There was nothing he could do but watch helplessly from above as John Sheppard fell from the sky. He looked down, horrified to find the trees coming up to meet them at an alarming rate. And then suddenly he was Sheppard and the trees caught him, slamming their branches into his body and tearing at every inch of exposed skin. Small branches grew ever larger, until limbs as big around as his thigh--or larger--were battering him. And then he saw the ground, rushing up to meet him at an incredible speed. He screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth, and still the ground kept coming. He tried to put his arms over his head to protect himself, but he couldn't make them move. He could see each leaf, each pebble, each clump of dirt clearly now as he continued to fall. And then there was impact.

Rodney gasped, his eyes flying open as his heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. A dream, he realized. It had all been a dream. Movement caught the corner of his eye and turned to look, stunned at the sight of John Sheppard standing next to his bed, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

"Oh thank God! You're okay," marveled Rodney. He relaxed back into his pillow, closing his eyes to savor the welcome realization that it had all been a horrible, horrible nightmare.

Sheppard snorted. "If you call this okay," he said accusingly.

McKay cracked open one eye to look at him warily. "You're up and around, walking, talking, breathing, without even a scratch on you. What else would you call it?"

"No, I'm not," insisted Sheppard.

"Not what?" Rodney, still shaken by the dream, was a little slow on the uptake.

"You're supposed to be a genius; figure it out."

Annoyed, he opened both eyes, squinting to get a good look at the pilot as he checked off each point. "You're standing upright here without any difficulty, so up and around. Walking, check. Talking, yet another check..." His eyes widened in alarm as he took in the stillness of Sheppard's chest. "Oh my God! You-you-you're not breathing," he squeaked.

"Give the man a cigar," drawled Sheppard. "Of course I'm not breathing. I'm dead." His eyes glittered with anger. "I'm dead because YOU killed me."

Rodney's heart was again trying to beat its way out of his chest. "B-but I didn't know...I would never have..." He turned anguished eyes to his dead friend. "I-I-I didn't mean it--I swear I didn't mean for it to happen!"

John threw his hands up in the air, his face growing even darker. "Oh well, that makes all the difference then, doesn't it? He didn't mean it, so hey, so what if John Sheppard is DEAD? It's all okay because RODNEY MCKAY didn't mean for it to happen." The not-breathing Sheppard began to pace. "You were supposed to be my friend, Rodney! Well some friend you turned out to be! I'm dead, McKay--I'm dead and it's all YOUR fault!"

"No!" insisted Rodney. "No, this can't be happening! You were alive and we brought you back and Carson fixed you. You can't be dead." His voice grew smaller with each word. "You can't."

"Well I am--and you killed me. What kind of friend does something like that anyway, Rodney?"

"A bad one?" offered the physicist tentatively.

Dead-Sheppard wasn't amused. "No, McKay. A real friend doesn't kill people who are his friends--period! So I guess I know how you really feel about me after all this time, don't I?"

"NO! Don't you say that! I-I-I totally suck at the whole friends-thing, I freely admit that--but don't you EVER say that I did not care!"

The deceased colonel smiled malevolently. "Fine, then prove it."

"What? How?" asked McKay dubiously.

Dead-Sheppard made a show of pretending to think the matter over before responding. "Well now, the way I see it, if you were a real friend, you would gladly give exactly what you took from me--a life for life."

Rodney swallowed hard, not liking where the conversation appeared to be heading. "Um, uh, I don't know...I mean, I'm not sure..."

"You trying to weasel out of it?" demanded the colonel. "Because that would mean this whole friends-thing, as you so aptly put it, was nothing but a load of crap. Is that what you're saying, Rodney?"

"No! I-I was just wondering...how..." McKay couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"Oh don't worry," assured Dead-Sheppard. "I'll make sure it's fast and painless--even though my own death was anything but."

Rodney swallowed hard, knowing he was out of options. "Okay! All right. I admit it, I deserve this. I just..." His eyes widened at the large knife that Dead-Sheppard had pulled from his belt and was now holding over McKay's chest. Rodney's words died in his throat as the knife descended toward his heart, time having slowed to a crawl as he lay there helpless, waiting for the strike that would end his life. His heart pounded as he watched it come closer and closer, until finally, it plunged deep into his chest.

"Rodney!"

He could barely hear the voice calling his name over the screams that filled the air. There was a sharp sting on his cheek as Rodney's eyes popped open to reveal the worried face of Carson Beckett above him. He closed his mouth and the screams died away as he desperately gulped in air, shivering uncontrollably.

Carson reached for McKay's wrist, checking his pulse as he subtly observed the physicist. "Feeling a wee bit better now?"

Rodney nodded, but said nothing as he concentrated on breathing.

"Care to talk about it?" Though his tone was casual, there was no missing the Scot's concern--or his desire for his patient to comply.

McKay shook his head, closing his eyes and laying back as Beckett went about checking him over. The click and hiss of the ventilator nearby seemed to grow louder and louder, until finally he could stand the noise no more.

"I had a dream," he blurted out. "Well, more of a nightmare, really. I-I watched Sheppard falling from the sky after the crash and then suddenly I was Sheppard and the trees were coming at me really, really fast a-and I hit the ground but then I woke up, only I wasn't really awake at all. I was still dreaming, but in the dream I opened my eyes and Sheppard was there and-and he was okay--or at least I thought he was okay, but then we were talking and I found out that he wasn't okay at all because he was dead because I killed him which of course made him angry so he wanted me to pay him back for what I took from him and then he had this knife a-a-and-and he held it over me and-and then it was coming at me but I couldn't move and then it..." He shuddered violently, unable to get the words out to describe how it had felt when the knife had entered his chest.

"Easy there," soothed Carson, placing his hand supportively on McKay's shoulder. "Well that was quite the dream now, wasn't it? Lucky we both know something like that could never, ever happen for real."

Rodney didn't answer him, instead turning his head away. The constant clicking and hissing noises served as a constant reminder that John Sheppard, his friend, lay in a nearby bed fighting for his life with every forced breath of air. It wasn't right that the colonel was still near death while Rodney was well on his way to recovery. Oh, Beckett hadn't said so, but his reluctance to provide any information the pilot certainly spoke volumes in his book.

Carson squeezed his shoulder, his voice full of concern. "Rodney? What's eatin' at ye?"

McKay's chin lifted in defiance. "Who says there's anything bothering me? For your information, it's the middle of the night and I'm tired, that's all."

"Aye, downright exhausted, I'd venture to guess. I suppose I'll leave ye be so ye can get back to sleep then." Beckett patted his shoulder and patted his shoulder one final time. "Sleep well, Rodney; I'll be back to check on ye around breakfast time."

He'd barely taken two steps away when Rodney stopped him. "Don't go!" McKay tried to down play his over-reaction, not wanting to admit that he was still to shaken to be alone. "I mean, now that you're here, you could stay awhile. If you wanted to, I mean. We could...talk...or...something."

Carson turned around, not appearing to be at all surprised by the sudden change of heart. He pulled a chair up to the bedside and took a seat. "All right, Rodney. What shall we talk about?" he asked, folding his hands casually over his midsection.

And there it was, Rodney realized. The perfect opening. He opened his mouth to begin the conversation, but no words could come out. His heart was pounding for fear of what the Scot would tell him, but he had to know and so he forced himself to reach deep within to find the strength to speak the words. "H-how's Sheppard?" There, it was done, he thought, his anguished eyes lifting to meet Carson's as he waited for the news.

Beckett nodded, his expression telling Rodney that he'd been expecting the question. "He's doing well, all things considered," he hedged. "There was internal bleeding and a punctured lung, which we've managed to repair through surgery."

McKay was now recovered and alert enough that he immediately picked up on the Scot's hesitation. "So what are you not saying? And don't try to tell me nothing or gloss over it, either. I know you and I know that look. And it's telling me that there's bad news that you're trying very hard to keep from me. So just spill it already and save us both the time and me the effort of having to pry it out of you."

The Scot was silent for a long time, staring down at his knee and picking at the fabric of his scrubs. Finally he raised his head, looking Rodney in the eye as he spoke. "He's in a bad way, Rodney. It could very easily go either way. We nearly lost him on the table twice and again no more than an hour ago. We've managed to bring him back each time so far, but..."

He hitched back a sob at Beckett's confirmation of his fears. Staring up at the ceiling, he fought back the tears as he attempted to process the news. Carson didn't push him to talk, allowing him the time to gather his thoughts, but Rodney's mind was in a whirl as his thoughts flitted from one disjointed memory to another of the most screwed up mission in the history of all missions.

Visions of Sheppard's face flowed through his mind like a fast-moving stream. It started with the image of him pale underneath all the scratches when Ronon called them up the hill. Then came the briefing room and the trademark smirk when they traded barbs. After that he was standing in the council chamber when they were arguing over Rodney's offer that John test-pilot their damn airplane. Next came the look of pure joy that Sheppard always wore when he was flying. Then it was back to the forest after the crash and his features were drawn, scrunched as tightly as possible from the pain of his injuries. Finally, it was back to the council room and the look of trust in those hazel eyes that would now haunt him until his dying day.

Rodney's anguished eyes met Beckett's sympathetic gaze. "Oh God, Carson, I killed him. I killed Sheppard."

The Scot shook his head, not hesitating for an instant. "Ye've done no such thing, ye bloody fool. In case it's escaped your notice, Colonel Sheppard is not dead." Carson rose and yanked the curtain separating McKay's bed from the rest of the infirmary ward. "He's right over there and he's still breathing. And if there's one thing I've learned about John Sheppard since I've come to have the pleasure, it's that he's a fighter. He's proven time and time again that he does not know the meaning of the words 'give up'. So as long as the man is still breathing, I'll not be counting him out--and neither should you."

McKay watched Sheppard, listening to the click and hiss of the machine as it breathed for his friend. Rodney couldn't see him all that well with all the various monitors, machines, tubes, and wires surrounding him. He looked back to Carson with tears in his eyes and an angry expression on his face. "Is he? Because from what I can see, he's not really breathing at all. Your damn machine is doing it for him," he said accusingly.

Beckett's eyes narrowed. "I won't pretend to know why ye're so determined to take responsibility for this, but I'll not sit here and listen to you bury the man before he's truly gone. He's got a helluva fight on his hands if he's to survive, yes, but you know as well as anyone--even better than most, I'd say--that if there's one thing John Sheppard does well, it's survive against impossible odds."

"I activated the machine that shot him down!" Rodney's voice was loud and carried through the entire ward. "If I had only waited..." His eyes drifted again over to the bed where Sheppard lay. "Or better yet, if I hadn't talked him into flying the damn plane in the first place..."

Carson's tsk-tsking drew his attention back to the Scot. "Och, ye should know better than that, Rodney. Ye cannot live your life always wondering about the 'what ifs' for every action ye take. No good can come of it--you'll remain stuck in the past and unable to ever move forward."

"That's easy for you to say--you're not the one responsible for Sheppard's accident, hence it won't be your fault when he dies!" Rodney knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't seem to stop himself as he worked up to another long--and loud--rant.

"Lower your voice," demanded Beckett, his tone low but threatening. "If ye cannot get hold of yourself, I'll have no choice but to sedate ye." He paused long enough to be certain that he was getting through to the physicist. Once he was sure he had McKay's attention, he continued. "Now then, as ye lie here waiting to fall back to sleep, think on this. Colonel Sheppard needs his friends' full support--all of them--if he is indeed going to pull this one out. So I'll not have ye sitting next to his bedside spouting your gloom and doom. If ye want to see the man once ye're out of here, then I'd suggest ye find a way to stop feeling sorry for yourself and start believing in your friend."

Rodney was about to argue, but realized from the look on Carson's face that he was completely serious. He abruptly closed his mouth and turned his head to watch John. It was his fault that Sheppard had been injured and nothing would change that. But he also owed it to Sheppard to be there when the end finally came. He made up his mind then and there that he'd play Beckett's little game--even if he couldn't make himself really believe it. He turned back to the doctor. "Fine, you win. I'll be Mr. Positive and jump through all your little hoops, but just so you know, I have every intention of staying right next to his side until he does finally wake up."

Carson looked like he wanted to argue, but instead hedged around the point. "We'll talk about that later. Right now ye need sleep. Will ye be all right or do ye need a little help? Nothing strong, mind ye, just enough to help ye drift off again."

Suddenly feeling very tired, McKay shook his head. "I don't need any help." He closed his eyes, but he could feel Beckett watching him. Determined not to give in, he ignored the doctor and focused on breathing evenly. And before he knew it, Rodney was again asleep.