NOTES: The third in a series - John/Teyla - Five Last Kisses. Angsty and implied character death.

A Good Ally

John wakes to the familiar beep of the infirmary machines cataloguing his state of health.

He doesn't feel very healthy at all. His muscles ache in ways he didn't know they could, there's a numbness in his shoulder, and his left hand feels icy-cold.

And he has the feeling that something's wrong, something's missing.

Lifting his hands, John stares at them, remembering the circular shape and smooth feel of the retrovirus delivery system as they handled dozens of cylinders into the middle of the field. He remembers the feel of the dart controls under his hand, disconcertingly organic; the musky, damp scent of the dart's insides as he climbed in and the cover closed over him.

He remembers the sudden shouts from the others, the whine of new darts overhead, firing, firing firing, the shuddering jolt of the crash as his dart was hit and fell.

He remembers...

"John?" Elizabeth's entering the infirmary, and it only takes one glance at her reddened eyes to tell John what he already knows. Behind her, Ronon and Rodney follow, quieted and grief-stricken.

John's hands close into fists, and the twist of pain in his left hand is the IV needle in his flesh. "She died, didn't she?"

Looks are exchanged, a wordless deathknell.

The doc appears at the door, takes in the scene, and steps back, realising this isn't a time for her to intrude.

"We don't know, John," says Elizabeth.

Rodney clears his throat. "We tracked the dart as far as the hive ship... After that..."

After that, once they discovered her - as they would - she'd be a meal. The serum would take about five hours to disperse through the hiveship, and then another forty-eight hours before it would take effect... It might take years for the virus to be dispersed through the Wraith, but Teyla had been the one who said that the Pegasus peoples could be patient.

As he stares at his hands, John can feel her hands beneath his arms as she hauled him from the wreckage, guiding him away from the downed dart, into the treeline and safety.

"How long was I out?" His internal timesense is all screwed up, but he knows it's been more than a few hours since the attack.

Ronon answers, rough and low. "Forty-three hours."

"The hive jumped shortly after the tracking device failed." Rodney's trying to sound upbeat. "They probably didn't realise what the device did. And even if they did, it would be too late."

"For the Wraith," John snapped, "or Teyla?" He knows the anger's unjustified towards Rodney; but he can't bring himself to aim it where it's deserved - at himself for failing to carry out the mission in the first place, at Teyla for taking it up when he failed.

"Teyla knows our bases and allies," Elizabeth says. "If she makes it out, she knows where to go." She's trying to be helpful; John's not in the mood for helpfulness.

He remembers her hands touching his face, resting light against his cheeks, running down his vest, checking for injuries as John leaned back against the tree and concentrated on breathing and the way the world came in multiples.

The rescue teams are coming.

I'm fine, he insisted, watching the repeat Teylas shimmer and shift through the air beyond him.

They solidified into a single image whose hands cupped his jaw, her mouth brushing across his with tenderness and purpose.

Footsteps crashed through the undergrowth, and she rose, splitting into multiple images wielding a multiplicity of weapons in her hand, which were put away as several Lornes arrived. He is injured. Possibly concussion. Can you get him to safety?

Yeah, sure. Wait - where are you going?

There is something I must do.

Her fingers brushed his cheek. You have been a good ally, John. Thank you.

He felt her mouth on his again, fleeting and bitter.

Then she was gone.

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