This was written for the secret Santa exchange over on LJ (link can be found in my bio). And yes, I'm aware it's February. I am the last straggler, but there are a number of wonderful fics there for you to peruse, and I urge you to do so. Takes place S5 endish time. Spoilers through then; to be more specific would ruin the story, sorry! Sheppard and Rodney friendship plus the team, natch, and some special guest stars. Will post the conclusion tomorrow; at almost 20k I didn't want to make it too big a chunk to bite off. Oh, and it's ShepWhump! duh :) If you've read anything I've written, that's a given. Thanks as always for reading and I hope you enjoy it. Props to my two cheerleader cum betas, Kristen999 and Negolith, without whom this fic literally would not have been written. Rated PG-13 for a few curse words.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? — To die, to sleep, —
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; —
To sleep, perchance to dream: — ay, there's the rub… W.S. Hamlet (III, i, 65)

---S---G---A---

"That was, without a doubt, the worst mission, ever."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Rodney," John sighed.

"No wraith," Ronon grunted from behind them.

"And no Michael or his creations," Teyla chimed in.

"Yeah, and no life sucking bugs, Replicators, body swapping, forced nudity, torture-"

"Yes, yes. All good arguments," Rodney grated out. "Fine. It was the worst mission that didn't include any of those things, and really? You had to bring up the nudity thing again?"

"It was part of a long-ass list, is all," John said with a smirk. "I will agree that it was a crappy–"

"Crappy? A particularly colorful and wholly inadequate way of describing that…"

"Crap?" John said, fighting and losing a grin.

Rodney lifted, barely, an arm heavily laden down with mustard yellowy grey muck. He lowered his nose a half-inch and grimaced. "It even smells like-"

"Crap, Rodney. Let's keep it PG, 'kay?"

But Rodney wasn't altogether wrong. About the smell or how rotten the mission had turned out. John shivered, then wriggled uncomfortably in the pilot's seat.

The…muck… mud… whatever ninety percent of the planet's surface was comprised of coated each of the bedraggled team members from head to toe. And the smell- the stench… gah. It was worse than what he'd been hit with during Torren's last diaper change. And the appearance wasn't all that dissimilar.

With a long sigh and a swipe of a slightly less mud covered back of his hand across his mouth he shifted again. The mud was apparently everywhere. He rolled his head on his neck, fighting a headache and wishing he could just pull the jumper up to his quarters and head straight for a long shower and bed. Sleep had been elusive for the last week or so; he'd fall asleep when his head hit the pillow only to awaken a few hours later, wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling. He'd tried putting in extra running time, cutting back on the coffee, and even tried warm milk the night before but nothing had worked. But after a physically exhausting and mentally numbing day like today had been, he was certain he'd sleep like a baby. And the idea of it put a smile on his face despite the everywhere mud.

--S--G--A--

The little smile grew as they disembarked from the jumper to a wide-eyed crew. He knew they must've been a sight to see; four mud creatures slurping and sloshing their way out the back. He hooked a thumb at the craft and nodded at the team leader. "Hey, Granville, she needs a little extra detailing before she'll be usable again."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant answered with a half-hearted salute and a dismayed grimace at the state the craft was in.

The sight of Jennifer Keller at the entrance to the infirmary, arms folded, flanked by nurses in hazmat gear, wiped the smile completely off his face.

Before he could protest, Rodney shouldered his way through, coming to a dripping stop in front of the doctor. "What's with the getups? If there'd been a contaminant the city sensors would've locked us down before we got past the jumper bay."

"A contaminant, Rodney?" Jennifer said with raised eyebrows. "Have you smelled yourselves?"

"Oh, I'm sorry if we offend, Jennifer. Just give us our checks so I can go soak for a millennium in my tub."

"Nope, nuh uh. There is no way you four get anywhere near my pristine infirmary in that… state. Gah! That stuff is…" She waved a hand in front of her wrinkled nose then turned the hand into the go signal for the nurses. "Decon showers first. Not up for any further discussion," she added at Rodney's opened mouth. "Go."

John sighed but nodded at the team. A hot shower in his quarters was number one on his wish list right now, followed closely by his head on his pillow and an extra blanket for good measure. A cold, chemical-filled shower… not so much. But he allowed himself to be herded into the decon, scrubbed and then scrubbed some more. The water was tepid at best and the brushes left his flesh pink and raw, but as he donned the scrubs handed to him, he had to admit that it did feel better to be rid of the stench even if it had left him colder than before. The fumes had been noxious to the point of giving him a headache.

In fact, sitting on the gurney, feet swinging as he waited for his nurse, John contemplated the flat thing that passed for a pillow, picturing himself curling up, closing his eyes…

"Sorry for the wait, Colonel."

He smiled at Lt. Harrison and stuck out his arm, figuring the faster they were done, the sooner he could get done.

"Oh, you are in a hurry," the nurse grinned. "Well, I'll be quick."

And she was. Jennifer came in as the thermometer was being pulled from his ear, picking up the chart pad and giving it a quick, almost offhand perusal.

"Huh. You cold, sir?" Harrison asked as she noted down his temp.

"Immersion in freezing muck and forced dunking in a decon'll do that to you, Lieutenant," John said with a wry look.

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Thought it was bad enough hearing it from Rodney. You know, I'm still getting calls from all over, people finding the trail you left from the jumper bay."

John scratched at his nose and smirked as Harrison showed Jennifer the thermometer.

"96.1? Is this right?" Jennifer asked with a frown.

"Well, I might still have cold shower water in my ear," John replied with a slap of the butt of his hand against his temple.

Jennifer placed her hand on his wrist, then on his cheek. "You are cold. Cadence, could you grab the colonel a blanket?"

"Jeez, Doc," John sighed as he slipped off the gurney. His cause was lessened slightly by the wince as his bare feet hit the cool infirmary tile. "I'm headed to bed. I hang around any longer and you'll be sticking an IV in me."

"Warmed saline would help," Jennifer replied with a sly smirk. "Okay." She checked her watch and nodded. "You heading to the mess? If you are—"

"Nope. Not hungry. Cold, tired, but not hungry. If you see the gang, tell 'em I've settled down for a long winter's nap."

"Sounds like someone's taking the Christmas spirit a little too literally. And early."

"I'll let you know if visions of sugarplums dance in my head. Whatever the hell they are."

---S---G---A----

Not even bothering to think on the lights, John made his way to his bathroom, stripped off the scrubs and stepped into the shower. Thanking the Ancients again for their attention to personal comfort, he nudged the water hotter, standing under the hot spray until his skin felt boiled; but at least he'd lost the chill of earlier.

Minutes later he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel slung around his waist, and another covering his shoulders. With a groan he sat down on his bed, looked at the clock and considered maybe it was a little early for sleep. He had paperwork and a football game loaded for viewing and if he put the game off to another day he knew there'd be no way of staying unspoiled for too much longer.

But his heavy eyes and the draw of his pillow were too much. He dried his hair quickly and brusquely, tossed the towels in the hamper and donned a soft tee and flannel boxers before peeling back the blankets and rolling himself into a cocoon of cotton and wool.

Two hours later, after repeated pillow fluffings, checks of the bedside clock and flipping from side to side, John finally gave up and thought on the lights.

Pillows jammed behind him, blanket pulled up to his neck, he grabbed his laptop and dug through his drawer for some power bars and an only slightly soft apple he'd stored there while the game loaded up.

"You know, for someone who slept for-" Rodney checked his watch with a smirk- "What, eleven hours? You look like something my cat dragged in."

"Shuddup, McKay," was the decidedly surly response he got.

"Oh, you wound me. Seriously. What's wrong? You could pack socks in the bags under your eyes."

John glared red-shot eyes through heavy lids. "Can it. Can't a guy just eat breakfast in peace without derisive comments about his appearance?"

"Why is McKay making comments about your appearance?"

Rodney looked up to see Ronon approaching with a tray heaped with breakfast enough to feed at least three grown men.

"I was merely observing that Sheppard looks like nine miles of bad road," Rodney replied, his eyes pinned on a muffin perched precariously atop the mound of food.

"We only did four miles and it was our normal route," Ronon grunted, then slapped Rodney's hand as it reached for the muffin.

"Ow! What?"

"You were grabbing for--"

"No, not the muffin. Please, it wasn't like I was being stealthy. I mean, 'what?' as in what did you say?"

"You still have mud in your ears, McKay?"

Rodney rolled his eyes but surreptitiously wiggled a finger in one ear. "No." He glanced over at John. The clearly exhausted man's head rested in the palm of his hand- the only thing holding the precarious position aloft- with his elbow on the tabletop.

"No, I just can't believe you guys ran this morning is all. Looks like Sheppard was on the Bataan Death March instead of a jog."

"Shuddup, McKay," came a muffled rejoinder.

"Yeah, you used that witty remark already. Seriously. Did you sleep at all last night?"

John dropped a tired hand, swiped up a banana and began dejectedly peeling it. "Just a little insomnia. Hey, I caught the MAC title game. Buffalo knocked Ball State outa the bowl…"

With a scowl the pilot took a bite from the fruit. "Talking to the only two guys in the city who don't know or care what I'm talking about," he said around a full mouth.

"Gentlemen…"

Rodney scooted over as Teyla joined them, bouncing Torren on her knee.

"Wow, you look like Sheppard." He waved a finger under his eyes. "A matched set of luggage."

"Torren is breaking in new teeth," Teyla replied with an aggrieved sigh, but she quickly turned an affectionately stern smile at the baby as she chucked him under the chin. "It makes him most disagreeable."

"That what's bothering you, Sheppard? Or is it diaper rash?" Rodney smirked.

At the baleful glare he held up a hand. "Yeah, I know. Shuddup, McKay."

"Actually, John… Rodney is right. You do look tired."

"Okay, okay," John huffed as he threw down his banana peel. "News brief. I couldn't sleep last night. End of story."

"We can go for another run tonight," Ronon offered. "Maybe tire you out?"

"Tired enough, big guy, but thanks," John replied. "What's everyone got on tap for the day?"

Rodney knew a change of subject when he heard one, and though he was tempted to call the man on it, he began a lengthy description of the prank he had planned for the unfortunate geologist in the office next door to his who played his music too loudly, and refrained from commenting as he saw John's head fall back into his hand and his eyes close.

"Well, was this mission better than the last?" Jennifer asked as the team walked in. "You smell … um, marginally better."

"Ha ha," Rodney huffed as he sagged onto the gurney and began stripping off his vest. "You try a forced march in the middle of the Mojave in July and then we can talk."

John sat down wearily and kicked back on his own neighboring gurney. "Ah, buck up, McKay. It was maybe ninety there. Nothing compared to the Sistan Basin."

"Yes, we all just love it when you remind us of your time in Afghanistan. I'm not GI Joe, remember? You are."

"No, McKay," John sighed, his heart only half in the jabs. "You're much more of a Ken doll. Nothing between--"

"Gentlemen!" Jennifer piped in. "I can see you're all in fine spirits. I'd almost rather have you mud covered than like this."

"Sorry, Doc," John said ruefully. "Just a little--"

"Cranky. The colonel's like an overtired toddler right now. He needs a bottle and a diaper change."

"Cram it, McKay," John growled with real anger that surprised him- a little.

"See? A few nights without sleep and he's been reduced to this," Rodney responded with waving hands.

John steamed as he saw Jennifer turn appraising eyes on him.

"No sleep for how long, Colonel?"

Rubbing at the back of his neck, John debated how honest to be with her. It was just a little insomnia - nothing to get her fussing over. But at this point he wasn't above looking for a little bit of pharmaceutical help.

Best bet. Shave some time off. "Four nights."

"Four?" Jennifer's eyebrows rose to her hairline. Good thing he didn't tell her how long it'd really been.

"Come on," Jennifer said with a crooked finger. John sighed but slid down off the gurney and followed her deeper into the infirmary. But not before mouthing, 'you're a dead man' to Rodney.

He heaved himself onto the bed and waited while Jennifer gave some orders to Harrison. No doubt to drain off a few vials of blood and other fluids amongst other treats.

"So," Jennifer started as she pulled the curtain. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Just a little insomnia. No biggie."

"When we say four nights without sleep, are we talking…"

"No sleep. Zip. Nada."

"Ookay. Maybe not a biggie but not a smallie either. Usually when people say they got 'no sleep' they really mean they tossed and turned, slept but woke frequently or after a time."

"No means no, doc. Bedside clock and the up to date paperwork along with three filled Sudoku books and the whole set of WWII DVDs I finished can attest to that."

"Something on your mind?"

"Nothing more than the usual," John sighed. "The whole galaxy hating us, the continuing travails and tribulations of the Todd Problem. Supplies. What to get Woolsey for Christmas."

At the last Jennifer laughed. "Bosses are tough. When I first started I bought Carson a bottle of whiskey. Irish whiskey as it turned out. I had no idea. If I have a light beer I get - well, anyway. So… same old same old. Something else going on? Headaches, pain?"

"Headache now, yeah. But it goes away with Tylenol. No, I really have no idea. I tried stopping coffee after two, then noon. Then I cut it all out except for my eye-opener. And I've gotta tell you, one cup ain't putting much of a dent in it. I tried workouts, hot showers. Warm milk, which is just - gah."

"Well, you've already tried most of the tricks I have in my bag. Let's give you a go over, shall we?"

"You know I live for it, doc," John sighed as he pulled off his shirt.

----S---G---A----

"So what's the verdict, doc?" John asked, now dressed and leaning against the doorway to her office. He rubbed his fists against his itchy eyes and got caught mid-yawn as she turned from her computer.

"Not guilty," she smiled. "Notice I didn't say innocent. There's nothing wrong that I can find. Your temp is still low, which is weird since you just got back from the Mojave as Rodney put it. The rest of the team was all mildly hyperthermic but you're actually still on the low end of normal, which probably means you'd be even lower without the tropical vacation."

"You saying I'm cold, doc? You wound me," John mocked with a hand over his heart.

"Actually," she smirked back, "it's normal for the body to slow down a bit and conserve when sleep deprived." She picked up an amber bottle and handed it to him. "Try one of these tonight. No operating heavy machinery," she mock instructed with a waved finger. "And yes, that means jumpers. I'm grounding you tomorrow til we see how this works out. And no whiskey, Irish or otherwise. Not even one of your secret stash of Stellas either. This stuff is strong."

Of course, being told he couldn't have one made him think wistfully of how a cold beer would taste but he nodded dutifully and gestured with the bottle. "I'm taking these on a full stomach, doc. I'm starved and there's roast beast for dinner tonight."

"Roast b--"

"Best not to ask. Save you a seat?"

"I uh, think I'll have a salad in my office, Colonel. But thanks. And say hi to the Sandman for me."

---S---G----A---

John patted a belly full of beast and a side of what passed for potatoes and let out a generous belch in the privacy of his quarters. He'd managed to stay awake through dinner and Rodney telling a really lengthy joke that involved knowledge of esoteric physics. Radek had sneered at the punch line, then muttered something in Czech before sweeping up his tray in a huff and walking out. John had managed a weak grin before picking up his own tray and following suit. The amber bottle beckoned with the promise of a full eight hours of much needed sleep. Hell, maybe even ten. He was grounded anyway and he badly needed a re-charge.

He began pulling off his Henley, then shivered as the air hit his full belly. So he changed into sweatpants, hurriedly crawled under the covers and huddled there for a minute, waiting until the shudders he was suddenly wracked with subsided. His hand still had a slight tremor as he grabbed up a bottle of water and the pills.

His fingers were numb with cold. Damn childproof top. He finally managed to fumble the bottle open and let the small yellow pill sit on his tongue as he cracked open the water. With a hasty gulp he swallowed it down, put both of them back on the bedside table, not even taking the time to close them up, so he could pull his hands back in under the covers.

What the hell? It felt like his quarters were literally freezing. With another curse he threw back the covers, yelped as his feet hit the floor and stumbled over to the thermostat. His eyes burned and he rubbed them roughly before peering at the readout. 68. He normally liked his quarters a little cooler, usually bumping the heat down further for sleeping, but now it felt arctic.

He practically dove back into bed and snatched up his earpiece and shoved it in place before pulling the covers to his chin.

"McKay!"

A moment later he heard Rodney's peeved voice in his ear, cafeteria chatter in the background. "I thought you were supposed to be in la la land."

Ignoring the jibe, John barked, "Is there something wrong with the temperature controls?"

"No. I mean, no. No, I would've been alerted if there were any problems. Why?"

"Because my quarters are frickin' freezing, that's why."

"Hold on a second…"

John huddled tighter while he waited, resting his head back on his pillows, closing his weary eyes.

Then it hit him and he sighed. Jennifer told him he was cold and why. And it had nothing to do with the temperature controls in his quarters. If he hadn't been so half-mad with exhaustion it would've occurred to him first.

He snuck a hand out of the covers and tapped his ear with a sigh. "Rodney…"

"God! You're so impatient! I haven't even had time to ring your chime."

"My what?"

Then his door alert chirped and he shook his head, knowing he was about to be confronted with a pissed off physicist shortly.

"Come in," he said as he thought the door open.

Rodney came storming in, data pad and sensor tool in hand.

"You really think it's cold in here?" he started as he headed for the thermostat. "I thought you liked it like an icebox in here anyway? You said all that time in McMurdo made you immune to the cold," he continued snarkily. "You always whine when you come to my quarters and say it's too hot, but the human body works best when it's kept at a nice cozy 75." He had the panel off and a sensor stuck in it before John could even say anything.

"It's reading 68, just like it says," Rodney said as he turned around and got his first real look at John.

"My god, you're really cold."

"My thermostat is broken."

"No, it isn't. I told you I just—"

John tapped his head. "This one. Sorry, McKay. Keller told me it's normal. Conserving energy or something. I'm just… sorry, I'm just not firing on all cylinders right now."

"Oh." Rodney dropped the data pad to his side. "Really? Just from a little insomnia?"

"I haven't slept in almost a week, Rodney," John muttered as he snuggled in deeper. "But the doc fixed me up with some stuff so… sorry again about the false alarm."

"Yes, well. You actually saved me from having to listen to Pullman talking about the applications of some new exotic mildew they discovered in the lower levels. Get that man talking on mold and I …"

John looked pointedly, if a bit blearily at him. "Right. Keeping you from your appointment in the Land of Nod. Fine. Sleep tight. Bedbugs and all that. Night."

"Night, Rodney. Thanks again."

He got a hand wave as Rodney left his quarters; he waited politely for the doors to whoosh shut before thinking off the lights, pounding at his pillow and hunkering down for a hopefully lengthy night's sleep.

---S---G---A---

Three hours later John had gone through a few hundred sheep, mentally reorganized every team roster, struggled though the names of all his teachers, even for the barely noticed college classes like Sociology 101 where he was one of four hundred nameless faces in a lecture hall and he'd managed just enough attendance and the attentions of a cute and brainy girl in his row to pass the final.

He'd tried prime- not prime with himself but his normally razor sharp math skills had vanished with what he figured had to be a thousand brain cells that had died from lack of sleep.

His blood felt like ginger ale in his veins. Every time he felt like he was just… there. At the edge of falling over the precipice into sleep, his eyes would pop open and the clock would taunt him with its glowy green and slowly increasing digits.

He picked up the bottle of sleeping pills, thought the light up enough to make out the label. The tiny black print was a blurry smear that even squinting wouldn't make clear. "Damn it!" He threw the bottle down, only remembering he'd left it open as he heard the skitter of the pills as they spread across the floor.

With a groan he rolled over, flipped his pillow and pulled the blanket up tighter, tucking it in around his back and legs where it felt like a nor'easter was blowing in.

This is stupid! He was exhausted to the core of his being. Why the hell couldn't he sleep? Sleep was one of the things he did best. As a kid he'd exhaust himself with running, playing ball and working on the ranch. High school meant sports and more sports and then girls. Working to earn his first car. And more girls. College was more of the same and he slept like a rock every night. Even in the service the guys would all rag on him because he was the first to hit the bunks at night. And though his service and the particular… peculiarities of his work meant he'd been forced to forgo many a night's sleep, he'd developed the ability to catnap and recharge whenever needed. Cold dark cell, boring SGC meeting, long jumper trip or twenty minutes on paperwork days; he could always catch enough sleep to keep him going when needed.

This stuff is strong. Isn't that what Keller had said?

Okay. Miracles of medicine do your stuff. He cleared his mind of everything but a black, star-filled sky. Pictured himself alone in the jumper. Nothing but the vastness of space in front of him. He held that image, felt himself flying in peace and quiet, the only light from the pinpoint stars around him and the soft glow of the panel. His heavy lids closed down tighter and he felt his body melt into the mattress. It was working. It was working. It … his eyes sprang open and he stared at the clock. Ten minutes had passed. And he was wide-awake again.

"No, seriously," Rodney mouthed around a bite of donut and mouthful of coffee. "What do you want for Christmas?"

"Rodney, I told you." Jennifer put her own donut down and wiped at the glaze on her lips with a paper napkin. "It's not my job to tell you. The whole idea behind the gift-"

"It's the thought, yeah, yeah. Look. I'm thinking of you by asking what you want. Trust me. I am terrible at giving gifts. Especially to women."

"Give a lot of gifts to women, do you, Rodney?" Jennifer asked with a mischievous twinkle.

"Ha ha. I have bestowed my fair share of gifts on my fair share of women, I'll have you know. But I've noticed over the years that most of my romances seem to break up in January. You could practically flowchart it."

At her raised eyebrows Rodney sighed. "I said practically. Oh, come on! It's not like I can just schlep to the mall and buy whatever's in the Victoria's Secret window—"

"Victoria's Secret, Rodney? Do I look -- no wonder the women are fleeing by January if you think every one of them could be made happy by some expensive piece of dental floss shoved up their -- you know. Stuff like that is uncomfortable, impractical, and designed to make only the guy happy."

"What's wrong with that?"

Rodney winced as soon as the words had left his mouth. Even he knew it had been the wrong thing to say.

But before she could utter the stinging retort perched on her lips the sound of rapid footsteps approaching had them both turning their heads.

John stood in the doorway. Actually he more leaned against the frame, clutching the wood with clawed fingers.

His face was pale, his dark morning beard standing out in stark contrast and matched only by the shadows under his eyes. His hair was messier than usual and the disheveled and wrinkled combination of turtleneck, heavy sweats and half-laced combat boots made him look like a man on the edge.

"Sheppard…" Rodney whispered as he half-rose from his seat. "What the—"

John's face contorted into a sickly smile. "Good joke, doc."

Jennifer gave the man a slow, appraising look. "What joke, Colonel?" she asked softly. It occurred to Rodney that they were both treating him like an easily spooked wild animal.

"What? You think I don't know?" John continued with a tilt to his head. "You think I was making it up? Or it was all in my head?"

"Colonel … John. I don't know what you're talking about, but why don't you sit down before—"

"No! No, I don't want to sit down! I want to sleep! And you give me placebos??"

"What?" Rodney saw Jennifer's face go pale as she shook her head. "Colonel… the pills I gave you were real. And strong. Are you saying they didn't work?"

John barked out a laugh. "Do they look like they worked? This was all a big joke, right? You and McKay can chuckle about how you tricked me?"

Jennifer's eyes flickered over to her computer desktop then she stood slowly from her stool. "Colonel it's almost 0800. Are you saying you never fell asleep at all last night?"

"Does it look—" John's words faltered and he sagged against the doorframe. "I don't -- I don't understand…" His voice trailed off as a hand covered his face. "It's a joke, right? You can tell me. It has to be a joke. A giant, cosmic joke… right?"

Jennifer stepped over and placed a tentative hand on John's shoulder, leaving it there even after he noticeably flinched.

Rodney locked eyes with her in silent questioning but she just shook her head at him and gestured for a hand.

"Yes, it's all a joke, Colonel," Rodney said in an attempt at his normal acerbic tone. "Ha ha, did you hear the one where Sheppard got no sleep?" He stood and eased John away from the doorframe then guided him with Jennifer's help to the stool he'd vacated.

Jennifer was already tapping at her ear, turning her head to mutter quiet instructions while Rodney just stood aghast at the man literally falling apart before his eyes.

John was slumped on the stool, his fingers knitted into his hair and pulling. Pulling with a painful looking fervor that made Rodney's head ache just looking at him.

"So that's the secret of the hair, huh? That works for you?" he asked feebly.

But John made no response. He just kept muttering about it all being a cosmic joke.

Marie showed up, striding in with clear urgency but coming to a stuttering halt when she noticed John sitting there. Jennifer smiled but bent to speak quietly into Marie's ear. "I want a full rainbow drawn and a UA. And start an IV."

Marie nodded, then crept closer and tapped John gently on the shoulder. "Colonel?"

John looked up; his eyes were glazed, and he looked like a man who'd been on a three-day bender.

"Colonel?" Marie tried again. "Come on, I'll get you taken care of. Can you walk?"

He nodded mutely at her and rose unsteadily but shook off her hand from his arm. Instead he shuffled like a zombie beside her into the back of the infirmary.

Rodney waited until they were out of sight before wheeling on Jennifer. "What the hell is going on with him? You didn't really –"

"No!" Jennifer said, clearly appalled. "I gave him real medication that should've been enough to knock out a horse. Or a pony at least. Rodney, I have no idea what's causing this, but I'll run some more tests and –"

"I'll check the Ancient database," Rodney finished with a sigh. "And maybe run some diagnostics on the city… has anyone else reported anything like this?"

Jennifer considered for a minute. "No, not to this degree. Insomnia kinda comes with the territory around here," she said ruefully. "But I'm talking a few restless nights, not four or five nights without sleep."

"It was a week."

"Sorry?"

"Sheppard told me it was a week. Is that- is that even possible? Don't people die after eleven days without sleep?"

Jennifer smiled and rubbed his arm affectionately. "That's a myth, Rodney. I'm not saying it doesn't have a significant physical and psychological effect - you can see that for yourself," she added quietly. "But there are well-documented cases where men went much longer without sleep. And once they resumed normal sleeping patterns they were fine, without lasting effects."

She gave his arm a squeeze and turned to head back into the infirmary. "You can use my computer for your work, if you like. You know…"

She meant he could stick around. And Rodney loved her just a little more for it. "Yeah, sure," he said with practiced indifference. "May as well save myself the walk. And there're more donuts here…"

By the time Marie had handed him a set of scrubs and a dribble cup, John was mentally kicking himself for his outburst. He knew there was no way Keller would've ever played a trick on him like that. Rodney… maybe. The physicist had been in rare form lately. With the quiet after Todd's departure, Rodney had found his often idle hands and evil genius brain turning to stupid and annoying pranks. John had of course given back as good as he'd gotten.

Desperation had offered the only option he could think of, but the look on Keller's face had taken it away, and it left him foundering.

His mind couldn't see any other reason for it. Sleep is a basic, fundamental act. Like breathing. So why the hell was he finding it so impossible to just shut down and check out for a night?

With a sigh he wiped a shaky hand down his stubble-coarse face and turned to look at himself in the mirror. Jesus, but he looked like the walking dead. Like something out of George Romero central casting. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes, like two pissholes in the snow as his old man would've said.

Only you could fuck up something as simple as sleeping, Johnny my boy.

Numb fingers clawed at his turtleneck and he cringed as the air hit his flesh. Goose pimples covered his arms and he rubbed at them briskly before shoving the scrub top over his head, then again after the thin cotton shirt was in place. BDUs folded up with the turtleneck, he did his business and washed his hands, taking the opportunity to splash his face with water, not that it did any good to clear the cobwebs.

Marie was waiting outside for him. She was immediately at his side, taking an arm, and if that wasn't testament to how bad he must look…

"Did you—"

"It's on the tank," he brusquely answered. "Have fun with it."

"Always do," Marie smiled as she eased him over to a bed. She eyed him appraisingly then cocked her head. "Those scrubs aren't much. You want a blanket?"

"You're the light of my life, Marie," John replied as he shivered again. "Can you make it two?"

"Of course, Colonel. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

"Wouldn't think of it," he said with a long sigh as he lay back against the upraised gurney and closed his burning eyes. "Maybe I'll nap while you're gone. Ha."

He jumped at the sound of the curtain rings only a second later.

"Colonel, you look like you're getting comfortable," Jennifer said as she pulled the curtain closed behind her.

"I'm sure you're about to put an end to it, too," he muttered grumpily, but he sat up and attempted to keep his eyes open. "Hey, look… I'm sorry about the –"

Jennifer raised a hand and shushed him. "Sleep deprivation explains everything away, Colonel. I'm actually amazed you've been able to hold it together as well as you have."

"Yeah, well, that's not too well, doc. Seriously. What the hell do you think is going on? This isn't- this can't be normal."

Jennifer put her stethoscope into place and gestured for him to lift his scrub top. "Nope. Far from it."

"Way to make a guy feel at ease," he muttered, wincing as the cool disc hit his chest.

"To answer your other question," she continued as she moved the bell around, "I can honestly say I have no idea."

"Still not working, doc."

Jennifer dropped the scope and met his eyes. "I have no idea, yet," she said firmly. "But contrary to what Rodney would have everyone believe, I didn't pull my MD from a Cracker Jack box. Give me a little bit of time and I'll have you sawing logs again, okay?"

John settled the scrub top back in place and hugged his arms around himself. "Yeah, okay," he answered softly.

Marie came in carrying a pile of blankets and he quickly grabbed the top one and wrapped it around his shoulders. "Ooh, warm. You rock, you know that, Marie?"

"Always nice to hear, Colonel," the nurse said as she draped the other blanket over his legs. Then she pulled several tubes from her smock pocket along with a needle and rubber tubing. "Do I still rock?"

He sighed and stuck out his arm from the warmth of the blanket.

"Aww, no answer," Marie said with a smile as she wiped off a spot in the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad.

"I'll let you kids have fun and I'll be back" Jennifer said as she typed info into her data pad. "Marie, did he give you a—"

"In the bathroom," John muttered with a blush. Jeez, it was stupid but it embarrassed him anyway.

He let his eyes close as Marie tapped on his arm, wiped the area again, then tapped some more.

"Problems?" he grunted out.

"Can't find a good vein," Marie said distractedly as she concentrated on her job. "I think you're dehydrated."

"Can't be. I must've gone through three bottles of water last night. And I had no problem with the cup thing."

"Huh. All right, let's give this a try."

John flinched as the needle went in; the pain was unexpectedly worse than normal. "Jeez, Marie, you're usually a pro at this."

"Sorry, Colonel." The nurse's voice sounded concerned and he opened his eyes to see her shaking her head.

"Can't get this one." She sighed and pulled the needle out before slapping a cotton ball in place. Then she picked up his hand and began tapping the top of it.

By the time Jennifer returned with a smile that even through his bleary eyes John could tell was completely fake he'd been poked full of several holes and his patience, already thin as the completely ineffective against the cold scrubs he wore, finally wore through.

"Damnit!" he swore at the same time as Marie muttered 'got it!' With practiced hands she taped the IV catheter in place on his right hand and began drawing off what appeared to be a quart of blood into multi-hued tubes.

Jennifer just nodded and chewed her lip in what John recognized as hesitation.

"What?" was all he could muster.

"I was hoping I'd be wrong," she finally said. "But I ran the urinalysis and… You're pre-diabetic."

Of all the things John could have ever expected to hear from a medical professional, this was probably the last on a very - too long - list. "I'm what?"

"Sleep deprivation is known to increase insulin resistance. Your body isn't metabolizing sugars like it should…" She hesitated and chewed again. "Because your body normally takes care of glycolysis while you sleep."

He couldn't help the laugh. He knew it made him sound mad as a hatter but it was all he could respond with. The joke just kept getting better and more surreal.

With a swipe of his face he finally sagged, coughing out one last feeble chuckle. "So, what? I need to start taking insulin?" he asked incredulously.

Jennifer shook her head. "No, no we can manage it right now with a change in your diet and some medication. Look, this is going to right itself once we get you back into a normal sleeping pattern."

"Normal? Doc, there's nothing normal about this situation."

"No… no, there isn't. But give me some time to do a work up and I think a little sedation might be in order."

"More than a little," John sighed. "Can we get through the tests and move on to the sedation part soon?"

Jennifer patted his leg through the blankets. "Very soon. Promise."

Rodney felt Jennifer's hand on his shoulder before he heard her enter. He gave it a perfunctory pat, then went back to typing feverishly.

"I've run a full diagnostic on everything from weapons to waste management. I found an energy leak in the air conditioning system, but considering it's twenty degrees outside, I don't think it's much of an issue."

Jennifer rubbed her arms reflexively. "It's not that cold out, Rodney."

He sighed heavily. "Celsius. A superior measuring system, but since, of course, we have to do things the American way here…" He sat back from the computer with another sigh. "Christmas back home it'd be below zero." He smiled briefly. "Both Centigrade and Fahrenheit. So. What's up with him?"

She leaned a hip against the desk and took another look at her chart pad. "He's got some issues related to the long-term insomnia, but I can't find anything else." She rolled her head and cracked her neck ruefully. "I had some more tests I can still try but I figure maybe I should just get him to sleep and worry about why later. I set him up in Isolation, away from noise and disruption."

Rodney moved from the chair at her gesture and she pulled up a video feed on the monitor.

The room was dim but John could be seen in bed, curled up on his side, blanket pulled up so high and tight that little was visible beyond dark hair against the pillow. Black wires ran from his head to a monitor next to the bed. "Well, he looks comfy at least," she observed. There was a maternal softness to her voice that Rodney quirked an eyebrow at.

"Comfy? Have you tried sleeping in those beds? Narrow, thin mattress, flat pillows. And the blankets are scratchy," he added.

Jennifer just rolled her eyes and tapped another command into the computer. John's image was replaced by a readout with jagged lines streaming across the screen.

"His brain activity," she pointed out for him.

"Really? He still has some after all this?"

"Not funny, Rodney," Jennifer said. Then her scowl deepened as she continued to watch the screen.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, it's clearly not nothing."

"Well, beta waves can occur with sedation. But they should be more rhythmic."

"I can catch anything resembling a rhythmic mathematical pattern in my… sleep," Rodney started, then grimaced. "But there's no discernable pattern there that I can see. What does that mean?"

Jennifer shook her head but kept her eyes on the readout. The sharpness had started to ease from the lines, the mountains becoming more gradual rolling hills. She brightened and turned with a smile. "There we go. Theta waves," she gestured with a hand at the screen. "Relaxed and on the edge of sleep. We should see them flatten out to delta soon. Although I can't believe he's managed to fight off the sedation this long."

Rodney snorted. "You're surprised Sheppard is fighting something?"

"True," she smirked. "Well, at least it's confirmation he's as comfortable as he looks. I'm still mystified as to what triggered such a severe case of insomnia. Maybe a neurotransmitter imbalance…"

When she trailed off Rodney hmphed. "Yes, well. You have that look."

"What look?"

"That look that says you have a puzzle and will be terrible company until you solve it."

Jennifer hit him on the arm. "Wonder where I picked it up from? But you're right. I have a lot of work to do. And you—"

"Do as well." Rodney sighed and leaned over to pick up his now cold coffee and the donut half left ignored during his diagnostic.

His eyes glanced at the computer monitor. The rolling hills had become Alps. Sharp and packed so closely together they were almost on top of each other.

"What the- ?"

Jennifer pulled the screen back towards her and gasped. "That's -- he should be completely sedated by now. It's impossible..."

With another click of the mouse she pulled up the video feed.

John was sitting straight up in bed, his knees pulled up, his hands covering his face. When he dropped his hands the glow from the monitor next to him reflected off moisture on his cheeks. Then his fingers knit into his hair on either side of the EEG leads and began tearing again.

Rodney's eyes went wide and his heart dropped. His voice was an awed whisper. "He's wide awake."

John turned his aching body over and opened his eyes to slits, observing his visitor observing him. Two days of tossing and turning in the hospital bed had his back in knots, and he was getting tired of being remotely stared at to boot.

When he saw the expression on Keller's face he sat up a bit, wincing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "The last time a doctor approached me looking like that I found out I was turning into a bug."

Jennifer didn't crack a smile.

"I got the results of the last brain scan," she replied instead, hugging the data pad to her chest. "You have damage to your thalamus. That's the region of the brain that controls sleep."

"When?"

"When what?"

"When did it happen?" John asked. He had no recollection of hitting his head. And the last few missions he'd been on prior to his problem starting had all been run of the mill and mercifully free of traumatic events. "When, and how did I damage it?"

"It appears that it's been going on for some time. It's not damage the way you're thinking, John."

Oh, shit. She only called him John when things were bad.

"It looks like it's been going on for some time. It's a plaque, building up in your brain, ripping… holes, in it."

"If this has been going on for 'some time'," John bit out angrily, "why haven't you picked it up before? I've been scanned head to toe a dozen times this year alone."

"Yes, yes you have," Jennifer replied, taking a half step back in response to his rancor. "For broken bones. Bullets. Foreign entities hitching a ride. The thalamus is a very small area of the central brain. Without cause, there was no reason to ever hone in and look at it. The timetable we have, with your symptoms showing almost a week and a half ago, would show that's when the plaque reached a critical level and began forming the cavities."

He scrubbed his face roughly then dropped his hands to his lap. "So. How do you fix it? Surgery?"

Just the thought of his skull being opened up with a bone saw sent a wave of dizziness over him. The whizzing blade, cutting through --

"--No, John. I'm sorry. There is no surgery that can fix this."

"No…" It him then. Hard. This wasn't going to be fixed. This was… "You can't fix this, can you? You can't fix me."

"I'm sorry, John," was her quiet, almost barely voiced response. "This kind of damage… it only gets worse. I'm trying to find out what's causing it. Maybe if I can find a way to stop it from getting worse, if we can halt its course, we may be able to find a way to-- I'm not sure. Maybe a medical coma. Maybe stasis."

"I'm hearing a lot of maybe's, doc."

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, her head lowered. She couldn't meet his eyes. "I don't have much else to offer you."

"That's… that's great, doc. That's… that's just… just fucking great." He grabbed the IV in his hand and ripped it free, tossed it onto the bed.

"Where are you going?" Jennifer gasped as he slipped off the bed and pulled his boots out from underneath.

"You just said there was nothing you could do for me. So why the hell should I stay here?" He shoved his feet into his boots and tried to ignore the fact that Jennifer was now crying and that his legs were threatening to fold underneath him.

"Please. John, you have a real medical problem that needs supervision. You can't just –"

"Watch me."

"He's on level 17 of the North Tower."

"How long has he been there, Rodney?" Teyla asked, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Only twenty minutes," Rodney sighed as he put the LSD on the table. "It took him half an hour just to get there, and he used a transporter."

"I do not understand how he still manages to wander so."

Ronon grunted and allowed a small smile. "It's Sheppard. Never underestimate the man."

"But it has been almost two weeks now," Teyla said with obvious dismay. "That long without sleep would bring down the strongest of men."

"When I was running, I went once nine days without sleep. By the time I found a place to hole up I was shaking. Could barely see. He won't be able to keep it up much longer."

"Which is why I do not understand why he isn't in the infirmary. Or at least has someone with him."

"Because he won't stay in the infirmary and he won't let anyone keep him company," Rodney said tiredly. He lifted the LSD and tapped the screen. "He's still moving." He let the detector drop back and turned to meet Teyla's worried visage. "Look, Jennifer finally got him to agree to stop by the infirmary for regular visits and she's got one of these things to follow him with, too. There's a med team on call if needed. Sheppard is just… he's got that whole solitary man thing. Said he doesn't want us to see him… deteriorating."

"Keller have any ideas yet?" Ronon asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I found some records in the database that referenced something similar happening among the Ancients. They though it was a sign that they were close to Ascension. That when the insomnia kicked in that it gave them more time to meditate and do all that… stuff… that they did. Do. Whatever. Jennifer seems to think that as their time… dwindled, that the lack of sleep made them hallucinate. They probably 'saw' things that made them think they were closing in on Ascension. She said, um… she said they enter a state of psychosis. Then a stupor that they never awaken from."

Teyla folded her hands and studied them before looking up. "And does Jennifer think that John is… readying for Ascension?"

Ronon snorted and pushed back in his chair.

"You do not believe in it, Ronon?"

"Doesn't matter what I believe," the big man answered. "Matters what Sheppard believes. And I don't think he's a sit and think about higher things kind of man. He's a man of action, a soldier. A warrior."

Rodney waved his hand, interrupting a philosophical discussion he had no intentions of getting involved in or listening further to. "Doesn't matter. Jennifer has the records from my… near brush with… whatever it was gonna be, and she said his brain waves are actually the opposite of where they would need to be. No, she was more intrigued by the genetic connection."

"Because John carries the gene of the Ancients," Teyla observed. "And—"

"And maybe the gene he got was one of those that caused his condition. Or something like that."

"And if she finds out what the gene thing is doing?" Ronon prompted.

Rodney sighed and picked the detector up. "Who knows. Look, I think we should concentrate on keeping Sheppard alive while Jennifer works her voodoo. We have to sleep, of course, but since Sheppard doesn't, I say we take shifts; make sure one of us is awake at all times."

"If he finds out we're shadowing him…"

"You were a runner for how long?" Rodney bit out. "Don't let him. You and Teyla can both do that stealthy thing."

"Yeah? And you?"

Rodney picked the detector up and sighed. "I've decided on the more direct approach." He tossed the LSD to Teyla and stood from his chair. "Here. It's already activated. Ronon, I'm going to guess—"

"Don't need one."

"Right. I'll take this shift if one of you wants to try and get some sleep. I'm on my second pot of coffee so I should be good for a while. If you need me, apparently I'll be on level 17 of the North Tower."

-----S----G-----A------

John was leaning on the railing, staring off at the grey sea below. A strong wind was blowing, ruffling his hair and the fur around the collar of the coat he wore.

"Looking for whales, Ahab?"

John turned at Rodney's question but shifted his gaze back to the sea without a reply.

"I thought you were cold," Rodney said curtly. It was cooler out here on the balcony where the breeze carried sea spray and Rodney blew on his fingers before shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Wind feels good," John said softly. "On my face. My eyes."

His eyes. The few peeks Rodney had gotten of them had been telling as to how far John had declined. They were sunken and dry, shot through with so much red the white was practically obliterated.

"Yes, and you'll be kicking yourself when you end up with pneumonia. Seriously, can we go in, please? It's cold out here. And I'm Canadian. I know from cold, and this is cold."

John shook his head, never tearing his gaze from the water.

"Oh, for…" Rodney stepped up closer, next to John and looked out at the sea. "What has you so entranced that you'd risk more time in the infirmary? Oh, and speaking of which…" He dug his hand out of his pocket, carrying with it a foil wrapped tube of candy. When he got no response to his statement he poked John in the arm with it.

His attention finally drawn, John turned his head to stare at the proffered item. "Mentos?"

"Yes, Mentos," Rodney sighed. "Don't just stare at them, take the roll."

John reached out with a pale, shaky hand and took it, but said, "I don't want candy, McKay."

"Did you eat breakfast?" Rodney asked with a heavy sigh. "You didn't, did you?" he continued, already knowing the answer. "The meds you're on lower your blood sugar when it's too high. When it's not high enough…"

He waited for John to fill in the answer then waved. "Hello! Hypoglycemia. I can tell you from personal experience that the condition is hellish to say the least. I'm supposed to keep glucose tablets but they only come in fruit flavors I suspect may sometimes have citrus in them and …The point is, you need sugar."

John blinked once, then twice before fumbling at the paper covering. Rodney shoved his hands back in his pockets and fought with himself not to rip the roll away and open it himself. But he breathed a sigh of relief when John finally managed to squeeze a mint into his mouth.

"Chew it. And then another three or four," he instructed shortly. He turned to stare at the sea but kept John in his peripheral vision and nodded as he saw John's jaws working at the chewy candy.

"Looks like Lake Ontario in January," Rodney remarked with a shiver. "God, I hate winter. It's not fair."

What's not fair, Rodney? he mentally answered for the still chewing pilot. "Our old planet didn't have a real winter like this one. I miss the seventy and sunny every day thing we had going."

"Always liked winter," John mumbled around a second candy.

Rodney turned and gave the man an incredulous look. "What could there possibly be to like about winter? Snow, ice, frostbite, slush, salt ruining your pants and shoes. Brushing off your car to go to work, then again before you can go home. And the smell of people jammed together on the TTC, all wet wool and fur and—"

"Snow days."

Now it was Rodney's turn to blink. "Come again?"

John smiled as he closed off the end of the candy roll and handed it back. "Snow days," he repeated.

Rodney just shook his head and scoffed. "Puh-lease. Every day should've been a snow day back home. It just meant another layer, another muffler, a slower trudge to the bus stop and dodging snowballs. I swear, just because I told Mrs. Garrow that Trevor and Ian stole my math homework so they could copy it, it was no reason for turning Phillips Park into a fricking ice grenade battlefield…

He trailed off as he heard an odd sound. His eyes grew wider and he fought a grin to maintain his hurt expression as John continued to chuckle. "Oh, and I suppose you feel I deserved to be a target? I couldn't even move fast… all those layers…" He finally gave up and smiled. "I was like Ralphie's little brother. I can't put down my arms," he choked out with a laugh in a fairly good impression from "A Christmas Story".

"It's what I was picturing the whole time, Rodney." He smiled wider. "Randy."

"That's what the kid's name was," Rodney agreed with a remembering nod. Then a particularly strong gust came off the water and he shivered, not failing to notice that John's was more of a full body quake. "Can we please go in now?"

John nodded but it was more his head stuttering on his neck. Another blast of air hit him in the face and he closed his eyes against it as his shaking kicked up another notch.

"Okay, now I'm not asking," Rodney said sternly, placing a hand on John's arm and tugging.

"Y-you got any m-more of those m-mints?" John asked, his eyes still closed. Rodney felt John's weight shift to lean more heavily against the railing. "Think I just n-need m-more sugar."

No, you need sleep, Rodney thought but didn't voice. He got a better grip on the slippery fabric of John's coat sleeve, stepping up to the man's side to sneak an arm around his waist. "C'mon. I heard the kitchen was making peanut butter brownies for lunch today. Let's get inside and maybe have a few with some hot chocolate. The kind with those stupid tasteless marshmallow bits in it that you like for some unfathomable reason."

John mumbled something that sounded like 'mom,' then his knees folded and he began slumping to the floor of the balcony.

"Oh, jeez, no, you don't" Rodney groaned as he tried holding the man upright. With his hands both holding onto the now unconscious man he couldn't get one up to his radio but he was reluctant to let him lay on the cold metal beneath them.

"Sheppard! John! Oh, this is so not – "

Suddenly the doors to the balcony slid open and Ronon was there, striding over to lift John seemingly effortlessly into a fireman carry.

"What? How did you know?" Rodney finally stammered out.

"Told you he couldn't keep it up much longer," Ronon grunted as he gently shifted John's weight and began walking towards the doors.

"But how - where?"

"I was being stealthy."

_____________________end part one______________________