Written for lunabee34 's Fanwork Gateverse Extravaganza

Prompt by havocthecat - Teyla/Vala: Negotiation is just a more subtle form of thievery

"You realise, of course, that this is all your fault," I pronounce cheerfully.

I resettle the pack on my shoulders, hiding a wince as the motion makes my bruised ribs twinge and sends a spike of pain stabbing viciously through my head. Not that I need to bother. Teyla doesn't cast so much as a glance in my direction, which is a waste of the smile I've readied especially for her.

(Innocent as a newborn babe. One of my best, if I do say so myself.)

"I had not realised that I had such control over the actions of others," she murmurs in response. "If that were the case, then this mission might have gone very differently."

I'm bored.

I lie back on my bed, hands folded behind my head, staring up at the ceiling without really seeing it. I twitch one of my feet in time to the beat of the music coming from the tinny speakers on my bedside table.

Say what you will about the Tau'ri, some of them certainly know how to put together a catchy tune.

The iPod - a peculiar name, because the device doesn't look particularly pod-like, or eye-like - was a gift from Daniel. One that he intentionally gave me, even, rather than something that 'accidentally' happened to fall into my pocket. Unlike those rather natty sunglasses of Cameron's that I've been coveting for a while.

Well, they do look much better on me than on him.

Anyway, I'm planning on bringing him - and the rest of the team - back something nice when I return from my travels.

When I do, I really must ask Daniel to explain some of these lyrics to me. I think I may be missing some vital context. Such as: who is 'Galileo Figaro' and why is he holding someone captive? Is he some kind of justicar? A warlord, perhaps?

Perhaps someone here will be able to tell me.

I contemplate the ceiling, which has, alas, gained not a single interesting feature since I last focused my attention on it.

I attempt to amuse myself by estimating the market value of the contents, fixtures and fittings of my rooms, but my heart just isn't in it.

I'm *bored*.

Very, very bored.

Which, on the face of it, is completely and utterly ridiculous.

Not that I don't get bored easily, because I do. I really, really do.

If I had a flaw, maybe that would be it. Maybe.

But I'm standing - well, currently sprawling - slap bang in the middle of a technological marvel. Atlantis! City of the Ancients, filled with gadgets and gizmos and gew gaws galore. Interesting gadgets. Valuable gadgets. Eminently portable gadgets.

Well, many of them are portable. Others... not so much.

Not that I've given up on the idea of acquiring a chappa'ai - stargate - of my very own, precisely, but there are a few teeny-tiny technical issues I need to work out. Okay, maybe more than a few. I'm working on it, alright?

So much potential wealth here, just lying around.

Maybe not quite lying around, I suppose. Some of it is 'secure'.

No, no, that isn't laughter. It's just a coughing fit. Honest.

Anyway, the *important* part here is that Atlantis is stuffed to the gills with shinies. Not to mention being a big, giant shiny in its own right.

And, despite the abundance of shiny, Vala Mal Doran is bored.

I did not come to Atlantis to be bored.

I came for the adventure. For the experience. For the riches.

(And, okay, maybe the thought of being far away from Stargate Command for a little while had its benefits. Not that any of that mess was my fault, of course. Not really. Not at all, in fact. How was *I* supposed to know that the man was some important high-up muckety-muck? He should've had a badge, or a special hat, or something to give a girl a little warning that he was someone Not To Be Trifled With.)

(Anyway, someone in his position had no business being that gullible. I was doing him a favour, really. I should be *commended*, not cast into exile.)

Well, whatever my reasons, I'm here now.

And I refuse to be bored a moment longer.

Buoyed by a new determination, I retrieve my little music-player, bound from my bed and stride purposefully for the door.

I'm going to find something interesting to do.

And, if I can't find anything?

I toss my hair jauntily, putting a spring in my step and feeling a smile spread across my face.

Well, then. I'll just have to improvise.

Sometimes, to borrow one of Cameron's more colourful phrases (albeit not one he uses where any of his superiors might catch him), my life sucks donkey balls.

You know, now that I think about it, that is actually quite a revolting phrase.

I think I approve.

It certainly seems appropriate right at this juncture.

And if there's one lesson I can take away from my current situation, it's this: no good deed goes unpunished.

Teyla looks around warily as we trudge through the seemingly endless forest. It stretches all around as far as the eye can see, a monotonous expanse of trees, more trees and even more trees.

Oh look, another tree. What novelty. How can I contain my surprise?

This is great. This is just *wonderful*. I'm a city girl at heart. Hiking through the wilderness isn't, well, it just isn't me.

Worst date *ever*.

(Hmmm... Actually, no. My mistake. I have had worse dates. *Much* worse dates. At least the company here is pleasant, even if the location and activities leave rather a lot to be desired.)

I follow Teyla's example and keep a careful watch on our surroundings as we blaze a trail through the fortunately sparse undergrowth. Not that we're *expecting* to meet anyone else in this godsforsaken place - it certainly looked deserted during our earlier flyby - but better safe than sorry. Besides, there's always the local wildlife to worry about.

As if on cue, a sudden sound splits the air: the distinctive honk-screech of a hunting pterak. Ah, yes. The pterak. Proof that some things are just too ugly to die out. No matter how much you want them to.

I've seen them on other worlds of the Pegasus galaxy, often near chappa'ai. The boffins think that's how they've managed to spread so widely; by hitching a ride through open wormholes. Apparently, Atlantis even had their own pterak infestation a little while back. I guess that's why they know so much about them.

Ugh.

I'm just glad they dealt with it before I got there, otherwise I might just have turned right around and headed for somewhere else. I simply will *not* put up with vermin in my living place. Especially when the vermin wants to eat me.

Been there, done that. Got the scars to prove it.

Never again.

Teyla and I both freeze in place, waiting.

The sound comes again, making me want to clap my hands over my ears; making me want to move, to run, to flee far away from that noise and the thing making it.

Which, of course, is the point.

Pteraks are leathery-winged flying monstrosities with razor-sharp beaks and claws. Pack-hunters. Well, flock-hunters. Their usual tactic involves flying around making that dreadful noise to scare potential prey out of hiding. Apparently there's something about a pterak's cry that makes it particularly good at that.

Something something harmonics, something something flight reflex.

Whatever.

I tuned out the rest of the biology geek's lecture. I think he had a thing for predators. Or maybe he was just trying to impress me with his knowledge.

It wouldn't be the first time.

Honestly, I was more impressed with his portable life-signs scanner. Just think of all the applications! I would - well, someone would - never need be surprised by unexpectedly-approaching guards ever again.

Ahem.

Justin - the geek - did look cute when he was all lit up with enthusiasm like that, I suppose. He had pretty brown eyes and skin the colour of cocoa. A little too puppyish for my tastes, though.

Frankly, I'm surprised I remember as much of his ramblings as I do.

The pterak keeps up the noise, but Teyla and I are made of sterner stuff than its usual prey.

We wait it out.

I watch the arguing trio gathered in front of Elizabeth's desk, waiting for just the right moment to jump into the conversation.

"I'll go with you," I offer brightly, gracing them with my most brilliant smile.

They break off their discussion to look at me as I lean casually against the doorframe. Colonel Sheppard frowns deeply, his furrowed brow suddenly reminding me a great deal of a somewhat peeved Cameron. (Whom I do not miss in the slightest. Really. Military stuffed-shirt that he is.) Dr McKay blinks at me, mouth still half-open from being interrupted mid-rant. It makes him look rather like my pet goldfish.

(I'm not entirely sure what was going through Teal'c's head when he gave the creature to me as a going-away present, but I was hardly going to argue with the big lunk. It's quite sweet, really. I definitely have to remember to bring him back something nice. I've somehow managed not to kill Mr Bubbles - the fish - yet, which, frankly, I find rather impressive. I, ah, I generally haven't had the best of luck with pets.)

(Not counting SG-1, of course.)

Teyla's pretty face is calm, her feelings - whatever they might be - hidden behind a mask of thoughtful neutrality. I turn my smile up a notch as I meet her eyes, trying to provoke a reaction, any reaction, from the woman.

I get nothing.

You know, a girl could almost take that as a challenge.

Elizabeth is hidden by the others, but her voice sounds dryly amused as she greets me. "Good morning, Vala."

"Good morning, Dr Weir. Elizabeth," I say, matching her tone perfectly.

"Were you eavesdropping?" John asks, blunt as always. I do so like that about him. I think it's one of his best features.

That and his rather well-defined muscles.

I shrug. "Not on purpose," I lie blithely. "You and McKay were being *very* loud, so I couldn't help picking up enough to get the gist of the situation: Ronon is sick, which leaves you a man short for this mission." I let my smile melt into a sober expression, making my voice low and sympathetic. "I do hope Ronon's illness is nothing serious."

I actually mean that, of course. I don't really know the big guy, but I certainly wouldn't wish any harm on him. Still, I can't help appreciating the convenience of his timing. I mean, if he's going to get sick anyway, it might as well be at a time when someone else - when I - can benefit from his misfortune.

It's only practical.

"A severe allergic reaction to some pollen," McKay says, adding stridently. "I told you all those plants were evil, but did anyone believe me? No, they just mocked. Mocked!" He flings his hands up, rolling his eyes melodramatically. "And then, when I was vindicated, did *anyone* apologise?" He glowers darkly at Sheppard, clearly showing the true target of his ire. "No. No, they most certainly did not."

"Dr Beckett assures us that Ronon will be fine in a day or so," Teyla tells me. "I will pass on your good wishes. But, as you correctly point out, his unfortunate indisposition does leave our current expedition short-handed."

"Does it matter?" Mckay asks, sounding frustrated. "We know the natives are friendly, and the preliminary expeditions haven't picked up any real hazards. Certainly nothing that would bother us in the city. I'm sure having one person less won't make any difference to our safety, but delaying for even a day or two will deny me valuable data!"

Sheppard looks like he's actually considering that, so I have to break in swiftly. "Why take unnecessary risks?" I ask, reasonably. I step into the office, maneouvring around the others until I can meet Elizabeth's eyes. When it comes down to it, she's the one I really have to convince. She is, after all, the woman in charge. "I'm here, I'm trained in your protocols and I'm more than willing to step into the breach."

"Whatever, let's just go!" Mckay says, impatiently. "That signal might be fading as we speak!"

"Vala has a point," Teyla states, somehow managing to make my name sound more formal than any number of titles and honorifics. She inclines her head towards me. "I see no reason not to accept her offer."

Her support is unexpected, but not unwelcome. I wonder at her reasons, but I'm certainly not complaining. I return her nod, unable to resist throwing a saucy wink her way.

Still no reaction. Damn. I must really be off my game.

That's alright. I guess I'll just have to try harder.

"I don't know," Sheppard says, slowly. I'm not surprised that he turns out to be the problem. What *is* it with these uptight Tau'ri military men? Does part of their training involve having a stick surgically inserted up their-

"I think it's a good idea," says Elizabeth, interrupting my train of thought. She looks at Sheppard. "Get Ms Mal Doran kitted out, and then you can be on your way. I see no reason to delay your mission any further."

She reaches out and taps at the keyboard in front of her, a clear indication that this conversation is over.

(I'm pleased about this, I really am, but a small part of me can't help wondering. Why is it that administrators always seem to be glad to get me off their ship, base or planet? It's almost enough to give a girl a complex.)

"But-" Sheppard starts to say, then subsides as Elizabeth arches an eyebrow at him. "Fine," he grinds out, yielding with bad grace. I heroically manage not to smirk, meeting his gaze innocently as he turns the full force of his beetling brow on me and grumbles: "Let's go get you equipped."

"Great!" I chirp, following the others' lead as they take Elizabeth's leave and file out of her office. "This is going to be fun!"

I am not having fun right now. My ribs are throbbing, my head is pounding, my hair is matted with a combination of sweat and dried blood, and there's an itch between my shoulder blades that I just can't seem to reach, no matter how much I squirm.

That damned pterak! Why did it have to go and invite its friends to the party? I don't even know how long they've been flapping around up there, making those blood-curdling noises. Surely they've got to lose interest at some point? Just how stupid are these things?

For what feels like the thousandth time, I scan the surroundings, looking for something, anything, that might help to get us out of this predicament. Communication devices. Transport. A secondary chappa'ai.

Or, alternatively, something shiny to take my mind off things.

There's nothing.

Nothing but the seemingly neverending forest. Grarled and twisted tree after gnarled and twisted tree, with bark like wrinkled leather and leaves like torn and ragged scraps of yellowed paper.

They are, officially, the ugliest trees I've ever seen.

I can almost imagine that those whorls and lines on their trunks look like faces. Faces with open mouths. Screaming endlessly.

How lovely.

It's turned chilly here all of a sudden.

My, what a morbid frame of mind I'm in right now. But I suppose it's hardly suprising, given the situation. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, who knows how far from civilisation, with no transport and no comms. Armed with nothing but our P90s, knives and stout sticks.

Pinned down by creatures that want to have us for supper.

(I really miss my zat gun. I can't believe it's gone. I brought it all the way across the intergalactic void, only to lose it in a stupid puddlejumper crash.)

(It's just not fair.)

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

Such an undignified way to die.

I'm just starting to wonder if we're going to be stuck here until dark when, mercifully, the bird-brains finally seem to reach the end of their patience. One moment, the air is filled with the sound of their screeching and flapping, and the next...

Blessed silence.

I sigh deeply.

"Think we can move now?" I ask softly. Teyla knows more about these things than I do. She's actually taken on the bastards before. Without the luxury of automatic weapons, no less. I must admit, it gives me a whole new level of respect for her skills now that I've actually seen the damn things up close.

"A few minutes longer," she replies. "There may be stragglers." A few minutes pass. I try to concentrate on pleasant thoughts, and not on what it would be like to have the flesh stripped from my bones while I'm still alive. Eventually, Teyla takes a cautious step, and then another, and then another. She nods. "Let us continue."

"Finally!" I mutter, taking the opportunity to set my pack down and have a good, proper stretch. When I look up, I am a little surprised to see Teyla watching me with narrowed eyes. I meet my gaze, raising my eyebrows enquiringly.

"You are still favouring your side," she notes. "And your head wound has been bleeding again."

I shrug. "I'll live." Something twists in my chest, and without thinking about it I find myself adding: "I've had worse." I half expect the obvious question, but she just looks at me with those dark, inscrutable eyes of hers, and then comes over to prod at my injuries. "Hey!" I protest, half-heartedly, but I don't really make any attempt to stop her. "Any excuse to get your hands on me," I mutter.

She snorts quietly. "If I wanted to put my hands on you, Vala Mal Doran, you would know it. Now, hold still."

A little surprised, I eye her askance. I'm really not sure if she's threatening me or flirting with me.

Either way, it's kind of hot.

Unfortunately, I've left it a little long to deliver a witty response, so I grudgingly let her remark pass for now.

I make no promises about later.

Teyla's fingers are surprisingly gentle on my skin, but it still hurts. I bear her ministrations stoically.

"Stop squirming," she admonishes.

"I'm not squirming! I have pins and needles, that's all." She gives me a look.

No, sorry. She gives me a Look.

I sigh heavily, and do my best to keep still so she can poke and prod at me, earning myself an approving nod.

A few moments pass.

"Hmm," she says, noncommittally.

I wait a moment, but she shows no sign of expanding on that.

"Hmm, what?" I ask. "Hmm, looks minor, and should heal just fine? Hmm, I'm in imminent danger of death without medical treatment? You can't leave a girl in suspense like that."

"Your injuries are not immediately life-threatening, but they are hampering your movements, and I am concerned that you will not be able to move quickly if the situation calls for it." She frowns, adding softly. "And they must be causing you pain."

I shrug and step back, keeping the wince from my face. "I can run if I have to. You just worry about keeping us pointed in the right direction. The sooner we reach the stargate, the sooner we can get help."

She looks like she wants to say more, but in the end she simply inclines her head in a way that I've come to suspect means 'I am not conceding the point, but I do not wish to argue with you any further.'

All she says aloud, however, is: "As you wish."

We start walking again.

I try (and fail) to get comfortable on the puddlejumper's seat. Honestly, would it have killed the designers to try to add a little more padding? Maybe an armrest or two? Some decent neck support?

Surely we must be almost there by now.

"Where's the settlement?" McKay asks, echoing my thought. He's sitting next to Sheppard, the pilot. Teyla and I are in the back.

I'm beginning to wish I had - what was Cameron's expression? Ah, yes - called shotgun.

Definitely on the way back.

Maybe even pilot if I can peel Sheppard away from the controls. It's never too early to start learning how to pilot a new craft, just in case I should ever need to appropriate one.

Purely in the interests of mission efficiency, after all.

"It's some distance from the gate," Sheppard says. "Just hold your horses; we'll be there soon enough."

McKay sighs loudly and starts pushing buttons. "I guess it gives me more time to collect some readings," he says.

"You do that," Sheppard encourages. Lowering his voice, he adds. "Give me some peace and quiet."

I exchange an amused look with Teyla, the silent rapport making me wonder if she's perhaps not as stiff as I first thought. Maybe she's just quiet.

With McKay on the team, I can certainly understand that. He seems to provide more than enough noise for all of us.

After a moment, I lean towards Teyla companionably, giving her a friendly, interested smile.

"So, tell me about the people on this world. What are they like? Are there any customs and taboos I should be aware of? I'd hate to offend anyone by accident."

On purpose, yes, but doing so by accident is just gauche.

I don't ask the question I really want to ask, which is: do these people have any good stuff?

Teyla favours me with a smile of her own, something that looks like approval in her eyes.

(It's probably just as well I didn't ask the last question. I doubt she would look quite so pleased with me then.)

"The Amata people believe the act of creation is sacred. Do not insult or damage anything that anyone has created, especially not anyone who is important. Also, be circumspect with any praise you give to their creations, for proper evaluation is considered the province of the holy order known as the Testers."

I tilt my head, considering. This sounds promising. "So, these people are big on making things? What kind of things?"

Teyla spreads her hands. "Anything that can be crafted by a human. Buildings. Furniture. Tools. Clothing. Art. Even non-physical constructs like arguments or poetry, although these are considered somewhat less important than the physical. But, when it comes to physical construction, the Amata do not distinguish. They merely strive for the perfection of their craft, whatever that craft should be."

"I see," I murmur. "Thank you for the information."

"You are most welcome."

I lean back, lost in thought.

A society of people dedicated to making pretty trinkets? This just gets better and better. If they spend so much of their time making things, they must have lots of them just lying around. I bet they wouldn't miss a few here and there. And I bet I could get a good price for their creations on other worlds.

A warm and fuzzy feeling settles in my chest as I contemplate the possibilities.

The day seems to be looking up.

"Tell me about yourself," I say, breaking the silence that's stretched between us for the last mile or so.

I'm bored of silence. I'm bored of walking. I'm bored of trees.

I'm bored of hurting.

I knew this mission wouldn't end well.

"There is little to tell," she says, sounding distant.

"Then it won't take long, will it?"

For a moment, I don't think she's actually going to answer, but then she sighs softly.

"I am the daughter of Tagan and Torren Emmagan, of the Athosian people. I am the leader of my people, although-"

"The leader? Like a queen?"

I consider a moment, imagining Teyla clad in royal vestments, airily issuing proclamations from a golden throne. Hmmm... No. I really can't see her doing that.

But I bet she'd look good all dolled up.

Pleasant thought.

She makes a clicking noise with her tongue; perhaps irritation at my interruption. I consider the reaction a small victory.

"*Not* like a queen," she says, firmly. "My people and I all consider ourselves to be equals."

"But some are more equal than others?" I can't resist goading her.

She shoots me a quelling look. I blink innocently back at her. Well, this is more amusing than I expected. Perhaps she's not so reserved after all.

I know I shouldn't be trying to antagonise her, that we need to work together. And that I might need her to put in a good word for me when we get back to Atlantis. (Assuming we survive this. Which I'm assuming we do, because any other outcome is completely unacceptable.) But a part of me is *really* tempted to see if I can provoke her into losing her temper.

I mustn't. I know I mustn't.

But still, the temptation is there.

In any case, my last remark wasn't enough to tip the scales. Teyla apparently decides to take my question at face value, answering calmly.

"Even amongst a community of equals, someone must be the final arbiter of decisions that affect the community as a whole." Her voice takes on a droll note. "Otherwise, nothing will be decided. At least, not with any great speed." After the brief flash of humour, her demeanour sobers again. "And speed was of the essence, especially when the Wraith turned their gaze our way."

I feel a pang of something in my chest.

Maybe it's indigestion.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, surprising myself.

I wonder if I surprise Teyla. If so, she doesn't show it, merely inclining her head towards me.

"Thank you," she says, quietly. In a stronger voice, she continues. "The Lanteans made contact with us shortly after their arrival in this galaxy. When the Wraith attacked, the Lanteans offered us sanctuary on the world they had claimed, and the bulk of my people now live on the mainland there."

This part I already knew. I try to make a point of knowing who I'm sharing a world with. Less chance of unpleasant surprises that way. Point of fact, I've been meaning to take a trip out to the mainland sometime, make some new friends. You never know when they're going to come in handy.

Maybe Teyla can put in a good word for me.

"But you joined the Tau'ri explorers," I note.

She cocks her head to the side. "I am not familiar with the word Tau'ri. Is it another way of saying Lanteans?"

"I suppose it is. It is how the Goa'uld refer to the people from their homeworld, back in the Milky Way galaxy. The name kind of stuck."

"Thank you for the information." She frowns a little. "I have heard of Goa'uld. They are... parasitic beings, yes? They take humans as hosts, and are often worshipped as gods on the planets of their home galaxy?"

"Yes," I say, a little brusquely.

There's a roaring in my ears, a tightness in my chest. Residue from the crash.

It must be.

Not anything else.

(Not fear. Not panic. Not memories of what it was like to be a host. Of watching helplessly from behind my own eyes while my body did terrible things. Of needing to scream, but not being able to make the smallest sound. Of being trapped in my own skin.)

(No. Enough.)

(Long ago and far away and over and done.)

(It has no power over me.)

(Not anymore.)

"So, why did you join the *Lantean* explorers?" I ask.

She thinks that over for a moment or two, letting the question hang there in the air while she ponders.

At least, I assume that's what she's doing. There's certainly a bit of a gap before she finally answers it.

"They needed my skills," she says, simply. "They gave my people sanctuary, so it seemed only right to aid them in turn. And through working with the Lanteans, I am better able to help my people." Her tone turns a little wry. "Although, it has meant that I have had to delegate some of my leadership duties to others." She falls silent again, but just as I'm about to ask her something else, she adds, almost as an afterthought: "I have to admit that I enjoy the work I do. Exploring new places, meeting and forming alliances with new peoples... I find it highly stimulating." She gives me a small smile. "But I could ask you the same question. Why did you forsake your old life to join with the... the Tau'ri?"

Huh. I think that was the largest number of words I have ever heard her speak in one go.

"For the adventure, of course," I say lightly. "There's never a dull moment with SG-1."

I start to say something else, to ask another question, but then she draws in a sharp breath and I stop to study her thoughtfully. She's pale, very pale, and her forehead is beaded with sweat. She's panting a little, as if she can't quite get enough air, and that's not... Her eyes aren't shuttered, they're glassy and glazed.

She's hurt.

Not stopping to think about it, I cross the gap between us and place my hand on her forehead. Hmm. Cold and clammy.

"Vala!" she grumbles, sounding vaguely irritated. For her, that must be like yelling in anger. She raises a hand to push mine away, but there's no real force behind it. I ignore her protests, running my hands gently over her arms, her back, her stomach...

Oh.

From her sharp intake of breath, I have a reasonable idea what I'm going to see when I lift her tunic. Sure enough, her abdomen is swathed in bandages, the white linen stained with blood.

Because our day was going so well up until now.

Her wound isn't gushing, thank the gods, but it does appear to be seeping a little. I start adding up the minutes, the hours, frowning as I try to work out what level of blood loss she's likely suffering.

"What happened?" I ask quietly, a little surprised at how tight my voice sounds.

She pulls her tunic free of my fingers, smoothing it back down into place over the bandages. I don't fight her.

Not yet.

"Something sharp sliced into my side during the crash." Her tone matches mine. "I do not believe any of my internal organs have been perforated, so my main problem in the short-term is blood loss. Infection may be a problem in the longer term, but hopefully we will have made it to safety before then."

"You should have told me," I say, quietly. "I could have tried to stitch it up."

"With what?" she asks. "Most of the medical supplies were lost in the crash."

She has a point there, I have to grudgingly admit. Although surely, between the two of us, we must have been able to improvise something.

"I could have helped with the dressing, at least. It can't have been easy to bind it yourself."

"I managed."

She's also somehow managed to regain her equanimity, seeming so calm, so serene, so unruffled that it's pissing me right the hell off.

"You should have told me." I let some of my irritation show, letting it give my words a chill edge.

"You were unconscious at the time. By the time you were awake again, I had already taken care of it. There seemed little point in troubling you."

"You should have *told* me," I say, again. "At the very least, I deserve to know anything that might affect our progress. Our *survival*. I thought we were in this together, Teyla." I pause, looking her levelly in the eyes. "Unless you don't trust me."

Unless she thinks I'm going to, what? Abandon her for slowing me down? Hit her over the head and take her stuff while she can't fight back?

Whatever.

It's fine. It is. I'm used to people not trusting me. It isn't like I don't give them reason, over and over again.

But...

(It still hurts.)

She doesn't even *know* me. Not really. And after what we did together, I thought...

Never mind. It doesn't matter.

Teyla actually looks away, briefly, just the merest flicker of her eyes. When she meets my gaze again, there is something like chagrin on her face.

"You are correct. I should have told you," she says, her tone matter of fact. I shrug, thinking that's the end of it, that she's going to politely sidestep the whole trust issue, but she hasn't finished yet. "It is not that I do not trust you, Vala. It is..." Her mouth twists in a wry smile. "I can be... stubborn sometimes, when it comes to admitting weakness. Any weakness. It is, I suppose, a personal failing. I hope that you will not hold it against me."

Oh. Well.

That's different.

That's something I can sympathise with.

"I see." I return her smile with one of my own, just as wry, to let her know that there are no hard feelings, before putting my serious face back on. "So, how bad is it, really? Want me to take a look? Do you need to rest for a while?"

"I think it would be best not to disturb the dressing," she says, swiftly. "It will become serious if left untreated for too long, but for the moment it is not slowing me down overmuch. I do not need to rest just yet. I would prefer to try to cover as much ground as we can before it gets dark." She nods once, decisively, as if that settles the matter. "Let us keep moving."

She suits the action to the words, her movements far smoother and steadier than I would have expected.

The woman must have a will of iron.

But will her body hold up?

I hesitate for a moment, frowning in her direction. Would it be better for her to hole up somewhere while I travel onwards to the chappa'ai to get help? *Is* there anywhere safe enough for her to take shelter? This area does have its dangers, after all.

Could I even find my way to the chappa'ai by myself?

In the end, full of misgivings, I follow along after her, a part of me wanting to throw my head back and howl my frustration into the trees.

I never asked to be responsible for anyone else. I'm a survivor. I can take care of myself just fine. But when it comes to taking care of others...

Maybe she'll be alright. Maybe we're closer than we think. Maybe Sheppard and McKay will manage to get in touch with Atlantis and they'll send a rescue team after us. Maybe they'll figure out where we are.

So many maybes.

But in the meantime, there is something I can do.

Walking next to Teyla, I surreptitiously reach out and snag the flashlight attached to the back of her pack. She doesn't seem to notice, which is good. The flashlight is solid; hefty. Maybe it's only a fraction of her pack's total weight, but every little helps, right?

I may not know Teyla very well, but from what I've seen so far, she'd never dream of asking me to take more than my fair share. And I strongly doubt she'd accept an offer of help.

Fortunately, with my particular talents, I don't need to say a thing.

I reach out again.

"Look, *Doctor*, just give me a simple yes or no: can you narrow down the source of the energy signature?"

"It's just not that simple, Sheppard! There are all sorts of factors to-"

"So, that's a no."

"It is *not* a no! I'm just-"

"So, it's a yes?"

"Will you just-"

The two men argue back and forth, Sheppard becoming terser and terser while McKay gesticulates wildly and gets very red in the face.

Idly, I wonder how long they've been together.

(Some people might concern themselves with 'if', but, really, if I'm going to speculate, why bother confining myself to boring things like facts?)

People don't bicker like that unless they're comfortable with each other, and from what I've seen of their interactions, these two must be very comfortable indeed. That kind of passion, that combination of alpha-personalities, must certainly make for some real sparks in the bedroom.

"Gentlemen." Teyla interrupts the, ah, spirited discussion - and my pleasant musings regarding potential endings - bestowing them each with a quelling glance. "As fascinating as this discovery doubtless is, let us not forget that we are primarily here to open trade negotiations with the Amata. There will be plenty of time to gather information. It is even possible that our hosts may tell us what they know, should we make a good enough impression upon them."

"He started it," McKay mutters, but he obediently returns to pushing buttons and fiddling with various bits of technical equipment. Sheppard glowers at him, his mouth compressed into a tight line as he returns his attention to flying the puddlejumper.

Mmmm. I bet that's a discussion they're going to be continuing later.

Vigorously. In private.

I am a little impressed by Teyla's sudden air of command. Apparently, 'reserved' is not nearly the same thing as 'timid.' Not that I ever really thought of her as timid, of course, but now she's just become positively *interesting*.

Which is good, because in my experience, the Tau'ri could always use a little more of that.

And I am but one woman.

"What of your story, Vala?" Teyla's voice is surprisingly light for a woman who's slowly bleeding to death.

I just hope I'm exaggerating about that last part.

"What about it?" I answer her automatically, surreptitiously studying her for any signs of imminent collapse. At least her pack is substantially lighter now. I've been removing items from it, here and there, stuffing them into my own.

My ribs do not approve.

She figured out what I was doing eventually, of course. Not so eventually, actually. I may be superlatively light-fingered, but even I have my limits. (Although, if anyone ever asks, I will deny that to my very last breath. Vala Mal Doran does *not* have limits. It's a known fact.) And I saw her heft her pack during our last brief stop (only as long as it took to eat some meagre rations and to relieve ourselves; she was apparently serious about not wanting to rest until dark), looking at it, and then at mine, with the strangest expression on her face.

So, she knows.

And yet, she has not spoken of it.

I find that... worrying.

She must be worse off than I thought.

"I have told you my life story," she says, patiently. "I would know yours, if you would tell it."

"Oh, it's not very interesting." I keep my voice airy and light, my attention on the ground as I step carefully over a hole.

This part of the forest seems to be riddled with the damn things. Blackened, round, smooth-sided depressions in the earth, like countless tiny impact craters. And they are almost invariably fringed with some kind of... Well, it looks like moss, but it's bright blue and smells strange. Like... Like rusting metal.

Not for the first time, I wonder what *happened* to this place. Natural disaster? Industry? War? The Amata seem like a relatively peaceful people for the most part, but I suppose that may not always have been true.

And, there are always the Wraith.

"I do not believe that," says Teyla, a hint of reproach her voice.

"Are you calling me a liar, Teyla?" I grin wickedly at her, stepping into her personal space and making my voice breathy and low. "A girl could get awfully offended at such an accusation. Maybe you'd better make it up to me before I get... upset."

She doesn't back away. Or move in, more's the pity. Instead, she tilts her head consideringly, meeting my gaze without challenge.

"Do you often flirt to cover discomfort?"

I lean in until our lips are almost touching, letting my smile turn predatory, letting the suggestion of heat seep into my eyes.

"Maybe I just like flirting with a beautiful women." But I can tell she's not convinced, not the slightest thrown off-balance, damn her composure. So I sigh dramatically and step back out of her personal space. "Alright, if you really want to know my life story, I suppose I can oblige."

The woman is obviously fascinated by me. I can understand why she'd want to know more.

"I would like that," she says, her tone neutral despite the lively interest in her eyes.

(And if there's anything else there, any scrutiny, or calculation, then I don't want to see it.)

I suppose I'd better start at the beginning. It is the traditional way of doing things, after all.

"My homeworld was a nothing little backwater in the arse end of its galaxy," I begin. "Naturally, I seized the first opportunity I could to get the hell out of there. That turned out to involve becoming a smuggler's apprentice, thus starting me out on my lucrative and exciting life of, ah, adventure."

I pause to wink insouciantly at Teyla, taking the opportunity to gauge her reaction. (Not that I care what she thinks about me. Not really. It's just useful to know.)

I can't really tell what she's thinking right now, which is seven shades of irritating.

"How old were you then?" she asks.

I actually have to think about the answer to that one.

"Somewhere between five and ten," I say, waving a hand dismissively to show that it isn't important.

(And she definitely doesn't need to know that becoming Fierenze's servant wasn't exactly my choice. Because I'll take distrust, disappointment and even outright dislike over pity any day of the week.)

"What about your parents? Did they not object?"

I shrug. "My mother was dead, and I think my father and stepmother realised it was a better life than I would have had on my homeworld. Besides." I give her a lopsided grin. "It was sort of carrying on a family tradition."

"I... see."

No, somehow, I really don't think she does. But I'm certainly not going to enlighten her.

"I learned the tricks of the smuggling trade from my mentor" - owner - "until he met a, ah, rather unfortunate end." At my hand. Unfortunate for him, pretty damned fortunate for me. "Then I struck out on my own. By that point, I knew I loved to travel and explore, so I spent some time wandering the galaxy, seeing all the wonders it had to offer." I shrug, letting my eyes sparkle wickedly. "And occasionally acquiring some of them."

Ah, good times.

Teyla frowns a little. Is she judging me, or just trying to understand? It doesn't really matter, I suppose. (It does, though. For some reason, it does.)

"You were a thief?"

"Oh, please!" I sniff loudly, not having to feign my disgust. "Not *just* a thief. The best thief, smuggler and con artist the galaxy has ever seen! A mistress of my craft." I pause, drawing myself up dramatically, delivering my next words in a stage-whisper. "An *artist*. Anyway, I prefer the term 'free agent.'"

If she notices that I don't use the past tense, she doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, she gives me a long, searching look, like she's trying to understand, the smoothness of her brow marred by the tiniest of frowns.

I have the sudden, random urge to kiss the wrinkles away.

Well, maybe not so random. She *is* beautiful, after all.

"Did you never consider other options?"

Her tone says she's just asking a question, very carefully not accusing, or judging, or otherwise expressing disapproval.

Oh, she's good at this.

That's alright. I'm better.

I shrug. "By this point in my life, I had a very specific skill-set, a love of the finer things in life and a distinct problem with authority figures. What was I going to do? Find an honest job?"

And all of those should very much be present tense, not past. Although, I suppose I have mellowed a little on the third point, at least in some very specific cases.

Very, very specific cases.

I omit to mention the small detail of being on the run from those wanting to avenge Fierenze's inglorious death. Or those burning to take revenge on anyone they perceived as being part of the man's 'crew,' without stopping to hear 'excuses' like the fact that I had been kidnapped against my will.

Fierenze had a real talent for making enemies.

"How old were you then?"

Why is she so obsessed by age? Does it really matter? It's not like I magically become a different person at the turning of another year.

"I'm not sure," I hedge. "Mid-teens, maybe?"

Fourteen.

I was fourteen, and I had won my first real taste of freedom since being sold into servitude. There was no *way* I was going to give up even a sliver of it to anyone else.

Not for anything.

Not by choice.

"Anyway," I hurry on, before she can ask another question. "I did that for a while - a decade, decade and a half, I guess - and then ended up running across the Tau'ri." I grin, feeling a tension I hadn't even been aware of start to ease a little. "Funny story, actually. I stole one of their ships." My grin widens. "And one of their men. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the ship was attacked and the two of us had to work together to defeat the attackers." I lower my voice, as if confiding a secret. "I was actually rather fabulous, if I do say so myself. I certainly seemed to impress Daniel, anyway."

Teyla raises her eyebrows.

"Daniel? Dr Daniel Jackson?"

"The very same," I confirm, beaming. "I didn't realise you knew each other."

"I would not say we know each other, precisely, but I have met him once." She looks at me like she doesn't quite know what to think. "So, what happened? Did he escape?"

"Let's just say that we came to a mutually beneficial arrangement and went our separate ways." Teyla doesn't need to know about the whole 'brig' incident. Daniel just got lucky, that's all. Caught me in a moment of weakness. Good job for him that he's far too cute - and too useful - for me to stay angry with for long. "But in our brief time together, Daniel had impressed me greatly with his, ah, cunning linguistic skills."

I smirk a little. If Teyla gets the wrong impression about how Daniel and I spent our time alone on the Prometheus, Well, that isn't my fault.

"So," I continue, "when I found myself in possession of a tablet bearing an inscription that was supposed to point the way to a fantastic treasure, I paid him a visit. That was the first of my many adventures with SG-1. To cut a long story short, they eventually asked me to join the team." I give a modest smile. "Well, begged, really. I just didn't have the heart to say no." I shrug. "And so here I am."

"But we are in the Pegasus galaxy," Teyla points out, annoyingly. "And the rest of your team is back in the Milky Way. Have you then parted ways?"

I roll my eyes. "Wandering soul, remember? I just fancied a change of scenery for a while. Atlantis seemed like a pretty interesting place from my previous - albeit short - visit, so I decided to give it a try. And now you know my story."

I'm bored of talking about myself now. Time to move on.

What to say, what to say?

Maybe I should try provoking her again...

"So, this is just a temporary sojourn?"

Of course she asks another question. Of course she does.

I start to laugh, the sound of it strange and out of place in this twisted, blasted landscape. I have to. What else can I do?

"Oh, Teyla, Teyla," I all-but purr, rolling her name around in my mouth as if I enjoy way it tastes on my tongue. "Don't you realise? Everything is temporary." I pause a moment, letting the word settle between us. Like a feather, like a stone. "*Everything."