In My Waking Eye

TIMELINE: Between Phantoms and The Return I

John's eyes reflexively followed the glowing chevron as it circled the gate before locking into position. Almost immediately, the next one started and his eyes went to it as he sighed heavily. He never went into a mission looking for trouble; only a crazy idiot would want to fight and risk his life on a gate mission, but these routine check-ins with trading partners were almost always tedious, to say the least.

He sighed again and forced himself to focus as the wormhole flushed into existence. Just because this was a known and safe world didn't mean he'd let his guard down. If there was one thing nearly three years of gate missions had taught him, it was never, ever step through that gate with anything less than absolute concentration.

"I still think Teyla and Ronon got the better end of this deal," Rodney grumbled as he walked up next to John.

John looked sideways at him. "You'd really rather be evaluating Tava bean yields and negotiating a trade agreement with the Kelarians?" He couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice.

Rodney shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Now that you put it that way… no. In fact, I'm surprised Ronon went with her."

"Probably didn't want to listen to you bitch."

"Har, har." What could only be called an evil smile touched Rodney's lips. "Besides, I'm not the one on this mission who will be the center of attention."

John's neutral look turned into a glare. "Don't start, McKay."

"What?" Rodney's feigned innocence popped his voice up an octave. "It's not my fault that the chieftain's daughter is sweet on you. Honestly, Colonel, if you'd just learn to reign in that rakish charm of yours, you wouldn't be in this situation."

"I was just being friendly. I can't help it if she thought otherwise."

"Oh, yes. I'm sure the Chippendales dancers say the same thing," Rodney shot back. He flashed John an indignant look. "Just make sure you don't shoot me while you try to fend her off."

Pain replaced annoyance, and John abruptly looked away, memories of a hot desert and a dying friend flashing through his head.

"Sheppard, whatever happens, thanks for coming after me..."

He stared absently at the intricate design on the floor. In the weeks since they'd returned from trying to rescue Leonard's team, Rodney had continued to harp on the point that John, victim of a hallucination, had shot him. The act alone spooked John. If it hadn't been for Teyla, his shot would've been lethal.

"I find your silence less than comforting." Rodney's impatient voice broke into John's thoughts.

Blinking hard, John lifted his gun and refocused on the shimmering wormhole. "Let's get this over with." He walked towards the gate, Rodney right beside him. Pushing aside the haunting memories, John drew in an instinctive deep breath as he crossed the event horizon.

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John emerged from the wormhole, lowered his gun and squinted as a light rain pelted his face.

"Oh, great," Rodney groused. "Really? Rain?" He walked purposefully towards the DHD.

John watched him. "What are you doing?"

Rodney rounded the DHD, stopped and looked back at him. "Dialing Atlantis so we can go back and get a jumper."

John let his gun hang from his TAC vest and rested his hands on it. "Why do we need a jumper?" He had a pretty good idea where the conversation was going, but he asked anyway.

"It's raining!" Rodney waved his left hand as if it explained everything. He punched the first symbol on the DHD.

"Scratch that. It's only a little sprinkle, McKay. You're not going to melt and we're not going back for a jumper." Lifting his gun, he started towards a narrow path leading away from the gate and along a steep hillside, his boot soles squishing in the soft mud. It may only be sprinkling right now, but the place had seen a lot of rain recently. After a moment, he heard Rodney's shuffling steps catching up with him.

"This is ridiculous," Rodney griped. "Traipsing around in the rain is pointless!"

"McKay, you grew up in Vancouver. You can't tell me that a light drizzle bothers you."
"Hello?" Rodney waved his hand emphatically. "I left Vancouver when I went to college. I couldn't wait to get out of the incessant rain… whoa!"

John reached out, steadying Rodney as his feet slipped in the mud. The path they were following was narrow, nestled right up against a sheer vertical cliff on one side. On their right, was a steep hill. There was very little margin for error and it made John a little nervous. "Talk less and watch your footing more," he said, letting go of Rodney's elbow.

"Yet another reason to have a jumper," Rodney muttered.

John stopped in his tracks and bit his tongue, managing to let the comment go as he watched McKay continue walking away. He was used to Rodney's pissy moods. It came with the territory of dealing with Doctor Rodney McKay, but sometimes it was harder to deal with than others, especially when his tolerance was low. No matter how much he wanted to push aside memories of Holland, it always took him a long time to succeed at it. And every damned time Rodney brought up the shooting, he had to start the process all over again. Four years had passed since one of his closest friends had died, literally in his arms, and still, it never seemed to get easier. He'd thought he'd put the whole thing behind him, but their recent experience with the Wraith device had proved otherwise.

A half dozen or so yards away, Rodney stopped, turned and stared at him. "Are you going to break into your best imitation of Gene Kelley, or can we please continue on to the village?"

John stared at Rodney for a second before starting towards him. He'd only taken one step before a new sound registered with him. Puzzled, he stopped and looked around, trying to not only identify the deep rumble that grew louder, but pinpoint where it was coming from.

"What now?"

John looked at him again as the rumble grew steadily louder. "Don't you hear that?"

"Hear wha…" Rodney looked up at the steep hillside above them. "What the hell?"

John's thoughts matched Rodney's words. What he first thought was thunder continued to grow louder and lingered far longer than any thunderclap ever would. He looked behind him, trying to find the source.

"Holy crap!"

John spun back towards Rodney, his eyes widening as he watched the hill above his friend start to move. "Mudslide!" He sprinted towards Rodney, as the ground under his feet literally started dissolving, sweeping mud and debris past him and down the steep hill. "Run!" He chanced a glance over his shoulder, his eyes widening as the path behind them disappeared under a massive, brown and gray flow. He focused his attention forward again, fixing his gaze farther down the trail and on McKay's sprinting form.

He chanced a look up, zeroing in on a huge tree branch teetering on the ledge, and in that moment, it tipped, rushing straight for him and leaving him no time to react. Pain exploded in the side of his head, and instantaneously he felt his feet go out from under him. In the distance, he heard Rodney's shout.

"John!"

John's hands instinctively flew up, cradling his head as he slammed down on his right side and tumbled, powerless to stop himself. Cold, wet mud enveloped him, clinging to him like wet cement. The back of his head struck something solid and uncompromising and then he knew nothing but darkness.

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Rodney thought, just for a moment, that he might actually escape. The thought lasted all of one point five seconds, which, he'd learned, was the standard amount of time Pegasus always seemed to give him, before the world came crashing down again. This time, literally.

In a flash, John disappeared, and before Rodney could do anything but shout, the ground under his feet surged and dissolved. He scrambled, his hands clawing in the muddy hill, trying to find purchase but his fingers found nothing except viscous slime and lose debris. In a fleeting moment, he was reminded of the disgusting mud pies his sister had made as a kid, before he was propelled down the hill.

Helpless against the flow around him, he flailed, his arms and legs pulled in all different directions by the forces around him. Debris pummeled his body and his shout of terror only earned him a mouthful of sludge. Panic set in and rational thought fled. Instinctively, he threw his hands behind him, his fingers dragging through the mud, but he knew his efforts were fruitless. Something hard slammed down onto his left hand, ripping another cry from his throat, and this time, he heard it echo around him. Pain raced up his arm and it was all he could do to pull the injured limb close to his body in a vain attempt to protect it.

He had no idea how long or how far he fell, and when his suicidal plunge finally slowed, it took him a minute to realize it. With one last surge, the flow rolled him a few more feet before he came to a stop, nearly face down in the mud.

Rodney lifted his head, spitting grime from his mouth. He tried to push himself up, but the pain in his arm returned, and this time, the intensity stole his breath. He crumpled to his right side and rolled on his back, clutching his left hand in agony. His shout of pain turned into a cough and for a minute, all he could do was lay there, hoping he didn't lose what was left of his breakfast. Slowly the pain subsided and his thoughts started to focus again. He carefully sat up and looked around as his thoughts suddenly coalesced into a single focused point.

John.

Rodney's eyes widened and he sucked in a deep breath. "John!" His voice was gravely and hoarse, but he wouldn't be deterred. He twisted, looking all around him, but all he could see was debris and mud. "Oh, god…."If Sheppard's unconscious and buried… "John!" This time his shout was louder but still, it went unanswered. Letting his injured arm rest in his lap, he reached up, smacking his headset. "Sheppard, this is McKay. Respond!" Static greeted his hail and he winced, cursing the incompatibility of technology and the elements of nature.

He clutched his injured arm tightly, and his breathing turned rapid as he struggled to get his feet under him and stand, all without the use of either arm. He staggered to his feet and looked around again, seeing nothing but mud and debris─a scattered grayish brown mess as far as he could see. "John! Answer me!" he demanded loudly. "Damn it, Colonel."

Anger fought with panic and added a hard edge to his voice. "If you leave me out here alone, so help me I'll... I'll… I'll think of something!" He reached carefully under his injured wrist, and unzipped his TAC vest almost all the way open. Slowly, he slid his left arm as far inside the vest as he could, allowing it to rest on top of his gun belt. It was inadequate to say the least, but it was all he could do at the moment and it did steady the limb somewhat, freeing his right hand of the duty.

He tripped in the mud but somehow managed to stay on his feet as he searched for his teammate. In the back of his mind, he knew that if Sheppard was buried, the odds of him still being alive were slim, and Rodney, with his own injuries, stood little chance of freeing him anyway. He tripped again, this time over a half buried tree root, and fell sideways into a large, upended stump, the jagged roots poking into his side. "Damn it!" He pushed away, rounded the end of the stump and froze.

At first, his mind couldn't quite register what he was seeing, but when it did, it sent a cold fear through him. Ten feet away, it was hard to tell the difference between John's supine body and the mud around him, but more concerning to Rodney was the colonel's deathly still form. Shocked, Rodney's paralysis lasted only a moment. "John!" He stumbled around the stump, staggered and fell unceremoniously to his knees right next to John's head which, like most of the rest of his body, was miraculously unburied. How he'd managed to not be crushed by an enormous tree trunk only ten feet away from him was a mystery, but Rodney didn't question it.

He pressed his fingers into the cold flesh of John's neck, searching for signs of life as he stared at the colonel's closed eyes. "Come on, damn it," he muttered. As if in response, a slow, steady beat tapped back against his fingers and a quiet moan answered his demands. "Oh, thank god," Rodney sighed. "Sheppard? Come on, answer me."

John groaned again, this time a little louder, and his mud-caked eyelids fluttered.

"Sheppard!"

John's brows furrowed and his eyes opened. "M'Kay…?"

"Yes," Rodney answered relief within him warring with fear. "What's left of me anyway."

John's gaze cleared slightly and he lifted his head, starting to sit up. He got as far as his shoulders clearing the ground, before his eyes squeezed shut and he cried out, falling back to the ground. He writhed weakly, coughing, his arms clenched to his chest. Even through the mud, Rodney could see a bluish tinge to his lips and abruptly, John's cough trailed off in a pitiful wheeze.

"Oh, god." Rodney held firmly to John's shoulder. "Colonel? John? You should… breathe… Breathe!"

John's shoulders hunched, and he abruptly drew in a shuddering breath, and then another, before flopping back in the mud, his face twisting into a pained expression and tension rippling through his body.

Rodney checked his panic at the possibility of Sheppard expiring right before his eyes, and smothered it with the only reaction he was capable of. He not so gently planted his right hand on John's chest. "Well, that was remarkably stupid," he snapped, any of his small amounts of patience long gone. "How about we figure out your injuries before you move?"

"Charming," John managed, his voice slightly slurred. "Great bedside… manner..." He coughed hard and labored before grunting in pain, his body tensing again.

"What is it?" Rodney demanded, his gaze darting over John's body. "What? Tell me! What?"

"McKay. Calm… down."

Rodney stiffened and chastised himself silently. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Right. Where are you hurt?"

"Head… ribs… leg. Think I swallowed some of this… shit…." His eyes slid shut.

Rodney stiffened in alarm and poked John in the shoulder. "Hey! No checking out on me, Sheppard!" He poked again, and John groaned in weak protest. "Unless you've grown another head, I think I can pinpoint that injury, but which ribs and which leg?"

John's eyes slowly opened again. "Yeah," he answered quietly. "Left ribs… right leg."

"Huh," Rodney grunted in pain, his hand and wrist protesting any movement as he turned towards John's legs. "At least you're symmetrical." He thought he heard what passed as a weak chuckle from the colonel, but Rodney didn't look away as his gaze slowly traveled down John's right leg. An unnatural bulge halfway between John's knee and foot made him wince. "Oh that's just… yeah, broken."

"Thanks for… confirming." John's weak voice still held a note of sarcasm. "You?"

Rodney grit his teeth against the pain and resisted the urge to shrug. "Your right leg, my left wrist… we're a matched set."

"Damn it," John gasped, his words turning into a grunt. "How… bad?"

"How bad?" Rodney stared incredulously at John. "It's broken! That's how bad!"

In spite of the pain clouding his eyes, John still managed to convey a small amount of annoyance. "I mean… complications… compound?"

Rodney swallowed, wincing at the putrid taste in his mouth and fighting a stomach that rebelled over the same thing. "Oh." Rodney shook his head. "No. Luckily. Neither is yours."

"Not so… bad then." John's eyes squeezed shut and he drew in a stuttering breath.

"You have an alarmingly high threshold for what is considered 'bad'," Rodney muttered. He stared intently at Sheppard, noticing the tremor that rippled through his body before turning into constant shivers. He looked up, squinting as the rain picked up in intensity and suddenly pieces of field first aid, forced on him by Carson, fell into place. "You're cold," he whispered.

John cracked open one eye and looked at him. "No… shit."

Rodney sagged in disgust, his abrupt movement sparking complaints from his broken hand, which only soured him even more. "I mean hypothermia!" He snapped, trying to ignore the chill that passed through his own body. He looked around, panic threatening to surface in him again. "This is not good."

"No sh…."

Abruptly, he looked down at John, interrupting him. "Don't say it."

In spite of his obvious misery, one side of John's mouth still twitched.

"You can't possibly find any of this humorous," Rodney snapped.

Any ghost of humor disappeared from John's mud caked face. His eyelids drooped but he still managed to shake his head just slightly. "No."

Rodney looked up the hill, his frown deepening. Debris was everywhere, the ground an uneven slope of mud that still shifted in places. His gaze grew distant as his mind raced. What would he do? What could he do? Sheppard was the one who always saved their butts, unless it was science and technology, but this situation was far from that. He grit his teeth. John was in no condition to climb back out of this mess even with Rodney's one-armed help, but in his condition, could Rodney just leave John there? For that matter, with his broken wrist and the unstable hill, could he even make it out on his own?

"McKay," John's voice was quiet, but in spite of everything, the colonel managed to inject a note of command into it.

Rodney looked back at him. "What?"

John took a rattling but deep breath. "First… aid. Get a sp-plint on that… arm." He weakly jerked his head towards Rodney's injured wrist.

Rodney looked down at his arm still tucked inside his TAC vest. "Right," he answered, "and your leg."

"Get your… arm first," John insisted, "b-before you m-mess with my… leg. I'll help… ya."

Rodney pushed himself to his feet and started scrounging, looking for the right sticks to splint his arm and Sheppard's leg. In the end, he found two sticks of roughly the same length for his arm, and one, long branch that could be broken in half for Sheppard's leg. He walked back to Sheppard and fell to his knees next to the colonel. "Tape?"

John shifted weakly. "Vest. Left s-side pocket."

Rodney opened the indicated pocket and pulled out a roll of stout, duct tape. "You'll have to tear me off strips for this." He slowly slid the first stick of his arm splint into his TAC vest and along the underside of his arm, grunting as the movement jarred his broken bones. He bit his lip and kept working the stick towards his fingers.

"Breathe… Rodney," John weakly reminded.

Rodney sucked in a hissing breath through clenched teeth and relaxed slightly as the end of the stick reached the center of his palm, providing ample support for the break. He sat back on his heels, closed his eyes and took some deep breaths as he tried not to pass out.

"Rodney?"

"Give me… a second here," he snapped. He knew he probably shouldn't be annoyed. John's voice, though weak, was decidedly concerned, but he couldn't help it.

"Take… your time."

Slowly, Rodney opened his eyes and met Sheppard's glazed but still understanding look. "Sorry," he muttered, and Sheppard just silently nodded before he held out a piece of tape, the rough torn edge quivering in response to his shaking hand.

"Secure the end at… y-your elbow first," John advised. "Easier."

Unable to come up with any sort of remark, Rodney just nodded and carefully secured the stick, just below his elbow, before he slowly pulled his arm out of his vest and repeated the process, taping the other end of the stick across his knuckles. Sheppard continued supplying him tape as he bound the other stick along the top of his lower arm, effectively immobilizing his wrist. Finished, Rodney sat back on his heels again and swallowed against nausea for a few minutes before the pain faded back down to a constant throb.

He managed to stand and tried to ignore the shake in his knees. "'Let's go back for a jumper,' I say," he groused quietly. "'No,' you insist, 'we don't need a jumper. We can just walk.' In the rain. And the mud. And mudslides that happen to occur when we're walking on a trail. In the mud. And the rain. Did I mention the rain?" He paused and shot a dirty look skyward at the clouds. "Our track record for bad luck should've been reason enough to go back." He turned his glare to John. "Your karma really sucks sometimes."

John weakly arched a brow. "How do you… know its n-not your karma?"

Indignant, Rodney stiffened. "I'm not… that's not the point!"

"Uh-huh," John's response was raspy. "We're not… dead. C-can't be th-that bad."

"You're optimism is nauseating."

"K-keeps us… alive."

Rodney just glared at him for a moment before he picked up one end of the long branch and put his foot in the center of it. He stepped down hard as he pulled the end towards his chest, breaking the branch roughly in half with a loud snap. Somehow, the aggression made him feel a little better. Grabbing both pieces. he knelt next to John's broken leg. With his good hand, he carefully scooted small pieces of debris and mud away from broken limb, clearing the area for the splints, which he slid up until the tops were halfway between John's knee and his hip. He sat back for a moment. "Tape's not gonna work in this mud." He looked around, mind racing to find an alternative.

"B-belts," John supplied.

Rodney looked back at him. "Right." He reached under his TAC vest and undid his belt, working it free. He set it on the ground before reaching for John's belt. He pushed up John's TAC vest and unclipped his gun belt to reach his pants.

"F-first time. B-be gentle… with m-me," John quipped weakly.

Rodney paused and fixed him with a withering glare. "Stop. Just…" he exhaled loudly. "I have no comment." He resumed his awkward one-handed fumbling with the buckle.

"Only y-you could have… no comment and st-still be t-talking."

Rodney sagged, the open buckle still in his hand, and bit back his irritation. "I'm not dignifying that with a response."

"S-see?"

Rodney ground his teeth together as he worked his hand under John's waist and freed the belt from two more loops. "Lift your hips and before you say whatever it is you're going to say," he warned, "just… don't."

Through the mud and haze of pain, John still managed a small smile that faded under pain as he lifted himself enough that Rodney could pull his belt free. John collapsed back to the ground and panted hard, falling into another coughing spell, clearly taxed by the effort.

Rodney's irritation faded under concern. "John?"

John coughed once more and swallowed hard. "'m… okay."

"The hell you are." Rodney grabbed both belts and scooted back down to John's feet. He set his belt down and held onto the buckle end of John's. Rodney looked down at John's leg. "I have to get this under your leg so I can secure it."

"I… know," John answered.

"I'll try not to… I mean I'll be as gentle as…"

"I k-know," John repeated, interrupting him. "Just do it." He lifted his head and locked his gaze on Rodney.

Rodney stared back. Through the pain in John's eyes, he could still see a blunt determination that drove him. He drew in a deep breath. "Right." He looked down and slowly worked the buckle under John's thigh, trying not to jostle his leg any more than necessary.

John's hisses of pain were punctuated by grunts but he said nothing.

Rodney's mind raced. "I hated taking first aid," he stated unapologetically. "I'm really not cut out for this. You, Teyla, Ronon, you guys handle this stuff, not me." Pushing the buckle up through the mud, Rodney pulled it over the top of John's thigh and buckled it snugly. "Is that too tight?"

"No," John gasped. "Fine."

Rodney grabbed his belt and looked down at John's ankle. Without another word, he slowly worked the buckle through the mud.

John's breathing turned rapid and his grunts of pain into strangled cries. Rodney could see the twitches coursing through his body as he fought to stay still. This secure point was much closer to the break than the other one, and the effect of him jostling John's leg, no matter how slight, was much more profound. Finally, Rodney pushed the buckle up through the mud and he paused. "I'm through."

"Tie it… off," John managed.

Rodney fed the belt end through the D-rings, and slowly pulled it tight. He'd always preferred the D-ring belts to regular buckles, and in this case, he was glad because he could slowly pull the end and tighten it in one smooth motion. He kept pulling until the belt and the splints were snug against John's leg, then sat back and looked up at the colonel's face. John's eyes were closed and his rapid breathing was gradually slowing. "You okay?" he ventured quietly.

John took a few more breaths before responding. "Yeah." He opened his eyes. "Good… job."

Rodney straightened. "Thanks." He looked around. "But, in case you didn't notice, we're still in a lot of trouble here."

"Help me… s-sit up."

Rodney looked back at him. "You're crazy. The last time you tried that, you turned a rather interesting shade of blue that I'd rather not see again!"

"Have to…" John insisted. "Gotta… see. Assess the… situation."

Rodney looked down at his injured arm and sighed. "Fine, but remember I'm one handed here. It's not going to be easy."

"One handed?" John answered, sarcasm still coloring his weak voice. "I hadn't noticed."

"Smart ass," Rodney muttered. He stood up and walked behind John before he squatted and felt under the colonel's neck, finding the top loop in his TAC vest. "Ready?"

John wrapped his left arm around his ribs and shifted, leaning on his right elbow. He nodded. "Ready."

"On three."

"Is that… on three or three… and go?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Can you stow the Lethal Weapon references please?"

"Surprised you… know it," John chuckled weakly.

"You made me sit through all four of them," Rodney snapped. Now, can we do this?" Without warning, he lifted hard on the loop.

After a moment, John's body sluggishly responded and he cried out in pain. He kept struggling upwards, even when Rodney wavered.

"Maybe you shouldn't…" Rodney started, but John's strength only redoubled.

"No. 'm okay…"

Rodney hissed in pain a couple times himself as he barked his broken wrist, but he still managed to get John at least partially off the ground. Still on his knees, he scooted forward and sat back on his heels, letting John rest against him. He could feel the colonel's heaving breaths punctuated by audible grunts of pain. A fit of coughing wracked him and Rodney couldn't do anything but hold onto John's shoulder. After a few minutes, John seemed to relax slightly and he turned his head towards the hillside.

"It's a mess." Rodney winced at stating the obvious, but John only nodded.

"Not… good."

"Is it my turn to say 'no shit'?" Rodney asked. He shifted restlessly. "Look, I can climb up and go for help." Immediately, he felt John tense, his head moving side to side against Rodney's legs.

"No. Too unstable. Trigger a slide… g-get hurt."

Rodney felt nothing but hesitation, but the practical facts of the situation couldn't be denied. He was a scientist and facts always had to take precedence over anything else. "One of us has to get help and I don't think it's going to be you."

"Too dangerous." John insisted. "Atlantis will… c-come for us when we don't… make contact."

"In what? Four hours at least?" Rodney countered. "As far as they're concerned, we're safe and happy… well, me anyway. You're supposed to be politely beating off the advances of the chieftain's daughter."

"No," John answered simply.

Rodney sighed loudly. "We're cold, it's raining and we have no shelter. We're both injured, you worse than me. Even just four hours is a hell of a long time." He shifted backwards giving John some warning that he was going to stand up. John took the hint and propped himself on his right elbow as Rodney stood, but it didn't last long. John's strength gave out and he ended up on his back again in the mud.

"McKay… no," John gasped. His voice trailed off into another coughing fit.

Rodney's gaze narrowed. "That settles it," he straightened. "I'm going."

"No." John's answer was immediate. "Th-that's an… order."

Rodney fought against the pain from his left arm, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as a chill raced through his body, hailing the coming hypothermia. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now. "Yeah, well, if you want to stop me, you'll have to shoot me. Again!"

"Damn… it," John tensed, his voice a mix of frustration and pain.

Rodney froze, staring at him. John's words could've easily fit the circumstances in various different ways, but while he couldn't explain it, Rodney suddenly knew, with no uncertainty, that his words had nothing to do with their current situation. "What?"

John's eyes slid shut and his sigh turned into a wet cough. "Can you… stop with… the damned shooting… references?" He took two short, huffing breaths. "Please?"

His last word held a tone of pleading to it, though Rodney knew John would never admit it. A half dozen snarky remarks came to mind but suddenly Rodney had no urge to utter any of them. He'd heard a tone in John's strained voice that he'd never heard before – a note underscored in pain, yet often hidden by stoicism. Rodney swallowed. "Umm… okay." He straightened. "But I'm still going."

"McKay…."

Determined, Rodney almost ignored John. Almost. "I'm not going to stand here and argue with you," he insisted. "Do you think I want to do this? No! But one of us has to, and it sure as hell isn't going to be you!" Not waiting for a response, Rodney slid his splinted arm into his TAC vest again and started up the slope, jamming one foot into the mud, in front of the other as he slowly made his way through debris. Trees, pieces of trees, debris and rocks ranging from stones to large boulders were everywhere. He quickly realized the debris he could see wasn't the problem when his right foot hit the edge of a buried boulder and slipped, sending him tumbling into the mud. Rodney dug his foot into the dirt and balanced himself with his right hand as he stood, but the ground under him shifted and gave way. In a flash, he was tumbling down hill again, pummeled by dirt and debris.

The slide was much more localized this time but still had enough power to defeat him. Pain shot up his arm and Rodney felt his foot catch on something. It twisted, sending a spike of pain up his leg. He grabbed with his good hand for anything, but by the time he had enough traction to stop, he was nearly back to John's position.

"You… okay?" John asked.

Lying on his left side, Rodney looked at John, who'd propped himself up on one shaking elbow and was staring intensely back at him. Rodney panted and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the pain screaming at him from his right ankle and his left wrist. "Ow," he managed.

"Rodney?" Though gravely, John's voice was stronger and Rodney heard a shuffle as the colonel tried to move. It was followed quickly by grunts and cries of pain as John, undeterred, continued to move, and it snapped Rodney from his daze.

He rolled on his back. "I'm okay! Stop, you just…. Stop." He looked over at John, who stopped struggling. Panting, he looked back at Rodney.

"How bad you... hurt?" John was again propped on his right elbow, but it was shaking more than ever.

"Well, I'm not going to be walking anytime soon. I think I broke my ankle… or at least sprained it." He closed his eyes against the rain that pummeled his face and cursed whatever deity had decided he needed this particular level of misery.

"Anything else?"

"Isn't that enough?" Rodney snapped then he sighed. "No. Nothing else." He looked over in time to see John, with a resigned sigh, collapse back to the ground. Another round of coughing wracked his body.

Rodney shivered, unable to control the trembling in his own body, and realized just how serious of trouble they were in. He turned his head, looking again at John, and even from several feet away, he could see the intense shivering that shook his body as his coughing fit ceased.

Slowly, Rodney sat up and maneuvered himself onto his hands and knees. Strikethat, he amended, hand,singular, and knees…. He felt like a three legged dog as he slowly worked his way over to John and around behind his head, all the while trying to ignore his ankle and his wrist, though unsuccessfully. "Colonel?"

Shivers shook John's body, but he rewarded Rodney with a quiet groan, though his eyes stayed shut. Rodney sat down hard, pausing for a moment before he moved his legs to sit, spread eagle with one leg on each side of John. "John?" Silence greeted his inquiry. Alarmed, Rodney shook John's shoulder slightly. "Oh no, you don't!" he insisted. "Not now. You're not leaving me alone in this miserable hellhole!" Rodney grabbed onto the back of John's TAC vest and heaved, trying to pull the colonel close to him. He'd hated Carson's survival first aid classes, but he recognized hypothermia for what it was, in both of them. One handed, he managed to move John an inch at best. "Geez, you're heavy! Lay off the morning waffles already!" He heaved again, and this time he was rewarded with John's feeble attempt to help. "That's it. Stop being lazy and help me out here."

"What're… you doing?" John's slurred question was still music to Rodney's ears. John grunted sharply as his broken leg moved. "Damn it!"

"Saving your ass for a change," Rodney answered as he pulled again. He didn't want to move John or hurt him, but he had no choice. Between his efforts and John's feeble help, he managed to get the colonel pulled up close to him and in a seated position, if a shaky one.

He carefully moved his splinted arm to the side, stifling his grunts of pain as he jostled his wrist. The pain from his recent tumble still screamed through him, and this round of jostling only added its voice to the chorus. He wavered, black spots filling his vision as he settled his arm on his thigh.

"Rodney?" John whispered, apparently hearing Rodney's heaving breaths.

"Scoot back," Rodney gasped, "right up against me." He pulled on John's TAC vest again and didn't stop until the colonel's torso was against his chest. John's head flopped back on Rodney's left shoulder and his eyes closed again, but still his body shook as his shivering intensified.

Rodney squeezed his eyes shut in pain, his stomach doing somersaults. "Colonel," he gasped. Maybe it was just his words, or the pleading note of pain in his voice, but something apparently got John's immediate attention. Rodney opened his eyes and looked down, meeting John's glassy but concerned gaze.

"Rod-ney?" his stuttering voice was still slurred but clearer, at least for the moment. "What is… it?"

Rodney fought another wave of nausea and squeezed his eyes shut. All the fight was gone from him, smothered in his own misery. "Wrist," he gasped. "God…."

"E-easy, buddy," John encouraged. "D-deep… breaths."

Rodney nodded. There wasn't much else John could do at that moment, but the words still helped. Rodney took one long breath, and then another as the pain slowly dimmed from excruciating to barely tolerable.

"Bet…ter?"

"Yeah," Rodney whispered. Shivering, he wrapped his good arm around John and held him close. Through the intense trembling from John, he could feel a small amount of warmth from the colonel's back and hoped John felt the same from him. They both were cold, wet, injured and definitely in stage one hypothermia. They had no way to escape the elements, so if either of them stood a chance at survival, they'd need to share body warmth as much as they could. Rodney looked down as John's eyes slid shut. "Colonel? Colonel!" Rodney's teeth chattered but his grip with his good arm never wavered.

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Fog clouded John's head as the cold seeped into his bones, quietly numbing his body little by little. Distantly, he could hear Rodney's voice, repeating his rank, trying to elicit a response, but as much as he wanted to, John couldn't manage one. Warm… his addled mind latched onto the thought. Thinkwarm. But with the thought came memories he didn't want to face.

In the last moment before consciousness fled, John wished he'd just stuck with the cold because right now, warmth was stifling. Warmth reminded him of sand and deserts, and in his mind's eye, he saw a face he didn't want to remember….

John squinted at the wound on Holland's head as he tried to ignore the stifling heat from the sun radiating down on the wrecked Pave Hawk fuselage.

"You're not going to do the Florence Nightingale thing, are you?" Holland stared back at him.

John chuckled. "Needs to be cleaned and bandaged, you know that." He unzipped the medical bag and fished around before pulling out a field bandage. He shook the bandage open before he wiped some drying blood and dirt off the gash.

Holland inhaled sharply. "Ouch!"

"Don't be such a pantywaist."

"Helluva situation to be in." Holland's expression sobered.

John stared back at him for a long moment. The words were unspoken, yet he knew Holland shared his thoughts. Crashed in enemy territory, it was a flat out race between coalition forces and the Taliban as to who would get them first. John put his money on the guys he worked with, but they had a long way to go – farther than the Taliban in the area. He smothered his uncertainty with confidence. "We'll get out of this."

Slowly, Holland smiled a knowing smile. "Definitely."

"We'll make… it," John's voice was quiet. "We'll get… out…"

Rodney looked down at him. "What?" He stared at John's closed eyes and weakly thrashing head. "Of course we will."

John's head slowly stopped moving, coming to rest on his right cheek. "Taliban… won't get us…" His words were barely more than a whisper before he was still again.

"Tali-" Rodney paused, John's words suddenly making sense. With his good hand, he reached up and touched John's forehead. They both should be damned cold as hypothermia took grip, but John's skin was warm to the touch. "Oh, damn it," he whispered. "You can't do anything easy, can you?"

John steeled his resolve as he watched the truck full of insurgents roll to a stop not far from the crashed Pave. "First time in a situation like this, Captain?" he asked, using rank on purpose.

"Yes, sir," Holland reflexively responded.

John nodded to himself and quietly flipped the safety off his M-16. "Wait until they're on the ground. Then pick 'em off and disable the trucks."

"Got it," Holland answered.

John turned his head, meeting his friend's gaze. "Mark, we'll get through this." One side of his mouth lifted slightly. "First round of near beer in Kandahar is on you."

A glint of strength flashed through Holland's eyes. "You're on."

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Rodney couldn't feel his ass anymore, the cold and numbness having long since taken over. He figured it was a good and bad thing, but he wasn't able to decide which for certain. As time crawled on, and the cold slowly but surely sapped his strength and muddled his head, he wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, or if John's skin really was getting hotter to the touch. John's breathing became labored, and through John's back, Rodney could feel each breath rattle through the colonel's body, punctuated occasionally by a weak, raspy and unproductive cough. Hypothermia was a given, but in his gut, Rodney knew it wasn't the only thing sapping John's strength. Rodney thought hard, digging into his memories, but he'd never taken Carson's first aid classes seriously, mostly turning other problems over in his mind as Carson droned on about one condition or another. He would never say it out loud, but at this moment, he really wished he'd paid more attention.

"Where the hell is Carson when you need him?" he muttered. His mind raced and he let it, clinging to the familiar as a way to stay conscious. He had no way of knowing when Atlantis would check in and figure out something was wrong, and no way of helping either of them. "You would've thought of something. You always do." He swallowed hard and tightened his grip on John. In the nearly three years of being on John's team, Rodney had seen the colonel get them out of more messes than he could count. He had a singular talent for thinking on his feet – a talent Rodney appreciated, not only because it'd saved his butt countless times, but because if there was one thing Rodney could respect, it was brains, and John had 'em. So many of the technical solutions Rodney had come up with in the eleventh hour had been purely driven by urgency and concocted on the fly. He'd watched John do the same thing in different situations, and though he'd never admit it aloud, he respected the man for it.

His thoughts abruptly settled on their last mission to M1B-129 to find Leonard's team. His mind seemed to go back to that a lot these days, but it still rattled him. The image of John, staring at him over the top of a P-90, his gaze cold, lethal and detached as he pulled the trigger, haunted Rodney. He could still feel the burn of the bullet as it grazed him, its trajectory off only because of Teyla's intervention. John, the man that saw to it every one of his team was safe, had shot him without hesitation. Suddenly, the domain of off-world travel felt that much more dangerous. It'd never been safe, but Rodney had taken a measure of comfort knowing John was there to back his team up, if necessary. Now? He wasn't so sure.

All the logic in the world told Rodney that there was no reason for concern. John hadn't been himself. He'd been the victim of the Wraith pulse generator and his actions were a direct result of that influence. But inside, Rodney's confidence still wavered.

He was pulled from his musings with a start as a coughing fit shook John's body. "Easy," he said, trying to sound comforting but feeling like he was falling far short. "John?"

Sorrow made its way through the pain in Holland's eyes. "You and I both… know that I'm not… gonna make… it."

"Bullshit!" John's reply was almost venomous. "You got a gorgeous wife and beautiful daughter to go home to, and I'm gonna make damned sure you get back to them. You hear me?" John stiffened at the sounds of vehicles from the other side of the dunes. He looked down again at Holland. "We'll save this argument for later. You sit there, stay awake and don't give up. That's an order, Captain, and I damn well expect you to follow it."

"Not… giving up…." John slurred. "Can't… won't… Gonna get you… home…."

Trotting across the sand, John returned to Holland and froze, staring down at his friend's closed eyes. "Holland?" He dropped to his knees and shook Holland's shoulder. "Holland? Mark!" He probed Holland's neck searching for a carotid pulse. "God damn it! Don't you do this to me!"

"Mark… no, don't… not dying… on me…."

Rodney cocked his head, and looked down at John's closed eyes and pale face. "Mark? What?" He tried to piece together what John's delirious words were telling him, the puzzle helping to keep his mind active, but he was at a loss. "Who the hell…."

"Holland…," John's brows furrowed and he thrashed weakly. "Mark… don't die…" John's weak voice broke. "Please…."

"Holland," Rodney muttered. "Where have I seen…" his voice trailed off as realization dawned on him. He'd seen that name, more than once, in John's mission report on M1B-129. Rodney had never heard Sheppard mention Holland before, and after reading the report, natural curiosity had won him over. It'd been a hard search at first, but the harder the search, the more he tended to pursued it. Most of the military records he'd been able to find were sealed with clearances he, surprisingly, didn't have, but he'd found enough to know who Captain Mark Holland was, and that he'd been killed in action in Afghanistan in 2003.

And just like that, the pieces of this puzzle fell into place. John's mission report had been so clinical. So factual. The things he'd hallucinated about were included, necessary for the back story as to why he shot not only Ronon but Rodney as well. But John's ramblings told a story that the mission report didn't even touch and cast the entire incident in a different light. Rodney sighed, his breath stuttering from more than just the cold. Holland had been John's friend and John had watched him die.

He shook his head at the pain evident on John's face in spite of the mud, injuries and delusions. Hearing John's words and the pain even his delirium couldn't hide, Rodney saw the entire incident in a different light.

"Oh god," Rodney whispered. "Wake up. Don't do this to yourself."

Rodney's good arm tightened around John and he tried to suppress his shivering. He had to do something… anything. Rodney mentally reviewed his TAC vest inventory, running through the checklist in his mind and ticking off each useless item. "Don't think an epipen is going to help," he muttered as he continued reviewing his inventory. Abruptly, he sat up straighter as his thoughts froze on one item. "Emergency blanket," he whispered. "Damn it, why didn't I think of that earlier?" Leaving his left arm resting on his thigh, Rodney lifted his right arm and gently pushed John's upper body forward, just a little. He worked his arm between their bodies, and twisted his torso just a little, hissing as he was forced to move his injured wrist. Rodney braced his upper arm against John's back. It was awkward, and he had to struggle to hold all of John's weight on it, but he managed to torque his elbow, and get his hand into his right, center, TAC vest pocket. The compressed emergency blanket was the size of a credit card and wrapped firmly in a plastic bag.

Rodney carefully eased John back against his chest and tore open the plastic with his teeth. It was an exercise in patience and coordination – both things Rodney knew he was lacking at this particular moment – to not only shake open the blanket, but to fight the rain and light wind to try and cover both of them. In the end, he had to settle for leaving his feet and John's lower legs exposed as he tented the blanket over their heads and most of their bodies. Rodney tucked in the blanket around them as best he could with one hand and a limited reach, leaving a hole for fresh air on his right side and away from the wind. The blanket stuck, unpleasantly, to his head but it made a decent canopy from the rain. The thermal properties would help hold at least a little heat in to warm both of them, and while they were already wet, it would shelter at least most of their bodies from more cold rain.

Rodney sighed. It was far from a perfect solution, but the only one he had.

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Detached, cold, anger flooded John as he stared over the top of his gun at the approaching Taliban soldier. He blinked hard, confused momentarily by the female voice beside him, urging him to lower his gun, but he shook off the confusion, focusing instead on the rock solid instincts that had saved his ass more than once. Gradually, the voice beside him changed, its tone deepening, turning into a familiar one that he instantly recognized.

"Tell Leanne… I love her…."

Holland.

"No," John muttered.

His anger surged and John's grip tightened on the trigger.

"Save… you…."

His gaze cleared but confusion surged through him as he stared at the business end of Ronon's gun. "You want to lower your gun, buddy?" He looked around, instantly recognizing the Wraith generator, Teyla, Ronon…

…McKay.

His blood turned to ice water.

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Claustrophobia had to be one of the most annoying phobias in the world, and Pegasus, which Rodney was convinced was governed by a sick sense of humor, seemed to throw that one at him more often than not. He tried not to breathe hard, or let his thoughts linger on the slick touch of the emergency blanket, plastered to his wet head, or the closeness of the cocoon surrounding them. Was it getting smaller?

Knockit off! Rodney took a deep breath. He looked down as John moaned softly around a wheezing breath. He wasn't coughing anymore, but Rodney had a sinking feeling that wasn't a good thing. He pressed his fingers into the clammy skin of John's neck, his brows furrowing at the rapid pulse beat against his fingertips.

"Shot McKay…" John muttered, "No… couldn't… didn't mean…to…."

Rodney felt a twinge in his side, a reminder of his recently healed bullet graze. John shooting him had terrified him to a level that even he didn't expect. It hadn't just been the bullet ripping through his flesh – though the fright of being shot was more than enough for him. It was who'd done the shooting more than anything else. Tearing his mind from the claustrophobia that plagued him, Rodney focused on something… anything else. All the rational reasons in the world for why John had shot him didn't matter a hill of beans to his emotions. His trust had been shaken to the core, and Rodney realized that instead of dealing with that, he'd deflected it, poking John and blaming him when there was no blame to be cast.

Rodney bowed his head a little. It'd been all about him, and up until this moment, he'd never realized what those words had done to John every time he said them. John's dedication to his team was unquestioned in Rodney's eyes, and he suddenly realized what that incident must've meant to the colonel. To shoot a member of his team – no, two members of his team, even if neither wound was serious – must've shaken John at least as much as it had shaken Rodney. Throw in the unwanted memories from Afghanistan on top of that….

"Why didn't you say something?" Rodney's weak voice was still chastising, and he knew he was deflecting again, but it was just how he dealt with stuff like this. He didn't know another way.

He thought that now, maybe he should learn one.

Rodney grunted. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. Even John. He sighed. "I'm sorry."

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Elizabeth rubbed her forehead wearily. She looked up and smiled thinly at the woman sitting across from her. "Doctor Leason, I understand your position, but the IOA has Atlantis on a very tight budget. I realize the geological studies of this planet are very important, but I simply do not have additional funds for your department."

Dr. Leason shook her head, her brown ponytail flipping back off her shoulder. "Dr. Weir, some of the discoveries we've made here could lead us to developing an effective early warning system for earthquakes. Certainly, the IOA would see the value of that, if you informed them of our progress and our research."

Elizabeth held onto her tolerant smile. "Maybe," she answered, knowing full well the IOA wasn't going to expand their budget but looking for a way to appease the geologist. "Send me your research data, along with a summary and a letter, and I'll see what I can do." She raised her hand as Leason beamed back at her. "No promises. The IOA has a very tight wallet, Doctor."

Leason stood. "I understand. I'll have everything to you before the weekly dial to Earth on Friday." She quickly turned and walked out of Elizabeth's office without looking back.

Elizabeth's expression turned bemused as she watched Leason hurry towards the back stairs. Having a city full of the best scientists in their respective fields had its advantages, but it wasn't always a walk in the park, with each of them believing their research was the most important, and each of them producing invaluable research as well. Still, she'd rather deal with overzealous good intentions over head-butting egos any day of the week. She'd barely eased back into her chair, before she felt the familiar rumbling of the gate activating.

"Unscheduled off-world activation,"Chuck's voice came over her radio.

Pushing away from her desk, Elizabeth stood and quickly walked from her office to Ops. She looked left just as the wormhole flushed behind the shimmer of the gate shield. She turned back to one of the operations officers. "Do we have an IDC, Chuck?"

The technician shook his head. "No, ma'am, but we are receiving a radio signal."

"I have it," Zelenka piped in from his station.

Elizabeth nodded at him. "Let's hear it." She turned and looked at the active gate.

"Atlantis, this is Prentor, First One to Chieftain Sol of Hunara. Can you hear me?"

Elizabeth looked back at Zelenka. "Didn't Sheppard and McKay gate out to Hunara a couple of hours ago?"

This time, Chuck answered. "Yes, ma'am. I dialed them out myself."

Elizabeth cocked her head. "Odd. Why would the Hunarans be calling?" Without waiting for an answer, she walked out onto the balcony. Hunara was an ally and trading partner and as such, they had a radio and the means to contact Atlantis, but it struck her as unusual that, if there was a need, it wasn't Sheppard or McKay calling. Her gut tightened slightly in quiet alarm and she tapped her radio headset. "Prentor, this is Doctor Weir. We hear you. How can we be of assistance? And if possible, I'd like to speak with Colonel Sheppard, please." She cocked her head slightly at the long moment of silence that followed her hail. "Prentor?" she finally prompted.

"Doctor Weir," Prentor finally answered, "I am sorry, but I am confused. The chieftain sent me to inquire if Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay were still going to travel to our planet today,and if so, to show them an alternate route to the village, as a landslide has destroyed the most direct trail."

Elizabeth stiffened in concern and turned, fixing Zelenka with a questioning look.

Zelenka nodded once and focused his attention on his laptop as he started rapidly typing.

"You haven't seen them?" Elizabeth couldn't help but ask the question as her mind raced.

"No, Doctor Weir," Prentor answered. "We have not. Is there a problem?"

"I don't get it." Chuck's hands flew over the Ancient panel he was sitting at. "I dialed Hunara and they went through the gate. It was all routine."

"Prentor," Elizabeth struggled to keep her voice light and calm, "please stand by for a moment." She reached up, muting her headset as she looked back at Zelenka. "Radek?"

Zelenka nodded. "I can confirm. At 0802, Colonel Sheppard and Rodney gated to Hunara. The wormhole was steady with no anomalies or anything unusual." He looked up. "They made it safely to the planet, I am positive."

Elizabeth activated her headset again. "Prentor, Colonel Sheppard and Doctor McKay gated to your world a couple of hours ago. Is it possible they went a different route and got lost?" She knew better than to think that either one of them would wander off without good reason and John was not the 'get lost' kind, but she had to ask.

"It is possible, Doctor Weir," Prentor answered. "I will inform the chieftain of this development. We will begin searching immediately."

"Thank you, Prentor. Weir out." She tapped her headset, closed the channel and waited a minute before nodding at Chuck. "Get me the command channel."

Chuck changed a couple of Ancient controls and looked up at her again. "You're on, ma'am."

Elizabeth turned and looked at the gate. "Sheppard, McKay, this is Weir. Please respond." She waited a tense moment and tried again. "Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay, this is Atlantis. Please respond." After another moment, she turned back to Chuck. "Shut down the gate and get Major Lorne and Doctor Beckett up here now." Turning, she headed back to her office, trying to quell the foreboding feeling running through her. Sheppard and McKay's silence only meant one thing. They were in trouble.

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John pushed his feet harder against the floor as if somehow it'd help them ascend faster. Behind him, he heard gun shots as Brady and a couple of Rangers returned fire.

Abruptly, the ricochets stopped as he piloted the Pave higher and out of weapons range. Banking left, he turned toward Kandahar and took a moment to sigh.

"Good thing they didn't have bigger guns," Holland commented, "We would've been screwed."

John nodded absently. As close as the insurgents had gotten, if they'd had an RPG… he dismissed the thought. He winced, grunting quietly as a cramp gripped his left leg. Holland must've seen his reaction enough to comment on it.

"Shep? You okay?"

John reached down with his free hand, determined to push the knot out of his muscles. "Just a cramp…" his voice trailed off as his hand encountered something warm and wet. Wordlessly, he lifted it and stared at his blood covered, shaking palm.

"Oh, Jesus!" Holland snapped. "Turn her over to me!" he commanded.

John wondered where the shaking in his hand had come from as he reached up and switched control to Holland's seat. "Didn't feel it…"

"Doesn't… hurt…," John's mumbled voice was barely above a whisper.

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Though quiet, John's words still startled Rodney from the doze he didn't even realize he'd fallen into. From where it leaned against John's head, Rodney's head jerked up and he inhaled sharply. "Oh, not good." He swallowed hard, forcing himself to concentrate. Abruptly, his shivering returned, its intensity setting off his broken arm. "Damn it," he winced and grunted around chattering teeth. He looked down at John's closed eyes. "Colonel?"

"Bedside manner… sucks," John wheezed.

Rodney's brows furrowed as he tried to decide if John was talking to him or some other dream he was experiencing. "You're not exactly a… a c-cooperative patient," he answered. Drowsy, his eyelids grew heavy, but Rodney forced them to stay open. He'd lost track of time. The seconds, minutes, and maybe even hours eaten up by his effort to stay awake and to keep John alive, took every bit of strength and concentration he had, and a little that he didn't even realize he had. He could feel his body weakening under the cold and shock from his own injuries, but all of that was tempered by his teammate's far worse condition. Rodney shifted a little, again tightening his good arm around John as he sent a quiet plea to Atlantis to find them soon.

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Lorne's gaze fixed on the active Stargate as he slowly piloted the jumper down from the bay into the Gate room. He glanced over at Sergeant Harrison in the co-pilot's seat, who nodded back at him.

"We're in the green, Major," Harrison looked up, briefly making eye contact with Lorne.

"You have a go, Major," Weir's voice came over the jumper's communications. "Goodluck."

Lorne opened a channel. "Thank you, ma'am. We'll check back in two hours. Sooner if we find them."

"Copy that, Weir, out."

Lorne closed the channel, took a deep breath and piloted the jumper directly through the gate. The tingle of wormhole travel flooded his senses, only to be replaced by the view of a cloudy sky. Steady rain pelted the windshield as Lorne pulled the jumper into a gentle ascent. "Dreary," he commented to no one in particular.

"It's not so bad," Carson Beckett answered from directly behind him. "Reminds me of a brisk spring day in the Highlands." He chuckled a little. "But I'm told that's an acquired taste."

Lorne smiled slightly. "For sure, Doc." He sent a brief mental command to the jumper and the HUD obligingly appeared. Two dots blinked back at him. "Got the Colonel and McKay's sub-q transmitters. Harrison, open a channel."

"You're on, sir, "Harrison almost immediately replied.

"Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay, this is Major Lorne. Do you copy?" Lorne looked up towards the ceiling of the jumper as he waited through the silence. He shook his head. "Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay, this is Lorne. Please respond." He waited again, before sighing heavily. "I don't like this at all."

"Maybe something happened to their radios," Beckett's voice was calm but held a note of concern that wasn't lost on Lorne.

"Maybe," Lorne responded. "We'll know in a minute. They're not far from here." He pushed forward on the jumper's stick, descending as they zeroed in on the transmitter signals.

"Bloody hell, that's a mess," Beckett's head popped into Lorne's peripheral vision as the doctor stood and leaned between him and Harrison.

Lorne scanned the massive mudslide and nodded in agreement. "And their signals are coming right from the middle of that mess." Banking slightly right, he descended even farther, his eyes catching on a flash of color in a sea of browns and grays. "There." He pointed and immediately turned the jumper towards the lone spot of yellow signaling him like a beacon. He squinted as they got closer. "That looks like… an emergency blanket?"

"Sub-q signals directly correspond to it," Harrison answered. "It's them."

Lorne slowed the jumper and looked around. "We'll have to land downhill from them. The ground looks more stable there." He banked right again and descended, settling the jumper to the ground about fifty yards from Sheppard and McKay. Immediately, Lorne opened the back hatch and jumped out of his chair, following Beckett who was already moving to the rear, a large medical bag slung over his shoulder. Lorne quickly caught up with him, both men jumping down before the back hatch hit the ground, his team right behind them.

"Rodney! Colonel Sheppard!" Beckett yelled as he made his way over the uneven ground.

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Rodney's head jerked up and he looked around at the yellow canopy surrounding him. He could've sworn he'd heard his name, but when he looked down at John's closed eyes, he decided his mind was playing tricks on him. Again, he pressed his fingers into John's throat and was rewarded by a slow tattoo against them, fluttering through John's clammy skin. A febrile cough escaped John's lips, but there was no sign of consciousness.

"Rodney!"

Rodney inhaled sharply. Only one voice rolled the 'r' of his name that way. His hand left John's neck and he fumbled at the emergency blanket. "Carson!" he managed, his voice pitiful in spite of his best effort. Abruptly, another set of hands ripped back the emergency blanket and Rodney was greeted by a set of intense, blue eyes. "Carson," he croaked, "thank God."

Carson looked at him for a moment longer, his expression turning understanding before his gaze settled on John. He quickly found John's carotid pulse. "Aye. We're here."

The blanket was pulled away, and Rodney glanced at Lorne and his team, hovering close by.

Rodney's gaze returned to the top of John's head and he tried to form a coherent sentence. "Broken leg, ribs… hit his h-head… hypo-thermia…. Help him."

"Easy, Rodney," Carson dug around in his bag, "I will. What about you? I see the splint on your arm. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Ankle," Rodney managed. "C-cold."

Carson pulled an IV bag from his supplies. "Can you move?"

Rodney pondered his words for a moment before deciding. "Y-yes, I think so."

Carson turned towards Lorne. "I need to examine and possibly stabilize the colonel before we move him, but I'll want both these men out of these wet clothes as soon as we're in the jumper. One of you lads take Rodney's place, someone bring me a stretcher and the portable O2, and someone help Rodney to the jumper."

Lorne nodded curtly. "Harrison, take McKay's place. Michaels get the stretcher and the O2. Sanders and I will help McKay to the jumper."

Rodney looked up as Lorne crouched on his right side, a vague smile on his face. "C'mon, McKay, Doc's gonna take care of the colonel. Let's get you to the jumper."

Rodney swallowed hard and slowly moved his good arm away from John. He felt Lorne gently lift his arm, and Rodney managed to grab onto the top of Lorne's TAC vest, his arm draped across the major's shoulders.

"Watch that arm, Sanders," Lorne looked past Rodney.

"Got it, sir," Sanders answered.

Rodney couldn't help but hiss in pain as Sanders gently moved his arm. He felt the two men carefully lift him, while Harrison slipped in front of him, steadying John. Rodney leaned heavily on both men, keeping weight off his injured ankle. He tried to think of something to say. "Took you l-long en-ough," he managed.

Lorne shook his head but held tightly to Rodney's arm. "You're welcome. And you're lucky we got here when we did, or even knew something was wrong."

Rodney stumbled a little as they ascended the ramp into the jumper. "H-how?"

Lorne and Sanders helped him sit down. "The Hunarans dialed Atlantis, looking for you and the colonel," Lorne answered. He looked at Sanders. "Get back and see if you can help Beckett and Michaels with the colonel."

Sanders nodded and trotted down the jumper ramp.

Lorne reached down and unbuckled Rodney's TAC vest. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes and into some blankets."

Rodney wanted to protest. After all, it wasn't his idea of a good time to strip to his boxers for all the world, or Lorne, to see, but he didn't have the strength to fight back.

Lorne paused, seeming to sense Rodney's hesitation. "Don't worry, McKay," he reassured with a small smile. "You can keep your boxers, and I promise I won't peek."

Rodney's teeth chattered as he fumbled with the zipper of his coat, his numb fingers refusing to cooperate. "Y-you're as b-bad as Sh-Sheppard." He let his hand drop as Lorne wordlessly unzipped his coat.

Lorne pulled out his knife, and as gently as possible cut the coat sleeve just above the splint, leaving some of the material, pinned under the tape, in place. He cut open the coat up to the neck and slipped it off Rodney.

Rodney's shirt, boots and pants followed, but he thankfully didn't spend much time in just his boxers as Lorne heaped several wool blankets over him. Rodney curled his good arm, and one of the blankets around himself, shivering and trying to get warm as he tried to quell his nausea.

"We'll crank up the heat as soon as we get the colonel in here." Lorne squatted in front of Rodney and scrutinized him.

"I-I don't n-need a baby-sitter." Rodney tried to glare but had a feeling his expression fell far short.

Unfazed, Lorne smiled back. "Yeah, you do." He tapped Rodney's good arm quickly. "Doc'll get you patched up."

Rodney looked past Lorne as Beckett and the rest of Lorne's team made their way to the jumper, carrying John's stretcher.

Lorne followed his gaze for a moment, and then he stood and headed for the pilot's seat.

Rodney's gaze fixed on John's closed eyes and pale face, partially hidden by an oxygen mask, as they set the stretcher down in front of him.

"Get some heat in here and get us back to Atlantis, Major," Carson's voice was insistent and all business.

"Copy that, Doc," Lorne answered, the sound of the back hatch closing following his words.

Rodney tore his gaze from John as Carson looked up at him, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "Rodney? How are you holding up?"

Teeth chattering, Rodney still managed to stammer an answer. "C-cold!" A blast of heat from one of the atmospheric vents, warmed the back of Rodney's head, but his gaze didn't move from Carson. "How is he?"

Carson looked down at John. "Broken leg and a couple ribs, mild concussion, all under control…"

"B-but?" Rodney prompted.

Carson adjusted the mask on John's face. "Judging by the rales in his lungs and his mild cyanosis, I think he aspirated some of that muck in his fall. I'm concerned aspiration pneumonia may set in." Carson sighed. "Right now, he's doing okay on oxygen. Hopefully, we can counteract the effects in time before it gets much more serious."

Carson pushed himself to his feet and sat down on the bench next to Rodney. "Let's take a look at that arm." He gently unwound the blankets, exposing Rodney's splinted arm, and scrutinized it before grasping the fingers, his grip warm. "I think you still have good circulation. We'll get some pictures of this wrist back in Atlantis, but I don't think there are any complications." He let go and again looked Rodney in the eyes. "Are you warming up?"

Rodney focused for a moment on the kiss of warm air ruffling the hair on the back of his head. He was cold to the bone, but the hours he'd struggled to stay awake and to keep John alive had taken all the fight out of him. All he could manage was a nod.

Carson smiled. "All right. Just relax. You're going to be fine." He slid off the bench and knelt next to John, taking the colonel's pulse and blood pressure.

Rodney stared at John and tried to process everything that had happened, from the accident to John's hallucinations and what they'd revealed, but he couldn't pull anything coherent together in his head. Sighing, he let his head fall back against the fuselage wall and closed his eyes.

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Elizabeth barely took the time to watch the jumper begin its slow ascent to the Jumper Bay before she turned, hastily making her way to the back steps out of Ops. She glanced at Chuck as she breezed by him. "I'll be in the infirmary."

As she skipped down the steps, Elizabeth organized her thoughts. Lorne had been carefully neutral when she'd asked the condition of Sheppard and McKay, a fact that didn't escape her attention and definitely foreboding in itself. If they'd been fine, he would've said it plainly. But, she reassured herself, they're alive and Carson's with them. Weaving in and out of personnel as she navigated the long hallways to the infirmary, Elizabeth held tight to that reassuring thought.

She entered the infirmary and stopped before looking around. Unsurprisingly, she'd beat Carson and his patients there, but she knew not by much. Her eyes scanned over the medical personnel, prepping equipment and supplies, most likely on Carson's order, but to her untrained eye, she couldn't glean anymore about Sheppard and McKay's condition from their actions. The doors to the infirmary were still open, so when she heard a commotion in the hallway behind her, she knew it heralded the arrival of Carson and his patients before she ever turned around.

Elizabeth simultaneously stepped sideways out of the way and turned, getting her first look at her injured team members. Two gurneys rushed towards her. On one, Rodney sat up, wrapped in blankets and pale but conscious. Her gaze settled on the other gurney and any reassurance she had that neither man was seriously injured died on the spot. Her eyes widened as Carson abruptly pulled an oxygen mask off Sheppard's face and replaced it with an ambu bag which he squeezed expertly as Lorne and the team pushing Sheppard's gurney broke into a fast trot.

She reflexively took another step back as the gurney breezed past her and into the infirmary.

"Marie!" Carson's voice wasn't quite a shout, but loud enough to get everyone's attention. "He's in acute respiratory distress. We need to intubate him, stat!"

Elizabeth tore her eyes from John's still form and watched the next gurney briskly pass her and head to the other end of the infirmary. Silently, she followed. She walked up to Rodney's gurney, careful to stay out of the way of the medical personnel who attended him. Elizabeth winced as a nurse peeled back one of the blankets covering Rodney, revealing his splinted arm. She looked up at his face, but he didn't seem to notice her, his gaze fixed on John. His body shook with shivering, but his eyes were intense.

Elizabeth followed his look, watching as Carson and a slew of medical personnel attended to John. She clenched her jaw in worry as her gaze travelled up his body and settled on the ventilator, steadily breathing for him, the sound still reaching her in spite of the commotion saturating the infirmary. The rhythmic sound of life should've reassured her, but instead it concerned her, conveying the seriousness of John's condition.

She slowly looked at Rodney again. "Rodney, you're going to be okay, now."

A long moment passed before Rodney seemed to process her words and he met her somber gaze. "It's not me I'm worried about." He pulled in a deep breath around chattering teeth.

Elizabeth reached out, squeezing his good arm through the thick blankets. "Carson will take care of him."

"Ma'am."

Elizabeth turned towards the voice and nodded once at Lorne who stood nearby. She gave Rodney one more reassuring small smile before she walked over to the major. "What happened?"

Lorne glanced at John for a minute before meeting her gaze. "Looks like they were caught in a landslide. Doc'll have to give you the details, but McKay's got a broken wrist, likely sprained ankle and mild hypothermia. The colonel… well, he's not quite so lucky. Landslide really did a number on him. Broken left leg, concussion, and some broken ribs. Not so bad, but he inhaled some of that muck."

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment and nodded. "Aspiration."

"Yeah," Lorne answered. "He was okay on oxygen for a while, but he went into respiratory arrest on our way down here." Lorne shrugged. "Don't know anything more than that."

Elizabeth's very small smile was tight. "Thank you, Major. And good job getting them back here."

"Thank you, ma'am," Lorne answered. "Just hope we were in time for the colonel."

Elizabeth tried to find words of reassurance for Lorne, but nothing seemed right. She looked back at him, knowing that the concern she saw in his eyes was mirrored her own. Silently, she just nodded.

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Carson sighed deeply as he stepped back from Sheppard's gurney. His eyes passed over the colonel as he mentally checked off the treatment list in his head. An IV line snaked down from over the colonel's head, disappearing under blankets covering his arm. Warm saline and strong antibiotics dripped slowly into the tubing. The even sound of the ventilator reassured him – so different from the sickening silence of respiratory arrest that had struck the colonel in the hallways of Atlantis not long before. Carson's gaze settled on Sheppard's immobilized leg. The break would need to be set at some point, but that'd wait until Sheppard's body temperature was stabilized and closer to normal. Respiratory arrest was bad enough, but a heart arrhythmia, brought on by setting the bone in stage 2 hypothermia, was the last thing he needed.

Carson looked up and smiled slightly at the attending medic. "Carolyn, I want vitals every 15 minutes until he's stable. Watch those oxygen numbers closely and get another ABG in thirty minutes." Carson glanced to his left, his gaze settling on Elizabeth and Lorne, who stood near Rodney's gurney. Doctor Hendricks was putting the finishing touches on a fiberglass cast on Rodney's left arm while Rodney clutched a steaming cup in his right hand.

Satisfied that he'd done all he could for Sheppard at the moment, Carson walked over to Rodney's bed. He smiled at Hendricks. "How is it?"

Hendricks patted down the last strip of fiberglass casting, stepped back and pulled off his gloves. "Clean break. Four to six weeks in a cast and it'll be fine." He pointed at Rodney's ankle. "Sprain. If Doctor McKay stays off it for a week or so, he shouldn't have any problems. Core temperature is near normal."

"Yes, thank you," Rodney interjected. "He happens to be sitting right here. You could speak directly to me, you know."

Carson shook his head slightly. "And how do you feel, Rodney?" He met Rodney's irritated look with a tolerant one of his own.

"Cold," Rodney answered shortly. Abruptly, the irritation on his face faded as he looked across the infirmary. "Sheppard?"

Carson turned his head slightly as Elizabeth and Lorne walked up next to him, their expressions expectant. He was about to answer when the door to the infirmary opened, admitting Ronon and Teyla. They both stopped just inside the doorway, their gazes fixed on Sheppard. After a long moment, it was Teyla who looked around, her eyes locking with Carson's. She reached out and squeezed Ronon's arm, getting his attention before they both walked briskly over to him.

"What happened?" Ronon demanded.

"They were caught in a landslide off-world," Elizabeth answered.

"Sheppard?" Ronon demanded.

Carson looked back over at Sheppard's still form. "Holding his own. The ventilator has stabilized his oxygen levels, but the aspiration is serious. I've got him in a medically induced coma and he's going to have to stay on a ventilator until his lungs improve. We're giving him a broad spectrum antibiotic to help counteract pneumonia. His core temperature is slowly stabilizing as well, and at some point when those numbers are nearer to normal, we'll set his leg." Carson sighed. "For now, we wait. I won't know anything more for a while yet."

"Are you all right, Rodney?" Teyla walked up closer to Rodney's bed and squeezed his shoulder.

"Yes, well, somewhat," Rodney shot a glare at Ronon. "Thanks for asking."

Ronon shrugged. "You're awake. Seemed okay to me."

"Thank you, Doctor Dex," Rodney snapped. "When did you get your MD?"

"Rodney," Teyla's voice was quiet.

The irritated look on Rodney's face faded as he silently looked past Ronon and at Sheppard.

"Is he going to be okay, Carson?" Elizabeth's voice was quiet and somewhat tentative.

Carson looked over at her. There was no mistaking who "he" was. "I wish I could say yes, Elizabeth, but right now, I just don't know." He pursed his lips, quelling his own frustration at his inability to do more. "It's too early to tell."

Elizabeth looked past him, her gaze settling on John and she silently nodded.

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The cold was gone.

At first, John didn't realize it. He floated, pain a distant memory, blanketed by a comforting numbness. Something pulled at him, insisting that he leave the numb nothingness behind. He struggled up through layers of darkness as blackness gave way to gray, and then piercing light. A weak groan escaped him and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Ach, no, not yet, Colonel. Open your eyes again for me."

John's brows furrowed. Carson. Slowly, he peeled his eyelids open, squinting against the light. He tried to speak, but his throat was raw and instead his words dissolved into a weak cough.

"Easy," Carson leaned over close to his face. "Don't try to talk yet."

Carson moved out of sight for a moment, and when he returned, he held a cup and straw close to John's mouth.

"Take a sip," he encouraged as he settled the straw against John's lips. "Slowly."

John tightened his lips around the straw and sucked down a small sip of water, wincing first as his dry throat protested, but then relishing the cool soothing water that bathed his throat. He took another small sip and let go of the straw. "Carson?" The hoarse, weakness of his whisper surprised him.

Carson smiled in return. "Aye. Welcome back. You gave us quite a scare."

John tried to lift his head and immediately regretted the move as the dull throb of pain exploded into full force against his forehead. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Don't be doing that again anytime soon," Carson suggested knowingly. "You've been through a hell of a lot and need some time to rest and heal."

John would've nodded, if his head didn't feel like it was going to explode. He settled for a quiet grunt.

"I'll take that as a yes," Carson answered. "Get some sleep. There's a bunch of people who want to see you, but they can wait a little longer."

John tried to open his eyes, or answer Carson, but he couldn't manage either. Light faded to gray and then to black, and he surrendered to the warmth.

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Rodney shifted the blanket over his legs before looking up at the medic waiting to push his wheelchair across the infirmary. With a broken wrist, he couldn't do it himself, much less use crutches, and Rodney was determined to take full advantage of the chauffeur service as long as he could. He waved his good hand absently. "Chop, chop. I don't have all day." When the chair didn't move, he looked back at the medic, Carolyn. "Well?"

Her expression was deadpan. "I could wheel you in circles, Doctor McKay."

Rodney's gaze narrowed. "You wouldn't." When her expression didn't change, he sighed in defeat. "You would." He waved again towards Sheppard's bed, this time a much smaller gesture. "May we please…?" His gaze fixed on Sheppard's face as Carolyn pushed him across the infirmary. Sheppard's eyes were closed, but the absent drumming of his left hand fingers proved he wasn't sleeping. As they approached, he arched a brow and cracked an eyelid open, watching Rodney's progression. Sheppard's other eye opened and he lifted his head slightly.

"Got yourself a chauffeur?" John smiled slightly as Carolyn pushed Rodney's wheelchair up next to his bed and set the brakes.

Rodney frowned. "A grouchy one," he muttered but Sheppard just kept his lazy smile.

"I've never known Carolyn to be grouchy." He looked up at the medic, his smile widening.

Rodney could practically feel the blush that colored Carolyn's cheeks, and it only annoyed him more. "That's a lack of observation on your part," he shot back.

"Behave yourself, Doctor McKay," Carolyn answered as she backed away from his wheelchair. "And don't annoy Colonel Sheppard too much."

Rodney stiffened in indignation. "I never annoy him. He annoys me." He watched her walk away before glaring at Sheppard. "You can't resist charming any female within twenty feet of you, can you?"

Sheppard's brows arched. "I'm just being friendly," he answered, the pitch of his voice rising slightly.

"I'm so not buying that." He shifted in his chair. "Where's Ronon and Teyla?"

"Mess," Sheppard answered. "Could hear Ronon's stomach from ten feet away."

Rodney grimaced. "Hungry Ronon is a grouchy Ronon. Good idea." He repositioned his casted arm in his lap. "You're looking better, not that you ever look good."

Sheppard shook his head slightly, his eyes closing and a quiet chuckle escaping him. The smile faded as he looked back at Rodney. "I got you to thank for a lot of that." He nodded once. "Good job keeping our asses alive. Knew you had it in you."

Rodney swallowed and looked away. He took a deep breath, putting a stop to the fidgeting he didn't realize he'd started in the first place. He really wasn't ready to answer Sheppard, or to process a comment like that. Truth be told, he'd never really saved someone's life, not like this anyway. He'd saved a city full of people, more than once, since this adventure had begun, but this… this was different.

"McKay?" Sheppard's voice was full of questioning and a bit of concern.

Rodney's head snapped up. "Yes? What?" He made himself look Sheppard in the eye. "That is… well…" He suddenly found the fringes of his blanket to be very interesting and the fingers of his good hand tossed them about rapidly. "Thank you and… well, you're welcome…." Sheppard's quiet chuckle only irritated him. Getit together! "You know," he rushed on, "at this rate, I could lead my own team." Pushing aside his embarrassment, he fixed Sheppard with a challenging look.

Sheppard didn't back down, not that Rodney expected him to. "Sure you could," he answered. His words were neutral, but the dry tone of his voice was far from it. "And the next time you encounter two dozen Wraith in an ambush, you'll…?" His voice trailed off as his expression turned expectant.

Rodney glared, hating to concede the point. "Right. Point taken."

"Should've quit while you were ahead, McKay," Sheppard added with a small smile.

Rodney grunted, pondering Sheppard's words as his irritation fled. He scratched his nose and grimaced. "Sometimes, I just don't know when to shut up," he admitted quietly, before looking up and meeting Sheppard's gaze.

Sheppard's eyes narrowed. "Where did that come from?"

Rodney looked around, reassuring himself they were alone. The memories of Sheppard's delusions, the tragedy he carried that'd leaked out in his weakened voice, all of it came back to Rodney. These conversations were never Rodney's forte; in fact, he rarely saw the necessity of any of it, but this time was different. He didn't know why, maybe Sheppard's friendship meant more to him than he was prepared to admit, but he couldn't let it go. His mind raced as he tried to find a way to say what he didn't want to say, and words rushed from his mouth before he even had a chance to think about them. "I'm sorry about Holland." He looked up at Sheppard again.

Pain fleeted through Sheppard's expression for a split second before he buried it in an impassive mask and looked away.

"I mean, I know who he was," Rodney rushed on, "I read your mission report, some military records, but I didn't…," he sighed. "You guys were close," he finished quietly.

Sheppard refused to look at him. Instead, he stared at the blanket across his lap, a hard swallow rippling down his throat. "How…?" he asked softly.

"You were fevered," Rodney answered. "You talked about him."

Sheppard nodded slightly, still not looking at him. A hard, deep breath escaped him, and then another. The silence dragged on between them and Rodney shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was about to say something, when Sheppard finally spoke.

"He was my best friend."

Rodney nodded. He knew as much from Sheppard's fevered memories. "Yeah," his voice was gruff. "Sorry."

Sheppard shrugged lightly. "It was war. People…" He swallowed hard again. "People die."

Rodney tried to find the right words. Like every other civilian, he'd heard of the memories and battle scars that wartime servicemen carried, but until this moment, he'd never really experienced it. And, he realized, even now he still didn't know the depth of Sheppard's scars and probably never would. It was something that couldn't be told, only experienced. He took a deep breath. He'd come this far. There was no backing down now. "Look I'm… I'm sorry about needling you about the shooting…" he waved his hand absently, "thing. I didn't know how much it… I mean I should've known, but I didn't know and…."

"It's okay," John interrupted quietly. He finally looked up at Rodney and arched a brow, just slightly. "I probably should've said something."

"Yes, you should've," Rodney immediately retorted, latching onto something, anything else to take the focus off his own shortcomings.

Sheppard's other brow joined the first one, but he said nothing.

"Right," Rodney sighed. "Not your fault." He fidgeted in his chair again, antsy to be done with the conversation. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

Slowly, Sheppard smiled, just a little. "Apology accepted."

Rodney's gaze narrowed. "Just don't be so damned stoic next time. Say something! You've never had a problem giving your opinion before, wanted or not. Don't start now."

Sheppard's smile widened. "Deal." His head settled back against his pillow and his eyelids drooped.

Rodney nodded once, curtly. "Right." He lifted his good hand and snapped repeatedly and impatiently. "Carolyn?"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Sheppard advised.

"What?" Rodney let his annoyance into his voice. "I need her to push me back to my bed."

"There's better ways to ask than snapping at her like she's a dog. Keep that shit up and you'll have two broken arms."

"Did you want something, Doctor McKay?"

Rodney winced at the cold tone to Carolyn's voice. He cleared his throat. "Yes, umm… may I please go back to my bed now? Colonel Lazybones here is nodding off again." He frowned as she patted his good shoulder.

"Of course," Carolyn answered, her voice warming.

Rodney returned his attention to Sheppard's closed eyes as Carolyn released the brakes on his wheelchair. His life had grown infinitely more complicated since the unorthodox and mostly annoying colonel had come into his life, but, Rodney realized, his life had needed a little complication and, complicated or not, he wouldn't have it any other way. Content, he sighed deeply as Carolyn wheeled him back to his bed.