Scarce

Author: Cheryl W.

Author's Note: I'm finally back with the last chapter! And yup, it's a long one.

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Chapter 12: In Good Hands

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"Two are better than one because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falls; for he has not another to help him up." Ecclesiates 4:9-10

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Sheppard had a round of visitors after waking up: Ronon, Teyla, Evan, Elizabeth, Radek, and Rodney was always somewhere, either beside his bed or beyond the curtain and they were all being so ….nice. 'Can I fluff your pillow? Do you need anything? Are you in pain? It's ok if you take a nap because I can come back later. Want some water? Want some food? Should I lower your bed? I can dim the lights for you?'

Reminded him of when his mother died, how his teachers and the house staff treated him like he was fragile, would shatter apart if they said anything to him in a tone louder than a gentle whisper. His father, however, took another approach entirely – he forgot John existed. His brother, Dave, his dad remembered, Dave who was his dutiful 'yes' son, who had spent his mother's last days with his father, hiding from the death stalking their house. And John had never known which was worse, the not existing or the being pitied, being marked weak..broken.

He still couldn't decide because having visitors, not being alone in his considerable pain, that was..nice. But then again, the way they treated him…hadn't he gone up against the big bad wolf, ok, lion and won?! Wasn't he the hunter extraordinaire, a man of legend? A man worthy of revered fear not…pampering and soothing tones like some traumatized soul teetering on the edge of sanity? He wasn't teetering, wasn't traumatized, wasn't drowning in nightmares. Ok, there were a few but he attributed that to the drugs, keeping him under when he wanted, needed to break free of the dreams, of the memories. But heck, that was typical for him, was why sleep wasn't his BFF on a normal day and that was without pharmaceutical anchors dragging him further from the surface the more he struggled.

So yeah, it was confusing, this mixture of need and irritation at his well-meaning company. He almost sighed in relief when he woke up this time and it was just Ronon by his side. If anyone wouldn't patronize him, it was the Satedan soldier. He struggled to sit up, wake up a bit more but he gritted back a groan when his shoulder, ribs, chest, head still spiked in pain even through the haze of the good intentioned drugs.

Ronon's "Hold up" was a little on the light side of his usual gruff tone and his hands that slid under John's shoulders were strong but they didn't jerk him upright, instead shifted him with something akin to gentleness until John was positioned against his pillows. Closing his eyes, breathing through the pain, shifting his arm in the sling meant to keep it immobile to not open the stitches pulling together the teeth marks on his shoulder, John wasn't surprised by Ronon's patient silence until he got himself back under control. 'Crap, maybe I do need the coddling,' he bitterly thought as he struggled with the pain, the weariness, the desire to checkout and wake up when things weren't so damn painful.

But he fought that down, like he did the pain. Resolutely, he opened his eyes, saw Ronon was sitting in the chair, but it wasn't his friend's lazy frame thrown back as far as he could in the chair, long legs outstretched pose. He was hunched forward, elbows on his knees, eyes watching John's face, searching for…heck, John didn't have a clue. Rodney had wanted an apology, maybe Ronon did to. But John honestly didn't know what to apologize for. Ronon was a soldier, had to understand tactics, seen and unforeseen dangers, consequences. Life, death. Sure, he could apologize for the Kolya thing or the skipping town thing or the stivers safari? But when did Ronon ever want to talk about feelings?! So he must be reading it wrong, reading Ronon wrong.

He wouldn't embarrass either one of them by going all touchy feely. "What'd I miss happening the last few days? Any approaching hive ships? Eminent shield failure? Other impending doom?" Because the Pegasus galaxy wasn't known to give them a moment's peace and he'd been out of the loop for three days, wait, counting the day trip with Lorne and now it was morning…nope evening on another day…

But Ronon's features tightened into an angry furrow. "Why can't you be like all my other commanding officers?!"

So Ronon wasn't adopting the 'sooth the traumatize Colonel' mode, was maybe going to actually speak his mind, something he hadn't done since their shouting match over Kolya's corpse. It was both what John wanted and dread. His tone a taunting mockery more than a commanding bellow, he came back with, "Fine, Specialist Dex. Sit rep!" knowing it would evoke a real response, not a polite one from Ronon.

"Sit rep?!" Ronon growled, eyes lit with indignation as they pierced John's. Then Ronon was jabbing his finger John's direction. "None of my other COs would have done what you did!?"

"Fought down a savage beast with his bare hands? Or climbed a mountain like spider man?" John quirkily shot back, refused to show how much Ronon's accusation tore him apart. Crap, didn't he know what a lousy leader he was? He didn't need Ronon to say it aloud, he had Caldwell and the whole of IOA for that kind of dressing down.

But Ronon ignored John's deflections, wanted to reach out and shake the man, break through Sheppard's walls that he used to keep him out, to keep all of them out, to keep himself locked in, hurting alone. "Any other superior officer would have busted down my rank, kicked me off their team at my insubordination."

John wondered if the drugs he was on were too good because he wasn't tracking this conversation and, by the anger pouring off Ronon, he better catch up quick. "Insubordination?"

"I disrespected your decision, you going up against Kolya," Ronon gritted out, knew that moment burned between he and Sheppard, even if Sheppard didn't want to admit it.

"Oh, that. Actually you called me stupid, if I remember correctly," John derisively pointed out, decided to heck with this, he wanted to get it out in the open, stop pussy footing around the issue that his team had lost respect for him and he didn't know how he was going to fix that. Couldn't start to mend anything if the topic was the freaking elephant in the room no one dared mention, except Ronon. But honestly, John hadn't wanted Ronon to be the first, maybe Teyla because she was the forgiving type. Or Rodney, they had already paved some of the ground work.

At the verbatim recall of his angry words to Sheppard, Ronon lurched to his feet, towered over the bed ridden Sheppard. "And you should have stripped me of my rank, put me off your team! You shouldn't have gone and…"

"Run away?" John supplied tightly, was calling it what it was.

But Ronon didn't react to John's words, was too caught up in his own guilt. "Iscrewed up! I should have been relegated to menial supply runs that turned deadly, not the other way around!"

Suddenly John was caught off guard. "Wait, you screwed up? How?!" Because he thought this was about his errors in judgement, knew it should be.

"I got captured by Kolya's men, was bait to get you in front of a firing squad, was useless while you faced off with Kolya," shame hueing the Satedan's words. Though Ronon hated voicing all the ways he had failed Sheppard, he knew that it wouldn't be right between them if he continued to pretend he didn't have sins to pay for.

"Maybe my memory is a little off but how I remember things is it was my piss poor plan that got you and the others captured, it was Kolya who invited me to the firing squad party, not you," John bitterly confessed his own sins before he caustically reminded his teammate, "And in case it still escapes everyone's notice, I won against Kolya! Number one with a bullet and all that."

Without warning, Carson barreled into the curtained off area, the two men's raised voices having carried quite clearly through the entire infirmary. "What is going on in here?! Ronon, I said you could visit, not get into a bloody yelling match with him. Out with you."

John growled, "He stays."

"Colonel, I'm in charge of your health and this isn't…." Carson began, using his highest ranking medical officer tone.

"Beckett, leave us," John snapped. But when Beckett simply stood there indecisive, John made the decision for him by trumping Carson's tone with one of his own: The military commander of Atlantis tone. "That's an order, doctor." But instead of getting indignant at being tossed out of a wing of his own infirmary, Carson looked dejected at the harsh dismissal, which had John silently cursing himself for returning another person's good meaning concern with rancor. Softening his tone because, crap, he knew the man was just looking out for him, he entreated, "Carson, please." With the Colonel's moderated tone, Carson nodded his head in submission and slipped out between the curtain.

That left Ronon and John alone again. And John decided he needed to be the one to take the bull by the horns, no matter if the bull gouged him to death in the process, or well….destroyed the team that was family to him. "You act like you want to do this whole "I was insubordinate" guilt thing, but really, you're pissed at me. You all are."

"Damn right I am!" Ronon readily agreed before he cursed himself for admitting that. He seared his gaze into John's, needing to get through to his friend, to ensure that none of the horrible crap of the last days ever happened again. "You needlessly put your life on the line! With Kolya, then with Major Lorne's mission!"

"It wasn't needless!" John heatedly shot back. "I thought you of all people would understand. Kolya needed…"

"Killed. I know that!" Ronon's shout stole the air from their small enclosure.

Taken aback by Ronon's choice of words, John uncomfortably shifted on the bed, grimaced at the pain of movement but held Ronon's gaze. "I was going to stay stopped but…end result was killed. Which I was more than ok with," he said with some heat because if he was supposed to put on the hearts and flowers, dreg up some regret for ending Koyla…he couldn't. "And if that makes me a murdering bastard, so be it." Because he was tired of trying to paint himself as this good guy, this morally right saint for Atlantis, for his team. He wasn't that, hadn't ever been that and the strain of trying to wear that mantle, it was breaking him. "Let's just stop avoiding the real issue. You want off my team, I get that."

At that ludicrous statement, Ronon growled out a litany of Satedan curses before leaning over John and fisting his hands in the man's hospital gown. "You think this is about you killing Kolya?!"

Angrily, John grabbed Ronon's hands with his own, tried to dislodge them but they were like steel and his own attempts were weakened by injury and pain and, oh yeah, a coma he was just out of for a day.

"Kolya was a dead man! He wasn't walking away. If you hadn't killed him, I would have," Ronon menacingly vowed. At the surprised look on John's face at his dark promise, he snarled, "You think I wouldn't take his life with pleasure after what he did to you!?" couldn't believe John didn't expect that from him.

But John gritted out a denial, didn't need Ronon to vow loyalty to him in that way, with words he didn't mean. "No, you wouldn't. You're not…"

"I'm not what?! A killer? A soldier? Your protector? Your friend!?" Ronon challenged, daring John to refute any of the labels he gave himself. "I am all of those things and I wouldn't have lost any sleep slitting Kolya's throat." Let that sink in a moment, saw John swallow hard, registering his words, measuring the truth in them before Ronon admitted, a little choked, "But what I did lose sleep over was that gunfight scenario running over and over in my head and this time watching you get killed. All because you thought he deserved a fair fight, an honorable death, which he didn't. He lost that right when he let a wraith feed on you. So yeah, I was pissed at you, didn't mean…that I wanted…"

"It was my grudge with Kolya that got us into that mess," John grimly reminded Ronon. "He hated me and I hated him and the rest of you were just pawns for our pissing match. If you had died, or Rodney or Teyla or Carson, that would have been on me. So yeah, I took a chance, but I only risked myself, I didn't risk you guys, wouldn't do that. Not even for revenge. I wasn't that far gone."

Releasing his hold on John, Ronon's next words weren't words of anger but desperation, "You did risk us!" John flinched at the accusation. But then Ronon continued, "Something happens to you, it happens to all of us."

"No, even if Koyla had won against me, you would have gotten the drop on him before he could hurt anyone else." Frustrated that Ronon didn't see that he had thought things through. That he knew, even if he lost the gunfight, Koyla would be distracted enough for Ronon or Teyla to take him out before he could be a threat to them.

"And what?! Him killing you wouldn't have hurt us?!" Ronon angrily railed at John's blinded point of view. His voice strangled, he shouted back what had clamored in his soul when he thought Sheppard would die after the stivers attack, even after they got him back to Atlantis. "I lost my whole world, everyone I knew! What makes you think I want to lose you too, Sheppard!?"

The heartbroken earnest words hung between them and Ronon turned his back on John, tried to get his emotions locked down. And John, for the life of him, didn't know what to say, how to react.

Hands on his hips, head bowed, back still to Sheppard, Ronon bit out, "Next time you want to punish me, send me away instead of yourself. Or even give me to the next wraiths we come across but don't….Don't quit on yourself, don't quit on us."

"I didn't quit," John sheepishly refuted. "I just….got a little turned around." Had lost his bearing, didn't know where he belonged with his team, if he belonged with him, if they wanted him, trusted him.

Ronon snorted at John's deflection before turning back to the man who was his brother, soul deep. "You are a bit directionally challenged," he teased, lips turning up into a smug smile.

John's features lightened with the barb. "Hey, no using Rodney's politically correct insults on me!" he huffed out. Before he got that awkward, lost little boy look on his face. "And, for the record…. I wasn't trying to punish you, any of you. I wanted to give you…all of us…space. I know sometimes things happen and a team….it isn't the same afterwards." Prayed he wasn't talking about them, him and Ronon, him and Rodney, him and Teyla. Because he needed them, wanted them with him. More than he even allowed himself to want his father's respect or his brother's admiration when he realized both were unattainable.

Having caught John's words, Teyla chose that moment to make her entrance into the curtained off area. "But we are not merely a team, John, we are family. Family has the bonds to …endure what a team could not." Instead of being upset by Teyla's intrusion, her presence and her words eased more of John's tension. Before he could react to her words, she exhaled a shaky breath, and implored, "I hope you can forgive my poorly chosen words when I only wanted to protect you, did not want more hurt to come upon you by Kolya's actions."

"Or by my actions against Kolya," John realized. "Yeah, I know. Sorry I got my dander up. Maybe I was in more of a revenge haze than I wanted to admit to."

"Revenge haze, huh?" Rodney repeated like he was putting it through its scientific testing as he too dodged between the drawn curtains to join the others. "Tell me, do most of your 'revenge hazes' involve you hiding out in a closet instead of shooting the man who tortured you and tried his best to kill you?" he drawled, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"It wasn't a closet, it was a safe room," Sheppard heatedly corrected.

"Yeah, right, so much more sinister," Rodney sarcastically replied.

John sighed. "You aren't going to let me keep any of my dignity, are you?" Who knew he'd want them to accuse him of being in a revenge haze?!

"You didn't rush out there and kill Kolya, like I honestly wanted you to," Ronon bluntly admitted. "You did what was best, not for your peace of mind, but for your team, to keep us safe."

"But you did not think to keep yourself safe. That is what we have …" Teyla struggled to find the right earth word for a moment, "…issues with. John, to lose you…that would have been to lose part of ourselves that we can not bear to lose."

"In small words so even you can understand," McKay snarkily began, before his tone became choked with remembered fear, "stop treating your life like it's disposable, when it's not. Not to us."

"Yeah, what he said," Ronon growled, eyes pinning John.

McKay gave Ronon a surprised look. "You agreeing with me is kind of nice…and yet it's creeping me out."

Then they all looked expectantly to Sheppard, hoped their words, their sentiments, their pleas were getting through. Because sometimes things happened fast and there was no time for reflection but they had had three days, more, of beseeching fate to not let John Sheppard die. And it hit home how very badly each of them would take his loss, how deep their bond with him was, leaving none of them the luxury of being apathetic about any danger he put himself in.

At the three anxious looks lancing into him, John snapped, "What? If you're waiting for me to pledge to duck behind Rodney the next time there's a firefight…"

"Very funny," McKay snorted.

Teyla took the diplomatic approach. "We are not asking you to change how you lead us, John, only…that you value your life as highly as we value it." Even as she made the entreaty she knew John wouldn't, couldn't, not when he'd never accept just how important he was to each of them.

"That means no more OK corral showdowns," Rodney stipulated.

"Or being chew toys for things with teeth and claws," Ronon added, jerking his chin toward John's shoulder as if the man could forget the flesh rendering the stiver's teeth had done.

But Teyla had one more qualification, though she knew John would be uncomfortable with her request, she couldn't bear to leave it unasked. "And that you do not…walk away instead of talking when things become strained between us." And yes, John's eyes dropped to his sheets at her appeal, signaling again his dislike for things getting "emotional."

Picking at the bed sheet, John grumbled petulantly, "I guess I can agree to the OK corral and chew toy clause but the talking…" he scrounged up his face in displeasure, causing Teyla to laugh and claim a seat on the mattress by his feet.

"Is it not as painful as you and Ronon make it seem," she smirked.

"We get along fine with only a few words," John protested, looking to Ronon for an ally. But it was Rodney who spoke, and it was definitely not to take his side.

"You?! A few words!? Please. You can be as much as a blabber mouth as I am."

"I can attest to that," Evan said pulling back the curtain and joining the others gathered around John's bed. "He just never shut up on the trek through the woods. Probably how the stivers kept track of us."

"Et tu Brutus?" Sheppard sullenly retorted but there was a sparkle of amusement in his tired eyes. And behind Lorne, he saw Beckett hovering, seemingly a little afraid to approach after John's earlier dismissal. So John waved him in to join the gang. "Carson, tell them how quiet I am."

"You mean when you're not flirting with my nurses or whining about when I'll let you out of the infirmary?" Carson supplied with a wicked grin.

"Ouch, thought you took an oath to do no harm?" John protested but he was fighting back a smirk.

"Like my mother used to say, what's a little ding to your pride if it spares your soul," Carson drawled in his best Scottish brogue before he flipped on his doctor tone. "Now I think you've had enough excitement for the moment. Time for you all to skedaddle while I give him a once over."

"On no, no way," Rodney animatedly protested. "Last time you kicked me out, he went dark for three days. I'm not moving." And to prove his point, he claimed the chair to the left of John's bed with a huff, hands fisted around the arms of the chair like he was prepared to do a sit in, wasn't above grabbing some chains to anchor him to the chair if need be. And to John's right, Ronon settled back in his chair, stretching out his long legs under John's bed like he was in it for the long haul.

"This isn't a bloody debate!" Beckett railed at John's obstinate teammates. Not Teyla, who was obediently sliding off of John's bed, making ready to make her departure.

Not moving a muscle to leave John's side, Ronon resolutely announced, "Nope, it isn't," the direct opposite of agreeing with Carson.

"Like I said, I'm not moving," Rodney boasted.

"Guys, don't piss off my doctor. He'll take it out on me," John bemoaned, only half in jest.

"He wouldn't dare," Ronon drawled, a threat there as he looked to Carson.

"Who's the bloody doctor around here?!" Carson challenged back.

Teyla pulled away from the standoff and Lorne quickly matched pace with her as she headed toward the exit. "Shall we go to the mess hall before there's blood shed?" she offered above the raised voices of Ronon, Rodney and Carson.

"Sounds like a solid plan," Evan readily agreed, leaving John to the bickering threesome without a backwards glance.

A desertion that didn't go unnoticed by Sheppard, who called out, "Major, abandoning a senior officer in his time of need, it's going in your file for sure."

"It's Lorne with an E at the end, sir," Evan merrily supplied as he and Teyla escaped the pending carnage.

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Watching his patient from across the infirmary, Carson was starting to second guess himself. Though Rodney had brought John his formal air force uniform, the man had yet to attempt to get it on. Laid there in the bed, his hand almost absently stroking the ribbon metals on the uniform's left shoulder. He knew John hadn't recognized his approach when the wounded man startled when he spoke, "They'd understand if you're not feeling up to it."

The Colonel offered up his brash smile. "I'm fine. Just don't want to be in this monkey suit longer than I have to be."

Carson didn't believe that for a minute. His voice gentle not reprimanding, he contradicted John's claim, "I'm your doctor and I know you're far from fine. But I thought …getting out of here for bit…it might do you some good." A question in his kind eyes as they watched John's reaction.

That had John tilting his head, looking at Carson with suspicion. "Yeah, about that, you never let me go AWOL."

"It's not AWOL when I'm approving it. I think of it as a …little field trip," Carson corrected, added a smile to the words.

But John's eyes narrowed in further misgivings before he wagged his finger at Carson. "Wait, this is some…some attempt at a psychological therapy exercise. Everyone's been treating me with kid gloves…and now this?! This "field trip"!" His face darkened in anger. "If this is about me having a few bad dreams the past few days, hey, you see what weird stuff you start dreaming on the stupid drugs you have me on."

Let it up to John Sheppard to mistrust concern being shown for him. Carson's frustration had him shooting back a little testily, "It's not some….some therapy scheme! It's….you said….told them…." Then he clapped his mouth shut, hadn't meant to get angry with the man or say something that would hurt him or cause him to misinterpret the event they had planned.

John, however, had enough information to make a leap of logic and his face flushed with embarrassment. "They told you what I said…about Holland, about….wanting to properly …." But the last word got stuck in John's throat. He found he wasn't ready to say it in commonplace conversation.

But Carson said it for him, with earnest sympathy, "Grieve him. Yes. They told me. Major Lorne told me when he asked my permission for them to take you out of here for a few hours." John's eyes dropped to the bed covers, to his uniform, seemingly in shame. "But like I said, they won't be upset if we postpone it until you're feeling a wee bit stronger."

"Yeah, Holland's been dead four years, what's another few days huh?" self-hatred twisted in John's words.

Darn it, but Carson hated when his friends were in pain, maybe more so when it was emotional because he didn't have the skill sets to ease that type of hurt. All he could do was share his own pain and hope it helped. "I…I missed my father's funeral. Was away…well, you know the kind of things that come up working for Stargate Command." That had John's eyes coming up to his, waiting for what more the doctor would say. "So I visited his grave, alone. And it….was harder, being alone in my grief, knowing I'd….not been there…not when he passed and not even to….say goodbye."

"I'm sure he was proud of you, would never blame you for not being able to be there," John offered, knew if Carson's father had even an inkling of the goodness his son did, his words weren't lies.

Carson nodded his head in agreement, "Aye, I know it. But ….grieving is hard enough without….guilt and being alone in it. Losing someone you care about is a wound no medicine can heal."

"Only time, right? Healer of all things," but John didn't sound like he believed that at all, not with the bitterness hued in his declaration.

"Never really believed that. I think….good heals the bad. Good memories, good times,….good friends who'd do anything for you." Here Carson leveled a gentle smile at John as he qualified, "Friends that'd even go up against man eating lion like creatures for you."

John couldn't hold back a smirk at the specifics the doctor put in the last category. "Who would have friends stupid enough to do that?" he sallied back, a lightness breaking through the darkness in his eyes at the thought of his friends, of how they had come for him, saved him.

"My mum always told me that if I was a good friend, I would get good friends in return." But then Carson's lightheartedness turned into a reprimanding glare. "Course she never said my friends would be reckless idiots who never bothered to worry about their own wellbeing once in a while."

"Hey, I worry plenty about my own wellbeing!" John protested but Carson only grumbled a disbelieving, "Sure you do, Colonel."

Silence fell between them for a moment before Carson spoke, his tone threaded with emotion, "I know the others had their say…"

That opening statement had John shift uncomfortably on the bed. He had thought he had made it through all the heart to hearts about Koyla and the risk he had taken! Sighing, he grumbled, "But you want your shot at me."

Carson looked hurt at John's phrasing. "Not a shot, John. I'm not here to tear you down just…I know I do some blustering and lose my temper but…you should know that I'll always help you. Whether you get hurt on a mission, or ..or …slipping in the shower…or scaring years off me by risking your life right before my eyes. No matter the circumstances of you getting hurt, all I'll ever want is to heal you. So don't….hesitate… to come to me, admit when you're in pain."

Suddenly John knew what was prompting Carson's speech, that the doctor was feeling guilty for the internal bleed, that he hadn't caught it sooner. Also realized that Carson had somehow gotten it in his head that John had somehow suspected he was hurt worse and out of …distrust….or …pride…failed to mention it to Beckett. "Carson, I wasn't in that much pain. I didn't know about the bleed any more than you did."

"You were in a lot of pain but you..you…." Carson contradicted Sheppard's claim before sputtering in frustration and regret, "You downplay it like it shouldn't matter. When it bloody does matter!"

Not wanting to incur more of the doctor's wrath, John placated with an earnest admission. "What I'm saying is…I do trust you, Carson. Not just with my life but with my team's lives. Heck, all the lives on Atlantis."

His guilt not going away just because John forgave him, Carson stammered, "I know… I just….I'm sorry that I …"

"You saved my life, Beckett," John declared, cutting across Carson's guilty ramblings. "That trumps everything," was relieved when Carson's countenance lightened with relief, allowed him to steer things out of serious topics. "And if you help me into my uniform before Rodney gets back and threatens to dress me, I'll even try to be back here before midnight."

"Midnight?!" Carson's voice spiked nearly into an exasperated squeak. "You'll be back here in two hours or I'll come looking for you myself." But contrary to his drill sergeant tone, he was already pulling the covers off John and starting to gently ease John up. Swinging the wounded man's legs to dangle over the bed, he gave his patient and friend a probing look as John sat on the side of the bed. "How are you doing? You still up for this?"

Even with the aid of drugs, John was in pain, felt his chest tighten with each breath, his head swim with a wave of disorientation at his new upright position and his body ached from heel to hair, thanks to the tumble he did down the shale descent. "Yeah, I'm good," he hoarsely announced, hoped he wouldn't contradict himself and take a header off the bed.

"You're a bloody liar," Carson sighed, earning him John's trademark smirk. "But I was going to get you up out of bed anyway, might as well be for this instead of just having you wander around the hallway."

"I'd be very overdressed for the hallway," John teased back, patting his uniform, making his intentions clear that he wanted to do this.

"Alright, we'll take it nice and slow," Carson cautioned as he closed the curtain giving them privacy. He started with slipping the sling off John's arm and then carefully he began maneuvering the maroon scrub top over John's head. John hissed in pain when he moved his shoulder, felt Carson's eyes on him but he simply nodded his head, gave Carson the OK to continue. So it was a long process but finally John had his dress shirt settled over his chest, though not yet buttoned up.

It was at this moment that McKay entered the curtained off area without asking for permission, much like he tended to do when he stormed into John's room whenever he needed the man's advanced ATA gene for some project he was engrossed it. "Oh, thought you'd be all dressed by now," he briskly said in way of greeting.

John fought back the urge to grit his teeth at his friend's impatience and lack of sympathy. "Sorry I couldn't get my tie knot just right."

"You're not wearing a tie…" Rodney began in confusion before he got the joke. "Ah, you're being sarcastic."

"Yeah, I am, Rodney. So how about you go away and I'll meet you in the rec room," John suggested, would have made it an order but didn't think he had it in him to dredge up the old command tone.

With a smug smirk, Rodney shot down John's plan. "Nope. I'm your designated driver."

"Excuse me, Doctor Beckett," a nurse called from beyond the curtain. At that Beckett gave John a half apologetic, half devious smile and said, "Well, since Rodney's here, I'm sure he'll gladly help you get dressed, Colonel."

"No, Beckett….don't…" John nearly begged, but Carson patted his knee, gave him a wink and abandoned him, leaving Rodney shifting uncomfortable from one foot to the other and John vowing to pay back Beckett for his betrayal.

Knowing he didn't want to let John down, Rodney bucked up and took a step forward, nervously rambled, "I guess it's like dressing myself…but a little more ….personal…and awkward."

But John grabbed Rodney's hand before McKay could initiate contact; start to do something embarrassing like button up his shirt for him. "McKay, Beckett was joking. I'll get dressed and be out," he stated, jerking his chin toward the curtain, namely the other side of the curtain where he wanted Rodney to wait for him.

For a second, Rodney was caught off guard. Giving John a scientific once over, he checked off things like how pale John was, the stiff way he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the slight tremble to the hand that was now releasing his, not to mention the sling that was on the bed, waiting to be put on again, and the three sets of bandages peeking out from between John's open shirt at his shoulder, chest and side. It equated to…John needing help, his help. 'And I'm not going to let him down,' Rodney vowed to himself.

"Well, as much as I'd love to let you struggle to be all macho and dress yourself, we do have somewhere to get to before…I don't know, two weeks from now," Rodney drawled, because John expected caustic from him, accepted it, would handle that better than out and out concern and gentle tones. Then he pushed down his discomfort and John's and reached out, started doing up the buttons on John's dress shirt, rambled to keep them both distracted. "Major Lorne is running this memorial ceremony like a military operation. Made me swear to have you there at two pm sharp. He's much more ….military than you are."

"Ah, thanks, you say the nicest things," John snarked even as it was a bit surreal watching Rodney McKay button up his shirt for him. He was itching to knock McKay's hands aside but knew it would hurt his wounded arm and Rodney would whine and whimper and take objection to his denial of his help, regardless that it was help Rodney didn't really want to give. But John had already hurt Rodney once by rejecting his help before he did the whole coma thing, he knew not to do it again. In truth, he valued his friendship with Rodney too much to risk another break between them.

Meanwhile, Rodney was jabbering on. "Don't get me wrong, the Major and I are like oil and water but at least he's a believable military leader. While you?! I know your hair isn't up to code or the fact you hardly ever tie your boots up. Not to mention…."

"Don't do up the last button, I like to breathe," John interrupted Rodney's attempts to fasten the button at his jugular.

"Oh, ok," Rodney said, dropping his hands before he tried to be all business. "So what's next, jacket or…pants?"

"Rodney, really, I got it from here," John replied, not wanting to prolong the awkwardness for either of them.

And as much as he would feel more comfortable vamoosing the scene, Rodney had, not for the first time, determined his friendship with Sheppard was more important than seeking out his own comfort. Or safety as the case had been on too many missions for Rodney to want to tally. So he forfeited the free pass Sheppard was offering to him. "No, no, Beckett was going to help you but he got called away so you're stuck with me. Let's do pants. Can you….Can you stand? If not we'll just…

"I can stand," John grumpily insisted, not knowing if he was lying or not. 'One way to find out,' he thought as he did more a slide off the bed instead of the hop he wanted to. Knew his caution wasn't out of place when his legs threatened to buckle on him.

In alarm, Rodney called out, "Sheppard!" as he caught the sagging Colonel under John's good arm and around his waist and propped him back against the bed.

Getting his knees locked, John reached out and put a hand on Rodney's shoulder to steady himself, met Rodney's wide eyed and worried expression with a chagrinned expression. "I'm good now."

Not sure if he should take Sheppard at his word, Rodney slowly pulled back from his friend, breathed out a pent up breath when John seemed capable of standing on his own. "You said you could stand?!" Rodney snapped, upset at how close he had come to not reacting in time, that John had almost collapsed because of his stupid bravado.

"I can stand, I am standing," John bragged, preparing to shuck out of the scrub pants before Rodney grabbed his hand, stopped his motion.

"Wait!" Rodney demanded before he stammered out, "You're not…you don't…you're not commando under the scrubs, are you? Because I seriously am not comfortable…"

Seeing an opportunity to avoid more of this embarrassing scene, John decided a lie was worth it. "Yes, Rodney, I'm going commando. Now skip behind the curtain and I'll get myself changed…"…

"You're lying?!"Rodney sputtered, couldn't believe Sheppard was making this even more humiliating for the both of them.

"Boxers, Rodney! I wear boxers!" John gruffly provided.

"And you couldn't have said that, what five minutes ago!" Rodney railed back.

John couldn't hold back a smug smirk. "More fun to traumatize you."

"Oh, ha ha, can see you really appreciate my help," Rodney drawled. "Ok, let's get this moving along."

But John held out his hand, halting Rodney from touching him. "I got the disrobing part handled, Rodney." And to prove his point he dropped the scrub pants to the floor, revealing tasteful boxers that came down to his mid-thigh.

Having purposefully busied himself getting John's uniform pants, Rodney turned back to John and instantly exclaimed, "Holy crap! Your legs?!"

"Hey, they aren't that white?! I'm a little tan …but I tend to burn so…"John prattled, though he knew it wasn't about his lack of tan that had Rodney flipping out.

"A little tan?! You've got more colors going on than a 1960's hippie van?!" Rodney exclaimed at the sight of the deep bruises running up John's legs from his socked feet right until his boxers. "When ?! How did…"

"Tumbled down a cliff, remember. By the way, I wouldn't recommend doing that," John supplied before Rodney got into full rant mode.

Rodney paled at John's explanation and the consequences of John's "tumble." "Crap, right, I forgot. I mean, I didn't forget but since I didn't see it happen and you, Mr. macho, didn't bother mentioning being in pain, from like the worst bruising I've ever seen on one person. No wonder you're been fidgeting around in bed, trying to find a comfortable position," he said in sympathy, as he eyed up his friend's bruised legs before he raised his eyes to John's. "And this bruising goes…." He gestured from John's legs up the length of John's body to his neck.

"Haven't looked at my back but probably," John downplayed, didn't need to see the bruising to know it was there, probably worse than his legs if his pain was any indicator.

"Oh, crap, that's not…sorry, I didn't know. Makes dressing oneself not an easy thing, huh?" Rodney offered, suddenly very glad he didn't bail on his friend when he needed him, even when it was something out of his wheel house like helping him get dressed.

"Yeah, pretty much," John confessed, owed it to Rodney to be truthful, to let him know in a roundabout way that he appreciated the help, even if he hated needing it.

And Rodney didn't undervalue the trust John was putting in him by letting him help, at almost admitting he needed the help. "Right, then off with the old, on with the new," he said as he bent down, ordered, "Put your hand on my shoulder," which, surprisingly, John did without argument. Then Rodney tugged John's scrub pants over his feet one at a time and then slid the dress pants on, let John take over the procedure once the pants were at John's knees. But as John settled the pants on, Rodney remained close in case his friend lost his balance.

Then wordlessly, he picked up John's uniform jacket, slide it up John's arms as carefully as he could, though John still grimaced in pain at the shifting required by his shoulder. Jacket in place, Rodney again used his buttoning skills, did it up to John's jugular like he knew was proper military attire protocol.

Unashamedly meeting Rodney's eyes, John humbly said, "Thanks Rodney," meaning it for more things than helping him get dressed.

Rodney cleared his throat, "Yeah, sure. But we're not done," he nearly singsonged as he picked up the loathsome sling. He dared to smile at John's look of distaste before he gently maneuvered the sling unto John's wounded shoulder and settled John's arm in the fabric's hold. "Now you're good to go."

"Yeah, great," John grumbled, was even less pleased when Beckett decided to reappear then…and with a wheelchair in tow.

SGATSGATSGATSGAT

Carson and Rodney insisted the wheelchair was nonnegotiable and maybe he did appreciate it, knowing he felt like crap and standing up for five minutes let alone walking to their meeting area would have depleted more energy than he had. But he wasn't admitting any of that out loud. And Rodney wasn't even a bad wheelchair driver, was maybe taking it a little too slow but John's head was already protesting the motion so again, he didn't complain.

Rodney rolled him into the small rec room and as much as he thought he was braced for this, he found that he wasn't. Not when he was met with a table bearing Trevor Holland's picture and other pictures…of himself with Trevor, of their other Air Force teammates with Trevor, of a time John had tried so hard to bury. And that hadn't been right. Because, like Carson had said, good memories, they healed. But in his grief and guilt, he had buried the good with the bad.

Then the other occupants of the room approached him: Evan in his full air force uniform and Teyla and Ronon. Gesturing to the wall of pictures of Holland, Teyla timidly said, "I hope you do not mind. I …I…got the pictures from Holland's wife," suddenly afraid she had crossed a line contacting John's friend's widow, that the pictures were causing John pain instead of healing.

John gave her a bittersweet smile. "No, it's …it's good, Teyla." His eyes came to rest on the photos again, his hands ghosting over the pictures of him and Trevor, laughing, enjoying life and their service together…not aware of how it would end.

Not liking the sorrow in John's eyes, Ronon handed John a drink with a gruff, "Here," wanting to break the man out of his despondency.

Sniffing the drink, John discovered it wasn't alcohol. "Juice, wow. Quite the wild wake," he tried to joke but his team's smiles were forced. Then his friends seemed to share a silent communication with each other. Wordlessly, Teyla, Rodney and Evan broke away to the food table, leaving Ronon standing by John's chair, both soldiers looking at the pictures of John's friend.

It was easy for Ronon to see the comradery between John and Holland in the pictures. They had been warriors at each other's sides, yes, but more than that. They had been brothers in arms. A lot like he and John were. Ronon couldn't imagine losing John, remembered how close he had come to that fate times before but the past few days….it had teetered on the brink of happening.

Clearing his throat, Ronon began speaking. "On Satedan, we honor our dead with tattoos. But since I didn't think Carson would let me tattoo you while you were unconscious…." Ronon handed John a leather cuff bracelet with a hand tooled design in the leather. Ronon pointed to the checkered pattern encircling the band. "This is the Satedan symbol for remembrance."

"Like the tattoo on your arm," John surmised, saw a pleased smile emerge on Ronon's face.

"Yeah, just like it." Then Ronon pointed to a box in the pattern that had a few marks John didn't recognize. "This says Holland in Satedan." When John fell silent, his fingers brushing over the leather embossing, Ronon shifted nervously on his feet. "You don't have to wear it. I just….thought….but it's probably stupid…." Feeling foolish, he tried to take the bracelet back but John shifted it out of his grasp.

"No, Ronon, it's…" John felt choked at the gift, the sentiment, the time Ronon had put into making it for him. Looking up to his friend, he earnestly declared, "Thanks, Ronon. And I'm…honored to wear it." Made to put it on and Ronon instantly helped him snap it into place. Then Ronon seemed embarrassed by the moment, the emotions he himself was feeling, so he abruptly announced, "Well I'll….get you something to eat," and walked away.

Nervously making his way to John for his turn, Rodney was encouraged when Ronon clapped him on the shoulder as they passed each other. Reaching John's side, Rodney hesitated a moment, uncertain if his gesture was the right thing to do but in the wee hours in the morning it had seemed like a way to honor John's friend. 'Hope this doesn't make Sheppard feel worse,' he silently prayed before he handed John a folder, prefacing it with, "I unredacted it, the briefs that earned him his medals."

Opening the folder, John instantly recognized the picture of the medal on the first page: the Distinguished Flying Cross. Below the picture were the mission details that earned Holland the medal. Turning to the next sheet, John saw the Purple Heart Medal, and to Rodney's relief, John smirked, hoarsely told him, "I was on this mission. Trevor bellyached about us being overqualified taxi drivers but when we got into the thick of it, he was the one to take out the artillery firing on us. He saved my butt in the process and the ten soldiers I was "chauffeuring". He took some fire in his left shoulder, I teased him it was little more than a papercut and he gets a Purple Heart for it."

The next pages listed the Unit awards: Presidential Unit Citation and Gallant Unit Citation and the Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal. Peering down at the pages John was reading, Rodney pointed out, "You were in the same unit at the time, got these medals too." John nodded, had remembered the way it felt getting the medals, like it was worth it, that they were making a difference.

"Clearly Captain Trevor was…a brave man. Honorable," Rodney declared, watched John's eyes go for that thousand yard stare, maybe lost in memories. "John…he wouldn't….the way he died…..it was doing what he believed in. He wouldn't want you to feel guilty that you couldn't save him."

Hoarsely, John conceded, "I know. He…he told me that…that it was Ok…I just.." he rubbed his eyes, fighting back the threat of tears, as the last moments with his friend replayed in his head. "He told me I did good, that I wasn't failing him. That he didn't want me to die with him."

Rodney felt his own throat thicken with unshed tears at the tremble in his usually stoic friend's voice, at John's recall of his friend's last words to him. "When I looked up his medals, I found another one….a recommendation he made." Rodney waved Major Lorne over. "Major would you read this…"

Taking the paper, Evan's eyes scanned it a moment before he looked to McKay, nodded as if in approval. Teyla and Ronon gathered around as well as Evan began to read. "Major John Sheppard, USAF is awarded the Aerial Achievement Medal award for meritorious achievement above and beyond that normally expected of professional airmen. Briefing as submitted by Captain Trevor Holland, "Major Sheppard risked his life in the defense of a medivac operation that was under heavy artillery fire. Without thought for his own safety, he did a low pass by the artillery stationed on the ground, drawing their fire on three occasions, giving the medivac copter time to get the wounded on board. With Major Sheppard's final pass, he destroyed the artillery and laid down a suppressing barrage until the medivac helicopter was out of range of small gun fire. The wounded, my crew and I would have all been lost if not for the selfless brave actions and unparalleled flying abilities of Major Sheppard."

John smirked, the gesture both sad and full of affection. "I knew he was the one who submitted the request for me to get the medal but he never confessed up."

"It wasn't about him, sir, it was about you," Evan confidently replied, feeling like he knew a little more about Holland after looking over McKay's research on the man's military career. "He wanted them to honor what you did. Clearly he was proud to serve with you."

"He always said he was crazy to serve with me," John recalled with a chuckle.

"That criteria for dealing with you certainly helps," Rodney joked, earning him a mock glare from John.

Looking to his watch, Evan suddenly announced, "Sir, I have something to show you. Can I…" and he gestured to John's wheelchair, asking if he could take control.

John good naturedly agreed with "Sure, lead away, Major." Then Evan was rolling him toward the balcony. He set the wheelchair brakes, situating John by the railing before he hailed someone on his radio. "Gentlemen, you have the green."

Suddenly, three jumpers zoomed across the sky in tight formation and John felt his throat close, knowing what was coming. The jumpers maneuvered the sky above Atlantis side by side and then John watched the jumper to the right break off from the other two and soar high overhead on its solitary trajectory. Grief hit John hard watching the aerial memorial of the missing man formation. But before he could drown in the sorrow, Ronon's hand came to rest on his unwounded shoulder and gave it a squeeze and Teyla crouched down beside his wheelchair, sliding her hand in his. To his right, Rodney was blinking hard as he watched the jumpers maneuver overhead and Evan was saluting for John's fallen friend.

Swallowed hard, John found his voice. "Guys…thanks….Trevor….he'd love having honest to God space ships giving him a last tribute."

"Well, we owe him our respect and our gratitude," Evan announced as he dropped his salute and turned to his commanding officer. "I read enough of Holland's mission briefings to know that you wouldn't be alive, here with us, if it wasn't for him."

Ronon spoke from behind John, his hand still on his friend's shoulder, "Yeah, he saved your life before any of us ever met you. So to me, we owe him more than we could ever repay."

"So do I," John quietly vowed, and regardless of the pain it caused his shoulder, John raised his right hand in a salute to his fallen friend as the solo jumper streaked home and it felt….right this go around, the respect he was bestowing on his lost friend. He wasn't caught up in guilt and pity and fears for his own future this time. Could say goodbye and honor Trevor's bravery, especially at the end. Silently, he sent a sincere thank you to Trevor for his forgiveness when he couldn't save him, for Trevor's gratitude that he had come for him, hadn't been alone. And John knew now how important that was, not being alone. His team, his family had not left him alone and, even in agony, fighting to stay alive, it had been a comfort like nothing else could have been. In that moment, he had understood the true value of what he had given Trevor, not one of life saving, but one of love and friendship to the very end. It was maybe even a worthy gift for Trevor Holland's friendship.

Teyla squeezed John's hand, earning his attention. "We will have tea now and you can tell us more about your friend."

"I'd like that," and John meant it, wanted them to know the man Trevor had been, didn't want his friend's memory to be about pain anymore but about friendship, about courage and duty and honor. All the things Trevor valued above his own life. A man not very different from the people with John right then, people that cared enough about him, about his hurts to do this, to honor a man they never met.

John could almost hear Trevor joking by his ear, telling him that he didn't have to stick around anymore to bail him out of the trouble his crazy macho exploits got him into, that John was in good hands, had others willing to protect John in his absence. And for maybe the first time since Trevor's death, John felt some of the guilt over surviving all the scrapes with death he had had, on earth and now in the Pegasus galaxy, lessen. Started to believe that maybe it was ok he lived when better men hadn't. It gave him the chance to honor their memories, to continue the fight for good they had started and had not the time to finish, time for him to maybe become the man they believed he could be.

And he had people to help him achieve that, people that he would kill for, die for, but more than that. For these people, this family that he had gained here in another galaxy, he found it in himself to not give up, to live, even when, at times, dying would be far easier. But to die would be to leave them, and he didn't want to do that, couldn't do that. And he knew without a doubt, that they wouldn't let him do that, would fight for him, always.

He found himself smiling, even gratefully, as Teyla handed him a cup of tea and his friends settled around the table to celebrate the life of Trevor Holland. With a small exhale, he began to speak about Trevor, not without pain, but without guilt. Could revel in the good memories, and take comfort in the good company with him.

Trevor had on more than one occasion teased him for being the luckiest idiot to put on a uniform and strap on a gun, and today, John finally agreed with him. He was lucky, no, he was blessed, the people gathered around him proved that.

SGATSGATSGAT – epilogue - SGATSGATSGAT

A few days later, John had finally gotten Carson's blessings to recuperate in his room. Though there were random unannounced checkups by the good doc, as if Beckett was hoping to catch John doing something he wouldn't approve of like escaping his room or off taking a jog. But even with his release from the infirmary, he was still relegated to a wheelchair if he was going for a long journey, to like the mess hall or the rec room his team had unofficially turned into their private movie theater.

A room he entered now, not of his own power but by Ronon's fast paced wheelchair pushing efforts. "Here's good," John announced as they crossed the threshold of the room, planned on walking the few steps to the couch. Ronon, however, ignored him and only stopped their momentum once he parked the wheelchair by the couch.

"Thanks James," John griped, though Ronon didn't get the movie chauffer reference. No, the big tough wraith killer was too busy seizing onto John's elbow and helping the man stand up, take the scant one step to the couch and then guiding him down to sink into its depths before releasing John's arm from his grip. 'And I thought Carson was a mother hen,' John silently groused, hadn't expected the big Satedan to be so….nurturing.

As if to contradict John's assessment, Ronon tossed a blanket right into John's face with a "here".

Somehow, John felt better with that rough treatment, like Ronon wasn't an alien after all, I mean he was but not…you know, not not himself. John tossed the blanket aside because, contrary to how everyone was treating him, he wasn't a frail old man, didn't need a blankie. However, the next second Teyla scooped up the blanket and gently settled it over his lap and down his legs, even tucked a pillow behind his head. He opened his mouth to protest but her sweet but resolute smile had him giving up the idea of rejecting her "kindness."

Then Elizabeth and Carson entered the room, each bearing bowls, while Evan trailed behind with water bottles in his hands. Elizabeth stopped by John, gave him a warm smile that he never tired of being the recipient of. "You're looking better."

"Well, you know, the UV lights in my room are helping to even out my tan," he joked, liked that she simply smirked back instead of pressing him for an emotional response or even a truthful one.

Rodney snorted as he passed by them, "Your legs, contrary to your claims, seriously need a tan."

"I'll work on that the next time I'm in Tahiti," John quipped back, nodded his thanks to Elizabeth when he was presented with a bowl that, to his enjoyment, was filled with popcorn.

Then Evan was there handing him a water bottle. "Sir…" he began.

"No sirs. We're both off duty, Evan," John cut him off with a grin.

Evan's toothy smile was a welcome response. "Thanks…John, for asking me to join the party today."

"Well, like it or not, you've been drafted into the inner circle. And trust me, it's a scarier career move than joining Stargate Command," John teased with affection for the younger soldier.

Evan chuckled. "I don't doubt that, Sheppard. My tours in the Middle East were spa days compared to this first solo mission with you."

"Come on, who doesn't want an awesome 'I was chased by savage beasts' story to tell their children?" John enthused to which Evan and Rodney replied simultaneously, "Me!" Grumbling "killjoys" under his breath, John began chumping on his popcorn. "So Rodney, what's the movie? Ronon wouldn't tell me." And John did not like the gleam in Rodney McKay's eyes one bit.

"Hold your horses until everyone's settled," Rodney sallied back and it was a few more minutes until everyone took their places. Carson and Elizabeth chose the small couch while Evan had the lazy boy chair. Ronon claimed a spot on the couch besides John, his big frame shifting the couch cushions and causing John to topple his way, but the Satedan easily caught John's shoulder and righted him before they could collide. Teyla sank down on the floor by John's legs into an Indian style pose, leaving the space to John's right open for Rodney who was standing by the tv, waiting for his audience to be ready for his big presentation.

Assured he was the center of attention, Rodney smirked and began his planned speech. "Sorry to say, I couldn't get "Brotherhood of the Wolf", well not in English, only in French. Stupid DVD company. I call that discrimination and if I could have…."

Before he could dive further into his rant, Elizabeth prodded, "Rodney,"

His frustration derailed, Rodney regained his smirk. "Anyway, so my second choice, you'll be pleased to know, is in English." And then he held up the DVD triumphantly: The Ghost and the Darkness embossed the DVD cover with a menacing picture of a lion and the two main stars of Michael Douglas and Val Kilmer.

John and Evan shared a look across the room, fighting back grimaces. Neither one of them were apparently thrilled to watch lions, or lion like creatures, for two hours, knowing the experience was sure to conjure up memories that continued to haunt their nightmares. But they were military men, and therefore had no intentions whatsoever of backing down and showing weakness.

Again waving the DVD cover in their faces, Rodney finally got around to putting the dvd in the player. Then he sank heavily into the couch beside John, obliviously jostling the wounded man. But John was saved from ping ponging off Rodney with his injured shoulder by Ronon, who, instead of yanking John clear of Rodney, reached over John's shoulders and put a big hand on Rodney's shoulder, insuring the man didn't bump into John.

"What?" Rodney obliviously groused at Ronon's manhandling.

Not bothering to enlighten the man, Ronon simply removed his hand now that the crisis had passed and settled back into the couch, his long legs stretched out.

Dismissing Ronon's invasion into his personal space, Rodney grabbed the popcorn bowl on the side table and enthused like a teenager, "I haven't seen this movie in a long time so if I do some startled jumping, don't criticize me too much."

"Oh, we'll criticize you as much as we want," John readily replied, really hoped Rodney jumped more than he did, because otherwise, this could get to be really embarrassing.

Evan also piped in with a, "We will absolutely pick on you if you so much as flinch."

Both the Colonel and Major found themselves tensing up as the movie started where Rodney cued it to. But it strangely wasn't a moving picture but an animated film flickering on the screen. And then there was honest to goodness singing… foreign …African singing… that was strangely familiar to both men. A beat later, the movie's title page came up: "Disney's Lion King."

"I opted for the sing along version. Hope that doesn't get too spooky …spoil the drama for you," Rodney snickered, loved his joke as words appeared at the bottom of the screen: lyrics for "Circle of Life".

John grabbed the pillow behind his head and playfully whacked it into Rodney's face but the gesture only had Rodney giggling. To Sheppard's left, Ronon was practically falling off the couch, he was laughing so hard. The Satedan sputtered between his laughter, "The look on your faces," pointing to John and Evan, "…like you were going to see your first horror movie."

"Hey, you were pretty freaked by your first horror movie," John grumbled back, liked it better being the teaser than the teasee.

The next jive came from an unexpected source of Teyla. "Maybe this is more …terrorizing because it is the sing along version."

Glaring down at Teyla who was leaning against his leg from her position on the floor and looking back at him with a devilish smile, John scolded, "You too, Teyla?! I thought you were above this."

Without a bit of remorse she let out a giggle. "No, no I am not, John. Ronon is correct, your faces…" she burst into real laughter and then the room erupted into laughter from all but Evan and John.

Deciding it was pointless to try and be uptight about this, John shook his head and smiled, saw Evan was already smiling. No denying it. They had been had but good. Reaching over, John patted Rodney's knee, "Good one, McKay. You had us going."

"Oh, I know I did," Rodney gloated, tossing popcorn in his mouth and still smugly grinning like a fiend at John.

And John almost asked Rodney why they weren't watching "the Ghost and the Darkness" because clearly Rodney had the movie, had used the slip case to disguise "the Lion King" DVD. But the serious look now in Rodney's eyes as they held his stopped him, it was a look of concern, and care, like Rodney knew what John's question was. Suddenly John didn't need to voice his question, had his answer. They weren't watching that movie because Rodney wouldn't do anything to intentionally hurt him, didn't want to risk drumming up bad memories for him. His best friend had instead tricked him into watching a harmless kid's movie.

When John opened his mouth to thank him, Rodney cut him off with a quiet, "Watch the movie, Sheppard."

John smiled and nodded his head, knew they didn't have to talk about it, Rodney knew that he knew. So he settled back onto the couch, groused a bit when Rodney tucked the pillow back under his head but it did make things more comfortable.

They were in the middle of one of Scar's singing numbers when John's head tiredly lulled onto Ronon's shoulder. And it was surreal, watching a cartoon, a freaking sing along one at that, and him using Ronon as a pillow without a hint of pride. Strangely, his brother's prediction about him came to mind and he realized Dave was right in a way. He had burned all his bridges and ended up on an island, because wasn't Atlantis that? An island?!

But after that, Dave was wholly wrong because he was far from being alone. Was in the best company a man could ask for, more than he deserved, surely, but he wasn't complaining. Sometimes you didn't get what you deserved…you got what you needed. And this, them, Atlantis, he needed each of them, even when he thought he didn't, said he didn't. But no matter all that, they had stayed by his side. And he trusted them to never make themselves scarce when he needed them and, right then and there, he vowed he'd do the same.

Giving up the fight to keep his eyes open, he heard Rodney crunching on popcorn beside him, felt Teyla on the floor resting against his right leg, and Ronon's dreadlocks were tickling his face but he was too tired to lift his head from the taller man's shoulder. Nearby there was Evan and Carson and Elizabeth.

It was all irrefutable proof that he was no longer just part of an expedition but he was surrounded by family, his family. A family that would always take care of their own, any way they had to. Even if that meant picking him up when he faltered, time and time again. Or, you know, making the really scary sacrifices, like watching a sing along cartoon with him to keep his nightmares at bay.

SGATSGATSGATSGAT

The End

SGATSGATSGATSGAT

Thank you so much to every single person who reviewed this story! You were the encouragement I needed to keep writing and keep posting until the story was done! And a shout out to all the silent readers as well! I have had a great time sharing my story with you all!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.