Hacking into personnel files shouldn't be this easy. The SGC paid what were supposedly the brightest around to program their security systems but Rodney could have cracked this back in middle school. He'd bet a week's pay that his niece, Madison, would be able to breach the substandard barriers- once she learned how to use the computer.

The challenge was reading what was between the lines of endless crap.

"Hey, Carter's looking for you."

Rodney yelped, slammed closed his laptop and lost two of his lives. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Ronon didn't react to his outburst.

Oh, of all the moronic..."Is there something else because I'm busy doing something here." He flipped open his computer and began scanning the files again. A moment later he realized Conan hadn't budged and looked up with a loud sigh. "You delivered your message, now shoo."

"She wanted me to make sure you showed up on time."

"Who?"

"Carter."

Rodney tried not to laugh. "Since when do you do everything she says?" he muttered, shaking his head and trying to go back to the computer.

A large shadow blocked his light. "What?" he snapped testily.

The Satedan just raised an eyebrow.

"Fine. I'm digging up dirt on the IOA stooge that's coming. I like to know who I'll be up against."

"Doing reconnaissance on the enemy is a good idea."

"Well, he's not really the... I mean... um, yeah." Ronon waited expectantly. "Okay, but you didn't hear this from me."

"Just spill it."

"Richard Pratt has a nice long history, chewing people up and spitting them out. He helped start Blackstone Aerospace." Rodney glanced up and sighed at the prospect of explaining avionics. "It's an Earth company that manufactured very sophisticated engines for military and commercial use."

"Yeah?"

"Their products are used by every major aircraft on Earth and their breakthroughs on power consumption generated billion dollar defense contracts, including stuff for the Space program. Um... anyways, Pratt helped create an empire, not to mention--"

"--McKay."

"Hey! You're the one who said knowing the enemy was important. Well, this stuff is!" Rodney defended. "I know you like to shoot things, but we can't shoot this guy." Once again he found himself amending his words. "Really... we can't."

He cleared his throat. "Fine, we'll do the Coles Notes version," he huffed, not bothering to explain what that meant. "Pratt branched off and began another company dealing with experimental weaponry. Suffice it to say, the SCG was one of his contracts. Blah, blah, blah, he got greased through the system."

"Some weapons dealer is coming to investigate Sheppard?" Ronon asked in that 'I have no clue what you're talking' about tone.

Rodney really didn't want to deal with pre-school today. "Technology companies are cut-throat, something you know a little about... Anyways, there's a lot of competition in that field and Pratt was ruthless with his business dealings. He went after other companies over the slightest patent infringements and even gained attention for reporting on the misuse of government funds that he uncovered during one of his hostile takeovers."

Ronon's eyes had that dead look in them and Rodney thought having some basic courses on Earth matters would help in matters like these. "The SCG thought his tough business tactics could be useful. They got their hooks into him and now he's their attack dog, so to speak."

"So, he's a smart asshole. Kind of like--"

"--Don't you dare."

"Sounds like another big brain. And he's going to be here any minute."

"Fine, fine," Rodney said, packing away his stuff and powering down his computer.

He began walking down the hall towards the control room when Ronon headed in the opposite direction. "Hey. Where are you going?"

The big man shrugged. "Carter told me not to be there when he showed up."

"Good idea. Might not be cool if you killed him."

"Who says I won't later?"

He stared at Ronon's retreating form, thinking it might not be that far from the truth.

Rodney wasn't always late, despite what certain pilots said about his attendance record. His stuff was important and it wasn't like he had some lowly major to pawn off all his paperwork on. Not to mention that his sixteen-hour work day entailed things that could blow up half the city. There was no way he could just leave calculations or experiments to his underlings; tardiness was to be expected.

The tour of the control room was already in progress. Sam was all smiles, pointing out various areas to their latest visitor. He flew up the steps, slowing his pace once he hit the platform and put on his best, 'I'm not impressed' expression upon reaching the duo.

"Ah, there you are. Richard Pratt, this is Dr. Rodney McKay," the colonel said, introducing them.

Pratt smiled with bleached white teeth, rows of sparkling pearls to go with his customized suit. Rodney had been forced to read enough copies of GQ on the Midway Station to actually recognize the David Chu design. The dark charcoal bespoke jacket, white shirt and power tie easily cost more than his monthly paycheck.

Rodney stuffed his hands in his pockets, smug face in place. "Hmmm, thought you'd be taller."

"And I expected someone younger." Pratt dropped his offered hand. "Funny, you don't look crazed or insane. But we all know how people tend to exaggerate."

"Oh, I don't know. Geniuses are always misunderstood by the intellectually challenged. I won't hold that against you."

Pratt chuckled and Rodney was assaulted by a whiff of mint mouthwash. He wondered if the man went to one of those spas to put the silver highlights in his dark hair just to be more distinguished looking. The bureaucrat was the spitting image of an evil version of George Clooney.

"I enjoyed reading your latest nanite research and theories. It's leaps and bounds above anything being developed on Earth."

"I'm impressed you got past the conjugate and modulus complexes of the equations," Rodney grinned back, ignoring Sam's growing agitation.

"It would indeed be impressive, since it took a Wraith to help you get past it yourself, but then again... that's why summaries are so darn useful in reports."

Rodney felt the heat rise in his cheeks as he prepped the next verbal missile for the tip of his tongue. But that's what the jerk wanted. The man was a hawk, ready to swoop down and devour his prey. Rodney felt his body tense and every ounce of concentration was aimed at not going off on one of his usual tirades.

Sam stepped closer to prevent a confrontation. "If you two are done...," she said, looking at both of them like they were unruly children. "I think Mr. Pratt would like to be shown his temporary quarters to freshen up and--"

"--Actually I want to see the jumper with my own two eyes. Perhaps Dr. Zelenka could do me the honors of the escort. Then I'll begin conducting my interviews later on. Beginning with Dr. McKay."

"Of course. Everyone here will cooperate fully. But let me remind you, Mr. Pratt, this is a base, and all my people have jobs," Sam interjected.

"Why of course."

"Then you'll be sure to give me a list of people you want to interview beforehand," Sam explained, holding up a finger to hold off any retorts. "Our people have work to do. I'll arrange the times that are best for everyone."

Pratt picked up the leather briefcase that rested next to his feet. "We'll do it your way... for now." The man directed his gaze at Rodney. "I'll set up in the conference room in, let's say, an hour. Is your calendar free for that time?"

Rodney snorted. "Well, actually I have--"

"...Then it's all set. Now, Colonel, I have a map of the base, but if Dr. Zelenka is available?"

Count to ten, count to ten.

Rodney didn't realize his hands were shaking until the condescending voice walked away. He opened his eyes to find some of the techs staring at him. "Don't you all have work to do?!"

I have two doctorates, two! What does he have...what a Master's, maybe? I've got countless published articles and the books... the books," Rodney mumbled under his breath. "I've saved the city, how many times?"

He paced, working himself into a lather, annoyed that a guy who ruled from some corner office could even ding on his radar to the point he'd begun talking to himself. He checked his watch for the tenth time just as the subject of his annoyance walked through the door.

Pratt went to the center of the table without even a simple hello, set his attaché case down and began pulling things out of it, a small electronic device among them. "Why don't you take a seat, Dr. McKay? The recorder can't pick up your voice if you're behaving like a lion in a zoo."

"You know what they say about poking sticks inside their cages," Rodney grumbled, grabbing a chair.

Pratt pulled out a black Mont Blanc pen and a pad of legal paper, balancing both on his crossed knee. He pierced Rodney with a set of steel blue eyes. "Would you consider yourself an authority on jumper technology?"

Rodney tried to avoid fidgeting. Calm. Remain calm. "Yes, I am."

"And besides you, Dr. Zelenka and Dr. Ryzo--

"Who?"

"Don't you know the name of one of your top engineers?"

"Of course I do...the one with...um... He's Chinese."

"Japanese, Dr. McKay. Could there be anyone else on base that might be more knowledgeable?"

"No, of course not," Rodney scoffed, twisting in the chair.

"No one at all?"

"No one. In fact Zelenka and I are... well, I've been making the hyperdrive modifications to it," Rodney boasted.

"When the three foremost experts on Ancient jumpers can't show me a single mechanical or internal error that would cause it to fall out of the sky, would you conclude that there might not be one?"

When there was no response, Pratt began tapping his expensive pen on his knee. "Dr. McKay?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. We've only had it for--"

"—Please keep your answers concise."

"No, I won't. There's a difference between not knowing the cause and there not being one," Rodney growled. His foot began vibrating with restless energy while Pratt's stony expression never changed. "I'm sure with enough time we'll find a reason. There was an unexplained power drop--"

"--You'll look for a reason even if there is no evidence with which to back your claim?"

Rodney was not enjoying being the interruptee instead of his usual role as interrupter. "Yes, that's what science is all about."

The investigator scribbled on his pad without glancing up. "Do you think a massive storm front with dangerous wind gusts, electrical charges and violent turbulence could be a reason for the crash?"

"No," Rodney said, crossing his arms.

"Why not?"

"There's no physical evidence to support that theory."

Pratt grinned, his face looking very contrite. "The crushed front end and sheared right side not enough for you?"

"That's a result from the crash. I thought they still taught the whole cause and effect thing in primary school. Sorry if it's too complicated to understand. Would you like me to draw a picture instead?" Rodney's voice dripped in sarcasm.

"So, if there's nothing to back up a theory, then it shouldn't be considered?" Pratt relaxed into his chair.

"Yes... I mean... no... wait!" Rodney considered the argument and how Pratt was trying to twist his own belief that there could be another reason for the crash. He wagged his finger. "I'm not falling for your lawyer tricks."

"I'm not a lawyer, but I see this line of questioning is a tad bit challenging for you. I'll switch to something you know more about... Tell me. Would you say that Mr. Sheppard is a very loyal person?"

"Colonel," Rodney, seethed.

That got the suit's attention. "Excuse me?"

"He has a rank. It's Colonel Sheppard," Rodney said, lifting his chin.

"Of course, how nice that the civilians respect their military counterparts," Pratt smiled disingenuously. "But, in your opinion, do you believe his loyalty to this city is--"

"Are you serious?" Rodney launched to his feet, unable to sit any longer. "Have you read his service record? Do you know how many times he's saved everyone? Sheppard might be military but he's smart... his ideas rival some of my own in sheer genius. Not to mention the number of times he's led near suicide runs to make sure--"

"--Yes, yes. Impressive." Pratt held out his hand. "Would you please sit back down?"

Rodney was at the far end of the conference table, in full rant mode, his heart trying to batter its way out of his chest. He spun on his heel, cracked his neck and slid into his chair after wiping away beads of perspiration. This felt like an interrogation; he was sure Pratt had come in earlier and increased the intensity of the lighting, screwed with the thermostat and purposely kept away any water.

"Suffice it to say that Colonel Sheppard's top priority is the safety of Atlantis?"

"Yes."

"He's hands-on involved with every new protocol, even tweaking security SOPs and having an input with the science department on defense concerns?"

"I don't know anything about the colonel and his soldier thing. He's the best pilot we have and like I said, he has a real I.Q. Yeah, he pesters me in the lab sometimes. Sheppard's even been giving me a hand with the jumper modifications. Having a small craft with the ability to go into hyperspace would be very beneficial for reconnaissance, or rescue missions, not to mention--"

"--I'm sure the set backs have been frustrating... I mean, having such capabilities might have helped a few weeks ago when one of the off world teams was trapped on PX1-321. The gate wasn't operational and--"

"--Yes, yes it would have! That's why we've been so excited about the fact that it's almost done! We were even at the final stages of testing," he grumbled. Stupid crash.

"It's that important a deal around here?"

"Maybe we should have field guides readied for the IOA before they come here. The answer is, yes. Jumpers that can go fast would be very good. Simple enough?"

"Crystal clear." Pratt rummaged through his briefcase, thumbing through manila folders with the words 'classified' stamped in red letters. "Ah, here we go. And Colonel Sheppard is also a diligent team leader, very protective of his members?"

Rodney resisted the next barb. Only bureaucrats still used paper; shouldn't the most classified agency in the world stick to flash drives?

"Yes, Sheppard's very protective. He actually goes out in the field. I've seen enough war movies to know the more stripes you have on your sleeve, the more you usually stay behind a desk."

This earned a flash of Pratt's veneers. "Over the years, wars have become more sophisticated. They can be directed from a long-distance, unlike here in Pegasus. Colonel Sheppard seems very protective of his team; in fact he's gone beyond the call of duty for all of you. Searched half the galaxy for Ronon Dex when he was captured by the Wraith. And, oh yes, all that unpleasantness when your sister was kidnapped...I mean to allow a Wraith into Stargate command. Let's not forget the whole unexpected death of Henry Wallace."

Rodney rocketed back to his feet. "This has nothing to do with Jeannie! In fact... I find this whole line of questioning to have no relevance whatsoever to a jumper crash!"

"Sit down, Doctor."

Rodney didn't even realize he was looming over the other man, his now fully heated and flushed face inches from Pratt's almost serene calmness.

"I was just wondering why the colonel would allow Ms. Emmagan to go off-world with him, considering he had her taken off his team because of her pregnancy. I mean, the risks involved in such missions are--"

"--Oh, please! The mission was a cakewalk. There was nothing to worry about, Sheppard should have been--"

"--Back here. Working on important things, like jumper modifications," Pratt finished for him.

Rodney blinked, startled. "What? No, I mean..."

"I know exactly what you mean, Dr. McKay," Pratt explained with a satisfied grin. He began screwing the top back on his pen. "In fact, that's all I needed from you for today."

"No, wait. You twisted everything up," Rodney stammered, feeling sick to his stomach.

Pratt turned off all his equipment and began piling it inside his fancy attaché. "I thank you for your time. I know you must have some vital experiment to attend to."

"I know what you're up to. There's a reason why the jumper crashed and I'll find the answer."

Pratt walked out from behind the table, his suit still in a state of perfection as he adjusted his tie. It was stifling in here and the man was perfectly at ease. "We're after the same thing, Dr. McKay. Answers. But don't worry, that's my job... not yours. I'm sure the colonel will be able to shed some light onto this. After all, he was the pilot."

There was no way Rodney would allow this jerk anywhere near Sheppard. "I think it's up to the colonel's physician to decide if you'll be allowed to talk to him. He's a victim and the man has the right to recover without being attacked like he's some type of criminal," Rodney seethed, stepping in front of Pratt to block his way.

For the first time, Pratt's eyes flickered with something wild, dangerous. He gripped his briefcase tighter, spoke in a cold whisper. "There was another victim here. A person died, or did you forget? The prince may have been an unpleasant man, but he had a family. My job is to find out why a simple mission, headed by the military commander of Atlantis, ended so disastrously... And nothing will stand in my way."

Just as the first time, the smell was what he noticed first. It didn't matter how advanced the Atlantis infirmary was, didn't matter that they had Ancient scanners, machines that could break down an individual's DNA down to the very genome, and stasis pods capable of keeping people alive for 10,000 years. When it came down to it, modern medicine was still very hands on. And messy. Hence the smell of bleach and other disinfecting agents the staff used that assaulted Rodney's nose.

Underneath it all ran the sharp tang of isopropyl alcohol and, of course, that damn iodine. And as strong as the bleach smell was, it didn't completely cover the lingering smell of what he realized with dismay was the unfortunate result of anesthesia combined with head trauma.

Hovering outside the curtain he saw the forms of three people bustling about the small area. About to turn on his heel and flee back to his lab, Jennifer Keller emerged, followed like little ducklings with their mama by her nurses, one bearing a plastic washup bin and the other an armful of sheets.

Still half poised to leave, he instead forced a game smile on his face as Keller veered from her path and headed his way.

She pulled a stethoscope from around her neck and folded it in two, shoving it into the pocket of her white coat. "You a visitor or a patient, Rodney?"

"A vi - Why? - do I look like I need medical attention? I know I'm pale but I've been spending more time than usual in the jumper bay and it has that god awful fluorescent lighting --"

"Just kidding, Rodney," she said and he sighed as he saw the teasing smile on her face. "I know you're here to see Colonel Sheppard."

She stepped closer and rose to her tiptoes, narrowing her eyes as she fixed her gaze on him. "Although, that throbbing vein in your temple makes me think I should check your blood pressure."

"My blo -" His hand rose involuntarily before he could snatch it back down. "Oh. Just came from a meeting. I think IOA must stand for Insipid Obnoxious Ass and this guy's a paradigmatic example of it. You know, maybe I should go lay down, I mean, I don't want a CVA or something…"

Keller didn't manage to get her hand up in time to hide her amusement. "Relax, Rodney. And breathe."

"Yeah, about that, the breathing… it's kinda - I mean -- the uh", and he waved his hand in the direction of Sheppard's room. "I've brought something, which I suppose can wait, because I'm not sure he'll even really want a visitor if he's- you know."

Her lips narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest. "I know the smell of vomit is displeasing but I can assure you it has been completely cleaned up and I would hate to think that would be enough to keep you away when he could really use your company."

Rodney went cold, head to toes, and at the same time he felt warmth rush to his face. He leaned over, lowered his voice and used the same tone he inflicted on those underlings in his lab unfortunate enough to have screwed up or worse, interrupted him.

"I will have you know that I sat by that man's bedside for weeks while he shed blue scales and had to be put in a medically induced coma when the pain got so bad. I've heard him scream with such agony that I can still hear it if I try - and I don't - try- I try not to - while the ugliest bug in two galaxies sucked the life from him. Do I have to remind you that I let that man into my dreams?" He shivered involuntarily at the memory. "I was operating under the belief that he wouldn't appreciate me being around while his stomach turned inside out. He's weird that way."

By the time he was done with his tirade he had Keller bending almost backwards. A small spot of spittle dotted the top of her cheek.

He waited to see if she would react the way most of the targets of his fury did, crying and storming off being the most popular choices.

Mentally notching her a point higher in his estimation but not revealing he was impressed, he waited as Keller calmly took a step back. The restraint necessary to leave the souvenir on her cheek was also admirable.

"Perhaps I rushed to judgment," she allowed. "He's doing better. I think we can chalk that last time up to an ill-advised attempt at getting him to eat something. A rush to Jello, as it were." The corner of her mouth quirked up in a twitch. "I gave him a stronger anti-emetic so it'll make him a little groggy."

"Since when isn't he groggy?" Rodney observed, rocking back on his feet and granting her a little more personal space.

"Head trauma and heavy meds'll do that to you", she answered with a wistful smile.

"Yes, well. You really think - I'll--" he waved a hand in Sheppard's direction "- just pop in and see if he wants company."

Keller just nodded and turned away to head to her office. As she rounded the corner Rodney saw her raise a hand to wipe her cheek. And he felt kind of badly about it.

There was nothing to knock on and the whole idea of a room constructed of fabric was ridiculous anyways so Rodney just poked his head through the opening and, assured that the coast was clear as far as Sheppard not being sick or exposing something, he sauntered on through and stood at the man's bedside. Crossing his hands at the small of his back he waited to be acknowledged, a small, hated, part of him hoping that the closed eyes meant he could just drop off his delivery and leave.

The whole hospital visitation thing was, of course, something that no one liked. But Rodney hated it. The aforementioned smells were just the start. Long days spent as a child forced to visit a grandmother he barely knew as a person and not as a headscarf-wearing shell of a woman, burdened by tubes and incoherent on morphine had instilled it in him. It was a great uncle next and when his father had gone in for appendicitis, seven year old Rodney had been inconsolable, convinced that people who went into hospital never came home.

He'd had a fingernail literally ripped off as he clung to his bedpost when a relative tried to get him into the car for a visit. Jeannie had burst into tears, not knowing why really, just because her brother was. Not one of their treasured family memories… not that they had many.

After giving a very generous several seconds in waiting he half turned, as if to leave, then patted at the pocket of his jacket.

"I'm awake, Rodney."

"Oh. Yes. I guess you are. If you aren't up to talking I could just --"

Sheppard opened his eyes and blinked blearily at him. "No."

"No, you're not up to talking?"

"No … no, I am. I…" Sheppard sighed and squinted at him. "You can stay, Rodney."

"Oh."

There was a long, stupidly awkward pause. Then Sheppard sighed. "You can si'down, Rodney."

"Oh."

Glad for something to do, even if it was only finding the chair pushed way off in a corner and dragging it to the bedside, Rodney hurriedly completed his task and plopped himself down. And then there was another pause.

Sheppard had closed his eyes back down and while Rodney knew why - had been given most of the details from Keller and then had hacked into the med records for the rest - it was still… disconcerting, trying to hold a conversation with someone not looking back at him.

"So. Keller tells me you shouldn't be puk- that you would be feeling better. Do you?"

"Not really." But there was a hint of a smile.

"Oh. Well, she seemed pretty confident."

"I'll bear that in mind, Rodney. I'm ever the optimist." He took a long, deep drag of oxygen in through the cannula under his nose and held it, letting it out slowly before swallowing.

Rodney blinked, freezing in place. It was obvious that Sheppard was striving mightily against his nausea. When nothing… disturbing was forthcoming Rodney stuttered to reply. "Yes, yes, I suppose you are, which is probably just as well since it's been observed that I tend to be a bit of a pessimist and if we were both like that … that would be bad," he ended lamely.

"Very bad. How's everybody doing?" Another deep, shuddering breath and exhale.

"Good. Good. I mean, Teyla's arm still looks like the Borg got a hold of her but Keller actually let her go today. Ronon is - well, who the hell knows, truthfully - not a big talker that one. Sam's … she's doing her thing, I suppose. Where do you want me to go with your 'everybody'? Radek is still a perpetual thorn in my side, Lorne is tearing out his hair playing leader in your absence and I heard Chuck won a boatload on the Super Bowl."

"I'd say that covers everybody. Thanks. Noticed you left out you."

"Oh. Well. Things are pretty normal. Spend my days in my lab berating and belittling my flunkies, arguing with Radek. Avoiding Katie."

Sheppard's brow wrinkled with confusion. "Why're you avoiding her? Thought it was mutual?"

"Hm. It was. I think we mutually agreed that my timing sucks. And that I'm not husband material. Or boyfriend material either, apparently. So - I met your 'specialist', Pirogov. He's… well, far be it for this pot to call the kettle odd but he's definitely out there. And he has an odor…"

"Mothballs."

"Ah. Naphthalene," Rodney said with the smile of enlightenment. "Thank you. It's been bothering me for a while."

"Don't mention it."

"That's pretty cool, your senses already kicking up a notch or two. Like Daredevil."

"Not wearing a red vinyl suit."

"Actually, I think it was leather. At least it's supposed to be leather- I have no idea what they stuck Ben Affleck in. Now Jennifer Garner…"

He looked over to share a smile over their well established lust for the actress but Sheppard's concentration was clearly not on picturing the sai-wielding brunette. His face, which had already been the pale that only illness can bring, was now waxen and coated with a light sheen of perspiration. His hands were in white-knuckled fists at his sides and his breath was loud through pursed lips.

Rodney half-rose from his chair, poised to do what he wasn't sure. Run away, go get someone, offer help no matter how improbable- no, ludicrous- the idea that anything he could do would help.

"Are you --? Do you -- ?"

Sheppard sighed and relaxed a little. "No. No, was just-- that was bad. Think -- think I got it now."

"Keller told me you wouldn't be p- that you'd be feeling better. That's what I get for listening to the little voodoo priestess."

"'sokay, Rodney. I am doing better. You shoulda seen me a few hours ago."

"And here I am, prattling on about comic book superheroes."

Sheppard opened his eyes and turned his head on his pillow to squint at Rodney with as close an approximation to his usual finely tuned glare as he could muster.

He took in a deep breath. "Day five in this bed and while I'll grant you I wasn't around much for the better part of the front half, I've had little more than questions about my pain level, explanations of the dozens of tests they've put me through and small talk about the weather."

He struggled through another inhale then sighed and shut his eyes, sagging back against the stack of pillows. "I could use a little normalcy, Rodney. And normal is you, prattling."

"Oh. Well." Rodney shrugged. "When you put it that way. But you'll tell me to shut up when you get tired of listening to it, right?"

"Don't I always?"

"Huh. I suppose you do." He sat back in his chair and relaxed a little. "So, I was talking about Pirogov. I, uh, called some of my contacts from my days in Russia. Found someone who would actually still talk to me, surprisingly. Although he was a little curt. Anyway, he basically said that Pirogov is a bit of a whack job but seems to know his stuff. He was a neurosurgeon at Devichye Pole. It's the hospital affiliated with the Russian State Medical University. A few years ago he was given some goodies from the Stargate program and he turned his efforts to real science. Guess he's made some real discoveries- I'd love to see what kind of tech he got."

"Saw some of it. Used it on me. It was pretty cool."

"Really?"

"Bet if you asked nicely he'd let you play with it."

"Really?"

"No. He's one of you, Rodney. You guys never wanna share your toys."

"Hmm. I do seem to remember something to that effect on a few grammar school report cards. Meredith is extremely bright but tends to be loquacious and has difficulty in group activities. What kind of school only has one Erector set anyways? And not even a single motor. I turned out well in spite of my education. I told my parents I wanted a Montessori school -- but uh, so, you got to try them out. Did they do anything?"

"Just confirmed my head's as frakked up as I already knew it was. He's decided to take a 'conservative' approach." Sheppard sighed again and rubbed at his eyes and when he spoke his voice was lower and ragged. "I don't think either of 'em know what to do. They keep telling me to be patient and things'll get better. But I still can't see for shit and --"

He turned his head and looked at Rodney. "I could be permanently grounded, Rodney, and sent back to Earth with a white cane and a disability pension. All from an accident I can't even remember. I don't even know what the hell happened."

"I was, uh, wondering when you'd get around to asking about that," Rodney said, trying to hide his nervousness.

"So what was it? Teyla said we went to Dargara for dinner. It wasn't food poisoning."

Rodney quickly dashed a look at the space in the curtain, wishing fervently for someone- anyone- to come interrupt them. The hustle of normal infirmary activity could be heard but no one came in.

He pasted on a smile. "Jumper crash," he finally replied simply.

"Jumper … ? What - did we take fire?"

"No … not that we saw any sign of and Teyla didn't report anything."

"Well, was it a malfunction? Was there something wrong with the jumper?"

"We… we really aren't sure. You know, maybe I should get Keller."

Sheppard was clearly upset by the news. His breathing had escalated and he was taking deep gulps of air in and swallowing roughly.

"Did I-- was it something I -- Rodney, what the hell happened?"

Rodney rose and walked over to the curtain, stuck his hand through the space and started snapping as loudly as he could while still meeting Sheppard's squinted gaze. "We don't know what happened" -- he turned and shoved his head through the opening and whipped it around, finally catching a nurse entering the area. It was Sheppard's usual ICU nurse-- she was military - Candace or something. He snapped again and when she looked over he waved frantically at her. When he saw her start to head his way he returned to Sheppard's bedside.

The man was now sucking in air much too fast and his Adam's apple was bobbling up and down in his throat.

"Take it easy, Sheppard," he tried lamely. "We don't know what happened yet but I'm working on it. Genius, remember? No puzzle too tough for my cerebral cortex."

But Sheppard ignored him. With a sudden cry of pain he slammed the butt of his palm into his forehead and began moaning.

Rodney was frozen, hands flailing about in the air, then he wheeled around and almost slammed into the nurse.

She calmly sidestepped him and headed over to the bed. "Colonel, what's goin' on, sir?"

"My head," was all he could manage, huffed out between gasps.

The nurse raised a hand to the radio at her ear and tapped it once. "Dr. Keller, you're needed in ICU." Then she pulled a machine over and began making adjustments to it with one hand while the other pressed the button on the bed to lower it.

"Just give us a second, here, Colonel, and we'll get you taken care of." She glanced up and finally noticed Rodney still standing there.

He stared at her, round-eyed. "What - what's happening?"

"You need to leave, Doctor," she said firmly. "We have this under control but you'll be in the way."

"Under control?" he squeaked out with righteous indignation. "You call this under control?"

Keller bustled in behind him, took one look at her patient and then turned to Rodney. "You have to leave, Rodney."

Sheppard was now practically doubled over, so painful looking, knowing his entire midsection was freshly sewn together, and the palms of both hands were buried in his eyes.

Rodney looked at Keller and met her eyes with his own now pleading ones. "What - why is he…?"

Keller planted her hands on each arm and began pushing him backwards but she met his gaze and held it. "It's a thunderclap headache, Rodney. Like a sudden onset, extreme migraine. We need to get his ISP back under control and the pain will go with it. You have to leave. Please."

"Okay. Okay - but-- wait. Oh…" He patted his pockets and fumbled out the surprise he'd meant to give Sheppard. "Here." He pushed them into Keller's hands and she blinked in confusion. Then she smiled sadly and said, "I'm sure he'll appreciate these later, Rodney. I'll make sure to tell him you brought them."

She folded Sheppard's aviator sunglasses and slipped them into her pocket.

"I was right. I do have the worst timing," Rodney muttered. He turned and left the room.