AN: Pop refers to soda pop, commonly shortened to 'pop' in the northern regions. Big, big massive thanks to my betas, hand holders and friends, tazmy, shelly, linzi and gaffer. Also, thanks so much for the reviews, they really do brighten my day, encourage me to keep writing and just generally make me smile!

Part III

Ronon pushed the cake towards Rodney. "Switch you for the brownie?"

"Only if you give me your pop."

The dark look Ronon sent Rodney's way showed what he thought of the offer. Granted, Rodney was playing hardball, but brownies deserved to be fought for. Cake was served at almost every meal. Pop only showed up for the week or two after the Daedalus arrived. As cargo, it weighed more to haul, which used up more fuel, etc. etc. etc… Sometimes the practical side of physics sucked.

Coke, Pepsi, if it was carbonated, loaded with sugar and caffeinated, he'd drink it…it made for a nice alternative for his caffeine fix, with the added bonus of a sugar high. And pop was special enough to be traded for a brownie.

"Brownie for the cake, McKay. The Pepsi's not on the table."

"Well, technically --"

"Thanks, McKay, I knew you'd agree." Ronon grinned while he snatched the brownie.

It wasn't that Rodney really wanted the brownie – surprisingly, he wasn't that hungry -- it was the principle of the thing. "You think it's perfectly acceptable to use your size to get what you want, don't you? For the record, cake for brownie is never a fair exchange. Brownies are superior to cake." Rodney eyed the cake with disgust. It wasn't even chocolate. It was vanilla, or some other fake flavor.

Fake, faked…faked out, freaked out…why did it feel like Sheppard was constantly freaking him out? "What is it with him?"

"With who?"

Rodney looked up from the cake he was contemplating sporking (cause he wasn't gonna eat it) and almost laughed at what he saw. There was a white coating of milk all along Ronon's mustache. He opened his mouth to tell Ronon then aborted it. Rodney's next thought was about sneaking a capture from the security feeds and adding a bubble of text that said Got Wraith? Maybe he'd send it to Zelenka, Sheppard (definitely, but only when Ronon wasn't around and maybe he'd have to wait a month or two, considering recent trauma), Carson, possibly Elizabeth—

"McKay," prompted Ronon, with a nudge of his foot against Rodney's shin.

"Sheppard," Rodney said. He narrowed his eyes at Ronon. "Who else? He is the one that was just eaten in front of us; it's not like I respond well to torture… mine or his, or yours, or --"

"He'll live." Ronon talked around a mouthful of Rodney's brownie.

"Of course he'll live," Rodney snapped. Honestly, could Conan not do a little exposition, here? "It's next time that I'm worried about. And…" Rodney stopped himself from saying what he'd been a millisecond away from saying.

Sheppard was going to live, barring a freak turn in his condition. Freak, fake…faked. God Damn it, it wasn't like Sheppard's aging had been faked, it'd been real, and he'd gotten to live through that not once, twice, but three times the not-so-lucky charm, and then apparently, he'd had the fourth time around, and even if that last time had been to make him young again, it'd still been a wraith looming over Sheppard, and from the shout they'd heard, it'd still hurt like hell.

Nightmares…God, they were all going to have nightmares. Long, long, long nights of nightmares. Just thinking of it made him sleepy and out of sorts.

"We'll live too, McKay."

Rodney's head jerked. He met Ronon's look. "How do you do that?" he demanded.

Ronon leaned lazily back in his chair, resting a casual hand along the seat, and regarded Rodney. "Do what?" He had the air of a predator watching his prey.

Not that Rodney cared. "Brush these things off so easily. One minute you're snarling at the screen, the next you're all 'we'll live.' I hate that…" Rodney's head was moving, back and forth as he gave in and let loose. "Hold a grudge, beat someone up, do something to show how incredibly screwed up the last twenty-four hours were!"

Ronon's arm fell and he leaned forward, his voice dropping as he growled, "Sit, McKay."

Dumbfounded, Rodney looked down and realized at some point he'd stood. Then he looked around and realized people were staring. At him.

Talking to the completely rude people, Rodney said, "Oh, right, I forgot, the small people like to be entertained."

Eyes averted; some guiltily, some amused.

Satisfied, Rodney sat, albeit still disgruntled. When Ronon leaned even further across the table towards him, Rodney fought the urge to hold the cake as protection, because Ronon's eyes were wild, tumultuous and angry. "I hold grudges, McKay, don't ever doubt that. But I know when it's time to be pissed, and when it isn't. Sheppard's alive, the rest we deal with. And when we see Kolya again, he pays."

A little stunned by the ferocity radiating from Ronon, Rodney nodded, swallowed, and then found a small, satisfied grin. "Scarily enough, I can accept that." And what that said about him, Rodney would prefer to leave in the closed off, unanalyzed, portion of his mind.

OoO

"I know I did the right thing," Elizabeth said, pacing. The urge to chew her nails, push her hands into her pockets, fold them, tap them…to do something…was overwhelming. She'd thought coming here right away was better than waiting. Had thought it would set an impression with everyone else, hopefully letting them see it wasn't a weakness to seek out help.

But now, pacing in Kate's office, talking out of nervousness, pain, the sheer horror of what'd happened, she just wanted to turn around, run, go somewhere, anywhere, that she could be alone, because some emotions aren't meant to be shared.

There was only silence coming from behind the desk, and Elizabeth finally stopped and turned to look at Kate, asking, "Isn't this where you agree? Or offer some platitude that suggests we did the best we could during a difficult situation, and that afterwards it's always easiest to be critical and second guess decisions?"

She wished she didn't sound so hopeful.

She wished she didn't feel so hopeless.

Kate sat relaxed in her chair, calm, but sympathetic. She made the perfect therapist, because in her facial features and body language she conveyed everything, and nothing. Kindness, caring, support…they oozed from the woman. But Elizabeth couldn't tell how Kate felt about the decisions made during John's captivity. Had she agreed, would she have done it differently…did it matter?

"Do you honestly feel you handled it wrong? That you would do it differently, knowing everything that you do now?" Kate prompted gently.

Lifting a hand and brushing her hair to the side, Elizabeth sighed. "No…yes…" frustrated, she moved to the chair in front of the desk, sat and pushed her hands together between her knees. She shook her head as she admitted, "The logical part of me tells me that everything I did was right."

"And the rest of you?"

Elizabeth kept her hands clenched tightly. "The rest of me would've handed Ladon over before Kolya finished his first sentence."

Kate inhaled deeply, lifted her pen between two fingers. As she rolled it between her thumb and index finger, she talked to Elizabeth about responsibilities of a leader versus a friend. Her words dulled to a hum in the background as Elizabeth did her own internal speech.

It was why you weren't supposed to make friends of the people you were in charge of…you weren't supposed to care.

Before she'd taken control of the SGC, shortly before the confrontation with Anubis, before General Hammond had left for Washington, she'd asked him for any advice he had to give. He'd paused in the office door, his fingers clenched around the handle of his briefcase. At the time, General O'Neill, still a Colonel, had been succumbing to the knowledge of the Ancients overwriting his mind, and the general had had to abandon his people in the middle of a crisis.

"Be ready for the tough decisions, Doctor Weir. Believe me, they're out there."

She hadn't been ready. Nothing could have made her ready for what she'd faced since coming to Atlantis. But this…having the power to save John, and saying no. She could argue the morality, the ethics, but she'd all ready bent those before. Maybe it was better to say there were some rules she wouldn't bend, after all. Not even for John. Not even for herself.

"Elizabeth?"

The smile that surfaced was forced. "Thank you," she said, hurriedly getting to her feet. "You're right, of course. And I know in time, this will be nothing more than a bad memory."

Nobody was fooled, but Kate let the pen fall from her fingers to the desk, the soft clunk seeming to reverberate in Elizabeth's mind. "I understand," Kate offered. "If you need to see me…to talk, again, later when you've had time to think more about what happened, you know I'm here."

Elizabeth's escape was mercifully fast. There were things waiting for her. There were always things waiting: reports, requests.

She didn't go to her office, though, and she didn't go to the infirmary. She didn't go to the mess hall and see if Teyla, Ronon or Rodney were there. She went to her quarters, and when the door slid shut behind her, she was alone for the first time since John went missing.

Standing just inside the doorway, Elizabeth struggled for control.

Ladon hadn't been worth John's life. He hadn't. It was just as simple as that, and as terribly painful, because worth it or not, she couldn't have done it any differently. She couldn't.

Tightness clutched her chest, and her eyes squeezed shut. It was meant to help her regain control, but all it did was unravel the reel of images, and she watched, again and again, as John's life was stolen from him.

From him. From her. From them.

She wanted to cry, to say that she couldn't do this anymore. The job cost too much, and it hurt so incredibly bad…all the lives, the damage, and the wins were too few to balance the scales. She wanted to kick her foot so hard against the wall that the pain woke her from this nightmare.

But all she did was straighten, blink fast enough to convince herself that there hadn't been anything more than a speck of dust in her eye; that's all. It took more time than usual, more convincing repetition that some day all of this will have been worthwhile, that it will have been worth something important. That what they had suffered, and are suffering, will mean something.

Then she walked stiffly to her dresser, pulled out a clean uniform, spread it on her bed, and Elizabeth headed for her bathroom, because that's what people do even in the midst of tragedy and triumph. They get dressed, walk out the door, say, "Hi, how are you?" at all the right times, and then they do their job another day, and another, and the day after that, because it was what they had to do.

But tonight, when Elizabeth did finally try to get some sleep, she was going to do something she hadn't done in a while. She was going to take the rosary she'd tucked into her underwear drawer, hold it tight, and say a prayer, because it was only a miracle that John Sheppard was still alive, and Elizabeth's mother had always taught her to never fail to say thank you for a miracle.

OoO

Evening in the infirmary was a quiet thing.

"Colonel Sheppard, do you remember why I asked you to keep your hand down?"

John looked at his hand. "Why?"

The nurse hit the reset button on the blood pressure machine and made a sound that John associated with mothers, and reminded him, "Because if you lift your arm, it won't read properly, and we prefer to know ahead of time if your blood pressure is dropping to nothing…as opposed to finding out when you die."

"I bet you say that to all the colonels," John said, being a little flirty just because he could.

The nurse gave him a smile that went to his toes. "Just you, Colonel. Now, arm down."

With a rakish grin, John went to salute…with the arm strapped in the cuff. He wound up lowering it lamely, making a sheepish half-attempt with his other, and saying a proper, "Yes, Ma'am."

He totally meant to listen, and she walked away with a last look at him that said clearly 'behave,' but then he got an itch on his nose. See, the itch was a problem. Carson had told him not to move his left arm around much. At least, no lifting it above his shoulders…and it was sore enough that John wasn't really arguing with him about it. Then they strapped a cuff on his right arm and said, "Don't move."

But when you've got an itch, something's gotta give. He lifted his right hand and tried to scratch without moving too much.

The damn thing puffed up, recycled and sat there beeping angrily. He tried to lean over and push a button, or something, and it only made it beep worse.

"Colonel, just what exactly are you doing, Son?"

John rolled back, careful of his left arm, and stared guiltily at Carson. Then he realized he was the one that was getting the short end of the stick, here, and exasperated, he waved his right arm, now being squeezed painfully by the cuff, "The damn thing won't shut off."

"That's because you won't stay still," scolded Carson.

"She snitched on me," John said, as if he'd been betrayed by his best friend.

Carson made a face but decided it was safe enough to go without any more readings. He took off the cuff and stuffed it in the small basket, pushing the machine back out of the way, before he tucked himself into the chair next to John. "The machines send their information to my office as well as the nurse's, Colonel." He stared at John, assessing. "It's getting late, and I imagine you're tired, but even with the drugs you've had, you're restless. Maybe it's time for me to call in that raincheck….It helps, you know…to talk about it."

"Not this time, Doc."

"Tomorrow is a long way off, when you're lying in bed and can't sleep."

Tomorrow.

"At least I have a tomorrow." He pushed his head back, sinking into the pillow, and tried to shuck himself into a more comfortable position. Damn if he wasn't tired, come to think of it. It seemed easier to let his eyes close with Carson sitting near.

"Aye, that I'll second," Carson whispered.

John meant to say something else, but somewhere from his thoughts to his tongue, the words got lost, and he found himself instead slipping into sleep.

OoO

How daft was he, lately?

Carson had come out when the machine had gone off, again, meaning the colonel had moved his arm for what was it now…the fifth time in as many minutes? Carson had ordered hourly checks, but John kept moving, even when the machine was trying to take its readings.

Dinner time had passed. Carson could see the fatigue written across John's face; the tired lines around his eyes, red-rimmed from drugs and the fact that only that morning he had been in surgery, no matter how simple and straight forward it'd been. And before that, he'd been on another world, having his life infused back into his body, and before that…but John hadn't wanted to talk about it earlier.

"At least I have a tomorrow," Sheppard had said.

Carson had watched as the colonel's eyes drifted lower, and lower. He'd whispered, "Aye, that I'll second," just because it was incredibly true. Thank God for babies, the Heather-filled Highlands, and miraculous returns of loved ones. Friends.

But it brought him back to his original thought…how daft was he? Knowing how restless the colonel had been, increasingly so, it seemed, as night waxed. The moment Carson had taken residence in the chair, the man's entire demeanor had relaxed, tension seeming to flow out of muscles like tinkling cool water in a mountain stream.

Sheppard had needed to know someone he trusted was near in order to sleep, and no wonder, considering what the man had been through. That it'd taken this long for Carson to realize only made him want to berate himself further… the sigh he released was painful, and sad.

"I know I've saved you more times than I care to remember, but I can't shake the feeling that we all failed you this time, Colonel, failed you terribly."

"Because we did."

Carson looked over his shoulder, smiled regretfully. "Would you believe me if I said you had no choice?"

She stepped nearer, the shadows playing across her face. "No. You urged me to trade sooner, than later." Elizabeth folded her arms against her chest and watched with a naked tenderness between them as John slept. "You wanted to rescue him, and I wouldn't give in to Kolya's demands."

"Just because there are choices, doesn't make them right."

They didn't have to hold back. Carson knew Elizabeth's demons more than anyone else on Atlantis. She came to him for whatever it took to keep her going. Some nights it was a drink, and an ear, other nights, it was a bottle of pills. Tonight, it was this. To stand next to Sheppard, to be together, because Carson knew the others would be arriving soon. Filtering in as their need drove them.

With Elizabeth here to sit with John, Carson stood. "I'll be back."

She nodded, biting her lip and fighting back emotions that Carson knew were mirrored in his own face. Why did it seem like it was only getting harder? Without saying anything else, he left to find the nurse and explain what he needed.

OoO

Teyla had found Ronon and Rodney, and somehow they wound up talking about things they could do to make Kolya pay. It was not entirely a healthy conversation, she knew, but then again, perhaps revenge had merits at certain times.

They spent too long on the topic, the dinner rush left, and the room grew empty. "Should we not go visit Colonel Sheppard?"

Of course, they should, but she phrased it as a question so not to sound as if she were criticizing their length of time expanding upon methods of torture.

Teyla didn't miss the flash of fear, and something else, on Rodney's face. Nor did she fail to miss the way Ronon's muscles tightened.

"Personally, I prefer discussing the non-sedated removal of a certain Genii's finger and toenails --"

She raised her eyebrow.

Rodney scowled, but dropped his gesturing hands and sighed. "Fine, fine. We'll go visit Sheppard. Might as well get this awkward stuff over with, anyway."

"What awkward stuff?" Ronon stood, crumpling his napkin in a ball, and tossing it towards the trashcan.

It fell short, and Teyla said pointedly, "You missed, Ronon."

"No, I didn't. I meant to do that."

Rodney's eyes widened in disbelief. "You did not! Stop lying, seriously, whoever got you started on that completely pathological behavior needs to be marched out at dawn and shot."

Teyla could not quite keep the smile from spreading as she leaned towards Rodney and reminded him, "I believe it was you that explained to Ronon the purpose of a 'white lie.'"

As they walked through the doors towards the transporter, Rodney protested, "Well he's doing it wrong. A white lie is saying, 'Hey, Ronon, nice hair cut.' Not, 'I meant to miss the target with my shabbily made garbage-ball', because that's so the point of throwing a ball at a target. Oh, looked, I missed! Just what I meant to do!"

It was a Rodney thing, to wind up insulting someone when he was focused on something else entirely, but Ronon hadn't missed the hair jab, and he frowned at Rodney, while screwing his eyes upwards, as if trying to see his hair without a mirror. Teyla wished there weren't these emotions pressing down on her, otherwise, she could have enjoyed the moment for what it was. "Your hair is fine, Ronon," she said, more sharply then she'd intended. "Rodney, it is important that we are there for John now. He will need us in the days to come. It will not be awkward." She guessed at what he had meant.

"Be there for Sheppard? What about me…"

Teyla didn't quite subdue the glare.

"…and you, Ronon. Who's there for us, hmm? We're psychologically scarred. You can't just erase the images of your best friend being tortured – literally to death -- in front of you!"

The transporter door had opened to let them out, but before Rodney could walk forward, she touched his arm, made him stop and look at her. "We are here for us. John is here. Together we will get through this, but there is nothing that can erase those images, Rodney. Some things are never meant to be erased; they leave scars inside, and the only way to not let them sicken you is by letting the scars touch the light of day. Do you understand?"

Understanding, then confusion, then understanding, then confusion…the two expressions rapidly cycled across Rodney's face until it finally settled on confusion. "No…not… really."

Ronon shrugged past Teyla. "She's saying she thinks we need to share our feelings to keep from becoming crazy over what happened." With a look that made it clear to Teyla how he felt, Ronon added, "I think it's a girl thing."

Rodney gingerly moved around Teyla and joined Ronon. "I think she can possibly hurt you," he murmured, sotto-voice, before heading into the infirmary.

When they joined Rodney by John's bedside, it was to find the colonel sleeping. Elizabeth was already watching over him, sleeping in the chair next to him. Rodney raised a finger to his lips and made a shhhh face. Teyla nodded gravely.

It had been a very, very long twenty-four hours plus some. The fact that not only one, but two, of the most affected slept now, was reason to be quiet and careful. There were extra chairs strategically placed, but Teyla also noticed the beds nearby were made up, pillows and blankets ready. She knew that the those items were normally out only if a bed was occupied, and their appearance now spoke a great deal about Carson's intentions for John's team, and Elizabeth.

They were not only welcome, but being invited to settle in for the night.

Ronon lowered himself into a chair not far from Elizabeth, Rodney into the one near Sheppard's head. The bed lured her. She had not slept, anymore than anyone else had. She went with her body's growing need, and settled on the gurney, surprisingly not bothered by the fact that Ronon and Rodney's eyes drifted her way, concern evident.

When had they become so close? When had they crossed that line from team to family?

The pillow was small and lumpy, and yet, it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Teyla never realized she'd fallen asleep until the desperate sounds from John woke her…

OoO

He wasn't afraid to take a bullet. He wasn't afraid to die. But to die like this…

A person sees enough, lives through enough, they tend to think differently about the end. John didn't want to lose his life, but he didn't want to beg Kolya to save it, either. And that's why, right now, he was thankful for the gag... it'd keep him from crying out something he didn't want to say.

He tried to look the wraith in the eye, to face it head on, like he'd faced everything else in his life, but the moment that hand struck his chest, the agony sent his senses all screw-shaped. The agony burned through his muscles like fire, incinerating every nerve ending in his body. John felt his head fall back, bent from the sheer, unadulterated pain…it speared his chest, shook his limbs, pierced every layer of his body. Shove the impossibility of it, because John was convinced that somehow time had stopped.

"Stop…"

Was that his voice? He was gagged…he couldn't talk, scream, or beg, so how?

Did it matter…was it ever going to end? It couldn't have been long…a wraith could drain a human in less then a minute, hell, less then half a minute, so why did it feel like he'd been clutched tightly in this hell for hours. How was his mind even managing to form a coherent thought?

"Just…stop..." he rasped.

"John, you're safe. It is all right."

His eyes snapped open, his breath stuck in his throat. "Teyla?" he croaked.

The fire receded, the memory retreating.

She was standing next to him, leaning over, her clothes wrinkled and rumpled. Her hair was even more messed than usual, and he suddenly got that she'd been sleeping…he'd woken her, but there wasn't any trace of sleepiness in her face. Instead, there was something sad, worried, and heavy. "It was a dream," she assured him. And then, as much to herself, repeated, "Just a dream. You're safe on Atlantis now."

Rodney was muttering in his sleep, and John was sure he'd heard his own name. A moment later, Rodney jerked upright, his eyes going from shut to open so wide that John could make out how dilated his pupils were in the softly illuminated infirmary. Recognition caught up, and then they were staring at each other.

"I…uh…" Rodney cleared his throat and slumped less. He turned his head, noted Ronon dozing not far from them, and Elizabeth. "It was… uh, bad dream."

John chuckled low. "Bad company."

"You too?" Rodney's assessing gaze raked over him and he added dryly, "I don't suppose becoming a human espresso is conducive to pleasant dreams. I can personally vouch that watching it isn't."

They both watched as Teyla went to the bed, pulling two blankets off. "Dreams are the bridge from our inner thoughts, to our outer." She handed one to Rodney, then wrapped the other around her shoulders. The chair behind Rodney was empty, and she pulled it closer before sitting.

"Subconscious to conscious?" Rodney wondered towards her.

"Yes. Doctor Heightmeyer and I had a similar discussion when I had problems with dreams before." John tried not to wince at the memory, especially seeing how Teyla was managing just fine. "Our dreams manifest what our mind perhaps will not face when we are consciously thinking."

John had to look away, because suddenly, the ceiling had a real interesting design; he bet they didn't know that.

Did she know? Had he begged out loud, as he'd done in his dream?

"Are you getting post-traumatic?"

Rodney's sharp question drew John's eyes swiftly off the not-really-so interesting tile.

"What are you talking about?" retorted John.

"You," Rodney elaborated with a wave. "You're acting weird. Stop it. Just…"

"Rodney, John is…" she caught his gaze and smiled wistfully, "…fine."

He nodded thankfully at her, closed his eyes. He was fine. He'd be fine. Dreams don't kill you, they just scare you, that's all, and what's a little lingering fear when he considered the alternative, right?

Suck it up, John, the wraith didn't kill you in the end, it restored you. Stop repainting him with the evil brush of the first three feedings…

"If he's fine, why's he closing his eyes now?"

Rodney's question washed over John. He found a pleasant familiarity in the tense anxiety that always seemed to ride roughshod over Rodney. Answering without opening his eyes, John said, "He's closing his eyes because he is tired."

The thing was, John was tired. Bone weary, down deep, tired. And he figured, he'd dream more before the night was up. Then tomorrow Carson would fuss over him, and he'd have to get on his feet, start walking…start taking more steps towards returning to normal.

And John wanted to get back to normal.

They weren't going to make it easy for him -- Rodney was probably going to hover more than ever, and so would Teyla and Ronon. As he thought about it, a real smile crept across his face, cause the worry thing…it was what a family did. Family.

"Look! He's smiling now…Sheppard, you're not brain damaged from everything, are you?" Rodney moved closer and tried to pry one of John's eyelids open.

He pushed Rodney's hand away, but then caught Rodney's arm, and held it, grinning up at him. He'd had to reach with his right hand, not being able to move his left much, and he practically laughed because that was going to bring Carson running soon, again, but suddenly, it was okay. Everything was okay. "Rodney, I could kiss you," he joked. Euphoria was almost stealing away his common sense, but he was alive, his heart was behaving, tomorrow was a new day that'd be one step closer towards putting this behind him, behind them, and they cared. They'd come for him.

They were his family.

"Cadman's not in there, is she?" Rodney demanded, staring at him suspiciously.

Before John could answer, the cuff went off, the beeping began, and Carson came blustering out a few moments later demanding, "One hour, Colonel. You couldn't make it one hour of keeping still…"

Everyone was awake then, Ronon and Elizabeth slowly taking in the activity. Seeing how he was the only one with carte blanche to sleep even in the middle of people talking and pestering, John decided to return to it, or at least, make them think he was. Carson did his thing, fussed, then they lowered their voices, and shared opinions on topics that had everything to do with inane things like chocolate versus vanilla and who'd win in a fight, Rocky or Ronon and nothing to do with why he was lying in an infirmary bed, continually setting off his annoying blood pressure cuff. John let the lassitude of the atmosphere blanket him with more warmth than any cotton could manage, and soon the pretending became fact.

OoO

He'd like to say, that everything afterwards was roses. That they helped each other heal. But the fact was, it only worked that way in fairy tales and TV. John woke a lot that first night with more nightmares, and sometimes someone woke up with him, sometimes they didn't.

He had company round the clock. One of the four -- Carson, Rodney, Teyla and Elizabeth. Sometimes Zelenka dropped in, Lorne…they all took their time to keep him busy. They all worked hard to find topics that didn't involve the wraith, but considering where they lived and worked, and the reality of what was going on around them, it was pretty hard to do. It was two days later when Carson removed the pacemaker and attached the Holter monitor to make sure his heart was recovered, and two days later when he finally got sick of it.

Sick of the hovering, the avoiding some topics…as if the mere mentioning of them would send John in a tailspin. Or worse, into some kind of post-traumatic flashback. But it was the fact that just maybe they were right to be worried that made him open up.

Was it really a surprise that the one he opened up to was Rodney?

John was sitting on his bed, thumbing through a new proposal that Rodney had brought by. He was only wearing his sweats and a loose t-shirt, the monitor tucked into a small nylon pack attached around his waist. He was beginning to get used to the whole 'wired up' thing.

It took a moment for it to sink in what he was reading, that it wasn't a joke, at least he figured it wasn't, judging by the eager, impatient look on Rodney's face.

Proper Off-World Departures Using the Stargate, and General Discourse on Safety Measures of Off-World Team Members
By Rodney McKay, Ph.D, Astrophysics
Chief Scientist, Atlantis Expedition

Index

1. Non-emergent departures via planetary DHD's

2. Emergent departures via planetary DHD's

3. Non-emergent departures via Puddle Jumper, with no malfunctioning equipment

4. Emergent departures via Puddle Jumper, with no malfunctioning equipment

5. Non-emergent departures via Puddle Jumper, with malfunctioning equipment

6. Emergent departures via Puddle Jumper, with malfunctioning equipment

7. Order of departure

8. Preventative measures to avoid capture upon departure

9. There is no "I" in TEAM (and other reasons why no one is expendable)

10. Maximizing your safety potential

Post-script provided by Major Lorne, Doctors Radek Zelenka and Elizabeth Weir, Chapter eight written with the help of Native consultants Ronon Dex and Teyla Emmagan. Chapter ten co-written with the help of Carson Beckett, M.D., Chief Medical Officer, Atlantis Expedition.

"Don't you think this is a little overboard?" John finally asked, setting it on his bed.

"No."

He waited for the 'more' but Rodney merely quirked an eyebrow at him as if to say the paper explained everything necessary, and stood impassively next to John. Okay. Rodney being succinct. Maybe there was more work ahead of them then he'd thought.

Maybe he ought to take Kate up on her offer of group therapy. Then he remembered his session from yesterday and decided screw that. Because right now it was too raw and personal to even consider sharing. John didn't want to tell Rodney what his thoughts were when he'd been dying. He didn't want to deal with the abrasive curiosity.

"You can't let what happened make you even more neurotic, and this…this is pretty neurotic."

"Why not? Change is adaptation, it's a basic survival tactic built into even the smallest life forms in the universe."

Well, he had John there. Sighing, he lifted the paper, and thought maybe he'd read it. Maybe Rodney had suggested things that'd help make all of them safer out there. "There's nothing stupid in this, is there, like keeping me behind because I'm the leader and need to be protected, 'cause I always thought that was lame when they did that to Picard."

Rodney snorted. "Hardly." At John's look, he admitted irritably, "Fine, Elizabeth made me take out the part about tying you to me."

"Tying…?" John's neck ached from looking up at Rodney. "Sit, Rodney, before I wind up needing to see a chiropractor."

"There isn't one on Atlantis," Rodney informed him as if John was really stupid. But he did sit down next to him on the bed.

"I know, hence the 'sit down.' I prefer to avoid things like pain in the necks…oh, wait, you're on my team." John laughed at the irony.

"That's not fair. I'm not the one that got captured, not once, but twice, in less than a month! Seriously, do you have any idea of how damaging it's been being on the other side of the wormhole and having it shut down without you on this side? Again, I repeat," Rodney lifted his index finger, "not once, but twice."

John rolled his eyes. "I get it, trust me."

"No, you don't, because you're being glib. And if that weren't enough, which it was, by the way, I had to watch Kolya step to the side and what'd it reveal…you! Tied to a chair, bound, gagged, in deep, deep, incredibly deep trouble. It's…it's…"

"…hard," John finished for him.

Rodney was going to say something harsh, angry, grating…to show how much he cared – John could tell by the changing expressions on Rodney's face, but when he tried, nothing came out, and John waited. He waited as Rodney's emotions disintegrated and the anger dissolved into just…pain.

This…thing…between them, it got awkward in the quiet. Not sure what to do, John lingered on the cusp of trying to reach out, until Rodney was the one to first gather something together, and he took the paper from John's lap, stared at it with resignation. "None of this is going to change what happened, is it?" he said thickly. "Or what might happen."

Now it was John's turn to be succinct. "No."

That was the crux of it. Rodney had hit upon the thing that was keeping them all on edge. That it might happen again. That they'd been lucky, he'd been lucky, and luck runs out. There was going to be a day when one of their team didn't make it back. In a way, there'd all ready been one of those days, it was just that Ford had been lost on Atlantis when they'd been separated, each fighting their own fight to keep Atlantis safe. Because of the circumstances, it wasn't the same feeling...Ford had abandoned them.

Close, but not the same.

John had begun to reach out more to people, to his friends. And he did it now, feeling completely weird, but doing it anyway, and patted Rodney on the knee before standing up. "Come on, let's get some lunch."

Rodney frowned at the report, and reluctantly set it on the bed. He stood, and seemed to be thinking about something. When he finally moved towards John and asked plaintively, "Not even a wrist harness?" John shoved him forcefully ahead, not at all reluctant for that kind of 'reach out and touch someone.'

"No."

"Okay, fine, but holding hands as we prepare to jump through was like third on my list of preferred methods --"

"Knock it off!"

OoO

The table was crowded; cards and poker chips, glasses and people.

Laughter erupted, and smiling, Elizabeth lifted her wine glass. "To your first mission tomorrow, Colonel…" tilting her head towards Rodney, Teyla and Ronon, "And company, may it be as boring as watching paint peel from a wall."

Carson lifted his glass, clinking to hers, then they met the others in the toast and vowed, "Hear, hear!"

Swallowing, Carson raised his glass again. "To old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read."

John looked across the table at Rodney, nodded solemnly, and lifted his half-empty glass. Rodney followed, and Elizabeth, but Teyla paused, confused. "What does it mean?"

"It simply means…" John stared at the familiar faces, the wine having warmed them all to the marrow of their bones, and though they grew melancholic thinking about Carson's words, everyone was smiling…happy. Teyla waited, her face open and curious. They all waited. John smiled crookedly. "...it means, 'let's grow old together.'"

She looked at Ronon, then to each of them in turn, and lifted her glass. "I would like that," she said fervently.

The resounding hear, hears echoed all the way up, and out, and could be heard in the hallway and beyond.

The End