AN: Hey guys! Yes I know Remember is still in-progress, and trust me, I'll finish it. This is just something I've been working on for awhile and have decided to share with you guys in hopes that you'll like it.

Some background: SGU doesn't exist in my fic - no part of it does (which in my opinion, it the best kind of belief). It's kind of angsty, some hints at J/T but nothing too dramatic.

Anyway, I really hope you like it and drop a review telling me what you think!

Remember, you guys are great!

"Checkmate."

The scientist let out an exasperated sigh and slumped in his seat. "What's your secret?"

"Focus," he returned flatly, gathering up the pieces and placing them in the slide out drawers. "And patience."

McKay rolled his eyes and slowly stood up from his chair, giving the apartment a critical gaze. It was a mess, frankly. There was dirty clothes strewn about, old food just lying around on floors and surfaces. He didn't even want to imagine what that mound was underneath the t-shirt on the counter. "You really should clean up more often. You know how roaches can just –

"Don't have time."

"Well, hire a maid then," he suggested. "Of course, they'd don't always wear those cute little French –

"Don't have money."

A deathly silence fell over the room and Rodney mentally kicked himself. Quickly recovering, he cleared his throat. "Yes well, if you ever need –

"I don't."

Ordinarily, Dr. McKay would have been greatly stung by his friend's curtness and lack of words, but when you knew someone as long as Sheppard, there were things you came to expect – especially of late.

"Did you get the invitation?"

"Yep," John replied, sliding out of his chair and heading towards the kitchen.

Rodney followed him. "Well?"

"Well, what?" He pulled another beer – his fifth one that night – out of the fridge and popped it open.

"Well, the chicken or the salmon?" McKay stuffed his hands in his pockets and grinned. "Both are 100% citrus-free!"

"Not coming." Sheppard took a long swig and gave him a look. Then he sidled past him back into the living room.

"Not coming?" Rodney nearly shrieked, hurrying forward until he was blocking his friend's way. "Why the hell not?"

John shrugged but didn't answer.

Dr. McKay studied the other man's face intently. His eyes were lifeless and empty, his face was thin and baggy, and he looked as though he hadn't shaved in a year – which was probably the literal truth.

He'd taken a lot of crap from his friend ever since he'd noticed his declining condition, but this couldn't be tolerated. Holding out a finger, he pointed accusingly at the man's chest. "So you're telling me that you're not coming to your own best friend's wedding? We've been friends for over five years, Sheppard!"

Shoving his hand away, John shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Why, John?" Rodney demanded, crossing his arms in a firm stance. "Tell me why. Is it me, is it –

"No, it's not you guys," he protested, uttering the longest string of syllables he had in a long time. "It's me."

Unsatisfied, McKay tightened his arms together. "Oh, so the infamous, it's not you, it's me speech? Is this the part where I'm supposed to cry?"

"Stop it, Rodney," Sheppard growled, taking another drink from his beer and walking past him out onto the deck. Before he could slide the door shut behind him, the scientist forced himself through. "You need to stop running away!" he demanded, raising his voice to be heard over the loud street cars and sounds below.

"I'm not running!" John argued, glaring at him before returning to his drink.

"Yes you are," McKay insisted. "Ever since you quit the military –

"Resigned!"

"Whatever! You still turned your back on all of us, including Teyla!"

He turned on his heel, fuming. He had this savage look in his eye that Rodney had only seen in him when he was part mutant bug. "Ididn't turn my back on her! All of youdid! That's why I left!"

"What were we supposed to do?" he questioned, bewildered. "They shut down the 'gate for everyone! There was nothing anybody could –

Sheppard shoved past his friend again, entering the quiet apartment. McKay followed persistently behind him, right back into the living room. "Teyla would have wanted you to move on."

"Stop saying that like she's dead!" John demanded, emptying the last remnants of his bottle.

Rodney sighed. He knew better than to press that issue. The former colonel was the only one who hadn't attended the memorial service – in blatant denial. He decided to swap topics. "I know you don't want to hear this John, but we're all worried about you. You're drinking far too much and –

"Did you just come over here to tell me how to live my life?" He demanded, his eyes narrowing as he stared the smaller man down. McKay had never seen Sheppard like this before – not when he was himself – but then again, maybe he wasn't.

"I'm just concerned," he stated slowly, trying to cool down his friend's temper.

"Well, don't be!" Sheppard yelled; his face a deep crimson. His free hand jerked towards the door. "Get out!"

Rodney considered arguing with him, trying to show him reason. But even an arrogant man like him knew when to step down. He nodded in acceptance and gathered up his jacket. As he opened the door, he looked back to the man he'd admired for so long, his head hung and his hands shaking. "If you ever need to talk, just call."

Before he could give John a chance to shut him down again, he exited and shut the door behind him.

lll

"Well, I'm sorry he can't go, but there'll be other people, Rodney."

He looked up into the face of the woman he so greatly adored as she bravely feigned indifference. "I didn't even make him my best man; he just had to show up. How hard is that?"

"You have to understand, he's going through a lot right now," she said softly, scrubbing hard at the dishes and placing them on the rack to dry. "We can't expect much out of him right now."

McKay snorted. "He would have hated this, you know."

"What?"

"Sheppard – before he went all…insane, that is. He didn't like letting people down. And now he's doing it to everyone."

She sighed and shook her hands out from the sink. Sliding off her yellow rubber gloves, she turned to look at him. "Yes, we're all disappointed in the Col – John, but there's not much we can do about it. I mean, we can't drag him by his toenails to our wedding."

He twisted up his mouth. "We could try."

She laughed and he came forward to wrap her in a hug.

Patting his back, she soothed. "It'll all be alright. Besides, I…suggested that a certain ex-General pay him a visit in the near future."

Rodney chuckled and smiled in her hair. Sometimes, even he could admit that his fiancée was smarter than him…at certain things, that is. "I love you, Jennifer."

lll

If it weren't for the ounce of sanity he had left in him, he would have shot a hole through the door. In fact, after hearing the obnoxious rap at the door, he had even glanced momentarily at the drawer in the end table, where he kept his nine millimeter. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested!" He shouted loud enough to be heard over the volume of the football game on his television.

"What if I gave you a two-for-one deal?" a familiar voice quipped, the tone alarmingly casual.

John's heart plummeted and he quickly switched off the television set and dropped the remote to the floor. Frantically sweeping the popcorn kernels off the couch with his hand, he hurried towards the door to open it.

The gray-haired man smiled uncomfortably at him, his hands tucked into his jean pockets. "Howdy."

Unable to utter words, he merely nodded his own greeting, still staring in disbelief.

An awkward silence passed before his guest finally requested to be let in.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Sheppard stammered, opening the door wider to allow passage. He was suddenly very aware of his appearance and the state of his apartment. He should have taken McKay's advice and cleaned up a little instead of that little fib about being too busy.

Ah, McKay! He mentally cringed at the memory. He'd have to apologize…soon.

"Love what you've done with the place," his former superior stated sarcastically, taking in a view with a comical swing of his hand. He looked down at the numerous amounts of Chinese take-out boxes stacked in a neat pyramid next to the couch. "I've been thinking about doing a little Fung-shuing myself."

He smiled politely at the joke but still stood at a careful distance, now tucking his own hands into his stained sweatpants' pockets. "So what brings you by, sir?" he asked, wanting to get the question out there without all the beating around the bush.

"Please, John," he began, flipping through a completed Sudoku book that had been left on the table. "I'm retired and you're…"

He looked up and his face immediately changed into embarrassed as he quickly backpedaled. "Just call me Jack."

Sheppard nodded but highly doubted he could promise that.

"I came by because it was suggested by a friend that I pay you a visit," O'Neill answered with a slight nod.

"Rodney." He had intended to mutter but the volume unfortunately came out at an audible level.

"No, Dr. McKay was not the one who called me – for once." The older man replied rocking forward on his heels. "Believe it or not, there are other people in this world that care about you."

Not wanting a repeat of last night, John grimaced and turned away, beginning to clean up a little – starting with the takeout pyramid.

"Now, I'm a pretty reasonable guy," Jack went on. "I've had my moments similar to this in the past and, wouldn't you know it, have also lost people –

"She's not dead." He said firmly, now trying to stuff the boxes into the already overflowing trash bin.

There was a pause but then he continued. "Any-hoo, I just think it is important that you realize how many people are worried about you."

"There's nothing to worry about."

"I heard what happened last night."

Sheppard chuckled darkly. "So it was McKay."

"No it wasn't," he replied. "But that's not the point. Apparently, you were out of control last night. And I think, and I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think you should seek…professional help."

He snorted. Like hell he would see a shrink. He forced his lips closed just as he was about to accuse the former general of being a hypocrite – he hated psychologists just as much as Sheppard did.

"I'm saying this out of concern for you – from all your friends; Rodney, Jennifer, Woolsey, Carter, Ronon –

"Ronon wouldn't suggest I see a therapist." John spat in disbelief, his arms crossed as he observed the man from across his apartment.

"Well, no," O'Neill admitted. "But he did use some rather choice words that I'm choosing to translate in a more civilized manner."

That sounded like Ronon.

"He feels the same way, you know," the older man told him. "He hates being trapped here just as much as you do. And he also feels we could have done more for Teyla."

Resisting the urge to once again shout out his belief that his friend was not dead as they all assumed, he nodded. "All right, I'll see a psychiatrist."

"That's all I ask." Jack said, holding his hands up in satisfaction. "And for more than twenty seconds!"

Sheppard pretended to be amused and saw him off. After the visit, he grabbed his jacket and headed towards the gym. Even if he wasn't on active duty, he wanted to remain in shape – to be prepared for the day he could go after Teyla, even if no one else would.

III

It was dark and she could hear him crying - calling her, begging for her.

Her throat ached from screaming at them. It had been months – perhaps years, she had no way to know but she knew it had been exactly three weeks since she had seen him. But no amount of pleading or persuading did any good.

So she had to sit there, listening to the terrified shrieks of her only child. And she could do nothing.