We're moving on pretty quick, kiddos. Soon we'll be leaving Earth entirely.

Also, I've only seen the first two seasons of SG-1, so my experience with Cameron Mitchell can be best summed up in one word: fics. Yes, I'm basing his character off fics. And the episode Pegasus Project, which I watched god only knows when. I just kinda vaguely remember the big-ass Stargate eating the Ori ship and Mitchell threatening Rodney with a lemon. I'm assuming that that is classic McKay-induced irritation and not typical behavior for him.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

---

Chapter Eight- Hunting- Sora refuses to give up and Rodney gets stuck in a very scary place

When the Genii squad had first gone off-world, it had been for a simple reconnaissance mission. Head over to a trading partner, see if they were withholding any interesting tidbits, come back and report. The Commander would decide what to do from there. As such, the team itself was comprised only of twenty men. Four had fallen to the Wraith when they had attacked the world the squad had been on. Three more had managed to slip away after being welcomed to this new world and before they had their bearings back. Two had died in the four years since.

Of the eleven left, Pranos was technically the leader, although that was in name only, Ladon Radim was their scientist and the true brains behind the operations, and lovely little Sora was what the Earthlings called a 'loose cannon'. Right now she was being especially loose.

"For the last time, Sora, report," Ladon ordered through gritted teeth. He glanced at the fire still raging over to his left. They were making no effort to corral the flames, instead just ransacking what was left of the house. McKay's network would be here for cleanup within the hour; there was no time for games.

For the second time in her life, Sora had gone toe-to-toe with the wild power John Sheppard. For the second time, she had lost. Adding to the general level of insult, Sheppard didn't even seem to be aware that there had been a fight either time. Now Sora was gone, and given her hot temper, Ladon had no doubt about where she was. Unfortunately, finding her meant finding Sheppard first.

If he had been asked exactly what had gone wrong that night, his answer would have been simple: they had underestimated their opponents. The Keeper had held on to his defensive walls for a minute or two longer than they had expected. The Satedan caught on and got moving faster than they had hoped. The wild power was slightly more dangerous than they had believed. The four of them actually worked together. Little things that had added up to be big things. And now Sora had vanished.

Ladon swore to himself as he reached the area where she'd been last seen. Taking a blow from a wild power was rather like taking a blow from a grizzly bear- even if you survived, you went down fast and stayed there for a while. That Sora had already gotten her feet back under her and was on the move was impressive.

He bent down and picked up her intact radio. The girl was going to be the death of all of them, he just knew it.

"Sir," a man panted out as he ran up. Ladon regarded him carelessly. Despite there being only a handful of his fellow Genii on the planet, they had managed to attract a fair-sized group of people, mostly fugitives and washed-out military and even a handful of mercenary and organized crime rejects. It was doubtful anyone outside of Weir's network knew exactly how small their true numbers were, and Weir's understanding was based only on her controlling the damn Stargate. The man approaching Ladon now was one of his few fellow Genii.

"What's wrong now?" he asked wryly.

"We were told there would be Ancestral technology in the basement," the man began.

"And there was, but there's nothing now," Ladon finished. "Almost like someone knew we were coming."

Weir had been here. She'd left, but she'd been here. She had Known and prepared accordingly. Ladon sighed and rubbed at his temple. There was nothing to be done now but get gone before the military half of Weir's network put in an appearance and expressed their disapproval with Genii tactics. As for Sora- easier perhaps to find Sheppard, which they didn't have the time to do nor the resources to take him on if they did find him. They had no choice but to let her go for now.

"Grab what you can, trash the rest. Leave nothing for them to find." He blinked as a sudden breeze stung his eyes with smoke.

"And Sora?"

"If she contacts us, we track her down and bring her back fast as we can. If she doesn't, we assume the worst. Pray to the Ancestors she isn't incompetent enough to get captured." Except she wasn't thinking like a trained soldier right now, she was thinking like a pissed, temperamental woman. She was both; unfortunately, the latter tended to come across stronger. The Commander had sent her on the recon mission specifically to see how out-of-control she would get. It had been a simple mission, nothing that could be screwed up too badly no matter what happened. Except for what had happened, the one thing no one could predict, the one thing no one ever planned for: the Wraith.

Ladon grunted and rubbed at his eyes, feeling the bitter sting from the smoke. Off in the distance a pair of headlights momentarily lit up a bend in the road before disappearing again. The road continued on in easy view from where he was. The driver had turned off the headlights.

"Time to go," he said over the radio, palming Sora's as he did so. He spared a glance off to his right as he walked away, gaze resting briefly on the bodies lined up there. Three had fallen tonight, all three to that damn Satedan bastard. None had been true Genii. Ladon wasn't concerned about possible identification, since they were little more than hired guns and had little or no connection to his group.

Sora gone. Three men dead. Their advantage blown. Pranos was going to be pissed.

---

Pain. He was very much aware of the pain.

Rodney McKay was no fan of pain, had spent his entire adult life in the pursuit of a pain-free lifestyle. He was a selfish coward and proud of it. Everything he had done in his life had been for one of two reasons: proving himself to be the smartest man alive, or to avoid pain. In that first objective he was largely successful. In the second he'd failed continuously- because he was human and therefore not invincible- although never as bad as this.

He was aware of things going on around him. He heard Teyla's soothing voice and the other two talking up front in a broken rhythm. He felt the bitter cold air of a winter-chilled car not yet warmed by the ventilation system. He smelled smoke and char. Mostly he felt his own power. No longer a protective buffer between him and the world, it lay huddled in the corner, as abused and hurt and confused as he was. He was no longer a Keeper. He had nothing now.

He tried to focus, tried to drag himself out of the well of darkness and pain. It was an odd sensation to be skimming just below true consciousness and he didn't much like it. It reminded him too much of stories he'd heard about coma patients and how they might actually be aware of what was going on around them. God, if he was in some sort of power-induced coma, that would be...

Well. That would be just his luck.

The darkness wasn't backing off. If anything, it was closing in. He tried to move and got no response; he tried to make some noise and failed again. His head felt like some idiot jock had used it for batting practice and his skin was apparently trying to crawl off his body. He was shivering, he realized distantly, shivering and panting and whispering random words in the half-dozen languages he'd picked up over the years. The words were nonsense and generally tended to translate into a slightly verbose version of 'ow'.

This was not normal. He'd seen power burnout before and it was nothing like this. What the hell did those Genii fuckers do to him?

Teyla's hands were strong and gentle. Her voice was smooth as honey and she was speaking in a lyrical language he'd never heard before, possibly her native tongue. Her hair was brushing against his face, one particular strand longer than the rest curling as it rested on his cheekbone. Prior to that point her tendency to want to touch had put him on edge but now he was desperately grateful for it. She was his only link to the real world, to the world outside of the pain.

Rodney mentally sighed and closed his eyes, forcing himself to settle down. He was going to have to trust the other three, much as it went against his nature. Trust them to take care of him, keep him safe.

Trust them to make those Genii bastards pay.

---

"Wow."

Major Lorne glanced over, studying the man beside him. It wasn't a good 'wow', an impressed look-at-this-isn't-this-amazing 'wow'. This was more the sort of 'wow' he'd heard a lot from people- civilians especially- when faced with indescribable disaster. The sort of 'wow' one would expect to have heard on the streets of New Orleans after Katrina, or perhaps at Ground Zero in NYC before cleanup crews had cleared out the remains of the fallen towers.

A Keeper did not go down easily or quickly, and Rodney McKay had been no exception.

"Genii?" The major's companion asked, carefully twisting himself around so his breath didn't fog up the car window. Lorne tried not to grimace as he stopped just outside the gate. The twisted, heat-warped gate that looked like a horror movie reject. The house beyond was almost completely gone.

"Most likely," he answered grimly. "They're the only ones we know who have not only the motive to arrange something like this, but also the means. They're the only ones I can think of who can bring a Keeper down, sir." The only ones who would want to.

Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell was in a position very similar to that of General O'Neill- he was aware, but had no power of his own, and so had to rely upon subordinates who did. Unlike the general, however, Mitchell found himself constantly in the field with his life in the hands of those with powers he couldn't comprehend. He therefore had a vested interest in learning as much as he could about those powers as quickly as possible.

Understandably, most people never encountered McKay; he wasn't exactly a poster child for network friendliness. Unless Lorne was greatly mistaken, Mitchell had never even met the man, had probably been only vaguely aware of his existence. That was without doubt the best way to work with McKay- with a buffer of several people and no direct interaction.

A man in dark fatigues jogged up to their car. He balked for a moment, not sure which side to circle around to. Mitchell solved the problem by rolling his window down and leaning out slightly.

"Problem, Sergeant?" he asked as the man walked up.

"No, sir," the sergeant answered instantly. "It's clear. We've got three bodies, look like they went a round with Freddie Kruger, but nothing alive."

"The bodies aren't..." Lorne began carefully, not sure how to ask the question. The sergeant shook his head.

"No, sir. They're burnt but not bad enough to be unidentifiable. They're not ours." He stepped away from the car door, clearly indicating that it was past time they got out.

The two senior officers exchanged a tired glance and climbed out of the warm car. Lorne pulled his coat tighter around himself and ignored the sergeant's artistically hidden smirk. He really hated arrogant Marines and their trash-talking ways. Being Air Force didn't make him weak. It just meant he'd prefer to learn to fly rather than eight ways to break someone's neck.

"Any idea where they might be going?" Mitchell asked. Lorne felt momentarily vindicated to see the colonel shivering as well, then shoved that thought away. Mitchell was a fellow flyboy and besides, he came from the deep South if his trace accent was anything to go by.

"Judging by the group dynamics, Sheppard's acting as leader right now," he said stiffly, staring down at the small row of bodies as they approached. "I honestly have no idea what he might be up to. I don't know him that well."

"Thought you said you dropped by a lot."

"Yes, sir, I did, but Sheppard..." Lorne shrugged helplessly. "Puts up a front. Never really got to know the man behind it."

"Not a surprise," Mitchell sighed, glaring at the sky as a particularly strong gust of wind tore at them. He walked over to the bodies and knelt down beside one, studying the gaping hole where the man's throat used to be. Lorne didn't need to get close; he recognized Ronon Dex's handiwork when he saw it.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket for the third time in five minutes and glanced at it. No missed calls. With a tired sigh, he pressed redial and half-listened to the endless ringing. Only Teyla's cell phone was still working, and she wasn't answering. Clearly they'd had more important things to worry about. He didn't bother leaving a voicemail. As he hung up, Mitchell glanced over questioningly, and Lorne shook his head.

"McKay's car got a GPS tracker on it?" the colonel asked, rising to his feet.

"All of them, sir," the sergeant replied quickly. "It doesn't help us, though." He held up a bundle of wires attached to a small gray case. Neither Air Force man had to look too closely to figure it out.

"Covering their tracks," Lorne said with a frustrated shrug. "Genii can't track them."

"Yeah, well, neither can we." Mitchell glanced around and winced at the destruction. Whatever the Genii had hit the place with, it had been big.

Lorne was toying with his phone, twirling it around with cold-clumsy fingers. Teyla had called him from the house's land line within two minutes of the first explosion and had been on the line with him when the second one had hit. She knew he was close by and had rolled out reinforcements, knew that he was the one to contact if and when they were safe. All Lorne had to do was wait. Which, really, was something he was normally very good at. Normally.

Mitchell saw this and gestured for him to start moving. "Wherever they're going, it's not gonna be near here, right? This is basically the middle of nowhere. We need to get someplace closer to civilization."

Lorne's breath left him in a quiet rush. He nodded once and turned on his heel, immediately heading back towards the car. Mitchell was still talking, but not to him, and given the circumstances the colonel would most likely forgive the lack of decorum. He was one of the decent officers like that.

After a moment Mitchell appeared at his side, jangling a set of car keys in his hand. "We're taking one of the SUVs and four Marines. You still good to drive?"

Lorne glanced at the keys and felt himself settle down. He had never before been the kind of person who had to be doing something to feel useful, but now he could definitely understand the mindframe. He smiled grimly and took the keys.

"Yes, sir."

---

The hotel was cheap and filthy. The owner had three tobacco-yellow teeth and stringy gray hair. He spat out a wad of tobacco chew and nearly hit Ronon's foot; four seconds later he had a fractured wrist and a new respect for his customers. There was a brief hitch as they realized they had no way to pay without breaking out the easily-traceable credit cards, until Ronon casually offered up one of his cards that might or might not have been in his real name. They got one room, on the edge of the row, and parked as close to it as they could. There was a ratty bed, only one chair, and a phone that looked as though it hadn't worked in any of their lifetimes.

Sheppard sneered at the bed and yanked the blankets and sheets off, stripping it down to the mattress. He then spread the blanket they'd grabbed from the house over it and helped Teyla settle McKay onto it. Ronon passed over his coat and they laid it over the shivering Keeper. Teyla sat down cross-legged beside the bed, still touching and murmuring to the man. He seemed to be responding to it- his shivering and muttering had gotten noticeably worse during the minute it had taken them to bring him inside, but was better now that Teyla was back. Ronon grabbed the chair and swung it around into position, sitting close enough to the door to reach it in one bound while still being able to see a large chunk of the parking lot out the window. Sheppard grabbed at the phone and began hammering out Lorne's number, snarling and pacing as the phone proved to be uncooperative.

Finally he turned on Teyla, who was watching him with a sharp gaze. "Are you sure Lorne's even close enough to help?"

"I am certain," she said, not breaking from the soft, soothing tone. Her eyes, however, were dark and angry. She was as mad as the other two, she just hid it better. Ronon shifted in his chair impatiently. He wanted to be out there making those bastards suffer, not sitting here waiting for reinforcements. For better or worse, McKay was a friend, and no one hurt Ronon's friends.

"Great. Well, with this piece of crap phone we aren't gonna be calling him." Sheppard threw the phone, receiver and all, into the wall and stared at the resulting hole in the way. None of the three even flinched when a number of cockroaches came scurrying out. "And we took the GPS off the car," Sheppard continued, as if his little tantrum hadn't just happened.

"There are other phones," Ronon said slowly. "In the main lobby. Pay phone in the parking lot too."

Sheppard was already shaking his head before Ronon had finished the first sentence. "No. I don't want us splitting up."

Ronon lifted a brow and glanced over his shoulder, briefly meeting Teyla's gaze. Neither of them said anything, knowing Sheppard had to reach the obvious conclusion by himself. After a moment he did so with an audible growl.

"Fine. I'm going to the lobby. You two stay here."

Ronon snorted and stood, eying the older man. "I'll go."

"No you won't." Sheppard met his gaze squarely, and for the first time Ronon saw the real man beneath the smirks and the drawl, the cool, uncompromising man whom Ronon would follow to the ends of the universe. He'd seen glimpses of this before, but never for more than a second or two. "You stay here and take care of Rodney for me. If something happens, get them out of here."

He wanted to argue, but that was an order and he knew better than to fight those. Instead he nodded and backed off a few steps. Sheppard watched him, the hardness in his eyes shifting to something more like relief, before ducking over to the door. He opened it a crack and froze. Nothing happened. He eased the door open another foot and froze again; still nothing. A moment later he slipped through the opening and the door clicked shut behind him.

Ronon waited a long ninety seconds, in which there was no sign of anything amiss. He then strode over to the windows and yanked them both open, ignoring the hellish squealing. Teyla watched him without comment. As he sat down, she mover herself onto the bed and pressed close to McKay.

"You ever seen anything like that before?" Ronon asked after a long minute, gesturing towards the Keeper as he did so. Teyla shook her head grimly.

"Doctor Beckett will know," she said quietly, tucking the edge of Ronon's coat over her legs. The Specialist glanced at her again. Beckett was a Healer, sure, arguably the best one he'd ever met, but Healers weren't perfect. There was no guarantee Beckett could figure out McKay's problem and even less assurances that he could do anything about it.

Ronon tilted his head to the side and half-stood at the distant jingle of bells. The lobby door had had bells tied to the handle. Sheppard hadn't been in there long enough to call Lorne, even if all he was doing was giving the address. He wandered over to the window and peered out carefully, watching as the familiar loose-limbed figure strolled over to the pay phone in the corner of the parking lot. A moment later he was jogging back towards the room.

Sheppard lifted an eyebrow at the open windows as Ronon let him in but didn't say anything. Instead he commenced a mad hunt for spare change, which ended in a bust. Finally he took a few bills from McKay's wallet and headed back out. Ronon took up his position by the window again, forgoing the chair. He listened to the faint chiming of the bells and waited.

A full minute later, he grabbed his blaster and turned to Teyla. "Something's wrong. I'm going to check it out."

"What?" Teyla asked. Ronon nodded towards the window.

"Went in the lobby and hasn't come out yet."

Anyone else would have been accused of being paranoid. A Specialist's instincts, however, were nothing to scoff at. Teyla waved him over and drew two wards in quick slashing strokes over his wrist. The first he didn't recognize; the second he did, even before she said the activation word and a rush of warmth blew over him. He was out the door before the glow faded. He glanced back once to see her standing just outside, drawing something on the door itself.

From the direction of the lobby came the sharp retort of a gun. Then another. Ronon broke into a run, switching his blaster over to kill as he went. He'd had enough of the Genii making all the moves and pushing them around. Time to go on the offensive.

---

John couldn't help it. He was pissed. The entire day had gone straight to hell in an uncontrollable downward spiral and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He didn't like not being in control. More importantly, he didn't like watching the people around him suffer because he wasn't in control. His mother had once told him that he had a hero complex; he had to be the one who suffered, the one who paid the price. No one else was allowed to know pain. It was arrogant and condescending and even selfish, in an odd way, and right now he would give his right arm to be rid of it.

The trip back to the lobby was made all the longer for his self-castigating, and he didn't immediately notice something was wrong. The bells jingled again, and god he was two seconds away from shooting the damn things because they were just one more irritant in a whole day hellbent on driving him mad and they might very well be the final straw. He glanced over to the front counter, where the motel owner had previously been sitting. The man's attitude had done a sharp one eighty after a quick conversation with Ronon. John had his suspicions about exactly what that conversation had entailed, but neither man was talking. The man was gone. John felt himself tense up, fingers curling around the bills he'd been about to exchange for coins, and dropped his free hand to the butt of the Genii woman's gun.

Under the strong smell of tobacco and the faint hint of old urine was a new scent, the new-penny smell of fresh blood. A lot of it. He dropped the money and pulled the gun in one smooth motion, sidestepping away from the glass door and putting his back against the wall as he carefully peered around. There, just barely peeking around the counter, was the edge of a dark stain on the carpet. He swore mentally and took a half-step forward.

There were three doorways in the lobby, including the door leading outside. One he could see through; it led to a sort of employee lounge. He couldn't tell if there was someone in the small room but went with his gut instinct in that it was empty. The other doorway was on the wall to his right, leading into- if he remembered correctly- a long hallway that ran behind the row of rooms. He had no idea where the hallway led to and didn't care. Something in him was screaming trap and given earlier events he was inclined to listen. He edged back over to the outside door, pushing it open slowly with one foot as he kept the gun up and ready-

The blond Genii woman exploded up from behind the counter like a homicidal jack-in-the-box. There was a flash of silver and immediate pain; his right arm promptly went fiery with pain and his suddenly numb hand dropped the gun. He had half a second to register the large knife half-buried in his arm just above his elbow before the woman was flying at him.

She was young and fast and well-trained and- most importantly- immensely pissed. He was- not old, but older- and tired and had once upon a time been well-trained and- just as importantly- equally pissed. He was also bigger than her and had the added bonus of regular sparring matches with a Satedan Specialist. Had it not been for his power, he would have easily ended this fight before it truly began.

Unfortunately for him, his power reacted to the threat the same as it had before: it lashed out. This time, however, he didn't have the strength to back it up, and he found himself on his knees and gasping for breath as the blond slammed back against the counter. She rolled to one side and rose to her feet, grinning dark and feral. Apparently he didn't have the strength to do any real damage this time, and now he was seriously screwed.

The gun was a foot and a half in front of him. He caught sight of it from the corner of his eye but showed no sign of having seen it, instead keeping his gaze steady on those coffee-dark eyes. He wrapped his good hand around the knife and tugged it out carelessly. Technically it was a bad idea, but this was going to be over before any serious effects from the blood loss started kicking in.

The Genii woman dipped a hand down to her waist and produced another knife, bigger and nastier than the one he held. Briefly John stared at it; then he shrugged mentally and lunged.

Pain blazed a new trail up his left side as he rolled away, the knife in his hand copper-bright with blood from three people. His right hand was slick and clumsy and fumbled the knife same as it had the gun. His left was steady as always as he wrapped it around the gun's handle. He hit the ground with his right shoulder and the starburst of agony momentarily sharpened the fuzzy gray world around him.

He rolled with the motion, landing flat on his back with both hands wrapped around the gun, aiming it up at her as she shrieked and spun around. There was a millisecond pause before she was moving again and he had to choose, now.

He fired.

---

Carson Beckett had long since found that there were several advantages to being a Healer, especially in the current society. For one, he'd never had to worry about a malpractice suit, because he literally couldn't be wrong. For another, he was in high demand, because while Healing was a common secondary talent it was rarely a person's primary power and a full-blown Healer such as himself, capable of healing physical and mental wounds, came about approximately once every twenty years. He could request an assignment with any hospital in the civilized world and get it, he was just that good.

Which didn't quite explain why he still found himself working at an Air Force hospital in northwestern Oregon. Except, that was where his network needed him, and near as he could tell some deity had decided to write 'SUCKER' on his forehead in big bold letters with cosmic ink and people like Elizabeth Weir were very, very good at noticing it. And, of course, people like Rodney McKay who could somehow see it and take advantage of it despite being, though god alone knew how the idiot managed it, completely unaware of it.

Truth be told, Carson was probably Rodney's oldest friend. They'd gone to the same school briefly, before Rodney berated him into accepting his fate and going premed. Carson had rebelled against the abrasive browbeating and went back for a degree in genetics, rooming with Rodney while ignoring the huffing and eye rolling and earning himself the questionable honor of being the first non-relation to voluntarily put up with the man. After that, the two traded e-mails and phone calls several times a day, and even occasionally showed up on the other's door step and making themselves at home for a week or two for no reason more than because they could.

That had been before that damn Stargate broke Rodney's spirit and left him picking up the pieces of himself alone, because he would let no one else get near. Before he had become a Keeper proper and withdrew from the world.

Now Carson found himself standing on the roof of his hospital, heart in his throat and eyes scanning the cloudy sky, listening for the familiar beat of helicopter blades. Major Lorne had called several hours ago and warned him that they were bringing in five people, two badly injured and one that would fit neatly into the 'WTF' column. Carson was too professional to ask about Rodney in specific, but he knew that the Keeper was one of them. Rodney just attracted too much trouble not to be. Plus, news of the destruction of his house had spread through the network like wildfire, and Carson simply couldn't imagine that ending well for Rodney.

He felt the thumping beat of the chopper blades before he heard them and retreated across the roof, standing just inside the open door. Behind him, Elizabeth had wrapped both arms around her torso and was staring across the slate-gray sky with worried eyes. Part of him was angry with her for not Knowing this was coming. Another part quietly whispered that maybe she had, and maybe she had also Known that this had to happen. He refused to acknowledge either.

The helicopter had the familiar Air Force logo and a young-ish pilot with the bearing of an officer of respectable rank. He looked vaguely familiar; however, Carson had eyes only for the passengers. Teyla Emmagen unfolded herself, dropping gracefully to the ground and immediately turning around to help with the others. After her came a long, lean mountain of a man, who could only be the infamous Ronon Dex.

Carson did a quick scan for injuries on both of them and found none; he ducked his head under the lazily spinning blades and ran over to the chopper.

A young woman sat in the seat, one hand pressing a blood-stained bundle of cloth against her side. Her eyes were blank and she was staring straight ahead like a marionette with its puppeteer missing. On her right arm was a long line of wards drawn in red ink. Carson shot Teyla an accusing look and she met his gaze without flinching. No one had told him about one of the injured being a prisoner. They all knew better.

Next to her was a lean man with dark messy hair and hollow eyes. He was exhausted on every front, had put too much of himself into his power and nearly died for it. There was a long line of blood arching across his left ribs and a hastily tied bandage just about his right elbow. His hazel gaze was glassy and he stirred weakly, trying to move. Carson barked an order for him to stay put and yelled over his shoulder for two stretchers.

"Three," Dex corrected, and Carson felt his throat tighten as he turned his gaze to the last passenger. Rodney was curled into as much of a ball as the helicopter's seats would allow him, an oversized coat tucked around him. He was shivering and rocking slightly in his seat and whispering to himself in languages Carson had heard him speak before but couldn't recognize. The Healer turned to face Teyla.

"What the bloody hell happened?" he demanded, perhaps a touch harshly, although all things considered he wasn't in the mood for niceties. Teyla stared him straight in the eye- Christ above, he'd never consciously noted how short she really was until just that moment- and answered without hesitation.

"The Genii attacked Rodney's house. They broke through his power, we know not how. We found him like this during the attack."

Carson glanced over at Rodney. Normally he could tell what was wrong with a person with just a glance. Sometimes he had to push a little deeper. Never had it taken more than a moment's concentration. Right now, he couldn't tell anything about Rodney at all, and it scared him.

"The woman followed us from the house to the motel where Major Lorne and Colonel Mitchell," and here the pilot, who had been standing quietly off to one side, nodded in greeting- "met us. She attacked John. He shot her in self-defense."

"And ye had to ward her?" Carson asked despairingly.

"Don't know what power she has. Couldn't afford her waking up while we were in the air." Dex reached out to grab the woman and hauled her out of the helicopter before Carson could protest his roughness. She went along without protest.

Carson watched as his ER doctors loaded the three up. Behind him, someone cleared their throat, and he turned to face the colonel. Lieutenant Colonel, he saw when he glanced at the man's insignia.

"Who's CO here?" Mitchell asked.

"You are, now, if ye want it," Carson answered. Mitchell grimaced and the Healer turned away. He had patients, there was no time to play this game. Military protocol be damned. Mitchell had done his job by getting them here; he could now be dismissed.

The bullet lodged in the Genii woman's ribs turned out to be the most immediately threatening of the collective injuries. Ignoring Dex, who hovered behind the woman, Carson pulled the bullet out and set about cleaning the wound. He gave it just enough of a heal to prevent infection and moved on. Sheppard didn't even get that much healing; Carson's power drew on both his strength and that of whomever he was healing, and Sheppard simply didn't have any to spare. He ended up hooked up to an IV and a glucose bag. It would be a full twenty-four hours before Carson let him up and moving and another twenty-four before it would be safe for him to even consider using his power. Thankfully he was too out of it to protest and merely blinked sleepily at the people around him. Open-and-shut cases, really. Nothing too difficult.

Rodney, on the other hand, was very different. Carson spent the better part of eight hours running every sort of scan he could think of and ultimately got nowhere. All the scans indicated he was awake and completely aware, yet he quite simply wasn't. His power kept fetching up against a blank wall, like what he felt with General O'Neill. Ultimately he found himself working around to the same conclusion every time.

The answer to Rodney's mystery illness was in one of the back rooms with a bullet hole in her side.

When he reported this to Mitchell, who had reluctantly assumed command of this whole mess, the colonel's eyes tightened and he sighed tiredly. Carson glanced nervously at Teyla and Elizabeth, the other two in the small office. Ronon hadn't been invited to this little powwow; they all had a pretty good idea what he would be suggesting.

"Can you compel her to tell us about this?" Mitchell asked Teyla. The Athosian woman shook her head sadly.

"I cannot. She would have to be fully awake and even then I could not force her to tell the truth."

Mitchell glanced hopefully at Elizabeth, who merely shook her head. He sunk a little lower into his chair and stared at the desk in front of him.

"We can't leave him like that," he said finally. Carson wholeheartedly agreed but didn't say so.

"What other option do we have?" he asked instead, bleak and pessimistic. "I've never seen a thing like this before. It's almost like..."

The other three all shifted a little, looking over at him as he trailed off and stared blankly at the wall. Teyla started to say something but Mitchell waved her quiet, sitting forward and staring intensely at the Healer.

"Bloody hell," Carson said finally. "I'm an idiot."

"Maybe," Mitchell said before the two women could speak. "What is it?"

"It's obvious if ye stop and think about it, especially if you think about the people who attacked him. What's the main difference between us and the Genii?"

"The Genii aren't natives of Earth?" Elizabeth tried after a moment. Carson nodded.

"Exactly." He shot to his feet and, ignoring the confused looks, all but bolted out the door. After a moment he doubled back. "Has anyone called Jeannie yet?"

Judging by the guilty looks from the two females, that was a no. Carson made as if to leave again but Mitchell managed to catch him before he was gone.

"Wait! What the hell are you talking about?"

The Healer paused, then took pity on them. "The Genii didn't attack Rodney himself, they attacked his power. No one on Earth can do that because no one on Earth has needed to."

"The Genii, however, are constantly waging war on other worlds, worlds full of people who have power, so they've picked up a few tricks," the colonel finished. "All right, so that's how they did it, now what did they do? And can you fix it?"

"Not me," Carson shrugged. "But Jeannie can. She's family."

"Fine. Jeannie can fix it. Now, for the last time, what is wrong with him?"

"They've found a way to turn his power in on itself," Carson explained. "It's been turned completely inside-out. Instead of protecting a physical area from all outside forces, it's keeping him trapped inside himself."

Mitchell muttered something Carson would never have said in the presence of women. Elizabeth pulled her cell phone out. Teyla stood and moved over to the Healer, resting a light hand on his arm.

"He is aware, then? Of what is happening around him?"

"Aye, most likely," Carson agreed. Teyla nodded once and ducked out. There was no point in asking where she was going. He didn't try to stop her; right now the best any of them could do for Rodney was to let the people he trusted most watch over him. He glanced at Elizabeth, making the call no sister ever wanted to get, and quickly left again. Mitchell was close on his heels.

"I hope you're right, doc," he said solemnly. Carson sighed.

"So do I, lad," he said, mostly to himself. "So do I."