Dear Readers,

After watching the first few eps of Season 4, a million different plotbunnies rushed into my head, and well, this is part of the result! I was in a lull for a while until S4 started, and it's obviously been good for me, because I have so many things I can write now! Anyhoo, this time, I ended up doing something angsty instead of sweet and/or funny. It just popped out of my head and ran away from me, and the next thing I knew, I had written this oneshot. :Sigh: Strange how you sometimes can't control these things...

Best Regards from a Bookworm (and SGA fan),

Miss Pookamonga ;-P

PS: As always, reviews are very appreciated :D

IV. Irony Is A Terrible Thing

"Where's Rodney?" she asks, her voice laced with a faint trace of worry. The rest of her anxiety remains well-concealed behind the mask she is so used to wearing when dealing with "official" business.

John lifts his head, his face a picture of weariness. She knows immediately that the answer can't be good.

"We had to...he..." He takes a deep, but shaky breath. "We don't know. Last we saw him...we were in a shootout with the Wraith..."

"There was so much confusion, it was hard to tell where anyone was—we lost him amid the fray," Teyla finishes calmly, but gravely, as John trails off.

"He put up a good fight," Ronon throws in, perhaps not wanting to submit to an awkwardly painful silence.

Sam nods in response, but her mind is in a trance. "You'd better get to the infirmary quickly," she answers almost robotically. "I'll...be there to check on you later."

Perhaps they speak more consoling words to her as they hobble away with the dispatch medical team hot on their heels, but she doesn't hear them. She doesn't hear anything around her. Only the reverberating echo of Rodney's last conversation with her resonates through her brain, and no matter how hard she tries, she can't make it echo any less.

"Do I have to go?" Rodney whines, leaning his hands nervously against her desk.

"Rodney, you almost went into anaphylactic shock. I'm not going to risk that happening again before you go on this mission," Sam answers sternly, sending him a firm stare.

He is slightly distracted by her eyes for a moment, but then reverts back to argumentative mode, scrunching up his nose as he offers another whiny response. "It wasn't anaphylactic shock, it was...a coughing fit."

"A coughing fit that could've killed you."

"It wasn't that bad!"

"Yes, it was."

"Was not!" His voice is starting to resemble that of an upset three-year-old.

"Rodney, don't waste our time trying to argue with me. You're going to Dr. Keller now and getting that shot," she finishes, the finality in her tone pounding out all hope of possible rebuttal.

Rodney crosses his arms, not wanting to admit defeat, but he knows he's lost. "It was just some dust in the jumper, that's all," he mutters quietly as he pouts pathetically like a child stuck in time out.

Sam sighs, trying to ignore how deliberately cute his expression is, but her voice and face soften all the same. "We don't know for sure what it was, and I want to be absolutely certain that you're going to be safe before you even get to that planet, let alone when you get there."

The tenderness with which she speaks to him calms him down somewhat, and he uncrosses his arms. "Okay, fine," he finally sighs. "But I'll have you know, I'm only doing this because you care so much, and I find that very attractive." He ineffectively attempts to hide a smirk.

"Go, Rodney," Sam says, trying to give him a cold look, but instead submitting to an amused grin.

"I'm going, I'm going! Geez, woman!" he gripes, holding up his hands as he backs out of her office, the characteristic smirk still plastered on his face.

She tries to cling to the memory of his face as he walks away, his lips crooked in that smug grin he always wears, but it slips away from her grasp like rainwater seeping out of cupped hands. She never thought that that smirk, or that childish whine, or those pathetic attempts to impress her, or even those annoying passes he would make would ever be the first things she would instantly want to remember about him. The irony of it all stabs her straight in the heart, and she suddenly feels something warm and wet forming at the base of her eyes. She tilts her head upward, trying to avoid the urge to blink, but the tears begin to spill down her cheeks anyway. She never thought that they could actually lose him. That she could actually lose him.

She is their leader now, but she is terrified out of her wits. He is suffering somewhere out there on a godforsaken planet, surrounded by the threat of death...perhaps he is already dead... She needs to be strong, but the intensity of her feelings for him is like a tornado wreaking havoc within her. She is shocked and scared at her inability to suppress those powerful gusts of emotion, and the last thing she needs now is for her feelings to overpower her judgment. But, damn, it's so hard, especially when all she sees is his face, when all she hears is his voice, when all she feels is the gentle touch of his hand upon her shoulder...

Ironic how only a few hours ago, she was worried sick about his allergies.

They have to get him back. They need to get him back. If they don't, she doesn't know how she'll ever be able to fill that hole she already feels has been cut out in her heart. Ironic, how she never expected him to ever mean that much to her.

Irony is a terrible thing.