Wow. I can't believe how much everyone's enjoying this! O.O

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far – for the lovely words of encouragement and for actually sticking with me on this one. I don't normally post WIPs, but this has proved that maybe they're not so bad after all! :p

On we go, then. Looks like John's not feeling so hot himself…

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Chapter 7: A Guilty Conscience

John staggered through the Gate, staring at the floor. His head was spinning, trying to make sense of what had happened in the last thirty minutes or so. He felt a pair of hands pulling him towards the infirmary, but shook them off angrily.

He didn't want to go there.

He didn't want to face the truth – that his fuck up had quite possibly killed McKay.

"John," Teyla called. "You really ought to be seen by a doctor."

"Not now," he growled, the venom in his tone making the Athosian take a step back. "Gotta go see Elizabeth…"

He left the two upright members of his team standing shell shocked as he took the stairs three at a time. He pushed past Chuck, the Canadian Gate technician, practically sending the smaller man flying as he barged into Weir's office.

"John?" the expedition leader called as a mud and blood spattered apparition with non-military regulation hair thumped down into the seat opposite her.

"'Lizabeth," he greeted, not looking up.

"Carson tells me that Rodney's very ill but stable," she tried.

"Good."

John really wanted to say more, to explain what had happened, but his mouth rebelled. Instead, he found himself back on M4R-390, watching in horror as Carson forced a tube down Rodney's throat.

"We're going to have to intubate…"

Sheppard had breathed for McKay for close to ten minutes before the Jumper had arrived. Thankfully, his heart hadn't stopped – John had just been too panicked to feel it the first time. The Scotsman had whirled into action with a speed that the Colonel hadn't seen often, barking out orders and curses in a mixture of English and Gaelic.

John had seen everything, observing each procedure with a kind of clinical detachment.

It was his personal version of an Ancient failsafe. If he refused to acknowledge that it was Rodney lying there, he could keep a lid on the conflicting emotions running through him.

"John, I want you to go and get checked out," he heard Elizabeth tell him.

"No," he mumbled, sinking further into his chair. "Don't wanna go there. Don't wanna see…"

He didn't want to find McKay lying lifeless on an operating table.

He must have zoned out for a few seconds because he blinked and saw the dark haired woman crouching next to him, a hand on his arm. "John, you're in shock," she said, her green eyes fearful. "We need to get you seen by a medic, okay?"

John nodded and allowed himself to be manhandled out of the chair and down the stairs. As they reached the bottom, Ronon walked over and took hold of him.

"I got him, Dr Weir," the big man rumbled as they set off down the corridor.

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"Colonel."

Sheppard looked up from his cot to see Carson standing next to him, holding a clean uniform.

"Doc."

Beckett sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You can get changed if you'd like," he said, laying the clothing on the edge of the bed. "Your concussion's not that bad so once you're dressed, you're to go and get some food into your system."

John glanced to the side, nodding. "Is… is Rodney okay?"

"I'll not lie to you, son," Carson replied, making something inside the pilot tense up. "He's none too clever at the moment. That bloody knife did a lot of damage."

"How much?" Sheppard asked, dreading the potential answer.

"Almost too much, but we got to him in time." The physician gave his friend a gentle smile, trying to reassure the American. "He was bleeding internally, very shocky and punctured a lung. He was pretty close to bleeding out completely but the transfusions will soon sort that out. He also has an infection – we found traces of wood in a couple of his wounds, so I've no doubt that it came from whatever it was that he was hit with."

John closed his eyes, thinking back to McKay's words.

"He hit me with a branch…"

Normally, Sheppard felt remorse at taking another person's life, even in the heat of battle, but not this time. This time, he was glad that the asshole was dead. The only regret he had was that he'd not done more damage to Tarin before the kill shot.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he opened his eyes again.

"He's a tough one, our Rodney," the Scotsman said. "He'll not give up without a fight."

"I… It was my fault," John replied, looking as though he'd kicked a puppy. "Christ, I've been such a rat bastard to him the last couple of months."

"Enough of that," Beckett scolded. "This is not the way Rodney would want you to be and we both know it." His face softened as he took in the sheer despair and guilt etched into John's features and sat down next to him. "Rodney McKay has never been one to make life easy, whether it's his own or ours. I know that things have nae been right with the two of you since that damnable fiasco over the weapon."

"I've been a shit is what you're trying to say."

"No. Well, perhaps you could've handled the situation better, but what's done is done. You can't change the past, lad, no matter how much you want to. We're all to blame for this, not just you." He grimaced, looking uneasy. "It was much too easy for us to yell at Rodney and treat him with contempt. We've spent so much time being angry at him that we haven't noticed all the things he's been doing for us."

John nodded, knowing that Carson was referring to the fix-it jobs that McKay had completed around the city. He could be seen most nights tinkering with various controls, trying to make life easier for the rest of the expedition at the cost of his own health. Now, the hot water actually stayed hot, the Jumpers had training programmes loaded into their systems for the new pilots, the cooks had hotplates that worked… The list was endless. Taken individually, each was tiny, barely noticeable, but when you added everything up it became almost staggering. Especially because it was all down to McKay, the man who was on nearly everybody's official shit list.

All that work and not one person had even bothered to thank the Canadian…

"What now?" Sheppard asked.

"We fix it."

"How?"

Carson sighed again, standing up. "You want my professional opinion?"

John shook his head. "No, doc, I'm asking you as a friend."

Beckett gave him a warm smile. "Then as a friend, I'd say that you need to get off this wee guilt trip you're on and talk to the man. Be honest with him. I'm not saying it won't be painless for either of you, but once you've gotten past that then you'll have something to work from."

"That's if he wakes up," John mumbled sorrowfully.

"He'll wake, Colonel," Carson assured him. "Besides, they say that a person's hearing is the first thing to come back to them. You talk and I can almost guarantee that he'll listen."

"You bet," Sheppard replied, pasting on a cheeky grin that he didn't feel and Beckett wasn't convinced by.

"Now, go and get something hot into you. You're not to come back for at least an hour, you hear?"

"Yeah, doc," John said as he got out of the bed and picked up his new uniform. "I hear you." He made to move towards the infirmary shower but stopped, turning back to the Scotsman. He pulled the man into a brief, fierce hug then released him, looking uncomfortable. "Thanks, Carson."

"Anytime, son. You know I'm always here if you need me."

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Ah, we love Carson! You sort John out, my little Scottish terrier! And look – no evil cliffy! There'll be at least one more chapter to come…

And thanks to you, Benji the lizard is safe for the moment. The badgers are too busy chuckling with evil glee over the reviews and their latest plan for world domination to notice that I've snuck him out from under their wicked little paws. Alas, though, I fear my genius plan may be noticed, so keep reviewing to distract them! ;)