AN: This is a sequel to Sheppard of Sherwood and One For All, And All For - McKay, because of that, it would really help if you read them in order. Now, this is based of the historical story of William Wallace, and as such, there are some basic historical facts. I tried to stay as true to them as possible, and did some research before writing. Murrin was William Wallaces' wife, and it was believed that the Sheriff did, in fact, kill her.

If you have direct questions that you want a reply, I'm more than tickled to do that, you can email me personally, or do a shout out on the SGAHC yahoo list. I'm around!

I want to say thank you for Emergencyfan and Shelly for being great with suggestions and help during the writing of this fic.

Braveheart Beckett

By M.N. Talbert

A continuation of the Myths and Legends Series

I've been tired before, and I've been tired, but this bordered on catatonic fatigue. When I'd said 'pass to everyone else' to Sheppard's illness, even I lacked the appreciation for just how much passing was going to happen.

There'd been five new cases before the day ended, and luckily, it was the twenty-four variety, because when Sheppard's fever broke early the next morning, four more expedition members staggered in.

Rodney had arrived, auspiciously to check and make sure I was properly caring for Sheppard (or so he claims), but after the colonel started enlightening us on what all those weird mumbling hallucinations had been about, Rodney had become the eleventh victim to the fever bug.

It was a fairly specific set of symptoms. Vomiting and/or upset stomach, your standard gastroenteritis, with high fever, aches, and generalized poor state of being. The high fever was proving to be the dangerous part of the virus, but with Elizabeth's direction, a buddy system was put into place, so anyone falling sick in their quarters would get medical care.

I'd spent the last thirty-six hours on my feet. Sheppard was well enough to be released, but despite signing his discharge papers, the man was still underfoot. Of course, I knew the reason. Rodney was still occupying one of my beds, and aye, if the bugger of a man wasn't driving me crazy.

First he'd carried on that I'd used leeches on Sheppard, and then decided that I wasn't looking out for the colonel enough, and should he be allowed to have visitors – bloody hell, what did Rodney think he was, standing there next to Sheppard's bed, a doctor? Fine, he was a doctor, but not of the medical kind, and that placed him securely in the visitor category, and as if I could've gotten him to leave Sheppard alone!

Normally, I can humor Rodney, and suffer through his comments, but I'm afraid the lack of sleep did me in, and I started rattling off my degrees when he asked if Sheppard shouldn't be sleeping, rather than talking.

I will admit to feeling a small amount of satisfaction when Rodney fainted, but then the alarming fact that Rodney would be a patient for at least the next day sunk in. Fortunately, he was one of the few not struck by the vomiting variety (or lucky for me). He had run a high fever, similar to Sheppard, and his ramblings while he was hallucinating were fairly amusing. When he was recovered, I was going to get with Radek and see if we could muster up a tunic that would pass for the three musketeer outfit. The next time he was a patient, I'd hand him that to wear, and nothing else –

My head was aching abominably. It was all McKay's fault. Bad enough to be worrying over Sheppard, and then he had to waltz in and continue pestering. He worried and fussed more than my grandmum.

Sighing, I rubbed the bridge of my nose, and pulled out Sheppard's chart. I had to finish his paperwork, and move on to the stack of others.

Patient became febrile at 0930, reaching a high of 40.6 C (105 F) at 1800. Treated with a cocktail of ibuprofen, 800 mg, and acetaminophen, 400 mg.

"Doctor Beckett?"

Was someone calling me? My eyes weren't working – what was going on? I felt so heavy, and sluggish, and my body was refusing to obey…

"Doctor Biro, I need help!"

I'll be right there, I thought. Just give me a mina'-

OoO

"William!" a voice shouted next to my ear. "We mus' go, ye'll do Andrew no good if ye get captured, mon!"

I snapped open my eyes, and stared in shock at the figure leaning over me. It was as if someone had cut out a picture from a historical novel of medieval Scotland, and planted him right in front of me.

I cringed back, and shouted "Ayyeeee!"

Total complete utter instinct. It was Big Foot meets Mel Gibson on the set of Braveheart – Ronan Dex, the new guy that Sheppard had found in his search for Ford. Holy crap was my heart beating fast.

"What the devil is wrong with ye?" the man shouted. "William, we must go!"

I allowed myself to be yanked to my feet, and that's when I felt it. A draft of air so strong, and in just the right places – a kilt! I glanced down in shock. I was wearing a traditional kilt, and that wasn't all. Leather skin knee-high boots, and a tartan sash, along with a leather pouch slung over my shoulder.

My head was spinning. I must've gotten sick, and was hallucinating, like Sheppard and Rodney, but what the devil was it with this virus that we were all dreaming up wild historical legends in our delusions? It had to be a product of imagination going off on tangents because of what the other two had talked about. My mind was merely following along for the ride.

"I told you this was a stupid idea!" snarled an angry arrogant voice.

I spun, and there stood a furious Rodney McKay, except this man was decked out in the warfare clothing of a Scottish royal. I narrowed my eyes, and cried, "Rodney!" Bloody hell, am I not to be tormented enough by being tossed into this crazy recreation of battle? As if dealing with him when I was awake wasn't enough!

And despite the terror of the moment, my eyes traced down his hauberk, and metal studded tunic, to lower – those knobby knees that I'd seen so often in switching him from clothes to scrubs or gown when he was stuck in the infirmary. Knobby knees, pale legs –

I looked up to find McKay staring at me, and his anger dissolved to confusion, and then suspicion as he looked down his waist, and back up at me. My face flamed, and I quickly averted my stare, mentally shouting, 'It's not what you think, it's not what you think!'

He kept glaring, but shifted his gaze to the behemoth Dex, "Douglas, what is this nonsense? You were supposed to get William and go!" snapped Rodney, looking at me again as he processed what I'd called him. He asked, "Who is this Rodney?" and he still had that look that said he didn't trust me. For pity's sake, all I did was stare at the kilt, you'd have thought I'd tried to reach up under there and do a 'turn and cough' move.

"I doona' know, Robert," shrugged the other man, but he was looking worried to complement McKay's utter annoyance. "But we must retreat! They've taken Andrew. That yellow-bellied coward Warenne never showed."

Before I could try to figure out why my mind had dreamed up Dex with a Scottish accent (and a pretty ridiculous one at that), there was a loud scream from far off, and all three heads went up, including mine. I recognized that scream, god knows, I'd never forget it. When Sheppard had been trapped in the Jumper with his team, and the tic wraith stuck to him, he'd screamed just like that when Ford had poured water over the bug's back.

"Sheppard!" I exclaimed. I started off towards the sound, but was yanked roughly back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" snapped Rodney. "Are you daft, man?"

"That's Colonel Sheppard screaming," I swore fiercely, "and he needs our help!" It wasn't that I was big on bravery, but the physician in me couldn't stand by while someone I knew about, someone I cared about, was harmed. Besides, Dex was brave enough for the three of us.

The overly large Ronan was shaking his head. "I doona' know who this Sheppard is you speak of, but that isna' him. That is Andrew, and there'll be no rescue for Andrew now. Edward wants your head, William! We must go before he can get it. Warenne will have sent for reinforcements."

I was facing off with Rodney, and he was breathing hard, not giving an inch, every bit the rabid pit bull I'd seen before. Finally, I threw my hands up, "Rodney, it's on your head," I swore.

"Would you stop calling me that," he snarled. "Robert, de Bruce, your highness, or even 'hey you', but my name is not Rodney!"

I debated arguing – especially his delusions of grandeur with the 'your highness', but he had a very large broad sword, and as far as I could tell, I must've lost my weapon in the fight, because it wasn't on my person. I conceded this battle, but there were others to fight on my own turf, and I had my own personal supply of weapons that were more satisfying – the needle kind. It's amazing how a small stick can cause more pain that a large gaping wound – revenge would be mine, so sayeth the physician.

My thoughts were interrupted by a shove forward, and we took off towards the edge of the forest at a run, for my part, reluctantly. It'd been only moments in this fantasy world, and I was more than ready to wake up. Sheppard had hallucinated being Robin Hood, and McKay had been Porthos – all fairly harmless, fun even. But me, oh ho! The biggest coward of the bunch, and here I am, thrown in (if my memory served me well), in the bloodiest days Scotland had ever seen.

I had a hunch, based off the two names, of who I was, but I needed to confirm it, and right now the only confirmation running through my mind was the fact that it takes a hardened Scot to pull off traditional kilt-wearing.

My privates were shriveling, which helped with the bouncing around issue, but all the same, how in bloody hell did these people ever fight like this? Maybe that's why the men of Scotland were always in such a foul mood? Going around with your nethers in a crunch, trying to ward off the cold – and no wonder they were a prolific bunch of sires, with it proven that heat to the area decreased fertility!

Well bully for them, I wasn't planning on bearing any babies, nor siring any, and I wanted something over my damn bits. That'd be number one on my list of things to do in this delusional world.

Scratch that, number two. Number one would be to get a rescue party for Sheppard. Hallucination or not, Sheppard was not going to stay in the clutches of the English. I knew very well what they did to traitors in the day, and it wasn't' pretty.

I don't know how long we ran for, or should I say they ran, and wound up dragging me for at least the last couple of hours. Delusion-Rodney could run with the best of them, and why, if it was my hallucination, was I not endowed with that kind of thing? I'm a medical doctor, not a psychologist, but wouldn't it seem we could dream up superpowers or something?

Anything would be better than this! At some point, it was assumed we'd escaped safely, because the running slowed to a walk, and I noticed that we weren't alone moving through the trees. Other fighters were moving alongside, near enough to be heard, but I didn't see many outright.

We came to a camp, and I was ushered into a tent. I suppose part of it was the slightly dazed look I was still wearing, but the reason I'd been down on the field of battle was becoming clear. The warm sensation I'd felt on my shoulder while we ran was from an arrow, buried deep in the flesh. Too busy trying to assimilate everything; I hadn't realized it was there. My powers of observation astounded even me, or lack thereof, if sarcasm isn't your forte.

I tucked my chin in, and twisted my head down, trying to get a look at the injury. If left to their medicine, I'd die, or lose my arm. And for something that wasn't real in the first place, this was really starting to hurt.

"William," called a female voice.

I looked away from my shoulder, and almost cried from the shock. "Perna." My soul breathed. How many shocks to the mind could I take? I blinked away the moisture that almost instantly sprung into place, and I hated to let it show. I'd cried in the video letter to my grandmum. I didn't want to cry over Perna again, or anyone else, yet it was so easy to do –

She smiled, and brought a bowl of water to my side. I was sitting on fur blankets, and it suddenly felt a lot closer, and warmer, in the tent then it had moments ago. "Perna?" she chided. "William Wallace, have you been wandering on me?"

In her humor, I knew there was no seriousness to the words, but how did I explain I had no idea what her name was, because in my reality she was a scientist from another planet – a dead scientist. Except this was my reality, or rather my made-up reality, and oh, for the love of god, this is complicated -

I smiled weakly, and caressed her cheek with the hand of my uninjured arm. "I'd never wander from you."

"Murrin, can you fix his arm quickly?" Rodney poked his head through the flap of the tent. "If there's any hope of rescuing de Moray, we must hurry!"

"Rodney, I've got a bloody big arrow in my shoulder!" I protested. Perna or not, I didn't want anyone hurrying with the extraction. In fact, looking sideways at the shaft, maybe I'd just have it cut down to the skin and leave it. It wasn't real, right? I could pretend it wasn't there, and save everyone a lot of pain – yeah, right. That wasn't going to work, and I knew it. At least I had her name now, Murrin. But she was Perna – my Perna.

I saw McKay's lips form a straight, frustrated line, and he stepped in, close. "Again, the name is Robert de Bruce, and William, blast it, if you don't start making sense I'm going to have my father lock you up! It's your fault we're in this mess in the first place!" he swore.

Oh, right. Rodney McKay, superhero, always rescues everyone from the pot, and tosses 'em into the fire. "And how d'you come up with that one, lad?" As if I ever got him into trouble. He found it all on his own, thank you very much, I was only the sucker that kept putting him back together again when all was said and done. And I never enjoyed it, ever – I swear (and were my fingers crossing behind my back)?

"You had to go and capture Stirling Castle! Oh, let's see, dangle a red flag in front of the bull, why don't you!" he snapped. "You as much as begged Edward to come after you."

"Edward's an idiot," I responded automatically, not even knowing who Edward was. Just seemed like the thing to do.

"Edward's the King of England!" exploded McKay.

Okay, maybe NOT the thing to say, but it flowed naturally off the tongue, so how was I to know? Jesus, all those history lessons were ages ago. He'd better be damn glad I spent my time studying the courses in genetics, and immunology, and not fawning over history texts. He wouldn't be here if it weren't for that artificial gene I pumped him full of. And with Perna so close –

"No way," he said sharply.

I pulled my eyes lazily off the gentle swell of Perna's bodice – "What?"

He stalked across the tent, picked up a shawl, and thrust it over Perna's shoulders, purposefully draping it over her bosom with a pointed look at me. "Murrin, keep him focused, Andrew's life depends on it!" and he stalked back out, the material of the tent popping with the suddenness of his movements.

"William, take this," she murmured softly.

I jerked my gaze from the tent flaps, and realized she was handing me a stick. "What's that for?" I asked. "I didn't know that was a necessary part of what I'm thinking of -" I groaned as I realized I'd said that aloud.

Murrin – Perna blushed, but answered firmly, "For the pain."

I'm normally a pale man. We Scotsmen, we have two colors - white or red. White when we're not burnt, and red when we are. Scotsmen rarely tan, an evolutionary fact of living so far north. The point of me telling you this, is when she said that, I paled even more than my natural whiteness, and that's saying a lot.

And this was a figment of my own imagination? What kind of warped son of a bitch was I? Was this some kind of manly way to prove to a ghost of my love that I could bear up as well as the best of the men?

If so, I take it all back. I can't. I don't want to. Take that stick, this arrow, in fact – this entire bloody hallucination, and I won't mind.

But before I could protest, she'd pushed the stick in my mouth, and pulled the arrow. I think I screamed, and it was a pretty girlie scream, and I'm not ashamed a bit. That was white hot agony, and I'd never tease Rodney for fainting again, because that's precisely what I did.

OoO

When I woke up, Murrin was gone, and it was dark. I stumbled to my feet, feeling the thickness of the bandages around my shoulder. I also felt hung-over. Groaning, I pushed out of the tent, and stumbled into a roaring celebration.

"William!"

"A toast, to our leader!"

"Hail, the Wallace!"

I blinked.

Someone shoved a mug of, oh god, what was that? I lifted it close to my nose and took another sniff. Whatever it was, it smelled like instant intoxication. Radek had nothing on these guys.

"William, James is here, he has news of Andrew," Rodney said, coming alongside of me, and taking a deep drink of his own mug.

"Andrew?" I repeated. Oh, wait. Sheppard. Screaming Sheppard. I winced, "And he's okay?"

"He's alive," replied Rodney grimly.

I rolled my eyes. "Rodney, you have a way of being obtuse despite all the talking you do, and yet now when I want you to say more, you learn the art of saying little."

"That's 'your highness', to you," he said peevishly.

I guess he gave up on Robert or de Bruce, and decided I was making him angry enough to warrant the more official title of 'your assholeness'. Sliding an uneasy look at that very large sword of his, I decided on Robert. It was close enough to Rodney.

"Right, Robert, lead me to this James. Maybe all I have to do is rescue Sheppard, and poof, hallucination over," I said.

He looked like he was going to argue with me, but he settled for shaking his head, and leading me away from the group of smelly men gathered around a campfire.

" 'bout time," grouched Bates, stepping out of the shadows.

I think my jaw dropped to the ground. Bates? "Oh, I bet Sheppard loved that," I said without thinking. The two had been butting heads since Sumner's death. The only reprieve had been of late. With Bates recovering from a severe beating, courtesy of the wraith, there'd been little to no interaction.

Rodney shot me a dirty look, and told Bates, "Ignore it, he's been confused since his injury earlier today. Where are you keeping Andrew?"

Bates gave me a shifty look, as if he was afraid I would pull a sword and skewer him then, but finally responded to Rodney's question. "Warenne had him taken to Lanark. He's in the jail, the Sheriff is watching him till a regiment can be dispatched from Stirling."

"What's his injuries?" I stated, again without thinking of whom I was supposed to be.

That earned me another long glare from Rodney, and I was about to tell him to get over it all ready, this was my hallucination, after all, and if he had a problem with it, he could go find someone else's to play in.

After getting a quick defeated jerk of the head from Rodney (guess I was wearing him down with my weirdness), Bates explained. "He's been severely beaten, and the Sheriff has been -" here Bates grimaced, " – playing with him."

Hoo boy. I can imagine. No, nix that. I couldn't imagine. I didn't want to imagine. "What are we waiting for?" I said. Really. Time to go, delusions to finish, and when I woke up from this I had a very big needle for Rodney, and now, Bates –

"We were waiting for you," stated Rodney crossly. "Honestly, Wallace, you're two draft horses short of a team today."

I spluttered. Two draft horses short of a team? Holy crap, was I going to have fun when this was over – of course, then it occurred to me that this was all a creation of my own subconscious. That sealed it. I wasn't going to admit any of this. Any – of – this! Well, maybe the arrow injury, and having it ripped from my flesh – that was pretty manly. And Rodney gave me shit about not sitting in that devil of a chair –

"Is he ready? The horses are waiting," Dex had galloped over. "We've got to go while we still have cover of night to hide our approach."

I looked at the horses he had dragged along, and then back at my kilt. Oh no. Oh no no no. No! Kilts, and bare flesh, rubbing against horse hair – no way, flat out. No. Chafing didn't begin to describe the resulting product. How did these people ever survive this age? No wonder it was called the Dark Ages.

"Andrew is being beaten even as we talk," whispered Rodney, suddenly right next to me.

Damn it! Damn Sheppard, and Rodney, and Bates, and Perna – I sucked in a deep breath, and grabbed one of the reins. Suck it up, Carson. It's just chafing. It'll heal. Hell, it's not even real, right? I suppose there's worse things.

Someone handed me a sword so heavy, I almost fell right back off the horse. I grabbed my shoulder and winced dramatically, murmuring, "Sorry, my wound pains me," that's medieval speak.

A sharp nod from everyone, and the horses took off into the woods. You know what I said about chafing, worse things, and suck it up kind of deal? I was certain I'd wake up from this hallucination with red thighs, and other red bits. And it was a damn good thing I wasn't getting any, because I wouldn't be able to perform for weeks after this. Salt peter, anyone?

As we approached the town, everyone dismounted, and skulked low, leading their horses instead of riding. I was limping more than walking, and here everyone was beginning to look expectantly at me. I snorted, if they had any clue who they were looking at. I'd barely managed to fly the Jumper against the darts attacking Atlantis, and I'd closed my eyes at that!

If I closed my eyes here, I'd probably get decapitated by one of these metal monstrosities. These weren't swords, they were portable guillotines!

"I see a light at Murrin's home," whispered Rodney.

I crept closer. There was a lantern glowing in a window. I narrowed my eyes worriedly. "Murrin lives here?"

"YOU lived here," hissed McKay, "Until Edward came back and defeated us, routing you from Stirling and declaring you an outlaw, and a traitor of the crown."

I rubbed my hand across my face. This was getting complicated. Didn't I say that already? Why did I have to go and have such a complicated hallucination? Same reason I sent a drone straight down Sheppard's throat. Because I was an idiot, and this was some kind of karma.

"I knew that," I hissed back. Liar, but he'd never know.

I realized that everyone was staring at me, and I began to shift self-consciously. What, was my kilt showing something it shouldn't? "What are you looking at me for?" I'd given them time to do something, this was a rescue after all, but instead, they were all hanging around me. Newsflash, I know nothing and was going to be just about as much help in this endeavor.

"You," said Rodney dryly. "You're leading the men, Wallace." He indicated the light. "That's Murrin's signal to proceed as planned."

I closed my eyes. Could this day get any worse? What did leading entail? Lifting my sword, and shouting? Couldn't they do that without me?

I sighed, because this was really hard to do, but there comes a time where everyone is backed into a corner, and this was mine. "Rodney, lead the men. Just – take the lead."

His face worked between annoyance because I'd forgotten and called him by his name, pleasure that I'd asked him to take the lead, and shock that I'd asked him to take the lead.

"Oh, just do it!" I snapped, aggravated.

He stared for another beat, before standing, and hollering, "For the King!" and started running towards the buildings.

I almost had a panic attack, till it dawned on me, he was talking about the King of Scotland. But by then, bodies were standing, shouting, and running, swords held aloft. I stood, and lifting my own (almost falling back the first time, but damn these swords were heavy), I screamed my best impression of a banshee and followed behind.

I'm still not sure what went wrong, but the fact that we'd been duped became clear right away. English soldiers poured from the village buildings, and with an icy spike of fear, I realized that included Murrin's home. My home, I thought savagely, losing myself in this mock world.

Forgetting Sheppard, I ran in, ducking and dodging soldiers who were intent on defending the Sheriff's building, where the main attack was focused. I spied a fallen body by the hearth, and with my mind and heart screaming, begging, no – I knelt beside her, and rolled the shell that had been Perna into my arms.

"No, Perna – why?" I cried. "Why did you have to die here, too?"

Her pale hair had fallen across her sightless blue eyes, and I bit back a sob. I threw my head back and shouted, "It's not fair! To bring her back to me, only to kill her again! What kind of screwed up son of a bitch are you?" And I realized even as I cried out against it, that it was useless, because it was myself doing this. How do you reason with that?

Perna was never going to be mine, and my subconscious faced up to that reality, even in my hallucination, when I'd tried to have her back, for that short time. It wasn't fair, Jesus, it just wasn't fair.

I drew in a shuddering breath, and laid her body down gently, picking up my broad sword from where I'd let it fall. I stood up, using the sword as a lever. Wiping a hand across my wet face, I swore to her dead body. "I couldn't fight what killed you the first time, but I can damn well fight what killed you this time."

I turned, and strode out, slashing at the red-coated soldiers. I lifted, two hands, and brought the sword down on a kid barely older than Markham. And Gall. And goddamnit, Abrams and Grodin, and I kept working my way till I reached the Sheriff's building, where the fighting had grown thick, and bloody. There were bodies cleaved, and lakes of red, and I spotted Rodney throwing punches, and piercing his sword into faceless bodies, fighting to the door.

"Is he in there?" I shouted to him above the screaming and yelling.

Rodney never took his eyes off the door. "Yes!"

But he didn't know whom I had meant. My goal wasn't Sheppard anymore, it was the Sheriff, and he would die by my hands.

I worked through the melee, and got side to side with Rodney, and we forced in through the barred doors. Wood cracked, and there inside, was the Sheriff, and how fucking appropriate that it was a wraith. Weren't the wraith the reason for all the death, after all?

I growled. Honest to god, I actually growled. I saw the bloodied form of Sheppard in the cell, and called, "Andrew!" I was so submerged in this unreality that it came easy. Maybe I had dreamed up superpowers after all. I'd been shot with an arrow, subjected to wearing a kilt, chafed into permanent disfigurement, and watched the only woman I'd ever truly loved be killed, again – and I was going to make this bastard pay, for all of it!

"See to Sheppard," I ordered, reverting back to reality. I didn't wait to hear him bitch at me for being weird, and apparently he figured out that I had other concerns, because Rodney for once, was quiet, and he broke the lock, and knelt beside Sheppard, rolling the hurt man over, just how I'd done with Perna.

"You've killed my friends," I accused softly.

The wraith's forehead wrinkled in amusement. "He's still alive."

"That's not what I meant," I shouted, lifting my sword above my head, before running at the wraith.

The blade split the wraith in two. It hadn't even tried to move, or fight back, or anything, and staring at the two halves falling to opposite sides of the room, I stared, stunned. Why didn't it fight back? Why had my sword gone through it like a knife through butter?

Shaking, I knew there was something symbolic in that, but what? I couldn't think straight. My sword had stuck into the floor when it'd come to rest. I let it drop from my numb hands, and I stumbled over to Rodney and Sheppard.

"Rodney, how is he?"

Sheppard was almost unrecognizable. His face was grotesquely swollen, and caked blood had dried along his mouth, nose and ears. He attempted to smile through puffy lips. "Knew you'd come, William," he said, coughing after.

Gently, McKay lifted him into a sitting position, helping him breathe easier. "Hush, Andrew," he soothed.

"Where's you're kilt?" I joked. "I got to see Rodney, but before I go back, in order to have full effect, I need to see you – and oh, Bates, too."

Just then, I noticed the horrified looks, and noticed it was hard to breath. I was drowning, and something wet splashed on the straw covered floor. I glanced down, and stared in shock at a blade sticking out of my abdomen, before looking back up at the others.

"Wha -"

"You never should've trusted me, William," said Bates scathingly.

I slipped to the ground, and felt my life emptying as fast as the blood flowed. Rodney was screaming, and jumping to his feet, thrusting his sword forward. Everything moved in slow motion, and I couldn't help but think this isn't how the legend really ended. Wallace had been captured; drawn and quartered. But then again, I thought fuzzily, this was better – here, surrounded by my friends.

And then I saw another one of Wallace's – my – men, enter the room, and seeing the recent events, joined the fight against Bates. He went down with a sword in his gut, just as skewered as I was, and I stared at him, eyes locked on each other.

I felt blood bubble out the side of my mouth, and I coughed, trying to stop from choking, but it wouldn't stop, and I knew this was the end –

"What's going on? Why's he shaking like that?"

"It's a febrile seizure, Doctor McKay, now get out of here!"

Febrile seizure? Who was having a febrile seizure?

Everything faded to black, and the next time I opened my eyes, I focused on a worried Rodney.

"Robert?"

He frowned at me, and looked over his shoulder, "Sheppard, get that doctor over here!"

Doctor? I was the doctor, wasn't I?

"I'm the doctor," I croaked.

He smiled smugly and said, "No, you were the doctor, until you got sick, and now you're stuck being a patient."

He was taking way too much pleasure in this. "Remember," I whispered tiredly.

He leaned closer, curious. "Remember what?"

I smiled tiredly and finished, "The shoes not often on the other foot, Rodney."

He paled, and I enjoyed the satisfaction of a job well done. Have to keep them in their place –

THE END