Sorry about the delay! Family obligations and a serious lack of sleep as a result.

NEVER STOP MOVING
By TIPPER

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE WHINING WIND

"Rodney!" Teyla's call was filled with relief, but Rodney just shook his head, then winced when the motion obviously caused pain.

"Sure, now you see me." He swallowed, and one trembling hand drifted to his chest. "I'm clearly hurt, in need of care, and you two don't even spare a glance in my direction. What is up with that? I could have been dying here! I might still be dying! Oh, but, no..." He flapped a hand at them then, as if to gesture them away. "You two just continue to ignore your good and probably mortally injured friend Rodney—go back to your little argument and I'll just collapse from agony." He finished the long speech with a harsh cough, bending over some more.

Ronon grinned, pushing between Teyla and John and handing Rodney one of the canteens, uncapping it as he did so. Rodney's hand shook when he went to take it, so he balled his hand into a fist, his jaw tensing. When he opened his hand again, it was still, and he was able to take it with a steady hand...for about a minute. It was shaking again when he lowered it from his lips. He sighed a little.

When he handed it back to Ronon, who was still smiling, he turned what could only be described as a death glare on John and Teyla.

"Now," he said, "I'm going to admit that I don't entirely remember how we got here, or where here is, but I know this ship is not supposed to look like this." He held up the unattached left hand control stick and took a few unsteady steps forward, blinking around at the people with him as if everything was too bright. "I also know that, based on what I heard, you," he pointed the control at Teyla, "are right. And you," he pointed it at John, "are so, so, so wrong. You wanted to drag me out there?" He pointed towards the back hatch, and the world outside. "Are you insane? Desert! Des-ert! People die in deserts!"

John just blinked, "Rodney, I..."

"No, no, don't even try. You...you..." McKay shuddered slightly, then put his hand to his mouth. Suddenly, he was staggering quickly to the back, nearly colliding with the edge of the hatch, before leaning over the edge of the ramp and throwing up.

John sucked in a breath, grimacing...and tried not to be grateful that McKay had made it outside before doing that. Ronon, meanwhile, just let out a soft sigh and followed the scientist, still carrying the canteens.

Teyla, on the other hand, stayed exactly where she was, arms still crossed, her eyebrows lifted. It was the sort of look she gave him whenever she knew she had won an argument.

John gave her a wry look, and stood, teetering a little, pressing his legs against Rodney's chair to steady himself. He frowned, wondering why even just standing had managed to make his arm hurt. Damn it.

Teyla was already moving, reaching for his good arm as if she could help. "John, are you..."

"I'm fine," he said quickly, drawing his right arm away from hers. "Thanks. All right," he looked towards the back, "if he's really okay, and he can do it...we go with your plan. But I'm going to get Ronon started on preparing packs, just in case."

She nodded, though she smiled briefly with the acknowledgement that he was giving her 'plan' a chance now.

"Thank you, John."

"Thank McKay's thick skull," he replied, smirking a little. "Takes a lickin', keeps on tickin'." She just smiled back softly, not getting the reference, but not needing to. Returning his gaze to the back, he noted Rodney had gone the rest of the way outside after throwing up, and had sat himself down on the bottom of the ramp, his head against his knees. "Whatever Zelenka's taught you, go ahead and do what you can. I'm going to go and make sure Rodney can really do this—especially since it probably means he has to fly the Jumper as well."

Her eyebrows lifted—she obviously had not considered that. "Fly it?"

"It all depends on whether we get the left hand controls back," he explained. "And if we do...whether both left and right can be controlled with one hand…" He trailed off, not needing to point out the obvious.

She gave a grimace, but nodded. "Of course."

John gave a single nod in return, then turned and slowly made his way into the back, trying to jar his arm as little as possible as he walked. Following him, Teyla stopped near the control panels and picked up the data tablet off one of the benches. She started tapping the pad with the stylus, and John tried not to smile as he continued his journey into the sun-drenched world outside.

Ronon was squatting next to Rodney, who was still sitting with head against his knees and his boots half buried in the soft, pale sand. Spotting John, the Satedan nodded, stood and, holding up one of the canteens, indicated he was going back to the spring he found for more.

"When you get back," John said, "start preparing packs." Ronon gave a dark grimace in reply, but didn't disagree. With one final tap on McKay's back, the tall man jogged off into the desert.

Rodney lifted his head to watch him go, then tilted it up towards the sky as John gingerly set himself down beside him. The colonel tried not to groan as pain spiked up his arm and straight for the knot he could feel forming on his skull, but the sound came out anyway. Rodney, looking washed out in the bright light, squinted worriedly at the sound.

"What happened to your arm?" he asked softly. "You look awful."

"Apparently, I was a little too close to that energy beam when it sliced through the cockpit." John adjusted the sling, hissing as it rubbed against too sensitive skin. He could see blood spots already prickling through the white from the top of his shoulder all the way down the tricep—Teyla was right, he wouldn't survive in the desert with this arm. It would get infected very easily, even despite her ministrations—he'd last a couple of days, at most. Thinking about it made it worse—a wash of hot and cold ran through him, spiking the pain even more. He gritted his teeth to stop another groan from escaping. Amazingly, it worked, and he expelled his breath in a heavy sigh.

"Ouch," Rodney said in commiseration, not missing the play of pain across his friend's face. "Sorry." He tilted his head a little, his eyes a little hooded. "And your head? What happened to that?"

"Whacked it on the DHD."

McKay smiled. "You know, that bruise on your forehead is impressive. Like Tiffany Glass. It's a vivid reddish purple." His shaking right hand pointed up at his own forehead, starting up near the hairline and then moving down. "Runs from hairline almost to the top of your eyebrow. It's going to compete with your nose for size soon. Although," the small smile grew, "not many things can compete with your nose for size."

John gave him an arched look, wincing a little when his eyebrow obviously impacted bruise. "You're not serious. You did not just pick on the size of my nose."

"Call 'em like I see 'em." Still smiling, the scientist had turned his face back into the sun.

"Girls love my nose. It's majestic."

"Sure it is. Majestic like the Rockies, or maybe the Himalayas..."

"Least I don't have a head the size of a beach ball. Has it always been that big? How did you keep it propped up when you were smaller—those sticks they use to hold up orchid branches?"

Rodney just grinned. "Big head, big brain. It's all relative."

"Big head, big ego, lots of hot air," John replied. "And sadly, not a lot of hair..."

"Ouch!" Rodney said, giving John a mock wounded look. "That's low, Sheppard. You do not pick on a man's hair!"

"Yeah, but it rhymed so nicely," Sheppard smiled wickedly. He pointed up at his own head, and the rakish mop on top. "And I'm not going to lose my hair. Thicker than ever."

"Yeah, just like your skull," Rodney replied.

"Ach," John chuckled. "Okay, I walked into that one."

Rodney's grin grew wider, then started to fade. After a moment, he tilted his head down and looked forward, squinting at the sandy valley. The expression on his face was blank now.

"You know," Rodney frowned. "I've been trying to remember what happened, exactly. Last thing I remember clearly, we were nearly through the atmosphere—I had thought we had made it. Then it's just lots of swinging and jarring and bright orange light…"

"That'd be the energy beam."

"Probably. Whatever—what I mean is, it's all just a blur. Thing is, according to Ronon, I supposedly stopped us from crashing. Flew the ship and landed it…and I don't remember anything about that. Total blank." He frowned some more, then looked at John, who, taking a page from Rodney's book, was now the one tipping his head back and letting the sun caress his face. "Isn't that strange?"

"Not really," John replied, lowering his head again to look at Rodney. "You got knocked on the head…twice. Concussions often do that—make you forget what happened that caused the accident. Just one of their lovely side effects. You'll probably remember eventually."

"Oh," Rodney said again, and he rubbed at his chest. Then, "Is vomiting another?"

"Yup."

"Fabulous."

"Just try to keep it outside the Jumper, will you?" John pursed his lips, as if considering something, "I wonder if we could position you next to that hole in the side, so every time you had to throw up, you could just lean out."

"Har," Rodney grimaced. His voice softened, "Another thing, I'm not sure there'll be much more to throw up soon. Look," he held up a hand, which was shaking, just as it was before when he tried to take the canteen from Ronon. "Gotta be my hypoglycemia. I mean, with everything that's happened, I bet my blood sugar is—"

"Could also be adrenaline. Or nerves. Or it could just be psychosomatic." John smiled as he tipped his head back again. "I'm going with the third one."

Rodney spluttered, "Psychosomatic? It's a real condition, Colonel! I suffer from it daily!" He winced, as if it hurt to yell, and rubbed at his forehead. John pretended not to notice.

"Carson thinks it's mostly in your head."

"There's a lot of things in my head, Colonel, but this isn't one of them. Just because the Voodoo King thinks all things that can't be surgically removed or genetically altered isn't a real disease—"

"Carson's a brilliant doctor. You know, I think he's smarter than you."

Rodney's eyes widened, showing all the whites. "Oh…oh, you take that back, you…you…" He groaned suddenly, leaning forward and pressing a hand to his stomach. Then he shot a glare at John so dark, the Colonel actually flinched a little before grinning broadly. "You're just messing with me, aren't you?" Rodney snarled at the grin. "Sick and injured man, here! How can you be so mean?"

"You're one to talk," John grinned. "You called my nose big."

"Yeah, but making fun of you makes me feel better."

John snorted, but didn't disagree. Fact was...he felt exactly the same. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. He wondered, sometimes, just how attached he'd become to fighting with Rodney. The back and forth, the constant one-upmanship, the completely pointless mocking...And the greatest thing of all, it was all water off a duck's back. He could hang up on McKay when on the radio or the phone—Lord knows he did it at the end of almost every conversation he'd had with the man back on Earth—and it never mattered. McKay never, ever took offense. And McKay could call him any insult, vilify and malign him every which way to Sunday, and John always knew it wasn't how he truly felt. It had never occurred to him that it was anything but McKay being McKay. He'd never had a relationship with anyone like that before—not even his family—who, really, were the ones you were supposed to have a relationship like that with. Family always loves you, no matter what.

He snorted again, and looked over at Rodney. The scientist had his eyes closed again, leaning forward so that his head was getting very close to his bent knees.

"Hey," he called.

Rodney jerked a little and looked up, blinking out at the landscape.

"Don't fall asleep," John said.

"Yeah," Rodney gave a single nod. "I know. Because if I do, you'll kill us."

That startled John—McKay was serious. "Come again?"

McKay's lips twisted, "I may be a bit addled, but I'm not deaf. You told Ronon to prepare the packs. You're seriously considering us traipsing into the desert."

Oh. John grimaced, but gave a nod. "If we have to, yes."

"Crazy. I won't survive a day out there." He looked at John, "What if they have rattlesnakes? Remember Emergency? When Johnny Gage got bitten? He was down for the count almost instantly. The rattlesnakes in Pegasus could be ten times worse. Hell, they could be Wraith rattlesnakes!"

"Wraith rattlesnakes?"

"There are Wraith bugs, there could be Wraith rattlesnakes. There are probably even Wraith scorpions out there somewhere."

"Or Wraith McKays. The deadliest creatures of all!"

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I. McKay, look..." John frowned, realizing Rodney's anger wasn't overcoming his fear this time. He leaned forward, grabbing at a long piece of dry, yellow grass with his good hand to poke at the sand with. "How much of my argument with Teyla did you hear?"

The scientist gave a soft sigh, "Not much. All I really heard was my name, bandied with words like, 'if McKay can do this,' or 'if McKay can do that,' followed by, 'then we don't have to go die out in the desert.' So," he sighed again, "I figured I should get up, because I didn't want to die in the desert."

Sheppard gave a small smile, then looked down. "Yeah. That's about the gist of it."

McKay raised his still shaking hand to his head, and, as much as John tried to pretend it wasn't serious—that shake was anything but psychosomatic. McKay was also talking much more slowly than normal—he was almost drawling.

Yeah...He and Rodney were in real trouble.

"What do you need me to do?" Rodney asked quietly, rubbing his right hand with his left now. Rodney hadn't noticed...but his left hand wasn't shaking as much as the right. John had to push down the urge to freak out about that. He was grateful Rodney hadn't noticed—had attributed the trembling to hypoglycemia.

"Fix the Jumper."

"Obviously. What else?"

"Knock out that Gate Shield."

McKay nodded, "Sure. What else?"

"Take us off their sensors."

"Easier and easier. And...?"

"Stop them from firing that weapon."

"Ha, and I thought you were going to ask me to do hard things! Silly me. Anything else?"

"Just that...," John pursed his lips, then gave a slow head shake. "We may only have a couple of hours to get that all done before we have to move the Jumper again. And...the Jumper only has a few hours of power left."

Rodney made another 'ha' like sound, this one almost a cry of pain. "Fabulous," he said shakily. "Maybe I'll turn water into wine while I'm at it. Would that be good?"

"Actually, no. Not in a desert. Wine into water would be cool though. Could you do that?"

Rodney didn't answer. He just curled his knees up higher and lowered his head against them fully.

"For the record?" he muttered, his voice muffled by his knees.

"Yeah?"

"This sucks."

John did the only thing he could. He rested a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I know."

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TBC...