AN: Hello everybody, I'm glad that some people still read this story which, I must confess, is growing way too much for my liking. When I started, I thought I'd be done by this amount of words. And look at it, we're just halfway through. :-) I'll see what I can do - I hope to write more now that I've passed all the exams for this school year.

Oh, and if the second part of this chapter sounds off, blame it on Rodney's blood sugar dropping, starvation and something the bug had spat into his bloodstream before he fell asleep. And please, I really need to know what you guys think about this chapter.

Doing What Has To be Done

Atlantis, Infirmary. Carson's office. He was working on a medical document from Atlantis' database opened in his computer. Suddenly, he hiccuped. His current problem was very annoying but the usual tricks, like pressing a tongue on the roof of the mouth and holding breath for ten seconds, hadn't worked on him.

"Bloody hell," he muttered and hiccuped once more. "Who is thinking," hiccup, "about me?" He hiccuped again and rubbed his forehead. He was getting tired of this and what's more, his chest had begun to hurt. He swore he would sell his soul to the devil just to stop it.

Suddenly, there was a timid knock on his door. "Speaking of the…" he hiccuped once more and shook his head. "Come in," he called and tried to suppress another sound of a stopped breath and consequently heart.

The door opened and Aiden walked in. Carson noticed gladly that he was more confident with his crutches and was moving almost as fast as without them. "What can I…" he started but hiccuped. His face went red in embarrassment that he couldn't get rid of it.

Aiden smiled and looked at him. "Looks like it's contagious, Doc," he joked.

"Excuse ma?" Carson eyed him puzzled before another hiccup escaped his throat.

Aiden had to hold back a laugh. He knew it wouldn't be fair towards their most favourite doctor so he schooled his expression and said seriously: "I've just left the control room and Dr. Grodin was doing even worse than you. I wonder, have you eaten or drunk anything together?"

Carson blinked and hiccuped. "No, we have not."

"Maybe you should try gulping some water," Aiden suggested with a shrug. He tried to be helpful in a way he could. And he didn't think Carson was 'barking' as long as Peter had. It had started soon after he and Elizabeth entered her office and lasted even when they left it about ten minutes later. Peter was so unhappy and the glances others cast him were so angry at the disturbances… Aiden rather returned to Carson and watched him carefully.

"Yeah, maybe. But," Carson hiccuped and shook his head desperately, "it isn't so frequent," hiccup, "anymore."

Aiden looked at him sceptically and decided to try something on him. Either it would help or he would get yelled at for mocking him. Aiden turned his head to the door and pretended to hiccup himself for good measure. Carson got angry that he was making fun of his condition and raised his voice, his accent very pronounced: "Lieutenant, I'm not just decoratif heer to bee loughed at. Iv ye need something, tell ma now or leaf immediately. I'm reelly not in the mood for…" He stopped abruptly because he expected another hiccup to interrupt his speech but, surprisingly, there was none. He waited for a while with his index finger raised but he didn't need to hiccup again and so he blew out a sigh of relief.

Aiden smiled broadly and told him: "You're both so similar. Once you get angry at somebody, you forget all your problems."

Carson frowned at him as he didn't understand. It was true that he was more easily caught angry and snappy when he himself suffered from a disease or a health problem but how that was related to Grodin was out of his grasp.

Aiden went closer to him and sat in the visitor's chair. "Dr. Weir told something to Dr. Grodin and it made him spit like a wild cat. Obviously, it worked so well that his hiccup was gone and everybody in the control room finally relaxed." He winked at Carson. "I won't tell anyone that it works on you, too, Doc." However, he didn't tell Carson that Elizabeth had sneaked behind Peter before speaking to him so he was really startled by her sudden appearance in his comfort zone.

Carson left his lips pressed together but his eyes lit up with amusement and a small amount of disbelief. "Thank ye," he said and he meant it.

"You're welcome," Aiden answered. He looked down at his hands, then back up at Carson. "But could you do me a favour for it?"

Carson straightened in his chair and waited patiently with a small kind smile. He was sure it wouldn't be anything severe but it sounded quite intriguing. "What kind of favour?" he demanded when Aiden didn't continue but looked all around the room but at him.

Aiden fidgeted in his chair because he didn't know if he could dare to say it out loud, but then did look at Carson nervously. "I need one of those 'Sleeping Power Bars' you make," he confessed finally.

Carson frowned. Not many people knew about them, mainly because he had used them on three people only. And that would be their boss, their military CO and their residential genius… So instead of why Aiden wanted it, he asked: "How do you know about them?"

Aiden sent him a sheepish glance before his eyes rested on Carson's Thermos flask sitting to his left. It was easier to watch something that didn't live and pretend to say everything to it. "Major Sheppard told me. Once he cautiously sniffed a Power bar he had received either from you or Dr. McKay, I can't really remember. When I asked him, he told me about you having slipped him and McKay sedatives into their bars after the Storm. You know, the one with Kolya. He claimed the bar had smelled after apples." He shrugged and moved his sight slightly to have a better look at Carson who was nodding in understanding.

"Um-huh," Carson said. "Okay, well and why do ye need one? Ye're not afraid of needles so I can give ye a shot if ye have problems sleeping."

Aiden held his hands up. "No, that's not…" He lowered his hands and confessed: "I would like it for a friend of mine."

Carson raised his right eyebrow expectantly. Aiden breathed out and went on: "He couldn't get any sleep for the past days due to her responsibilities. She's…" he stopped and coughed, "he's been under lots of stress due to…"

Carson interrupted him, "Are ye talking about Dr. Weir, Lieutenant?"

Aiden sent him an embarrassed look that he was unable to keep the secret away from the doctor as Elizabeth had hinted to him that she would be grateful for one. He watched his hands, nodded and sighed.

Carson knew he was right. He held out a hand and touched Aiden, who jerked up at his hand on his shoulder. When Carson was sure he had his attention, he told him: "I know what ye mean. And had we been on the Earth, I would let her pull through it herself because she would sleep off her sorrow. But days here are longer so when she reaches the limit incompatible with her role, I'll take care of her maself."

Aiden blinked at his sudden confession. He couldn't believe their doctor was capable of such a radical step, although in the right direction. His astonishment was so clear that Carson couldn't help but chuckle at his expression. Then he stated more seriously: "She had chosen Rodney for this expedition long before she even knew there would be any. Despite what people have claimed, she's found out more about him on her own. So we can't expect her to be heartless."

Aiden nodded; her distress was very apparent when they talked in her office, discussed the findings again and agreed on what to do next when John returned. He thought about her behaviour so he was caught unawares by Carson's next question: "Do have any idea why Major Sheppard also seemed to blame himself so much for Rodney's loss?"

Aiden frowned and shrugged. He hadn't thought about it more than that John had lost a bitching but very valuable team member. And well, McKay had been one of the best scientists they had here. When he remembered how scared he had been during the nanite problem and how he had babbled about his sister and asked them to say he died doing something brave, he felt really sorry for him.

"Maybe you should find out when they return," Carson suggested. "I doubt he would tell me or Doctor Weir."

Aiden looked at him thoughtfully and agreed. "Fine, I will try."

Carson smiled and Aiden prepared to leave. Then Carson stopped him. "Don't forget to see me in the afternoon with your ankle."

"Yes, mum," Aiden joked without emotion and left the room.

Carson shook his head and continued his work on the document. But he couldn't concentrate enough so he closed his laptop and walked out of his office to get some fresh air on the Infirmary balcony. God knew he needed to relax.

– – – – – – – – – –

M1X-808, a hollow tree near the river. Rodney woke up early in the morning and shot upright gasping for breath. It was just before dawn and the area had become bright enough to distinguish all its features. Rodney took a shuddering breath and put a hand on his chest.

"No feeding marks," he muttered silently and exhaled happily that it had all been just a bad dream. A nightmare would be a better term because he had dreamt about being chased by a male Wraith. He had tried to run away but hadn't been fast enough to get rid of it. Then he had got to a dead end; had been forced to back there. The Wraith had advanced on him and Rodney had tried to back some more as he hadn't had any weapon to fight it off. Unfortunately, he had tripped over a rock and had fallen to the ground. Before he had been able to stand up, the Wraith had squatted down to him and had held him down with his non-feeding hand. Rodney had been terrified and had hyperventilated. The Wraith had seemed to enjoy his utter terror clear in his eyes and had prolonged that part as much as it could. Then it had torn his blue T-shirt while threatening to leave him enough life to see their victory when taking over Atlantis. Rodney hadn't been able to draw in a decent breath and the Wraith had been able to feel so. Therefore, it had waited no more, placed its feeding hand on his chest, dug its nails and the mouth-like opening into Rodney's tender flesh and had begun to take his years. Rodney had woken up shocked just at that very moment.

Now, he was taking slow deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He was sweating and shaking like a leaf. He finally realised how John had to be feeling every time he had a nightmare about the Wraith. He had to be petrified because not only had he woken them up, but also killed his commander in the process. And if Col. Sumner played a part in the dream, it had to be much worse. Rodney knew John had never fallen asleep completely without Carson's sedatives and he had his 9mm and a knife at arm's length. Sometimes it saved them, sometimes not, but it had become a habit Rodney made sure of on difficult missions when their weapons weren't taken.

Rodney wiped his wet hot forehead and wondered how he could remember all details of the dream so vividly in his current condition. He hardly remembered anything when resting at Atlantis so why now and this? It was a nonsense to dream about the Wraith when they hadn't set their feet on this planet for thousands of years.

Rodney shook his head and exhaled deeply. Then he looked out of his hiding place and found out that it wasn't raining anymore. The casing full of water was to his left and a bird was chirping in branches above him.

"At least somebody can sing with happiness," Rodney sighed.

He was stiff and numb because wood hadn't been the best choice for a bed. He slowly moved his limbs to get blood circulating again, so that he could move. He turned his neck and it cracked loudly in protest. Rodney didn't like the ache but he closed his eyes and forced his body to crawl out, nevertheless. He had to at least try to get away and not to end up in a tree in the middle of nowhere.

He accidentally used his injured right foot for support and so he collapsed in pain just out of the tree.

"Damn, that hurt," he muttered and crawled on all fours to a grassy area not far from the tree. There he lay down on his back to ease the soreness. He didn't close his eyes, though, because he scanned his surroundings in the mild light of the planet's morning to get his bearings. He noticed that a smouldering fog lay low over the water, and the sky was the colour of molten silver. But for the breathtaking view, which he would love to see again later under different circumstances, it was useless for his orientation.

Rodney sighed and sat up straight, with both legs stretched out. He rubbed his neck before massaging his lower back as well as he could. He tried not to close his eyes in pain not to be caught off-guard because he had noticed a slow cautious movement far between trees. But it didn't look life-threatening in any case.

He finished on his back and pinched the bridge of his nose with a whispered "Oh, shit" when he remembered the gate-crasher on his calf. Therefore, he rolled his trousers up to learn how they were doing. Then he bent his left leg to have a better view while keeping the other stretched.

The leech was still attached to him but he couldn't lift its side now because his skin around it was puffy, red and hot. And that was an enormous difficulty. It seemed as if the leech didn't want to leave his body.

Rodney got frustrated. He wished he had torn it off last night despite the pain and fear of infection because he was sure it would have caused less damage than now. He knew he couldn't keep it because he had already been feeling very weak and the bug feeding on his blood made him even weaker.

Rodney went through different plans in his head and decided for the very first one – tear it off, cut it off, do whatever to get it off his calf.

He got up carefully and quickly searched his surroundings for a piece of wood without splinters. Luckily, he found one which was solid enough, too. Then he looked through his pockets to find his knife which he needed to have some leverage for the leech. He swallowed uneasily when his fingers gripped on the knife but he still sat down with the leg in concern placed as near as possible.

He prepared himself mentally for the oncoming agony and breathed out resolutely. It had to be done. He put a hand on his throbbing forehead and realised he was still running a fever.

"Very well," he muttered. He thought it was only going from bad to worse so he couldn't possibly do anything silly. But his voice had to be muted so that he didn't attract anything to his position.

"Now or never," he said and put the piece of wood in his mouth. He bit into it forcefully and whipped open the knife. Then he pressed its edge to his calf where he expected to find a way under the leech's shield. A small amount of blood began to trickle down the blade and Rodney stifled a cry gurgling in his throat.

Grateful for his little piece of wood, he bit into it even more when he wedged the knife under the shield and twisted it so that the shield lifted. Blood began to flow more but Rodney didn't care. He dissociated himself from the fact that it was his own leg bleeding not to feel nauseous, and, although muffling his painful screams with gritted teeth, he gradually cut the shield loose from his skin. It was similar to cutting a tin with an opener.

But it hurt so much that Rodney panted harshly by the time he finished the action. Unfortunately, there was more to be done and he knew he couldn't wait any longer.

Morbidly fascinated by the bright red flow from under the shield, he put his hand away from the wound and just counted to ten. The pain lessened, and he wiped the bloodstained knife on his trousers, hygiene long forgotten.

He breathed deeply to steel himself for the next step and corrected the position of his biting wood. He had opened the bug like a can so now he had to pull it out. However, the swollen area around it made it almost impossible for him to grab it.

Rodney tried to get a grip on it but all his attempts ended up unsuccessfully. That was when it was the turn of the Swiss knife again. There was a pair of pincers in it as well so Rodney opened them and looked back at the leech.

"It'll be like pulling a tooth," he said through gritted teeth and worked one side of the pincers under the leech's back shield.

"Like a tooth," he repeated desperately while pressing the pincers together. Then he held his breath and yanked. There was a sickening cracking sound and Rodney just couldn't hold his lips together. The piece of wood fell out of his mouth and he yelled and screamed with all his might. He yelled in agony of the movement and of opening the blood flow completely because the leech had acted like a cork or a plug.

A four-feet herbivore animal passing by got so scared that it ran away at its maximal speed. Birds went so fearful that they all quickly flew away from the trees screeching themselves at the horrible sound. As one huge flock, they flew as fast as they could, far from the source of the sound, maybe in fear that it was a wounded animal which would kill them just to release its frustration from the injury.

Meanwhile, tears were running down Rodney's cheeks and he could hardly see anything. But he still grabbed hold of the pincers once more and pulled. He pulled and twisted and waggled the leech with more tears and more blood leaving his body. He didn't have the capacity to put the wood back into his mouth so he bit his lips or screamed with lips pressed into a thin white line. Soon he had no voice left except for rough remnants.

Gasping for breath, it took his oxygen-deprived brain a while to acknowledge a quiet smacking noise. He frowned and lifted his hand up to understand that he had finally got the leech out. There it was; a soft pinkish segmented body hanging limply from the hard black shield. It was covered in fresh blood with a piece of meat, that didn't belong to it, attached to its front, and the thought that it was from his own body made Rodney ill.

He suppressed the immediate need to retch, swallowing bile that had got into his mouth. He didn't know if the leech was still alive but he rather tossed it to the river.

"Go haunt…someone else's…life," he panted and glanced at his calf uneasily. To his dismay, he found out that the blood was still flowing from the wound and there was a hole in it. He realised that he must have torn off a bit of himself and that that had been the crack he had heard.

And then he unceremonially lost it. He turned to his left and vomited, however, all he got out was a lot of bitter bile because his stomach was long empty. He forced back dry heaves and wiped his mouth in his sleeve.

He was gradually going into shock from the blood loss and, to his bad luck, the pool under his leg was growing steadily. He began to shake and gasp for breath. Reluctantly, he decided to calm down and focused back on the nasty injury. He went through all his belongings quickly, because he needed something to stop the bleeding.

He didn't have a military bandage pack on him and the wound was badly placed so he couldn't use his jacket like with John some time ago. Rodney emptied his pockets shakily and tried to think of something. The memory of keeping John awake and responsive despite the shoulder shot and severe pneumothorax overwhelmed him for a moment because it also brought back memories of him doctoring John before Aiden came and accused him of helping Gall. In both sets of memories, he was the one saving John's life that was at stake. But where was John now that the tables had turned? Rodney wondered what John would do in this situation as he had easily been able to treat his own shot wound on the satellite planet.

"Cord. I can tie the artery," Rodney made up his mind. He took the cord and bound it tightly above the wound against a bone. He hissed in pain, but didn't release the pressure and tied it on two knots.

Thinking quickly without drowning in the memories past so that he did not get unconscious from the blood loss, he took off his jacket, reopened the knife and cut off the right sleeve from his T-shirt. "For pressure, to make a bandage…" he said quietly while folding the sleeve. Then he pressed it into the hole even though he hadn't cleaned it. He didn't want to touch the water so soon, worried that the leech was still somewhere near, but, more importantly, if he ever managed to return to Atlantis, Carson would give him antibiotics to fight whatever disease he might catch. And if not, it wouldn't make a difference; he would have to die of something.

Rodney sighed. He knew he needed something long to bandage the hole so he cut an about ten-centimetre wide strip from the body part of his T-shirt. Meanwhile, the sleeve got soaked with blood so he cut off the other as well, pressed it in and bandaged it tightly.

"Like Carson has taught you. The more pressure you apply, the sooner should the bleeding stop," he murmured. He shakily raised one sticky red hand to see it wholly, then closed it into a fist as more memories of him having blood on his hands rushed to the forefront of his mind. And they weren't just from the past nine months at Atlantis. There were even a few older, much older ones from the Earth…

Rodney waited for a moment, trying to overcome the dizziness, and watched the makeshift bandage. Blood was slowly seeping through and it told him that the leech must have used some substance to prevent blood clotting.

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," he chuckled bitterly. He cut another strip of his shirt but thought better of it and didn't tie it around immediately.

His breathing hitched, another bad omen, but he had nobody else to lean on for support so he had to help himself on his own. Cold sweat appeared on his forehead and back, where it trickled down and sent chills through his entire body.

Rodney shook his head slightly. He was getting sleepy but sleep would be fatal for him in his condition. Blinking fast, he stretched out for the piece of wood, broke in it two and pressed the smaller one in the bleeding hole. He hissed again but pressed it very deep. Then he used the strip of blue cloth and tied it tightly around.

He wiped his left bloody hand on his pants and sighed. He watched the injury intently and waited. But, apparently, the wood was blocking the artery sufficiently and so he could move his mind elsewhere.

He looked around himself, at his limited stack of belongings, and contemplated using his Epi-pen to prevent an allergic reaction or getting into a fit. But then, adrenaline would make his heart pump faster, meaning more blood would get to the wound, meaning, he would bleed to death.

"So not now," he decided quietly. "Later, in the afternoon, maybe…"

Rodney rubbed his forehead and smeared some blood, which hadn't dried or hadn't been wiped yet, there. He pocketed his Epi-pen, the pencil and the pen, leaving only the bloodstained Swiss knife and a power bar out.

He blinked around himself but was sure nothing would get near him in the next few minutes because of his pain-filled screams. He noticed trees around him which were green with leaves of different shapes and sizes. He decided to use some to clean the knife but stayed still to let the wound adjust to the new plug.

"Okay, you're fine, Rodney," he said aloud to calm himself down. "You've managed. You'll be okay. Hopefully. No, surely. You'll manage to get home. No questioning."

Rodney sighed. He took the power bar in his left hand and pulled it open with a help of the other. He ate slowly, still thinking, but this time he didn't throw the wrapper away. He folded it neatly and placed it into his pocket for later use if the wood was somehow unendurable for his body.

He had always found it surprising how versatile those wrappers were. They were clean so you could use them as a valve on a shot wound, like he had used it on John. They conducted electricity so you could use them to connect circuits or torn wires. They were shiny and they reflected light so you could use them to send light signals or reflect anything to give away your position to those who know what to look for, or to lure enemies away. Or just a basic use from Atlantis, should your desk stand on an uneven surface, the folded power bar foil could help adjust its position. A piece of cake, right?

Rodney hoped he had given the wound enough time and began to move. Slowly, sitting on his bottom, he moved over to the casing and drank all its content. But he still felt thirsty, so he took the knife and carefully stood up, almost all his weight off the left leg. Then he headed to the river and prayed not to meet the leech or another leech again.

Gently easing down on the bank, he took the casing and lowered it into the current. When it filled with water, he lifted it up to his lips and downed all the water before repeating the process once more.

When he sated his thirst, he washed the knife thoroughly so that it didn't get rusty. The pincers followed as they had also been in contact with the leech. From time to time, Rodney glanced at his left calf, but, thankfully, the last cover hadn't got red so far.

As soon as he cleaned up everything, he washed his hands and face. The fresh cool water brought back some of his common sense and he had gained enough courage to set off.

And just then he took into account a distant roar of falling water. He wondered why he hadn't registered the sound earlier but it lasted mere seconds because he realised he had got near the waterfall. Not a waterfall. It was THE waterfall near which the projector had been situated before he had kicked it out.

Hope filled his heart and he quickly pocketed the knife and the casing. Then he carefully set off in the direction of the falling water. He knew he shouldn't put much weight on the right ankle but the leech's bite was more severe so he decided to pay more attention to it. With this in mind, he limped cautiously towards home. All he needed to do now was climb a hill and he should be okay.