others, two small chunks of land on the other side of the planet that didn't look like much of anything. Maybe on the next swing he'd figure out the smallest one. If not, well, he didn't have much else on his schedule.
He tried to look away as the land mass grew, but his eyes were drawn to the same spot every time he circled the planet. A few hundred miles interior of the coastal mountain range, but before the major river system that cut the continent in half. They were down there somewhere. He couldn't pick out their lifesigns from that of the flora and fauna, which made him grateful and worried at the same time. The Wraith would have to get closer to the planet to notice three lone humans, and they had no reason to do so. The advance ships had already passed through the system without paying any attention to this planet.
Aiden sighed. The memories just kept replaying in his head, every step he'd taken on the cruiser two days ago. Foot soldiers everywhere, but they were dumb, never doing anything unless one of the fancy dudes told them to. The key was to blend in, follow along, don't call any attention to his differences, then slip in and make his move. The whole ship smelled like frogs, like summer evenings gigging on the pond with his grandpa. Didn't sound like it, though. Just the heavy steps of the soldiers and the weird hum of the ship.
There was always a lab. Slip in, hold out his arm, get a shot of the goo. The witch doctor dude never asked anything, not on any of the ships he'd infiltrated. The Wraith couldn't conceive of their food trying anything so ballsy. That was fine with him; walking right into the engine room for a little sabotage was beyond easy. He remembered the old Dr. Weir talking about the Ancients trying to negotiate, of all things, and then tucking tail and running when their fancy ships and satellites didn't work. He bet they'd never tried taking the fight to the Wraith.
He rubbed at the weird ridges on the side of his face. Going on three months now, stealing meds and blowing up engines whenever he could, and every mission had kept getting easier. Until this last one. He knew they all kept a supply of humans, had even seen the cocoons a time or two, but those had only held dead bodies, desiccated husks that he could ignore. This time, right after he'd gotten the shot, he'd passed by a honeycomb of people, wrapped and paralyzed but still alive.
He'd expected the fury, and the disgust. There was no way in hell he'd been prepared for the...yearning that ate at him. He'd wanted to touch those people and see what was inside.
Aiden shuddered and pushed the thought away. New Chicago was drifting away below him, taking away the temptation to see his team again. They were safe down there, he knew that, even if he couldn't see them on his display. Teyla was too big of a bad-ass to let anything take them down, and Dr. McKay would either think or talk a problem to death. And Major Sheppard was too stubborn to let anything happen to his people.
He smiled. No, his team would be just fine. There wasn't any reason to go looking in on them like they were babies. Aiden had his own mission to worry about.
Rodney stared at the stew pot perched precariously over the open flames, thinking about internal combustion engines as steam escaped from the lid. If only. Ancient technology was so far beyond that stage that to even contemplate some kind of interface between the two was ludicrous. Not that he could make an engine if he wanted to; twigs and stones were fine for a cooking fire, but didn't do much for creating and harnessing explosive power. No, he'd need to find metal ore, and mine it, smelt and cast it, all of which would take most of a single lifetime with the equipment he had now.
He might as well resign himself to squirbit stew for a very long time. The snares they had set had yielded a catch after only a day. He wondered if they'd have to worry about overhunting, or if the population would increase to keep up with their predation.
"I don't think it's going anywhere, Rodney."
He blinked, breaking away from the state he'd been locked in. John was squatting beside the fire, cautiously lifting the lid of the pot.
"No, that seems to be the common theme lately," he muttered. John ignored him.
"Well, it doesn't smell awful," John said, wrinkling his nose as he peered through the steam. "Maybe it won't be so bad."
Rodney snorted. "What do you care? Don't they train you to eat dead opossum and worms?"
John rolled his eyes. "I'm not a Marine, Rodney. We don't feel it's necessary to prove our masculinity by playing chicken with botulism."
"No, no, you just like to perform death-defying acts at speeds humans were not meant to survive, encased in a flimsy metal shell kilometres above nice, safe land."
John grinned, and Rodney could see the stereotypical flyboy come out to play. "Well, yeah, but that's fun." All he needed were those aviator shades and a bevy of blonde bombshells hanging off his arm, and John could have his own leading role in an eighties movie. Top Air Dog, or Steel Eagles, or something equally as ridiculous.
Rodney shook his head and let it go. He had to admit that flying the puddlejumper was a hell of a thrill. He had a lot more faith in Ancient engineering than he did human, though. John peered back down at the pot, shrugged, and dropped the lid.
"At least we won't starve to death," he said to John. "Die of misaligned discs, that's a distinct possibility."
Teyla returned from wherever she'd been, stopping to check the stew before she seated herself across from Rodney.
"The floor's better than a lot of ground we've slept on, McKay."
Rodney shrugged. "Which isn't saying much. Why didn't the SGC think ahead and pack inflatable mattresses? They don't take up that much room."
"And we wouldn't even need an air compressor with you around," John said quietly, just loud enough that Rodney knew John was trying to get a rise out of him.
"Oh, ha ha. I'm just saying, a fighting force would be that much more efficient if they weren't creaking and groaning every day because they had to sleep on the ground."
"I agree," Teyla said.
"Really?" Rodney asked, rather surprised that someone as tough and used to hardship as Teyla would admit to such a thing.
She nodded. "It would not be difficult to fashion a mattress from these grasses," she said, pointing to the waving green that surrounded them. "Once dried, they would provide some padding under our bedding."
"Oh, fabulous," he said. "We can use one of the tarps as a casing. Wait. What about mold? And are we sure the grass is safe? I don't want to die in my sleep from my lungs shutting down."
"You walk through it every day, Rodney," John said, but Teyla cocked her head to the side, looking thoughtful.
"I do not believe it will cause any problems," she said. "It will need to dry thoroughly, and we must take care to not let it get damp. But I think it is worth the attempt. If it is not successful, we do not have to use it."
Rodney smiled at the thought of honest-to-goodness padding. "That's an excellent point," he conceded. "Very practical."
Teyla smiled back at him. He turned to John, waiting for some smart remark about his practicality, but John was staring off into the distance, making a face similar to when he'd checked out the stew.
"Mowing the lawn, huh?" John asked, still not looking at Rodney. He stood up, brushing at the back of his pants. "We'll take care of it, and you come up with a way to get us home."
John pulled out his knife and Teyla followed suit. Rodney watched them, John's optimism a wedge in his throat that pretty much killed his appetite.
John tossed a twig into the fire, watching the sparks spin upwards on the heat draft, then get tossed to the side as the cooler breeze gusted. His stomach was full, but he felt far from sated. Nearly a week of mostly wild game, barely enough of their diet supplemented by divvied-up MRE's to make a difference. The thought of a stale cracker with lumpy jelly made his mouth water like crazy. If they were here much longer, they'd have to start experimenting with the local vegetation. If, he told himself. If.
He was warm from the fire, so he slipped off his jacket, wadded it into a ball for a pillow, and lounged back to stare up at the sky. His eyes slowly recovered from the fire dazzle, stars taking the place of the false brightness. So many stars. It was a decectively beautiful sight. He'd never be able to look up again without knowing the truth. When he was younger, he'd dreamed of flying among the stars, finding peace and connection and everything else he'd wanted. Now the stars were simply a reminder of their enemies out there.
Rodney stirred beside him, tossing a twig of his own into the fire. John could see the sparks rise in his peripheral vision. Something about fire was magnetic to the human soul. Teyla had bragged to him that first day that her people had mastered fire. He thought that was overly hopeful. Men could do a lot with fire-roast rodents, power jets, make hive ships explode-but that wasn't the same as mastery.
"Do you think we should try some different type of hunting, Teyla?" Rodney asked. It was out of the blue, his voice loud in the quiet, but John was deep enough into his own thoughts that the sudden intrusion didn't bother him. "Give the squirbits a rest?"
Teyla said something, but John was busy trying to process Rodney's last statement into something that made sense. Usually he only had a hard time following Rodney when Rodney went into theoretical astrophysicist mode. "Squarebit? Is that what you said?"
John could feel their stares in the sudden silence, the crackle of the fire loud and close. He bet Teyla looked startled, wondering at his rudeness. Rodney was probably rolling his eyes and deciding whether he was worth answering.
"Squirbit, Colonel. As in a cross between squirrel and rabbit?"
John snorted. "That's as bad as anything Ford's ever come up with. No more naming for you, either."
The silence was different this time. Fraught. Waiting. John swallowed and concentrated on the stars. There was an elongated loop that reminded him of the fall of fireworks on the fourth of July. The purple and green kind.
Rodney laughed softly. "He was always suggesting new ones whenever you were out of earshot," he said quietly. "Remember that horsecart back on M3-995?"
"He called it a," Teyla paused, her voice incredulous, "booger?"
"A boogy," Rodney corrected with a laugh. "Because it was a buggy that looked like it was dancing."
"No," John ordered flatly.
"No?" Rodney asked, a moment before Teyla's "Is there something wrong?"
John sat up, blinking at the brightness of the fire. "We are not doing this. Ford isn't dead, and we're not going to sit around eulogizing him."
"Excuse me? We're just talking."
John picked up a fat stick and poked the fire. "No, you're not just talking. You're sitting around remembering all the good things about the friend you've lost. Believe me, I've heard it all before, and we're not doing it for Ford. Not yet, not ever if I can help it."
Another twig came flying at the flames. "And how do you intend to do that, Colonel? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like we're stuck on this planet, awaiting the good lieutenant's whim to come back and save our asses. That's assuming he doesn't get himself killed doing whatever crazy thing he's off doing."
John shoved against one of the logs, snapping his stick in half. "Why do you have to be so damn pessimistic all the time, Rodney?"
"Why can't you accept reality?"
He tossed the other end of the stick into the flames. "I'm very aware of reality, McKay. I just don't give up when things get a little hard."
That was harsh-too harsh, not to mention untrue. Rodney should have his head for it, but he didn't say a word. John thought about apologizing, but he was so sick of the what-ifs and things he couldn't fix, sick of the thought of Ford out there by himself, that his tongue tangled on all of the different things he wanted to say.
"I simply want to talk about my friend," Teyla said. "Is that so wrong?"
He shook his head, then got to his feet. Teyla was always so sure of herself, always so sure of the right path. He liked that about her, but it also drove him nuts when the only thing he could see was a tangle of bad and worse choices.
"You do that," he told her, and then gave in to the urge to get away. He stalked toward the northern woods, figuring he'd give the jumper a once-over. They were getting lax with security, not even bothering to keep watch at night anymore. But the planet was barren, and the door to the cabin was so damn creaky Ford wouldn't be able to sneak in. Sharing a bed together kept them warmer, anyway, even if it was a little cramped.
John was being an ass and he knew it. Rodney was right. John had never known anyone as brilliant as Rodney, and sometimes he thought Rodney could do anything he set his mind to doing. But John knew that something couldn't be created from nothing-not without some Ancient handwaving, anyway. They couldn't even figure out how to send a signal home. They were stuck here-Rodney and Teyla were exiled from everyone and everything they cared about-unless Ford came to his senses.
Unless Ford had some sense knocked into him.
It was a hell of a thing, having to choose between lives, but he'd done it before. He wasn't going to give up on Ford, not yet. But Rodney and Teyla deserved better. Ford was a good kid, a great second in command, maybe a even a brother in some ways. He was military, though, a Marine.
As John waded through the thick grass of the second clearing, he knew that he would do whatever he had to do. That didn't stop the sick feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with squirbit stew. He opened the jumper hatch, climbed in, and shut it behind him. He headed right to his seat and settled in. It was too dark outside for anything to show through the hazy front screen, but he stared at it anyway.
John ran his hands over the controls, but they were only dead cylinders, nothing more than joysticks on a broken video game. His thumbs worked restlessly over the strange plastic-y feel of them as he finally acknowledged the truth that had been hiding in the back of his mind for a very long time.
He would choose Rodney and Teyla over Aiden.
John let go of the controls and sat back, snugging his hands under his armpits. He wasn't sure what he wouldn't do for Rodney and Teyla, and that scared him more than the Wraith.
If he didn't know better, Rodney would say they were completely oblivious to his presence. But he did know better, and he was sure that even though Teyla and John seemed intent only on each other, on the sticks flying between them, that they had noticed him as soon as he had taken a seat.
The sky was hazy, that late afternoon aqua that came before the red shift of the setting sun. It'd be dark in a few hours, but for now the light was good, the air was warm but not too warm, and John and Teyla looked like they planned on going at it until it was too dark to see. John had been withdrawn the past couple of days, and Rodney thought he was trying to burn off whatever was bothering him.
Rodney had seen them spar before, a few times, but he had always taken surreptitious glances, not wanting to intrude, not wanting to look too interested. But right now they were the equivalent to TV, the movies, and a good book all rolled into one, so he watched. John was much better than he used to be. Teyla was in control, but John pressed her closely. Rodney tried to watch for the individual movements, tried to notice their technique, but they moved so quickly and smoothly that it was impossible.
John burst into motion, his sticks beating down against Teyla's over and over furiously, driving her into retreat. Rodney felt himself standing, disconnected, worried, as suddenly John planted a foot behind her own and hooked an arm across her neck.
John went flying.
Rodney sat back down.
Teyla kicked the stick John still had out of his hand, then pressed a knee into his chest. Rodney could only see the side of her face; her hair wild and free, strands stuck to her cheek and neck with sweat, her lips pursed and her eyebrow arched. He wasn't sure if she was pissed or not, but she looked fierce.
"I think perhaps we are done for the day," she told John. They held the pose for a long moment. Rodney couldn't see John's face at all, but he was probably scowling, grumpy that Teyla was calling the shots. Then she stood back and extended a hand, helping John up. They did the forehead thing before they both turned towards Rodney, faces almost identically bland and pleasant.
"Rodney," John said, and Teyla nodded.
"Have fun getting the crap beat out of yourself, Colonel?"
John smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. Rodney tensed, knowing that something bad was coming.
"Oh, I had a great time," John said. "But I've been thinking. We should really spend some more time working on your defensive abilities. Say, right now."
Oh, yes. Definitely bad. "I don't see the point," he protested quickly. "Trapped on an empty planet, remember? Not a lot of bad guys to beat up." Or be beaten up by, which was by far the more likely scenario.
John crossed his arms, retrieved sticks poking out like skeletal fingers. "You never know when you're going to have to defend yourself," he said. "I think it's a very good idea."
Rodney crossed his own arms. "Well, I don't."
John dropped his arms with a gusty sigh. "Look. Just try. It might make a difference some day."
Rodney glanced at Teyla, who was watching them carefully. It occurred to him that John had pretty much volunteered her as well.
"I will not hurt you, Rodney," she said quietly.
He somehow doubted that, though he was sure she'd be a lot nicer to him starting out than she was to John. He looked back at John, already feeling himself giving in, but not quite ready to concede yet. Maybe it was the way John wouldn't quite meet his eyes, or maybe it was the honest concern in his voice.
"I'll do your weapon maintenance today," John wheedled, completely losing his hard-ass command attitude. Rodney nearly laughed, but he knew a good deal when he heard one. Not that he couldn't handle something as simple as cleaning his gun, but he wasn't going to let that offer go.
"Fine," he said. "I suppose I can work it into my pressing schedule this afternoon."
John grinned at him. He grinned back.
Then John handed him the sticks, and Rodney remembered what he'd volunteered to do. Teyla stepped forward as John walked over to the sitting rock. She simply began explaining how to hold the sticks properly, however, and he relaxed a little. Soon enough they were going through the different steps and stances, which weren't too bad. He felt like a lumbering giant next to her, slow and stiff and awkward, but she was very patient. Nothing like he'd be if he were teaching, that was for sure.
"Let us try a basic attack and response," she said, and his stomach knotted up again.
"I will step forward and swing at you, and you step back, into the defensive position, and bring your stick up to block my own."
They stepped through the exercise very slowly, and Rodney nodded. Not so bad. Then Teyla increased the pace a little. He started to get frustrated. At least one in three of her attacks got through, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. He couldn't get the rhythm down at all. He was either moving too fast or too slow or in the wrong direction. He stopped, dropping his arms to the side.
"I'm doing this wrong," he said with disgust.
Teyla smiled, still encouraging. "You are doing fine. Do not be so hard on yourself."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yes, good. Now quit pampering me and tell me what I'm doing wrong."
He could tell he'd surprised her. She frowned in thought, licking her lips once before she nodded.
"Think of it as if I am the fire, leaping forward with great force and energy. You are water, ebbing gently away only to surge forward and quench my flames."
Rodney blinked back at her. He found himself fighting down a blush as he tried to decipher what she had said. "Oh. That's very, uh, poetic," he groped. And it made about as much sense as poetry, but he wasn't about to tell her that when she had those sticks ready and waiting.
Teyla inclined her head. "It is a metaphor, a way of thinking about movement. When one takes the form of water, one may retreat like a river flowing away, or one may attack like a great storm surge. It is not strength or weakness, merely being."
Rodney nodded. "Right. Flowing. I can do that." Or he could pretend until she knocked him on his ass, and they all came to the mutual realization that stick-fighting was not for astrophysicists.
John cleared his throat, right behind him, and Rodney tried not to jump out of his skin.
"Think of it this way," John said, holding his hands up in front of him in explanation. "When she attacks on a straight line, you need to get off of that line. So you step out and back at a forty-five-degree angle, and she can't reach you."
The words made more sense, and as John nodded to Teyla and they moved to demonstrate his point, it all clicked into place. There was a geometrical logic to their motions, one that should be simple enough to recreate. If he could make his body do it, of course.
"You see?" John asked.
Rodney nodded, feeling much more confident. "I think so. Can we try it again?"
Teyla squared up with Rodney as John moved out of the way. As she stepped forward, he stepped for the forty-five. It was a bit clumsy, but her stick missed him.
"Very good," Teyla said, smiling at both of them. "Now attack."
Rodney stepped back onto the line, bringing his right stick forward to snap against Teyla's.
"Good," she crooned, "now again, a little faster."
They repeated the combination several times, increasing the tempo slightly each time. Rodney failed to get out of the way on the last, and Teyla's stick tapped his shoulder yet again. He winced, but she was obviously taking it easy on him.
"Now what did I do wrong?"
"It is only a matter of letting the motion become natural," Teyla said gently. "You are concentrating too much on stepping, and that takes time."
"Yes, tell the genius not to think. That'll work," he muttered, but it was only half-hearted. He found that he really wanted to get this right, and it was irritating that his usual gifts were hampering him.
He did jump this time when John snuck up behind him, but that was mostly because of the warm hand suddenly on his lower back. John rarely touched anybody, and usually it meant something bad was happening.
"Easy, McKay," John said, soft and deep, right in his ear. A thumb stroked over the tension in his lumbar muscles. "Just let yourself go with it."
He had a moment of panic as John hooked his fingers in his waistband, remembering childhood depantsings, but then Teyla took her position. She stepped forward to attack, and-
He was yanked backwards, dragged by John's hand in his pants. Rodney kept his feet, but just barely.
"Jesus!" he yelled after he recovered enough to realize he had landed perfectly out of the way of Teyla's strike. "Warn a guy next time."
John snickered, a wholly unpleasant noise, then thumped Rodney lightly on the back. "Did you feel that? No standing up when you move. You just sort of let yourself fall into position."
Falling was exactly the right word. He turned to glare at John. "How was I supposed to feel anything? I was too busy not landing on my ass."
"Exactly," John agreed brightly. "Now let's do it again, but pay attention this time."
He grabbed onto Rodney's waistband again, nudging him to turn back to Teyla. She had a small smile on her face, and she nodded before she settled into position again. Then they were moving again. He could feel John behind him, guiding him literally by the seat of his pants, pulling just enough to get him into position without pulling him to the ground.
"Okay, now attack," John said, giving Rodney another tiny push.
Rodney moved forward into his awkward attack. Teyla met his strike easily. He felt bound up on himself, locked in place and weak compared to what he knew was the ideal.
"Wait," John called. Rodney started to turn, but stopped himself as John darted around and knelt in the grass.
"You need to pivot your foot before you step forward again," he said. Then he actually turned Rodney's foot, pivoting it on the heel so his toes pointed more outward. "Otherwise you get hung up."
John looked up, and Rodney had to smile. John looked puzzled for a moment before he grinned back.
"Okay," Rodney told him. He looked back at Teyla, determined to make this work. "Again?"
They began again. He slowly figured out the pivot and got it coordinated with the previous steps. Finally, Teyla stopped.
"Excellent," she said. "Do you feel the motion of the wave? Ebb away, then crash forward?"
Rodney nodded, amazed that the poetic words actually made sense. It was a type of sinusoidal motion, when it came down to it. "I get it." He grinned at her, and she smiled widely enough to show off her beautiful teeth.
"All right," she said. "I believe we shall move on to falls, then."
"On second thought," he said quickly, "I don't think I have the attack thing quite right."
John laughed, but Teyla just looked more predatory.
"Do I have to remind you that the brain is a very delicate organ, and mine is very, very important to our survival?"
"Relax, Rodney," John said. "This is to help you keep that brain safe."
"It is for your benefit," Teyla agreed.
He looked at John, saw that same, carefully guarded something in his eyes as before. "You first," he said.
Teyla smiled. "Of course," she said, and latched on to John's wrist. John threw him a glare, and then Teyla did something to his wrist and John dove to the ground, rolling across his shoulder and coming back up to his feet.
"See," John said. "No problem."
"Great," Rodney muttered, but stepped forward.
Aiden guided the ship down quickly, eagerly. He was on a huge high-that hive ship was doomed next time it jumped, and they'd have no clue what happened-and he just had to see his team. His friends. He was careful to avoid the maneuvers that made the dart scream like a banshee, but he wanted to loop the loops and do some barrel rolls just because. The juice was singing inside him, pumping him up like nobody's business. This was the shit, man. As nasty as the Wraith were, maybe this one thing wasn't so bad.
He gave in and rolled the dart once as he spotted the jumper. Totally the shit.
Leaves lashed and branches sawed together as a sudden wind whipped downwards, unlike any storm she had encountered before. A high-pitched hum followed; not the terrifying wail of the Wraith that she was used to, but probably a ship nonetheless. Teyla looked up, but it was impossible to see anything through the thick canopy. Cold clenched in her gut. A split-second debate-back to the camp or forward to the clearing-and then she was running. She pushed her way through the last branches in time to see the strangely gleaming ship touch down amid the flattened grasses.
They pounded through the trees, not bothering to push stray branches aside, just letting them whip across skin in their haste. John was ahead of him, but not by much. Rodney concentrated on moving, on breathing, on trying not to let fear and worry and hope overwhelm him. It was a vain attempt, but he tried. Hell, the dart might not even be Ford-though it was acting out-of-character for a Wraith.
Just run, he told himself. Just run.
"Teyla, report," her radio crackled, just as Aiden emerged from the far side of the ship. She stepped forward, his name on her lips, but caution overrode her enthusiasm at the last second. She clicked her radio.
"Lieutenant Ford has returned," she said quietly. "I am at the edge of the south field."
"Stay put," John responded, his voice slightly labored. "We're on our way."
She did not bother answering. Aiden was walking towards her. She could tell the instant he saw her by the toothy grin that spread across his face.
"Teyla!" Aiden picked up his pace. "How's it going, girl?"
She smiled at him. Damn, she looked good. Her hair was getting long, really long.
"We have been worried," she called to him.
He stopped an arm's length away, trying to hold himself back. He was practically bouncing and vibrating as it was, making it hard to keep his cool. "Aw, don't worry about me," he told her. "I can take care of myself."
"I am aware of that," she said dryly, rubbing at the back of her head. She gave him a meaningful look, and it took him a few seconds to remember that he had knocked her out the last time. Guilt flashed through him, and he stared at her hand, wondering if she was mad.
"Yeah, sorry about that," he said, but he was distracted from her response when the major burst out of the trees, running full tilt toward them. Aiden fell back into a ready stance. He'd hit the major, too.
"Teyla!" the major shouted, then pulled up into a defensive position to Teyla's right, hands ready on his P90. Aiden watched, waiting.
"Ford," the major drawled. "It's about time you showed up."
Aiden stiffened. It sounded like Sheppard was ready to dress him down, and that wasn't at all what he had in mind when he came back here. He had news-fantastic news-and that didn't jive with the way the major was fondling his gun. Teyla took a half-step forward, putting herself between them.
"Lieutenant Ford was just apologizing for our last encounter," she prompted. Teyla was always working it, always trying to get people to get along. That was, whenever she wasn't kicking ass. Aiden supposed that he should go along with her for now.
"Yes, sir," he said. "I, uh, sometimes get a little crazy. This stuff gives me awesome reflexes," he said, smiling. "I won't hurt anybody, though."
Major Sheppard nodded. "I'd like to believe you, Lieutenant. How about you make a show of good faith, and hand over those crystals for a start?"
It was killing him to resist orders, but they still weren't getting the big picture. "It's not that simple, Major. You don't understand..."
"No, you don't understand," Sheppard butted in. "Oh, and by the way it's 'Lieutenant Colonel' now. Things have changed back on Atlantis. We're in touch with Earth, so the situation isn't as desperate as you're thinking. You don't have to do the personal war thing that you've cooked up in that jar head of yours. We'll help you."
"Everything will be fine," Teyla soothed.
Aiden looked at them, glancing back and forth between them. So, Sheppard had gotten a promotion. Good for him. He wondered what else had gone down while he was gone. He wondered if his grandparents had gotten his letter. And help sounded good-but they didn't have what he had now, didn't have the skills and the strength and ability to blend in that he did. They'd get themselves killed, and the Wraith would keep advancing, and sooner or later the Wraith would end up snacking on Earth. He couldn't let that happen.
"No can do, sir," he said finally, knowing that he'd get flak for it. "You don't know the Wraith like I do. I have to do this."
"Ford," the colonel growled, but Aiden just raised a hand and started backing away. His news would have to wait.
"Look. I just came back to see you guys. I don't need this shit." He glanced around, realizing that something was off. "Where's Dr. McKay, anyways?"
"He's fine. Let's go," Sheppard snapped.
That wasn't an answer. Aiden scanned the tree line, finally sighting blue amongst the green. They had laid a fucking ambush. So not cool.
"No, I don't think so," he said, and walked backwards.
"So help me Ford, I will shoot if I have to!"
Part 3