Fic: The Path Less Traveled, 1/2

Title: The Path Less Traveled
Rating: PG/mostly Gen becoming Het (yes, really)
Pairing: John/Teyla
Characters: Teyla, John, Ronon, Rodney, Keller
Word Count: ~10,000 for Part 1; ~17,000 total
Summary: After a gate malfunction leaves Teyla and a wounded John on an unknown planet during a natural disaster, Teyla must use all of her skills to keep them alive until they can get home.
A/N: Written for tielan for the sheppard_hc secret santa exchange. (Hey, my Christmas tree is still up so it's still Christmas.) Beta'd by the ever marvelous kristen999. Prompt at the end. Hope you like it!

The Path Less Traveled

“Dial quickly.” Teyla crouched behind the blackened husk of a transport vehicle, her eyes never leaving Rodney as he staggered forward with Ronon slung on his back. Blood coursed in rivulets down Ronon’s mangled arm and dripped from his fingers, leaving splatters of scarlet on the paved surface. She covered John with her body when another green energy blast reduced the building behind her to rubble. “You must hurry!”

“I’m trying.” Rodney’s snap was breathless. He stabbed at the glyphs with his elbow. “Come on, come on, you piece of— Yes!”

The ring bloomed an irresistible blue, promising home and safety. Teyla tried again to rouse John, her fingers skimming the mottled purple bruise on his temple, and although he moaned at her touch, his eyes did not open. She grasped his arms and pulled. When his upper body slid over her shoulder, she rose carefully but steadily to allow his weight to settle evenly over her back. Rodney’s shout for Atlantis to let them in rang in her ear as she hurried across the open space toward the dialing device. Her GDO lit green in response to Atlantis’ confirmation of the shield dropping, and she was on Rodney’s heels when a nearby explosion knocked her to her knees.

“Teyla!”

“I am fine.” She struggled to her feet. “Go! Get Ronon home. I will be right behind you.”

Rodney nodded and stumbled through the ring.

Teyla shifted John higher and took a deep breath, releasing it as she raced toward home. As she stepped through, green bolts crackled around her. Teyla had traveled through the ring her entire life, so often that she no longer noticed the exhilarating second or two between gates. But this time was not like anything she had ever experienced: a blinding swirl of color and light, and a sensation of plummeting combined with frenzied speed – chaos.

She was screaming when she rocketed out the other side. John was ripped from her grasp, and she barely heard the sickening thud and broken cry over a bone-rattling roar. Then she slammed face first into water. Blackness then cold – a bitter cold that pulled her back to awareness.

But the blackness stayed. Teyla tumbled, disoriented in the bubbles, fighting for consciousness. Sharp things poked her. Heavy things slammed into her. She clawed her way to the surface but only managed a quick gasp before she was pulled under again. She kicked hard. Her right foot collided with something solid, wedging tightly. Her vision grayed as she ripped away her P-90 and struggled out of her tac vest. Her fingertips broke the surface but her face was trapped below.

The pressure in her lungs was unbearable. She flailed and thrashed but her boot would not come loose. Thoughts of Torren drove her. She kicked harder. Something pointed stabbed across the top of her left boot. The laces shredded and that shoe floated free, but her right foot was still caught.

Teyla bent double, tugging and pushing at the lattice of metal and wood that held her. She had to live! Her son needed her. Her people needed her. Her team needed her.

Team! Were the others fighting as she was or had the water claimed them already? She had to find them!

As she fought, her fingers brushed the knife strapped to her ankle. Teyla jerked it free and sliced the laces of her boot. She kicked with the last of her strength and broke free.

When she surfaced, she tilted her face upward, sucking in ragged gasps. Waves crashed over her and she sputtered, arms and legs whipping the water as she struggled to stay afloat. Debris pummeled her. She grasped a pole that rocked but didn’t bend, and she held on, surprised to see a clear sky as blue as the caftra that Halling had given her at Torren’s birth and which still lay folded in his crib.

She coughed and gagged as the lungful of water she’d inhaled when she landed – if landed was the proper term – made itself known. Ahead of her was a grove of evergreens that swayed as waves pounded them. Teyla sheathed her knife and then shimmied around the pole to survey the area. The raging water was coming from her left but all she could see were towering white caps that broke a few meters away, reminding her of the great storms she had experienced on Atlantis.

How could she be in the middle of an ocean? Where was she? Why wasn’t she on Atlantis?

Another turn revealed the ring more than half-submerged by the rapidly rising sea but before she could swim for it, another wall of water crashed down, its momentum ripping her away from the pole and then burying her. She fought her way back to the surface, gasping and kicking. Broken sticks of furniture, toys, half of a red cooking pot, and several baskets bobbed alongside her. A strong current sucked at her legs. She spun in the water, and her heart seized.

The ring was gone.

She was alone.

Where were her teammates?

Teyla twisted and caught a glimpse of a limp, black-clad form dangling in the branches of a tree about two meters away. Strong, sure strokes brought her closer only for the current and the mounds of debris between her and the other person – John, based on his build and clothing – to batter her back. The tree creaked, shook. A loud snap carried over the roar of the water. John’s body jerked and his head bounced backward, but he remained tangled in the tree.

Then she saw it – a sharp limb piercing his left shoulder.

The force that had slammed her into the water had blasted him so hard into the tree that he had been impaled on a branch. The water and his weight were slowly tugging him free.

Teyla swam with every ounce of energy she had. If he fell before she reached him…

Another creak, another snap. John flopped like a broken doll and slid backward. The limb in his shoulder shook and he dropped into the murky water. With a cry, Teyla plunged forward, arms fully outstretched.

Her fingers grazed his hair as he went under, disappearing before her eyes.

“No!”

Heart thrumming with fear and adrenaline, she dove after him, hands waving wildly. When her thumb hooked on cloth, she curled her fingers around it and pulled with all her might.

Then they were on the surface and John was in her arms, his head on her shoulder, his face as pale as death.

She pressed her fingers to his neck, and tears pricked her eyes at the slow beat she found. She needed to get them to ground now. The water was too cold for them to survive long, and she was so tired.

“Help!” Teyla choked on a mouthful of salt water and spat it out with a cough. “Is anyone there?”

Only the roar of the sea answered back. The bobbing remains of civilization around her pointed toward a natural disaster of some sort. The shards of pottery had not yet been blunted by the waves, nor had they been sun bleached. But since she saw no bodies in the water, she had to believe that the owners of the broken vessels and toys must have had enough notice to escape…whatever had happened.

Something living brushed against her leg, and she cursed Ronon again for insisting she watch the man-eating fish movie that so terrified Rodney. Teyla rolled on her back and shifted her grip so that John’s head and shoulders were out of the water, yelping as the creature in the water bumped her leg again and then clenching her jaw in determination. She and John had faced too many dangers to be killed by carnivorous aquatic life.

Teyla scanned the area again, trying to look beyond the water but unable to see anything other than treetops and wreckage. When a flat piece of metal floated near, she grasped it and, after a significant amount of profanity and muscle strain, heaved John on top of it. She paused for a quick breath before crawling on after him, each move deliberate to keep their raft from tipping.

Once they were both completely out of the water, Teyla unzipped John’s tac vest and pulled his shirt open to check his wound. The gash in his shoulder was still weeping blood but not enough to indicate a torn artery. A voice in her head that sounded like Rodney warned of infection and bacteria and water-borne disease, but a quick check of John’s pockets only revealed a radio, weapons, soggy bandages and a pack of gum. Her vest, which was now at the bottom of the sea, had been the one stocked with medicine.

Teyla pressed her forehead to John’s, breathing in his scent and taking a moment to rejoice that she at least had one living teammate. Exhaustion overwhelmed her as the day’s events and her own injuries hit. Her throat burned, every muscle ached, and her cheek throbbed from where she had smacked the water. She had much to do, but she couldn’t lift her head. Surrendering, she curled her body around John and let sleep take her.

xxx

When Teyla woke, the sun had dipped almost to the horizon and the water had grown still. She pushed up onto her elbows and bit back a cry as muscles she didn’t know she had screamed in protest. A pained whimper drew her gaze down to the man beneath her. John’s translucent skin made the bruise on his temple even more pronounced, but the pulse point in his neck thumped visibly.

“John?” Teyla smoothed back the hair plastered to his face, careful to not touch his head wound. “Can you hear me?”

He shuddered and mumbled something she couldn’t decipher, but he didn’t awaken. Teyla checked the wound in his shoulder – red and swollen but no longer bleeding. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, seeking focus. They needed so much – food, fresh water, dry clothing, medicine – but the most immediate need was shelter. Night would fall soon, and whatever disaster had occurred might not be over.

Teyla eased into a sitting position and surveyed the area. Tips of treetops poked out of the water, reminding her of the marshes on Prevalia, a favorite holiday spot of her mother. Debris floated in clumps. A fish the length of her arm leaped, its scales shimmering in the sunlight. But what she sought above all else – the Ring of the Ancestors – was not to be found. They would have to wait until the waters receded.

A knot of debris bumped the makeshift raft, and Teyla cautiously poked through it, choosing a chipped but functional clay bowl and a lightweight metal pot. Using the small bowl as a paddle, she maneuvered toward a jumble of sticks that were tangled in a brilliant green cloth. A few minutes of diligent work and several splinters later, she added the cloth to her collection. The next pile of rubble yielded a long flat board which she used to row toward a grove of trees that rose out of the water to her right.

Her body ached, the muscles in her arms and back burned, and a grief she couldn’t afford to acknowledge was shards of ice in her heart, but Teyla kept her eyes on the grove of conifers ahead. She steered through the maze of mostly submerged trees, occasionally pushing against a trunk as the way narrowed. Sweat trickled down her back and her fingers bled, but she refused to stop, the dip-stroke-lift rhythm slowly hypnotizing her.

But when the metal raft wedged between two large trees with low hanging branches that slapped her face, she snapped back to reality. She shoved with her arms then with her legs, but the metal sliced into the soft bark, revealing a silvery pulp underneath, and held fast. She yelled in frustration and slammed the oar against the water. To her surprise, it hit bottom.

She looked up, following the line of the trees to the sky. The fading light showed a thick canopy far above her head. Why hadn’t she noticed how much of the trees were above the waterline before now?

“Teyla?”

She whirled at the ragged whisper, her heart soaring. John’s eyes were slits, but they were open. She laid her hands on his chest. “Do not move too much. Our situation is… precarious.”

He blinked slowly and licked his lips. “What happened?”

“I do not know. We were attacked, you were injured, and when we went through the ring, we came here instead of Atlantis.” Teyla shook her head at the question in his eyes. “I do not know where here is. We arrived in the middle of some kind of flood. The ring is currently under water.” She relayed the events that led them to their raft and meager supplies. “I believe we are close to high ground.”

John grunted, pain flickering on his face. “Where are Rodney and Ronon?”

Sorrow sliced through Teyla. “They did not…” Her voice wobbled and she paused to clear her throat. “You are the only one I found.”

His eyes widened, shining with raw grief for a moment before he turned his face away from her. She twined her fingers through his and squeezed but he didn’t acknowledge the touch. She released his hand and began to test the depth of the water with the board.

“How deep?”

Teyla held up the board. “Just over one meter, I believe.” She slipped over the side, gripping the edge until her sock-clad feet touched the ground. The frigid water came slightly past her waist. “Can you walk?”

“I’ll manage.” John paled and groaned as he pushed upright, keeping his left arm close to his body and leaning on his right. “I feel like the Daedalus landed on me.”

Teyla smiled as she waded to his side of the metal float. “Be grateful. You were unconscious when we came through the ring. Only that tree kept you from being swept away.” She unclipped his P-90 and wrapped it and the containers she had salvaged in the cloth which she tied like a sling around her neck.

John twisted and slid his legs in the water. “Oh, my God, that’s cold.”

“That has not escaped my attention.” Teyla guided his right arm around her shoulders, holding onto his hand, and wrapped her arm around his waist. “Bend your knees to soften your landing. I don’t want your wound to reopen.”

Jaw clenched, John nodded. Teyla pulled and he dropped into the water with a gasp, arching in pain. He hung like deadweight, and she tightened her grip to keep him afloat. After a moment, he got his feet under him and stood, though he hunched over, his head dipping toward his chest. Together, they staggered forward, heading deeper into the forest. The farther they went, the shallower the water. John stumbled several times, crashing to his knees with a cry, then leaning on her more and more when she pulled him up.

The way was steep, and Teyla bit the inside of her lip as rocks and sticks cut her feet through her socks. As day deepened to twilight, they finally reached dry ground. John struggled to put one foot in front of the other until he slumped down, chest heaving.

“I can’t, Teyla.” He pressed his forehead to a path littered with fallen needles from the evergreens and then sank onto his side. “I just can’t.”

“It is alright.” Teyla set her sling of supplies down and bent over, hands on her knees. “It is too dark to continue. We will look for more substantial shelter in the morning.” She took a deep breath and then knelt to sweep away the needles.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a fire.” When the bare spot was big enough, she rose to her feet and began to gather sticks, grateful the waters had not risen this far. “We do not have dry clothing and we need to get warm.”

John grunted in amusement. “You still carry that flamethrower?”

“Of course. It is in my…” Teyla sighed and hung her head. “…vest.”

“’S okay,” John said. “We can do it the old fashioned way.”

“I am uncertain that I have enough energy to rub two sticks together.”

“Not that old.” John laughed as he reached into an inner pocket of his vest and pulled out a small box. “I have the waterproof matches.”

By the time Teyla stacked the wood, lit the kindling and spread the cloth out to dry, John was snoring softly. While the temperature was warm, the chill of the ocean had seeped into her bones, and she couldn’t stop shivering. She crawled to John’s side, wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled against his back, careful to not jostle his injured shoulder. John’s even breathing and the aroma of the fire quickly lulled her to sleep.

xxx

Teyla awoke in a sweat as the first rays of dawn painted the sky. She eased away from John and sat up, dabbing at the perspiration gathering at the base of her throat. The muscles in her neck and back were in knots, and she felt double her age as she pushed to her feet. A cool breeze teased her hair and made her shiver. She bent and twisted but the stretching poses that she practiced every morning were too painful to hold for more than a second.

With a sigh, she stoked the fire and added a few logs, her mind occupied with the duties of the day until the blaze grew bright enough to illumine John’s face. He was pale with red blotches on his cheeks, and his entire body shook. She stooped to press a hand to his forehead and drew back in alarm at the heat radiating from him.

“John?” Teyla tapped his cheek gently. “I need you to open your eyes.”

He groaned and rolled on his back. The bruise on his temple was a green-tinged purple, ugly but healing, but what concerned her were the red streaks on his neck that disappeared under his shirt. Teyla gasped when she checked the wound. She had expected the infection, but not so quickly.

“I am going to find something to treat your wound.” Teyla shook out the cloth and covered John with it. “I will return.”

Teyla picked up the metal pot she’d found and stepped into the woods, stopping every few minutes to listen. Soon she was rewarded with the gurgle of a creek. She threaded her way through the trees, wincing as sticks and rocks jabbed through her socks. The creek’s bank was too steep to climb down and she was forced to walk upstream for almost a kilometer until she crossed an animal trail. She followed the well-trod path to a dip in the terrain which overlooked a fork in a river. Numerous paw prints, none fresh, marked the drinking area, giving her some measure of comfort that it was safe to consume. Pristine water bubbled over rocks, its froth a visual reminder of the cascades that were roaring somewhere further up. Teyla drank her fill of the icy liquid then rinsed the pot and filled it to the brim, about two liters worth.

She retraced her steps, committing the way to memory as she returned to camp where John was sleeping fitfully. She located a long branch and used it to rearrange the logs in the fire to provide a secure place to set the pot to boil. While the water heated, Teyla unrolled the salt-crusted bandages from John’s vest – useless until she sterilized them. She took her knife from her ankle sheath and sliced into the bark of the nearest tree. The dark brown pulled away to reveal the silvery flesh she remembered from the previous day. She shaved off a sliver and touched it to her tongue, wrinkling her nose at the familiar bitter taste.

“What are you doing?” John asked, watching her with glazed eyes laced with pain.

Teyla spun, grunting with pain when her back spasmed. “How are you feeling?”

John’s brows knitted together. “Ummm…” A shudder broke up his long sigh. “Been better.”

She gave a gentle smile. “Of that I am certain. Your shoulder wound has become infected.” She held up the curl of wood pulp. “The thin silver layer underneath the bark has medicinal qualities. I should be able to make a poultice to provide temporary relief.” She turned back to the tree. “I suspect that you have splinters and perhaps other detritus deep inside the wound. Combined with the bacteria from the water…”

“You’ve got to stop spending so much time with Rodney.”

Teyla froze as grief welled up. “John.”

“They aren’t dead.”

She bowed her head, fighting tears. “Ronon was badly injured. If Rodney had been—”

“They. Aren’t. Dead.”

Teyla returned to her work, knowing the futility of discussing the issue further. John refused to face the possibility of a teammate dying, his internal walls reflected in the flatness of his eyes or, in this case, in the tightness of the ball he curled into. After Carson and then Elizabeth died, John shut down, immersing himself in his work, unable or unwilling to share his grief. And Teyla had needed to share.

Water bubbling caught her ear over the snap of the fire and John’s ragged breathing. After laying the wood shavings on a rock, Teyla folded the cloth John had been using as a blanket, and used it to pick up the pot, pouring enough in the clay bowl to sterilize it and then filling it up and setting it aside to cool in order to drink later. Next, she rinsed the rocks near the fire and then selected a small concave one and scrubbed it clean. She scooped her wood shavings into it, added a splash of water and set it aside. The pot was still half full, and she placed the bandages inside, allowing them to soak while she used a stone to grind the shavings into paste. Then she wringed out the bandages and put them on the freshly rinsed rocks.

Teyla checked John’s wound again. The raw skin was inflamed, and he moaned at her touch when she tried to remove his vest.

“John, I need to treat your wound. Can you sit up?”

His eyes fluttered open. “You’re not Keller.”

“No. We are not on Atlantis, remember?”

“Oh.” His gaze locked on hers, his brows in a V and then he blinked. “Oh.” Emotion flickered on his face and then it was gone. “Right. Flood.”

“Yes. I need to get your vest and shirt off.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Is that all?”

“What else were you expecting?”

John sighed and closed his eyes. “Nothing.” He sucked in a breath and the veins in his neck bulged as he pushed up on his right elbow and then rolled upright. “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?”

Teyla eased the vest past his shoulders and carefully pulled it off. “Yes.”

John’s breath hissed through clenched teeth as Teyla unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off. “Don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”

“It could be worse.” Teyla frowned at the tight black t-shirt he wore. Then she drew her knife and sliced the cloth until it fell away.

“Awwww. I loved that shirt.”

“Your closet is filled with them.”

“What’s your point?”

Teyla tore a piece of one of the bandages, soaked it in the bowl of water, and gently washed the wound.

John moaned deep in his throat. “H-h-h-how?”

“How what?”

“How – God, that hurts – how could it be worse?”

“Many ways. We could be on a hive ship. You could have been allergic to the wood.” She dipped the cloth in the paste. “The wound could have been through your heart.”

“You might have a point.” John drew in a shaky breath and grimaced. “What smells like moldy gym socks?”

Teyla held up the paste-soaked cloth. “The poultice.”

“Gross. You sure it’s going to help? Because I’d hate to walk around smelling like that for no reason.”

“It will slow the infection and fight the fever.”

John wrinkled his nose. “Fine, but when we get back I want two of those candles you make.”

“You shall have them.”

She pressed the cloth to the entrance wound and John arched upward, his mouth open in a silent scream. His good hand knotted into a fist and slammed into the ground, and his heels kicked dust as he writhed. She held him as she did Torren after a nightmare, whispering words of comfort while his body trembled in her arms and hot tears dripped on her shoulder. Eventually he stilled, his breath coming in ragged pants. When she spread the paste on the exit wound, he gagged in pain and slumped, unconscious.

Teyla laid John on his side and continued to coat the front and back of the wound until the paste was gone, and then brushed his hair from his face. “Rest. I will return after I find shelter for us.”

She added another log to the fire, slid John’s handgun into her pocket, and twisted her socks to cover the soles of her feet before she set off. The sun was bright, and the forest teemed with life – birdsong, the chirp of insects, and the rustle of the brush in the wake of small animals filled the floral-scented air. She crested a ridge that looked out over the valley and gasped at the devastation below. Cliffs that most likely lined the coast had a natural break that formed a basin which led to the valley. A wooden fishing vessel lay in pieces down the far cliff face, and another one floated in the valley without really moving, as if caught on something. The remains of the village stretched from the tree line to the sea – a solid blob of debris sloshing on top of the water, broken beams of homes and colored dots of indistinguishable possessions.

Down there somewhere was the Ring of the Ancestors, their only way home.

Teyla continued to climb, following animal trails and breaks in the underbrush, clawing over boulders and through the trees until her hands and feet bled, but she could not find anything suitable. She wiggled out on a shallow ledge and let her feet dangle as she swept her gaze over the line of the trees. The river cut a jagged path through the evergreens, splitting then splitting again as it coursed toward the ocean. A cabin sat near the bank of one of the forks, but it looked to be at least ten kilometers away. John was in no condition to travel that far.

She let her head droop forward, massaged the back of her neck and then pushed to her feet to make her way to John. She followed the river down, stopping occasionally for a drink. One spot was relatively flat and a copse of stout trees with thick, straight branches grew by the bank. She circled the grove until she found a limb low enough and sturdy enough to be the base of a lean-to. A search of the underbrush yielded several long branches which she used for walls, and a few broken branches from nearby evergreens provided covering, insulation, and a soft bed inside.

Satisfied with the shelter, Teyla returned to the camp. The empty camp. Heart racing, she rushed in, gun in hand, past the fire that still crackled and the bandages which lay untouched. “John! Where are you?” No animal tracks or footprints other than theirs. “John!”

“Teyla?” John peered at her from behind a tree. “What’s wrong?”

Relief swelled inside and she had to blink away tears. “What are you doing?”

His face reddened as he weaved like he’d overindulged in Ruus wine. “I had to take a leak, okay?”

“Oh.” She felt her face flame. “I, um…” She stared at him, exhaustion and fear turning her thoughts to sludge.

His lips twitched into a smile. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you speechless before.”

She arched a brow. “After five years on your team, I am amazed sometimes that I still have the power of speech.”

“Oh, ouch.” John wobbled sideways and grabbed her arm. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“I was preparing a more substantial shelter. Can you walk?”

“How far?”

“A little over a kilometer.”

He slid to the ground. “Yeah. Just give me a minute.”

While John rested, Teyla rolled up the bandages, kicked dirt on the fire, and secured their meager supplies in the cloth except for the bowl of water which she offered to John. After he drank his fill, she finished it and tucked the bowl with the other supplies. She knotted the cloth into a sling again, strapped it and the P-90 on, and then helped John to his feet.

They slowly made their way through the forest, stopping often to allow John a respite. Each time they continued, she bore more of his weight, and she had to drag him the last few steps to the lean-to. He relaxed into sleep before she laid him fully on the bed.

Teyla quickly made another poultice then treated and bandaged his wound. Her own body pleaded for rest but she had too much to do to stop now – their clothing needed to be washed, they needed fresh water, and the hunger gnawing at her stomach could not be ignored much longer. After she built and lit a fire, she removed John’s shoes and pants, covered him with the green cloth, and slid off his undergarments and socks. She set his holster and weapons to the side and then with the clothing bundled in her arms, she walked the few paces to the river bank and knelt in a rocky eddy rimmed with flat, sun dappled boulders. Teyla scrubbed John’s clothing, including his shirt and tac vest, against the stones and then soaked them and wringed out the water, spreading them on one of the boulders. The t-shirt was ruined as a garment, but the pieces could be used as bandages so she washed them and laid them on the rocks. Next she stripped off her clothes and washed them rigorously.

The call of the river was too great to ignore. Once her garments were laid out to dry, she waded in, allowing the cold water to rinse the salt and grime from her skin. Teyla dipped her head back and raked her fingers through her hair until every tangle, every leaf and speck of dirt was free. She swam in lazy circles, allowing her muscles to warm, and then moved through the first five katas of bantos, holding each position until the tightness released. The roar of nearby rapids sparked an idea, and she made her way upstream to a series of falls, angling underneath the spray, letting it pound her aching shoulders and back.

Feeling almost human, Teyla rolled onto her back and floated toward the boulders on the bank, crawling onto the most sun-drenched one and stretching out. The warm rays dried her skin and made her eyelids droop. She shook herself awake and turned onto her stomach before she began to burn, certain she could hear Rodney railing against the evil of UV as he had on their last visit to New Athos. In mid-rant, Ronon had tossed Rodney in the lake. Not to be outdone, Rodney waited for Ronon to fall asleep then dipped his finger in the sunscreen and wrote “McKay is a genius” on Ronon’s back with a touch so gentle that Ronon did not awaken – until two hours later when John spotted it and laughed loud enough to wake the Wraith.

Teyla giggled at the memory, still amazed that Ronon had let Rodney live, much less outrun him to the ring. Drops of water splashed on her boulder and she glanced at the sky, expecting rainclouds and finding a brilliant blue instead. Then the giggle dissolved to a sob. She felt the tears this time, streaking her face and blurring her vision. Grief exploded inside and all she could do was lay her head on her hands and weep – for lost friends, for John’s suffering, for a son she might never see again, for relationships that had run their course.

Spent, she lay there until the unyielding rock began to cut into uncomfortable places. Then she slid off, washed her face, dressed, gathered John’s clothing, and walked back to the lean-to. Since he was still asleep, she folded his clothes and placed them next to him, set the t-shirt strips on top of his holster and gathered more water. A few blue-spotted fish darted near the eddy which gave her an idea. Using a lace from John’s boot, she tied her knife to the end of a long branch and waded into the water. Three well-executed jabs landed enough fish to fill both of their empty stomachs.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers, and after cleaning the fish, she skewered each one with a stick and placed it headfirst in the coals.

“Mmmm. What smells so good?” John’s voice echoed from the lean-to. “And why am I naked?”

Teyla bit her lip. “You’re naked? What were you doing while I was fishing?”

John’s head poked around the lean-to’s entrance. “You went fishing?” His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, what was I doing? I was unconscious.”

“And now you’re naked…”

“Well, I didn’t undress myself.” His brows furrowed. “At least I don’t think so. Nope, definitely not. I never fold my clothes.”

She blinked innocently. “How mysterious. Do you require assistance in getting dressed?”

“No.” John glared and disappeared inside, quiet mutterings and a long, loud string of profanities accompanying each shake and rattle of the lean-to. Finally, all movement stopped. “Help.”

“Did you say something?”

A minute of silence followed by, “I require assistance, please.”

“Of course.” Teyla poked at the coals one last time then slowly rose to her battered feet and hobbled to the lean-to where John lay tangled in his BDUs. “How may I assist?”

“Let’s start with helping me stand up.”

She nodded and knelt at his side. He had one leg mostly in and the other had made it as far as his ankle. “I believe you need to start over.” She tugged the pants free, pointedly ignoring the pink and white boxers he had managed to put on, then stood and offered her hand which he grasped. She pulled him to his feet and grabbed his good shoulder to steady him. Then she helped him step into the pants and worked each leg until his feet were clear of the material.

Teyla quickly slid his pants up and buttoned them, acutely aware of his discomfort but uncertain whether it was directed at her or at his inability to do something so simple. She reached for his shirt, turning her back and making a show of shaking it out to give him the privacy to zip his pants.

“Where are your boots?”

She turned in surprise. “I lost them when we were in the water.” She held his shirt open as he eased his injured shoulder in first and then the other. “My foot was caught. I could think of no other option at the time. I was concentrating on not drowning.”

He frowned at her as she buttoned his shirt, his earlier discomfort gone. “Good job with that, but you should’ve said something.”

“What purpose would that serve?” Teyla gathered his shoes and socks. “We should eat before the fish is too dry.”

John followed her to the campfire. “You could’ve been wearing my boots. I haven’t exactly been using them.”

“Then my hands and knees would have the lacerations from all of the times I would trip.” She settled by the fire, placing his boots between them, and handed him one of the fish which he eyed dubiously. “I may not be an accomplished cook, but it is not raw or burned so it should be edible.”

He sniffed it then pulled off a sliver and stuck it in his mouth. His eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s really good.”

“I am pleased to hear that.” When she bit into hers, a smoky sweetness burst in her mouth, and her stomach cramped in response. She forced herself to eat slowly, to savor every bite and wash it down with a sip of water.

“Can I have some of that?” John tipped his head toward the bowl she held.

Teyla extended it to him and then realized with an embarrassed smile that he had no way to take it since his one good hand was occupied with his dinner. She scooted next to him and held the bowl to his lips, tilting it just enough for him to drink but not spill.

They ate in silence, alternating bites with sips of water, finishing both fish and splitting the third. While they had shared many meals over the years, this one was different – no teammates, no villagers to placate, no job demands or expedition emergencies or family expectations or threat of Wraith. Her breath caught as the realization sank in. She’d been battered by every emotion possible since plunging into this world, except one. For the first time…ever, she felt no expectation of a Wraith attack. It was freeing in a way she never could have imagined, and suddenly she felt like she understood John and his people a little more.

“What?” John asked.

Teyla blinked at his voice and shook off the reverie. “What?”

“You’re staring at me like I grew another head.”

She grinned at him, but her prepared retort dissolved under the intensity of his gaze. Sometimes she wondered if he knew the power of his eyes; other times she was certain that he did. She pulled away and glanced upward. “Night is falling. I need to refill the water.”

She grabbed the pot and the bowl before he could say anything and hurried to the stream, trying to not wince with every step she took. After filling both to the brim, she walked back to camp with as much dignity as she could muster.

John had put on his boots, added a few logs to the fire that he’d kindled, and dumped the remains of their dinner in the flames. He looked up when she set down the containers. “You got any more of that stinky paste?”

Teyla gaped at him. “You are volunteering for me to treat your wound?”

“Oh, hell no.” He grimaced as he rolled his injured shoulder. “You need it on your own wounds.”

“I have not been injured.”

“Well, you’ve got a hell of a shiner, but I was referring to your feet. Sit down and let’s take care of them.”

“That is not necessary. I can do it.”

“I know you can, but you’ve done everything else so far. I can’t do much right now, but I can do that.”

Instead of his command voice, he spoke in the gentle tones of a friend, which she couldn’t refuse. “Very well. I don’t have any paste, but you only need a few strips of bark from the tree.”

John disappeared inside the lean-to and emerged a second later with his knife in hand. While he hacked at a tree, Teyla removed her socks, biting the inside of her cheek every time the cloth brushed over ragged flesh. The material was shredded and stained with blood and the dirt of the day.

“Well, those won’t be good for anything.” John handed her several pieces of bark and his knife. “I can’t shave those little curlicues with one hand.” He eased to the ground in front of her, tossed her ruined socks to the side and gave her his socks. “Good thing you washed them.”

“Indeed.” Her breath caught when he propped her right foot on his knee. “What are you doing?”

“These scrapes and cuts need to be cleaned before we medicate and bandage them.”

She nodded, feeling foolish. “Yes, of course. I—I don’t know what I…”

John looked up, the firelight sparkling in his eyes. “No explanations necessary.”

He dipped his hand in the water and drizzled it over her foot again and again, taking time to cleanse each gash and remove any splinters. His touch was sure and tender and practiced. Teyla considered asking him where he learned such technique then decided she did not wish to know. She relaxed under his care and felt her body sag, eyelids sliding shut.

“Hey.” He squeezed her toe. “Stinky paste first, sleep later.”

She smiled and began to peel away the medicinal layer of the bark while John set her right foot down and picked up her left. Her skin tingled, sending tendrils of warmth racing up her spine. She suppressed a shudder and concentrated on her task.

“I think you’ve got something embedded here.” When he touched a spot near her heel, pain shot up her leg and she yelped, jerking her foot from his grasp. “Yep, definitely something there.” He picked up her foot again and angled it toward the fire. “Not enough light for me to see to remove it.”

Teyla tried to hide her relief. “Then we should treat it with the poultice as we did for your shoulder. Once we return home, Jennifer can take care of it.”

A wicked smile curved his lips. “Just remember you said that when I spread that nasty stuff on it.”

He dumped out the dirty water and held the bowl while she poured enough fresh water to make the paste. Once it was ready, he coated the bottoms of her feet with it. Tears sprung to her eyes as the poultice burned into the raw wounds, and when he reached the tender area near her heel, she gasped and clawed at the ground.

“Almost done,” John said. “Hang in there.” He pulled the strips of his t-shirt from his pocket. “Found these in the lean-to.” He wrapped them tightly around her feet, tucking the ends inside the folds of cloth, and then slid his socks over her feet. “How are you doing?”

Teyla brushed the tears from her face. “I will survive. I will also remember to salvage my shoes on next time.”

xxx

The next morning dawned heavy with humidity. At some time in the night, they had rolled toward each other, and she woke to find their legs entwined and John’s fingers drawing circles on her back. Sweat tickled her nose as she tried to extricate herself without waking him, but she knew she had failed when his hand stilled and his body stiffened.

“Oh, God.” Wide-eyed, John disentangled himself and sat up as a blush crept from his neck to his ears. “I am so sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize,” she said, stifling a laugh at the look of horror on his face. “Would you like breakfast?”

“More than anything.”

Teyla grabbed her things and headed off, sighing in relief as she waded into the river, pant legs rolled up to her knees and homemade harpoon in hand. But the fish were not to be found this day. She tried several different spots before heading back to camp empty handed. John was sitting by the fire, looking pale but no worse, using a twig with evergreen needles to clean his .45 and the P-90.

“No luck, huh?”

Teyla shook her head as she sat next to him. “Perhaps it is too late in the day.”

“Maybe they just spread the word that we were here. If you feel up to it, maybe we can take a walk, find another fishing hole.”

“I feel fine.” Teyla wiggled her toes at him. “Your medical care was excellent. How are you feeling?”

John offered her a lopsided smile. “Tired. But this campsite is pretty much all I’ve seen. I’d like to get a feel for where we are.”

“I found an overlook with views to the sea, but it is some distance.”

“I don’t have anything better to do.” John reassembled the handgun and set it aside. “Are you ready?”

Teyla picked up the gun. “Were these damaged by the water?”

“No, but one of the things I’d like to do today is a little target practice just to be sure.”

She helped him to his feet and handed him the gun in exchange for the P-90. They took their time hiking the animal trails along the river, stopping often to hydrate in the heat. Teyla chose the smoothest path with the kindest incline, which made the trip longer but easier on both of them. The climb up the ridge left them panting and soaked with sweat, but the view was more amazing than last time. The ship on the cliff face had broken up and slid into the ocean. Receding waters had left the remains of the village dangling from trees and smashed against rocks. But the most surprising sight was the wreckage of the other fishing vessel – it lay on its side, bobbing in the rippling waves, its stern caught on the Ring of the Ancestors.

“Wow,” John said. “That’s impressive.”

Teyla found a grassy patch and eased to the ground. “I am pleased that the ring is now visible.”

He plopped next to her with a grunt. “Yeah. About a third of it, I’d guess. If it keeps flowing out like that, it should be low enough for us to go home in a couple more days.”

“Truly?” Teyla’s breath caught at the thought of home and Torren in her arms.

John glanced at her, his eyes filled with compassion. “I know you miss him. You’ll be home before you know it.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“You get that look on your face when you’re thinking about Torren.”

“What look?”

“You know, that…” His brows scrunched together and his eyes went wide. “…look.”

“I do not look like that.”

He snorted a laugh. “You so do. Just ask Ronon when we get back.”

Teyla closed her eyes and lowered her head. “Oh, John.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he cleared his throat, staring at the horizon. “The only thing Ronon and Rodney have in common, other than their appetites, is the ability to stay alive.” His head drooped then he turned to face her. “I can’t believe they’re dead – I won’t believe they’re dead – until I have proof.”

“Proof? John, look out there. Their bodies would have been carried out to sea.”

“If,” he held up a finger, “if that’s the case, we’ll bring a jumper and search for their sub-cu transmitters.”

“And if there is nothing left to find?”

“No more shark movies for you.”

“You are making jokes?” Anger made her voice shake. “They are your best friends!”

“Which is why I can’t— I won’t—” John hid his face in his hand, his shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath. “I’m not going to give up on them.”

“If they could contact us, they would.”

“The water short-circuited my radio. Even if Rodney managed to repair one of theirs, we wouldn’t know. Besides, I’m not convinced they’re on this planet. You said you heard Rodney talking to Atlantis, that your GDO lit up to come through.”

Teyla nodded slowly. “Yes, I am certain we were connected with Atlantis.” She frowned as she tried to follow his logic. “You think they went to Atlantis and we were sent here? How is that possible?”

“Do you remember the first time Colonel Carter came to Atlantis, when she came with her team?”

“I was off-world but I remember the visit. Elizabeth told me about speaking with one of the Ancestors.”

“And I had to listen to Rodney drone on for days about the massive explosion that made the wormhole jump from a gate to a black hole while taking out a hive ship.” John turned to her, eyes intense. “It takes a hell of a blast, but a big enough one makes a wormhole jump gates.”

A sliver of hope kindled inside Teyla. “We were being fired upon when we went through. You think they made it home but we were sent here.”

“I like that option a hell of a lot better than the alternatives.”

“As do I.” Letting her emotions settle, she watched a flock of birds circling above the water then suddenly banking and diving for the surface. A moment later, a large fish leapt in the air, catching several birds in its mouth before disappearing under the rippling waves.

“Wow!” John leaned forward, grinning like a child. “Did you see that?”

“I do not understand your world’s obsession with fish and other creatures that hunt and eat you.”

He snorted a laugh. “It was a movie, Teyla.”

“It was one of many such movies. I find it disturbing.”

“And I find it disturbing that you made Zelenka set up a harmonic warning system a mile around the city before you’d go swimming again.”

She arched a brow at him. “I was merely being cautious. I will not apologize for not wanting to be eaten by a fish.”

“No sharks on Athos?”

“Our oceans were filled with ice, much too frigid for swimming, and the lakes held no man-eating creatures.” Teyla glanced away. “We had the Wraith instead.”

“Yeah,” John said softly. “I hate that for you.”

“Is this what your world is like? This… peace?”

He tilted his head to the side, his mouth twisting. “Sometimes, in some places. We usually manage to mess it up ourselves, but there are times…” He sighed and his eyes lost focus. “Not long after I made captain, I had a really tough mission that went south. I got some R&R on a little island in the Mediterranean. Just me, the waves, the sun and sand. It’s the closest thing to peace I’ve ever known.”

Teyla let the silence stretch, let John revisit his time of peace while she again tried to imagine a world under no threat from the Wraith. She had seen their movies, read their books, talked with their people, and while she knew not everyone on Earth lived in peace, they all had the potential to do so.

For her people, her son, to have that potential was her greatest desire. She would give her life for it.

“Looks like there’s a storm rolling in,” John said.

Teyla followed his gaze to the dark clouds on the horizon. “We should start back before it gets here.”

The trek down went faster, although it was much harder on her feet. She limped her way to a curve in the path and felt something squish under her foot.

“What’s wrong?” John asked.

“I’m not sure.” She poked at the purple mush stuck to her sock; it had a sweet, fruity scent. “A berry, I believe.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” John stepped into the woods and rustled through the brush. “Yes!” He emerged with his hands filled with berries. “I brushed a leaf over the back of my hand and didn’t feel any reaction.”

Teyla selected a large, flat oval, stroking her thumb over the slight fuzz on the deep purple skin. She held it to her lips for a couple of minutes. When nothing happened, she touched it to her tongue.

“Well?” John asked.

“I feel no adverse effects.” She bit into it, and the juice coated her mouth, a mild sweetness with a hint of tart.

John crammed a handful in his mouth, leaving reddish-blue smears on his lips and the tip of his nose.

Teyla hid a smile. “Good?”

“Mmmm hmmm.” He extended a hand as he swallowed. “Want some more?”

They ate several handfuls – not enough to fill but also not enough to make them sick – then stuffed their pockets and continued on to camp, arriving along with the first drops of rain. The thick branches covering the top and sides of the lean-to kept them mostly dry as they collapsed inside.

“The berries!” Teyla rolled up on her knees and scooped the fruit from her pockets, searching the shelter for a place to put them before slumping in disgust. “The bowl is outside.”

John smoothed a spot on the rumpled green cloth and emptied his pockets on it. “We’ll worry about that tomorrow.” He quirked a grin at her. “Just don’t roll over in the middle of the night.”

“I shall do my best.”

She added her berries to the pile and moved the cloth to the corner while John arranged the bed of evergreen needles and settled in the midst of it with a sigh. Teyla pulled off her socks and unwrapped the bandages, wriggling her toes. Then she unlaced John’s boots and removed them.

“Didn’t have to do that.” John’s voice was slurred with weariness.

“I know,” Teyla said. “But you will sleep more comfortably and you need as much rest as possible.”

“Always looking after everybody.” John yawned and buried deeper in the needles. “Who looks after you?”

“You think I need someone to look after me?”

“Everyone needs someone.”

“Who do you need?”

“Asked you first.” John’s smile faded as he held her gaze. He shifted, glanced away, looked back. “You. And Ronon and McKay. You guys have my back.”

“I see.” Teyla combed her fingers through her hair, wincing as she worked through tangles.

“What does that mean?”

“What?”

“Here, let me help.” John swatted her hands away and pulled a comb from his vest.

“It is unnecessary.”

“If you can deal with my boots, I think I can deal with your hair.” His breath warmed her ear as he moved close. “What does ‘I see’ mean?”

Teyla grimaced when the comb snagged a knot, but instead of ripping through it, John gently worked it loose. She relaxed as the teeth of the comb stroked her scalp. “I merely wondered if having your back covered was all you needed.”

The comb paused at the base of her skull. “Most of the time.” He scooted to the right and continued. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Who looks after you?”

“As you said, our team,” Teyla said. “My people. Torren.”

“Isn’t he a little young?”

“Care is given in many ways. My son’s laughter can heal any hurt.”

“I can understand that.” John handed her the comb. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” She lay back, stifling a groan as every ache and strain made themselves known.

John stretched out next to her. “I miss my bed.”

“Even though it is too short?”

“I like it that way. Reminds me of home.”

“Beds on Earth are short?”

“Just the bunk beds at my grandpa’s lake house. Dave’s feet used to dangle off the end all the way up to his knees.” John’s chuckle ended in a yawn. “Torren’s growing so fast he’s going to have the same problem soon.”

Teyla’s heart squeezed at the mention of her son. “I know. Kanaan has already acquired a toddler bed for New Athos. He will have one for me to take back to Atlantis when I return to get Torren.”

“Woolsey says Kanaan is doing a great job representing Athos on the Coalition council.”

“I am pleased he has found his purpose.”

“Must be hard.”

She smiled in the darkness, knowing it would be as close to asking as he would get. “Kanaan and I have shared a bond since childhood, and Torren has strengthened that bond, but our paths lie in different directions.”

“And you’re good with that?”

“It is what it is. I celebrate the time that we had together and I could ask for no greater gift than my son.”

John yawned and shifted on his side. Withdrawing, she thought, until she heard him mumble, “If that’s what you want.”

Teyla listened to the patter of the rain and John’s even breathing long into the night, pondering what it was she did want.


Part 2