She was nervous. Why was she nervous? Teyla brushed at her long tunic and folded her hands. She had wanted to eat here in her quarters because everyone in the cafeteria would stare at her. Poor blind Teyla. She wanted neither their pity nor their curiosity. Doctor Beckett had assured her this blindness was temporary – and for her own sanity she had to believe him. But when she hadn't seen even the tiniest glimmer of light, it was so very hard. Almost impossible.

Now, as she stood by the low table Ronon had helped her arrange, and waited for John Sheppard and Rodney McKay to make their appearance, she felt like an untried youth preparing to speak before council for the first time.

Please do not let them treat me like a freak. They had been so awkward earlier in the day, so eager to escape her presence, that she was not at all sure why she had agreed to let them join her for the evening meal. Ronon was the only one who had treated her with something approaching normalcy. Teyla touched her lip and remembered their kiss – kisses – earlier in the sparring room. That certainly had not been normal. But it had been pleasant. More than that, if she were willing to be truthful with herself.

The door swished open. Teyla startled, dropped her hand and wove her fingers together to keep them from trembling. Ronon announced his presence and assured her that he had the food. She heard him set a tray on the bureau she had cleared off.

"Did I miss anything on the table?" she asked.

"Looks fine."

"The candle is still lit?" She squinted blindly at the table, as if doing so could restore her sight.

"It's burning."

"How do I look?"

A pause. "How you always look."

Teyla tilted her head in the direction of Ronon's voice. "And how is that?"

Another pause, longer. "Beautiful."

"Oh." She blinked rapidly, assimilating the idea that Ronon thought she was ... She smiled. "Do you want me to tell you how you look?"

His quiet footsteps approached. She always marvelled how such a big man could move so silently. Almost right beside her, Ronon asked, "Do you want to touch me and see?"

"I do not need to. You look as you always look, though … your frown is deeper than usual."

"How would you know that?"

Teyla reached out, bumped his ear and skimmed her fingers up and across his brow, using her thumb to smooth the ridges. "Because you always frown more in a strange situation, or at least look … harder. And what we shared this afternoon has made this a strange day. But we are still the same people, Ronon. Still friends. Are we not?"

"Yes." A gruff, tight response that reverberated in her chest.

The door opened again; Ronon stepped away. Teyla lifted her chin as John and Rodney entered, talking about repairs on a jumper. They fell silent, then simultaneously said hello. Teyla motioned them forward, inviting them to the table.

"We aren't eating Japanese, are we?" Rodney said. "I don't think I can handle that. Sushi has to have more parasites than are good –" He grunted and Teyla had the sense that John had elbowed him. She tried not to frown.

"What is Japanese?" Ronon asked.

John replied, "An Earth culture that traditionally sit and sleep on their floors. They eat at low tables like this. Looks great, Teyla."

"Don't say looks," whispered Rodney.

"It is only a word," Teyla replied. "Please be seated." She folded herself down, slowly so her knees wouldn't hit the table. She touched its edge to orient herself.

"What's with the candle?" Rodney asked. "Isn't that a little dangerous when you can't … you know. I mean those sleeves of yours are kind of floppy and if you reach …" He sighed.

Teyla offered a slight smile, wishing she could see the candle –candlelight was so soothing. "Tonight it is symbolic of a campfire. We four have spent many nights around one and it seemed like a fitting way to remind us we were a team."

"Are a team, Teyla," John said. "That explains the low table, too. Cool. So what's for dinner?"

Ronon delivered plates to the table while Teyla said, "I hope you do not mind that I have kept the meal simple. Salad, cold meat, vegetables. And bread, of course."

"Looks great," John said.

Teyla heard a jostling and could image that John had just received back the elbow he had delivered. She bit the inside of her lip again, hating that this ridiculous concern and self-conscious behaviour was because of her. Didn't Rodney realize it was sometimes more offensive to make a fuss over things?

She picked up her fork, invited everyone to begin, and poked a bit in the general direction of her plate as the others ate and talked. The vinaigrette dressing's odour tickled her nostrils. Again she wondered if this was to be her fate: a life lived in darkness. Since they had never failed her, she had never given her eyes much thought. And now that they refused to work, she felt increasingly crushed by the realization that she needed them for everything she did. What good was a warrior who couldn't see? she had asked Ronon. He had replied, Not much. His answer had been kind, for in truth, a warrior who could not see was less than useless. If they ever let her go on a mission again, she would be hindrance, not a help.

Teyla forced her gloomy thoughts aside, in time to hear John describing the first time he saw Rodney holding a revolver. Ronon chuckled.

"Oh sure," Rodney said, "pick on the peace-loving Canadian. Unlike our American neighbours, a sidearm isn't a part of our everyday attire from the time we go to kindergarten."

John retorted, "That's ridiculous. And it so happens, per capita, more Canadians than Americans own guns of some sort."

"That's … outrageous. Impossible."

"Afraid not, buddy. I saw it on a Michael Moore documentary, so it has to be true."

"Yeah, well, even if it is, at least we don't go around shooting people by the thousands."

"Nah. You take aim at beavers and bears and moose. More of them than people in Canada anyway."

"You're forgetting our most common prey: clay pigeons," Rodney added, voice laced with sarcasm.

Near Teyla's ear, Ronon whispered, "What's a clay pigeon?"

"I am not sure. Some kind of bird, I think." Teyla set down her fork.

"Does it build its nest from clay?" Ronon wondered.

"A clay nest?" Rodney burst out. "That's just stupid."

"Be quiet, Rodney," John said. From his firm tone, Teyla realized Ronon had to be looking irritated.

"I will not be quiet. Who would be stupid enough –"

Teyla flung her arm out; her palm slapped his upper arm, making him grunt, and she clutched it. "Rodney, please. Ronon and I are not from Earth. We cannot know what a clay pigeon is unless someone tells us."

"Oh. Right. I forgot." Rodney cleared his throat. "Well, a clay pigeon –"

"I don't care what it is," Ronon ground out. "I know I'm not as smart as the rest of you. I don't need your constant lectures and reminders, McKay."

"That's true. You're not," Rodney said, tone smug.

"Rodney!" John and Teyla chorused.

Smugness turned to defensiveness. "Well it's true."

"It is not true," Teyla cried. She slapped the table. Her hand hit her fork and sent it flying. She heard a thunk and gasped. "What did I do?"

Silence ringed the table. She repeated, "What? Tell me?"

"You catapulted your fork. Quite nicely," Rodney replied. "Fortunately, it hit the one thing too hard to damage – Ronon's head."

"Oh, no. Are you hurt, Ronon?"

"No."

"See?" Rodney said. "Hard head."

Enough was enough. Teyla started to rise. Ronon captured her wrist and held her down. He pulled her hand under the table and laid it on a roll. She felt the sticky edges and textured surface and realized that it was a roll of duck tape. The tension inside snapped. Teyla clamped her free hand over her mouth and lowered her head. Surely Ronon wasn't planning on actually taping Rodney's mouth closed. The image rose in her mind and her shoulders shook with the effort of trying not to laugh.

"Teyla? Are you okay?" John asked, voice laced with concern. "Don't pay attention to McKay. He's just being his usual socially inept self." A pause. "Teyla?"

She wiped away tears of mirth and squeezed Ronon's hand in thanks, then schooled her features and turned her face toward Rodney.

"We need to get this straight, Rodney. Ronon is just as smart as any of us."

"Hah!" Rodney replied.

"Do not hah me. We are all smart in different ways. We all bring something to this team that no one else has." Teyla faltered. Her skills were non-existent without her eyes. Refusing to dwell on it, she pressed on. "You, Rodney, are smart with machines and numbers."

"That is such a gross over-simplification of the complexities I deal in every day, it isn't even worthy of comment."

"So why do you always comment on it?" John said.

Rodney huffed. Teyla continued, "You are very skilled, Rodney."

"One of the smartest Canadians, ever."

"Why limit yourself to Canada?" John asked in a nasal drawl.

Rodney continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Alexander Graham Bell, Banting, Best, Bombardier, Harriet Pitcher and me."

"Bell was American," John said.

"He. Was. Not." Rodney bit off each word. "He merely took out American citizenship for expediency's sake. He did all his important work on Canadian soil."

"I am not finished," Teyla said firmly. Both men fell quiet. "Thank you. Rodney, you are the one person we all want to have with us if we face a difficult mathematical or scientific puzzle, or need to access information on a computer."

"Again. Gross over-simplification."

"Tell me," Teyla said. "Who do you want with you if you are stuck on a jungle world with little or no technology?"

"Well, … that's easy." Rodney fell silent. Teyla wanted to scream at not being able to see his face – his expressions were so easy to read. Finally he defiantly blurted, "I'd want Mr. Wrestle-Mania, of course."

"You mean Ronon," John said.

"Well … Yes. Some situations just call for brute force."

"It is not brute force," Teyla said. "You have number intelligence; Ronon has battle and survival intelligence. He evaded the wraith for seven years when most runners don't last seven days. That requires much more than brute force."

"You got that right," John replied. "On Earth we call it street smarts."

"Street. Smarts," Ronon repeated, tone puzzled.

"Damn straight, buddy. Some of Earth's streets make escaping a wraith hive ship look like a walk in the park."

"Complete over-exaggeration." Rodney drummed his fingers on the table.

"Not by much," John shot back. "You've obviously never been in Baghdad during a dust-up."

"Why on Earth would I ever set foot in Baghdad?" Rodney said.

"You're missing my point deliberately, Rodney. If that's the case and you wouldn't go near Baghdad because it's too dangerous, why on Earth did you ever set foot in the Pegasus Galaxy?"

"A good question," Ronon whispered, so quietly only Teyla could hear. She smothered a smile.

Rodney huffed. "Because it isn't Earth. Next question."

Ronon cleared his throat. "What does John bring to the team, Teyla?"

She stared across the table, unable to see John, but able to imagine him looking back at her. "His intelligence is leadership."

John sighed contentedly. Teyla heard his knuckles crack and knew he must have stretched like a satisfied cat. "That's me. Leadership in the flesh."

"Yes," Teyla agreed. "You are adequate in all skills – technical manipulation, survival and negotiation. And you guide us with your wisdom –"

"Wisdom," John said smugly.

Teyla added, "And you let those more skilled take over when it is appropriate."

"Hah!" Rodney crowed.

"Hey …" John protested, "wait just a minute …"

Ronon tapped his plate with a utensil until Rodney ceased chortling and John ceased sputtering. Ronon asked, "And you, Teyla, what skills do you bring?"

Her heart stopped beating. Or so it seemed. The banter had been so enjoyable; it had almost made her forget –

The darkness. The awful suffocating darkness.

She conjured her friends' faces in her mind, laid her hands on the table and smiled. "Time for sex."

The silence was so complete Teyla thought she heard the candle flame flickering.

It was Rodney who spoke first. "Well … this is rather sudden, don't you think. I mean, … if you'd warned us … Not that I'm not … you know … interested …"

Teyla sighed. "Ronon, please."

"Oh sure," Rodney said. "Pick the big brawny one. I might not have a six-pack, but that doesn't mean …"

Teyla blinked as a plate clunked onto the table near Rodney's voice, silencing it like Ronon's blade silences his enemies. In the quiet, three softer sounds of plates being set on wood followed, the last near Teyla's fingers. Her dinner plate brushed her knuckle as Ronon removed it. He said, "You didn't eat anything." His voice a quiet accusation – a worried one.

"What's this?" Rodney asked in his most dumbfounded tone.

"I believe …" John replied, "That this is the sex we were promised. Am I right, Teyla?"

"Yes," she said. "That is what it is called, I am certain. Sheila in the cafeteria has promised to make it for me for several months, and today she did. No doubt because she was feeling sorry for me."

"This isn't sex," Rodney said. "It's dessert. And it looks … very rich."

"Sex-in-a-pan," John said.

"What?"

"It's called sex-in-a-pan. I have a friend who took it to every part she went to. The girls were all crazy about it."

Ronon sniffed. "Chocolate."

"Yup," John replied. " That'd be why."

"I almost had the name right," Teyla said. She inhaled the delicious smell, more than just chocolate. Creamy, velvety goodness.

John laughed. "God, I wish you could've seen Rodney's face, Teyla. It was priceless. He almost went into shock when you said it was time for sex."

Teyla smiled. She wished it, also. More, so much more than John.

"You also looked surprised, Sheppard," Ronon said.

They continued to bicker good-naturedly while Teyla felt for her spoon and took her first bite. "Mmmm." It was so good. She closed her eyes and savoured the second spoonful.

"Yeah," John said, "That's just what the girls all looked like when they ate this stuff. They all used to laugh and say it should've been called better-than-sex."

Teyla smiled as she searched her plate to discover that it was empty. She licked a dollop of whipped cream off her finger.

Rodney sighed. "I don't know if I should even eat this. It looks like it would throw my blood sugar out of whack. Bad enough my back is getting tortured, sitting on the floor without proper support …"

Teyla slid her hand along the table until her fingers found Rodney's plate. She stole it away with Rodney protesting and John laughing. She gave Rodney a crooked smile. "I wouldn't want to be responsible for upsetting your delicate nutritional imbalances." She spooned some of Rodney's dessert into her mouth. "Mmmm."

"Nice. Very nice," Rodney said. "Laugh at the weight-challenged guy. And it's nutritional balance. Balance. Not imbalance." He huffed. "Philistines."

Ronon touched Teyla's wrist. "It's good you're eating. Do you want mine, also?"

She shook her head. And became aware of being watched. They were all watching her. She could sense it. For what? To see if she was holding up? To watch her break down? What did they want? What?

The darkness suddenly loomed above her. In front of her. In her.

Teyla dropped Rodney's plate onto hers with a clatter and pushed to her feet. She stumbled away from the table, heard the rustle of three men jumping up, preparing to rescue the maiden in distress. Isn't that what John said their Earth legends spoke of? Maidens in distress and knights errant. She had three knights – and none of them could save her.

Not one of them could restore her sight. Everything was blackness. She wasn't distressed. She was far beyond that. And she wasn't holding up. She had been holding down her dread, keeping tight control of it. But without warning it had escaped. Exploded.

She wasn't distressed.

She was furious.

A hand came down on her shoulder. She spun and knocked it away. John said, "Hey! I'm just trying to help."

Fists clenched, Teyla faced the darkness that held his voice. "You want to help? Then get out! Leave me!"

"Hell, no. I'm not leaving when you're like this."

"Like what? What am I like, John Sheppard? What?" Tears left hot tracks on Teyla's cheeks.

"Out of control, for starters."

"You want out of control?" Teyla kicked. Her boot struck a shin.

"Ow! Dammit, Teyla, that hurt."

She punched. Hit his chest. Punched again. Her fist jerked to a halt as Ronon grabbed her from behind. She yelled, "Let go, Ronon! Let me go, right now!"

"No."

Teyla kicked backwards, again and again, striking Ronon's shins, but doing nothing more than drawing quiets grunts. She heard a sound to her right, kicked at it. Rodney yelped and shouted, "Leave me out of this, crazy lady!"

Grinding her heel into Ronon's boot, Teyla strained at his hold but couldn't break it. She paused and her chest heaved.

John said, "Are you ready to calm down?"

"Ahhh!" Teyla lunged again, twisted and jerked in her effort to break free. Ronon tightened his hold until her back was pressed against his torso. She went still. Forced herself to relax. "Let me go."

"No," Ronon said again.

John amended, "Not yet." He was close. She could sense it from the way the air did not stir in front of her. She considered lashing out again, decided against it. He'll bind me hand and foot if I don't stop. She was certain of it because it is what she would do.

Rodney said, "Should I call Carson and have him send a team?"

Teyla clenched her muscles at the thought of being sedated. Strapped to a gurney like … like a captured wraith.

"Nooo, Rodney," John replied. "Don't be stupid. This is Teyla. And she's going to tell us what's eating her. Aren't you, Teyla?"

Quietly, Teyla spoke through a clamped jaw. "Now who is being stupid, Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard?"

"Okay, okay. I deserve that. You're upset about the whole blindness thing. I can understand that."

"Can you?"

"Yes. I can." John's hands framed Teyla's face. Gently. So gently it caused her chest to cramp painfully. "You're scared, Teyla. God knows I'd be scared in your shoes. But Carson said your eyesight would return."

"Speaking of Carson," Rodney interrupted. "I really think we should ask him to pop down here."

"Be quiet, Rodney," John's fingers started to explore Teyla's face.

"Stop it," she whispered.

"Why? You need to know your friends are here, Teyla. You aren't alone."

"I am. You are not in this darkness."

"Yes, I am," John whispered back. "Feel my fingers on your brow, on your cheeks. I'm here, Teyla. In the dark with you. And I'm not going anywhere."

Ronon's hold relaxed, but he did not release Teyla. Instead, he stroked his hands down her arms, took her hands, lifted and guided them to John's face. When she would have pulled away, he held them against John's cheeks. Her fingertips rested just under his eyes; each time he blinked she felt their flutter, like a tiny pulse.

It occurred to her how easily she could use her fingers as claws, attack John's eyes and truly draw him into this darkness. That such a thought could take root in her mind made that lovely dessert churn in her stomach. She slid her fingers toward his ears. Ronon's hands retreated to cup her elbows. His chest still press against her back; his musky scent enveloped her like a blanket on a cold night.

A hand stroked her hair. Rodney.

Teyla liked her space, liked having room to manoeuvre. Normally, this engulfing of her senses would cause her to feel smothered. Why not now?

She closed her sightless eyes and mirrored John's exploration of her face. Felt the tiny laugh-lines beside his eyes, the worry-lines between his eyebrows, the smile-lines by his mouth. She was crying again – and she hated this sign of weakness. But she didn't try to stop the tears. Because they were bathing John's fingers. Cleansing the hands that had killed for her. That would die for her.

That is why she didn't feel smothered. All these hands – John's, Ronon's, Rodney's, hers – had woven the ties that bound them together in fellowship, had forged this unit they called a team. She inhaled sharply.

As if he could read her mind, Ronon said, "Teyla, you didn't say what skills you bring to our team."

Pain knifed between her ribs and she gasped again. "None. The past does not matter. What I can bring to the team … now … is nothing."

"You are so wrong," John said. "Even temporarily blind, you cut through all our crap. You see the heart of every issue and tell it like it is."

Ronon added, "You negotiate peace, even when I'd like to strangle McKay."

"Hey, I resent that," Rodney protested. His tone gentled. "But … I know my social skills aren't, well, … they're a little weak. You always say the right thing to set me at ease, Teyla. That makes you very … people smart. Yeah, that's what you are."

"Yes," Ronon and John spoke in unison.

"And you can really kick ass," Rodney said. "I mean … you could when you could see. And you will again! Carson promised. He's a Scotsman – he never breaks a promise."

Teyla smiled in the direction of Rodney's voice, turned toward it and held out her hands. After a moment, Rodney cleared his throat awkwardly and clasped them. Ronon began to gently massage her shoulders; John's one hand sheltered against the small of her back. She lifted Rodney's hands to her face and guided them over the planes of her cheeks, left them quivering there and stretched out her arms to find his face. Her fingers walked across his broad brow as he stuttered about receding hairlines, stroked his cheeks as he made excuses for their softness. He fell silent when she explored his nose, his mouth his chin and traced the line of his jaw. His hands copied her movements.

"Say it, Teyla," John said.

"Say what?" She felt calm, floating on a glass sea, for the first time since this afternoon when she'd been alone with Ronon. No, this was even better. Right here, right now, she felt safe. Perfectly safe. And the darkness no longer felt like a mountain preparing to crush her in an avalanche.

John said, "Not were, Teyla."

She nodded. "Very well. You are right."

"For once. Better mark it on the calendar, Rodney." A smile filled his words. "You still need to say it."

Rodney and John's hands fell away. Ronon stopped his massage but did not remove his touch. Teyla gave another brief nod. "Okay, John, Rodney, Ronon, since you insist …"

"We do," they chorused.

Teyla exhaled slowly, "I am a part of this team." And I have value, she added silently, because I am valued.

"And you three," she said. "Are crazy."

Rodney replied, "And you fit right in, crazy lady."

John and Ronon chuckled. Teyla smiled.