helical

"Tell us a story, Ronon," Teyla said.

The four of them were sprawled over the tarp, waiting for the oppressive heat of the day to fade before they gave in and slept. The sky glittered with the starry promise of a cool night. The night before, Rodney had explained that the night sky of Earth wasn't half as bright, because this planet's system lay so much closer to the galactic core than Sol did to the heart of the Milky Way. Teyla and Ronon had listened with the kind of lazy attention that told John they'd remember every word without ever telling Rodney.

"Don't know any."

"Sure you do," John told him. Teyla was using him for a pillow and he absently played with the ends of her hair, sliding smooth strands between his fingers.

"No."

"Even you aren't that laconic," Rodney said. "Tell us about the charm thing you've got in your hair."

"It's not a charm."

"So tell us what it is. We're bored here, you know. I may have to shove mud in my ears if I have to hear Sheppard's story about getting his first nookie in a Ferris Wheel one more time."

"Kiss, McKay, kiss." Idly, he scratched at a welt on the back of his thumb. Something had stung him while they were gathering firewood. He hadn't even seen it, just felt the sting and heard the whir of insect wings after dropping the broken-off limb he'd picked up. It hadn't even hurt after the first second, not even as much as a bee-sting, just leaving a little white bump. Felt like a mosquito bite now, though.

"My version is better."

When John chuckled, Teyla's head moved on his stomach.

"Go on, Ronon, save McKay's ears, and ours. If you talk, he'll shut up."

"I resent that," Rodney snapped without any heat.

After a pause, Ronon finally spoke.

"My brother's son gave it to me when I was on leave the last time. He'd carved it himself. His mother was an artist and she'd begun teaching him. The face is Sata, goddess of war. If you're brave, she protects you." He paused. "My brother said it wouldn't do me any good."

"Sata, huh?" Rodney murmured.

"Seems like she did her job," John said.

"Maybe."

"We are glad," Teyla added.

"Yeah?" Ronon's pleasure at their assurances shaded his tone.

"Story," Rodney prodded again. He already sounded half-asleep.

"We were right in the middle of a — " Ronon stopped suddenly, shifting onto his elbows. In the dim light of the stars and the waning moon, he looked tense, his whole body taut with awareness.

John sat up too, steadying Teyla's shoulder so that her head slipped down to rest on his thigh. He tensed a little, frowning. The flicker came again, gone between one blink and the next, but he stillrecognized it.

They had a nice campsite: a level clearing near the base of the last foothills. No trees between them and the plains,  and only an uneven rock face behind them. They'd come down it earlier, following an old game trail. Nothing obscured the distant flicker far across the vast tableland, dyeing the sky in shades of searing, brilliant pink and violet, pitchforks of light, too far away still to even hear the attendant thunder.

Teyla lifted her head, turning to face the plains along with Ronon. "What is it?" she asked before John could say anything. "Rain?"

"Heat lightning," he said.

Ronon sniffed. "You smell that?"

John shook his head. He couldn't smell anything but the dry grass scent and smoke from their campfire. He trusted the acuity of Ronon's senses over his own, though, maybe even over Teyla's.

Next to John, Rodney rolled to his side and once again perfected the audible eye-roll. "What now?"

"Look," Teyla told him.

"Storm," Ronon said.

The tarp under them rustled against dry grass and dirt as Rodney shifted to better squint at the horizon. "There's nothing there. We wouldn't see the stars anymore if there were any rain coming." It showed John how far they had come together that Rodney passed by the derogative comment about the simple rules of meteorology.

"It's on the other side of the plains," Rodney said next to his ear, echoing his own reflections. John hadn't noticed him sitting up as well. "It will never reach us before morning."

They all stared off into the distance; at the sudden bright bursts of light that were setting the whole sky on pale, violet fire.

"Unless … "

"Rodney?"

"Well, we don't really know all the weather phenomena on this planet, in fact, I may remind you that we don't know this planet at all and so we can't be entirely sure this won't turn out to be some anomalous … "

"Rodney."

"He means we cannot be sure," Teyla translated smoothly.

"What do you think, Teyla?"

"I do not know this planet well enough to judge." She shrugged, a movement more felt than seen. "We have not even been here a full season yet and have traveled far."

"It'll be fine," Rodney said dismissively. "It'll clear away over the plains."

"Teyla?"

Her face was thrown into sharp relief by the brightness of the lightning in the distance. She inclined her head thoughtfully and scrutinized the horizon. "Rodney could be right."

"Ronon?"

Ronon shifted to his side and used his arm as a pillow.  "Yeah."

Rodney leaned forward and glared at Ronon.  "Could you get any more monosyllabic, please?"

Ronon stretched. "Sure."

"Oh, for… You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

Rodney spluttered for a moment.

"Lie down, McKay." Ronon reached out and pushed at Rodney's elbows. There was a thump as Rodney landed square on his back.

"Man down," Rodney protested, sounding anything but upset.

"Just relax, McKay," Ronon rumbled. "We're safe."

"Your definition of safe and mine diverge slightly." He seemed to reconsider and wriggled his feet into the bottom of the combined sleeping roll they shared. "Can we go back to the story, then?"

John whacked Rodney's leg lightly which earned him a hurt noise and a punch in return. He grinned and glanced at Teyla, barely visible now that the lightning flashes had become fewer and farther in between. She wasn't entirely as relaxed as before, but he saw the white glint of her teeth as she, too, smiled down at Rodney.

She caught John's eyes and nodded. "We should be safe until the morning. If the weather appears to be turning bad, we will camp here an extra day. It might be wise to take a day or two to hunt and smoke some meat before we leave the mountains."

John eyed the horizon another minute before deciding not to worry. It wasn't like they'd be flying into a weather front in the morning. Teyla was right about their supplies, too. They'd nearly finished the meat they'd smoked after the last hunt and only had three MREs left, carried and kept back against an emergency. They probably should hunt as well as doing some fishing. He really disliked the smoked and dried fish, but they couldn't count on finding berries and meat animals on the plains.

~*~

He woke abruptly, to the distinct feeling of something off.

The feeding scar on his arm ached and he thought he'd been dreaming about the nest again, the echoes of insectile chitter still passing through his muzzy thoughts.

He blinked his eyes open and found the night pitch-black, not a single star visible any more. The air smelled heavy and cold. He shivered, pulling the sleeping roll higher one-handed. He was grateful for the warmth Teyla provided, sleeping with her head pillowed on his chest, and the furnace heat of Rodney and Ronon on either side of them. The day had been hot, but the nights in the mountains were chilly, and even here in the foothills it had cooled down surprisingly fast after sunset, much faster than during the previous night.

He glanced over his shoulder, missing the heat of the fire and its warm orange light. Apparently he had slept longer than he thought; the fire had burned out, leaving only red embers glowing under the ash which coated the last few chunks of blackened wood. Not enough light to see by, though it let him orient himself in the stifling darkness. The night was strangely quiet. A different kind of quiet than John was used to on this planet. No nocturnal animals were circling their camp, checking them out curiously. No insects chirped softly.

A gust of wind peeled back the sleeping roll and chilled his bare arms. It ruffled the scrubby trees and brush clinging tothe  rocky outcrop they'd descended in the afternoon, a shoosh of leaves and creaking limbs that mimicked the sound of the surf on Atlantis. A scuff of dirt settled on his face, making John scrub at his nose. Now Teyla moved as well, slipping smoothly from under his arm to sit up. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her movements and hear the rustling noises of her clothes.

John pushed himself up on his elbows, frowning, a question on his lips. Teyla's hair flipped into his eyes, caught as the wind picked up. He felt her reach over to touch Ronon's shoulder.

Ronon growled, "It's too calm."

Rodney was awake as well now, flailing a hand over Teyla's knee and hitting John's elbow. His breathing came quick and audible over the rising wind.

John listened, but even the almost reassuring songs of the cicada-like things had stilled. There was nothing but the rush of the wind, the light, autumnal tap-click-shuffle of leaves spinning over the ground. Then a rumble rode the wind, deep and long drawn-out, distant but building and the air seemed to hum. The distinct scent of ozone filled the night.

John sat up and groped for his boots, shaking them and shoving his feet inside.

"What?" Rodney hissed, obviously confused, but as tensed for trouble as the rest of them. John could feel him scrambling to get his boots on, too.

"We must take she — "

Crack.

All hell broke loose, a deafening explosion of thunder and electricity overwhelming Teyla's words. A searing flash of light rent the night sky, then utter darkness. For a moment, John was so stunned he couldn't even think.

No time, not even to curse.

John grabbed the bedroll and shoved it into Rodney's arms.

A cloud of ash bloomed up from the dying fire, the last embers fanned into a frantic glow. Lightning flared, briefly giving him a glimpse of Ronon on his feet and Rodney with his face turned upward. Between one breath and the next, as John scrambled for a plan, rain pounding down with bruising force, extinguishing the fire in a venomous hiss. The drenching downpour soaked everything, made it hard to breathe and chilled his skin, running down his body, inside his sopping T-shirt and pants.

Crack-boom.

The ground shuddered under them this time, the thunder louder than an artillery barrage. Rain sheeted down, then sideways, then caught on the wind again and seemed to assail them from below. He was already shaking. With every illumination of the sky, the storm moved closer, each crack leaving John blinder than before. Eerie, alien, pink and green, lighting the world in photo-negative flashes too fast to make out more than glimpse here and there, multiple strikes snaking from clouds to earth, accompanied by the howl of an ever stronger wind and underscored by the constant rumble of thunder, fading, rising, overlaid with more noise every second.

Flash. Brilliant after-images seared John's retinas. Rodney scrambling to hold onto the bedroll. Crash. Teyla's face, wild, hair plastered to her cheeks, mouth open, words obscured. World shake. Ronon, wet skin glossed blue-white, shouting: " — the packs!" The wind hit them and John lost his balance, going down to one knee in the mud. He scrabbled for the tarp they used as a ground sheet and it tore away. Anger at himself for being too blasé earlier made him curse as it fluttered up like a giant bat, lit actinic by an electric-green streak of lightning, catching against the brush at the edge of the clearing, then tearing in two before it was ripped away. Blackness, white, hands numb, wind, shock blue, words: "No, no, no, this isn't happen — " That was Rodney's voice lost in the next explosion of thunder. Wet, cold, gasping through water like the Mississippi being dumped from the sky all at once.

Lightnoiseshudderfallyelling —

"We have to take cover!" Teyla shouted.

" — just isn't happening!"

Another lightning strike and John's eardrums didn't recover enough to hear anything more than Ronon's: "The cave!" He spun and saw Ronon in the next lightning flash, crouched down, rescuing the bag with their food supplies. Their packs leaned together next him.

An ear-splitting barrage of lightning hit and the thunder following it snapped John back into action. He ran, sliding over soil that was already slippery and giving way beneath his feet. Rodney blundered into him from behind. The now continuous thunder made it impossible for John to understand Rodney any longer, though he was almost right beside him.

A tree on the cliff exploded under another strike, on fire for only a second before the rain smothered it again. One of its' shattered limbs speared into the ground only a meter away from Rodney as they ran toward the rocks and the game trail winding between them.

John flinched, glimpsing Rodney's open-mouthed horror-panic-anger response in the next flash of light before he was slammed back into blindness. "Move!" he screamed at him.
 
The wind hit again and he stumbled into Ronon's side, feeling another pack thrust into his hand. He kept hold of it with his right and latched on to Ronon's belt desperately as the wind threatened to knock him off his feet.

He was briefly reassured by a glimpse of Teyla, pack over her shoulders, one hand in Ronon's firm grip, the other caught in Rodney's hands.

Reduced to a blind push to keep moving up, he didn't see the cave mouth until Teyla grabbed his arm and he stumbled inside, chased by the rain, barely remembering to duck in time where the ceiling lowered just inside. She kept pulling him and he staggered after her, around the slight turn that blocked the rain and the wind with sudden effectiveness. The stillness after the incredible cacophony of the storm outside left him blinking, dazed, and night blind in the aftermath of the lightning. It only seemed quiet in comparison: after a moment, his senses recovered enough to hear the storm still howling outside and glimpse his soaked team mates as the flashes of light penetrated the cave and reflected off the far wall.

Rodney leaned against one wall and another flash showed him Ronon bent over, hands on his knees, panting. Teyla still had her hand on John's arm. A gust of wind brought a spatter of rain beyond the cave mouth, almost to where they stood. The cave reverted to utter blackness between lightning flashes.

"T-thank God," Rodney said. His voice echoed. The smell of damp stone and close, cold air bothered him more than he wanted to admit, too. Too many horror movies, he told himself.

John dumped the pack he was carrying and shrugged off the one on his back. In the off and on flashes provided by the storm raging outside, he saw Rodney taking his pack off and shoving it in front of the burrow hole, stuffing it in place with panicky vigor. John fought back a smile over the antics, but appreciated the caution. The last thing they needed was to be attacked by an animal that objected to their presence in its den.

He picked out the sound of both Rodney's and Teyla's teeth chattering.

"Fire?" Rodney stuttered out.

"Everything's drenched," John gritted out, fighting to hide how cold he was too. "I don't see how."

A long lightning bombardment showed him Rodney looking at Ronon, expectantly. "Ronon?"

Ronon shook his head. What light came in from outside showed water dripping from his dreadlocks into his eyes, glistening on his bare arms when new lightning zig-zagged across the sky. "No wood." More water splatted down from their soaked clothes, slowly turning the floor of the cave to mud.

"Just perfect," Rodney muttered.

"We should take these wet clothes off," Teyla suggested, and it told John once more how far Rodney had come that he didn't even protest. It made sense, after all. The thunderstorm outside had chilled the air considerably, wind only added to the effect, and staying in their wet clothes would mean risking getting sick. Just one more thing they couldn't afford if they ever wanted to make it back to the stargate.

"What've we g-got?" John asked, too cold finally to keep his voice from shaking.

"We have our packs, our sleeping bags, and the bag with the last of the jerky," Teyla replied.

"Bags are soaked," Ronon said.

"Come on, come on, there must be something we can use to warm up," Rodney muttered.

"Look, just strip, damn it," John said impatiently. He pulled the sopping T-shirt over his head and tossed it toward the back of the cave with the packs.

"I believe we will be warmer if we sit together and use one of the emergency thermal blankets to preserve our body heat." Teyla's calm voice stripped the situation of any salacious undertones. That and the knowledge she'd kick their asses individually and together if one of them took advantage.

John turned his face away as a flash of lightning revealed a glimpse of Teyla's toned, water-slick skin.

"Good, fine, at least Teyla has some kind of plan," Rodney muttered.

 ~*~

John had settled into an uncomfortable, exhausted stupor, folded up with his knees bent, one arm around Rodney's waist, huddled under one of the thin, silver thermal blankets they all carried in a pocket of their tac vests. That wasn't their normal arrangement, but Teyla was literally shaking with cold by the time they stripped off and he'd pushed Rodney to take the place next to her. Rodney's bulk offered a little more warmth than John could. He was stripped down to his boxers and unpleasantly aware of the hot trickle of blood seeping down his shin from his knee. It wasn't the tear there that kept bothering him, though. His arm ached and itched with every bolt of lightning. It was worse than it had ever been before and becoming hard to ignore.

"Can you hold still?" Rodney muttered in irritation and John realized he'd wriggled his way loose of Rodney.

Rodney shifted, driving an elbow into John's ribs.

"Watch it," John snapped.

Teyla managed to sound calm. "Rodney, if you would just let me move to the side — "

"Ew, ew, oh, God, ew, I just knew it, god, that's so disgusting —" Rodney's litany went on as he jerked and began batting at his shoulders, succeeding in hitting John in the face.

"What the hell, McKay?" John twitched and slapped at the tickle on his cheek. It was just water, wasn't it? Something clicked and rustled behind him and he froze, adrenaline coursing through his exhausted body. "Did you hear —?"

"Bug!" Rodney screeched. "Right there on my arm! I felt it crawling on my arm and to my back, and God, that's just so disgusting, of all the caves we could have picked out, we had to choose the one that's bug-infested … "

John stopped listening.

Bugs.

A flood of memories washed back in mercilessly, providing him with taste - nothing, absolutely nothing, no food tasted right anymore, he just needed more, so much more, the hunger never stopped - and smell - chitin and pheromones and acid while every scent around him was too strong and yet not enough, not right, not until he stepped into the cave - and sound - crick, crick, crick. Thousands of little legs, clicking, cricking, whispering dryly over cave-walls, hissing, exoskeletons moving, moving in on him and he wanted them to, his body wanted to be one with them while his whole being screamed at him to get out, just away from there - until his skin felt tight and hard and dry over his bones and his heart skipped several beats before racing double-time. His head pounded like it was about to just break apart and he couldn't catch his breath, imagining he could smell the acrid stench of the Iratus nest, the smell that had finally been leached from his own blue-tainted skin.

Bugs. Small, faceted eyes, too many legs, their bodies small and indestructible. Shiny and dry and cold. He'd read everything the Ancient database on Atlantis had on the Iratus while killing time in quarantine, recovering from the retrovirus. There were Iratus nests on more than one Pegasus world, they were wherever the Wraith had rested their hives for hibernation. They traveled together and left them behind like an infestation.

The air was too thick. The cave too dark. It pulsed the way the nest had, as the inhibitor dose Beckett had given him wore off. They'd called to him then. Hive. Self. All. Too many unknown variables hiding in shadows, shadows that never disappeared even under the most intense lightning bolts.

There were bugs in here with them. He'd spent too much energy not letting himself think of all the insects all around on the worlds they visited, but he wasn't trapped with them. Not before. Brushing frantically at his cheek and then his biceps, tearing at the itch in his arm he hit Rodney, making him grunt in pain, but didn't care. He wanted them off. John shuddered, picturing waves of them crawling out of the burrow hole at the back of the cave.

He couldn't breathe, convinced there really was a nest at the back of the cave. He could hear them. Already his skin was beginning to tingle again, pins and needles so strong it felt like thousands of tiny insects crawling over his body, claiming him, trying to eat through the barrier to get at the real him, the bug in him, bring it back.

He brushed at his head, scratched at his chest, and began clawing at his arms, trying to scrape away the feeling of crawling, creeping, skittering. His breath came in sharp, shallow pants, and he was barely aware of Teyla and Rodney's voices calling his name. They weren't as real as the knowledge of what was coming from the back of the cave. All he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and the crickcrickcrick. Thousands of them, crawling closer and closer, coming in waves, coating the walls and the ceilings, rustling legs brushing over stone and dirt, clicking their mandibles, leg spines scraping against hard shells.

He had to get out.

They all had to, before it was too late, but he was the one they were coming for. They'd have him, latch onto him, suck him into the nest again, and wake the DNA that still twined amongst the helices of his own. Beckett had lied. His cure hadn't removed the Iratus DNA, just rendered it inactive. It was still there. The Wraith on the hive ship had smelled it on him, the way they smelled Teyla's distant kinship to them.

He scrambled up and darted for the cave's opening, illuminated by green-white lightning, the thunder obscuring any other sound. The wind buffeted him against the rock face as he staggered down the path, rain pounding into his bare skin. He didn't care: he was too desperate to get away, before they came boiling out of the nest after him, burrowing under his skin, into his cells, into his very DNA. He welcomed the rain, wanted it to wash the taint out of him. He could still feel them on him, working into him, and he tore at his arms frantically, drawing blood in his frenzy.

The wind battered him to his knees in the ice cold mud at the base of the cliff and every hair on his body stood up, electrified by the sizzle in the air, but, Christ, there would be no bugs here. Nothing alive was crazy enough to step out of its shelter in a storm such as this. Some part of him that remained rational knew he couldn't survive either if he stayed out in the storm.

A hand closed on John's shoulders, shockingly warm in the freezing rain. He tried to jerk away, but the cold made him uncoordinated. "Have you gone insane!?" Rodney screamed at him over the wind. Lightning leached all the color from his face, made it a blue death mask. In the fading rumble of the latest thunderclap, John heard himself shout back, "It's an Iratus nest! We can't go back in there! They'll have Teyla and Ronon already — "

Rodney pulled him up and shoved his face so close the heat of his breath warmed John's cheeks. "Sheppard! There are no Iratus bugs here, no Wraith, there's nothing in the cave! Teyla is fine. Ronon is probably annoyed as hell, but he's fine too! Now get your skinny ass back up that trail!"

John shook his head.

Rodney's annoyance escalated. "Sheppard, are you listening to me? Sheppard!"

John tried to pull away, tried to tear himself loose, and managed it only to spin into Ronon's hold.

Ronon rumbled, "Sheppard, come back in — "

Teyla's voice cut through some of his panic, urgent and shaking with cold. She would be losing body heat out in the storm again. They all would. "Colonel, you must — "

"Damn it, John, stop." Rodney again. Right in front of him. Face livid in the amethyst lightning. Blackness. Purple anger again. One side of Rodney's mouth drooped, nostrils flared, eyebrows drawn together. "There's nothing in there."

"I could feel them!" John shouted back. "You felt them too!"

"No, John, that was me, it was an accident, Rodney only thought there were insects in the cave," Teyla said, catching at his face with both hands, leaning close to be heard. He wanted to believe her, but he couldn't. The panic crested in him again. What if the bugs were able to affect her, control her the way the Wraith had when she first contacted them? She could be lying, trying to lure him back inside.

"I've had enough of this," Rodney exclaimed and took a step closer, invading John's personal space. John flinched and fought Ronon's inexorable hold, but couldn't free himself. His gaze flickered from Rodney's face to his outstretched hands.

"Don't," he ground out between clenched teeth. "McKay, don't."

"Shut up and trust me."

The after-image of Rodney's set face danced in front of John's eyes. Then there was nothing, just blackness for several moments while the storm took another deep breath.

Nothing, until… John jumped back as though electrocuted. Something touched his arm, just below Ronon's hold on him. Too light, too quick, too unexpected. His heartbeat picked up speed again, slamming against his ribcage. Chit crickle chitter. John felt a thousand little feet and feelers crawling across his skin.

"John, if you don't hold still, I'll have Ronon choke you unconscious."

A bark of laughter that sounded hysterical even in his own ears was the only answer he had for Rodney. Anything. Even that. He couldn't stand this. He knew Rodney was right and he still couldn't force himself to take even one step toward that cave. If Ronon knocked him out, it would stop, the terrible, crawling fear clawing its way out of him.

"Fuck, Rodney, don't you understand — "

Rodney barged on anyway. John tried to jerk back.

"Not a bug." Rodney held up both hands, strangely big in the lightning. "Human hands. Concentrate. Feel the difference."

Rodney placed both of his hands on John's arms and started rubbing up and down briskly. His palm skimmed over the scar Ellia had left and it burned.

John fought a scream. "Don't," he hissed again, hating how weak his voice sounded, hating how out of control he was. This was Rodney, damn it, not a bug. Still… Rodney was leading him back to the cave, running his hands over John's arms, while Ronon forced marched him forward through the rain, Teyla proceeding them up the trail. Chitter, crickle, thousands of eyes, darkness, crick, crick, crick, protect the nest, hunger, protect the eggs, click, click, click, pins and needles and he couldn't breathe, his head pounded, all his muscles tensed with the need to run, blood rushed in his ears, too loud, couldn't breathe —

They were back in the cave. More hands, more warmth, up and down his arms, a soft, female smell on every harshly indrawn breath, wet hair, warm hands over his neck, three voices murmuring low, hands down his side, over his hair, touch, warmth… Hands, not pincers, palms not claws, skin instead of hard shell. John forced himself to stop fighting and stand rigid under their touch, listening for the bugs he knew were there, terror a rushing current in his bloodstream, his own heartbeat so loud he could make no sense of anything.

He grayed out from holding his breath and came around to a familiar voice. Rodney, still murmuring, non-stop, "Breathe, just breathe, slow, deep breaths, John, hold, release. Don't hyperventilate; your body just makes it worse if you fight it. It's okay; I've been there before. It'll pass, it'll pass, trust me, think of flying the jumper into atmosphere, think of the beach on the mainland, think… think of lighting up the hyperdrives on the Orion, and flirting with the corona of that sun in the F-302. Remember that?"

Ronon still had him in a disabling hold, one that could tighten and keep him immobile if John tried to move, but he was warm, warm against his back and John was suddenly aware of the smell of his wet dreadlocks — nothing like the scent of the nest. Teyla was against his side, her hand rubbing gentle circles over his ribs, her head against his chest. Rodney, he could feel, stood on his other side, carefully stroking his hands over John's arms. The numbness and the crawling feeling were fading, pushed out and overcome by real sensory data.

Rodney's hand stopped. "Jesus, Sheppard, what've you done to yourself?"

He jerked his head and hit someone. "What?"

Rodney's fingers slid along his arm, over a wetness he realized was his own blood, warm now they were out of the rain. He could smell it suddenly, a sharp scent that curled in his belly like hunger. It made him want to start fighting again, despite himself. He could feel Rodney's hand burning against the sticky, torn up places. The pain was almost welcome… Better than the crawling panic he still felt at the edges of his consciousness.

He caught his breath and let it out slowly, a flush of humiliation and shame hitting him. Ronon's arms tightened around him. "Easy, Sheppard," he murmured. "Easy." John forced himself to relax and go limp and concentrated on Rodney's voice. The babble, half-irritated and half-concerned, was soothing.

"You idiot, if you'd just said something. You'd better not be bleeding to death, not after the trouble we just went through to catch you. We need to take care of this… "

 "Later," John slurred out, suddenly shaking and exhausted.

Ronon's grip around his chest and arms let up slightly and John felt his legs go watery and weak. Ronon caught him just before his knees buckled. Those big, strong hands of his placed John on the ground carefully, as though Ronon were handling something breakable. One hand settled on John's head, slowly petting his wet hair, rubbing his scalp with firm fingers, running over his neck and shoulders and back again, firm, warm and soothing.

"Better?" Ronon asked.

Teyla's slim hand rested on his face and Rodney's on his bare chest, fingers cold from the rain,  a gentle weight over the rapid beat of John's heart.

He shook his head. Outside, the lightning became more sporadic, plunging the cave into darkness that lasted longer and longer between violet bursts of light. At the same time, the wind was howling harder, cold air penetrating into the cave mouth.

"I am sorry I frightened you, John." Teyla had to raise her voice, but sounded so honestly contrite that John wanted to put the smiling mask back on and tell her it was okay. But it really, really wasn't. He didn't know how long they had held him and touched him, but the crawling sensation over his skin returned as soon as Rodney, Teyla or Ronon stopped moving their hands. With the lightning gone and only the storm howling outside, it was suddenly too damn dark in this cave. He started breathing harder and kicked out one foot.

"Desperate times, desperate measures." Rodney's whisper was almost lost on him when a stronger gust of wind drove rain and wet leaves into the mouth of the cave. Wet, cold, dark, sharp, an unexpected touch and immediately John was flailing, hitting Teyla and bucking against Ronon's renewed, vise-like grip.

He couldn't stay here, couldn't fucking stay, had to get out, out, away from here, just away from the damn cave —

A steady green glow filled the cave suddenly and John stopped struggling, went limp in Ronon's hold. The dim illumination showed him Teyla holding her hand to her cheekbone and Rodney… Rodney with a pained expression on his face and a chem light in hand. "I saved it for an emergency," he said, voice strangely thick.

John's throat tightened.

Neither Ronon nor Teyla said anything. Rodney walked along the cave, held the chem light into every damp niche and corner. The green glow showed John no bugs, nothing but rough rock face, dry sand glittering over solid rock and his teammates, all big-eyed and exhausted, looking as miserable as wet cats.

Ronon let go of him again and John reached out for Teyla's cheek. It wasn't bruised yet, but it would be soon enough. "I'm sorry," he murmured while he carefully ran his thumb over her cheekbone, eerie pale in the green light. "I'm so sorry."

"Do not think on it."

"I — "

"Oh, just shut up. We weren't allowed to be there for you after Ellia. Now we are." Rodney crouched in front of John. "So move a bit. God, your arms are a mess."

"I'm fine — "

"Just shut up," Rodney grumbled.

Ronon slipped away and John shifted and moved slightly to the left. Rodney moved with a grunt and lay down next to John, pulling him  close, snug against his chest.

"Teyla?" Rodney murmured. "Ronon?"

They settled in their usual positions — Rodney behind John, Teyla next to John, Ronon behind Teyla. That way, they kept her and him, the ones most prone to losing body-heat, warm. Rodney's heart beat against his back and Teyla's against his chest. Ronon shifted and pulled the emergency thermal blanket over them. He patted John's hair again, a touch so soothing and paternal that it made his throat constrict. Their normal arrangement, but he knew they would have put him between them even if it hadn't been. The arms around him were for warmth and comfort, but they'd keep him from bolting again, too.

He burrowed closer into Rodney's warmth, felt Rodney's breath chilling the water on his back and arms. Teyla moved in synch with him, her small breasts pressed against John's chest. Under normal circumstances, John might have gotten hard from all that skin, not just Teyla's, but Rodney's and Ronon's too, but he was craving human touch, skin-to-skin contact, not sex, too much, was too exhausted and embarrassed, and frankly, cold, to respond even instinctually.

Rodney's hand slipped onto his hip and rubbed small circles there, even and steady and full of renewed warmth. Teyla rested her hand over his heart, protectively.

Ronon's eyes glittered in the dim glow of the chem light.

"I — " John began, shifting, feeling the need to break the silence.

Rodney tightened his arm. "Go to sleep. This isn't the infirmary." A snort. "Sadly."

Teyla smiled into his shoulder and pressed a butterfly kiss against his clavicle. "We will still be here in the morning."

"Sadly," Rodney repeated.

He felt Ronon reach out and thump Rodney. The slick silver blanket slipped.

"Ow, hey!"

"Shut up, McKay." There was amusement, rather than malice, in Ronon's voice. Ronon dropped his hand and John caught it, squeezing. "We will," Ronon affirmed Teyla's words.

Rodney spooned even tighter around John, chest warm and alive against John's back. "Of course we will."

John squeezed his eyes shut and fought against his throat closing. "Of course you will," he murmured, his voice raw. It was as close as he could come to telling them, to thanking them.

"Glad we got that cleared up," Rodney sniped. "And, no, Ronon, you don't get to hit me again, and Teyla, if you pinch me one more time, I will —"

The rest of Rodney's sentence was lost in an indignant squeak as John pinched the thigh closest to his left hand.

"Ungrateful bastard," Rodney grumbled while Teyla and Ronon shook with quiet laughter.

John smiled and reached for Rodney's hand. He laced their fingers, bringing them to rest on Teyla's hip. Ronon pulled the blanket back in place, then his palm covered their hands.

"Tell us a story, Ronon," John said, quietly.

And Ronon did. His deep voice filled the night with vivid pictures and new, colorful places, with goddesses and ghosts and brave warriors.

John closed his eyes and listened to Rodney's breath evening out into sleep before Ronon had finished the first half of his tale. Rodney had pressed his cheek against John's shoulder blade. In the slowly waning light, he saw Teyla's eyes closed, her lips slightly open, asleep as well, breath moving over his chest like a steady caress.

Ronon noticed the diminishing audience and stopped, adjusting the blanket once again.

"Go on," John whispered, careful not to wake Rodney or Teyla.

"You should sleep, Sheppard."

"I thought you didn't know any stories."

"I lied." Ronon's shrug had the blanket slipping again. Teyla shivered.

"Why?"

"Storytelling isn't just meant to amuse. On Sateda, it was a highly honored tradition to pass on the history of our planet in stories. My mother… ." Ronon trailed off and pulled at the blanket.

"What made you change your mind?" John whispered.

Ronon didn't answer. The chem light died quietly, plunging the cave back to darkness. The storm outside still wailed, lashing out at the planet. John tensed. Rodney snuffled in his sleep, fingers twitching.

A big, warm hand settled on John's head and Ronon's voice filled the cave again: "The goddess Sata in her city of mountain-crystal — "

This time, John didn't hear the end of the story. Ronon's heavy palm and the warmth from Rodney and Teyla drew him under and lulled him.

He dreamed of light reflected on high spires and a city of crystal and life.

~*~

Awake.  He pulled in a sharp breath: air that smelled of mud. The ceiling of the cave was rough. Angular planes of rock, mostly shadowed, but a glint of quartz caught the morning light infiltrating from the cave mouth. John let out his breath, relieved: no bugs.

The humiliating memory of his meltdown during the night rushed back. Nice, John, he thought to himself, way to give everyone confidence in your leadership.  That had gone beyond rational — well, not rational but understandable — phobia into panic attack territory. If they got back to Atlantis and Heightmeyer heard about it, he'd be grounded and in therapy until he retired.

He shifted uncomfortably. Rodney was a dead weight against his back, snuffling rhythmically, and Teyla's head rested on his chest, her hair stuck to him. His skin — his very bare skin — felt hot and tight. Dried mud that splashed up on him was pulling at it. On Teyla too; he noticed pale smears on the smooth, copper-tinted skin of her back. He shifted again and began wiggling free of his companions.

"Sheppard," Ronon said.

John blinked. Ronon was lit from the side, half in shadow, sitting where he could watch the entrance and them both. He was dressed in his leathers and an Athosian shirt and had probably been awake all night.

"Yeah?" John replied. His voice sounded hoarser than normal.

"You okay?"

"You mean beyond the abysmal humiliation and the prospect of never, ever hearing the end of it from McKay?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm fine," John told him. He accepted Ronon's hand and let the bigger man haul him to his feet. That effortless strength had immobilized him the night before, though John figured some of that had to do with him being too freaked out to fight smart. He'd wanted out of the cave, not to hurt his teammates.

He walked slowly to the cave mouth and looked out. "Jesus." The foothills looked like a tornado had ripped through them. Blue sky reflected in the water standing in puddles, but the muddy ground was already drying under the sun. The trees had been stripped of their leaves, limbs snapped off, and more than one tipped over so that its bare roots clawed at the air. Even where there were no trees, the storm had left its mark: the tall grass was flattened to the earth and dark.

Teyla and Rodney limped over, moving stiffly,  and stared out from beside John and Ronon. Teyla folded her arms over her breasts and none of them looked at her below the neck.

"Wow," Rodney commented on the devastation that stretched before them..

John rubbed at his arm unconsciously and winced. Rodney turned his head fast and stared at John suspiciously.

"What?"

Rodney's eyes narrowed. "Don't give me the innocent look." His gaze dropped to John's arms. "Did you think I'd forgotten about — Is that as bad as it looks?"

"Colonel?" Teyla asked.

John felt his face flush. "Uh, it isn't as bad as it looks."  It wasn't. There was a lot of blood dried on his arms, but everything still worked. It just stung a little and still itched, damn it.

"Well, isn't that reassuring, considering it looks horrible," Rodney snapped. "Teyla, get the medical kit."

"Hey, wait, I just need to wash some of the mud off," John protested.

"Yeah, right," Rodney said, voice dripping scorn. "We didn't drag you out of the storm from hell just to let you die of an infection. Shut up and let Teyla play doctor."

John's mouth quirked up at that, despite himself.

Rodney snorted. "Grow up."

"Not if I can help it."

Teyla had her pack pulled out from the back of the cave. "I believe this would be better done outside, where the light is stronger," she said. Her tone allowed no room for John to protest.

"Okay, fine, but let me get some pants on, at least."

"Yes, yes, you wouldn't want to stun us all with the manly exposure of your skinny chicken legs, Colonel," Rodney said.

"At least I'm not paler than a cave newt."

"Hmph." Rodney glared.

"Of course, Colonel, you and Rodney should both dress in dry clothes." Teyla's teeth flashed white, even in the dimness of the cave. John carefully focused over her shoulder. "I believe I will dress as well."

"Yeah, uh, that'd probably be a good idea."

Ronon coughed. He was so laughing at them; John knew it. Teyla and Ronon both thought Earth body taboos were ridiculous.

Teyla gave them time enough to don pants, boots, and T-shirts, while she did the same; all of them with their backs to each other. John brushed the dried mud off his calves and knees. He paused with his palm over his kneecap and frowned. Hadn't he fallen and torn that open in the first scramble to get to the cave? When he flicked the dirt off, his knee looked perfectly fine. Not even a scrape. He shrugged it off. Apparently, he'd been lucky, even though it had hurt like hell at the time. He finished dressing and followed Teyla out of the cave.

They picked through the mud until they found a relatively dry chunk of boulder sticking out of the ground where he could seat himself and let Teyla work. Ronon and Rodney took off into the scrub. "Don't let him talk you into not using the antibiotic cream, Teyla," Rodney advised her.

"Do not worry, Rodney," she told him with a fond smile.

Rodney bobbed his head and lurched off, muttering about mud and meteorology.

John smiled at Teyla and held out his arms. "I'm all yours."

They'd definitely all been together too long: Teyla snorted inelegantly exactly the way Rodney would have, before opening the medical kit and pulling out a sealed package of wipes.

~*~

John bit back a hiss of pain as Teyla carefully cleaned each of the raw gouges he'd dug into his arms during his panic attack. Despite the storm and John's temporary insanity, they hadn't lost much beyond the tarp and a bag of berries garnered as they came down the mountains into the foothills.

He twitched a little under Teyla's touch despite himself; his skin felt sensitized. Her hands stilled. "I am sorry if this is painful, Colonel," she said.

He shook his head. "No, it isn't that," he replied quietly. The morning sun caught on the dark, swollen bruise over her cheekbone and he winced. It burned that Rodney and Teyla and even Ronon were treating him like something breakable, when he'd hit her last night. The shame twisted in his gut.

Right now, Rodney and Ronon were picking through the muddy debris left by the storm, trying to find enough — or any — dry fuel so that they could have a fire and dry the sleeping bags and their clothes. John thought it might be a good idea to stay for another night and wait until the flash floods had subsided and the mud dried to something that wasn't slicker than motor oil before they started across the plains. He was really hoping the storm hadn't been a typical example of weather on the plains or it was going to a sonuvabitch crossing them.

He shifted uncomfortably on his stone seat as Teyla taped off the bandage on one arm and moved to the other. He was looking past her bent head at the lightning-struck black snag on the next hill — the one that had been hit last night — admiring the glitter of the clean, post-storm air and the droplets of water still clinging, shivering to each leaf and blade of grass, when Teyla sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingers tightened painfully around his wrist as she rotated John's arm, turning it to expose the inner side of his wrist and forearm to the sunshine.

John looked down.

Teyla wiped carefully at the mixture of blood and mud on his arm, while John curled his hand into a fist. No. No, no, no, no. He was frozen, staring at his own skin and Ellia's feeding mark.

Two spots of faintly-raised, blue-tinged scar tissue had been the only sign of the retrovirus left on his body. The nerves were a little numb there, just like they were where the Iratus bug had fed on his neck, a little more sensitive around them, as though to compensate. He'd stared at the feeding mark every day in quarantine, after Beckett found the treatment to return him to being human, until everything else had returned to normal and it had stopped shrinking.

John knew the exact dimensions of that scar, the exact shade of discoloration.

Teyla wiped away the last of smear of dirt.

It was darker, and, okay, maybe he was bruised, but John could feel the shakes begin as he stared at the mark, because it had grown.

"Colonel — John," Teyla corrected herself. She raised unfathomably dark eyes to meet John's horrified gaze. "Was this… ?"

He shook his head, afraid to let the panic and anger spill out again, even in words. God damn Beckett for a liar. He couldn't do this. His hand moved abortively to tear at the scar. Teyla grabbed it and stopped him. He couldn't speak and he knew she could feel the tremble racing through his body. He just wanted to run, as if he could outrun himself, outrun his body's treason somehow. Teyla's tight grasp on his arm stopped him.

He tried to pull his arm away from her and she held on. "Stop." She wouldn't let him go unless he hurt her and he couldn't do that. He wouldn't do that.

He wouldn't. As long as he was still himself. However long that would be… .

John just kept shaking his head. He still had his Beretta. It was tucked in his pack, still perfectly dry and loaded. He'd let Elizabeth and Beckett take away his choice, left it too long and too late before. He wouldn't do that again.

"Stop," Teyla said again.

There was Ronon, too. He knew he could count on Ronon to put him down if he miscalculated. Thank God for that. Ronon wouldn't hesitate and that wouldn't be ruthlessness, it would be a kindness. Ronon really would have choked him unconscious last night if Rodney had told him to. He'd end it if John became dangerous.

Teyla touched her finger to the mark. John couldn't feel it, only see it, only hear as her nail tapped against blue chitin.

A muscle moved in Teyla's cheek. John couldn't read her expression. Her eyes were downcast again, lashes shading her cheekbones, and her attention on his arm. "Hold still," she ordered. John sat rigid and silent as she efficiently wound a bandage over the damning mark. He wasn't going to lose it again. He couldn't afford to, wouldn't place that weight on Teyla and the others.

She returned everything to the medical kit and restored it to her pack, then stood. Her fingers brushed feather-light against John's cheek, then she turned to where Rodney and Ronon were emerging from the scrubby trees.

"We must press on and reach the stargate as soon as possible," she said. "We can dry our gear tonight."

Ronon stared at her in confusion, his eyebrows rising, and Rodney opened his mouth to protest. John stood and pulled on his pack.

"Let's go," he said and began walking.

"What the hell?" Rodney exclaimed, but minutes later, he was walking behind John and Teyla.

Ronon caught up to them, loping past to take point once more, with only a pause in his stride as he glanced at Teyla's set face and then at John. Then he stretched his legs, not asking any questions, reading the urgency in both of them and accepting it.

John stared across the plains, at the endless roll of land stretching to sky. There was another mountain range on the other side, but the plains stretched so far the curve of the planet hid those peaks below the horizon. He lengthened his own stride, swallowing the bubble of despair in his throat.