John was the first to step out of the Stargate into the warm mid-morning sunshine of the small forest clearing on Plague Planet. He wore his standard offworld uniform, but had opted out of the heavy vest that rubbed on a still tender shoulder. His 9 mil, though, was strapped firmly to his hip, and his hand drifted to the reassuring butt of the weapon perhaps a bit more often than when he also carried the larger, more powerful P-90.

Teyla, Ronon and Rodney McKay soon joined him and the four quickly moved aside to make room for the rest of the expedition, even as they automatically scanned the area and secured the perimeter. Carson Beckett came huffing and puffing next, carrying a rather heavy looking duffel bag, and sporting a large backpack, too. The rest of his medical team was equally burdened, and John chuckled, making a mental note to spend some time with the doctor on how to pack more efficiently.

Last came the four-marine security team that Elizabeth had insisted accompany them, to John's mild annoyance. The people on G3C-187 might be psychotic, but they were simple and primitive. His problem before had been the plague and his damn naïveté in thinking he could talk them out of the cure. If he'd had any idea what they actually did to people who were sick, he would have never turned over his weapons so easily. He'd had a good long time in the infirmary to sink that lesson in deep, and he rolled his shoulder a bit in remembered discomfort.

When everyone was through and the gate shut down with a final "Good Luck," from Elizabeth via his radio, John ordered two of the marines to stay with the gate and set off down the one wide path. Although he thought he had prepared, he felt himself growing more and more nervous the closer they got to town. Something like panic was growing in his chest, and he was sure his blood pressure was skyrocketing. All at once he felt overwhelmed by memories and apprehension over the confrontation to come and he stopped dead in his tracks, unable, for a moment to push himself any nearer.

"John?" Teyla's soft voice was soothing, and brought him out of the past and back into the present. He quickly moved on again, but he could feel Teyla continuing to watch him closely. They were all watching him closely: Ronon paced him a step behind and a half step to his left, keeping a much more formal and close position than usual. Even Rodney seemed to find little to complain about, and was quietly taking uninteresting readings on his scanner as he walked. With sudden relief, he realized that he wasn't alone this time. He wouldn't be left alone. His team was here with him, and they were here for him.

He managed a shaky nod to Teyla who nodded back, acknowledging the unspoken gratitude with quiet understanding. John had talked to Teyla about Nalia: It had taken a couple of beers and a lucky moment of comfortable privacy to bring himself to ask her opinion on what to do when he saw Nalia again. The whole thing felt so uncomfortable and awkward and sad. But he did care for the girl, in his way, so he'd pushed through the embarrassment and together they had decided that it would be best to let Nalia take the lead. Which was all very fine and good, except it gave John little to do to prepare.

Breathing deeply to force down anxiety, John walked the final steps off the path and into the main street of the town. Silently, he sensed his people rearranging themselves around him: Teyla, Ronon, and Rodney spread out beside him to walk in a determined line of solidarity. Beckett and his people clumped together just behind, uneasy from the tension, and the two remaining marines followed last, side-by-side, looking warily alert. They made an impressive parade down the center of the simple wooden town. And people noticed.

Having decided they would first go to the Mill at the far end of the road, which served as not only the commerce center of the town, but as de facto town hall, John set his eyes ahead and walked on. Soon more people were on the street, watching warily, whispering among themselves. Before long, a crowd had gathered, and, as people will do when in a group, some were emboldened and called out, "What do you want?" or "Why have you come back here?" If they had looked closely, the Atlantians might have noticed the people clustering into two discreet groups, but John only saw his memory of them jeering at him when he'd fallen to his knees in pain and weariness. He clutched the butt of his 9mil tightly to stop the shaking of his hands.

"Colonel? Colonel Sheppard?" John stopped walking to search out the voice, and Davka pushed his way through a clump of people, looking much harassed, to rush straight up. The villager looked warily at Ronon, who was edging closer to flank Sheppard again, then leaned his head close to John's and urgently whispered, "Why are you here? Things have not been…good since you left and I brought Naden before the council. If you seek revenge, then believe me: the damage is done!"

John raised a surprised eyebrow and decided to address the whole crowd in answer. Looking over Davka's shoulder, he said in a clear, loud voice, "We came to help. These people are very skilled healers, Doctors. We've brought enough serum to vaccinate the whole town and leave some for the babies who happen along in the next year or so. The plague can stop, now. Forever."

John wasn't exactly sure what to expect, so he watched the villagers closely. Several seemed to be nodding and agreeing emphatically, looking hopeful and triumphant. Many others had closed body language, crossed arms and defensive stances and were shaking their heads in disbelief. Davka hastily summed up the sentiment.

"The town is divided. Some believed me about the cure and were ready to punish Naden and demand he turn over the medicine. Many others choose to continue to believe Naden's lies and claim we are heretics against the Ancestors." Davka sounded desperate and anxious. Clearly the man was at his wits end to resolve the town's conflict.

For his part, John understood better than anyone. Goaded by Naden when the plague struck, some, perhaps even most, of these people had committed horrible acts of neglect against those who became ill in the name of the test they believed they were enduring. To accept that there was a medicinal cure was to accept that they had been wrong, and were guilty of terrible crimes. John was sure many would deny the truth with even violent vehemence.

"Where is Naden? What is he saying?"

Davka looked uncomfortable, "Naden is in the prison. He's in a deep depression and neither speaks nor sleeps…" John nodded then took a friendly step closer to the nearest group of villagers that seemed somewhat agreeable.

"I and my friends are proof that the plague can be cured. Many of you saw that we were ill. Some of you even had the pleasure of escorting me when I was sick to your facilities." John placed a lightly sarcastic emphasis on the last word, and was pleased to see the face in the crowd he'd singled out squirm uncomfortably. John still had on his back remnants of the bruise from that man's shoe.

"Davka has been telling you the truth. Your Doctor, Naden, found a cure that can not only stop the disease from progressing in someone who falls ill, it can stop those who do not get sick from passing the plague on to others." There was a swell of muttering at these words. John took the opportunity to catch Beckett's eye and held the look as he finished, "We'll set up our clinic here. Anyone who wishes to be vaccinated is welcome. I hope that, by the time we need to leave, everyone in town will consent to an injection. That is the only way the plague will truly end."

With that, John turned his back on the town and busied himself completely in the task of setting up Carson's tables and gear and the simple rain fly they had brought. Carson was taken by surprise, but was soon barking orders and a clinic began going up with remarkable speed.

The people continued to mill around, and some heated discussions were shouted back and forth, but John had decided they needed to work it out for themselves. He simply put himself and his team in the forefront of the construction as visible, obvious symbols of the message he was trying to sell.

The clinic was looking quite good when John suddenly realized two people were standing quite close. Surprised, but greeting them with friendly courtesy, he waved Beckett over with a subtle signal. The pale and solemn couple stood bravely before John quietly holding hands. The woman looked sternly into his eyes and asked, "You said there would be a vaccine for babies?" John only nodded, wondering at the question. "Our baby died from the plague only days after he was born. Even though we never got sick, our baby died." John sucked in his breath, unprepared for the tragic story, at a loss at what to say.

Carson Beckett came to his rescue, and John had never been more grateful for the man's incredible compassion and bedside manner. "I grieve for your loss," he comforted soothingly, "A wee baby would have no chance against such a potent illness, even if he inherited some form of immunity from his parents." Carson took the woman's hand and urged with the plea of a healer, "Nothing can bring your baby back, but once you are vaccinated, you can no longer pass on the disease to another child or anyone else. Doesn't that seem like a good thing?"

The woman held his eyes for a long time, then looking once at her husband, she turned her head proudly to the crowd, sat down on the nearest chair and held out her arm. "Yes. That is a good thing." Smiling, Carson hastily finished his preparations and unwrapped a sterile syringe. The young husband sat down next, equally proud, and he too was vaccinated. Then, to John's wonder and relief, a line started to form as more and more villagers made their choice and asked for the vaccine. Carson got his nurses working too, and the line moved quickly. Carson took blood samples as well, to confirm his theories and evaluate the overall health of the community.

It was a start.

Much later that day, John stood exhaustedly just beyond the chaos of the clinic, taking a break trying to relax enough to ease the killer tension headache that had started to pound behind his eyes. Carson had started to treat other problems the villagers brought to him, and the line for vaccinations was steady, so they all had been working flat-out for hours. There were a few village holdouts that would stand glaring at the bustling activity in the middle of the street, but one look from one of John's burly marines on guard duty would quickly send them scurrying away.

Teyla walked over to join him, touched his arm briefly and offered him a drink from the pitchers of water some of the village women had brought them. John accepted gratefully, digging in his pocket for another packet of Tylenol he'd swiped from Carson's stash a few minutes ago.

"It seems to be going well," Teyla commented, smiling at a passerby.

"Yeah. I think there are still a couple on the council who aren't sold, but they'll come around. Knowing these people, they'll be forced to come around." John was still bitter about the town, and Teyla had to agree that they had proven themselves capable of dark deeds.

John suddenly stiffened, freezing with a tension so complete, that Teyla instinctively reached for her weapon and scanned the horizon looking for the danger. Seeing nothing threatening, she at last had to follow John's gaze to notice the two women on the street several buildings down. One was an older matronly-type and the other a young woman or girl of 17 or 18: Nalia.

Teyla quickly looked back at John's face, concerned to see his usual easy confidence replaced by hesitant, troubled sorrow. The girl froze too, her companion also quickly assessing the situation. The matronly woman quickly bent to hold Nalia comfortingly by the shoulders and began muttering quietly and urgently to her. After a long, heartbreaking moment, Nalia began walking again, her eyes locked with John's a second longer. And then, she turned away and shuffled towards the simple house a few doors down, her eyes dead and hollow, the arms of the kind woman still on her shoulders.

John watched them until they disappeared through the door and a warm glow from a lantern or candle lit the single street-facing window against the approaching evening shadows. Teyla said nothing, waiting for him to work through the emotion. At last, he relaxed and sadly nodded to himself. Nalia was being cared for as Davka had promised. That was all he could really ask; the thing she thought she wanted, he couldn't give her. He would always remember her as brave and compassionate, even as he would always remember her as fragile and broken.

"Teyla," he said wearily, "Beckett's got things under control here. I think I'm ready to go home." He looked at the glowing window again. "I need to go home."

Teyla nodded, accepting the statement as a command and walked off briskly to arrange for an escort and assure Beckett that Ronon and two Marines would be staying and that another team would be through quickly to replace them. When all was ready, she found John at the edge of town, waiting for them by the forest path to the Stargate. He glanced over the group that included herself and Rodney, two townsmen who were carrying cheery torches and the other two Marines who would stay with the gate until another SG and security team came through to relieve them.

"Move out, people!" John called, his voice strong and ringing with authority. But as Teyla moved past him to take her position on point, she heard him mutter, "Let's get the hell out of here…"