Teyla now fully understood the term the Atlantis expedition members sometimes used: gut-wrenching. That's what this dinner with John and Rodney and Ronon had been: awful and wonderful, terribly, horribly, beautifully painful.

Healing.

Teyla still couldn't see, still hadn't detected the slightest glimmer of hope in the unbroken blackness. Carson Beckett had said it was temporary. She clung to the doctor's words like a rescue line lifting her beyond the clutches of a mob of wraiths.

The venom that left her sightless would leach out of her system. Eventually. To try to hurry the process might do more harm than good. But the waiting was agony.

John – she knew him by his spicy soap scent – stopped in front of her and pressed something into her hands. The duck tape Ronon had left under the table. She felt heat crawl up her neck and across her cheeks.

"Planning on taping us all to chairs and making good your escape, were you?"

She smiled at his light tone. "No. It is Ronon's. He hopes to one day use it on Rodney's mouth."

John started laughing, which made her smile even more. How could she have given into her growing panic a short time ago, when she had such good friends? They had stayed with her, kept her safe until she could regain control. She would not lose it again.

But they're leaving.

As if to underscore the thought, Rodney spoke from near the door. "Should we stop by the control room and make sure everything is quiet?"

They were going to leave her alone with the darkness. Fresh panic flanked her defences – her body and thoughts flash-frozen, as if she had been exposed to space's vacuum. She didn't want to face the darkness alone.

Couldn't.

Not if she wanted to stay sane. She closed her eyes and recited to herself: I am Teyla Emmagan, leader of my people, part of the Atlantis Expedition, member of John Sheppard's mission specialists team. I can do this. I face this thing, this darkness. I can conquer this fear.

Teyla clutched the duck tape to hide the tremble in her muscles.

Ronon's hand – easily known by its size – splayed across her shoulder blade. Ronon, who said little but seemed to see everything. His touch restored her calm, helped her shore up her strength against this unreasonable fear.

My sight will return.

But she saw only darkness.

John said, "We really should take off. Let you get some shut-eye. Are you going to be okay now?"

Not trusting her voice, Teyla only nodded. Dread chink, chink, chinked at her calm.

Ronon's hand fell away. His quiet footfalls sounded. Walking away. They were all walking away.

"Wait!" Teyla said, louder than she'd intended. She was sure she felt three intense gazes boring into her. "I …" She inhaled slowly. "Ronon, could you stay for a while?"

"Why him?" blurted Rodney. He grunted as something like a slap sounded.

"Ronon's been with you all day, Teyla," John said. "I'll stay if you want."

"No." Teyla turned the duck tape roll around and around. "Do not be offended, John, but … you and Rodney are …"

"Not buff enough," Rodney muttered.

"Nothing like that, Rodney," Teyla insisted, though she couldn't help but recall how Ronon's muscles had felt under her exploring fingers this afternoon. She hoped she was not blushing. "It is simply that you and John are not very good at sitting. Or at being quiet. I only want someone to sit with me … so I am not alone." There. She had said it. She exhaled slowly and wondered at the expanding silence.

"Well," Rodney said in his that's-that voice. "She has us there, John. And you're the one who said she's good at cutting through all our crap."

"Your crap, McKay. I meant your crap," John snapped. Teyla could hear the frown in his voice and wondered at it. "I can be quiet if I need to. I can sit still if I need to."

"Please, John." Teyla reached out her hand.

"No, no." She could picture him, hands in the air in mock surrender, backing away from her. "You asked for Ronon to stay. He'll stay. Right, big guy?"

"Yes."

"See?" John said. "It's settled."

An awkward silence fell. John's clipped footsteps approached. He gently grasped her chin between thumb and finger. "Just rewind those last few sentences and erase them, okay? It's been a long day for all of us and you need to follow doctor's orders and get some rest. If having Ronon sit in the room while you do it helps, great." His lips brushed her cheek. His voice took on an odd lilt and he whispered, "Here's looking at you, kid." She suspected he had just imitated someone, but she did not know who – not someone she knew.

He strode away, leaving her frowning at the door she couldn't see and the two friends who walked away unseen in her aching darkness. "Good night!" Rodney called as the door whisked closed. "It's been a slice."

"A slice of what?" she whispered.

She stood turning the roll of tape until Ronon plucked it away. She flinched. And felt like wraith crouched in every nook and corner, waiting to attack her. She would never see them coming. Might sense them, but would never see even a shadow of movement.

Needing to hear a sound, any sound, she said, "I think I am losing my mind."

Ronon replied, "Where do you want me to sit?"

"Did you not hear me? I said I am going insane."

"Should I blow out the candle?"

"No!" Teyla stretched out her hands, fingers spread, and lowered her arms slowly in an effort to restore calm. But it was not Ronon's calm that needed restored. "Please leave it burning, Ronon. Even if I cannot see the flame, it gives me comfort."

"Good. Then it will burn."

Teyla listened to the clatter of dishes as Ronon cleared off the table. He said, "I'll leave the tray in the corridor. Someone will take it to the cafeteria."

The door swished twice. Silence. Teyla tilted her head to listen. Nothing. "Ronan? Are you still here?"

"Yes," he said from across the room.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at you."

Her insides coiled in remembrance of their afternoon, alone in the sparring room. The events that followed those very words. Looking at you. Her fingers floated upwards and rested on her lips. Suddenly, asking Ronan to stay seemed like a foolish thing to do. The next time you tempt me, I'll call your bluff. The sound of pumping blood filled her ears.

"I don't think Sheppard liked the thought of me staying." Ronan's voice, so close when she hadn't heard him approach, startled Teyla. More evidence that she was not herself, that this blindness was shredding her body and soul.

"Why?"

"He wonders if there are feelings between us."

"Are there?" Teyla's breath caught as she waited for his answer.

"There could be." His fingers stroked across her brow and along her jaw. "Very easily. For me, at least." He paused. "Sheppard wants you for himself."

"To love?"

"Or to possess. He's never said. He won't, I think, so long as you and he are team mates."

"Yes. The mission is the important thing. Always."

Ronan folded his arms around Teyla, drew her against his chest, as if doing so were the most natural thing in the world. He had never held her in such a way. But it felt so wonderful. So safe. She thought she felt a fleeting brush of lips on her hair, thought she heard the quietest of whispers. "Not always." Couldn't seem to connect it to anything that had been said.

Teyla slumped against the wall of flesh and bone, ear against Ronan's chest where she heard the steady rhythm of his heart. Steady and strong like the man himself. She felt like she could sleep right here, standing in this embrace. She stifled a yawn.

Ronan held her away from his warmth, his voice quiet and chiding as if speaking to a child. "You are tired."

"Aren't you?"

"I rarely get tired. Go to bed."

She did, groping her way through her waking night. She stretched out on the bed without bothering to undress or crawl under the blanket. She was so weary. But eyes opened or closed, all she saw was the cavernous darkness – a giant maw seeking to swallow her forever.

She tossed. She turned. She sighed. She sat up. "Ronon?"

"What?" His voice came from near the foot of the bed.

"Will you sit … here? Beside me?"

His answer was the sagging of the bed under his weight. His hand cupped the top of her head, stroked the length of her hair. "Go to sleep, Teyla. I'm here."

She tried. Truly she did. Finally she heaved a loud sigh.

"What now?" Ronon sounded almost amused.

"Will you … lay down beside me?"

It was his turn to sigh. He started to shift his weight, to swing his legs onto the bed.

"Wait," Teyla said. Ronon waited, unmoving, in silence. She whispered, "Will you take off your tunic?"

"Teyla …" She heard the warning in that softly spoken word.

"I only want to feel your warmth, Ronon. It … keeps the darkness at bay."

A full minute passed before Ronon suddenly stripped off his tunic in one swift movement. Teyla heard it plop onto the floor. Ronan flopped back onto the bed, making it bounce briefly. She realized his terse movements were his protest. But still he did it. For her. It made her want to kiss him, but knew where a kiss might lead. It still wasn't the right time.

"Are the lights off?" Teyla asked.

"Yes."

"And the candle?"

"Still burning. I moved it to the bureau."

"Will you be able to sleep?"

"No."

"Ronon, I do not mean for this to be a … temptation."

"It isn't a temptation," he muttered. "It's torture."

She almost smiled as she lay down, head on his upper arm. She wriggled a bit, trying to find a comfortable position. When she finally did, it was with Ronon's chest as her pillow, his heart as her lullaby. He remained stiff and unmoving. Her arm draped across his midsection and she sighed contentedly, sorry that Ronon was merely enduring her touch, for she was revelling in his warm skin against her cheek and arm.

As if his life-force were driving back the darkness.

Teyla was about to say as much, when a soft exhale puffed her hair. And another. Ronon's breathing shifted, slowed. He was asleep? Teyla pressed her lips against his chest to silence the laugh wanting to escape.

As if in response, his arm flung out with a whoosh, then settled across her shoulder blades. His breathing grew louder. She thought she saw a shadow of movement, then his other arm landed beside hers on his midsection and his hand came to rest on her hip.

This was nice, she decided. But that movement …

Teyla blinked, and blinked some more. There was something: the center of her darkness held a faint circle of grey that seemed to waiver and dance.

The flame on the candle. Teyla's heart soared. Thank you, thank you, thank you. She started to raise her head, to wake Ronon so she could share her joy. She stopped, relaxed back against his solid comfort. Morning would be soon enough.

Teyla watched the greyness while her spirit rejoiced. When her eyelids grew too heavy and insisted on closing, she rubbed her cheek against Ronan's chest and gave in to sleep, for the darkness held no fear now. It was only darkness after all, and not her future. Teyla smiled at it.