Sabine Bauer - Mirror, mirror

"Yes. Obviously." Crutches clattered on rock, then the cot creaked and heaved a little under her. He'd risen. "Fire's gone out," he murmured by way of an explanation.

She listened to the familiar noises of kindling being piled, flames fanned, logs beginning to crackle. It seemed odd not to perform the necessary tasks but merely to enjoy their effects, and she admonished herself not to enjoy it too much, because, before long, John Sheppard would be gone and she would have to fend for herself again. For now, however, she relished the warmth that seeped from the hearth and through the cave.

"So we decided to go ahead with it."

Not a question; a statement, and the acoustics told her that he was facing away from her, most likely staring into the fire. The choice of words was interesting: we. He'd begun to iden tify with what had happened, and while part of her profoundly regretted it-this version of John Sheppard had never been involved and deserved no blame-another part was relieved, grateful even. He needed to identify, feel responsible, to be able to accomplish what she would ask him to do.

"Show me! Now!" he commanded.

A long, long time ago she had tried to explain to a Satedan how certain orders were better left ignored. This was not one of those orders. The time for stalling and enjoying the warmth was over. He seemed to sense it more clearly than she.

"Not here." Teyla rose wearily, struggling to overcome a reluctance that wanted to pin her to the cot, inert and safe and warm. "Come."

"Where?"

"Come," she said simply, extending a hand; the gesture as much of an order as his words had been moments before.

More clatter of crutches, footfalls, slow and clumsy, and then he was by her side. "Where?" he asked again.

Her fingers scrabbled through air until they caught a handful of his shirt and held on. "It's well that you cleared the path." She waved at the rock formation where the creek entered the cavern. "We shall have to wade for the first few meters."

Major Sheppard muttered something unintelligible and, no doubt, unflattering and began to hobble toward the far end of the cave. Teyla hung on and let him be her guide. Of course she could have found the passage on her own-she'd done so hundreds of times before, though not for a long while now-but allowing him to lead, to follow him this one last time, felt right. More so than anything had these many years. The thought brought a smile, one she didn't care to bite back.

A heartbeat's hesitation, then he moved again, and a sharp hiss told her that he'd stepped into the stream. "Good job I'm soaked already," he grunted.

The water came up to her shins, and it was bitterly cold. Within seconds she'd lost sensation in her feet and, desperate to retain her balance, clutched his shirt with both fists. Had it always been this chilly, the current this rapid? She couldn't remember, and it didn't matter.

They were approaching the narrowest part of the passage now. Water climbed her legs and broke around her knees as the rocks pinched the stream up and out in a swift gush. The tilt of his body betrayed that he had to lean into the current to keep his balance, and she tried her best to steady him, although her efforts didn't amount to much. Suddenly she chuckled.

He must have heard her even over the rush of the water. "What?"

"You have a proverb, do you not? About the lame leading the blind?"

"Blind leading the blind. From what you've told me it's close enough."

As vehemently as it had begun, the slick pressure against her legs subsided until it was merely a murmur around her ankles. They had passed the narrows. From here on out it would be easier.

"Keep to the left," she said. "There's a ledge along the water."

"I can't see a damn thing! It's pitch dark in-" He cut himself off before she had a chance to interrupt him. "Blind leading the blind, huh?"

"I used to come here on my own. Keep walking, Major."

So he did, but their progress seemed excruciatingly slow. More than once she had to rein in the urge to prod him into a faster pace, to tell him that the darkness was nothing to fear. Long decades of familiarity had turned darkness into a friend. It made them equals again, hampering John Sheppard and giving her an advantage. Not so unlike their sparring sessions in the gym, all those years ago. What he had on her in strength, weight-and now youth-she made up for in skill and experience.

"I notice you still don't practice enough," she said.

"Hilarious," he gasped. "How much further?"

"Wait." She'd only ever been used to timing herself, and the sluggish pace had made her lose track of their location.

As they stuttered to a halt, she let go of his shirt, reached out. Her fingertips grazed rock either side of her. It was enough of a marker, even if she'd missed the fact that the burble of the stream sounded faint and muted, a long way behind them. She sniffed, tasting the air like a deer, finding it less humid. They were far into the maze already, and she'd do well to pay attention from here on out. It didn't matter too much-eventually all tunnels ended up in the same place-but the quicker they got there the better.

"We are close." She squeezed past him, her left hand trailing along the wall so that she wouldn't miss the junction. Still sniffing occasionally, she led the way, noted how the smell began to change, from the dank mustiness of the caves to something unique and familiar and belonging to the past-and perhaps to the future.

A sudden yelp from behind stopped her dead in her tracks. "Are you alright, Major Sheppard?"

"Damn! I mean, yes. I'm fine. You could have warned me about the lights."

"As a matter of fact, no."

"Of course… I'm sorry. I-"

"It's not important." She never had given any thought to lights, though now their presence seemed obvious; the only surprise being that they were functional still. To the best of her knowledge nothing else was. "What can you see?"

"Looks like a rockslide's come through here. For real. Over there's what must have been windows. The dirt pushed right through them. Other than that it seems… intact. The doorway's clear, but I take it you know that already." He sucked in a deep breath. "I thought you said Atlantis had been destroyed?"

"What we knew as Atlantis, yes. It was more than walls and ceilings and technology, was it not?"

"Yes. Yes, it was." For a moment his voice sounded ragged with emotion, then he caught himself, cleared his throat. "Where are we?"

"At the top of the control tower," Teyla replied and winced. "The transporter no longer operates."

"Of course it doesn't."

It was a long, quiet trek, harder on Major Sheppard than on her. Climbing back up the stairs would be a different matter. Then again, there would be no reason to go back once she'd brought him where he needed to be, would there? If he didn't succeed, she doubted she'd have the strength to carry on, hoping for another miracle in the years she had left. And if he did succeed, there'd be nobody to go back for. Jinto, Pima, Halling, her newborn namesake, the whole village-

"Teyla?" He sounded worried, must have seen her tremble.

"It is nothing." A brisk wave of her hand dismissed it, and she hoped it would be enough to fool him. Not easily fooled, this one. But at least he couldn't see her face.

Finally the stairs wound to an end. She stopped briefly to orient herself, then groped her way into a corridor on her right. The rockslide that damaged the tower had never reached here. This place lay too deep, too safe in the embrace of the earth that had risen while Charybdis threw suns and moons from their path and kneaded the planet's crust like so much dough. There might be other signs of ruin, but, for her, the only indicator of desolation was the silky cushion of dust and cobwebs that caressed her fingertips.