A/N: Thanks again to all you reviewed. I knew you all would get a kick out of Carson being the first on the scene. And now, for what you've all been waiting for...

Ch. 9

Here's Johnny, there's Johnny...

Rodney tore off down the hall like his heels were on fire, going at a run he'd only ever demonstrated when something pissed, armed, or carnivorous (usually a combination of all three) was on his tail. He barely dodged passer-bys and managed to rebound off a few sending them colliding into walls or crashing to the floor, cursing his name in the distance.

"Dr. McKay!"

That one feminine voice was enough to penetrate his frenetic need to get to the infirmary. He skidded to a stop in time to avoid Teyla running toward him from the other way. She didn't stop but grabbed his arm, propelling him back into – not so much a run – but fast trot down the adjacent corridor. They met Ronon just as he was entering the infirmary.

"Took you guys long enough," he said, breathing easy. Maybe he had arrived early, or just liked showing off.

Rodney staggered to a stop, breathing hard while pointing over his shoulder. "Longer way to go. Besides, it's been a while." Enough said. Since Sheppard's disappearance, Rodney had been spending most of his time on Atlantis, in a lab, and sitting.

Strike that – all of his time. He liked to say it was because he didn't trust anyone else to watch his back, Teyla and Ronon excluded. The truth he kept between himself and Heightmeyer.

It hurt to go off world. Didn't feel right, and it scared the hell out of him. If Lt. Colonel live-by-the-skin-of-his-teeth Sheppard could be casually scooped up by a dart, then anyone could.

"I was meditating," Teyla said. "And did not have my radio on."

Rodney threw his arms out wide. "But here we are." He clasped his hands behind his back to start rocking heel to toe. "So... we going in or what?"

Ronon flinched as though breaking from a trance. "Uh, yeah. Right." He waved his large paw toward the door. "Uh, Teyla, you wanna go first?"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Oh for... Please tell me you're not hesitating."

That earned him a trademark burn-through-steel Ronon scowl. "I was being polite. Lady's first isn't just an earth custom, McKay."

With a sigh, Teyla brushed past the two men before the argument could be drawn out further, and led the way into the infirmary. Dr. Weir was already there standing several feet from a curtained-off corner that rippled with human-shaped shadows. Rodney stepped up beside her, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from fidgeting.

"So?" he asked.

Elizabeth had one arm folded across her stomach, her other resting on it, and her hand to her mouth so she could nibble on a nail. "Carson's still working on him."

"Have you seen him, yet?" Rodney asked next, eyes fixed on the curtain in anticipation for a wide enough part for a peek at what lay on the other side.

Elizabeth shook her head. They fell into a tense moment of silence watching the shadows shift and flow across the powder-blue curtains. Rodney's heart thudded and he started twitching his leg to siphon off the ever-growing energy. He had never been good at sitting still.

"This is," he began, but shook his head, unable to find just the right words to sum everything up.

"Surreal," Elizabeth said.

"Yeah."

"Impossible," said Ronon.

"Very."

"I believe," said Teyla, "miracle would be an appropriate term."

"If you believe in such things." Truth be told, Rodney could find no better word. The Pegasus Galaxy was making it very hard to mock the spiritual, because Sheppard wasn't supposed to be alive. He'd been sucked up into a wraith dart, for crying out loud. Rodney had seen it, they had all seen it, and for two weeks after Rodney had wandered Atlantis in a haze of disbelief, forever expecting Sheppard to pop out of the nearest transporter or step through the gate with arms spread wide calling out with that insufferable grin of his, "I'm ho-ome!"

The weeks that followed were in a haze of anger. Rodney had been gradually succumbing to getting used to Sheppard's absence, and it had pissed him off. Felt too much like giving up on him, despite overwhelming evidence that stated loud and clear Sheppard was gone and never coming back.

Rodney had been too accepting of it. "What did Carson say?" he asked.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Not much, just that he needed to get him settled."

Rodney snorted. "I highly suspect Carson finds pleasure in leaving us hanging for long periods." It was hard forcing patience. Sheppard was supposed to be dead; now he wasn't. One would think McKay used to it by now, but this had been the mother of all Sheppard disappearances, the end all to end all. The one mission he wasn't meant to survive, since it had only been a matter of time before fortune decided to favor someone else, and somehow he did it.

Which begged the question, beyond what had happened to him – why was he alive? Rodney hated it, but it had to be asked. He gestured with a twirl of his finger to his upper back. "Did, uh, Carson mention anything about...?"

Elizabeth twitched as though finally realizing this for herself and then relaxed. "No, and he would have seen one with the medical scanner."

"Seen one what?" Teyla asked.

It was Ronon who replied in an all bitter, dead-pan sobriety. "Wraith tracker."

"Okay, then, any indication he might have been brainwashed...?"

"McKay!" Ronon snarled.

Rodney sighed with heavy exasperation. "Look, I'm not trying to put the Colonel down or anything, I'm just asking the hard questions now rather than try and avoid them just to bring them up later, anyways. He was taken by the wraith," his throat tightened making it hard to speak. "He shouldn't... he shouldn't have..." he couldn't say it. It felt wrong, and scared him, and...he just couldn't say it.

Ronon bowed his head, hiding his face behind a curtain of ropey hair. "Yeah, you're right. He shouldn't have."

Teyla rubbed her hands together, shoulders bunching around her neck as though she were cold. Rodney had never seen her this fidgety, even when sensing the wraith.

"I want to see him." Or hear her this agitated in a way that was verging on anger. Ronon lifted his head and placed his hand on her shoulder, calming her just a fraction.

Teyla tense, Ronon being the comforter, and Rodney able to keep himself from marching through the curtain, demanding answers-- yes, this was definitely many kinds of messed-up. They all went quiet, the hard questions left without an answer since no one wanted to put any further thought into it. One thing at a time, and right now, all that mattered was seeing John in the flesh.

The curtain skittered back, metal rods hissing over a metal pole.

And what thin flesh it was, sunken tight around the bones, pale to be almost white and translucent. Even from where he stood Rodney could see all the thin little veins like tiny rivers viewed at a distance. The ribs pressed parallel lines into the skin of Sheppard's chest and contour lines around his flanks that the flimsy hospital scrub couldn't hide. And the bruises... Crap, there were so many it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended, which were fresh and which were healing. He had a cast on his wrist, a sling on the same arm, and if there had been a beard it was gone now. He looked younger, more vulnerable, and incredibly breakable, especially with him lying partially on his side curled up like a little kid.

They all moved forward, slowly, like approaching something they'd never seen before and weren't confident about. Teyla was the first to break from that particular reverie, hurrying forward with an outstretched hand that she immediately pulled back. She looked uncertainly at Carson. "Is it...?"

Carson nodded. "Aye. We've got him sedated for now. Poor lad was so overcome he passed right out and I didn't want it happening again. Careful about the bruises, though. Some of them are right nasty."

Teyla went for Sheppard's whole wrist wrapping her fingers cautiously around it since it seemed like it wouldn't take much to snap it.

Now that Rodney was closer, he was able to make out the long, thin tube taped to the side of Sheppard's face, snaking up his nose to pump his stomach full of nutrients. Heart monitor steadily beeping, BP cuff inflating, nasal cannula – the usual paraphernalia letting everyone know Sheppard was alive and kicking. Maybe not kicking, but certainly alive.

"He feels too warm," Teyla said.

"That's because he's got a bit of a fever and then some. He's also got himself quite a collection of broken bones: ribs mostly, wrist obviously, collar-bone, even a crack to his shoulder blade and several cracks to the sternum. Heavy malnutrition as you can see. But this is what's got me concerned." He tugged down the wide collar of the scrub, then the bandages binding Sheppard's chest. Using the end of his penlight, Carson traced the bruises over John's breastbone.

Hand shaped, every one, all overlapping each other. "If you look closely enough, you can almost see the feeding mark, sort of like old scar tissue. But here's the real kicker." He rolled Sheppard enough for a better view of his back. Carson lifted the scrub and tugged the bandages. More hand-shaped bruises and a thin line of scar-tissue running perpendicular over Sheppard's protruding backbone were visible.

Rodney balked. His own spine twinged in sympathy because he couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have been like. "They... they fed through the back?"

Carson adjusted the bandage, shirt, and then Sheppard's sleeping position. "I imagine they can feed from the leg if they want to. The chest is just easier to get to. Scans don't reveal anything wrong with the spinal cord, but it's still got me cautious." He smoothed the blanket over Sheppard's body, like busy work, giving him an excuse to stick around.

And here Rodney had been ready to bawl Beckett out for what he'd assumed was an insouciant attitude. The way doctors could be so casual about describing someone's guts being torn out or a broken bone poking through the skin was another reason Rodney bristled when it came to the medical community. Doctors needed to be callous toward injuries. It was nothing personal, just how they dealt with blood, broken bones, and even death day after day. Rodney understood and even respected that, but some days the lack of reaction, especially if said doctor was a close friend, raked on his nerves.

Beckett, however, in a rather undoctorly fashion, was hovering just as bad as the rest of them. He'd been the one to find Sheppard, after all, during a good-will mission to a village who had stumbled on a group of wraith followers and wraith slaves.

And since when did the wraith start utilizing slaves? Most of those slaves had been half-starved and too sick to move, which had to be disturbing in and of itself. Then, low and behold, Sheppard had been among the starved and sick.

Okay, so Teyla was right, it could only be referred to as a miracle.

Unless there was more to it. It seemed like it was time to return to the hard questions.

"Why would the wraith abandon that kind of a food supply and labor?" he said. "Not that I'm trying to sound cold-hearted here, but... that really was a lot of food to be passing up."

"I have heard," Teyla replied "of those who were assumed to be survivors of a downed wraith ship. Some, it was said, turned out to be wraith followers sent as spies. Others, who, as you said, claimed to have been used for labor."

"Aye," said Beckett, "but the wraith worshipers were weeded out from the slaves. At least the villagers think so."

Elizabeth perked. "And they are keeping them prisoner, right? The worshipers?"

"Aye, and a right healthy lot they are, too. Wasn't hard at all telling the two groups apart."

Elizabeth nodded. "We should send a team back to question them, and to make sure they weren't carrying transmitters."

"Already checked," Carson said. "Not a single one was. And they weren't keen on talking except to make threats."

"That could easily change," Ronon said, crossing his arms. Rodney swore the man did that just to get his muscles to bulge in an intimidating way.

Beckett sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. From what I heard, those followers can be bloody slick when they want to be. The colonel had told me about his run-in with that one during Ford's little fiasco. If they tell us anything it'll either be to kiss off or a well rehearsed lie."

Ronon smiled with a rather sadistic twinkle in his eye that he only ever got when given permission to wail on a suspect until answers resulted. "Never hurts to try."

"Except for the guy you're hurting," Rodney grunted under his breath. He had yet to look directly at anyone else, being too transfixed on Sheppard's corpse-like presence. Surreal had also been a good word choice, because even after being perpetually haunted by the expectation of seeing the colonel's face around every turn, Rodney's brain couldn't wrap itself around flesh and blood Sheppard lying right in front of him.

He wanted to reach out and take that skinny wrist into his own hand, feel solid bone and warm flesh, make his brain accept what was right in front of him contrary to what should have been. But a part of him really was afraid that any slight mishandling of that limb would snap it in two, so he refrained.

"I wouldn't mind hearing what they have to say," Elizabeth said, "even if it is a lie. We'll just believe the opposite of whatever they tell us if we have to. Right now, I'd at least like some idea of what was done to John. Once the SGC finds out he's back, they'll be demanding answers. And knowing them they'll want to get those answers themselves, which means they'll either send someone to ask questions or force us to sooner rather than later."

Beckett pursed his lips and pulled air in through his nose, letting it out slowly on a drawn out, "Aye... I'll have Kate brought in as soon as the colonel is awake. She needs to assess him. Which means, I'm afraid, that there will be no interaction with the colonel until we have a better understanding of what's going on in his head." He paled some. "Gah, there's no saying what those bastards did to him... beyond what we see. Some of those slaves practically broke down in tears if you so much as touched them. And the poor colonel..." whatever Carson had been about to say petered off, his mouth working but no words produced, probably because there were no words to describe it. McKay was certain the physician was just about to break into tears when he quickly recovered, composing himself by straightening and clearing his throat. "Another day and we would've been too late. Possibly even another hour."

Now that was a sobering thought. Miracle after miracle. Despite Sheppard's beliefs on the contrary and Rodney's own personal beliefs, someone up there liked the man.

"We'll probably have to restrict the colonel's movements," Elizabeth said, reluctantly, "until we know more."

"I doubt he'll be up and about in the near future." Carson looked at each of the three team-members in tandem giving them their own personal glare. "I mean it when I say you are to wait until my say-so to visit with him." His gaze lingered especially long on Rodney.

McKay took immediate umbrage. He wasn't stupid. Okay, maybe a little impatient – a lot impatient – and it was going to be hard holding back against the opportunity to talk to his friend. At the same, the prospect scared him. Like Carson had said, there was no saying what had been done to John, and Rodney was a little afraid to find out.

The end all to end all didn't necessarily have to involve death.

Still, Sheppard's mental state aside... Rodney crossed his arms indignantly, getting a little tired of Carson's insinuations. "Relax, Carson, I've come to learn the hard way that when you mean something, you mean something, or have we all forgotten the time the colonel gave me a black eye just because I was dropping by for a visit."

"You were leaning in two inches from his face, Rodney," Carson said just a tad too condescendingly for McKay's liking.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, I still learned a valuable lesson that day."

"No, you didn't," Ronon jumped in. "What about that time four months ago when he smashed his foot right into your..."

Rodney's heart skipped several beats and he managed to raise a rigid finger before Ronon could continue. "Not... talking about it! Remember?"

Ronon smirked. "Like it was yesterday."

Rodney sighed. "I learned my lesson, all right? Like hell I'm going to be sending Sheppard over whatever edge he maybe standing two centimeters away from. You say stay away, so I will stay away. No questions and no begging otherwise."

Carson clasped him on the shoulder. "Glad to hear it. Just remember, you'll be able to talk with him eventually, just not right away, not until we know more."

"In the meantime," Elizabeth said, again with reluctance, "maybe a guard should be posted, just in case."

Rodney snorted. "In case what? Sheppard manages to crawl his way to the command center? The man looks like he can barely stand."

"Still," Elizabeth said gnawing her lip thoughtfully. "Just until we know more."

McKay could practically feel his blood pressure starting to rise. The hard questions had needed asking but this felt like pushing it. "I find that rather unfair to the colonel."

"But she's right," said Ronon. "Wraith could have done anything to him."

"I still don't like it," Rodney huffed.

Teyla placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. "You are not the only one."

-------------------------

Elizabeth slid into the seat behind her desk and lifted the lid of the laptop, typing in the commands that connected the computer to communications. Light from the event horizon rippled like real water just along the edge of the floor.

General Landry's face appeared on the screen. Elizabeth hadn't expected him to answer so quickly. Neither was she surprised. SGC members coming back from the dead had become commonplace, but it was still weird as hell, whether someone was un-ascended or left behind by the wraith. In this case, 'weird' had nothing to do with it. A potential security breach did, and that made Elizabeth nauseas. Of all the people to be a danger to the base in that very way, for it to be John Sheppard felt like a physical oxymoron.

"General," Elizabeth greeted.

"Dr. Weir," Landry replied. "So what's this I hear that the former and presumed dead military commander of your base was found alive among former wraith slaves and worshipers... and since when did wraith start doing the slavery thing?" She had the gist of the situation written in report form sent ahead in order to skip most of the preliminaries.

The latter was actually a good question, but a moot point at the moment. "Just as you heard, general," Elizabeth said. "It was during a good-will run to a village we have a small trade agreement with. Beckett was the one who found him – with the slaves," she emphasized. "I had Dr. Beckett compile a quick report on what he saw. Nothing fancy but it should, at least, give a better idea of what's going on. I'm having it sent to you now."

"And what of Lt. Colonel Sheppard? Have you had a chance to talk to him?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No. Carson had to sedate him, said he was getting too worked up over being home. A medical report is also being sent."

Landry leaned back in his chair and Elizabeth thought she could almost hear it squeak. "Happy as I am to hear that Sheppard's back, you are aware of how this is going to be viewed."

Elizabeth clasped her hands on the desk-stop to keep from picking at the loose thread of her shirt. "Painfully aware."

"That's good. Because the military commander of Atlantis taken by the wraith only to be released is going to look pretty damn suspicious to the IOA."

Elizabeth's spine stiffened. "So it's probably a definite that someone is going to be sent in to investigate."

"Actually," Landry said, leaning forward, "with the Daedalus about to head back to you all and, considering the time it takes to get to Pegasus, they may just settle for having someone already present look into the matter. The only thing they're going to worry about is Sheppard being a possible security risk, which means getting inside his head to see what was done. And I know you have an expedition psychologist. They'll more than likely just have her handle the matter."

Elizabeth certainly hoped so. She doubted Sheppard would handle being forced into any kind of an interrogation very well, and Kate would know how to manage the matter all while keeping the interest of John's mental health in mind.

"But I should remind you," Landry continued, "and by remind I mean warn – of the IOA's little fluke of being a paranoid bunch of asses. If they don't feel any of the results conclusive, they may start pushing things in a more unfavorable direction. They might still go with sending someone, let your psychologist deal matters until their own psychologist shows up on your doorstep. Not a definite but, knowing them, I wouldn't dismiss the possibility."

Elizabeth inclined her head. "I'm not about to; I just hope it doesn't have to come to that. Sheppard isn't going to like it."

"And I don't blame him. Keep me updated on his progress. If we can keep the information flowing, it might retain the IOA on a leash."

"I understand," Elizabeth said. Communications were cut and the gate shut down. Elizabeth eased back into her chair, unclasping her hands to drum her nails on the desk.

It had only been three weeks ago that a funeral had been held for Sheppard, and two days after Caldwell placed as the new commanding officer. The Daedalus had been given a new captain, like a seal of approval to all the change.

Elizabeth wanted to laugh. Cry, too, but chuckle out loud even more. She settled for a quiet snicker. They should have known better. They should have realized from the moment Sheppard's heart was stopped to save his life and then restarted that Lt. Colonel John Sheppard could die, but that didn't mean he would stay dead.

TBC...

A/N: Obviously isn't a dream. And again, just to remind you, this story is far from over.