That's... Ancient for... what?

That's your first thought as you swim out of unconsciousness.

"Ignirus, Doctor Jackson?" That's Teyla somewhere above you and asking pretty much the same question.

"It's the Ancient, or rather, proto-Ancient term, as near as I've been able to find, for fire." His voice is as reticent as if he hadn't just saved the day, and more importantly saved you. If you're actually saved, that is. You're not sure, yourself. "It was the best I could think of, the classic way to stop a show and clear a building..."

"So you had to say that?" Ah, Sheppard's voice. Sheppard has been let in, or you've been brought out at last. You're glad - in a sick, swimmy way - that he sounds nearly as pissed as you're sure you would be if you weren't so sick instead. You're also glad for the covering of... you don't care what you're covered with, even if it is painful against the three million or so wounds inflicted on you. Three million or so tiny wounds but nasty, painful ones.

You're not so glad for them. Or the hands - Teyla's, you think - small and trying but totally failing to be gentle. Or the very cold, very hard whatever-it-is you're lying on, which is hurting theother million wounds on your back...

Oh. Your brain kicks into some sort of gear and you realize that it's the puddlejumper floor. You're breathing puddlejumper air, and probably being puddlejumpered back home by the Colonel. Home is good. Okay, you can be glad for pretty much everything now.

And Daniel is answering Sheppard, so you try to concentrate. Whatever he did, after all, should have been outstandingly brilliant. After all, he's supposed to be a genius too -

"I started a fire alarm in proto-Ancient, yes."

- Or outstandingly insane.

"Bit of a risk for McKay, wasn't it?" Oh yeah, definitely pissed. Sic 'im, Colonel.

"Not really, Colonel." Sadly, Daniel has survived far worse siccings (is that a word? - you think it ought to be), and doesn't even seem to notice the smackdown, which you are pretty sure will piss off Sheppard even more. "It was more like a huge risk, the odds that the letter creatures wouldn't recognize it, or worse, would try to finish the tableaux all at once and seriously hurt Rodney in the bargain was... oh, I'd say about fifty-fifty."

"What odds?!"

What odds?!

"Or sixty-forty," Daniel goes on, as calmly as if he was not making things worse.

"Gotta tell you, Doctor, I'm not loving those odds."

"I think Rodney will agree it was worth it, though."

No you won't. No you fucking won't. Not at least when anyone can here you. You have a reputation of being the most brilliant and only sane man on Atlantis to maintain.

On the other hand, you're alive. You're pretty much all right, if it wasn't for the pain, and the bleeding, and the near-death-by-bad-theatre experience, and the cold floor, and the... everything, really. Should you open your eyes and let them know?

"And the natives don't have the Ancient gene, so are quite safe from the energy creatures. I thought they might resent the fact that we wrecked their Ancient spiritual drama," Daniel goes on, "but it turned out that what happened with Rodney was - well - sort of foreseen in previous years. More or less, and rather less by my interpretation, but they believe it, and they're thrilled that the honor of watching it happen came to their generation."

"And we're just thrilled for them," Sheppard growls. "Tell me you didn't promise a return visit."

"They have offered us a year's supply of that cake and non-coffee," Teyla says pacifically. Daniel is suspiciously silent but then he will be safely back on earth when that comes through. You wonder if you should say anything about what he said the cake was, but then decide discretion right now will be the better part of future paybacks on anyone who annoys you and has been dimwitted enough to eat them.

"So where are those things now?" Ronon growls. "The bits of light. Where'd they go after they hit you?"

Oh. They hit Daniel? That's... not good.

"The creatures went after the Colonel and the Major, of course." That's Teyla, sounding mildly concerned for them. "Because of the gene. It is fortunate the puddlejumper was close enough to rescue them before they were caught."

"You should monitor the planet for a while, Colonel Sheppard, but my guess is they will simply adapt to life outside the storage closet. Or head back into it."

"Are you certain," and that's Teyla again, sounding rather more concerned, "that you are all right, Doctor Jackson?"

"Hey!" And that's Sheppard, sounding even more pissed at her priorities. "What about your team leader?"

"But John, we can see that you are fine."

"I'm fine too," Daniel says absently. "Only a couple of words on my face."

Words on his... at that, you force your eyes open. Not that you'd worry so much about him - not a proper scientist, after all - and hey, even if he was hurt saving you, you're way too important for anyone to fire or SG-1 to kill (you hope) but you are worried. A little.

He did get you out of it.

Everything is blurry for a minute, then they come into focus above you: Teyla, looking properly concerned about you (you assume), Ronon, crooked copper crown and all, and Daniel looking distractedly at...

Oh for God's sake, he's studying your neck, isn't he? Or rather whatever proto-Ancient doggerel those damned letter-creatures left on your neck.

"I'll need to transcribe the rest of Rodney before the doctor gets to work on him, Colonel," he says blithely over his shoulder - oh yes, Sheppard would be in the pilot's seat, " and my face of course, and add it all to my notes. You can deliver a copy to the locals, they'll probably want to run the Mystery Rites again in their next version of solstice, I'm sure they'll invite your people, and I should be able to come back for it."

The man is incorrigible: here it is, you nearly got bad-versed to death, he got written on, Sheppard is never going to forgive either of you, SG-1 are going to be pissed if we broke their linguist/anthropologist/archaeologist, you have to explain the loss of your clothes yet again to the supply department - you really don't want to think about how you are going to word this one, maybe Daniel has some tips from his own requisition reports? - and you know all too well that you are never ever going to live this down...

All that, and Doctor Languages-Are-My-Life-Even-If-They-Kill-Me-Yet-Aga in Jackson is still absolutely, happily captivated by it all.

His fingers hover just above a particularly sore spot the size of a soliloquy on your throat and you can't help it, you yelp. Sheppard snaps something at him, but the fingers don't actually touch.

You can see the cuts on Daniel's face, gashes made when he yelled the equivalent of "Fire!" and the letter-creatures shot away from you and some of them hit him. The cuts look disconcertingly like Ancient script scrawled by a drunken xenospider dipped in blood instead of ink, and somehow you just know he found them fascinating and has already used a mirror to start deciphering them. And the little voice in your head pointing out that you would too if it was good science and not bad prose doesn't help one little bit.

"It'll be quite safe." Somehow you know this is in response to the look on Sheppard's face, which you can't see but have seen all too often. Aimed at you. Which is so unfair, by the way. "Quite safe, and totally fascinating."

And again, just who invited him to this galaxy?

Oh that's right. You did.

Time to get good and mad with everyone again, you think...

- the end -