The next two days passed in a daze for David. Once he had been hooked up for the transfusion, and had his own set of IVs running into his arm, he was pretty much forgotten in the bustle around John. He'd finally slept in the next bed for several hours, giving in to the exhaustion of worry and excitement. Dr. Keller was good to her word and had food brought to him at regular intervals, but she was otherwise completely devoted to her work in treating John.

After he woke up from a second nap, he gave another round of blood, then sat in the chair at John's side for a long time. He felt lightheaded and dizzy at first, so he found himself just watching the people that came and went through his brother's life. David had always been observant; it was how he had become successful at reading people and getting them to do what he needed them to do.

John had many visitors. Ronon came by often, always checking in with Dr. Keller first, then standing at the bed with his arms crossed and a scowl of careful scrutiny. When the big man finally seemed satisfied by his study, he'd thump the unconscious John on his shoulder, grunt a word of encouragement, and leave again. Dr. McKay came by about every six hours with a laptop and a sandwich. He would draw up a chair next to John, shove the sandwich into his mouth as fast as he could, and mutter to his computer for the next twenty minutes. Invariably, a summons on his radio would send him loping out of the room again.

Major Lorne came by once a day to talk to the doctor, then he would stand briefly at the foot of John's bed, his arms folded across his chest. Lorne made it a point to nod respectfully to David each time. David felt the acknowledgement as a kind of gratitude. Lorne was clearly a man devoted to his commander, and David couldn't help but wonder about John's usual role on Atlantis.

The security officers assigned to keep an eye on David were bored out of their minds as David didn't go anywhere or do anything. During their 8 hour shift, they would amuse themselves with books, magazines, or handheld gadgets when no one was around; but David watched them leap to crisp, respectful attention the moment any senior officer appeared. The young man who had followed David to the infirmary that very first hour finally took pity during his second shift and offered to escort him to the base outfitter for a change of clothes and a shower. David accepted gratefully. Even a 150 shirt started to get a bit ripe after 48 hours of continual wear.

Once he'd acquired a set of BDUs that fit him, David followed Airman Michelson to the showers that served the military men and women who had been training or working out in the gym. David walked wide-eyed past a room where several soldiers were sparring. Michelson tilted his head knowingly at the sounds of grunting and bodies hitting the floor.

"Ronon's taking out his frustrations on the Marines again. You don't want to go in there," he said wisely.

"Does John – Colonel Sheppard, I should say. Does Colonel Sheppard fight like that? In training, I mean?" David wasn't sure how to classify the controlled violence he'd caught a glimpse of in the gym, but he was curious if John's responsibilities included regular combat, or if he served in a mostly administrative role. John had never been the administrative type. Michelson seemed pleased to get a chance to brag on his Commanding Officer.

"I've seen the Colonel go three rounds with Ronon before he got taken down. Around here, that's record. Some of the guys said Ronon was pulling his punches, though. Colonel Sheppard makes everyone train on the sticks with Teyla, so he has to do it too, but I don't think takes it as seriously." The Lieutenant suddenly looked horrified as he realized he'd said something not very flattering, and hastily gestured to another door further down the hallway.

"Showers are here," he said.

In the shower room, David was shown off to the soldiers who happened to be there at the time. Michelson garnered much prestige for knowing, personally, "The Boss's Bro." Like the pilots, the men seemed amused when David shook their hands and thanked them for their expressions of concern for his brother.

As David showered he heard the conversation outside his stall turn to weapons and training and duty schedules. It suddenly hit David that he was truly immersed in John's world. It was a world so foreign to David that he'd never before even thought about what John might do on an average day. As he was drying off, the talk turned to the enemy named Michael. The soldiers' voices dropped to low concern as they discussed some worry that was brewing within the base, but David didn't catch any details and the topic was dropped the instant he pulled the curtain aside and began to dress.

Back in the infirmary, the most intriguing visitor John received was a beautiful young woman with an infant slung over her shoulder in a long, loose sling. The woman introduced herself immediately as Teyla, and David recognized her name from his conversation with the Airman.

Teyla sat with David for a time, chatting about Atlantis and her own people, who were from this galaxy, and about her place on John's 'gate team - once she'd explained what a 'gate team was. David was fascinated. He found himself grateful to meet someone who would talk about his brother in a familiar, comfortable way. David was quite disappointed when the baby began to fuss and Teyla excused herself to feed him.

Not long after Teyla's visit, John took a slight turn for the worse, and David found himself pressed back against his own bed while alarms wailed and a swarm of medical personnel descended upon the scene. When the excitement was over, John had been placed on a respirator to help him maintain breathing rhythm, and Dr. Keller had worriedly asked David if he felt up to another round of blood donation.

Now, feeling even more dizzy and weak, David again sat slumped in the chair beside John. Unable to bear the sight of his brother slowly fading before his eyes any longer, he scrubbed his face and dropped his head into his hand.

David wasn't sure how much longer he could sit here doing nothing. It wasn't in his nature. It had taken everything in him not to challenge Dr. Keller with options and alternatives the last time she had been by. He admitted that the impulse was driven by desperation, but he was not used to restraining his instinct to solve problems. There was no problem here that was even remotely within his power to solve, which only made the waiting even more frustrating.

If only he could talk to Julia.

When he raised his head again with a restless squirm in the chair, he was surprised to find Ronon sitting in the chair next to him. The man could be remarkably stealthy when he wanted. Ignoring Ronon for the time being, David leaned over and forced himself to look at John again. He could see the struggle on his brother's sleeping face as clearly as if John were shouting out his distress. John's hands twitched, shuddering with the uncontrolled impulses of the protein that was ravaging his body.

David reached out his own hand, and gripped his brother's until the tremors stopped.

"Tell me about John's command," he said to Ronon at last, sitting back in his chair again. "How many people report to him?"

"Atlantis keeps at least 50 Marines, plus another 100 or so Air Force officers and support staff." Ronon answered as casually as if they were sitting at a coffee shop instead of sitting vigil at his dying brother's side. It was exactly what David needed right then. He asked question after question, trying to understand something about John's life, each answer only spawning three more questions. Ronon kept answering.

"What's his operating budget?" David asked. Ronon seemed amused by the question, but again he answered easily.

"Sheppard doesn't like the money stuff. He mostly lets Sgt. Major Addison handle that part." Ronon suddenly looked at David intently. "Although, Sheppard did challenge the IOA when they wanted to increase the size of the base without matching the equipment budget. He was right, too. More men don't mean so much in our situation. We mostly work in small units. But equipment is damn important. Sheppard won't send his guys through the 'gate without the right set of gear."

David nodded. Budget justification issues he could relate to. It was becoming apparent that John was both active-duty soldier and administrator. David felt a pleased moment of connection. He would have to share with John some of his ideas on dealing with an oversight committee. If he got the chance. John suddenly shuddered again and this time his whole body arched with the contractions of randomly stimulated muscles. David felt the restlessness of inaction shudder through his own body.

"John doesn't look so good," he said. He was agitated again, and he crossed his arms over his chest. His heel bounced against the floor with nervous rhythm.

"He's been worse," Ronon said with a shrug.

"Worse?" Agitation flared into anger. "Worse than this? Worse than lying in a bed while his DNA gets scrambled to the point of respiratory distress?"

Ronon seemed to seriously consider what David had meant as rhetorical.

"Yeah. He's been worse," he said at last. "DNA scrambling included," he added.

David could only stare in shock. Ronon's statement had seemed utterly sincere. What kind of place was this? How much danger was his brother in most of the time? Ronon seemed to realize what David was thinking, and he shifted in his seat to face David directly. When he spoke there was an undercurrent of rebuke in his tone.

"Yeah. This is a hell of a dangerous job. Sheppard's good at it. Really good. He's saved my ass more times than I can count, not including the times he's saved the entire city. But men and women die here. Good people. And sometimes you can't do a damn thing about it."

"Surely you take precautions! Use risk/benefit analysis –?" Ronon cut him off with a snort.

"Of course we're cautious. Sheppard's the most cautious crazy man I know." His face turned reflective, and his next words were soft, "I used to think that was a flaw; I accused him of being a coward. But it doesn't matter how careful you are, sometimes stangfodder still happens. Sheppard went MIA last month because of a solar flare! A stupid accident. Just like that. And just when we needed him the most."

Last month? David suddenly remembered that it had taken John a long time to reply to the last message he'd sent about his inheritance. "John was missing in action?" His voice came out as a low growl. "For how long?"

"About 12 days. Last month. Before we found Teyla."

"12 days. Last month? Why wasn't I informed?"

"Because he came back." Ronon spoke as if it were obvious.

"And if he hadn't?" Ronon shrugged. An alarming thought brought David to the edge of his seat. "And this time. This injury. If John hadn't needed my blood. Would I have even been informed that he was hurt?"

"Probably not."

The frank admission felt like a blow to the gut. David flung himself back against the chair. His arms flopped limply onto the armrests. In a moment, his leg was bouncing again.

"Why not?" he turned angrily on Ronon at last. "Why won't the military let John contact his family in an emergency? I realize this is a Top Secret facility, but does the Air Force expect the men serving here to cut themselves off completely?" Ronon was chewing on his lip, looking a bit like a man in a trap.

"When was the last time you talked to Sheppard? Before the wake, I mean." David blinked at the non sequitor.

"It had probably been ten years since John left and stopped coming back. But –"

"And you're surprised that you're not on his ICE form?"

"Surely, if he really was injured seriously he would have –"

"None of us even knew he had a brother until your father died. I didn't even know until he introduced you at the funeral."

This second blow was even more painful than the first. John had rejected him to that degree? David had finally started to feel like he knew his brother, just a little. He'd finally started to let go of ten years of resentment as he began to understand that John had become more than a flyboy pilot who spent his weekends drinking in local bars. David suddenly realized that he'd always assumed that John would come home one day, begging forgiveness and expecting the prodigal's welcome.

Ronon was watching David carefully and David felt his face flush, his jaw clench with emotion.

"John told Teyla once that he didn't have any family. We just took him at his word," Ronon added, twisting the knife with a kind of grim satisfaction.

David closed his eyes. He remembered John at the wake, standing in the yard on the Ranch where they'd grown up. David saw himself assuming the worst, accusing John of leaving him to bear the family burden alone. He heard John say again, "I assume that's what Dad wanted." But this time, David remembered the deep hurt in John's expression, the tightness of his voice that had strangled the intended sarcasm into a confession.

John had finally come home. But he hadn't come to Dad's funeral to ask for forgiveness. He'd come looking to offer it.

"Something's up."

Ronon interrupted David's searing reflection by standing and tugging at his shoulder briefly. David struggled to focus, looking around for the something. There was indeed a sudden burst of activity at the door to John's section as McKay and Carter entered together. They were joined immediately by Dr. Keller. Teyla and Lorne appeared moments later and the group moved towards John's bed.

"What's going on?" Ronon asked, looking at McKay. Keller began reading the instruments around John and fiddled with the respirator as McKay answered.

"We're ready to try reversing the ATA mutations with the ascension device. Keller's going to get Sheppard ready to move to the ascension lab. We decided it was easier to reprogram the one here on Atlantis, than try to figure out Michael's."

"Think it'll work?" Ronon's question wasn't a challenge, just a request for some reassurance.

McKay looked unconvinced as he said, "I think so."

That was too much for David. His emotions were raw and his temper was being held down with the shakiest of control. "Do I understand correctly that you are going to expose John to the same radiation that injured him in the first place?" McKay nodded.

"Not exactly. We've reprogrammed our version of the device to reverse the mutations that are turning off his ATA gene."

"Has this programming been tested?"

"To the best of our ability in the time we have."

"Which means?"

"Not very much, I'll grant you, but –" David whirled towards Dr. Keller.

"Doctor, do you agree with this course of treatment?"

"It's the only course we have, David. It's risky, but if Rodney thinks it'll work, then that's the best we've got."

"I'm not sure that 'the best we've got' is good enough at this point. Perhaps we could wait for a while longer and see if John improves on his own. Or, perhaps there is some treatment on Earth –"

"Mr. Sheppard," this time it was Colonel Carter who addressed him, "I understand your concern. You don't know us very well, and it must be hard to trust our judgment on John's behalf. But there are issues here and time constraints that you're unaware of. If we do this, we have to do it now."

"I do admit to being concerned about your speaking for John. Is he capable of speaking for himself?" David asked Dr. Keller who looked surprised by the unexpected confrontation that had blown up around her.

"We haven't been able to rouse John at all. And even if we could, I would expect that the protein would inhibit his ability to think clearly."

"Then what about a living will? Has John ever left instructions for a situation such as this?"

The silence that suddenly fell around David felt icily hostile, and he drew himself up, prepared to take the matter on fully. He kept his chin high, even as he suddenly felt almost undressed in the T-shirt and canvas pants he was wearing. He usually chose his clothing carefully to convey the proper authority. It was Colonel Carter who finally replied.

"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard does have an advance health care directive. It's required of all personnel serving in hazardous duty."

"Then perhaps we should examine –"

"Mr. Sheppard. I know exactly what John's directive says. As his commanding officer, I signed it as witness when I assumed command of Atlantis."

"And I'm John's medical power of attorney," McKay said quickly, but his voice was soft.

"I see." David took a deep shuddering breath. Then that was the end of it. These people were taking care of everything. He had no place in his brother's life, except, "I'm just the blood bank here."

Teyla took a step closer, her expression showing concern for David. "We are grateful for your presence, David," she said. "Your gift of blood has held John to life while the treatment was being developed."

David lifted his chin, but said nothing more.

"Proceed, Dr. Keller," Colonel Carter ordered, and David understood that she was making it clear that the decision was being made formally and to John's specifications.

David found himself pushed back against his own bed as John's respirator was removed. He was then lifted onto a gurney for travel. Barely five minutes after Carter had given her order, John was gone. And David was alone. He sat on the edge of John's empty hospital bed, thinking.

After a while, he stood up and stretched. He threw back his shoulders and walked towards the infirmary exit where the lounging security officer jumped up to look at him expectantly. Michelson's shift had just ended and David couldn't remember this man's name at the moment.

"Where do you need to go, sir?" the Airman asked politely.

"Home, Airman." He would gather his things, speak to someone about arranging transportation. Once John was back from whatever they were doing to him, and they confirmed that David was no longer needed, he would go.

"I'm ready to go home."