Archive of Our Own ^beta

John felt the tiny hairs at the back of his neck quiver the moment the Jumper exited the space gate.

Instantly wary, he waited for a reaction from the others. He wasn't surprised that Teyla – the most intuitive on the team – was the first to make a sound. But a sudden gasp and anguished moan weren't what he'd been expecting. Without turning his head from the controls and view screen, he called out, "Teyla, you okay back there?"

"My baby--" wasn't what he was expecting to hear either. Sure, Teyla was pregnant again and still on active duty. She shouldn't have been having complications – he hoped and prayed not at all – in an otherwise routine pregnancy. Michael was dead and there shouldn't be any new threats out there to her or the fetus this time. But, then, this being Pegasus, they could never be too sure they wouldn't end up being bitten in the ass. Again.

He was reluctant to leave the controls, especially not when Rodney already had his head and hands buried in the entrails of yet another panel that meant dislodging Teyla and Ronon from their usual seats and into the rear compartment. "Hey, Chewie, can you check on Teyla? Tell me what's wrong."

Teyla beat Ronon to the reveal with a hissed "Wraith!"

Sensing a ramped-up threat level, John still waited for more. The cryptic words forced through Teyla's clenched teeth came as a shock.

"It — is — the — forbidden — place — the — moon — of — doom."

Rodney chose that moment to pull his head out of the compartment. "Moon of doom? Who names these things anyway?" he scoffed.

Teyla's face was twisted in a grimace as she clutched her abdomen. John had already engaged the autopilot before he and Rodney approached Teyla, both men's concern showing plainly on their faces, along with puzzled frowns.

It was up to John to do a threat assessment, even if none seemed imminent as they were in space and not on the moon's surface. "Uh, Teyla, why did you call it ... uh ... those specific words?"

Teyla continued to moan softly while her arms were wrapped around her torso. Her words were faint. "It was information I gained when I took over the Queen's mind."

John's firm words overrode an outraged squawk from Rodney. "Why didn't you report it after the mission?"

"It did not make any sense to me at the time. I thought she was trying to gain the advantage over my mind and body through any tactics at hand."

"But now it seems you do understand?"

Teyla nodded weakly. "The context is clear. I know exactly how she was threatening me. Once she took control over my body and snuffed out the life growing within me, she intended to maroon me on the moon below us. All Queens have passed down the knowledge and purpose of this place through countless generations as the ultimate weapon they have used for thousands of years to keep their more arrogant commanders in line. Or just to amuse themselves."

John shuddered. He'd had too many unpleasant encounters with Queens trying to wriggle their nasty way through his head.

Ronon nodded. "Makes sense to me. Not all Hives have a Queen."

Rodney jokingly asked, "Is there such a thing as a non-arrogant Wraith commander?"

John had regained his equilibrium and shrugged. "Arrogant. Pain in the ass. Smug cryptic bastards. Same difference."

Rodney pressed Teyla for more information. "So what's the big deal with this moon? Why is it so terrifying?" He softened his strident voice. "Sorry ... sorry. Beyond getting marooned, that is."

None of them expected Teyla to stumble over to the makeshift facilities in the corner of the rear compartment or to hear her retch violently into the basin. When she returned, they could see she'd washed her face but she still looked feverish and nauseated. Ronon handed her a bottle of water from the cooler before wrapping a comforting supportive arm around her shoulders.

John was envious of how at ease his teammate was with Teyla physically even though she was mated to Kanaan. He chalked it up to "Pegasus survivors' solidarity" and wished more worlds would feel like cooperating amongst themselves instead of spying on each other and staging ambushes.

But, back to the current crisis. "Listen, Teyla, you know I'd never hurt you or cause you distress on purpose, but I need to know if there is any risk to us from this place."

Teyla took another deep swallow from the bottle before answering. "To you, I do not think so. To me, yes. My Wraith blood places me in great danger." She convulsed as Ronon kept a firm hold on her but managed to utter a few more cryptic words. "It is all about the blood." And, then, she was struggling to get to her feet to reach the privacy of the tiny facilities again.

John hated feeling like a jerk, but being Team Leader came with responsibilities. When Teyla had returned, walking unsteadily, drying her face and hands, he addressed her again. "Teyla, please. We need to know everything."

John fiddled with his P-90 strap as Rodney looked back with longing over his shoulder to the welcoming warm light of the Jumper's interior where Ronon was keeping an eye on Teyla in case of an unexpected attack … from … an alien tree. It sounded unbelievably trite and stupid in John's head. Some days in Pegasus were difficult if not impossible to explain.

"Hey, buddy, we're just going to do a quick recon and we'll be back inside the Jumper in no time and off this moon." So far, the scenery didn't look too threatening, merely eerie in twilight as their bodies were starkly illuminated from the Jumper behind them.

The ground beneath their feet was barren and dry, the edge of the blue forest ahead of them. The scraggly trees, mostly the familiar earth-like Pacific Northwest pines were blue. Not botany-lingo Christmas tree lot blue, but really, really lush deep blue: needles, branches, and trunks mottled with it, too.

As they walked warily over crunching needles, the sound of which seemed to spook Rodney even more, deeper into the forest, the trees began to look healthier - taller and fuller - but thankfully still not menacing.

John frowned. Trees shouldn't look menacing, but he was still remembering Teyla's slow and halting account of the hideous details of her old psychic trauma - interrupted by more bouts of sickness - leading them all to conclude how utterly fucked-up the Wraith were. John vowed to use those exact words in his AAR.

The forest gave way suddenly to a clearing, a circle of dry pale blue earth with a single bare, pale blue willow-type tree within it. John stared in frozen fascination as its stark long branches whipped about menacingly.

John's assessment shifted immediately. That was one formidably menacing tree.

Rodney had bumped into him when he had stopped without warning. After he'd raised his P-90 so its light would shine on the branches, Rodney asked, voice shaking, "Are those -- are those what I think they are?"

John nodded, his mute acknowledgement the only reaction to the yawning feeding mouths on the ends of every single branch.

If the purpose of those mouths and franticly-waving branches weren't clear enough, the gleaming scraped bones scattered around the tree provided the evidence that gave truth to Teyla's extraordinary story.

Wraith Queens would strip a disobedient commander naked before beaming him down defenceless onto the surface within the willow's reach. While several branches would seize the victim in question limb by limb, the others would latch onto all exposed flesh.

Between the restraints and the victim's struggles, all that would be left was a dismembered corpse, the meat of every joint flayed by the frenzied branches to expose each blood vessel, every last drop of blood.

The only difference between the usual Wraith life-sucking and this method was that the mouths on the branches were extracting real Wraith blood … the blood that would be transformed within the willow's trunk into sap, flowing through its roots to nourish the evergreens. Or should they be called everblues, John mused grimly.

While the forest was fed, the willow tree remained bare of leaves, retaining just a trace of blood to keep it in a permanently agitated state as the rest was siphoned off to irrigate the forest, the trees closest to the circle receiving the most nutrients.

John and Rodney walked cautiously along the perimeter of the circle, staying on the ground cover, not wanting to agitate the tree more than normal, even if their blood wasn't genetically to its liking. In John's mind there was no telling when a vampire-tree might attack without provocation. Or it might react negatively to the pressure their feet exerted on the pale blue ground. Who knew, if it was pissed off, whether there wouldn't be any hostile reaction from the more normal-looking trees nearest to them.

He grimaced. He'd need a virtual session in a decon chamber for his brain after this mission. He still had the occasional nightmare of being on the business end of Dr. Keller's you too can become a Wraith ship killer vines.

They were careful also to avoid stepping onto some of the larger intact bones - and skulls - that had been flung away from the tree but had not crumbled yet from age or exposure.

The last thing John wanted was to have Wraith remains, even in an undistinguishable powder, contaminating the interior of his fave Jumper.

Once safely back in the Jumper and having related their creepy experience, John asked, "So what do we do about this place?"

Ronon's reply was immediate and predictable. "Bomb it all to smithereens." John wondered where he'd picked up that new idiom.

Teyla's answer was measured, no surprise there. "Even Wraith do not merit such a punishment, especially from capricious Queens."

Rodney predictably had the scientific angle covered (John was chuckling inwardly at the horror of Rodney having to deal with two soft sciences). "We don't have enough drones on board to bomb this moon out of existence, but we can destroy the surface and uppermost layers beneath. Wraith Queens could still rebuild. But feeding grounds are scarce and Hive competition is heightened these days, so I can't see them collaborating just to recreate their personal torture playground. We don't know if they still have the ancient knowledge of the techniques involved and it would take a massive volume of Wraith blood to cultivate a new forest."

Rodney shrugged, appearing unconcerned. "Basically, a win-win scenario for us because fewer Wraith is always a good thing."

"Okay, then. This moon of doom is about to go boom." John enjoyed hearing the echoing groans of his friends. Hovering far enough from the moon to avoid any flaming debris or shock waves from the blasts, he targeted the drones to strike the willow first before sending a scattered volley toward the surrounding pines. Finally, moving out into space, he released another hundred drones in a checkerboard pattern to cover the entire land mass.

John entertained a cinematic thought: if that willow tree could scream, it would be emitting a piercing shriek from every last mouth before being reduced to glowing embers.

Then, they were through the space gate and rising to the Jumper bay.

Despite - or perhaps because of - the complete annihilation of the Wraith Queens' hideous monster tree they'd witnessed, John still had an appetite. "So … dinner after we've cleared medical?"

"They have Chicken Kiev in the International restaurant." Ronon had taken an immediate liking to the Russian dish, watching in eager anticipation as hot fragrant butter spurted out when he pierced the breaded, rolled cutlet.

"What is it with you and garlic anyway?" Rodney wondered, annoyed.

"Didn't have it on Sateda. 'Sides, it's strong. I like it."

"Suit yourself. Just keep it and anything deathly-lemon away from me. I think I'll try the tourtière tonight."

"Gonna wear your plaid Canadian lumberjack shirt to go with, buddy?" John teased.

Rodney snarked in response, "Oh, ha ha! I would but a certain someone walked off wearing it - because it was quote so warm and comfy unquote at last movie night."

John's ears pinked. "Busted. Sorry I forgot to return it. Tell you what, I'll bring it by after dinner. Maybe we can watch another movie?"

Rodney paused before gulping nervously. "As long as there aren't any trees in it."

"No trees. Check. So, what about you, Teyla? Any plans for dinner?"

"I believe I will remain in our quarters tonight. Corporal Guthmann baked sweet honeycakes for the regular Mess yesterday morning and presented me with a basket - as he said - 'fur das Baby'. I believe those cakes and some soothing tea will be sufficient. I do not think it would be wise for me to have anything more substantial."

John nodded in honest understanding. It had been decades since he'd had too much to drink and then got sick as a dog on leave. One didn't need to be a mind reader to see why. Teyla was still squeezing the misshapen but empty water bottle.

John really liked the new restaurant, but didn't know what cuisine he was in the mood for, so wanted to gauge his friends' choices. Though he always took his position as Team leader seriously, off the clock they were all close friends whose company and opinions he valued. Too bad Teyla wouldn't be up to a post-mission meal tonight.

"Okay, then, we'll all see you at our scheduled debrief with Woolsey tomorrow at oh nine hundred. That moon doesn't appear to have been used recently, but the Wraith have felt at ease in that sector of space for thousands of years. So we should concentrate on other gate addresses. Far, far away." He noticed the relieved nods of agreement from his teammates.

Much later that night - or really early morning - after a satisfying movie night at Rodney's which most definitely didn't feature any trees, John was in bed, wearing another warm and comfy shirt, a solid green (like real trees should be) for a change. He hadn't known that Rodney had something so ... ungeeky in his closet.

Anyway, his mind drifted before his body slid into the repose of sleep.

John sighed. He'd heard of Alfred Joyce Kilmer's famous poem "Trees" from his mother but he'd never given it much thought, especially since his teens. He wondered about the man's death on a WWI battlefield in France and whether the surroundings might have been as bleak as that Wraith willow tree. He didn't know how the poet might have reacted when confronted by a tree so powerful it could evoke a Wraith's horror … or by that tree's branches whose hungry mouths were designed to be insatiably greedy for life-blood.

He burrowed into the warmth of the borrowed shirt with a reassuring deep sniff and fell into a dreamless sleep.