"Sir, are you goin' to see the colonel?"

There was no need to ask which one. Lorne had been fielding questions and expressions of concern and good wishes since they'd brought Sheppard's broken body back from Dagara.

"Yeah." He shoved another butter stick-sized chunk of C-4 in his vest and triple-checked his extra magazine was in its proper place.

"Can you tell him the gyrenes in the armory wish him Godspeed? And that we hope he's back raisin' Hell real soon."

Lorne smiled, taking not a drop of offense to Sgt Pulaski and everyone else's wishes for Sheppard to be back on duty soon. Hell, he wanted Sheppard back on duty. Lorne enjoyed running his own team, hoped for an oak cluster himself one day, but not like this.

"No problem, Gunny. Nice job on my Glock by the way." He'd picked his favorite off the rack, recognized by the chip two inches from the end of the muzzle, put there by a particularly hard-headed Wraith drone. The gun shone with a rainbow of gun oil and the slide was whisper quiet.

"I'll let Sergeant Kim know you said so, sir. You can be as greedy as you want with the boomsticks - we just got a shipment in."

Lorne patted his pocket and gave Pulaski a thumbs up. "All set, Gunny. Hold the fort." He grinned at the guttural oorah! the Marine shouted as he left.


Walking into the infirmary loaded down with enough ordnance to take out a small platoon was odd. He felt bigger. Louder.

But he stopped feeling that way as he heard someone louder than him and without the explosives and ammo.

Dr McKay was arguing with Lt Harrison in the area outside Sheppard's room. To her credit, her face was placid while McKay's was verging on florid. But as Lorne drew closer he could tell that the physicist's rant was lacking much of its usual bluster. It was almost as if the man thought it was expected of him to yell but his heart wasn't in it.

"Keller said all you needed to do was get his ICP down and he'd be better. So either you got it down or you didn't."

"We did, Dr. McKay," the nurse said calmly.

"Then why isn't he 'better'?" he bit out with added finger quotes dug through the air.

"He is. The migraine is under control and he's sleepin'. The morphine has him snowed under and he'll probably be that way til this afternoon."

"What's up?" Lorne finally broke in. "There a problem?"

Both voices joined in a chorus of no's.

"Ooookay." He gave the nurse a sympathetic smile before addressing her adversary.

"I was gonna stop in and pay my respects to Colonel Sheppard. If that's not gonna happen I'm gonna head out. I've got a bunch of rock geeks waiting to get their chisels into PX2 745." He paused and debated. It might do everybody good to get McKay out from underfoot. "Do you care to come along?"

McKay raised an eyebrow and Lorne sighed and held up a hand. "Was just askin', doc. I know what a busy guy you are."

Seemingly mollified, McKay nodded. "Yes, yes I am. And since the warden here won't let me in to see Sheppard, I guess I'll head back to my lab…"

He trailed off and his face set hard and Lorne finally had to turn around to see what had the scientist so pissed.

He hadn't had the pleasure yet of making the acquaintance of the IOA stooge but there was not one doubt that it was Pratt making his way in their direction. Everyone wore civvies on occasion. In fact, Sheppard seemed to find reasons for Casual Days whenever possible. But absolutely no one wore a three-piece Armani double-breasted suit on Atlantis.

The bureaucrat came striding in their direction, soft Italian leather shoes barely making a whisper on the tile floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lorne caught Lt Harrison making a hasty exit and he didn't blame her one bit. McKay was stiffening where he stood, adopting a formal stance with his hands laced behind his back.

"Gentlemen," Pratt said with a cursory nod at McKay and a hand thrust out at Lorne. "Major Lorne, a pleasure. Richard Pratt, IOA."

Lorne took the man's hand with distaste, allowing the man to squeeze his hand with a firm, moist grip. He gave a game smile in return and fought the urge to wipe his hand on his BDUs. "Mr. Pratt. What can we do for you, sir?"

"I'm here to see Colonel Sheppard." He shifted the briefcase he carried to his other hand and shot his watch forward from his cuff. "Dr. Keller said yesterday he'd be ready to be interviewed this morning."

"Well, he's not," McKay said curtly.

Pratt chuckled sarcastically and shook his head. "I thought your doctorate was in astrophysics, Dr. McKay."

"One of them is."

"And is one of the others an MD, Doctor? Because if it isn't then you are in no position to tell me anything concerning Colonel Sheppard's ability to be questioned."

"It doesn't take an MD to figure out Sheppard can't answer any questions. He had some kind of severe migraine episode last night and is currently doing the Pink Floyd thing."

Lorne nodded knowingly but Pratt was obviously perplexed.

"Comfortably numb, sir," Lorne supplied in explanation. "Colonel Sheppard's own description of the way morphine feels."

Pratt rolled his eyes and sighed. "If he's on pain medication then there shouldn't be any concern that my enquiry will cause him any discomfort. It may even allow him to be more forthcoming."

McKay laughed out loud, a haughty bray. "Are you telling me that it's the IOA's policy to interview people under the influence of the heaviest narcotic known to modern medicine? Because while none of my many doctorates include a law degree, I'm pretty confident that anything you get out of a non compos mentis party would at best be spurious and at worst make you look like a complete asshole for picking on the guy in the hospital bed ripped open from head to toe."

The pencil pusher smoothed his tie down and appeared to consider. "I'll be speaking with Dr. Keller and she will make the determination whether Colonel Sheppard can be questioned. In the meantime, I'd like to visit the planet and the crash site."

Lorne raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What do you expect to get out of that, Mr. Pratt?"

"All part of my enquiry, Major. You will make arrangements to take me forthwith, of course?"

"Of course," Lorne replied dryly. "Forthwith. I guess the rocks on PX2 745 will be breathing a sigh of relief, even if it pisses off the whole geology department. Can you be ready to meet me in the jumper bay in say, fifteen?"

"I'm ready now, Major."

Lorne eyed up the five thousand dollar suit and soft leather loafers. "Do you want something else to wear, sir?"

"Why? Are there extreme conditions on the planet? I was led to believe it was temperate."

"Oh, it's… temperate, sir. A little… unsophisticated, but definitely temperate."

"I have my equipment," Pratt replied, hefting his briefcase. "I'll be waiting in the jumper bay." And he turned on his heel and left.

Before Lorne could say anything, McKay surprised him. "I'm coming with you."

Lorne nodded and smiled. "Will be good to have you with us, doc. That was really cool, what you did with the legal stuff. Where'd you learn all that?"

Lorne was reminded why the scientist had grown on him when McKay allowed a small smile with his reply. "Law & Order, Major."


Considering he'd only told two people that they were headed to Dargara, it still should have been more surprising to find Ronon waiting for them at the jumper. It was only a last minute, almost literally, decision to head to the planet and since he figured Colonel Carter wasn't in the habit of blabbing about sensitive matters like the plans and whereabouts of visiting IOA members, there was only one other person who could have told the Satedan what they were doing.

"I really need to talk to Chuck about keeping his trap shut."

Ronon rose from his lean against the jumper and strode over. "Why?"

"I'm assuming he told you where we were headed?"

"Nope. Carter."

Wow. Not the answer he was expecting. "Not that it's not nice to see you, Ronon, but what are you doing here?"

"Coming with you."

Lorne considered for a moment. He had to admit to a little annoyance at the perceived notion that they needed the backup - and there was little doubt that was why the former runner was there. And the fact that Carter was the one who told Ronon where they were going seemed an additional slight.

On the flip side, spending the next several hours with only McKay and the jerk from the IOA was not entirely appealing. And Lorne also understood that Ronon was feeling especially… well, tense didn't really cover it. Even now the Satedan was like a coiled spring, staring defiantly at Lorne, waiting for him to tell him he couldn't go.

Lorne hadn't even finished the first word of, well, okay then, before Ronon was wheeling around and heading for the open back of the jumper.

McKay and Pratt came in together not a minute later. The physicist had kitted up in full mission-ready gear, vest and P-90 hooked in place. It made the bureaucrat's suit look even more ridiculous.

When they loaded into the jumper, McKay childishly called 'shotgun' but Ronon had already taken the back seat, right next to Pratt, and was turned about in his chair to stare daggers at the man.

Pratt feigned indifference but there was no way the intense glare aimed at him wasn't disconcerting. He stuck a hand towards Ronon. "Richard Pratt. I'm going to take a leap and guess you're Ronon Dex."

Ronon completely ignored the hand that hung there until Pratt finally dropped it with a shrug. "They told me you were an uncivilized troglodyte. My research once again bears out."

"They told me you were a pompous asshole," Ronon grunted. "Guess we know each other pretty well now."

Lorne was tempted to say, Kids, don't make me come back there but of course, Ronon wouldn't get the joke and Pratt looked like a man who had never cracked a smile at a joke in his life. So instead he darted a look over at McKay, the man being oddly quiet, contenting himself with studying the control panel in front of him and comparing it against whatever was on his open laptop.

The wormhole wooshed to life and Lorne took the motley crew on through.


There were volumes of research out there devoted to the psychology of color and its effect on mood. Hotels tended to be homey, neutral beiges, modern offices yellow or green, and hospitals a clean, sterile and numbing white. The fabric curtains that restricted his world into an eight by ten cell varied in shades of black, the reflection of sadness, mourning and death—a true absence of light.

John viewed his surroundings from behind his sunglasses, protection meant to battle UV rays and bright, blistering sunshine. The expensive lenses represented the bars of a scarier cage, allowing but a few limited peeks at the real world. There were stacks of machines to his right, monitors that tracked what was going on inside his head and displays flashing his vitals. Concentrating paradoxically on relaxing his eyes had allowed him to make out the information on his pulse.

The number had jumped up when he discovered he was able to read it and then rose even higher when it became blurry again. He sighed, let out a breath, and adjusted his aviators across the bridge of his nose. Ever since Keller had left them at his bedside, he'd noticed a few things in focus before they fuzzed out again. The minor victory felt hollow.

He rolled his neck among the pillows, listening to all the noise around him. He'd always thought the infirmary a quiet place, but he'd come to realize how much commotion there really was.

Various machines near his head beeped or hummed constantly. The carts that carried supplies, meals or equipment squeaked as they rolled by. Voices carried, even to his isolated little corner and footsteps crisscrossed the linoleum floors all day. It was no wonder his head throbbed non-stop; anything louder sent nails across the surface of his brain.

There was no telling about the time; lunch had seemingly been hours ago and not a single person had visited him. Of course the morphine had had him out like a light half the day, the receding effects making him feel like crap. But now he longed for a distraction from the lingering pain and thoughts about the accident.

His temples throbbed at the thought of the crash, a memory as shattered and lost as his sight. Keller had warned him about stressing out; the god-awful migraine from last night that had plagued him into the morning was as good a reinforcement as any. But Keller couldn't possibly fathom how difficult it was not to think about something that could have killed Teyla and her baby.

Closing his eyes, he let himself drift and was on the verge of dozing when the sound of footfalls alerted him to new visitors. They weren't the softer patter of Lt. Harrison or any of the other nurses so he blinked and squinted at the entrance of two blurry forms.

"John?"

Recognizing his superior's voice, he tried sitting straighter in bed, immediately regretting the motion but trying anyway. "Colonel," he huffed.

Carter held out her hands. "At ease. Try to be still if you can."

He swallowed against the pain of movement, steeling himself for the reason for his CO's presence.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked.

"Better," he replied.

There was movement behind Carter and John recognized the smaller stature of Zelenka cautiously approaching the bed.

"Colonel Sheppard," the scientist greeted nervously.

"Radek."

John pushed up his glasses, feeling awkward at having both his boss and Zelenka standing there. Were they here to present some type of report? He was glad for his shades; they hid the discomfort of not knowing what to say.

"Ooh, this is one of those A/D converters, very nice," Zelenka commented, eying the machine that always held Keller's main interest. "This uses ultrasonic pulses and echoes to measure the dura mater inside the brain and... oh... even your heartbeat." He looked up, stepping back, sounding embarrassed. "Um, sorry, Colonel. It's just, this is so ahead of its time."

"I hope they write me up in the patent proposal as best test subject," John remarked dryly.

"I think what Radek was trying to say was, this saved you from some pretty invasive procedures," Carter said quietly.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the equipment available to him, but it didn't change the fact that he needed experimental technology to begin with. Now Carter probably thought he was an ungrateful jackass. He closed his eyes despite the relief his glasses provided.

A hand rested on his arm and he flinched. "Sorry, John," Carter said, pulling away.

It was so damn disconcerting, being touched often and not knowing when it was going to happen. It didn't help that a blanket and bandages were the only things covering his bare skin.

"No, I'm sorry... It's... all this medication... Makes me feel out of sorts."

It was only a small lie. A whole pharmacy flowed though his blood; the migraine had knocked him out and he still felt exhausted. At least the thin broth he'd had for lunch was staying down, earning him a token victory.

"So, what's going on?" He might as well get the reason for Carter's visit over with.

Her postured changed, but it was too murky to see her facial expression from behind the dark shades. "I wanted to see how you were doing," she said, sounding slightly taken back.

The surprise in her voice startled him. "Oh." He cleared his dry throat and scratched at where the nasal cannula rubbed under his nose. "Thank you. I... I was expecting Rodney earlier and he hasn't been here. Ronon either," he said, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

His two visitors exchanged looks, a silent communication hidden once again by the dark lenses.

"Actually, Rodney came by earlier but you were still ill. I, um... I needed him to go over my study on the acidic effect of the heavy rainfall on the city," Zelenka hastily explained. "I'll be sure to tell him."

John touched his frames. "Don't worry... I wanted to thank him for something is all."

"I asked Ronon to go with Lorne to PXA-541. They should be back later on," Carter interjected brightly.

"Something important?" he asked.

"Captain Hastings has the stomach flu and I figured maybe Ronon could work off some of his stress by going off-world," she replied.

John nodded. Ronon had thrummed with tension the few times he recalled the Satedan's larger than life presence hovering near his bed. The big guy took every injury as evidence of a personal failure and no words could dissuade him that sometimes accidents just happened. "That's a good idea. He doesn't know what to do with himself here."

"Um, Colonel... the reason why I came was to give you this," Zelenka said as he held out an object.

John opened his hand and the scientist placed what felt like a PDA in his palm. "Thanks," he said, a little confused.

"It is an iPod," Zelenka said, a smile in his voice.

"Really?" John brought the MP3 player up to his face, recognizing the smooth controls and design. "This is great." He slipped off his sunglasses, wincing as the light assaulted his sensitive eyes, but he was eager to study the device. He squinted, pulling it closer to his face. "Pirogov told me my options for entertainment would be pretty limited, and I can't sleep all day," he continued as his shaky hands attempted to untangle the tiny ear buds.

"Actually..." Zelenka hesitated as he entered John's personal space. "If I may, Colonel?"

This was what he'd hoped to avoid. These situations where he felt feeble and helpless, co-workers fumbling over how to behave around him.

Biting his lip to prevent expressing the letdown, he began to hand it back. "Here."

"No, keep it. I modified this with voice activation commands. Just press the power button, there, on the side and tell it what you want to hear. I had Rodney transfer your play list from your laptop."

John didn't know what to say, touched by the thoughtfulness behind the gift. He admired the silver color before slipping his aviators back on, reducing it to another dark shape. Pressing it on, he said, "Highwayman."

"You need to say song, then the name. Same thing when you want to listen to an artist, you say artist then the name. It works like scrolling through your lists, except by audio commands," Zelenka explained, still acting uncomfortably.

Would everyone act so jittery around him from now on? Walk on eggshells in case he had a repeat of last night's performance?

No, he wouldn't allow them to witness what he was feeling inside. "Cat Stevens. Moon Shadow," he commanded. The guitar notes strummed out of the ear buds and John gave his visitors a smile. "Stop," he said and powered down the player. "Thanks, Radek. Really."

"Oh, it was no problem," Zelenka said with an audible sigh of relief. "Thought you might want something to listen to while you get better."

"Still, I know you have a lot to do. Are you helping with the jumper repair?"

Zelenka poked nervously at his glasses. "It – it was not repairable, I'm afraid, Colonel."

"The front end was crushed," Carter added.

Great, he totaled an Ancient gate ship. It wasn't like they could pick another off the showroom floor.

"Could you at least salvage it for parts?" he asked, hopeful.

The silence spoke volumes. Carter finally answered him with a shrug. "Maybe. The right engine pod was sheared off, but we might be able to do something with the left one."

"Doesn't sound like one of my better landings."

There was an awkward silence as his joke fell flat and his body tensed.

Thankfully, they were all saved by Lt. Harrison's appearance; John recognized her footsteps as she pulled away the curtain. "Hey, sir. I see you have a couple visitors."

"Do you need us to leave?" Carter asked, stepping away to give the nurse room to maneuver.

"No, you're fine, Colonel Carter. I'm about to get rid of some of Colonel Sheppard's equipment here," the nurse said brightly.

John craned his head to where she was pushing some buttons on a monitor. "Really?"

"Yes, sir. No more oxygen cannula. Your sats have been high enough for long enough," she said as she removed the tubes from his nose. "How is that? If it feels too dry, I could get you some Vaseline."

"No, it's fine," he told her, rubbing away the soreness.

"Dr. Keller wants to get you up in a little while so she cut you back on the morphine. Get your faculties a little steadier for your walk," she continued as she checked his IV site.

Walk... more like drag, limp, puke, pass out if last time was any indication.

The lieutenant paused in her ministrations and turned to speak softly to him. "You don't look happy, Colonel. Thought you'd be itchin' to get outa this bed."

The idea of dragging his body out of bed and forcing all his torn open muscles to move held as much appeal as pissing off Ronon, then sparring with him. "No, not really," he told her.

"You did fine after your first surgery, sir."

"The hell I did," he replied tiredly.

"Well, you know you won't be joinin' Cirque du Soleil anytime, but it'll get better. Do you need anything' before I leave?"

"No, Lieutenant. Thank you."

Carter stepped up and gripped the railing of his bed. "I think we'll let you rest, John. But hey, it sounds like you're making great strides."

There was no need to fill his superior in on the pathetic progress made when they'd managed to get him upright after the first surgery. The dizziness had been so bad that, after finally getting a gown tied on him, he'd ruined it by getting sick. He couldn't even recall how he'd made it back to bed, probably due to the morphine they'd had to load him up with immediately after to quench the white hot agony in his head and belly.

"I'll be doing cartwheels before you know it," he said instead.

"Feel better, Colonel," Zelenka said softly.

"Thanks, Radek. And thanks again for the iPod."

He saw the little Czech's head nod a few times then he heard a quick but clearly pleased, "You're welcome."

With a final "take care" from Carter the two left.

John sank back into his pillows, mulling over the conversation, replaying everything said... and everything that wasn't.

He contemplated putting on the music player but knew he should probably grab a nap before his Big Adventure later on. So he took off his sunglasses and closed his eyes, allowing the sounds of the infirmary to lull him into sleep. Only seconds later he was jerked out of his reverie as he caught bits of a conversation his visitors were having where they clearly thought they were out of earshot.

"I am finding... difficult to keep... from him. When do you think he'll... told... going on." That was Zelenka..

Then Carter responded. "When we know that.…"

He strained to hear, but she was too far away and he missed the last part of her answer.

What the hell? They were keeping things from him? His thoughts raced all over the place, from possible threats and security issues to information concerning his team. Maybe he hadn't heard it correctly or maybe he'd misinterpreted what he did catch. The beeping sound that kept pace with his heart increased and he knew he had to get things under control.

He took long, steadying breaths, the monitor's audible rate coming down slowly- too slowly- with them. This wasn't the time to lose control; obviously they all felt he was fragile as it was. He fought to maintain his calm, to keep his breathing even and slow, to keep the numbers down. To not let the machines betray him the way his body had.


Tellen and Mina's home was large by most standards, Earth and otherwise. Lorne knew three generations lived under its roof and he'd had the pleasure of meeting most of them at one time or another. It was one of the few planets that they'd been able to maintain relations with through all the moves and upheaval, and they could be counted on for supplies when times got tough.

The couple came out to meet them with smiles and open arms- literally. Tellen was a hugger and the big man seemed oblivious to noticing or maybe caring who tolerated it and who didn't.

Ronon and their host greeted each other with equally hearty pounds on the back, their strength and bulk such that you could practically feel the vibrations through the ground. McKay tolerated his hug with arms held stiffly at his side but there was a smile on his face that didn't look too pained.

And Pratt became the first person, to Lorne's knowledge, that the big man had immediately sized up as unhuggable. He didn't even extend a hand in greeting but he was too ingrained as a host to be rude. Once introductions were made, he gestured them all into the back where a table was set with cold drinks and a plate of cheese, a chunk of heavy, crusty bread in a basket next to that.

The group settled themselves around the table and McKay immediately started piling slices of cheese and bread on his plate, only shrugging at Lorne's pointed look.

"I have heard about the crash, Major," Tellen said, getting right down to business. "Please, tell me how Teyla and the others fared."

"And her baby," Mina added.

"The baby is fine," Lorne answered, smiling in echo at the couple's obvious relief. "Teyla broke her arm pretty badly but our doctors have fixed her up and she should be just fine."

"Thank the Ancestors," Mina breathed, as Tellen nodded at her side. "And the colonel and the prince?"

Lorne hesitated, then smiled briefly in reassurance. "Colonel Sheppard was badly hurt but he's on the mend now." He dashed a quick glance at Pratt. "The prince, sadly, didn't make it. He was killed in the crash."

Tellen sagged in his chair. "We had heard it was quite bad, your airboat very badly damaged. Brenon's fieldmen had observed your people over many days trying to retrieve the pieces of the boat. From what they described, it truly was the mercy of the Ancestors that anyone survived."

"Are you suggesting that the Ancestors chose not to save Prince Fahd?" Pratt asked querulously.

Their host's face darkened and he sat forward in his chair, fixing his gaze on the stranger in the strange suit. Tellen was a generally affable man, given more to wine and jokes, but Lorne knew he hadn't gotten where he was on Dargara as a stupid man.

"We do not question the Ancestors' way. Each man has his course charted from birth and it is then given to him the manner in which he sails it. Against the wind, sheltered in safe harbor, or through the eye of the storm. Laden with riches or wisdom or family. Some will find calm waters, others will find themselves broken upon the rocks or swallowed by the beast."

Lorne had heard similar aphorisms many times before. The planet's entire history was tied to the massive seas and scattered lakes that covered their world. Their cultural and industrial development was a direct result of the shipping and fishing that life here depended on and as a result, their religion and beliefs were all nautical based.

Pratt had none of that knowledge. He blinked twice, no expression on his face, then he nodded as if in answer to an unvoiced question. Lorne had to give it to him. The man was a consummate politician if nothing else.

"Be that as it may," Pratt continued, "but the prince was a very important man back on Earth."

"We know," Tellen said without a hint of humor. "He told us so… many times."

McKay made a noise, half sneeze, half hairball, but quickly put on an innocent face as Pratt turned to glare at him.

"And as an important person," Pratt continued with a smoothing of his tie the only sign of his irritation, "it is my duty to find out what led to his demise." He pulled a small recording device from his briefcase and placed it on the table.

He thumbed the power on and a red light sprang to life. "What can you tell me?"

The big Dargaran raised eyebrows in surprise at the question and darted an uneasy look at the recorder on the table. "Why the airboat crashed. Did it not?"

McKay snorted again and Lorne kicked him none too softly under the table.

"Yes. Yes, Mr. Tellen, it did," Pratt said patiently. "Why do you think it crashed?"

Tellen sagged back in his seat and ran a calloused hand through his mass of ginger curls. "I know very little of your aircraft, sir. I know that Colonel Sheppard and his people use the technology of Atlantis to visit many worlds and that the airboats are gifts of the Ancestors. They do not run on steam as our boats do or on running water as our mills do. But it is an unfortunate fact that we do lose ships on the great lakes and seas. The waters rise and engulf the largest of our fleets. Some are sucked down into the depths by water devils. It was my belief that the storm had taken down Colonel Sheppard and Teyla… and the prince."

Pratt's eyes lit up with a cold fire. "Yes, the storm. It was threatening when Colonel Sheppard decided to leave, is that correct?"

"No."

"No, the storm wasn't threatening?"

Tellen shook his large, shaggy head. "No."

Pratt sighed and pulled a small PDA from his vest pocket. He ran through a dozen screens, the stylus almost a blur, while Tellen watched with interest.

"The information I have," Pratt said, tapping pointedly at the screen, "was that the storm was almost there when Colonel Sheppard decided to leave."

"The storm had already arrived when Colonel Sheppard made plans to take his leave," Tellen answered gravely.

This time Lorne had to fight his own smile. He very deliberately chose not to look at McKay for fear it would set both of them off.

Pratt obviously found no humor in the situation. In fact, The Dargaran's response actually had him taking notes in his PDA.

"So, the storm system had already arrived. Rain, lightning, winds, I assume?"

Tellen nodded and Mina leaned forward to add, "Our storms have been very bad of late. Some of our scientists believe the smoke from the blackstone we burn for fuel is causing it."

McKay snorted loudly this time and muttered, "Oh, for crying out loud. Has Al Gore been here for a visit?"

"Was Colonel Sheppard aware of how bad the storms could be?" Pratt asked of Mina.

"Oh, yes. We tried to convince him to stay until it had passed but he seemed most anxious to return."

Pratt seized on the comment like a cat on a mouse and worried at it. "Really? Did he say why he was so anxious to leave?"

Mina looked at her husband and they exchanged a silent conversation.

"I believe Colonel Sheppard may have been upset," Tellen said reluctantly.

"Not surprising," McKay mused out loud.

"Why would the colonel have been upset?" Pratt continued, unfazed.

"The…the prince had made some rather… improper comments. To Teyla."

Ronon, who until now had been surprisingly restrained, discreet even, growled and sat forward in his seat. "What did that asshole say to her?"

Mina smiled; she was very familiar with Ronon's ways and it actually pleased her, the way he came to his absent teammates' defense.

Tellen blushed and hesitated. "He used words unfamiliar to us."

"But I'm sure you got the drift," McKay prodded.

"They were in reference to the um… physical changes that impending motherhood brings. In order to best provide for the infant…" and he gestured with a pained expression in front of his chest.

"Did he touch her?" Ronon snarled.

"Not that we saw," Tellen hastened to respond. "But it was clear that Colonel Sheppard was offended. He rose to Teyla's defense but nothing came of it. The situation was quickly diffused, I assure you, without blows exchanged. No matter that they had been warranted," he added softly.

Ronon flashed a feral grin at the comment and sat back in his chair, momentarily satisfied.

Pratt acted quickly to bring things back under his control and Lorne noticed him jotting down the time stamp on the recorder, no doubt in order to go back and erase the less than complimentary report of Fahd's actions.

"So it's fair to say that Colonel Sheppard was angry."

Tellen smiled. "Probably. But Sheppard does not wear his emotions openly."

"That's an understatement," McKay muttered around a mouthful of bread.

Pratt sighed, allowing the first hint that his patience was slipping.

"Colonel Sheppard was angry at something that the prince said that he took offense to. Despite the storm having already arrived, and knowing the storms had been stronger than normal, he chose to take a pregnant woman and an important dignitary up in a jumper and leave. Again, despite your warnings that he not attempt this. Does this all sound correct, Mr. Tellen?"

The big man picked up a crust of bread and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a long moment, then brushed the crumbs off his hands.

"Colonel Sheppard has been to Dargara many times. He has seen what the storms can do. He has flown through some of them. I know he is military commander of the city of the Ancestors and that tells me the kind of man he is, even did I not know him well and call him friend. It happened as you described, sir, and it did not. Only Colonel Sheppard can say what truly happened. And as its captain, only Sheppard can say why it fell from the sky. Why you would ask of me and my wife what we only know happened by the scar the boat dug in the ground and the stories of Brenon's fieldmen, I do not understand."

Pratt rose stiffly from his chair and nodded sharply once. "Thank you for your time, sir. Ma'am," he added, dipping his head briefly at Mina. "I believe we are done here."

Lorne rose quickly, caught off guard by the rapid change, Ronon already on his feet by his side.

McKay was still chewing and picked up another hunk of bread as he stood up.

Pratt picked up his briefcase and began walking towards the jumper without a word and Lorne had to double time it to catch up. As he pulled up alongside the bureaucrat he matched the man's strides. "What's that all about, sir?"

"The oaf is quite correct," Pratt said matter of factly. "The only person who can tell me what happened is Colonel Sheppard. And I intend to ask him as soon as possible."