Sheppard's body convulsed in a cough, and Carson eased the tube out of his throat. "He's breathing on his own. Regaining consciousness." He glanced at Ronon, who had been holding vigil next to the colonel. No matter what else was happening in the city, someone had been at Sheppard's side during every minute of the week he'd been lying unconscious. Ronon lost no time in radioing the rest of the team.

Sheppard opened his eyes. "Either – I'm back, or those ascended people are really mad at me again," he said weakly. His eyes drifted shut again.

McKay whipped his head around, his eyes lighting up. "John?"

Carson stood with a smile spreading across his face. "Welcome back, lad. We missed you somethin' terrible," he said, putting his hand on John's in a gently ecstatic greeting.

"You're – you're alive." McKay was standing too. "That's – that's incredible. It was my idea, you know -"

Carson patted him on the shoulder. "There's a few others may have had a wee bit to do with it," he said, smiling in open affection.

Elizabeth was the next to speak. "Good job, doctor." Sheppard's eyes drifted open again. They were sleepy and glazed, but filled with joy. Elizabeth moved close to his side, smiling at the heartfelt warmth of that expression. "Welcome home, Colonel. I never could quite believe we'd lost you."

Sheppard gave a tiny nod, a drugged grin on his face. His eyes searched for Teyla and Ronon, and found them standing off to the side. Ronon had his arm around Teyla's shoulders, and both were smiling broadly. Carson put a hand on his shoulder. "How are you feeling? I expect you'll be quite weak for some time, but we can help with the pain, and make you as comfortable as possible."

He closed his eyes, clearly marshalling the energy to speak. "Everything hurts. My leg-"

Carson gave his shoulder a reassuring rub. "Aye, the leg was a bloody mess. But I already put the pieces back together. You're going to be right as new afore long." He connected a syringe to Sheppard's IV line and began slowly depressing the plunger. "Morphine," he explained. "Should take care of any worries. No call for you to be in pain."

Sheppard closed his eyes, the drug trickling into his bloodstream fostering a sense of contentment. The world went from dizzying and painful to comfortable and very, very safe. He couldn't exactly make out what the familiar voices around him were saying, but he didn't have to. He was home.

The ache of his wounds was fading, and he tried to open his eyes to speak to the others. He found he couldn't, and sudden panic jolted through him. "Don't – knock – me – out," he whispered. He wasn't going to risk losing this. The idea of sleeping and slipping away into the void again made his blood run cold.

Carson heard the barely audible plea and moved his hand from the plunger, glancing at his monitors. Sheppard's heart rate had spiked sharply, his fear written as digits on a screen. "All right, lad."

Sheppard's body was shaking slightly, and his heart rate was increasing. Carson reached out and touched his shoulder reassuringly; it helped a little, but he could feel the slight quiver of his muscles. "Colonel?" he asked, puzzled and not a little concerned. His breathing and heart rate steadied, and Carson kept light contact with the man's shoulder. Sheppard's expression was neutral, but Carson could see what looked suspiciously like a tear in the corner of one closed eye.

He waved at a nurse. "I need a light stimulant, lass. Just a wee bit, to counteract the sedating effect of the morphine." It was nothing but a hunch, but hunches had carried him a long way in medicine. He gave the injection and waited, hoping he hadn't made his friend's condition any more unstable.

"Is he-" Rodney started to speak nervously, but Elizabeth cut him off with a glare and they continued to watch in silence. Sheppard relaxed with a deep sigh as the stimulant took effect, and finally opened his eyes, looking directly at Carson.

"Thanks." He looked sheepish, and had to look away to continue. "Not – ready to go back there yet."

"Ah, we're keepin' you here with us," said Carson. "Believe me, lad, there's no way we're losing you again." He looked to the crowd in the infirmary. Normally not what he'd suggest surrounding an incredibly weak patient with, but he imagined this was exactly the right medicine for John Sheppard.

The doctor motioned with his hand. "Softly, now. He's conscious, but he's very weak and I gave him a good bit of morphine. I wouldn't try to talk right now."

"No need to talk," said Ronon, striding to the side of the bed and gripping Sheppard's limp hand firmly in his. It was as close to a bear-hug as he dared, and Sheppard grinned happily, trying to keep his eyes open.

Sheppard gave a low groan. "I hate ascended people." He wasn't aware of exactly who was at his side; he simply knew that someone was.

"Do you. Really." Rodney looked at him skeptically. "Seems like you've been pretty fond of a couple."

"Okay, one or two might be okay. But if you ever meet one named Mia, run. Just thinking about her gives me a headache. That is one deeply messed up lady."

"Did she hurt you? Was she the one trying to keep you from coming back?"

Sheppard nodded. "She hurt me, engaged me in philosophical debate, comforted me –" he shuddered. "Reminded me of someone else I could stand to forget."

"So." Rodney counted off on his fingers. "Iratus bugs, clowns, and all ascended beings aside from those with which you are currently having sex-"

"Give it a break, Rodney," protested Sheppard. "This was not enjoyable. In fact if I die again, shoot me."

"John, you've been awake for thirty bloody hours! You must sleep," said Carson firmly, wishing for once that the man wasn't so stubborn.

"Stayed awake a lot longer than that before," said Sheppard.

"But not when you were half dead, I wager," argued Carson.

"Usually – when I was half dead," replied Sheppard, dismissing the doctor's worries with a grin.

He couldn't remember ever having felt this exhausted, but every time he started to drift into sleep he was gripped with terror, heart racing, every part of his mind revolting at the mere thought of leaving again. He couldn't even see straight any more, let alone think. Something was shaking him, gripping his arm.

"Look at me, John." It was Carson, speaking in a tone that would not be ignored. He managed to focus his gaze on the doctor. "This could kill you. Sleep deprivation and acute emotional distress is the last thing your body needs while it is fighting to stay alive. That leg was a bloody nightmare to treat, and you are this close to succumbing to a very serious infection."

Sheppard winced, closing his eyes. Every feeling he had was rubbed raw, the lack of sleep and the trauma of the last few weeks stripping his ability to guard his feelings. Getting yelled at by Carson –

"Stop crying! You think a sniveling, weak-minded –"

The doctor touched his hand gently, and he forced his eyes open. There was kindness in the doctor's manner; genuine kindness, not the sickening, twisted variety that came from people who ripped your world apart under the guise of caring.

"I need you to trust me, lad." Carson's voice was low and gentle; he clearly recognized that the commanding tone had been a mistake. "It is my opinion as a doctor and a rational human being that you have to be sedated, and that you will come out of it. It would break our hearts to lose you again, Colonel."

"Okay," whispered Sheppard, closing his eyes and fighting the feeling that he'd just agreed to let Carson execute him. "Go ahead." He caught the telltale shake in his voice and shut up.

He felt the needle in his arm, and the doctor's reassuring voice. "That's it, lad. You are going to be back with us in no time, I promise. Sleep well, now."

Elizabeth Weir knew she should be resting, but she decided to spend one more hour with the sleeping colonel. "How are you holding up, love?" asked Carson pointedly as he entered.

She gave him a tired smile. "Better than he is. How about you, doctor?'

Carson wheeled over a cart filled with bandages and sat with a tired smile. "Tired, same as you. It's difficult, treating a patient who has become so dear to – all of us."

Carson unwrapped the bandage protecting Sheppard's wrist where the ropes had shredded his skin. She'd seen the marks before, on his lifeless body, and had been incapable of looking closely. This time – they looked like they were healing; healing very well, in fact. Carson deftly applied a gel to the cuts, and she was about to look away when something caught her eye. "Are those scars?" she asked the doctor.

"Aye," said Carson.

Elizabeth was silent while Carson finished, wrapping a soft bandage around their friend's injured wrist. "He came to Atlantis with those?" she asked finally.

"Aye," said Carson.

"Is that why he always wears that wristband?" Elizabeth asked. "To keep people from noticing?"

Carson shook his head. "I don't think so." He looked down at the sleeping Colonel. "He's never spoken of it, but he's not self-conscious about the scars. I think that band means something to him, but-" he smiled. "You know him, lass. He's not about to tell us."

Elizabeth sighed. The file was so cold and distant in its words about this very warm and lively human being. Captured – date, time, location. Extracted, date, time, location. Extraction was an odd name for the rescue that had obviously made such an impression on his entire being. Arrest, charges, date. The court-martial, plea bargaining – it had all ended up with this special soul taking up a new home so far from earth, and she felt a pang of guilt at being glad it had happened.

She leaned forward, speaking softly. "Welcome home, John."

Elizabeth felt Carson's hand on her arm and stood. "He's lucky to have you, dear," said the tired doctor.

Sheppard finally opened his eyes after what seemed like an eternity of drifting in and out of consciousness. Carson was sitting in a chair next to him, filling out charts. He wondered just how long the doctor had kept up this vigil; every time he'd been conscious for even a minute, Carson had been there to check on his pain medication, ask him how he was feeling, and reassure him that his condition was improving. "Sorry about all the work," he said, his voice coming out dry and scratchy.

Carson smiled and held up a cup of water with a straw for him to sip at. "You just keep saving all our lives, lad." He patted Sheppard on the shoulder. "I'll keep fixing you up after."

Ronon withdrew a knife from his belt and handed it to Sheppard. "A get-well present?" asked Sheppard. "I've never known you to be that sentimental, are you all right?"

"It was Taggart's."

Sheppard looked at the blade with distaste. "I recognize it."

"Thought you might," said Ronon with a satisfied and very lethal smile. "Took it off him just before I sliced his throat open with it."

Sheppard looked up in mock alarm. "Tell me his head isn't on a spike outside my quarters."

"Wrong body part," said Ronon with a slightly sadistic gleam in his eye.

"I don't even want to – owwwwww!" Sheppard howled in sudden pain, startling both him and Ronan. He reached for his head, fingers exploring for the source of the burning, stinging sensation.

"What is it?" asked Carson, hurrying to the side of the bed and giving a very skeptical look at the knife as he gently pulled Sheppard's hand away from his head.

"Something – hurts," said Sheppard. "I felt some kind of lump –" he grimaced and held himself still while the doctor pulled on gloves and started exploring his hair.

Beckett signaled a nurse. "I need a strong light, and an injection of Lidocaine. An offworld biohazard containment box, as well."

"What-" asked Sheppard, a bit dismayed.

Beckett placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Remember the round yellow creature that bit you? There is a small one here seems to have attached itself to your scalp. If I had to venture a guess, I would say it's been nesting in your hair, colonel."

"Great," muttered Sheppard, lying back and relaxing. "I sense another embarrassing 'welcome home from the strange planet' protocol in our futures."

"Aye," said Carson, grinning as he worked efficiently at detaching the pest. "We're going to have to start flea combing you. Daily." He dodged Sheppard's slap with ease.