For those of you who commented that this is like SG1's "Solitudes", you're right. I drew on the science from that, while throwing in a twist of my own. :)

Thanks so much for all the encouraging reviews! You've motivated me to crank out chapter 2 :D

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Ronon stumbled hard as he exited the wormhole into the Atlantis Gate room, but caught himself immediately. He spun, simultaneously bringing up his gun and focusing on the active Stargate; ready to cover Sheppard's retreat. His gaze narrowed, gun never wavering as the wormhole flickered an instant before it disconnected. He lowered his gun, shocked for a moment before he ground his teeth hard and resisted the urge to yell. He turned quickly away from the gate and helped McKay lower Teyla to the floor as a medical team, headed by Beckett, quickly entered the gate room. Ronon backed away, making room for Beckett as the doctor knelt next to the now semi-conscious, Teyla.

"Easy, love," Beckett spoke quietly while he quickly worked over Teyla, "we'll get ye fixed up in a jiffy."

Ronon's attention turned to Weir who trotted down the Gate room stairs. She stopped, apparently trying to take in all the activity around her. "Teyla?" She looked around again. "Colonel Sheppard?"

"He didn't make it," Ronon growled, not bothering to hide his frustration. "Gotta go back."

"And now," Rodney stalked over to join Ronon. "He's in trouble!"

Ronon's gaze narrowed as Weir glanced at Teyla who was being moved to a stretcher, before she looked back at him. "What happened?"

"Less than friendly natives. They think we killed one of their children. We found the boy dead in the woods!"

"And you told them this?"

McKay's expression turned annoyed. "Small problem of a language barrier."

Weir shook her head and tapped her headset. "Chuck, order a MALP down here immediately."

Ronon took a step closer to her. "We need to go… now." He held his gaze intent but part of him felt a level of respect as Weir returned his intense stare with a strong one of her own.

"We have no idea what the situation is on the other side of that wormhole. I'm not sending any of you through until I know, at the very least, you're not walking directly into an ambush." She sighed deeply. "Sheppard would agree. You know that."

Ronon clenched his jaw hard, biting off a response and abruptly turned away, slamming his gun back into its holster. She was right, he knew it, but that didn't mean he liked it. He'd resisted leaving Sheppard behind; finally bowing to the colonel's orders and now he was feeling every bit of that decision.

Behind him, he heard Weir's voice again.

"Carson? Teyla?" she asked quietly.

Ronon turned back, concern momentarily edging out his frustration.

Beckett held an IV high as his medical team pushed Teyla's gurney towards the east door. "I'll know more later. Right now we need to get her to surgery, get this thing out of her and assess the damage."

Weir nodded. "Keep me posted."

"Aye," Beckett threw the response back over his shoulder as he and his team hurried from the Gate room.

The west door opened, admitting a technician who was quickly piloting a MALP into the Gate room. Weir looked up at the control deck. "Chuck, dial M55-912." She headed for the Gate room stairs, Ronon and Rodney right behind her.

Ronon stood behind one of the many laptops, his hand settling on the grip of his blaster as the wormhole flushed into existence and the technician remotely steered the MALP through. He took one step back as McKay edged his way in and sat down in front of the laptop, immediately punching in commands on the keyboard.

Ronon stared at the laptop screen as the static was replaced with an image. He felt, more than saw, Weir come up next to him.

"Still dark and raining," McKay commented. "Switching to infrared. Stand by."

Completely unfamiliar with what he was seeing and growing more frustrated by the minute, Ronon took a step closer to Rodney and leaned over his shoulder. "Sheppard?"

McKay's sigh was deep and loud. "No sign of him. No life forms near the gate. Looks like the natives left."

"If Sheppard didn't make it through the gate…" Weir's voice trailed off.

"Then the natives captured him." Ronon turned towards the stairs. "We have to go. Now."

"Wait!" McKay turned.

"McKay,' Ronon growled. He glared coldly at the doctor.

McKay's expression turned acerbic. "Look, I want to find Sheppard as much as you, but charging off into the unknown isn't the way to do it." He turned back and tapped a few keys on the lap top.

Ronon's gaze narrowed as McKay's back stiffened.

"What the hell?" McKay uttered under his breath.

Ronon stalked back even as Weir beat him to the obvious question.

"Rodney? What is it? What's wrong?"

"I'm not picking up Sheppard's sub-cutaneous transmitter," McKay's voice was puzzled. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Could he be out of range?" Weir asked, arching a brow at McKay's snort.

"Hardly. The Daedalus can pick up those transmitter signals from orbit. He'd have to be on the other side of the planet for us not to detect the signal. Somehow I don't think our cave man friends can get that far, this fast."

"Could something have happened to it?" Weir questioned.

"Not likely," McKay's tone was more even. "Its sub-q, so it's not like those primitive spear-throwers could take it from him. They won't even know it's there, in fact." Rodney looked back to the laptop his gaze narrowing. "He's not there."

"How could he not be there?" Ronon snapped.

"I don't know," McKay sighed.

Ronon felt his anger surge. "McKay!"

McKay spun in his chair and glared at Ronon. "I don't know! Yelling at me won't change that! All I can tell you is, as crazy as it sounds, he's not there. It's the only other logical explanation. Now stop bothering me so I can figure this out!" Without another word he turned back and started typing commands, his hands flying over the keyboard.

Ronon turned his attention to Weir. "We should still send a team." He held her gaze as she stared a long moment at him, obviously considering his words.

Weir turned back to McKay. "You're sure he's not on the planet?"

McKay looked up, but stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. "Yes, I'm sure! His sub-q transmitter would be sending a signal if he was there. Period."

"Rodney, where else could he be?" Weir insisted. "If he made it through the gate, he'd be here."

"I know it…"McKay's voice trailed off as he abruptly stood, his back stiffening and gaze turning shocked. "Can't be…"

Ronon walked up next to McKay, Weir right with him.

"Rodney?" Weir stared at his face. "What are you thinking?"

McKay spun, snapping his fingers at Chuck. "Switch to thermal imaging, now!" He sat and typed another string of fast commands on the laptop.

"Rodney?" Weir insisted.

McKay never looked up. "There was a lot of lightning... if a bolt struck the gate…"

Ronon's patience snapped. "McKay!" he barked.

McKay stared hard at him. "If what I'm thinking happened, happened, then we've got a problem… or rather, he does..." He started typing commands again on the laptop.

Ronon looked over McKay's shoulder and resisted the urge to wring the answer out of him.

"What am I seeing?" Weir demanded.

"A thermal scan of the gate," McKay answered. "It's still 'hot'." He abruptly pushed back from the computer and stood. "I need to go back. Now."

"'bout time," Ronon muttered.

"Hold on," Weir insisted. "No one is going anywhere until you explain what is going on."

McKay sighed loudly. "A few years back… okay several years back a Stargate in the Milky Way was hit by energy weapons fire, just as Colonel O'Neill and, then Captain, Carter went through it. The massive spike of energy caused the wormhole to jump from the SGC gate to the then unknown Antarctic gate and they ended up there."

"Wait," Weir raised her hand. "Are you saying that you think this happened to Colonel Sheppard?"

"Yes!" McKay's tone was slightly exasperated. "A bolt of lightning carries massive amounts of energy. If it hit the gate while it was active, then it's very likely the same thing happened."

"But this planet doesn't have another gate," Weir stated.

"I know, but it's very possible he could've jumped to another gate on a different planet," Rodney insisted. "Probably one that's close by… in galactic terms anyway. Colonel Carter theorized that the jump couldn't go far."

"Why didn't he just dial back here?" Ronon asked. Part of him felt slightly insecure as he ventured into the technical science that McKay seemed to take to naturally, but he hid it.

"Who knows?" McKay threw his hands in the air. "Maybe he's injured, maybe the DHD is disabled. I don't know. All I do know is that I need to get back to that planet," he pointed at the active Stargate, "and take some readings so I can prove what happened!"

Ronon switched his gaze to Weir who quietly considered McKay's words for a moment, before nodding curtly. "Go." She looked at Ronon, "take the Marines in the Gate room with you."

Ronon returned her nod and swiftly turned, heading back towards the stairs, Rodney hot on his heels.

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John hissed in pain as he flexed his injured leg in an attempt to stand up. "Great," he muttered. "DHD would be helpful…" He winced again, but forced his sore leg to comply and slowly stood. He shook his hands hard, losing the worst of the mud in clumps that splattered to the ground. He looked up, keenly feeling the cold rain drops and occasional wet snowflake that lightly hit his face. He suppressed a chilled shiver and slowly walked away from the gate towards the edge of the plateau. Gazing over the edge, he winced at the steep decline and jagged rocks. Free-climbing down from here, with no gear, was not the first thing he wanted to do, but as he slowly limped around the entire circumference of the plateau, he began to realize he might not have a choice. He stopped and stared at the distant cliff, marking the edge of what he assumed was the mainland and shook his head longingly. "Bet I'd do fine over there," he muttered. He looked down again. Whatever stranded the Stargate, and now him, must've been one hell of a geological event. It was amazing that the gate still stood and was still functional. He sighed. Whatever and whenever it happened, it must've taken the DHD with it.

Again, a cold chill ran through him and his teeth chattered slightly in response. He was drenched and it was cold and wet with a little snow to boot. The conditions couldn't be more perfect for hypothermia. Clarity washed over him. It would take his team time to find him; hell, he didn't even have a clue where he was. He knew they'd come, but it could be a while. There was no way, in his current condition and with the small survival kit he had, that he could survive up here. He had to find shelter from the weather, make a fire and dry out.

His leg throbbed and he looked down, wincing at the mud that mixed with blood which was still slowly oozing from the wound. And get that clean…

He sighed. All the sudden, the free-climb down was looking like his only option. Somehow, somewhere, he had to find shelter. He looked up again, feeling the direction of the wind before going to the lee side of the plateau. If he was going to find shelter, it'd help to be sheltered from the wind. John looked down the side of the decline, smiling slightly as he spotted an outcropping about fifty feet down. It almost resembled a natural path, and it seemed to circle for a ways around the plateau. If he could get to it, he might find a small cave, or outcropping that could shelter him from the rain. Anything was better than here. He took a deep, fortifying breath. If he was going to do this, he'd better do it now, before his leg stiffened even more and the cold sapped his strength. Unclipping his P-90 from the front of his vest, he lifted it over his shoulder and clipped it into the clamp on the left shoulder of his TAC vest, allowing it to hang over his back. It was awkward; the gun didn't lie flat, but it was far better than having it hinder his ability to climb by being in front. Part of him thought he should wait there, brave the cold and hope his team arrived soon, but the rest of him dismissed the idea. In his gut, he knew it would take them a while… a lot longer than he'd survive on this plateau.

Kneeling, John found good hand holds before carefully easing his legs over the edge. He barked his wound more than once, but managed to turn out the pain and concentrate on the task at hand. Slowly, he descended the steep wall, carefully moving from one hand or foot hold to another.

After several minutes of careful climbing he paused to catch his breath, before slowly looking below him. He smiled. The outcropping was only about twenty feet further and as he got closer, the prospects of finding shelter looked better and better. The rock face was jagged and uneven; geologically young, and that might help him. If he could find a small, natural cave, he'd be in business. There, he could rest, build a fire and get warm. Confident in his left hand hold, John pulled his right hand away and blew on nearly numb, cold fingers. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it fast, because the cold was slowly but steadily eating away at his strength. He returned his slightly warmed right hand to the rocks and resumed his descent, but as he reached for the next hand hold, the numbness that almost instantly returned to his fingers caught up with him. His hand slipped and his reflexes, slowed by the cold, couldn't react in time. His scrambling was futile as the slick rocks and wet dirt under his hands and feet failed him. Dread gripped him as he felt himself fall.

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Elizabeth hurried across the Gate room as her team returned from M55-912. She reached out, stopping Rodney as he tried to hurry past her. "What did you find?" Her gaze narrowed as he stared intently at her.

"I was right," he answered. "Lightning struck the gate. The wormhole must've jumped, taking Sheppard with it."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, sickening worry consuming her for a moment, before she pushed it back. She opened her eyes and gave Rodney a very direct look. "What's the next step?"

Rodney sighed and started towards the stairs again talking to Elizabeth as she followed. "I don't know, not yet. If Colonel Carter's theory is right, he's close by… well close in galactic terms; probably in one of the neighboring solar systems."

Elizabeth nodded. "We'll assume Colonel Carter is right and start dialing the closest planets then work our way out from there."

"It's not that easy," Rodney countered as he entered the control room. "Because of the proximity to Atlantis, this sector of the galaxy was once very heavily populated. We're talking a lot of planets and Stargates here."

Elizabeth stopped and rested her hands on his control panel as Rodney sat and opened his laptop. "Do we have an alternative?"

Rodney paused a moment and looked up, his expression resigned. "Not really, no."

Elizabeth nodded once at him, fortifying her expression with confidence. "Access the database. Start with the closest planets with gates." She turned and looked at the gate technician. "Chuck, get some MALPs in here. I want to send one to each planet. We'll retrieve them later. Unless forced to, Colonel Sheppard won't wander far from the gate; he knows we'll be coming for him. But, I want MALP telemetry and scans for his transmitter performed on each planet."

"Yes, ma'am," Chuck responded before turning back to his console.

Elizabeth looked up, finally noticing Ronon, who was uncharacteristically quiet. She gave him a thin smile. "We'll find him."

"Should've never left him," Ronon muttered.

Elizabeth was silent for a moment as she noted the slight hint of guilt Ronon had in his expression in spite of his normally effective emotional mask. "Then both of you would be lost and we'd be no better off," she answered quietly. "We'll find him," she repeated but even as the words left her mouth, she saw the same glimmer of doubt in his expression as she knew he saw in hers. It was a big galaxy. The fact that John hadn't dialed in yet, spoke volumes to her. Something was terribly wrong. In her gut she knew it.

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The first thing he became aware of was the wet, soft caress of the rain and snow on his cheek. As consciousness came back to him, John drew in a careful breath, before coughing weakly at the mud in his nose and mouth. He inhaled sharply and groaned as his ribs protested loudly in response. John opened his eyes and blinked hard, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind so he could think clearly. Ribs… couple broken… Carefully, he moved first one arm, then the other, relieved to find them uninjured, for the most part. Slowly, he placed his palms flat in the mud and carefully pushed himself up. It was at that point that he froze, his body paralyzed by searing pain from his left leg. With a strangled cry, he flopped back down in the mud, all ability for rational thought fleeing the onslaught of pain that swept through him. He held as still as possible, fighting to breathe through the pain for several minutes before it finally ebbed. "Oh yeah," he croaked to himself, "broken."

He was pretty sure both femurs and his right tib/fib were uninjured but was also equally as certain that his left tib/fib was broken. "Shit," he muttered. He thought he had it bad before, but now he'd pretty much lost all mobility; something that could be a death sentence if he didn't find some way to shelter himself. He felt his teeth chatter and that sent a strong sense of urgency through him. Broken leg or not, he had to move, had to find shelter. Period. Gritting his teeth, John once again pulled himself up, this time bending his right leg and turning over. He tried in vain to carefully hold his broken leg as still as possible, but as he moved, the broken bones jarred, ripping a hoarse cry from him. He flopped down ungracefully on his back, barely noticing the P-90 jab him, and laid there for a moment, trying to get control of the pain while at the same time, fighting off the blackness that crept in on the edges of his vision. No passing out! He sucked in a determined breath and sat up before looking down at his leg.

John winced at the unnatural angle of the bones. By himself, there was no way in hell he could set it, but at least he could immobilize and support the limb and try to cut down on the damage as much as possible. Reaching behind him, he unclipped his P-90 and set it next to him, before pulling a roll of sturdy tape from his TAC vest. Ironically enough, the P-90 was the only thing even remotely suitable for a splint. Two splints would've been better and, if he was lucky, he'd find something to replace the gun in that role, but for now, it'd have to do.

Positioning the gun, he quickly secured it, before sitting back and admiring his handy work. In spite of the pain, the cold and the downright crappy situation he found himself in, John couldn't help but chuckle as he stared at the gun, now a split, that braced his broken bones. "Hope the safety's on…" he chucked again, the sound cynical and slightly desperate in tone and the action jarring his broken ribs. He groaned and stifled his odd humor. John looked around for a second, quickly taking stock of his situation. Walking was out of the question. He had nothing that could serve as a crutch, and the ledge was too narrow to be messing with trying to stand. Besides, the last thing he needed was to fall again. Crawl it is... he carefully turned over again and using his hands and his good leg, he slowly scooted along the ledge, searching for some sort of shelter.

Each movement jarred his ribs and sent waves of nearly agonizing pain from his broken leg but he knew he couldn't stop. In spite of the cold, a sweat broke out on his brow, instantly cooling against the cold air and only chilled him more. "Come… on…" he hissed through clenched teeth, and dug his fingers into the mud again, "something… anything…" He paused, his eyes fixing on a smooth indentation in the rocks and even in the face of the pain that swarmed him, he found a small smile. Fixing his gaze on the cave, he slowly but doggedly worked his way to it. Stopping at the entrance, he looked around for a moment. It was small, barely more than an indentation in the side of the cliff, but it was shelter. The edges were smooth, the ground inside was dry and it was big enough for him to light a fire… if barely. Slowly, he crawled inside. It was far from being big enough to stand in, but somehow he didn't really think he'd be standing any time soon. He pushed himself against back wall, which comforted him. The last thing he needed was to encounter something else taking refuge there. Pulling himself a little further in, he collapsed in exhaustion. Absent of rain and wind the small cave had the illusion of warmth and that comforted him. This time, he couldn't fight the darkness that pushed at his consciousness. Succumbing to exhaustion, he let the darkness take him.