"I'm sorry."
Peter's voice crackled over the radio and he almost laughed. Sorry? Sorry for what – being stuck on the satellite, not being able to stop the Wraith, dying –
Oh, God. "Get us back to that satellite!" he ordered desperately, turning to pin Miller with a stern gaze to make sure he did so, because they couldn't leave Peter there, they couldn't! Lights flashed in the corner of his vision as Miller bent to the controls, hands flicking hurriedly over the illuminated crystals.
He turned back to the viewscreen, thumb tapping in the air as though unable to wait until he could punch in the buttons to open the hatch. He opened his mouth to comfort Peter, tell him they'd be there, that he'd be fine –
Blue sprays of light streaked through the nothingness of space from the ominous ships looming nearby, cutting through the weapons platform in dazzles of sparks. The bristles of the satellite's turrets crumbled, breaking apart in wreathes of light and metal before it exploded – with a shock he awoke, his heart pounding in his ribs and his hands clutching at the covers of his bed, screwing the sheets up in clenched fists that were white and shaking. For a moment he forgot where he was, his panicked breath hot on his sweat-damp pillow, before he remembered that he was safe in his room on Atlantis.
Oh, God… he still felt like crying, his throat clogged with an obstruction he couldn't swallow through. His limbs went weak as he realized he was safe, but – how can I ever feel okay being safe, after – after –
"Rodney!" His headset fizzed with Radek's familiar voice and Rodney McKay's hand flew automatically to the round earpiece to answer, casting the nightmare – the memory – from his mind.
He had work to do.