Through an Acre of Fire I Would Travel, a stargate: atlantis fanfic

Title: Through an Acre of Fire I Would Travel

Author: Linziday

Length: 11,700 words

Notes: Originally posted at DW for the SGA reverse big bang challenge. I wrote this fic in response to an artwork prompt. That artwork can be seen at my LJ, though FF won't let me post the link...

Huge thanks to Stealth Dragon, beta extraordinaire! Also, huge thanks to in_the_bottle for the beautiful image that inspired this fic! Takes place in some vague period after the end of the series, so spoilers for all seasons. Warnings for bad language and mentions of painful things done by bad people. Fic title borrowed from the image title… which was borrowed from the song Kellswater by Loreena McKennitt.

It started with a flash of white light and pain.

Then nothing.

Tarm frowned at the scribbles on the wall. They were wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. With a frustrated huff he swiped at the fifteenth line with the underside of his arm, sending it into oblivion. His sleeve was already dusty with that day's failures and it wasn't even time for morning meal yet.

Tarm's frown deepened into a scowl and he resisted the urge to swipe his arm across the entire wall, all three walls, and erase everything. Sometimes the numbers and symbols felt right, like their meaning was there, right in front of him, and all he had to do was keep scribbling. Other times they felt wrong, incomplete, incomprehensible. Taunting.

Tarm filled in a symbol, erased it, put in another. The familiar dull pain throbbed behind his eyes, and he squinted against the weak morning light as he erased again, replaced the symbol with a number, then erased that too.

It wasn't working. How long had it been since the scribbles felt right? Days. Weeks. Longer, if he was being honest with himself. But he woke every day before full light to work on the wall, pausing to eat only when someone in the village delivered food and stopping for rest only when the night's shadows covered his work. If even then. He had been eating and sleeping less and less, trying to get more time on the walls, trying to make everything make sense. Last night he hadn't slept at all. He sat on his sleeping pad and stared at the jumbled writing by the light of his last candle.

Tarm pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to rub away the dry, gritty feeling there. He was so tired. So very fucking tired.

He couldn't keep doing this. He was torturing himself, looking for answers where there were none, in numbers and symbols, scrawls and squiggly lines. It was stupid. Stupid. He dropped his hands to his sides. The writing blurred in front of him. He was Tarm and no scribbles on his wall were going to change that.

He was Tarm.

"I am — "

An echoing whoosh from the valley cut him off. For an instant Tarm froze. He didn't need to cross to his watch tower window to know what that sound meant.

Someone was coming through the ring of the Ancestors.

John adjusted his grip on his P-90. M1X-124 was supposedly friendly, a longtime trading partner of the Athosians, but he wasn't taking any chances.

"Three leaves," Parrish was saying behind him. "Brownish red with white streaks along the veins."

"Does the plant provide berries or flowers?" Teyla asked.

"White flowers. Uh, little ones. Tiny," Parrish said.

When Teyla didn't respond, John turned. "Problem?"

Teyla shook her head, but she was frowning slightly. "The berry plant is easier to find. The flowered version grows here as well, though the patches can be well hidden. We will save time if we ask the Etharns for its location rather than seek it on our own."

John cursed. That's what he had been afraid of. "There's no way we can —"

"I am sorry, John. If time is important —" And it was. They all knew it was. Biro said Lt. Kelly Alvarez had just six hours left before her poisoning became irreversible. They needed that plant for the antidote and they needed it now. "— then we must meet with the villagers."

John nodded grimly and strode forward, taking point, trusting Ronon to cover their six. In the middle Teyla would keep an eye on Parrish. The dirt path out of the valley was clear and wide, an obvious road to the village. John's grip on the P-90 tightened.

They were quiet as they walked. Once or twice Parrish said something to Teyla, but even those words were murmured, easily carried away by the light summer breeze. There were no complaints about the sun, no loud predictions about a fatal allergic reaction to the insects that flew around them, no grousing about how they should have taken a jumper to save time, save energy, save someone's life because those bugs really looked a lot like bees. Just quiet. It set John's teeth on edge.

The distant building was at first unassuming. Tall, stone. Probably a turret or steeple attached to a smaller building. They'd seen similar on a half dozen words.

No, not a turret, John corrected himself as they got closer. Freestanding. A room at the top with a large window on one side, facing the direction of the stargate. It looked almost like —

Behind him Parrish whistled low and soft. "Wow."

A lighthouse?

"It is a watch tower," Teyla explained. "Unique to the Etharns."

"Watch tower," John repeated. "To watch for . . ." But then he filled in the blank on his own. "Wraith."

Up close the tower was even more impressive — as tall as a five story building, smooth stone bleached white from the elements. John craned his neck to peer at the top. Three stone walls, one wall of solid glass.

"The tower bell is supposed to signal the arrival of traders," Teyla said with a faint note of confusion. "But I have heard no bell."

"Could they have stopped manning it?" John asked. He didn't like inconsistencies.

"Perhaps," Teyla agreed. But to John's ears her tone clearly said "No."

Dammit.

They needed that plant. They needed the villagers to find that plant. But he didn't know what they were walking into.

John was tempted to send Parrish back. Hell, he wanted to send all three of them back and go on ahead by himself. But he knew Ronon and Teyla wouldn't leave him. And Parrish was the only one who could identify the parts of the plant they needed and calculate the amount they had to take.

"Fine, we go on," he said to Teyla and Ronon. "But if this thing starts going sideways, you two take Parrish and get your asses back to the gate. No matter what. I'm not —" going to lose someone else "— playing around here."

They did go on, more cautiously, as John shifted his P-90 minutely, almost-but-not-quite into position. They were a good hundred yards away before he cast a glance back at the watch tower.

A shadow moved away from the glass.

Tarm signaled the village as soon as the strangers emerged from the ring. They obviously weren't Wraith. Three men and one woman. Dark clothes. Weapons. Sacks. They were most likely traders.

Though.

He stood back from his window and watched them walk up the rise. He'd seen traders before but these people were. . .different. He took a step closer to the window. Then another. The hair at the back of Tarm's neck prickled.

The four people (team, his brain supplied in a whisper) stopped at the path's edge. The man in front drew his head back to gaze at the top of the watch tower and Tarm backpedaled from the window in a moment of panic. He didn't like people. Didn't like talking to them, interacting with them. People were messy and stupid and they hurt you and —

Tarm's breath was coming in quick gasps. He stumbled back even farther, tripped and sat on the floor, hard. He plunged his upper body forward so his head was between his drawn up knees. His head hammered to the time of his heart, quick and sharp. It took a long moment to get enough air to chase away the sense of suffocation, then long moments more to get his breathing under control. His heart continued to race as if he were running for his life.

He heard voices outside, muffled by the stone walls, indistinct. He raised his head. The voices were moving away.

Legs shaky, Tarm braced himself against the wall and got himself up. He made his way to the window, pulled by a gravity that was stronger than he was. The team was heading toward the village. He didn't like people, but there was something about these people, something that gnawed at him like his daily work on the wall.

Tarm rubbed at the spot between his eyes where the headache was worst. He had to erase those damn scribbles. He had to eat something. He had to sleep. He —

He had to know more about those people.

For a moment Tarm was caught in indecision, torn between staying where he was safe and going to the village where he could discern more about these people. His head screamed at him to stay, but his hand twitched toward the doorknob.

He had to know.

Tarm set the automated alert system he'd created for those days when he was too exhausted to watch the ring, then he turned from the window and, for the first time in weeks, descended the tower stairs.

The village was peaceful when they got there. Men and women slowly emerged from the squat stone dwellings that dotted the village, starting their day with quiet greetings and easy conversations. Light smoke rose from the central cooking building, and John caught the scent of something salty as it wafted by. The cheers of playing children drifted over from a nearby field.

No weapons. No danger.

And no one looked at all surprised to see them.

"Riah," Telya said warmly to an approaching woman. "It is good to see you again."

The woman, short and thin, with graying hair and a soft smile, reached out to clasp Teyla's shoulder. They briefly touched foreheads. "You as well."

"We heard no arrival bell," Teyla said. "We were concerned."

"All is well. Very well," Riah said, her smile widening. "Tarm has created a less. . . obvious way to alert the village to comers."

"Tarm?" Teyla asked.

"Our watcher."

Teyla raised an eyebrow. "Only one?"

"The duty is no longer shared." Riah spread her arms in a gesture that conveyed both regret and powerlessness. "He wishes to remain in the tower at all times."

Teyla still looked puzzled, but John didn't have the luxury of a longer explanation. The village was safe, his team wasn't in danger by being there. They had to start searching for that plant. He opened his mouth, but Teyla either sensed his intention or, more likely, came to the same decision.

"Riah," she said, "we have a need."

Tarm lingered behind a particularly large tree just outside the village center. He was not hiding. Was not. It was a strategic choice, a spot that allowed him to see and hear the newcomers without being seen himself. And anyone who said otherwise was incomparably stupid and shouldn't be allowed to —

Tarm ducked back into the shadows as the biggest of the strangers swept his gaze across the tree line.

Despite his strategic location, Tarm was missing some of the conversation. Riah was always soft spoken and the strangers didn't seem inclined to make her speak up. He shifted, pressing his side against the rough bark of the tree while he twisted his head so his ear was just clear of the trunk.

He just barely caught it when the woman said, "Tarm?"

His body jerked, instinctively ready to run, but he clutched the tree and forced himself to stay. The stranger said his name, yes, but her tone was puzzled and the word sounded foreign on her lips. She was tasting the name, testing it. Likely repeating after Riah. She didn't know him.

The woman went on — something about an ill friend and the help they required finding a plant. Riah's words were still indistinct but her tone was dismayed, then hopeful. The woman spoke again, then one of the men, then there were sounds of the villagers gathering in the center.

They weren't traders then, but they might as well have been. They didn't know him. He didn't know them. He had equated them with his scribbles before and he did so again now: His sense about both were wrong.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, stepped from the shadow of the tree and turned to go.

"Tarm!" Riah's voice rang out, so bright with surprise and delight that Tarm winced reflexively.

He turned, an excuse ready — The food delivery was late again— but the words died before they left his lips. The strangers were staring at him.

Tarm took a step back.

One of the strangers, a man in black, took a step forward.

"Rodney?" the man called, his voice filled with astonishment, disbelief.

"I - I-" Tarm swallowed back the rising sense of panic. "I am Tarm!" he shouted back.

Then he bolted.

John distantly heard Riah explain in a rush that Tarm had come though the gate during the last harvest, injured and ill with no memory of his past and he —

John took off after him.

"Rodney!" he yelled, following the other man as he crashed through the forest. John tripped over an exposed root, went down hard on one knee. He struggled to his feet cursing the bulkiness of the P-90 and wishing he'd thought to drop it at the village center. He started running again. "Rodney!"

Rodney looked back over his shoulder, eyes wide. John didn't think it was possible, but he picked up speed.

"Rodney!" John tried again. Then, dammit, "Tarm!"

The other man tripped, going down harder than John had, momentum sending him in a somersault across the forest floor. John pulled out a burst of speed and was on him before he could get up.

"Rodney. . . Rodney. . . Rodney!" John shouted as he fought him, all flailing arms and kicking feet. It took a moment of struggle, but John finally managed to sit on his legs and pin down his hands. He had the weight advantage — Rodney was thin to the point of near frailty. John eased up on the pressure he put on Rodney's wrists, concerned about snapping the bones in two. But when Rodney immediately began to pull out of his grip, John pressed down again.

Rodney continued to struggle, looking for weakness in John's hold. "Let me go!" he growled.

"No!" John said with equal ferocity. Under him Rodney fought, throwing his body from side to side in an attempt to dislodge John. "I'm not going to lose you again. I'm not going to let you disappear like —"

And that's when it hit him.

They'd found Rodney

"Jesus," John said. And then, because once didn't seem like enough, "Jesus."

Something bubbled up and broke through, and for a second John wasn't completely sure whether he was laughing or sobbing. Under him Rodney went still.

That's how Ronon and Teyla found them: John laughing so hard he was crying, and Rodney, frozen and wide-eyed, looking at John as if he were insane.

When the man in black let him up, Tarm nearly ran. But the big man pulled him to a crushing hug before he could take a step. Then the woman clasped his shoulders and touched her forehead to his. When she was done the man in black was back, gripping Tarm's upper arm.

"I don't even know how to — god, Rodney," the man said, then gave the woman a pleading look.

"Tarm, I am Teyla," the woman said smoothly. She inclined her head at the man in black, then the large man behind him. "This is John and Ronon." She paused, offered him a small, understanding smile. "You are Dr. Rodney McKay. We are your friends."

Tarm nodded. Sure, fine, whatever. "I'm going back to my tower now," he said.

They wouldn't let him go back to his tower.

The strangers — he didn't need to remember their names, he really didn't, they'd be leaving soon — walked him back to the village center. Tarm didn't know what he had been thinking, wanting to know more about these people. The sense of rightness he'd had seeing them emerge from the ring was gone, replaced by a raging headache and a deep sense of dread.

Riah was waiting at the village center. The fourth stranger was gone, along with most of the villagers.

"Your Dr. Parrish is searching for the plant." Riah said. She gave Tarm a look of concern. "Are you injured?"

Tarm looked down at himself, and for the first time he realized that his tunic had been torn and his arms were smudged with dirt. He turned his hands over and found bloody scratches along his palms. All marks from his fall in the forest. He looked back up at Riah. "I tripped."

Her mouth drew into a thin, hard line. "I see," she said, though to Tarm it sounded as if she didn't see at all.

"I'm fine," he insisted, even if the scratches had started to sting now that he'd noticed them.

"You require assistance," Riah said. She flicked her eyes to the man in black, and for a split second Tarm thought she planned to accuse the man of causing his injuries. But then her eyes were back on Tarm. "The healer is out searching with the others, but he will return soon."

The healer was overly fond of a foul-smelling ointment that burned. "I don't need —"

"No, she's right. You need someone to take a look at you," the man in black said, and for some reason Tarm felt a flash of betrayal. The man turned to Riah. "Our doctors will take care of him as soon as we get him back."

Wait. What?

"Back?" Tarm squawked and tried to pull his arm out of the man's grip. He wasn't letting go. Tarm couldn't remember his past, but he remembered how sick he was when he stumbled through the ring, how injured, how much in pain. "Back" was not a good idea. Not a good idea at all.

Riah, who had not looked happy before was positively angry now. "You mean to take him from the village?"

"Riah," the woman said, "he is our friend."

"I don't even know you people!" Tarm shouted and this time succeeded in yanking his arm free. The man reached out, then appeared to think better of it, settling for shifting subtly closer. Tarm knew he was within easy reach if the man wanted to reclaim him. It was an uneasy thought.

"He does not know you, Teyla," Riah said. "And he does not appear to want to go with you."

"I don't!" Tarm agreed emphatically. The man in black looked at him with a mixture of incredulity and hurt, and Tarm felt a stab of regret. He squashed it down. "Well, I don't!"

"Rodney —" the man started.

"Tarm," he insisted. His headache eased back a bit. "I am. . . Tarm."

The man gritted his teeth. "Fine," he said, though Tarm noticed he still didn't use his name. "You're our friend, a member of our team. I'm sorry you don't remember that, but we can help you remember. "

"By going back," Tarm said.

"Yes."

Tarm shook his head. "No."

"Rodney!" the man said with exasperation.

"Tarm!"

Riah held her hand up for forestalling any more arguing. "Tarm is a member of this village. If he wishes to stay here we will not let him be taken."

Tarm felt the man in black shift even closer. The woman — Taylor? Tula? Teyla? — laid a hand on the man's arm. "John," she said quietly.

The man started at her. The muscles in his jaw worked for a moment before he ground out, "It's Rodney."

"We cannot force him," she said.

The man turned his eyes to Tarm, and Tarm suddenly had the uncomfortable sense that everything — his past and his future — had come down to this.

"No, we can't force him," the man agreed after a long moment. "But we can convince him."

He would not make Rodney go. As much as John wanted to drag him through the gate — really, really wanted to — forcing him was a bad idea. Without his memory Rodney would fear them, resent them. He'd take the first opportunity to escape and, knowing how ingenious Rodney was, he'd be successful. No, Rodney had to want to return to the city. They had to figure out why he couldn't remember them— hell, why he couldn't even remember himself. But to do that, he had to actually be around.

Rodney eyed John with apprehension but allowed himself to be distracted when Teyla asked about the tower.

While Rodney, Teyla and Riah spoke, John sent Ronon back to the gate. He didn't know whether Rodney's memory loss was emotional or physical, but he knew someone who would.

"Tell Keller —" John stopped himself. No, dammit, Keller was on earth visiting her father. Biro was acting as medical chief, but Rodney had never liked her very much. Dr. Cyr? Casey? Reyz? Two of them didn't have much of a rapport with Rodney and the other was completely new. He needed someone Rodney would instinctively trust, someone Rodney would let treat him.

"Beckett," Ronon said, as if reading his mind.

"Yeah," John said. "He should still be with the Sarvians. Tell Woolsey we need him. He'll make the call, smooth it over with them."

Ronon clapped him on the back and was gone.

Woolsey was a master negotiator, but the Sarvians were a prickly people who adored Carson Beckett. It would take time for Woolsey to get through their intricate introduction requirements, time to convince the Sarvians that Beckett had to leave before his work there was finished.

In the meantime —

"Hey, I've got a first aid kit here," John said, interrupting the trio. He ripped open the lower left pocket of his tac vest with one hand and gestured to the scratches on Rodney's palms with the other. Rodney had begun to rub at his hands absently, a sign they were hurting. "I can help if you want."

Riah looked at him suspiciously. "Our healer will return shortly."

Rodney winced at the mention of the healer, and John took the opening. "Should only take a minute." He held up the small kit. "We could be done by the time he gets back."

Riah opened her mouth to say something else, but Rodney beat her to it. "Does your ointment smell? Burn? Make you want to tear your skin off your body just to get relief?"

John smiled. "Won't even sting, I promise."

"Well then," Rodney said, rolling up his sleeves and heading toward the nearest sitting log. "Let's go."

It was a false bravado. John knew it as soon as he sat down beside him and looked into his face. Rodney blue eyes were wary. He was one false move away from running.

It's okay, buddy, John wanted to say. We found you. It's gonna be okay.

Instead John opened the kit and said, "Won't hurt a bit."

Rodney nodded tightly.

John took out a couple of alcohol-free wipes, antibiotic cream, and bandages, setting them on the log between him and Rodney, a small but important buffer between them. John moved to straddle the log, then held out his hand, waiting a beat, then two, then three, until Rodney felt comfortable enough to present his hand, palm up.

"So," John said, carefully wiping away the smudges of dirt from Rodney's palm, "you're the tower guy, huh?"

"'Tower guy,'" Rodney repeated. He snorted softly. "If you want to be simplistic about it."

John couldn't help his grin. "There's more to it?"

"Yes, there's more to it," Rodney said. "I'm a very important person here."

"I bet you are, buddy," John said honestly. He tossed the wipe to the side, uncapped the ointment and held up the tiny, single-use tube for Rodney's inspection. "No smell, no burning, no need to rip your skin from your bones."

"Hm." Rodney sniffed at the tube.

"No citrus either," John offered.

Rodney raised an eyebrow. "Citrus?"

The question was so absurd coming from Rodney that, for a moment, John couldn't speak.

"It —" John started. He swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat. "It's a type of fruit. You're allergic to it."

Rodney blinked. "Oh."

John swallowed hard again and turned his attention back to Rodney's hand. He smeared ointment over the cuts then wound gauze around the back of Rodney's hand and over the palm, tying the bandage tight enough to be secure but loose enough for circulation. When he was done, Rodney gave him his other hand without hesitation.

Behind them, Teyla and Riah were talking, the rise and fall of their voices almost hypnotic as he cleaned Rodney's second palm.

John startled when Rodney suddenly asked, "How allergic?"

John looked up. "What?"

"How allergic am I to this. . .citrus?"

John tossed aside the second wipe, picked up the ointment. "Very."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, that's so informative, thank you.…" Rodney frowned. "Uh, Jack? Jeff? I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention when —"

"John. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard," John said. And all of the sudden he was hit with a very vivid flashback of reminding Rodney of Teyla's name, Ronon's, Keller's, more and more names every hour as the parasite in his brain took them all away.

John pushed the memory — and the sick feeling that came with it — away. This was different, he told himself firmly. It was different.

"You usually call me Colonel," John said, his voice thick. He wound the bandage around Rodney's second hand. "Or Sheppard."

"Not John?" Rodney asked.

"Not usually." John secured the bandage. "You're all set."

While John stuffed the wrappers, empty ointment tube and leftover gauze back into his pocket, Rodney stood up and flexed his hands. He nodded his approval. "You're good."

"I've had practice," John said and stood up as well.

"Practice on me," Rodney inferred. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, looking at John as if he were a particularly stubborn math problem. "Because we were. . . friends? On the same team."

"Yes," John said, looking at him straight in the eye, practically willing Rodney to remember, god dammit, remember.

"I wish I —" Rodney grimaced suddenly. He sat down heavily on the log and squeezed his eyes shut. "Fuck," he hissed. "Fuckfuckfuck."

John crouched beside him. "Rodney." When he didn't respond, John shook his shoulder lightly and slipped a bit of command into his voice. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"Headache," he said and dropped his head into his bandaged hands.

Rodney's skittishness be damned. John slid his hand behind Rodney's neck, up and over the back of his head, skimming his fingers through Rodney's hair. He couldn't feel any bumps, Rodney didn't wince at any particularly sensitive spots, his hand came away clean of blood. Not a concussion, then. Not from his fall in the forest.

"Get a lot of headaches?" John asked, riffling through his tac vest pockets. He had pain killers in there somewhere. He'd started carrying extra medical supplies, even on what were supposed to be the shortest of short trips through the gate, after the four of them got stranded for two days on what Rodney afterward deemed "The Planet of a Hundred Deaths."

"They're usually not this bad," Rodney said, his voice wavering.

John found the painkillers and gently pried one of Rodney's hands away from his head so he could deposit the two pills into his bandaged palm. "This'll help."

Rodney barely glanced at the pills before tossing them, one at a time, into his mouth and dry swallowing them. John started to tell Rodney that Beckett could offer better, stronger drugs when he came, but he was interrupted by the sounds of people crashing through the forest behind him.

John turned just in time to see Parrish emerge into the clearing.

"We got it!" he said, face flushed with victory as he triumphantly held up a sack stuffed with plants. Behind him, a half dozen villagers appeared as well, three of them with full sacks of their own.

Tarm slipped away in the chaos.

There were people and plants and shouting, and John…Colonel…Sheppard telling someone — Twyla? Teyla — to take someone else to a gate. It was all very loud and very busy, and Tarm just wanted to lie down. So he left.

The path back to the tower was wide and well marked, and Tarm could have found the way with his eyes closed. Still, he was relieved when he didn't have to. The pain in his head receded with each step he took and by the time he reached the tower it had reduced to a dull pounding.

But the rest of his body groaned and ached as he climbed the tower stairs, a reminder that he hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. Tarm reached the top, closed the door behind him and collapsed onto his sleeping pad, asleep in seconds.

He woke some time later to the smell of tasa stew and freshly baked bread. There was a meal basket at his elbow, another white pill like the ones Sheppard had given him perched on top, and a note.

You're not going to get rid of me that easily, McKay.

McKay. Teyla had said that — Dr. Rodney McKay. That was supposed to be him.

"Rodney McKay," he said to the walls, daring to hope, for a heartbeat, that the name would unlock the magic of his fevered scrawling. It did nothing but make his head pound a little harder.

Tarm swallowed the pill with a swig of bitter tea from the basket.

"Rodney McKay," he repeated, to himself this time. "Rodney McKay."

John came up with a plan.

"I'm not leaving," he told Woolsey over the radio. John leaned against the DHD, arms crossed, coolly defiant even if the other man couldn't see him through the open wormhole.

"Colonel —"

"Everything's quiet in Atlantis — for the moment. Lorne can handle security, Ronon and Teyla will back him up. If there's an emergency, I'm just a gate dial away."

"Colonel —"

John uncrossed his arms and stood straight. "This is Rodney we're talking about. Rodney. Alive. I'm not walking away from him because of some bureaucratic —"

"Colonel Sheppard!" Woolsey interrupted. "I'm trying to tell you it's fine. You have a go." Woolsey's voice softened. "Bring him home, Colonel."

The tightness in John's chest suddenly loosened with relief. He wouldn't have gone, couldn't have forced himself to step through that gate and leave Rodney behind, even temporarily. But Woolsey could have demanded, then ordered, and John would have argued, then disobeyed. At best he wouldn't have gotten any help from Atlantis; at worst he would have resigned, told Woolsey if they wanted him that badly they'd have to send the marines to come get him.

He'd been prepared for the worst.

"Thank you," John said.

"He's our friend, too," Woolsey said, then cleared his throat. "Besides, the city needs him."

Speaking of which. "How's it going with getting Beckett out here?"

"Slowly," Woolsey said. "It's going to take some time."

"Time," John echoed.

"Possibly days," Woolsey said with regret.

John sighed. That was a lot longer than he had been hoping for. But Rodney didn't seem to have any immediate threats to his health, even if John didn't like the sound of those headaches he'd been having. It would be better to wait for Beckett than to bring in one of the other doctors. Days. Okay. He could deal with days. While they waited, he'd do what he could to jog Rodney's memory.

"I'm going to need a few things," he told Woolsey.

Twenty minutes later Ronon stepped through the wormhole, John's multi-day off-world pack in one hand and a smaller pack of supplies in the other.

"How's Alvarez?" John asked, kneeling to check the contents of the second pack. It had been three hours since Teyla and Parrish had gone back through the gate. Woolsey had said the plant looked promising, but that had been a while ago.

"Doc says she's better. Awake. Talking." Ronon nudged at the pack with his foot. John looked up. "Hey, you want me to stay? McKay. . . ."

Ronon trailed off, but John didn't need him to finish. Rodney was his teammate too.

John thought about telling him to stay. He wanted nothing more than to have Ronon and Teyla with him, to have his team back. But god only knew how long he'd have to stay here, and John hadn't been lying about Ronon and Teyla backing up Lorne. He had to be here, but the city still needed protection. The city needed them.

"I think I'm good, big guy. I'll call if I need anything." John said, standing up. He shouldered his off-world pack. "Just make sure Atlantis is still standing when we get back, all right?"

Ronon grinned, a feral flash of teeth that, not for the first time, made John glad he was on their side. "Can't promise anything," Ronon said.

"Oh yeah?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Ronon handed him the second pack. "So you two better get back soon."

Tarm ate, then slept for ten hours straight. When he woke again it was to find the sun close to setting, painting the room in gold and pink. Another food basket was at his elbow.

And Sheppard was looking at one of his walls.

"That's private!" Tarm said, sitting up. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to knock? Get out."

"You're sounding more like yourself every minute," Sheppard said, his lips twitching in the ghost of a grin as he glanced over his shoulder.

Tarm glared. Once he'd taken over as watcher he'd never let anyone into this room. Even food deliveries were left at the door. The tower was his sanctuary, the one place he could be alone, safe. And besides, the scribbles were strange. He knew that. He didn't want to try to explain them to someone else when he couldn't even explain them to himself.

"You left out a cosine here," Sheppard said.

Tarm opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "What?"

Sheppard tapped the wall with his finger, third line from the top. "Cosine, here." He moved his finger down a line. "And you didn't square the velocity over here."

Tarm stood up. "You know what this is?"

"Sure," Sheppard said. "I mean, you've got it in bits and pieces, but this is obviously Bernoulli's here, and that's Kirchoff's Law over there. Huh. That looks like something for a Kerr-Newman black hole, but with aspects of a phased wormhole."

"You know what this is," Tarm repeated, not a question this time.

"Hey, I'm not stupid. You've told me that once or twice. Or maybe it was 'Don't be stupid.' I could have mixed those two up." Sheppard turned, now fully grinning.

A grin that vanished as soon as his eyes met Tarm's.

"You know what this is," Tarm said faintly.

"I — yeah," Sheppard said. Then, with dawning understanding, "You don't."

Tarm shook his head.

For a long moment there was silence. Tarm looked at the wall. John looked at him.

"I woke up one morning with these symbols in my head," Tarm said.

"You're a physicist," Sheppard explained. "Astrophysics."

"And this?" Tarm asked, waving a bandaged hand at the wall.

"Equations. Theorems."

Tarm licked his lips. His mouth was suddenly very dry. "I liked this? I was good at it?"

"The best," Sheppard said sincerely.

Tarm felt a bloom of pride. Then he looked at the wall again and that pride vanished.

"Then why is that all wrong?" he demanded. "It's a meaningless jumble. You said it, 'bits and pieces.' Why is it in bits and pieces?"

"I don't know, buddy," Sheppard said.

"Why don't I know that I'm allergic to citrus?" Tarm began to pace. "Why don't I remember my own name?"

"I don't know," Sheppard said, shoving his hands in his pockets. In contrast to Tarm's movement, he stayed very still.

"Why don't I remember who you are?" Tarm turned, squinted at him through the haze of a headache. "Why don't I know where I come from?"

"I don't know," Sheppard said again. "But I can take you there."

Tarm huffed a harsh laugh. "I don't think so."

"Rodney —"

Tarm whirled. "I don't care if you bribe me with food and pills and… and… squiggles —"

"Squiggles?"

"— I'm not going with you. So you can just forget it!"

Sheppard held up his hands. "All right. I won't bring it up again."

"And you can leave, too," Tarm said. It felt good to rant like this. "Just get out. Leave me alone. Go home. Go away."

"That I can't do," Sheppard said, dropping his hands. "Look, when we lost you on M5X-555 —"

Tarm's head suddenly felt like it was about to split open. He'd had enough of this. Too much.

"I don't care! I don't care what sad little story you come up with. I don't want to hear it. Because every word you say could be a carefully drawn lie designed to get me to go back where….where—" The only words that came to him were pain, blood, fear "— where bad things happen." Tarm clenched his hands into fists, feeling the bandages tighten and pull against his skin. "So until I can remember, I don't want to hear it."

"Okay then," Sheppard said, just a little too openly optimistic for Tarm's comfort. "We'll just have to help you remember."

John left Rodney with dinner and a couple of the pain pills Atlantis sent in the supply pack. Despite his ten hour nap that day, Rodney was already fading fast for the night, yawning even as he glared at John. Either his outburst had taken a lot out of him or Rodney hadn't gotten any serious sleep for a long time. Judging from the way he looked, probably both. So John let himself be kicked out for the night.

He'd thought talking to Rodney in the tower, on his own turf, might relax him, get him to loosen up enough to allow a memory or two to sneak in. Then it had gone completely FUBAR. He needed to know more before he tried again.

He went in search of Riah.

She was tending the community fire, poking the embers with a long stick while she gazed contemplatively into the flames. Despite the handful of villagers who milled around the village center, she remained alone, apart. Thoughts lost in the flames. Still, she didn't startle when John sat down next to her.

"Tell me," he said, "about Tarm."

Riah frowned. "I know and trust Teyla. I do not know or trust you," she said. "How was Tarm injured when you chased him into the forest?"

"He ran. Tripped. Fell. I took advantage of that," John admitted. He'd known this would come up, knew better than to try to get Riah on his side by softening the truth. "I pinned him to the ground when I thought he was going to start running again. But I didn't hurt him."

She turned her head, looked him in the eye. Judging. "Have you ever?"

"No." He paused. "Not intentionally."

"Tarm's injuries were very intentional," she said, the words clipped and hard, and for a moment John thought she meant the scrapes he'd received in the woods. John sucked in a breath, ready to defend himself, but she cut him off with a wave — a motion that was so obviously a copy of Rodney's that it derailed him.

"He came through the ring on the first day of the harvest," she said. "The watcher said he took no more than a few steps past the ring when he collapsed. For three days he was delirious with fever. He bled from his nose. Once from his ear." She paused and seemed to steel herself against the memory. "He screamed when anyone touched him."

John shuddered. Rodney ranted, complained, even yelled to get a point across, but he never screamed. Not like that. Not unless he was out of his mind with pain. Or fear.

"His fever ended after three days, but his troubles did not. He spoke incoherently. Then refused to speak at all. Soon after he healed enough to walk a distance, he left while the village slept. He was discovered at the ring, weeping. He wanted to go home, he said, but he could not remember how."

"Jesus," John cursed. He could picture Rodney crumpled and exhausted, broken but still trying to reach them.

"He refused to return to the village, but he agreed to stay in the tower," Riah said. "After many days he asked to become a watcher. The only watcher. He seemed most comfortable in the tower, close to the ring. I agreed to his request."

"How's he been since?" John asked.

"He has not been truly happy," Riah said with a sigh. "He has invented several items that have proven most useful in the village, like the silent signal that replaced the tower bell. The accomplishments have pleased him and endeared him to the people here, but he has remained very distant. His appearance in the village this morning was remarkable."

John didn't like what he was hearing. "He never leaves the tower?"

"Rarely," Riah said. "And never with ease."

John looked across the horizon. The sky was deep purple, settling into black. A smattering of white sparkles marked the night's first stars. He had one more question, but he really didn't want to know the answer.

"How long has he been here?" John asked.

"Since the first day of the harvest season," Riah said. "Three months."

Rodney had disappeared five months ago.

That meant before he'd stumbled on the Etharn village, Rodney had gone through two months of hell somewhere.

When Tarm woke in the morning — mid-morning, judging by the slant of the light — there was no new food basket by his elbow.

But there was Sheppard sitting by the window, playing with a small device.

"Here, catch," Sheppard said when Tarm sat up, and that was all the warning he had before the device was in the air and heading for him. It hit him lightly in the chest and bounced off, and Tarm fumbled for it before it could hit the ground.

"You chase me in the forest, sit on me, disregard my privacy and now you throw things at me," Tarm complained. "And you still say you're not the person I came here to get away from?"

Sheppard grinned. "Definitely." He got up. "C'mon."

Tarm stayed exactly where he was. "Come? Where?"

"Breakfast. Or possibly lunch by now."

"They'll —"

"No food delivery's coming, buddy. If we're hungry we have to go to the village and eat with everyone else."

Tarm felt a flutter of panic in his chest. "I prefer to stay here."

Sheppard shrugged. "Suit yourself, but Riah's not sending up anymore meals."

"No more…." The flutter of panic was turning into a band across his chest. "But I can't go."

"Sure you can. I saw your setup for an automated alert for the gate," Sheppard said. "We'll go grab some food and be back before you know it."

Tarm shook his head. The band was tight around his chest now and it was getting hard to breathe. There were too many people in the village. He didn't like to be around people.

But before he could protest, Sheppard tugged him up and propelled him toward the door with a hand flat between his shoulder blades. "Hey, aren't you even going to look at the gadget I brought you?" Sheppard asked.

Tarm glanced down at the device in his hands. When he glanced back up again he realized they were heading downstairs and out of the tower. He started to backpedal but Sheppard's hand was firmly pressing him forward. "Wait, I —"

"It's a life signs detector. Cool, huh?"

Tarm glanced down at the device again, turned it over in his hands. Two little dots were moving across the glass. Tarm blinked. "That's us."

"It is."

Tarm studied the screen. "Huh."

They got to the bottom of the stairs. When Tarm didn't move, Sheppard reached around and opened the door. Suddenly they were outside.

"What else can it do?" Tarm asked. "I mean, the interface looks like it could offer multidimensional views. Or at least something more detailed than a simple lateral guide."

"Honestly, the LSD is your domain. I only know the basics," Sheppard said. "You poke at it a lot. Sometimes you swap the crystals around."

Tarm perked up. "Crystals?"

"In the back."

Tarm flipped the device over, fiddled with the casing for a minute. There were crystals. Smaller than the ones he'd scavenged for his alert system and other projects, but they were similar enough. He swapped the first and the third. Then the fourth and the fifth. Then the second, third and fourth. By the time he was done he'd gotten the LSD to extrapolate, based on available sensor data, where the closest similar technology was located.

When he looked up, they were sitting at a communal table and Sheppard was sliding a plate of food in front of him.

"This says you have something else," Tarm accused, giving the LSD a little shake.

"So I do," Sheppard said. He pulled a small, round object out of his pocket and handed it over. "One of your pet projects. Something about personal site-to-site transportation, but you haven't gotten it to work yet."

"Hm." Tarm shoveled some leftover tasa stew into his mouth as he examined the gadget.

Sheppard nudged him and Tarm looked up. "Yeah," Sheppard said, handing him the bread. "Thought you might like it."

John spent the day making excuses to get them out of the tower and feeding Rodney gadgets — two from Rodney's stash of personal projects, one tablet from the lab, a radio earpiece, and Rodney's iPod, which was stuffed with Mozart, Bach, and, oddly, more than one Gilbert and Sullivan tune.

By dinner Rodney was humming "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General" while they ate with the villagers. He still wasn't happy about leaving the tower, but the mere thought of it no longer gave him a panic attack, so John counted it as a win. Apparently Riah did, too. At the table, she smiled at John for the first time.

Every once in a while Rodney would squint at a screen or rub his forehead with the heel of his hand. John offered him pain pills throughout the day. He never said no, and they seemed to help.

But by evening, the pills had either stopped working or Rodney's headache had grown so intense that the medication simply wasn't strong enough. As John taught him how to play chess on the little travel board Radek had added to the supply pack, Rodney grew more and more agitated. He looked pale, but John couldn't tell whether that was a trick of the firelight. What definitely wasn't a trick of the light was the way Rodney wrung his hands together. The bandages pulled and tightened against his cut up palms. It had to hurt. Hell, it hurt John just to watch. But despite a wince or two, Rodney kept doing it.

Thirty minutes into the game — while John was telling Rodney how he'd spectacularly beaten all of his scientists during Atlantis' first annual chess tournament only to lose to John — Rodney snapped at him to "just leave me the fuck alone," then stomped away toward the tower, one hand pressed against his forehead. John gathered up the pieces and the board, and followed.

It had been a long day and Rodney had dealt with a lot — going outside, working with technologies he'd forgotten, listening to John tell stories of Atlantis. John had pushed him, maybe too much. But he wanted his friend back. Now. It was impossible not to push. He figured he'd find Rodney falling into a fitful sleep back at the tower. Or maybe cursing John in a rant loud enough to wake the village.

Instead he found Rodney sitting on the floor, going through John's pack.

"Can I help you, McKay?" John asked, leaning against the doorway.

Rodney grumbled something as he tossed out John's sweatpants, second set of BDUs and flashlight. He kept rummaging.

"Spare socks are in the second pocket to the left," John said, pointing out the pocket. "There's a packet of gum in there, too."

"Shut up," Rodney growled. He tossed John's pack aside, slid the supply pack closer. He tossed out the laptop — Rodney's second favorite, even if he didn't recognize it — and a deck of cards. His faded "I'm With Genius" t-shirt, a pair of boxers, a set of BDUs, a digital camera, two peanut butter power bars. He paused at the baggie of instant coffee and wrapped chocolate chip muffin John had planned to offer him for breakfast in the morning, then tossed those aside, too.

Rodney was plowing through the pack with the kind of angry intensity he normally reserved for dealing with bad guys. Very Bad Guys.

A chill ran up John's spine. "If you tell me what you're looking for I can probably tell you where it is," he said.

But as soon as the words left John's mouth, Rodney crowed triumphantly and pulled out the first aid kit. He emptied it of the two dozen pain pills John had requested for him.

"Hey," John said, alarmed now, "if you're —"

"Shut up," Rodney growled again, then pushed past him and down the tower stairs. John went after him.

He reached the outside door just in time to see Rodney throw the pills into the forest.

"Now let's see how I feel when you aren't drugging me," Rodney spat, brushing past John to go back up the tower stairs.

John followed. "You think I —"

"Let's just say these headaches of mine? Perfectly tolerable before you arrived. Since you've been feeding me these little white pills? Intolerable. It doesn't take a genius."

Shit. John had no idea they were that bad. He reconsidered bringing Biro in. "Listen, buddy, if it's that bad, I can ask one of the docs to come and —"

"I don't think so," Rodney scoffed. "Nice little trick of yours, getting me to take those pills until my head hurts so much I let you call someone to 'help' me." John could practically see the air quotes. "Then I'm 'helped' right back to where I came from."

Rodney reached the tower room. He flopped down on his sleeping pad.

John stood in the doorway. The room was strewn with clothes, food, and all the items John had brought to try to remind Rodney of home.

"I didn't," John said, more desperate than he'd admit to get Rodney believe him. "I wouldn't."

"Yes, well, we'll see," Rodney said. He glared until John took the hint and left for the night.

For the first time in months, Tarm dreamed.

The dreams came in snatches of images, disjointed and confusing: water, space, blue, gray, gleaming towers like his but not like his at all. All overlaid with the sounds of shouting.

In the morning his head still ached.

It was better than last night with Sheppard, but still worse than it had been before the man arrived. Tarm didn't know what to think of that. All he knew was he was fine before Sheppard showed up — or if not fine, exactly, then some approximation thereof — and now his head hurt all the time and he was leaving the tower regularly whether he liked it or not and he was dreaming. Tarm looked at his walls. Today they taunted him.

Tarm's stomach growled, loud in the silent room. It was still too early for the morning meal in the village, so he snatched up the cake-like thing he'd found in one of Sheppard's bags. He unwrapped it, took a small bite — then stuffed half of it in his mouth. It was soft and sweet and good.

Tarm looked around the room as he ate. The place was a mess. He shoved the clothes back into one bag, the technological items in another. He paused at the flat, metal object. Sheppard had shown it to him briefly yesterday when he pulled out the iPod. This was called a laptop.

Stuffing the rest of the cake-like thing into his mouth, Tarm leaned against the wall and pulled the laptop into his lap. Sheppard had shown him how to open it and turn it on. It didn't take long to figure out the rest. Within a few minutes he was scouring the database, looking for anything that seemed familiar.

At one point the pain in his head spiked so suddenly his whole left side twitched with it. He almost got up and went to find the healer, but the man had never been able to cure his headaches before and Tarm didn't hold out any hope he could now. The pain eased back almost immediately anyway and what was left he could ignore. He kept browsing.

The documents and schematics were interesting. Either Sheppard was telling the truth about Atlantis or he'd filled this machine with some convincing evidence to back up his lies. Tarm didn't understand why they couldn't recharge the city's power source, though. Surely there had to be a schematic showing the… what did Sheppard call it? ZPM? Tarm went where he thought it would be, but he didn't find it.

Instead he found pictures.

Tarm stilled, hand hovering over the keyboard. On the screen, his own face looked back at him.

His and Sheppard's.

Tarm was clean-shaven in the picture, heavier, bright-eyed. Smiling. Sheppard had his arm slung around his shoulder. In the background Tarm could see brilliant blue water.

The same blue of his dream.

He clicked onto the next photo: Tarm, Sheppard, Teyla, and the big man walking through a field.

And the next: Tarm, Teyla and a toddler playing with a yellow toy with four wheels

And the next: Tarm and the big man at a table, both reaching for the same cake-like thing on a plate.

And the next: Tarm on the sand, pant legs rolled up to his ankles, a smear of white on his nose, gazing out at the water.

It was the first picture, the one of him and Sheppard, that Tarm kept going back to.

It was the picture he was staring at when Sheppard arrived.

"You aren't lying," Tarm said, stunned and more than a little terrified because even though the proof was right there, he still couldn't remember.

"No, I'm not lying," Sheppard said, sitting down beside him.

Tarm swallowed hard. He couldn't take his eyes off the photo. "I mean you could. You could be lying."

"I could," Sheppard admitted. "But I'm not."

"These pictures are real."

"Yeah, buddy." He sounded a little sad. "That's you."

Rodney looked as pale as he had by the fire last night. John was just about to reach over and close the laptop, tell him that was enough for one morning, when Rodney looked at him and said, voice shaky, "Tell me."

M5X-555.

John reached over and shut the laptop. "I don't think now's the time."

"Tell me," Rodney demanded.

"No," John said and, crap, if that wasn't irony for you.

Rodney shoved the laptop off his lap and got up. "I need to know."

"Later."

"John," Rodney said. "I need to know. Now."

From his spot on the floor John could see the find tremors that ran through Rodney's fisted hands, the way he was squinting through the haze of a headache. He was holding himself stiff and still, fighting against the pain, holding the wave of it back. He wasn't going to last long, but John knew that Rodney — stubborn with his memories or without — would keep fighting until the pain overcame him.

Or until John told his story.

"We lost you," John said finally, "on M5X-555."

They were there to trade medicine for fruit.

The Mor'asa people were pleasant during negotiations. Pleasant when they showed the team to their rooms for the night. Pleasant when they offered them a smooth evening drink.

Pleasant the next morning when Rodney was nowhere to be found.

"The ring was awakened in the night. Perhaps he's returned home early?" the elder suggested with a pleasant smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Or perhaps on to another world alone?"

They tore the village apart looking for him. They found his jacket snagged on a bush near the gate, blood on the collar. Nothing else.

"We will find him, John," Teyla said, as John clutched the jacket in his fist. He turned to go back to the village. He was going to make them tell where Rodney was or he was going to light up the place trying. Teyla stopped him with a hand on his arm. "They cannot help if they are dead."

John shrugged her off with force and went anyway. But her words echoed in his ears and a small, insistent part of him warned that he'd already fucked this up once by losing Rodney, he couldn't fuck it up again by killing their best chance at finding him.

But the pleasant people had no idea where Dr. McKay could have gone. No idea at all. And such a shame, too, because they'd be happy to help find him, of course they would.

John silently begged them to draw a weapon, make a threat, something to give him an excuse to blow them all to hell. Instead they smiled blandly at him, then went indoors.

The DHD offered a lot of clues. Too many. Radek came. Went. Came again. Days went by, then weeks.

On other worlds there were rumors. Rodney in chains, silent, dazed and vacant-eyed, being hauled from one world to the next. Rodney in a prison colony for the criminally insane. Rodney turned traitor, a brainwashed spy for the Wraith.

Rodney dead.

They followed all those rumors and more. Weeks turned into months.

"We need your team back in the rotation," Woolsey informed John on a cold, gray morning.

John wondered if Rodney was cold where he was.

"There is no team," he said flatly.

Ronon went more and more often with Lorne. Teyla stayed in the city, more liaison than guide. John did his work, looked for Rodney, slept, then got up and did it all over again. Sometimes Ronon and Teyla went with him to check out leads. Sometimes he went alone. He kept the list of worlds in his head

M5P-675, nothing.

M3X-345, nothing.

M2P-768, nothing.

M6X-541, nothing.

Then Lt. Alvarez got poisoned and they needed a plant. Teyla knew the world.

M1X-124.

By the time he was done, Rodney was shaking with the pain.

"I can't — I don't —" he sputtered. John put a hand on his shoulder to try to calm him down, but it didn't work. "I don't remember. I thought if I heard I could, but I-I-I don't. I still don't remember."

John's heart sank. "It's all right, buddy."

Rodney threw his hand off. "It's not all right! How can you say that?"

"It'll be all right," John promised. "We'll get your memory back."

"And if we don't?"

Rodney, who so loved physics, tortured by the bits and pieces of equations half-remembered. Rodney, the city's chief scientist, unable to work the shields or the jumpers or the ZPM because he'd forgotten how. Rodney, his best friend, couldn't remember beer on the pier or video golf or saving his ass time after time after time.

"You'll just… start over. It'll be fine," John said. But even he couldn't believe the lie.

It was clear Rodney didn't either.

"Without my memory, I'm not going back."

For the first time since he could remember, the tower wasn't a sanctuary.

"I need to get out of here," Tarm said. His head was splitting. He wanted some air.

John nodded, blew out a breath. He scooped up a pair of pants and a shirt from the floor, then tossed another thin shirt to Tarm. "Get changed," he said. "Let's go for a run."

Tarm was moving slowly. By the time he'd pulled off his old shirt and pulled the new one over his head he heard Sheppard clattering down the stairs. By the time he got downstairs, Sheppard was already changed and waiting.

Tarm's head was still pounding, but the fresh air seemed to help. Still, he eyed Sheppard as the other man stretched. "Do I like running?"

"Let's say yes," Sheppard said. Before Tarm could ask what he meant by that, Sheppard was off.

Tarm huffed and sprinted after him.

The morning was cool and bright, and the path down the valley was easy to move through. He caught up with Sheppard after a minute. After a minute more they paced themselves to run side by side.

"So what do you think?" Sheppard asked, only slightly out of breath. Damn him.

"I think it's stupid to run when no one's chasing you," Tarm said, his own breaths coming short and fast.

Sheppard chuckled and sped up. Tarm cursed inwardly. He hung back for a moment, then sped up too.

He was only a few strides behind him when Sheppard swore and slapped at a deyha bug on his arm. He slowed down, then stopped.

"What's wrong?" Tarm asked, bending nearly double to catch his breath.

Sheppard was examining his arm. "Stung."

Tarm looked at his arm. An angry red welt was rising. "Bitten," he corrected. "Deyha bugs have tiny bites."

"Huh," Sheppard said, his voice thick. He swallowed hard. "Uh."

Suddenly Sheppard's legs folded underneath him. Tarm caught him on the way down. "Sheppard?"

"Uh," Sheppard said again. This time Tarm heard a wheeze behind the word. "Crap."

Tarm didn't understand. "What?"

"No ep'pen on me. You 'sually. Din't. . . I nev'r…." Sheppard clutched at Tarm's sleeve, worked to say clearly, "Gate."

Tarm didn't know what was going on, but Sheppard clearly was having trouble breathing. "The healer. I can go get —"

Sheppard shook his head. He tried sucking in a breath, but there was more wheeze and rattle than air to it. "Gate."

Tarm nodded. The ring. Yes, yes, okay. The ring was closer anyway. He could do this. Yesterday Sheppard had told him the address for Atlantis, what to say to get them to lower the shield if he wanted to go there. He could do this.

He reached for Sheppard —

Then pulled back.

What if this was a trick? This could be a trick. There were the pictures, yes, and despite all sense he actually liked Sheppard for some reason. But he had just told Sheppard he wasn't going back without his memory and suddenly Sheppard's life depended on Tarm bringing him through the ring? It was too sudden. Too coincidental.

"Hey." Tarm stood up, nudged Sheppard's foot with his. "Hey, get up. I'm onto your trick."

Except.

Except that Sheppard wasn't breathing.

Fuck the trick. Sheppard wasn't breathing.

With effort, Tarm hefted Sheppard up and over his shoulder, and ran unsteadily toward the ring. God, the man was heavier than he looked. His back was never going to be the same.

Tarm reached the DHD and hit the symbols fast, onetothreefourfive—

The pain in his head spiked and his body jerked in agony. He held on to Sheppard, just barely, and finished hitting the symbols. The ring whooshed to life.

Tarm fished the little radio out of Sheppard's ear. He spoke into it, said something through the fog of pain. He hoped it was right because dark spots were clouding his vision. He was out of time.

He plowed forward through the blue, carrying Sheppard home.

It ended with a flash of white light and pain.

Then everything.

Rodney woke in the infirmary.

His head ached, but the pain was distant, muted. The room was dim and warm. His head felt floaty but his body felt weighted down. He was just about to close his eyes and go back to sleep when a hand touched his.

"Aye, there you are. Welcome back."

It took Rodney a second to connect the voice to a name, then move that name from his brain to his lips. "Carson?"

"Aye, lad," he said with soft relief.

"Where's —" Sheppard, Teyla, Ronon "— everyone?"

Carson's hand patted his. "Everyone's fine. Asleep. It's late." His hand withdrew. "Get some more sleep. We'll be weaning you off the good drugs soon enough."

Before Rodney could protest, his body dragged him back down to the darkness.

When he woke again the room was brighter and the weight of sedation was gone. He was still tired, though. And his head still ached a little. He reached up and found a thick bandage along the side of his head, an inch or so over his ear.

"Don't let Carson see you touching that."

Rodney rolled his head to the left. Sheppard was sitting beside his bed.

"What's he going to do? Shear me like a sheep?" It was lame as comebacks go, but Rodney was too tired to think of anything else.

Sheppard smiled a little. "Hate to tell you, but he already did."

Rodney's hand flew back up to the bandage. He carefully felt along the edges. There was hair missing. There was definitely hair missing. "Oh come on!" Rodney said, a little louder than he'd meant it to be.

"Sorry, buddy. Hair tends to get in the way when they need to pull the alien equivalent of a microchip out of your head."

Rodney froze. "That's a joke, right?"

Sheppard shook his head. "What do you remember?"

Rodney opened his mouth to say, "Nothing."

Then it all came flooding back.

M1X-124. Being drugged, kidnapped, implanted with something as he screamed and shook and begged them to stop. Bleeding. Bright red blood trickling down his head and he didn't know why, couldn't remember why. Someone insisting his name was Tarm.

"It's not," he said, not knowing what his name actually was but certain that wasn't it.

"Your name is Tarm," someone said.

"It's not," he said again, and as soon as the words were out his head exploded in pain.

"Tell me your name and the pain will stop."

"I don't —" It hurt to think.

"Your name is Tarm."

Painbloodfear. "I am. . . ."

"Your name is Tarm."

"I am. . . Tarm."

Rodney blinked. He sucked in a breath.

Sheppard was looking at him

"They wanted my skills. They wanted what I could do for them, but they didn't want me." He remembered it all. Oh, god, he remembered it all. "They tried to make me forget who I was without forgetting what I could do, but it didn't work. They kept trying, kept adjusting the implant." Painbloodfear. "They kept trying."

"You escaped," Sheppard said, pulling him out of the flashback.

"The guards were light at night and I was… determined." Rodney closed his eyes against that memory, too. There was more blood, not all of it his. "I got to the gate. I dialed, but I dialed wrong. I couldn't remember what or where or how I could —"

Sheppard leaned forward, laid a hand on his shoulder. "The Etharns. Their address is one symbol away from the alpha site."

"I —" A new flood of memories. The tower. Sheppard. "You found me. You found me? How did you —"

Sheppard.

Rodney took a good look at him. He was wearing scrubs. He looked tired, worn out. "Are you all right?"

Sheppard smiled ruefully. "For six years I carry an epipen with me in case you have a reaction in the field. The one day I don't…."

"You're allergic to the deyha bug?" Rodney said incredulously.

Sheppard looked down, rubbed the back of his neck. "They're kind of like bees."

"They're nothing like bees! They're more like. . . like dragonflies. Small ones. Children play with them."

"Wonderful. Thanks then for saving me from a deeply embarrassing death," Sheppard said. The words were light. But his tone was serious.

Suddenly they were back to serious.

Rodney looked down at his hands. New, smaller bandages had replaced Sheppard's field first aid, but Rodney remembered Sheppard wrapping his hands, careful not to hurt him, careful not to spook him.

"Yes, well, thank you for," Rodney motioned vaguely with his hands, "you know."

Sheppard shrugged. "Didn't want the cuts to get infected."

"No, I mean thanks for… everything."

Sheppard shook his head. "Don't thank me. I lost you."

Oh, for crying out loud. Rodney picked up the nearest object — an empty water cup from the side table — and tossed it at Sheppard's head. Sheppard dodged the cup and looked at Rodney in surprise.

"You found me, you idiot," Rodney told him. When Sheppard looked like he was going to argue, Rodney emphasized, "I wouldn't have come back. You. Found. Me."

Sheppard looked at him for a long, silent moment. Then he nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay." Rodney settled back against his pillows. "And just so you know, we're officially even."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "Even?"

"You found me. And I saved your life from the oh-so-dangerous deyha bug. The bugs collected by little girls."

Sheppard slouched back in his chair, kicked his feet up on Rodney's bed and grinned a little. "Hey, I wouldn't cast aspersions on someone else's masculinity if I were you. Meredith."

Rodney snorted. He nudged Sheppard's foot with his own.

"Rodney," he corrected.