Thank you for all the lovely reviews! To those who put this on alert, bots are down right now so we have to actually check thing :-O! As promised, here is part two. Enjoy!

Lurch, shuffle, shuffle-step. That was their new routine. Sheppard had the balance of a one-year-old and according to the last grudging report, he'd lost all sensation in his feet. Rodney would have guessed he had no feeling from the knees down judging by Sheppard's 'walk' and it had only been an hour or two. God knows what would happen if they didn't reach the gate soon. No, so not going there.

The Colonel couldn't take much of his own bodyweight, so Rodney was bearing the (considerable) brunt of it. Though it had to be admitted, Sheppard was being pretty co-operative, heroic suicidal tendencies aside. Aside from a couple of brief requests for water, he hadn't said a word. But anyone could tell he was hurting, (Rodney had noticed, case in point). With every step, he felt the Colonel's arm tense around his shoulder and caught the hiss of air through teeth.

Finally, with a sore neck and protesting back, Rodney had had enough. "Break-time Colonel," he announced, stopping in a small gap between the crush of trees and scanning for red. "Five minutes." Okay, so maybe he was enjoying being in charge, just a little.

The Colonel wasn't pleased. "We need to keep moving."

"Oh so now you want to keep moving!" Sheppard's scowl took on new levels as Rodney lowered him to the floor and got him balanced against his pack; Sheppard's arms were little more than dead weight. Trying to be sympathetic, Rodney lowered his voice. "Look, we've both got first aid kits. There has to be something that can—"

"No."

"Why not? Because you're Air Force? Colonel 'Macho' Sheppard who can't even admit he's in pain, let alone accept help."

"So I should be like you? Complain constantly until everyone wants to shoot me?" Sheppard snapped back. Rodney opened his mouth to snap back, but bit his tongue at the last second, and turned away. Sheppard was his teammate, his friend, and he wasn't feeling well. This wasn't helping. He began searching in his pack for nothing in particular.

Behind him, Sheppard sighed. "McKay." He ignored him. "Look, I'm sorry."

Rodney nodded tightly to the floor; "I'm trying to help."

"I know."

"I'm well aware I'm not the best at this kind of stuff. I'm sure you'd rather Teyla—" he bit off the sentence. They hadn't been able to contact her or Ronon since that last broken conversation.

There was a pause. "There's a reason I don't want to take anything."

Of course there was. He kept his voice neutral, "What's that?"

"My calf muscles are cramping. My feet did it before they…went. It hurts like hell. But anything that could help would probably accelerate the..."

"Paralysis. And that would be bad," Rodney finished for him. He turned around because someone needed to be watching the area. "I could help."

"Help?"

"Help you stretch out the cramps. Must be kind of hard to do if you can't move your feet. Or, you know, hands."

There was silence for a minute. Rodney kept his eyes firmly on their surroundings.

"Sure McKay," Sheppard finally replied. "That'd be good."

He shuffled closer and wondered how bad it must hurt for Sheppard to accept that offer. "Which one?"

A fractional hesitation, "left."

He pushed back the toe of Sheppard's left boot, as far as he could. The Colonel's face turned stony, the only movement that of his eyes squeezing shut. After a minute or so the knotted muscles eased a little, and Sheppard opened his eyes again.

"Thanks."

Rodney released the boot, pausing only a little before he asked, "the right one too?"

Sheppard nodded.

Repeating the process, he tried to smile as he remarked, "one good thing about sitting around a lab all day. It teaches you to fix cramps."

Sheppard gave a small strained smile, but said nothing.

They continued to hike towards the gate, for three hours, four. After a while Rodney stopped checking his watch; it only made the time go slower. They'd been on the planet about seven hours before encountering the plant. But they were moving at half the speed now, if that. The hiss of Sheppard's breathing turned to gasps as cramping muscles protested against the constant movement. Once or twice there was a pause in the stuttering flow of air, like Sheppard wanted to say something, but he never did; and Rodney learnt a long time ago never to ask questions he didn't want answered.

They saw three more of the plants. Two began to come after them but they didn't get close enough to prove a serious threat. It seemed like remarkably ill luck to find so many straight after Sheppard got injured. It could be coincidence of course; they may simply have wandered into the wrong part of the jungle. But Rodney was a man of science, and science didn't believe in coincidences.

Finally, after Sheppard's stumbling zombie-walk had become more of a continuous fall forwards and the slack arm around Rodney's neck started to radiate heat through his collar, he called a stop for lunch. Never mind that it had long gone midday on this planet and neither of them were particularly hungry. "If I have to lug your bony bulk around all day the least you can do is let me eat!" he argued, not that it was much of an argument; Sheppard didn't have an option in the matter. Strange how that wasn't fun in any way.

In the end he just helped Sheppard into his customary slump against another obliging tree, (thank God for trees,) this time dumping his own pack next to the Colonel for something to lean on. Sheppard didn't say anything, just grunting negatively when Rodney offered him a power bar. He hadn't really believed Sheppard would eat it; but Rodney longed for the time, only hours ago when Sheppard would have faked hunger just to avoid scaring him. The Colonel had the complexion of a diseased wraith, a lurid sick-white. But instead of being cold, Sheppard was burning up, as if the blood was boiling off under his skin. Whilst they'd been walking, he'd been able to feel the Colonel shivering from the fever, but now, aside from the occasional spasm of chattering teeth, the shaking had gone. Rodney was no MD, but sometimes you could just tell when things weren't good.

They didn't go as soon as he'd finished his lunch. Sheppard was dozing and Rodney was afraid to mention getting up again. Still, it would have to be faced eventually and things weren't too bad yet, were they? Wraith stunners caused paralysis, but without permanent harm. Maybe this would all wear off before—well, this wasn't the time or place to think about that. Judging by the sun in the sky—what was he, a boy scout? He has a watch! Judging by that, mid-afternoon was gone already. If they were going to reach the gate before dark they needed to—

"Damn it!" he was on his feet faster than he'd ever been, "Colonel, we have to move now." Flickers of red showed between tree trunks, moving with a horrible grace. Not one, but two of them. He tried to haul the Colonel up, but Sheppard wasn't even trying.

"Colonel!"

"Get out of here Rodney," the imbecile muttered, head down.

"Oh no you don't you moronic foetus of an idiot," Rodney snarled in a tone that reduced his lab assistants to tears every time. "You don't get to play the hero today. I'm just going to stand here until you—"

"McKay, I can't move my legs!" the Colonel met his eyes in a look that was self-sacrificing and heroic and demonstrated what a total bastard he really was. "You have to go."

Rodney stared at Sheppard. "What?"

"Go Rodney!" The plant was getting nearer. He could make it. Sheppard was done for, but he—

No.

Cursing a God he didn't believe in, he dragged the Colonel forward, shoving off the man's pack as he pulled him up and over his shoulder. Ignoring the protests of his back, the burning in his legs, and the violent language coming from the man draped over his back, he started to run.

And he kept running. Behind him came the soft hiss of another baseball-sac exploding, and another, those deadly needles flying everywhere. He didn't have time to stop; no time to check Sheppard was all right. He just ran and jogged and stumbled until there wasn't anything left in him and they both hit the floor in a tangled pile. The Colonel groaned, arching his back slightly so he rolled onto his side, his air came in strained heaves. There were no signs of further needles though.

As if it really mattered at this point.

Rodney rolled away from him, sat up and glanced around. No red flowers. Good.

He drew stiff legs up to his chest, running a hand down his right calf muscle. Then slowly, methodically, he began to pluck out the fifteen or so needles that were buried there. Spots of blood welled up from the tiny holes that didn't hurt at all. Not so good.

Poor boys! If you want to know what happens next, or just want them to survive, leave me a review. Or, you know, leave one anyway? They are like oxygen :)