A/N: I wrote this tag a quite a few months ago, and I'd like to think that my writing style has improved a good bit since then. :P However, since this was just sitting on my computer, I decided to throw it up on here. Enjoy!

Disclamer: I own none of the Stargate franchise. Shame, though, 'cuz I'd really like a puddlejumper. ;)

Uncommon Bond

After he had dropped the wraith off at its homeworld and the jumper was safely on its way back home, John felt relief wash over him. Mixed with pain, exhaustion, and disbelief. He sat down heavily next to Teyla, his hand unconsciously brushing his chest where the wraith had fed so many times. The "gift of life", as the wraith had called it, was the most unsettling thing he had ever experienced. Well, of course that came in second to actually having his life taken over and over again. John pushed the unpleasant memory from his mind.

He sighed wearily, receiving a worried look from Teyla for doing so. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but his poor attempt only deepened her frown. He felt dizzy, and his entire body ached . . . Suddenly the room lurched and he fell off his seat to the floor of the jumper. Through the haze, he vaguely heard Teyla calling his name, and Ronon shouting for Carson . . . then everything went black.

"Carson!" Ronon shouted.

"Aye, I'm comin' lad," the doctor said as he reached the colonel's side. "What happened?" he asked as he turned John over and began to check his vitals.

"I don't know," Teyla said, her face concerned. "One moment he was fine, then he started to look disoriented and fell."

Carson nodded, his mouth forming a thin line. "His pulse is alright, if a little slow," he said. "Respiration is good, I'm gonna have a look at the rest of him." Carson started to move his hands down John's ribcage, eliciting a moan of pain from the semi-conscious man. Beckett stopped, surprised, and gently lifted John's shirt. This revealed a sickening amount of purple and yellow bruises all over his torso. Carson swore under his breath, hearing Teyla gasp from behind him.

"Bloody inhumane idiots," Carson muttered. "As if feeding him to a wraith wasn't enough. Rodney!" he shouted. "How close are we to the gate?"

"Almost there, just another minute or so," McKay answered. "How is he?"

"He'll be alright, but I want to get him to the infirmary just the same," Beckett answered.

"Alright, I'll tell a medical team to stand by as soon as I dial the gate," McKay said.

"Thank you, Rodney," Carson said. Then he turned to Teyla and Ronon. "Okay, let's get him off the floor."

A few minutes later, Rodney landed the jumper and John was whisked off to the infirmary on a gurney. Ronon, Rodney, and Teyla followed a little while later, after debriefing Elizabeth on the situation. By the time they reached the infirmary, Carson had just finishing his examination of Sheppard and soon came over to speak with them.

"Well, he's got himself into a bit of a mess," the doctor said. "Three of his ribs are cracked, he has contusions covering the majority of his torso, a minor concussion, and he's suffering from extreme exhaustion. I've put him on some morphine and given him something to help him sleep, but there's no harm in sitting with him if you like."

"Thank you," Teyla said. "I believe we will do so." Carson nodded and left.

The three team members looked at each other. "I will take the first shift," Teyla volunteered. It was a forgone conclusion that they would take turns sitting next to John. It was something that they all did if one of them was injured; it came with being as close to each other as they were.

"I'll go after you," Ronon said.

"I guess I'll go last then," McKay said. "I'd probably be up anyway."

Teyla nodded, and the two men left. She walked over to Sheppard's bed, sitting down in the chair next to it. John looked vulnerable and small, lying in the bed with the I.V. hooked up to his arm. His face was drawn and pale, causing the dark stubble on his face to stand out even more. She reached for his hand, grasping it tightly in her own. Her thoughts wandered back to Koyla's transmissions. It had been another kind of torture to watch him being fed upon, seeing the years being shorn off his life, and yet being powerless to act. The "rescue" mission felt more as if they were just going to pick up his body, a shriveled husk of what John Sheppard had once been. She had been shocked and when he was found as young as ever, and had almost not believed it until now that she was holding his hand, a tactile reminder that he was there, and he was alive. She leaned back in the chair, content to just be next him.

A few hours later Ronon walked into the infirmary. They changed places, Ronon sitting in the chair Teyla had just vacated and Teyla standing next to the bed.

"Did you eat?" Ronon asked. Teyla shook her head. "You should. It's after 8 o'clock."

She nodded. "I will do so. Thank you." With one last look at John lying on the bed, she headed out of the infirmary.

A while later, she found herself sitting down in the mess hall, staring at a tray of food. Somehow she just wasn't hungry. Deciding that maybe some practice with her bantos rods would clear her mind, she walked toward the gym. Once there, she went through three routines before she realized that it was doing nothing to relieve her stress. If anything, the peace of the gym was letting her think more, something she definitely did not feel like doing a the moment. Aggravated, she shoved her bantos rods back into her bag and headed back to her room.

Rodney looked at his watch. 1:30 A.M. He rubbed his bleary eyes and sighed. He'd been working on the same thing ever since they had brought John back to Atlantis, but he had gotten precisely nowhere on it. He kept thinking about everything that had happened, and how he thought he had lost his friend yet again. The man had self-sacrificing streak a mile wide. Checking his watch again, he decided he would go relieve Ronon of guard duty a few minutes early.

Ronon sat slouched in the chair next to Sheppard. When he had arrived at Atlantis, it would have killed him to sit still for so long. Now—well, it still was really annoying, but he stayed. He had adopted this new family, and he was going to keep them safe. He shifted his weight in the chair, and checked the infirmary clock for the hundredth time. McKay wouldn't be coming for another ten minutes, so—suddenly he heard footsteps in the hall outside. Anxious for something to divert his attention, he looked up to see McKay walking in the door with his laptop tucked under his arm.

"Hey," Rodney said with a small wave. "He wake up yet?"

Ronon shook his head. "Nope."

"Oh. Well, I guess I'll relieve you a bit early. It doesn't matter where I do this work, so it might as well be here."

Ronon nodded, and started to get up. "Okay. See you later," he said.

Rodney sat down in the chair and lifted his laptop screen "Yeah. Good night," he said, already somewhat distracted by the work in front of him.

--

Teyla sat on her bed, surrounded by flickering candles on every side. Despite her best efforts, she just couldn't concentrate on her meditation that night. She finally gave up, blew out the candles and got dressed the rest of the way. If she couldn't get any rest, she may as well go sit with John.

She walked soundlessly into the infirmary. The lights were dimmed for sleeping, but she could barely make out the hunched-over form of Rodney, sleeping in the chair next the John's bed. His computer was in his lap and a thin trickle of drool was making its way down his chin. She smiled softly, gently closed the laptop and shook the sleeping scientist's shoulder.

"Rodney," she whispered. He stirred, but did not open his eyes. "Rodney, you should go to your quarters. It is past three o'clock."

He closed his mouth, making a face at the fuzzy feeling and squinting his eyes open. "Wha-? Oh, yeah. Okay." He slowly got up, a huge yawn splitting his face. "Where's my laptop?"

Teyla handed it to him.

"Oh. Good night Teyla," he said as he took it from her. Then he yawned again and shuffled his way out of the infirmary.

"Good night, Rodney," she whispered after him. She then sat down in the chair again, once more taking John's hand in her own and leaning her tired head against the wall. Now that she was here, her exhaustion finally caught up with her. She closed her eyes and relaxed. Within minutes, she was asleep.

He felt like he was floating, flying in the air blissfully innocent of everything around him—ouch. No he wasn't. Harsh reality began to pull him from his dreams as his ribs ached, his jaw ached, his arms ached—forget this, he just hurt all over. He cracked his sticky eyelids surveyed his surroundings. Infirmary. Marvelous. He took stock of his body; common practice when one wakes up in the infirmary. Left foot, check. Right foot, check. Right hand, check. Left hand, toasty. Toasty?! He turned his head to the left, grimacing as he pulled sore muscles. Oh, that was why. Teyla was sitting in the chair next to him, with his hand in hers. Her head was leaned against the wall, her eyes closed and breathing even. He smiled slightly. He had no problem leaving his hand right where it was. Except—dang it! His left side was starting to itch. He tried to ignore it for a while, but the more he tried to ignore it, the itchier it got . . . Finally he succumbed, and began lifting his right arm across his body. Fire raced up his ribcage, and he dropped his arm with a groan of pain.

At the sound, Teyla's head snapped up and her eyes darted to him. "John," she said. "You're awake!"

"Hi," he tried to say, but it sounded more like a "Hungh." His brow knitted. Why was his mouth so fuzzy? It felt like some furry animal had crawled in there and died. An ice chip slid between his dry lips, melting on his tongue and moistening his mouth. The cool wetness was heavenly, and he looked at Teyla gratefully as she gave him another.

"Thanks," he said, his voice still a little rough, but at least it was intelligible.

Teyla smiled. "How are you feeling?" she asked gently.

"Pretty lousy," he replied. "How long was I—"

"Not long," she reassured him. "You collapsed inside the jumper, and we brought you to the infirmary."

He nodded slightly; she could tell he was on the verge of drifting off again.

She leaned forward. "It is good to have you back," she said.

"Good to be . . ." he trailed off and his eyes closed, once more succumbing to sleep.

She smiled softly. Things were going to be all right.

The End