He began cursing breathlessly as he scratched and scrambled at the muddy walls of his prison. By the time he'd made it half-way up he'd cursed the planet, its people, its weather, Elizabeth for sending him here, Ronan for getting himself injured, and Rodney McKay just on general principle. Most of all, he cursed beetroot. He was cursing it at the top of his lungs when he saw the wall of water moving towards him and knew he wouldn't make it in time. "BLOODY STINKING BEETROOT!" he screamed at the night sky.

"Doctor Beckett!"

Carson looked up in astonishment. Leaning down from the top of the embankment was Sayair, his expressive face full of mingled relief and horror.

"Take my hand, quickly!"

With a groan, Carson detached one hand from the mud and reached for the Farisian, only to slide downwards with the change in grip. Sayair's eyes widened and he lunged, grabbing Carson's hand in a tight, calloused grip. "I have him! Pull us up!" he shouted over his shoulder. The water reached them just as they were hoisting Carson up, slamming into his legs with the force of a speeding auto. Sayair's grip slipped, but before Carson had time to panic he felt more hands on him, pulling him over the edge and depositing him safely on horizontal ground.

The hands roamed his body, checking for injuries, while Sayair offered assurances in a voice loud enough to be heard over the rain. "Please relax, Doctor, you are safe. We could not find your companion, do you know where he is?"

"In the canning kitchen," Carson panted. "He's hurt, I have to get to the gate."

The Farisian frowned. "Canning kitchen? I don't understand."

Carson forced himself to concentrate. "The cellar, with the preserves. His leg is broken, I have to get help."

Understanding bloomed on Sayair's face. "Robain, take the others and go back to the village, find Mr. Ronon and keep him comfortable. I'll take Doctor Beckett to the gate so he can contact his people." He placed a hand on Carson's shoulder and eased him into a sitting position. "Can you walk, Doctor? It is not far."

"Aye." In truth, Carson was very nearly spent. His leg and head throbbed, his shoulder burned like it had been injected with acid, and his vision was reduced to an abstract blur of colors like a Monet left out in the rain. Buck up, Carson, he told himself, less than a kilometer and you can have a nice long rest. "Aye. Help me up."

"Incoming wormhole."

Elizabeth Weir looked up from her endless queue of reports. Saving her work, she stepped out of her office and took up a stance behind the gate technician. He glanced over his shoulder. "It's Dr. Beckett's code, ma'am."

She frowned. "He's not due to check in for another three hours. Lower the shield."

The tech nodded and pressed a control, and the shield before the wormhole flickered and vanished. Within seconds, a pair of muddy figures staggered through. Elizabeth was on her way down the stairs before the wormhole shut down.

The man returning with Dr. Beckett was not the man he'd left with, and that was concerning. The marines on guard in the gate room were obviously unhappy with it as well and had their weapons trained on the stranger. Not-Ronon, for his part, seemed torn between gawking at the architecture and glancing nervously at the armed squad surrounding him. He had one arm around Carson's waist, clearly supporting much of his weight.

And Carson himself…Elizabeth had never seen him look so bedraggled. His hair and clothes were sodden and heavy with mud. Blood coursed freely down his arm, dripping from the tips of his fingers. Even with the stranger's support, he swayed on his feet. His eyes, looking huge and white in his dirty face, searched the room until he found her. "Lizbeth," he slurred, detaching himself from his companion and taking a few limping steps in her direction. "Need a med team."

"No kidding," she replied as she took his arm. A glance at the tech confirmed that a team was on its way. Major Lorne hit the control room at a run, eyes narrowing at Beckett's disheveled state.

"No no, not for me," he insisted, rubbing at his temple. "Ronon's back on the planet. Closed femoral fracture."

Elizabeth turned to Lorne. "Have a team ready to go as soon as the medical team can leave. Carson, can you tell us how to find Ronon?"

The doctor waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the gate. "Sayair can take ya. I've gotta go scrub for surgery." He pulled at her hold on his arm, but she held him fast.

"Whoa, Carson, I think you'd better leave the surgery to one of your staff. You're injured and need treatment yourself."

Still tugging absently against her grip, he shook his head. "Piece of cake. Reamed locked antegrade femoral nailing, weight-bearing as tolerated, physical therapy. He'll be right as rain." Carson turned wide eyes on her, his expression earnest. "A bear tried to eat me, you know. There's no bears in Scotland."

With that pronouncement, his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the floor.