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Although Teyla wished she was anywhere else at the moment, the night stretching before her was breathtaking. Through gaps of scudding clouds, stars burned clear against the ink-dark sky, and the snow-carpeted landscape below shone silver under the light of the moons. In the distance, steep hills rose gracefully upwards, rolling and dipping like storm-tossed waters. Dark patches of forest colonized the bases, becoming sparse and isolated further up. This region of the planet was mostly covered with evergreen forest, but Teyla was currently crossing over a barren plain, spread between two copses of wind-battered pines. Her tracks were the only thing that marred the surface of the freshly fallen snow.
She was exposed out in the open like this, vulnerable to attack from above, leaving a clear trail for her pursuers. It wouldn’t be long before they caught up. But they were no Wraith; like most societies in the Pegasus Galaxy, the inhabitants here possessed only rudimentary technologies. They ignored the Ancient ruins that lay a few miles from their village, from what Teyla had gleaned by speaking to them. While communication had been somewhat difficult at first, the language they spoke was clearly derived from the common trade language that every gate-connected planet knew. There was no clear hostility towards her or the rest of the team. Even Ronon had been at ease by the time they finally departed to study the ruins. Perhaps she should have taken longer to understand them, to avoid whatever transgression had led to the attack that stranded her out in a blizzard.
Cold bit at Teyla, dragging her from her speculation. The Atlantis uniform she donned was made for cold weather, with a hood and thick insulation, but it left much to be desired. There was a long vertical tear down the left side, stopping at the hem, where a knife had caught and failed to slice all the way through. Puffy white insulation spilled out, stained with red. At least the cold kept her side numb, dulling the angry remnants of the fight. It kept her fingers that way, too, and she could barely zip her jacket up the rest of the way. She tucked her stiff hands into her pockets and trudged on through the snow that nearly reached up to her knees in places. It was exhausting work, fighting through deep snowdrifts when even gasping for breath was punishing, frigid air scalding her throat and lungs. The hills, and the Stargate beyond, seemed so far away. In the Puddle Jumper, it had been a trip of minutes.
Flurries of snow whirled away as she kicked them up with her boots, snatched by the wind. She hadn’t looked up in what felt like hours when a misstep sent her flailing forwards into a bed of soft snow. Teyla’s heart was pounding fast, too fast, and though it hurt, she took deeper breaths, forced away the urge to hyperventilate. Shudders wracked her. She knew it was a bad idea, but she nestled further into the hollow in the snow made by her body, sheltered from the wind. Just needed enough time to get her breath back, that was all.
A dark figure hunched over Teyla when she woke. He had his hands on her shoulder, and the shock of adrenaline let her shake off the paralysis of sleep and cold enough to bring her P-90 to bear. Her numb hands were probably the only thing that prevented John from being shot right then. “Take it easy with that thing!” he yelped, lurching backwards. “It’s me, Teyla.”
“Colonel Sheppard,” she acknowledged, shaky with relief. He was with her as they fled the ruins, but they separated in the blizzard after. The radios were not working for some reason Rodney would be able to explain as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. So she had continued toward the Stargate as they’d planned. She let the P-90 drop, and John relaxed, leaning over her again, examining the laceration on her ribs. Now that sleep had begun to clear from her mind, anger at herself curdled in Teyla’s stomach. She knew better than to curl up and fall asleep in the cold. Her friends were lost and depending on her. She could have been followed and attacked. Might have never woken again.
“Damn it,” John said as he took her bare hands in his own gloved ones. Teyla sat up wordlessly, allowing him to unzip her jacket so she could tuck her hands up into her armpits. John glanced back the way she’d come as he dug bandages out of his pocket. He guarded his side with each movement, and his breaths were short. No tears disfigured the puffy coat he wore, and she guessed he had bruised his ribs in a fight. Did Ronon and Rodney fare as we have? Or are they up in the hills already? If Ronon realized they were behind, he would return for them.
Spurred on by the uncertainty, she struggled to her feet. “My injury is not severe. It can wait until we reach the protection of the woods.” John steadied her with one hand, giving a short nod. Before they could start walking again, he stripped his gloves off. She drew her tingling hands out of her coat to take them.
“We’ll trade,” John said, having taken notice of her downturned mouth. He zipped her coat up while she fumbled to get them on. “Just get warm again first.”
Bandages wound around Teyla’s midsection, adding a thick layer of insulation. They’d made it to the trees, stopped to treat their wounds, and moved on again soon as they could. Her hands had warmed enough to regain their dexterity so she was able to stop and retie the laces of her boots. Snow had pushed its way into them and melted over her long trek over the plain, and she made sure to cinch them tight. Teyla glanced backwards, where John hung behind to keep watch from behind. The evergreen trees surrounding them obscured her field of vision. It made it impossible to look back and see how far they had come, but she knew they were making good progress. The trail grew steeper, winding up the hills that had looked so distant.
There had been no signs of anyone following them, but it was hard to feel reassured by it. The whipping wind had died, and the woods were eerily still and silent. Even the sound of their steps was swallowed by the night, and each sawing breath became a reprieve from the nagging silence. Ahead, the trees thickened. The benefit of their shelter was tempered by uneven ground, the need to put more caution into each step, wary of the roots, boulders, and dips that hid beneath a carpet of snow.
Teyla noticed dark shapes stalking through the evergreen branches to their left a few minutes later. She caught John’s attention, motioning towards them. If their enemies hadn’t caught sight of them already, they would soon—the thin tree trunks were poor camouflage and the snow made tracking easy. They needed to make the first move. She and John backtracked to a dry, shallow gully that meandered through the woods, lined with the skeletons of deciduous saplings and shrubs. They moved quietly as possible, but every crunch of her boots on the snow now seemed as loud as the report of a firearm.
She slid down into the gully first, sending tiny avalanches tumbling along with her descent. Her foot contacted a hidden rock and the thorns of a shriveled bramble tugged at her sleeve. The sensations barely registered over the smarting wound in her side. Teyla struggled to even her breaths and bring the pain under control. When she recovered enough to lift her head, she saw that John had joined her in the gully, P-90 resting ready over the edge as he watched their pursuers. Lifting her own gun, she said, “There are only two of them. But they will find us, soon.”
John’s face was grim as considered his gun. “We use these, it’ll send everyone a mile around to our position.” Steel glinted as he drew his knife. Teyla longed for the balanced weight of her bantos rods, or at least a long, heavy branch, but the butt of her P-90 would have to do. There was no time to dig around to find a better weapon.
The two men trailing them came into sight, slow and stealthy. They spoke to each other in rapid, hushed tones, gesturing towards the gully, and Teyla felt herself tense up. John slid further downwards. Ice and dead branches crunched under the weight. She followed suit, creeping along the bottom of the gully in the opposite direction. Together they emerged to flank the two men who’d been advancing toward their original position.
The dagger wielding man Teyla engaged was alert, and managed to duck her first blow. The P-90 thunked against his shoulder harmlessly. Her own dodge from his clumsy retaliation was more successful. Heat flushed the chill from her stiff limbs, the world coming into a thumping red focus. She led him into another charge, and this time, the plastic casing slammed on target. The man reeled backwards and threw an aimless punch that connected with nothing. An agonized cry from John frayed her attention and the tenuous upper hand she’d gained. Weight crashed against her injured side, bowling her to the ground. Something clawed at her, pressing savagely into the wound. She struck at her assailant blindly and was shoved back. It sent her entire shoulder numb, but Teyla didn’t stop thrashing. The breath was sucked from her lungs when he kneed her in the stomach. Silver arced above her head, a gunshot sounded, and everything went still.
For a long time, Teyla could do nothing except lay there and try to pull in a breath that was reluctant to come. The sensation of being winded was not something she would ever get used to. Still, it was not as terrifying as the first time, training back on Athos as a young woman. She’d panicked, thought she was dying when she tried to inhale and met a block. Her instructor guided her through it, assured her it would pass. That her body needed a minute to overcome the shock. And he’d been right. Sweet air filled her lungs, bringing renewed awareness. Of the aches that pervaded her body, ranging from dull to burning, and of John, on his feet and alive. Stumbling closer. Calling her name.
Someone groaned nearby, and she snapped her eyes open to see John dragging her attacker away from her. The man was still alive, at least for now, clutching his bloody side. Teyla averted her gaze, and lifted her left hand to the bulky lump beneath her jacket’s shoulder. Bandages. She didn’t remember those being put there. Exhaustion forced her head back down, and the moons were so bright it hurt her eyes, so she shuttered them. Wind gusted through the trees and broke the silence with rattling music as ice-crusted branches swayed and knocked together.
It’s nice. Like I am sleeping in camp again… The rhythmic lapping of the ocean in her quarters on Atlantis was lovely, but she missed the sounds of Athos.
“Teyla,” John said. “Can you hear me? You have to get up.” He was suddenly in her field of view. She was being lifted into a sitting position, the world tilting in pieces, too fast and slow motion. Her chest was set ablaze as John maneuvered her arm and she couldn’t stifle a whimper. “Sorry.” He was wrapping his coat around her.
“John.” Her voice wavered. He caught her eyes, and his furrowed brows smoothed, replaced by a quick smile.
“Hey. You’re alright. Work with me here,” he said. “Have to—get up and walk.” The sentence was punctuated by a wheeze as he pulled her to her feet. Stiff and disoriented, the first few steps were difficult, but John held onto her, and they built a pace that let them leave the clearing scarred by churned snow and scarlet stains behind. One step after another became her only focus. Her heart raced and her lungs burned, working to push her on. The forest narrowed into silver and shadows and John’s stable presence. It was almost meditative. Even the jolts as she or John lost their footing on the treacherous forest floor did little to break the trance.
By the time they fell and John did not force her to get up again, Teyla was unsure of how much time had passed. Fatigue sapped at every muscle in her body. It must have been far enough for John to decide they could rest. Far enough up the hilltop that the forest had thinned to nothing. Boulders broke up the landscape here. Several particularly large ones clustered close enough to create some shelter from the wind. A single, gnarled pine clung between them, snow laden branches low enough to sweep the ground. She turned her head to see John, on his knees beside her. His eyes were squeezed shut while he coughed and struggled for breaths that came too shallow, too frequent. Vaguely concerned, she remembered his sore ribs and the noise he’d made in the fight. The thought was dull, one she couldn’t act on, mired in ice like the muscles in her legs that she could no longer will to do anything more than twitch.
As if the chill had been waiting for her to tire out like a hunter tracking their injured prey, it leapt upon her. But it was not so bad; now that she had stopped she realized how much she wanted to rest. Imagined a hot mug of tea, steam rising lazily, instead of her breath hanging still in the air during a moment of respite from the nipping breeze. The sky was lightening with the dawn, all the sharp silver reflections softening into downy lavender. Teyla would have begun boiling the water for morning tea were she back home. Even the coffee that the people of Earth were so fond of would be welcome right now. As she sank back into the snow again, she marveled at how comfortable it was. How easy it would be to close her eyes and be resting on her soft pillows in Atlantis.
And then Teyla was moving again. Being dragged. She tried to help, get to her feet, and could not. It was John, lifting her into a hollow where he had scraped snow out and used it to build up the edges. Gray stone and bark and dirty white filled her vision. They were backed against the boulders and the rough bark trunk of the pine. Its branches made a thick screen, stretched over the scrape. “Teyla?” John peered down at her. She made a noise that sounded like a word of acknowledgment, muffled through clenched jaw and chattering teeth. His expression did not loosen. “Doing alright?” Annoyance flashed through her, hot and brief. She didn’t want to answer his questions. She wanted to sleep, but she tried again and managed a few coherent words. After that, she ignored him, even when he started to peel away her coats.
When Teyla resurfaced, it was to someone pressed close to her. Milky light illuminated the scrape and she saw John lying beside her under a blanket of their coats. The warmth of shared body heat, lovely though it was, was inadequate. Shivers wracked them both. It hurt. Her shoulder and side were set afire with every twitch. The fog that had settled in her brain was so thick Teyla was able to give in to sleep again despite the pain. She woke a few more times, sweating or shivering or aching, but didn’t bother to open her eyes most of time. So there was no way to tell how long John had been gone when she looked and found herself alone. Could have gone on to the Ring of the Ancestors without her burdening him… No. If she knew one thing about him, he did not leave friends behind. John would be back.
Voices cleared some of her drowsiness away. Snow crunched outside.
“Where is she?”
The answering murmur was too faint to make out, but the footsteps came closer.
Teyla snatched her P-90 with her left hand. Her right was useless. The casing was shockingly cold to the touch. Vertigo swirled in her head. Boots came into view, and whoever it was dropped into a crouch. Began to reach inside her shelter. Paused. “Teyla,” a familiar voice said. “It’s Ronon. Don’t shoot me.”
She laughed, a short, breathless sound that tore at her, and Ronon helped her outside. The late morning sun was harsh and bright, and it glared at her from everywhere, reflecting off snow and ice. Her legs wouldn’t support her weight, and she was eased down. “Good to see you,” Ronon grunted, and she offered a strained smile back. “McKay!”
A small bag was shoved at Ronon, presumably by Rodney. Careful hands exposed the wound on her shoulder, and something wet dripped down her skin. The freezing air didn’t extinguish the heat she felt there. She gritted her teeth when Ronon cleaned off the dried blood at the edges of the wound, but it was done quickly.
“Hold that,” Ronon said, and someone behind her gingerly held the gauze in place, jerking as if shocked.
“She’s hardly hypothermic, Sheppard.” Rodney.
“She’s getting worse.” Teyla couldn’t see John, but his voice sounded worried. The words echoed in her head as Ronon finished with the bandages.
“We’ll get you home,” Ronon promised. He slid his arms under her, intending to carry her.
“I can walk,” she said.
“Teyla, you—” Rodney began to protest.
“Don’t mess up the bandages,” was all Ronon said, and she gave him a grateful nod.
The rest of the way up the slope would have been easy for her on a good day. Teyla was no stranger to miles-long hikes, traveling to other villages on other worlds to trade, joining her people on hunts and tracking prey through rough terrain. It was a different matter now. Her legs screamed after the first few steps, and still there were many more to go. Teyla plodded on, kept her eyes squinted against the sun, her head down with Ronon to guide her along. The snow beneath her feet blurred into a sea of grays, and she let herself float on it, swells bucking her, threatening to drown her. Keeping her buoyed.
She snapped out of her stupor when the rough bulk of a fallen log brushed the backs of her legs. Rodney sprawled beside John on the ground across from her, face red with exertion and cold. His attention was on a life signs detector. John’s was on breathing, an arm wrapped tightly around his chest. They were both leaning against the same frost encrusted pine. Woods surrounded her once more—she’d made it further than she would have guessed. Teyla sat on the log before she fell, and a steadying hand caught her when she continued to list to the side. “Thank you,” she murmured. Ronon squeezed her hand.
“They’re moving.” Rodney‘s sudden words jerked her out of a doze she hadn’t meant to fall into. Ronon stiffened beside her. Reached for his gun. “The right way,” Rodney added, looking up from the device in his hands and scrambling to his feet.
“You still good to walk?” Ronon asked her. Teyla nodded. The knowledge of enemies nearby was enough to renew her desire to continue. Despite the way her head spun and her vision couldn’t seem to focus, she stood. Slung her good left arm around Ronon’s neck, though it still irritated her side and forced a hiss out of her. Rodney walked ahead, keeping his eye on the device and sticking close to John, clumsily offering a hand when he tripped. The sun beat down, transforming the landscape. The snow that had absorbed every sound was replaced with dripping meltwater, and the blanket of powdered white became a muddy, slushy mess that squelched under their boots. A large, orange-winged beetle clung to bark, antennae twitching. Sweat beaded on her brow, and still she felt chilled to her bones. The bright sunshine was addling, nauseating, and she knew she’d made a mistake in telling Ronon she was able to keep going. Dark ate at the edges of her vision.
She whispered, “I can’t…” Felt herself falling, heart lurching, and then nothing more.
When she came to, it was to the sensation of someone brushing her hair back from her face. “Have to… G.D.O.,” Rodney’s impatient tones and John’s answering mutter were hard to understand with everything spinning so fast. Teyla tried to open her eyes, say something. Managed to flutter her eyelids enough to let light in, groan a soft sigh. Pain clawed at the edge of her awareness and fevered heat consumed her. Rodney yelled in triumph. A familiar sound broke through the misery. The splash of an event horizon. Shimmering blue, the doorway to home. She’d seen it so often it was clear in her mind.
“We’re clear. Medical team on standby in the gate room.”
“Hang on, Teyla.”
“I told you we’d get home,” Ronon said, and the cool sensation of a wormhole washed over her.