Ronon didn't know why no one had come for him yet. He had spent the past twenty minutes or so pacing around the cell in a state of agitation, wishing he had comms or a weapon or something.

John's city-wide announcement had woken him from sleep. It had taken him a few seconds to actually process what he was hearing. There was...a Replicator in Atlantis? And it looked like...another Ronon? It had kidnapped Elizabeth?

Then, he had registered what that really meant. His name was cleared. Just as he had spent the past few days insisting, he had nothing to do with any of this. Blowing up the life support, the supplies, shooting Mckay...it had all been this other Ronon. He really was innocent, and everyone knew it.

So he didn't understand why no one had come to let him out yet. He understood that they were all very busy. John had sounded pretty bad over the intercoms - weak and breathless and sort of in pain. So he wasn't surprised there had been a delay. But it had been twenty minutes now, and he didn't want to have been forgotten about….

From the end of the hallway came the sound of a door opening, and Ronon was at the door to his cell in an instant. Finally, he was going to be able to do something.

"Ronon?" Teyla was outside his cell, looking pale and drawn and worried, but she smiled at the sight of him. "Did you-"

"I heard Sheppard's announcement," Ronon answered quickly. "You guys gonna let me out or what?"

Teyla was already punching the code into the keypad by the door, and the force field dissolved. Ronon stepped out of the cell, the relief so great he felt almost shaky with it.

"Here," Teyla said, offering him his gun. Grinning, Ronon reached out for it, spinning it a few times before putting it back into the holster at his thigh. Already, the events of the past day and a half were fading, like a terrible dream.

"We must hurry," Teyla said, and they left the block of cells, hurrying back in the direction of the Gateroom. As they continued along the empty hallways, Teyla looked more and more upset, and she finally shook her head and turned towards Ronon.

"I am sorry," she blurted out. "You tried to tell me that you were not responsible for the explosions. You tried to tell me that you were….you, and I did not listen. Perhaps if I had…."

Teyla trailed off, and Ronon blinked slightly. He wasn't big on apologies, either giving or receiving them. Frankly, he was just happy to be out of the too-small cell.

"I get it," he finally said. "You couldn't have known it was a Replicator."

Teyla didn't look as though that made her feel much better. "But-"

"Teyla," Ronon said firmly. He wasn't sure what else he could say to convince her. At a loss, he ended up dropping his arm over her shoulders, pulling her into a one-armed hug. "It's fine."

Finally, Teyla smiled, ducking her head. "Thank you. It has been...a long day and a half. I am relieved to have you back. And John…."

Teyla looked suddenly sick, and the nagging worry Ronon had felt ever since John's citywide announcement exploded into certainty.

"Something happened to Sheppard," Ronon said flatly. It wasn't a question.

Slowly, Teyla nodded. "He encountered the Replicator in a hallway. He is very badly injured. I believe that he will be alright for the time being, and he insists that he is capable of continuing, but you know John."

Ronon did know John. And he knew that just because John insisted that he was fine, it very much did not mean that he was fine. In fact, it usually meant the opposite. And if Teyla was that worried, and if John had sounded that shaky over the loudspeaker, when he would have been using all his strength to keep his voice level…. Suddenly terrified, Ronon broke into a run.

"Ronon!" Teyla yelled, but instead of making any attempt to stop him, she jogged to catch up to him. Ronon slowed slightly when he saw that Teyla couldn't match his pace. He had spent most of his time in the cell resting, and he was full of nervous energy. But Teyla was clearly exhausted, her energy flagging after a series of long days. Ronon could have sprinted ahead to the Gateroom, but he had already gone so long without being with Teyla. He wasn't about to leave her behind.

It took them maybe five tense minutes to reach the Gateroom. Even without knowing exactly what had happened, Ronon could tell that the situation had badly deteriorated since he had been arrested. Groups of exhausted, hungry-looking scientists bent over the control panel and dialing device. Edgy Marines guarded each entry and exit point to the room. There seemed to be several injuries, even aside from whatever had happened to Sheppard, but there were no doctors anywhere in sight.

Ronon's eyes roved quickly over the knots of people, but at first, he didn't even see John. He wasn't exactly sure what to be looking for. Would John be pale but upright, helping the Marines? Would he be crumpled unconscious in a corner? Ronon knew John was hurt, and he knew from Teyla's reaction that it must be pretty bad. But that could still mean so many things. He...he would be fine, right? He had to be.

"He's over here," Teyla said softly, touching Ronon's arm. Ronon followed her, and when he finally spotted Sheppard, his heart stuttered in his chest. He was propped against the wall, between one of the doors and the control panel. He was sitting up - sort of. His eyes were open - sort of. Even from a distance, Ronon could tell that he was horribly pale, and his eyes were sunken with pain. He was too weak to keep himself completely upright, and his head drooped towards his chest. A few jackets had been laid over his legs and lap, so Ronon couldn't tell where the actual injury was. But the jackets were covered in a sickening amount of blood.

"What happened to him?" Ronon asked Teyla, the words coming out more angry than he'd intended. But before Teyla could answer, John's head snapped up. His eyes locked immediately on Ronon, and he managed a small, shaky smile.

Ronon sped up again, resisting the urge to shove Marines and scientists out of his way. He knelt beside Sheppard, and John looked even worse up close. His eyes were dull, and clearly struggling to focus.

"What happened?" Ronon asked again, repeating his question in a softer tone this time.

John shrugged, waving his hand weakly in the air before returning it to his lap. "Replicator broke my leg," he said, as though the injury was entirely unimportant.

"It is not good," Teyla said helpfully from behind them. "The bone is sticking through the skin. It looks most unnerving-"

John swallowed hard at this, looking suddenly queasy. Ronon felt about the same, and was suddenly relieved that the injury was covered by a jacket, even if just for Sheppard's sake.

John apparently elected to ignore Teyla's comment, and the pain on his face was suddenly joined by a different look, something Ronon didn't often see on John's features. It took him a few seconds to place, and before he'd managed to work it out, John was speaking.

"Ronon…I'm sorry," John said, and Ronon realized with a shock that the look had been one of shame. Sheppard never looked ashamed of himself, and he didn't apologize much either. Ronon merely blinked at him, surprised. Apparently, this was the wrong response, and John looked rather stricken and rushed to continue.

"I knew it wasn't you. Well, not you you. I just…."

"I know, John," Ronon said, smiling. John had known, he'd fought for Ronon, and looking at him now, that horrible conversation in the cell block seemed like nothing but a bad dream. Reaching down, Ronon clasped John's forearm, feeling Sheppard's hand close around his own arm. Sheppard's fingers were trembling, but Ronon could feel the strength of his grip even through John's obvious exhaustion.

"You're one tough bastard, you know that?" Ronon asked conversationally. In his eyes, the previous topic was closed, and it wouldn't need to be addressed again. Sheppard usually felt the same way about that sort of thing, and Ronon figured he'd jump at the chance for a change in subject matter.

Sure enough, John laughed shakily, looking immensely relieved. "Yeah," he mumbled, his eyes beginning to slip closed again. Once again, Ronon looked around desperately for a doctor.

"Where's Beckett?" Ronon demanded. "Why isn't anyone taking care of him?"

John's eyes opened again, and he pulled himself a little more upright, blinking furiously. "The doctors are trapped in the infirmary. Some kinda bomb."

"Oh," Ronon said blankly. He really had missed a lot.

"Yeah," John whispered, his eyes sliding off Ronon's again.

Ronon grimaced and stood up, scanning the room one more time, just in case a medic was lurking stubbornly in the shadows. None caught his eye, and he was just turning back to Sheppard and Teyla when there was a yell from behind him.

"Replicator!"

Ronon twisted to find a Marine at the doorway, reaching for his gun and staring directly at him.

"It's me," he shouted, dropping to the floor.

"Don't shoot," John bellowed, as Teyla moved, her hands up placatingly. There was a sudden, choked-off gasp, and Ronon turned his head away from the Marine to see Sheppard white-faced with pain, clearly having just tried to move.

"Stop moving!" Teyla yelled as John struggled to breathe. "John-"

"He's not the Replicator," John gasped as the Marine slowly lowered his weapon. "He's not the Replicator."

The pain tightened like a vice around John's chest. He struggled to draw in breath, his lungs straining and exhausted. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, turning Teyla and Ronon into grey smears, and he was so dizzy it was hard to tell if he was still sitting up or if he had somehow ended up lying down. Bile stung the back of his throat, and he willed himself not to throw up again. He didn't want to move, he just needed to...to catch his breath….

He heard Teyla talking to the Marine that had nearly shot Ronon, but at this point, he couldn't make out the words. He watched her turn to address the wider crowd, gesturing at Ronon, probably explaining...explaining….

John remembered announcing that there was a Replicator on Atlantis that had taken Ronon's form, and it should be shot on sight. He was also the one who had sent Teyla to release Ronon and bring him to the Gateroom. It was a silly mistake, something John never, never would have done if he hadn't been in so much pain. But as it was, he...he needed to fix it somehow. He needed Ronon. He couldn't have the Marines shooting at him.

"Teyla," John croaked as his vision slowly cleared. He thought that it would be easier to get her attention than Ronon's - the Satedan, understandably, was still very focused on the guns pointed at him.

Teyla turned towards John, and John used one hand to gesture sloppily at Ronon. Teyla tugged on his wrist to get his attention and Ronon turned towards John too.

"Need...," John tried to raise his voice as much as he was able, but it wasn't easy, "need...put Ronon in a vest. 'T's different from what he usually wears. I'll...make another announcement."

For a second, Teyla looked confused, but then her face cleared. "Hey," she said, her voice much louder and more commanding than John's had been. "If there is anyone who is Ronon's size...we need to get him in a tac vest to differentiate him from the Replicator."

John allowed himself to focus on his breathing again as several Marines rushed forward to offer their tac vests to Ronon. Ronon didn't say anything to John, but he did shoot him a displeased sort of look, and if John hadn't felt so sick he might have laughed. When Ronon had first joined his team, John had spent weeks trying to get him into a uniform, and the Satedan had vehemently refused to so much as try on one of the protective vests. It had made John angry, not to mention worried - he didn't like the idea that one member of his team was much less bulletproof than the others. Eventually, he'd given up, deciding that it wasn't a battle he wanted to fight. He had Ronon's loyalty, and a tac vest wasn't worth losing Ronon over.

But now, it looked like Ronon didn't have much of a choice. Taking hold of the edge of the tac vest, Ronon glared at John as he shrugged it on. John noticed that he'd neglected to zip it up all the way, leaving it mostly open, but John didn't think that he could last through another argument. He nodded at Ronon, regretting it as dark spots threatened to cloud his vision, then waved weakly at Teyla once again.

"What is it, John?" Teyla asked, crouching beside him.

"Get Chuck to put me on the loudspeaker again," John said. He managed to get the sentence out without gasping for breath, which was an improvement. Still, John wished he could raise his voice loud enough to get Chuck's attention. It was mortifying to be this helpless, but John was afraid that if he tried to talk too loud or too long, he would pass out. He needed to save every ounce of strength for the announcement. He needed to stay strong for the city, for Elizabeth. A large portion of his people still didn't know how much was happening, and he didn't want them to worry over something they couldn't help, he needed everyone calm and doing their jobs.

Teyla waved to Chuck, and he activated the loudspeaker with a nod. John cleared his throat and began to speak.

"This is Colonel John Sheppard," he said, projecting his voice as much as possible. He swallowed awkwardly, trying to keep any pain from creeping into his voice. It was hard, nearly impossible. After a small pause to catch his breath, John continued.

"The Replicator, in Ronon's form, is still at large. The real Ronon Dex is innocent, and he's been released."

This was too much. He was dizzy, sick, and every breath seemed to make the pain worse. He could feel the bile building in his throat….

"The real Ronon-" John broke off, waving frantically at Chuck to cut the loudspeaker. Hazily, he heard the click of the speaker shutting down, just in time, because then he was leaning to the side and retching with the rising pain and the exertion. The ache in his leg exploded into a burning sensation, as if his nerves had suddenly caught fire, and John's vision went black.

John's mind shut down, skipped a beat, and flickered back to life. He was panting, but he didn't seem to be getting any oxygen. He wondered how he was still upright, and peeled his eyelids open to find Ronon and Teyla crouching next to him, their hands on his shoulders.

"John, you need to rest. Just for a moment," Teyla said, her fingers pressing against his neck, looking worried. John felt his pulse jumping against her fingertips and knew it was too fast. There was nothing he could do about that, not right now. He had to finish this, he couldn't have Ronon getting shot, he couldn't have his people thinking something was wrong….

He gestured at Chuck again, and took a quick breath before he heard the click of the speaker starting back up again. "The real Ronon Dex has been released, and he is wearing a standard issue tac vest to indicate that he is not the Replicator. The stakes are...high, so double check which Ronon you're looking at before shooting."

The speaker finally, mercifully, switched off again. John's stomach was still flipping, and he swallowed hard against the acrid taste in his mouth. Teyla pressed a bottle of water into his hand.

"I can't drink this," John said. Even though it was only his leg that was hurt, his whole body felt...deeply unstable in a way that told him anything he swallowed would be joining the mess on the floor.

Not to mention the fact that his hands were trembling so badly he wasn't sure he'd be able to lift the bottle to his lips. When had he started shaking so much?

"It is just to rinse your mouth out," Teyla said. "It will make you feel better. But do not swallow any."

John nodded. He would like to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. He tried to lift the bottle, but his shaking hands set the water sloshing. Even just looking at the motion made him queasy, and he quickly dropped the bottle back to his side.

Teyla deftly grabbed the water bottle, twisted the lid off, and lifted it to his lips. "Don't swallow," she reminded him, and he obediently swished the sip of water around the inside of his mouth and spit it onto the floor. Teyla then produced another jacket from...somewhere and covered the whole mess.

"Sorry," John whispered. He was apologizing for several things - getting sick, needing so much help, getting them into this situation, leaning so heavily on Teyla. It just seemed...it was so….

"I only wish that there was more I could do," Teyla said softly. She reached out and brushed his hair out of his eyes, and John allowed himself the briefest moment to relax into her touch. Then, he forced his head up.

"Get me Zelenka."

Zelenka had a vague sense that something was wrong with the Colonel, but he wasn't exactly sure what. He couldn't focus on that. If he didn't finish fixing the life support, in two hours, everyone on Atlantis was going to die. Every spare second, every thought needed to be spent on his work. Even then, Zelenka was desperately afraid that all of his efforts would be in vain.

It was, of course, at this moment that the comms crackled in his ear. "Zelenka."

Radek wondered for a moment if he could just ignore the Colonel. He was very busy, doing what was currently the most important job in the city. Sheppard knew that, everyone knew that. He simply did not have the time to respond to another senseless check-in, or to tell John that he had very little to relate, none of it encouraging.

"Zelenka, come in." John's voice sounded worn to the breaking point, ragged with desperation and something else. All in all, it was worrying enough that Zelenka reluctantly paused his work and answered the call.

"Here," he said, wishing that he could continue while the Colonel talked. Unfortunately, that sort of higher processing was no longer an option. The stimulants had taken their toll, and Radek was barely able to keep his attention from wandering when he was entirely focused on one task. If he tried to add in another factor, even something so simple as listening, what little remained of his concentration would scatter. Any work that he managed to do would be worse than useless.

"We gotta get rid of this Replicator somehow," Sheppard said, sounding more exhausted by the syllable. "Shot the last one into space, but I don't think that's gonna be an option here. Can you…?"

He trailed off, apparently uncertain as to what he actually wanted Zelenka to do. Since Zelenka was even more unsure of what John wanted, he wasn't going to be much help.

"Can I what?" Zelenka finally asked, when it became clear that the Colonel wasn't going to finish his sentence.

"Make some kind of...anti-Replicator...thingy," John said, then sighed heavily. "I dunno. Make me something I can kill it with."

Zelenka bit back a series of sharp retorts about the military and their ridiculous fondness for killing things with high-tech weaponry and their inability to understand the realities of things like time constraints and the laws of physics. But John was clearly tired as well, and Radek didn't see any need to add to the general atmosphere of half-crazed tension by picking a fight with their military commander.

"I cannot," Zelenka said shortly. "Not unless you would like the city to explode. You will have to choose one."

John groaned softly. "Zelenka, they've got...they've got Elizabeth. And there's nothing we can do. If we lose the city to Replicators...we're...no better off."

Zelenka's heart twisted in his chest. He wanted to help. He very desperately wanted to get through this day without either exploding or being taken prisoner by the Replicators. But he simply...didn't have time. He would have to both design and build a piece of anti-Replicator technology, with very few supplies and almost no power. That sounded like something Rodney could do, maybe, but even Rodney couldn't do it while also trying to fix life support, certainly not in a period of only two hours. As it was….

"Colonel, I'm sorry," Zelenka said. "I will...I will try to get these systems repaired as quickly as possible, and if I still have time afterwards…."

Zelenka shrugged helplessly. Part of him wondered if it was even worth it to keep trying to repair the systems, if they were all going to die anyways. But he had seen John pull out some surprising wins before, so he didn't think he should give up just yet.

But that still didn't mean he could create a weapon.

"Good...good luck," John said softly, and the comms clicked off.

"Let me talk to him," Rodnay said. His voice was weak, but held an edge of command that Carson hadn't heard since he had been shot.

"Rodney, I said no."

"Give me your comm!" Rodney practically yelled. The effect was ruined slightly when he winced immediately afterwards, the movement apparently reawakening what must have been excruciating pain in his gut.

"I don't even think you were meant to overhear the Colonel's conversation with Zelenka," Carson said. "It was probably meant to be on a private comm channel. I'm sure the Colonel has a lot on his mind, he can't…."

"I don't care whether or not I wasn't meant to overhear it," Rodney said. "I did. And I can make the weapon. Why won't you even let me try?"

Carson sighed. Rodney was flat on his back, except for a slight tilt of his head. He was hooked up to as many tubes as Carson could muster, which, at this point, was only oxygen and an IV. He'd had major surgery so recently that his blood hadn't had time to replenish yet, and his face was still waxy-looking and horribly pale. His eyes had regained some of their sharpness since he'd gone off the painkillers, but his breathing had grown more ragged, and his color was somehow even worse.

"Rodney-" Carson began, not sure how to explain to the stubborn man that all this excitement was probably setting him back days, if not weeks.

"Just let me try," Rodney said softly. "We're all dead anyways. Just...let me try."

Carson pursed his lips. He didn't like it, but...slowly, he nodded. Rodney was right. As far as Carson knew, Rodney was the only one in the city who would have any hope of creating an anti-Replicator weapon in time, even as sick and weak as he was. And without that...well, there was no point to anything Carson was doing at all.

Still somewhat reluctantly, Carson tapped the comms. John's voice responded, halting and filled with pain.

"Carson? Is...is McKay…?"

"He's alright," Carson said hurriedly. He shot a glance at Rodney, who certainly didn't look very alright, but was at least managing to keep his eyes open and fixed on Carson. "He wants to talk to you."

"Yeah?" John asked, his tone suddenly brightening, the pain receding for a moment. Then, he sighed heavily. "I dunno if...if that's a good idea. Got a lot t'do, I need Z'lenka to…."

John's voice, already quiet, trailed into silence, and Carson winced. He thought that likely, John's reluctance to speak to Rodney was related less to his hectic schedule and was more influenced by just how awful he sounded. Sheppard's words were starting to slur more heavily, and Carson thought that Rodney, even tired and injured as he was, couldn't help but notice.

"I want to talk to him," Rodney insisted, eyes flashing with determination. Carson waved him off. He didn't want Rodney to have to talk any more than he had to.

"He actually wants to talk to you about the device you asked for," Carson said. "The weapon to kill the Replicator."

There was a long, staticky silence. "How'd you know about that?"

Carson grimaced. "You talked to Dr. Zelenka on an open channel, Colonel."

John sighed again. "Fuck," he whispered, then didn't seem to feel the need to say anything more. After a judicious period of silence, Carson coughed.

"We're all under a lot of stress, son. It's perfectly understandable. Anyway, perhaps it's for the best. Rodney seems to think he can help."

"Okay. Put him on." John's voice was ever so slightly stronger, and Carson thought he was probably putting on a brave face for Rodney. The fact that it wasn't more successful was deeply concerning.

Oddly enough, if they weren't all going to die anyway in two hours, Carson would feel much more overwhelmed. He was in charge of one very injured physicist, nobody seemed to be in charge of the very injured Acting Commander of Atlantis, and neither of them were being proper patients at all. But they only had two more hours to worry about it. Carson could last two more hours. Hopefully, so could John and Rodney.