A/N: Three months; I feel so guilty. The final scenes were being annoying - they were two of the first scenes to come to mind before I began the story and now I got to write them, they decided to be difficult. Still, at long last, this fic is finally done. S'matter of fact, it's the first chaptered story I've ever finished, period, full stop, exclaimation mark. I dunno whether to party or not. I can't tell you how much I appreciate all your feedback, and I'm hoping I'll get some from you closet readers out there - in honour of the final chappie? (puppy dog eyes)

Anyway! I've gone back and re-uploaded the rest of the story for the final time, and I should apologise for the scene breaks - the site's built-in ones weren't working. I should also probably warn you about a scene in Carson's operating room, but it's not so bad, so it prolly isn't necessary, but anyway...

So enjoy, and I hope the end is satisfactory.

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VII

FIGHTING FOR FIGHTING'S SAKE

"Excuse me?"

"Look, I know it sounds crazy," Rodney snapped, thumb jiggling madly, straight up over the crystalline table where his hands sat, restlessly curled, in front of him. "But the fact is, it's Peter's only chance." His last words wavered slightly but he didn't take his intense gaze off Elizabeth, even when the brunette diplomat leaned forward over the desk to rub her face with a sigh.

"You want to use electroshock on him?" Sheppard clarified, staring at the Canadian physicist with something akin to appalled disbelief.

"The charge would be relatively mild," Radek interjected earnestly, leaning with his elbows on the illuminated hexagonal table, hands rubbing almost absently before him. "It will not harm Peter at all. The problem is that it will need to be continuous in order to deliver the virus."

"And the longer the charge, the longer the device can feed off its energy, yes, we've got that," Rodney snapped with a sharp hand movement, but Radek just turned his hands supplicatingly towards him and he deflated, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Sheppard slouched back with a frown, somewhat assuaged, and instead turned to another matter that had been bugging him. "There's just one thing wrong about all this," Idly the pilot tapped the smooth, glowing tabletop, one hand resting on his waist, slumped and swinging gently in his chair, his hazel eyes narrowed at the desk.

"Just one?" Caldwell asked sardonically in a moment of outright cynicism and tension, but Sheppard ignored him; there were plenty of things wrong and they all knew it, although the lieutenant colonel didn't bother to correct his turn of phrase.

"I thought these things were supposed to heal people. If it's killing them, wouldn't that be a conflict in its programming?"

"Yes, well, we thought of that," Rodney mumbled behind the hand still massaging the bridge of his nose before it pulled away to roll before him in a smooth motion in tandem with his words. "Unfortunately it's not something we can exploit until it's too late. The nanites are programmed, first and foremost, to spread; until that's complete, everything else is a secondary function. But even then, as long as the brain still works, they won't care what state of mind the person is in. They're machines, Colonel. All they understand is the mechanical function of the body."

"But that is something that will work to our advantage," Radek tapped the air absently with a bent forefinger, his shoulders hunched as he leaned on the table. Sheppard looked incredulous and Caldwell looked sceptical, but Elizabeth lowered her hands and cocked her head, showing that she was listening.

"We might be able to administer a sedative," Carson took over, looking unhappy at the prospect of condoning such an action, but if nothing else Peter and Rodney's exchange in the laboratory had convinced him there was no other option. "If we time it right, the nanites will focus on the electrical charge instead of the drug. Hopefully, Peter won't feel a thing."

The physician's worried blue eyes flickered towards the scientist in question, sitting with his elbows on the table like Radek, his hands pressed together, resting his forehead on his thumbs. He looked beyond exhausted, more from the device and the strain than lack of sleep, and though he didn't appear to be listening Carson knew he heard every word.

"This is all you could come up with," Calwell said, something between a question and a statement, sounding slightly disbelieving.

Rodney huffed, rolling his eyes. "The theory is sound, Colonel," he snapped belligerently, showing none of the reluctance he'd displayed less than an hour ago in the main lab.

"If we do this and it doesn' work, we wilna get a second chance," Carson warned them seriously. "The device will have spread too far to risk it another time."

Elizabeth looked up from her clasped hands, her thumbs restlessly fidgeting, her only sign of discomfort. "Peter," she said softly, her soft hazel eyes fixing on the scientist across the way, and Peter lifted his head to meet her gaze bleakly. "This is your life. Your call."

For a moment he was silent, staring down at the table, and for one uncertain, gut-twisting instant Rodney though he'd change his mind and back out; then the Brit took a deep breath and answered, his tone stumbling a little over the words, something between a resigned chuckle and fear. "Under the circumstances, I hardly have anything to lose." He met Rodney's eyes squarely, and in his expression Rodney saw apprehension – but he also saw trust.

The Canadian's mouth tightened, his skittishness stilling for a steadying, promising moment in which Rodney knew they were committed, for now the decision was made he knew that none of them would have the strength to turn back.

That was the air that hung over the multi-sided desk, within the closed, circular room; one of grimness and determination.

"How long until you can get set up?" Elizabeth asked softly.

Rodney finally glanced away from his friend, towards the dark-haired diplomat. "It'll take a while to modify a computer to let out a sufficient electrical charge in conjunction with the virus, but we should be ready within a few hours."

Elizabeth nodded resignedly and the atmosphere shattered in a burst of flurried, anxious activity, leaving the diplomat behind, blessedly alone, where she bowed her head over her still-clasped hands, shoulders hunched, and, not for the first time, prayed.

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The infirmary was abuzz with activity, most of it concentrated at the secluded end at which an Ancient scanner was located, the maroon door leading into one of the mainstream corridors locked and secure against inadvertent intruders. Carson intended to monitor the device's withdrawal as soon as the virus was delivered, so they were going to execute the procedure right on the thickly-padded gurney beneath the broad, panelled head of the machine.

Rodney and Radek were off to the side, swiftly and skilfully setting up their tools, while attendants bustled in and out beneath Carson's direction, shifting equipment to make room for the trolley with the modified computer and preparing a nearby operating room for the device's final removal.

Out of the way, with shelves of brightly-coloured boxes at their backs, stood the rest of the flagship team, Elizabeth, and Caldwell, the tension around them apparent. Sheppard's hand was resting as though for reassurance – for him or for everyone else was debatable – on the holstered pistol at his side and Elizabeth's arms were pressed to her stomach, almost hugging herself in apprehension. Caldwell looked grim, Teyla outwardly composed but with anxiousness reflecting in her brown eyes, and Ronon may as well have been elsewhere except for the fact that he could see the tension in his team-mates and clearly felt he should be there for their sake, if not Peter's.

Actually, Carson wasn't entirely sure why Caldwell was there either – it could've been a desire to be in the loop, a sense of responsibility, or a genuine feeling of sympathy – but he didn't have time to challenge him and if Peter wasn't going to object then he didn't see the need either.

Speaking of whom…

Carson slowed as he approached the gurney, his skin tingling with nervousness, his worried blue eyes fixed on the dark-haired scientist. He was sitting with his legs over the side of the bed and his head bowed, white-knuckled hands gripping the edge, once again dressed in scrubs and already attached to a heart monitor. The Scot almost felt that his friend was trying to hide the web of nanites beneath the fringe of his hair, and swallowed. This'll be over soon.

"Peter," Carson said quietly, touching his arm, and Peter tilted his head receptively without looking up. "Are yeh sure you want to do this?"

For a moment Peter was silent; then he answered in a low voice, "I've already died once, Carson. If it's going to happen again… I'd rather go out with a fighting chance."

For a moment Carson didn't know what to say; then he whispered, "Aye," and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder.

Rodney cleared his throat, making every eye in the room turn towards him. "We're all done," he said, striving for a strong voice and failing with the slight shake on his last word.

"Alrigh'," Carson exhaled tensely. "Everyone who's not meant t'be in here, out."

Within moments the room had emptied, leaving space for Elizabeth and the others to approach as Rodney and Radek wheeled the steel trolley to the gurney and Carson directed Peter to lie down. Patty Bourne flitted by his side, helping him attach the cords that Radek held out to them as Peter closed his eyes, taking deep, steady breaths, struggling to relax.

He felt the prick of the IV, Carson's reassuring grip on his shoulder as the Scot murmured, "We're injecting the anaesthetic now, lad."

Then there was relative silence apart from the beep of the heart monitor, the near-imperceptible hum of crystals, and for a moment panic bloomed in his chest, the sense reminding him of the utter seclusion of the satellite; he could almost believe he was back there. His eyes flickered open, head turning, the fear assuaged by the confirmation of his friends' presence and encroaching sleepiness. For a moment his gaze locked on Rodney's tight face, staring back at him; then he was swept away by spiralling darkness.

Long moments passed as Carson monitored the Englishman anxiously, each second a weight to bear, unsure as they were exactly when the drug would wear off. "He's under," Carson said softly without looking away from his patient, gently untangling the IV's line from Peter's wrist. Rodney took one last glance at the Brit, huffed something between a sigh and a bracing inhalation, and turned towards the laptop, pressing a single key.

The pink-and-black screen flickered, a single window with a charging bar appearing on the black background. "Uploading," Rodney murmured, his blue eyes on the screen, unable to look over at Peter as the bearded physicist was beset by a flurry of twitches, not exceptionally severe considering the low yield of the electrical current but still making the Canadian fight a surge of guilt.

"It's working," Carson reported with guarded hope in his voice. "He's still unconscious –" The physician's accented voice cut off as he stared, appalled, at the thin lines that traced themselves across the unmarred portions of Peter's face. Behind him he heard several indrawn breaths but didn't look around; instead his lips set grimly. "Rodney, how's it going?"

"Not done yet," the physicist snapped without looking up. Carson's brow furrowed worriedly, watching the network spread across the back of the Brit's hand, curling around his palm, his fingers.

"Rodney." Carson demanded urgently as the heart monitor began to pick up speed and Peter's body tensed, his jaw clenching automatically.

"Done! Shutting down." There was a whine as Rodney shut off the computer, Radek unplugging the buffer sitting on the tray beneath the desk which had regulated the electrical charge.

"What now?" Sheppard asked grimly as Carson flipped open the laptop connected to the grey-toned scanner, barely paying attention.

"Now we wait, lad." was Carson's unhelpful answer, already focussed on activating the machine. "Just push that aside, Rodney, on your way out."

Rodney's jaw tightened, but that was an argument they'd had the instant they'd left the briefing room hours before and Carson had won: everyone was going to move into the waiting room.

As the others filed past her Elizabeth watched Carson's competent fingers priming the machine, the blonde nurse keeping an eye on Peter's vitals, and withheld the urge to bite her lip. He was going to be okay. He had to be.

With a final glance at the scene, she turned on her heel and strode out just as the scanner hummed to life behind her.

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The waiting room was unbearably quiet, the air heavy with tension and worry. Of them, only Ronon and Radek managed to find the will to sit down, the former sprawled, legs out, on one of the white-cushioned chairs and the other sitting with his shoulders hunched and hands twisting anxiously in his lap. The rest of them remained standing, Sheppard leaning against the dusky brown wall, Caldwell practically at attention, Elizabeth alternatively watching the scarlet floor or Rodney as he paced, while Teyla just looked around at them all, catching people's eyes and smiling reassuringly. In truth the Athosian hadn't known Peter as well as the others, particularly the scientists, but she had called him friend, and her presence there was both for him and for the rest of her surrogate family.

Abruptly Rodney came to a sharp halt, hands behind his back, staring at the plain wall. "Radek," he said without turning around, frowning, and the Czech looked up forlornly, the light winking off his glasses. "What kind of instructions did we write into the virus for when the device has detached itself from Peter?"

For a moment Radek didn't reply, lips working silently as he ran over the code in his mind; then his blue eyes widened in horror and he jumped to his feet, his blue shirt rumbled. "We didn't write any," he blurted agitatedly, and Rodney spun around, pale but unsurprised, clearly having come to the same conclusion and looking for assurance. "We were so worried about getting the main part of the program right – and we couldn't wait for much longer without too much risk to Peter – we just completely forgot!"

"Rodney?" Elizabeth asked worriedly, seeing his expression.

Rodney's jaw tightened. "The device has a one track mind. When it's infected a body, it's meant to spread. But when it's outside of a body –"

"Its aim is to attach itself to someone," Sheppard finished for him, ending with a curse as he levered himself off the wall and made for the infirmary, shoes thudding on the floor. "Stay here!" he ordered the others, vanishing through the door, and it was only Elizabeth's firm hand on his arm that kept Rodney from following, even as he ground his teeth in frustration and self-irritation, exchanging an unhappy look with Radek beside him.

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The laptop beeped. For a moment Carson stared at the revolving, three-dimensional image of Peter's body, sure he'd seen wrong; then the line flashed over the figure a second time, flashing red with a chime that sounded sweet to Carson's ears. With a relieved, disbelieving huff, a triumphant grin broke out over his scruffy face as the scarlet lines sketched across the contours of the picture began to recede.

"It's working!"

"Vitals still look okay," Patty Bourne's voice, light with gladness, answered him, her face stretched with a wide smile that echoed the one shining in the Scot's eyes. Behind him, the medical team waited with a gurney in place, ready to transport the scientist into the operating room.

Carson's gaze flickered to Peter, still unconscious on the padded hospital bed, watching in fascination as the black lines ebbed from his sun-browned hands. Another peal from his laptop caught his attention, and this time a tiny frown creased his brow, his muscles tensing with warning. "It's withdrawing much faster than we thought it would." His shoulders prickled alarmingly and quick hands moved to switch the scanner off, disconnecting the laptop, slamming it shut. "We need to get him into surgery. I want t'be ready to get rid of that thing as soon as it's out and it's not leaving us much time."

The secluded area around the scanner exploded into activity, responding to the edge of urgency in the CMO's voice, and within moments the scientist had been transferred onto the stretcher, wheeled quickly and efficiently towards the open entrance to the OR.

Behind them, the doors to the waiting room had slid open unnoticed, and Sheppard watched with dark eyes and an uneasy hand on his still-holstered gun, trailing after the team with sure steps.

He entered into controlled chaos, a silent observer. Clearly the speed at which the device was receding had taken Carson by surprise, as he hadn't even had time to scrub or do much more than pull some gloves on, barking out orders with the high efficiency of an experienced physician.

"I've got a tray here!"

"Good, keep it ready now, lass, and be prepared to put something over it –"

"Doctor Beckett, he's ready…"

"Alrigh', people, we're gonna havta work fast here. Avoid touching the thing if ya can, we dinna need it to jump in someone else. Scalpel."

John remained silent among the equipment arrayed on the gleaming desks along the wall, slowly shifting closer, weaving his way through the empty gurneys, his eyes on the bloodied wad of cloth that hid Carson's deft hands.

"Doctor, I see movement!"

"Aye, I see it –"

"Forceps."

"I got it…"

John's fingers twitched, drawing his sleek firearm, cradling the rough grip in the palm of his hand. His body was tense but his eyes were expressionless, gaze on the vaguely shapeless, red-stained form that was lifted carefully with long, dripping surgical tongs. It wriggled, moved, the blood making it slick, catching on the edge of the steel and launching itself right at Carson's face, even as the Scot jerked away with an explosive oath.

In the same instant there was a sharp gunshot, echoing in the windowless chamber, and the device ruptured, sent flailing across the room and hitting the wall with a thunk that had delicate bits and pieces scattering over the scarlet floor.

Pale, Carson looked up to find Sheppard still with his gun trained on the weakly twitching machine until it fell still, and only then did the doctor let out a slightly shaken breath. "Thanks, lad. We can take it from here."

"We'll be waiting, Doc," was Sheppard's only reply as the weapon was returned to his side and he exited the room with a little more reassurance than he'd entered.

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"What the hell's going on in there?" Rodney exploded the instant the maroon doors slid open, before Sheppard had even stepped over the threshold, and the rangy pilot frowned slightly in annoyance.

"Is everyone all right?" Elizabeth cut in anxiously before the Canadian could pick up speed, coming to the thickset scientist's side.

"Yeah, yeah, I shot it before it got anyone else," John answered almost casually, confidently, and Elizabeth couldn't restrain a relieved sigh.

Damn, but she didn't sign up for this.

"What about Peter?"

The diplomat's mouth tightened slightly, struggling to ignore the slight, desperate tone in Rodney's otherwise demanding voice, keeping her hopeful eyes on John's thin face.

"They're working on it," was the soldier's quiet reply.

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It seemed an eternity before the maroon doors finally hissed open again – though in reality it wasn't long considering the dire nature of the previous injuries that had graced the medical wing – and every gaze in the room was fixed on the entrance before they'd even finished rolling into the wall.

It didn't faze Carson at all as he stepped through, too used to the pleading, grim looks.

"Carson?" Elizabeth asked anxiously, her arms folded across her middle, as was her wont.

"The incision was fairly easy to sew up and a second test has revealed that his blood is free of the nanites," Carson began, his hands stuffed in his pockets, before a tired smile creased his face. "Right now we've got him in the infirmary – we'll have to keep an eye on him for a while t'give his body a chance t'get used to his own immune system again, but barring any nasty bugs, he'll be completely fine."

The effect was almost electric; the tension in the room tangibly shattered as Radek's face glowed with a tight, joyful smile, Rodney deflated to one of the chairs with an 'oh, thank God' and Elizabeth let out a long, tension-relieving breath. Teyla exchanged a grin – almost a laugh – with Sheppard, who leaned back against the wall as though compensating for suddenly rubbery legs. Ronon and Caldwell, standing near the back, didn't say anything, but they were both soldiers and knew what it meant to have a team member return when they were thought to be dead.

It was almost the same feeling as when the Wraith had turned around and left Atlantis after the siege; the alleviation of pressure, of apprehension, the light feeling that nothing could go wrong now that they'd beat the odds.

Of course it wasn't quite over yet, they knew that, but it was a beginning.

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Peter's eyes blinked open, his vision burning white for a few moments before it cleared to reveal the triangular panels of the ceiling. For a few fuzzy moments he stared up at the plain surface, his thoughts scattered, trying to figure out what had woken him up.

Abruptly it all came back to him; where he was and, more importantly, why.

Stomach tight with uncertainty, he lifted a hand to his eyes, staring at his sun-browned skin and callused fingers, completely nanite-free. He couldn't feel that frustrating numbness, wasn't afflicted by those annoying stabs of pain, and the only discomfort was the slight ache of a wound just above his shoulder blades.

It had worked.

He assumed. But since he couldn't feel the device and wasn't currently gibbering at the walls, it was a fair assumption to make.

Relief washed over him, less than he thought it would, but that could be because he was still feeling comfortable from sleep, feeling safe because of the familiar bronzed colours and dim shades of the lighting.

A distant clatter on the floor made him blink again in mild surprise, the sound carrying clearly in the infirmary, quiet aside from the hum of crystals and equipment. Curious, he pushed away the last of sleep-fuzziness and levered himself onto his elbows with a slight hiss at the tug at the stitches on his back, squinting into the shadows of the curtains nearby.

"Rodney?"

The broad, blue-clad back he could see just behind the drapes froze for an instant; then Rodney's head poked out, his expression one of false surprise. "Peter! Hi!"

Peter raised an eyebrow. At least now he knew what had woken him up. "What are you doing back there?"

"Um, nothing." was Rodney's answer, his head ducking away and shoulder moving, accompanied by another rattle that said he'd just thrown something onto a table. Then he emerged completely, trying to hide chagrin, shoving the material aside and brushing his hands absently on his black trousers in such a familiar way that Peter couldn't help but smile.

It was the sound of Rodney's footsteps on hard scarlet floor that made him realize what he'd noticed but not registered: aside from the two of them, his corner of the infirmary was empty.

"Where's Carson?" he asked with a slight tilt of his head at the vacant alcove. He could hardly even tell he was in the infirmary proper, it was so blocked off by pillars and half-walls, muffled by curtains.

Rodney's eyes widened, his reaction immediate and completely typical. "What's wrong? Are you in pain? Did he miss something? Should I get him? Maybe –"

Oh, dear. Laughing, Peter raised a hand to still his friend's slightly panicked flow of words, instead gesturing to the round-topped stool beside the bed. "I was just surprised he's not here, that's all."

Understatement. He'd expected the physician to be hovering around his bedside the minute he woke up.

"Oh. He's…" Rodney cleared his throat embarrassedly, poked his thumb back towards the curtains and the main infirmary behind them. "Elizabeth made him go get some sleep."

Ah. Peter couldn't help grinning at the thought; for all that Carson reprimanded his friends for not getting enough sleep, he tended to ignore the rule himself.

But… made? Sounded as though he'd slept more than he thought. "How long have I been here?"

"What do I look like, a pocket watch?" Rodney retorted, but his tone was faded, as though he was either too tired for snark or simply didn't have the heart for it, and he added immediately afterward, "You've been out all night. It's morning."

Quite a while, then.

Rodney shifted uneasily in the after-quiet, opting not to sit down, trying to maintain the unspoken façade of 'just passing through'.

Peter eyed him discreetly, wondering whether Carson knew he was there and what he'd say if he didn't. The Canadian's face was still lined with tiredness, his blue eyes heavy with exhaustion, worry…

Was that guilt?

…damn. It was.

Peter almost saw the decision in the line of Rodney's mouth drawing thinner, in the setting of his jaw, at the same instant that the brown-haired Canadian blurted, "Look, I'm sorry, it's my fault, I should've done something about it when it happened…"

For God's sake, Rodney. For all your confidence you really can't accept forgiveness, can you? Peter sighed, refraining from voicing his thoughts, shaking his head but unable to help the tiny smile that touched his lips. "Not this again, Rodney. I don't blame you." he said instead, willing his friend to understand and let it go. As far as he was concerned, it was all over. He wasn't offworld. He wasn't on the satellite. He wasn't plagued by nanites. Assigning blame was a moot point, even if he'd been inclined to do so in the first place.

The physicist drew himself up, chin lifted not proudly but firmly, his chaotic air stilling for a moment that surprised the Brit. "Maybe you should. I've…" He swallowed, his shoulders slumping. "I've made mistakes before, done things I shouldn't have, you know…"

Peter frowned slightly, knowing and not liking where this was going. "If you mean Arcturus…"

Rodney visibly flinched at the name. "You – you know?"

Peter refrained from huffing in exasperation. "I read the report, Rodney. I don't see what bearing this has on what happened at the satellite."

That wasn't entirely the truth – it had nothing to do with the satellite, but everything to do with Rodney's sense of responsibility.

"I made a mistake!" The Canadian sounded almost incredulous, as though the answer should have been an obvious one, as though it was something forbidden. Maybe it was; they'd always relied on Rodney an awful lot. For him to be wrong, even once, and on such a grand scale… it was probably selfish of him, but Peter found he didn't really want the details, didn't really want to talk about it. He felt it was none of his business, and in some ways he was still struggling to catch up with the changes that had occurred in the time he'd been gone.

That was one change he didn't really want to catch up with.

"We all do, Rodney. I wasn't there and I didn't witness it, so it has nothing to do with me. That's between you and Colonel Sheppard. But I…" he paused, not sure what he was going to say or even meant to say, but Rodney was staring at his shoes, waiting – and Peter had a rather irritated suspicion that what he wanted was a tongue-lashing – so the Brit took a deep breath and finished. "But I'm damn glad you're still around."

For a moment there was silence; then, so quietly Peter wasn't even sure he'd heard it, his voice resigned, finally accepting, Rodney whispered, "Thanks."

There was another period of stillness, more comfortable than before, and Peter hoped it meant that Rodney had accepted the past and his part in it, put it behind him. The Brit didn't, after all, want to make him feel guilty every time he looked at him.

It took a moment before he noticed that Rodney still looked nervous and kept looking up as though about to speak before looking down again. Peter waited patiently, head cocked slightly to the side, but the question never came; instead the Canadian squared his shoulders and motioned towards the door with one hand. His gaze still skittered around his friend instead of meeting his brown eyes, and Peter's lips quirked with an amused, if puzzled, smile. "I guess I'd better – get Carson –"

He started to turn away, missing Peter's smile turn into a slight frown; but he couldn't miss the slow, cautious tone as he spoke. "Rodney…" Rodney stopped, head down, hands in his pockets, but didn't turn around. "What were you going to say?"

For a moment Rodney didn't answer, making Peter's perplexity deepen as the broad-shouldered scientist took a faltering step away.

Then, abruptly, Rodney jerked back to face him, hands swinging from his pockets, his expression flickering with uncertainty, confusion, resolve, before he took a deep breath and asked in a quick exhalation, "Why?"

Peter blinked in surprise, not expecting the sudden question even though he'd offered the opportunity for it to be voiced. His mind felt sluggish with that familiar sensation of being several steps behind Rodney' thought process. "What?"

"Why were you sorry?" Rodney's voice cracked on the last word but he didn't look away, lips sealing shut as though already regretting the query.

Peter didn't notice; he just stared at his friend wordlessly, at a loss as to what to say but mind unexpectedly, uncomfortably full of possible answers. Some of them were things he'd thought of, but others were ones that only just came to light.

Because I kept on teasing you on the ride there. Because I turned on the artificial gravity. Because I didn't look at the airlock pathways properly. Because I only destroyed one hiveship. Because I had to leave you when the greatest battle was still to come.

Because I knew you couldn't save me.

He thought he already had an explanation, but none of them seemed to reach his lips. All of them were right, and yet none of them were. Not by themselves.

Maybe Rodney wasn't the only one with issues to resolve.

Then, out of the babble of reasons vying for attention, a single word came to the forefront, and he knew it was right. It was vague, but it summed everything up: all his regret, his fear, his uncertainty.

"Because." he said simply, and he could see in the slight tightening of Rodney's lips that it wasn't as much as he wanted to hear, but the understanding nod that came next said that it was enough.

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The sound of Elizabeth's footsteps faded into the close air of the narrow passageway as she paused in front of the maroon infirmary door, staring at the incised maroon metal and taking a moment to collect herself.

This whole ordeal had been wearing on all of them, yet even though it was all but over she still felt the need to project confidence, for her own protection if not the benefit of others. The situation had struck too close to home, just like it had so many times before, and like all those instances she held on to her 'leader face' as a shield until she could hold herself together.

When she felt ready she took a deep, even breath, lifted her chin and entered.

It was peaceful, that was the first thing she registered, and an almost instinctive wave of relief loosened some of the tension. The infirmary was peaceful all too little, it seemed, so each and every instance when calmness reigned was gold.

As a matter of fact, Carson was the only one within sight-range, already having spotted her, his hands full of a manila folder and sheafs of papers, his labcoat swirling around his legs. "Elizabeth," the Scot greeted her with a raised, enquiring brow, turning from his previous course towards his sheltered office. "What can I do for yeh?" His question seemed innocent but there was knowingness in his blue eyes.

Elizabeth didn't call him on it; it was a dance the two of them stepped far too often, one in which she could distance herself from her subordinates – her friends – if she needed to.

"How is he?" she asked quietly in return, jutting her chin in the direction of Peter's bed on the other side of the long infirmary as she approached, her arms already folded almost defensively across her stomach. This was her first chance to visit since she'd received word that Peter had woken up that morning and it seemed like half the city had managed to beat her to it.

At least, that's what she told herself; but sometime during the night something had occurred to her, something which made her chest clench with anguish and uncertainty, and she knew that a part of her had been avoiding the medical wing.

Carson followed her semi-anxious gaze and smiled understandingly, his face crinkling. "He's fine, lass. He's been pretty popular, but that'll die down once everyone's convinced he's not going anywhere. I'm going to keep him here for a few days to recuperate, but it wilna be too long before he can go back on light duty."

Light duty. The words made her tense, her stomach twisting. "Do you think…" The words were out before she knew she'd said them and she hesitated, arms folded across her red-shirted stomach. Her gaze turned in Carson's direction but she looked to the floor in thought, pulling in a short, sharp breath to continue before she lost her nerve. "Do you think it might be better if he went back to Earth?"

There; it was said, the one outcome she hadn't even thought of until it was over.

There was silence, and the brunette knew that the idea hadn't occurred to Carson either. When he spoke, it was slow, thoughtful, like he was putting his mind in order. "After what he's been though, I'm putting him down for some counselling with Doctor Heightmeyer – and recommending one or two sessions for the rest of us as well. But other than that… there's no medical reason why he should." he answered finally, quietly. "I guess that would be up to him, if that's what he wanted."

Elizabeth resisted the urge to sigh, not really reassured but not surprised. It was her responsibility, after all, to offer it to the scientist. "All of us just assumed that…" she trailed off and huffed a humourless chuckle. "We just assumed that he'd stay, but…"

Of course they had; Peter was a product of the original expedition, that first year without help from Earth, even bringing back emotional luggage that dated from the siege. The thought that he'd have fought so hard to get to Atlantis and then go all the way back to square one, to Earth…

"Ask him, lass. That's the only way t'know for sure."

Elizabeth nodded almost absently, then gifted him with a grateful smile and moved towards the back, around the gleaming steel equipment, leaving Carson to stroll towards his office.

"Peter?" The hazel-eyed diplomat approached the scientist's bed somewhat nervously and he glanced up from the laptop perched on the tray over his blanketed lap, looking surprised, then offering her a smile of his own in greeting. He already looked much better, she noted with a mixture of relief and satisfaction, albeit still pretty tired; but at least he'd managed a shave and his features were no longer so lined with strain. "How are you feeling?" she asked, drawing up the round stool that seemed to be perpetually waiting beside all of the cots.

How many times have I said that since we've come here? She wondered idly.

"Fine, thank you. I was just beginning my report." Peter gestured at the glowing screen of the compact computer, his tone nearly light-hearted but still with a dark undercurrent that spoke of his trials. She could tell he felt it, almost saw him wince at it inwardly.

"Huh." Elizabeth tilted her head and gave him a small grin to make up for the grimness, forcing a hint of amusement into her expression. "I'm surprised Carson's letting you."

"Well, he did make sure there were no work-based distractions on the database first," Peter admitted wryly, clearly grateful for her levity as he shut the slim lid with a click and gave her his full attention, his brown eyes warm with welcome. "What can I do for you?"

Typical. He was still bedridden and his first thought was how he could help her. Not for the first time, she wondered how she'd managed to find such dedicated people.

Despite the fond exasperation, she felt that glow of comforting familiarity. Sergeant Grimault was good, but she still hadn't realized how much she'd missed Peter until he came back.

So the thought that he might actually leave…

For a moment, a selfish part of her was tempted not to offer him a trip back to Earth. They'd just got him back; whether he went back to Earth or had been killed, it still felt too much like she was losing him. Maybe not to the Wraith, but to something that had destroyed his drive, his sense of the mysterious. She'd lost too many people like that already, too many people who'd chosen to leave after that first year.

But the larger part of her insisted that she didn't really have anything to worry about.

She looked blindly down to the scarlet floor, biting her lip, body tense, and quashed the urge. "Peter…" she began, and found herself taking another breath, not looking up. "I know you've been through a lot…" She halted, wondering how to continued, but was saved the necessity for a moment.

"No more than anyone else here, I expect," was Peter's rather predictable answer into her hesitant silence, and Elizabeth's lips turned upwards slightly at the characteristic words, finding her resolve hardening. If anyone deserved the choice, it was him, who'd survived offworld, alone, for months.

"So it's only fair that I offer you the same thing I did everyone else." A pause, uncertainty, wondering. "The chance to go back to Earth." She met his eyes without lifting her head, looking at him through the thick wave of her dark fringe. With a slight, indrawn breath he sat back into his stack of pillows and regarded her seriously, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Elizabeth found herself praying silently, as she'd done for more than one of her people when she'd asked them, people who'd become more than strangers. For some of them she knew the question was unnecessary, others she just didn't know, but that hadn't changed her anxiety.

"I do appreciate the offer," the Brit said quietly. "But I'd prefer if you were stuck with me a while longer."

All the tension drained out of her like a sieve and Elizabeth found herself grinning, her leaderly mask dropping for a moment. "I think we can deal with that," she answered with a relieved laugh, finding herself thankful. One of her people had returned, for good, not broken by Wraith or trauma.

She hoped.

Maybe she could help with that, at least. "So how far have you gotten?" she asked casually, cocking her head and nodding towards the laptop. John had mentioned how the scientist had sprung the surprise on them on the Daedalus, about how he'd been in orbit at the same time as the battleship; then there was the abrupt news about Ford, the little nuances he hadn't mentioned.

She knew he would have to write them down in his report and that she could just wait until then, but if he was having trouble getting them down on paper, so to speak, maybe she could help remove the dam.

Plus, she had to admit, she was a little curious.

And besides, he still looked tired. She didn't want some report keeping him up when he should be sleeping, especially one that promised to be as draining as this one.

The Brit followed her gaze and patted the smooth grey surface companionably, mouth quirking slightly, but in what emotion Elizabeth couldn't tell. "Not far," he confessed. "It's… proving more difficult than I anticipated."

Elizabeth felt a pang, recognising the fleeting hollowness in his eyes; the same kind she seen in everyone else's after the siege, the same she still sometimes saw, that she knew she would continue seeing.

And that made her think about the battle, what he'd missed because of a quirk of fate, and wonder what might've been different if he'd been there. When she thought of the siege, one of the things she remember most aside from the price they'd paid was the utter determination of every single person to hold their position. They'd stood together and persevered.

How much more difficult had been for Peter, knowing he was alone?

"Did you ever feel like giving up?" she asked quietly before she'd fully considered it, but found that she didn't regret the question. She remembered that uncertainty, didn't want it to fester in someone else.

Somewhat to her surprise and much to her consternation he didn't look up at her, staring down at his hand on the smooth laptop. She couldn't think of a time that Peter wasn't willing to look someone in the eye.

She was about to retract her question, tell him it didn't matter, when he answered. "Sometimes," he admitted in a low voice, almost as though he felt guilty about it.

Huh. Despite herself, she felt curious. What could have driven someone to continue in such a hopeless situation? The red-clad diplomat shifted thoughtfully, sitting forward, and asked probingly, "Why didn't you?"

Surprising her a second time, Peter chuckled once, tilting his head slightly in a slightly rueful expression. "I always liked boxing. I did it in university, you know."

Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow in faint, if puzzled, amusement, the comment unexpected but bringing with it memories. "Yes, I remember what you did to Sergeant Bates," she said wryly, encouraging him to continue as he grinned briefly.

"A lot of the people I was matched against only cared about winning," he explained, looking somewhat distant, brow knit in remembrance. "But for me it was never about that, that wasn't the point. As long as you kept getting up, as long as you kept fighting, the other guy couldn't win. So when I was offworld, whenever I…" He stopped, jaw tightening for an instant, eyes shadowed for barely longer, and Elizabeth found herself holding her breath. "I just remembered that if I gave up… I'd be letting the Wraith win."

Elizabeth stared at him wordlessly, trying to sort out her sudden tumult of emotions. She found herself unsurprised by his words, and yet utterly… stunned, flabbergasted, by the feeling in them. If ever she needed proof that she had chosen good people, this was it. Halfway across the galaxy, cut off from his homeworld, alone, not knowing if his friends had survived or not, and Peter still managed to channel the same drive that they had felt during the siege. Still managed to fight as a resident of Atlantis. And somehow, that hit her harder than she expected.

The slender diplomat exhaled slowly and offered him a tiny, sincere smile. "Your post is waiting for you," she said with heartfelt warmth. "Whenever you're ready."

"Thank you," Peter smiled, eyes sparkling through the darkness, and Elizabeth stood up to let him get back to his report – or sleep, as the case may be.

"Although I should warn you," she added mischievously as she did so, "Sheppard and Zelenka are planning a party for you once you get out of the infirmary." God knows we have little else to celebrate.

She grinned at the slight face he made, even as he laughed, and turned to work her way around the stool, across the scarlet floor.

Wait. She paused beside the thick, incised pillar shading his alcove and turned around, hands loose by her sides, and let her guard fall completely, showing something of the friend underneath and not the leader, reflecting with sincerity and affection in her hazel eyes. "Welcome back, Peter."

And then she left, letting the crystals dim in the alcove, feeling rested though she'd been awake since early morning. The world they lived in was dark, to be sure, but the light did shine through – even if they had to look for it, or even create it themselves.

- finis

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A/N: So that's that. Kinda mushy ending, but hey (grins). Hope you enjoyed, and I look forward to seeing some of you in the 'Dawn' universe!