Rodney waited impatiently while Carson maneuvered the comm into place in his ear. Although he was feeling far more clear-headed, he was still very weak, his movements clumsy and imprecise. The fine motor skills that were required even for something so simple as putting in an earpiece were currently lost to him. If he couldn't even do this, he wasn't exactly sure how he would be able to go about making an anti-Replicator device. But he had to. And he performed best when all odds were against him, everyone knew that.

Carson tapped the comm on for Rodney. "John?" Rodney said into it. They were pretty far back into Atlantis, and the connection wasn't great - Rodney hoped the crackling would help disguise how much pain he was in.

"Rodney!" John's voice sounded worse over the comms than it had over the radio, but Rodney thought he still seemed pleased.

"Tell me the specs you need for the weapon," Rodney said. He thought it would likely take him longer than it normally would to build something like this - he was sure the excruciating pain would slow him down - and he didn't have any time to waste on small talk or pleasantries.

"What do you have to use?" John asked.

Rodney rolled his head slowly on the pillow - he was currently in a hallway full of nothing. He would have to get Carson to help him find an Ancient lab of some sort, and then he should be able to find enough materials that he could Macgyver together whatever John needed. An electromagnetic pulse seemed...doable, even if his materials were limited.

"I have...lots of stuff," Rodney said. He would be the one to figure out how to turn whatever he could find into the weapon John needed. That shouldn't be John's job. He wouldn't even be good at it.

"It...doesn't really matter what it looks like," John said. "As long as it can take out a Replicator."

"It doesn't need to keep the Replicator alive, right?" Rodney's hands itched to start working - just talking about a task like this helped him feel better than he had in days. His mind felt clearer, his fingers stronger; he knew if he moved too much the pain in his stomach would come back with a vengeance, but right now, it was all but forgotten. "I can destroy the bonds holding the nanites together?"

"Please destroy the bonds holding the nanites together. It just...the Replicator has Elizabeth, so someone needs to be able to use the weapon without hurting her."

Rodney swallowed hard at the reminder that Dr. Weir was currently a hostage. Guns were probably out then, not that he'd really thought he would be able to create something like that in an hour with odds and ends from an Ancient lab anyways.

"I...won't be able to use it myself," Rodney said, in case maybe John hadn't realized. "I can't really-"

"I know. We'll figure it out."

"Alright," Rodney told him. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," John said fervently, and Rodney could hear the relief in his voice even through the poor connection. Rodney smiled slightly, encouraged by the faith that John had in him.

"I...better go." John sounded reluctant, and there was something else, too, something nagging at the back of Rodney's mind that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"You okay?" Rodney asked, without really knowing why.

"Yeah, yeah. Just...just a bit stressed. Tired."

That made sense. Rodney was also stressed and tired. From the look of it, Carson, too, was stressed and tired. Sheppard must be ready to drop by now.

"Well, don't worry," Rodney said, trying to make a joke of it. "One scary robot killing weapon coming right up. Rodney McKay, saving the day...again."

"I know," John said simply, apparently without any trace of doubt. Rodney didn't know if Sheppard was just putting on a brave face to try to keep him calm, or if the Colonel actually fully believed that Rodney could pull out another eleventh-hour win. Either way, it made Rodney smile.

"Good luck, McKay."

"You too, Sheppard."

And with that, the call clicked off. It was time to get to work.

Carson was starting to think that this had been a very, very bad idea. Actually, he'd thought that from the start, ever since Rodney had bullied him into letting him talk to John. Now, Carson knew it was a bad idea.

Soon after hanging up with John, Rodney had demanded that Carson find him an empty lab. They'd selected one that fit his specifications, which apparently were limited to the presence of lots of odds and ends of equipment that Carson didn't understand.

For the first time in his life, Carson wished he'd had more experience with engineering than the few odd mathematics or physics courses he'd taken in undergrad. Rodney had been working for almost an hour now - two and a half hours before they all exploded - which really meant that Rodney was lying back on the gurney angrily directing Carson.

"The red wire. RED. God, Carson-"

"I'm a doctor, not a bloody engineer," Carson reminded Rodney a little snappishly.

"Just give it to me," Rodney said impatiently.

"Rodney-"

Rodney had already had to do a few smaller tasks himself, when Carson hadn't been able to accomplish them to his satisfaction. Carson had banned him from any engineering that required actual movement after the last time, when trying to wrap two wires around a small scrap of metal had left Rodney gasping for breath and shaking with pain, so pale Carson had been worried he was about to pass out.

"Help me sit up," Rodney snapped, looking ghostly and shaky but still very determined.

Carson wanted to argue, but truly, he was too exhausted. Also, he didn't know enough about mechanical engineering, and he knew he wasn't fooling anyone. He adjusted Rodney's pillows so he could sit up a little more, and then watched nervously as Rodney took the wires and started trying to fit them together.

"Goddamnit," Rodney said softly, and Carson winced. The physicist's fingers were weak and fumbling, he was having trouble even holding the wires. But Carson simply wasn't sure how to offer help.

"Is there anything-"

"Take that apart," Rodney said, gesturing at an Ancient-style computer in the corner. He didn't take his eyes off the mess of wires. "See if you can get me a circuit board. You...do know what a circuit board looks like, right?"

Rodney's tone was harsh. If the situation were different, Carson actually might have reprimanded him gently. As it was, Carson knew Rodney was only snapping because he was in very nearly too much pain to function. The radiating pain from the gunshot wound, barely dampened by medication, must be impossible to ignore. Carson could understand how that could make anyone angry.

"Aye, Rodney."

Rodney didn't respond, and the only sound in the room was his ragged breathing. Carson turned towards the computer, and began trying to figure out how to take it apart. He knew nothing about engineering, but he was supposed to be intelligent, surely he could figure this out….

"I'm almost-" Rodney began, but then he was cut off by a muffled sounding thump. Carson turned around - Rodney had dropped his mess of wires, and it had rolled off the bed and onto the floor. He looked at it mournfully for a second, and then let his head drop softly back onto the pillows.

"It's alright," Carson said, already moving to return Rodney's project to him.

"I...don't know that I can do this," Rodney said softly. His eyes were closed, voice a little shaky. "I-"

Carson just looked at him and bit his lip. This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. On top of the overwhelming pain, Rodney hadn't had anything to eat in nearly two days, and there were still vestiges of a whole cocktail of drugs in his system. He was cycling through moods with a speed that made Carson dizzy to think about, and the best thing to do was just wait it out.

Sure enough, after a moment, Rodney opened his eyes. He held his hand out. Carson placed the ball of wires into it. Rodney sighed softly and continued to work.

People kept asking John questions, and it was getting harder and harder for him to answer them. John had almost been able to forget about the migraine triggered by the mind meld, the pressure building in his head swept away by the overwhelming pain in his leg.

It wasn't that his leg had started to hurt less, at least, John didn't think so. If anything, it had gotten worse. Every time John moved, even just a twitch of his hand to call over Teyla, or Ronon, or a Marine, his stomach swooped and swirled unnervingly.

No, his leg wasn't any better. It was just that now, the pounding headache had bloomed into a full-fledged migraine, and even keeping his eyes open in the constant rush of Gateroom lights and sounds was a struggle. Actually processing any of the sounds was becoming next to impossible.

John knew from past experience what to expect, not only from the last mind-meld, but from a growing history of concussions and the occasional, garden-variety migraine. This would only get worse, his thoughts muddying until even thinking seemed to shoot a bolt of pain through his skull, every minor ache and pain compounded tenfold by the agony in his head. With a migraine, even cuts and bruises hurt, far more than John felt they had the right to. And now, he had a compound fracture in his leg. No wonder he felt sick every time he so much as moved.

"Sheppard?"

John realized dizzily that his eyes were closed, and he peeled them open to find Ronon hovering beside him. He wondered where Teyla was, and then seemed to recall sending her to Lorne to discuss patrol teams.

"You okay?" Ronon asked, moving slightly, and the light from behind him seared John's eyes. Hissing, he flinched away and squeezed them closed again. Ronon's hand fell on his shoulder, and the pressure was simultaneously comforting and irritating. John's nerves crackled with the sensory overload even as he found himself wishing that Ronon would stay, and that way John would know he was alright without having to open his eyes.

"Sheppard, you gotta take something for the pain. Have you even had anything yet?"

It took a while for John to process what Ronon had said. He choked back a whimper, frustrated at his own helplessness, at his mind and his body for betraying him. Even though John was no stranger to migraines, it never failed to shock him just how debilitating they could be.

Finally, he managed to respond. "Advil," he managed in a whisper.

Ronon's blurry form frowned. "You probably need more than that," he said.

"Don't...have anything…."

"I'm sure we can-"

John shook his head, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Can't...take anything. Need to...think…."

"You're in too much pain to think," Ronon said softly.

John considered. He supposed that was true.

"At least take some more Advil."

"Don't...think I'm supposed to?" He was a little fuzzy on the Advil instructions, since he rarely took any sort of painkillers without an official recommendation from Beckett. But anyways, he was pretty sure Teyla had handed him at least...four? And that had been less than two hours ago. He was pretty sure he was not supposed to take any more. That would be too much Advil.

"Call Beckett and ask," Ronon said. "Or see if he knows anything else you can do."

"No."

Ronon scowled. "Why not?"

"Because I...don't want him to know I'm hurt."

Ronon looked completely incredulous, and John braced himself, knowing the Satedan was about to raise his voice. "Why wouldn't you want your Doctor to know you're hurt? You know, you're not going to be able to hide this from him, Shep."

"I know," John said, speaking quieter in hopes that Ronon would do the same. "I just...don't want him to worry."

"He's probably worrying anyways."

"He's with Mckay," John clarified. "I don't want Mckay to worry."

Ronon apparently had no response to that. "Where's the bottle of Advil?"

"Teyla has it."

Ronon left, and John tried not to think too much while he was gone. "Can you hold these on your own?" Ronon asked dubiously when he returned.

"Yeah," John whispered. He held out his hand, which seemed to be shaking very badly. Ronon tipped four more pills into it, then nestled a bottle of water by John's side.

John was nauseous enough that there was a moment he was sure even the four small pills and tiny sip of water were going to come right back up. His throat worked, and he swallowed hard. But everything stayed down, and he gave Ronon a weak thumbs up.

"Okay," Ronon said, sounding a little less doubtful, a little less concerned. "Okay. You sure you're gonna make it?"

John considered. He was sure he wasn't going to die, unless the entire base blew up. But he wasn't at all sure that he was going to be able to stay conscious, or continue functioning properly. He wasn't about to say that, though.

"'M okay," John whispered. Even through his closed eyelids, he could feel Ronon glaring.

"Not great," John amended with a small smile. It felt shaky and unconvincing, but it was the best he could do now. "But 'm okay."

"Alright," Ronon said softly, and carefully, his hand was back on John's shoulder. This time, it felt better. John ducked his head, trying to filter out as much light as possible, his eyelids insufficient for the job. He let Ronon's hand rest on his shoulder, taking the brief moment to rest, knowing very soon he'd have to pull himself together again.

Rodney fumbled with the wires for the forty millionth time, stretching to catch them without really thinking about it. That was a mistake, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

The drugs were almost out of his system now, and Rodney was, for the first time since it had happened, fully aware of exactly how much a bullet in the gut hurt. Every time he moved, it felt like he was being shot all over again. And reaching over to catch the wires had excited that pain all over again. He'd felt his damaged skin stretch uncomfortably, a tearing pain radiating outward.

Rodney decided he was going to lie down for a bit. Or rather, his body decided that for him, and he found himself flat on his back, panting desperately for air and blinking black spots away from his vision.

"Rodney?"

Rodney's vision cleared to reveal Carson's worried face. He looked very much like he was going to launch into another impassioned lecture about all the damage Rodney was no doubt doing to his body. Rodney didn't want to hear it. It wasn't changing anything.

"I c'n keep goin'," Rodney mumbled, alarmed to hear his words slurring at the edges.

"Rodney, you're bleeding again."

Rodney craned his neck down, regarding the red spot that had appeared on the stomach of his white scrubs. That explained the tearing feeling he'd felt.

"Huh," Rodney said. Even as he looked, he knew his reactions were off. He was Rodney McKay, for god's sake. He was easily breakable, frightened of blood, pain, physical exertion, and a host of other unpleasant things. He should not be taking this so casually, even in a near-death situation. Still, he couldn't waste his energy on hysteria. Every spare ounce that he had was already consumed with the device he needed to make for John.

"Rodney, you need to-"

"I need to...finish this." Rodney shoved himself into a sitting position, with a grunt that turned into a cry of pain. He realized his breath was catching in his throat, and he whimpered slightly. His shirt was wet over the wound - in addition to being painful, it was quite uncomfortable. He didn't want his shirt to be wet. He didn't want everything to be so bloody.

"Let me look at it," Carson said gently.

"No," Rodney whined. He didn't even want to so much as think about the wound in his belly. If he didn't think about it, he would be able to concentrate. He would be able to...finish this. He could save all of them. He could save John.

But Carson had put up with a lot, and he was, apparently, not going to take no for an answer. "Lie back," he said, simultaneously putting a gentle hand on Rodney's shoulder and pushing him flat on the gurney.

"No," Rodney said, gasping for breath as even the slight movement sent pain radiating through his stomach. "God...Carson...stop...I need to…."

Rodney had done the impossible. In an Ancient Lab beneath Atlantis, high on painkillers, fighting infection, in unbearable pain, without food or sleep or help, he had managed to design a makeshift weapon that would destroy the bonds between nanites. In only a couple of hours, he had thought up how to pack a portable electromagnetic charge into something that could be used in a fight. He had figured out how to use scraps of Ancient tech to build something that should do just that. He had saved Atlantis so many times, pulled out so many miracle solutions just under the wire, that the shine had worn off. But this...this had to be his most impressive win yet. He was shot. There wasn't enough blood in his body, he was refusing painkillers, he hadn't even been able to eat. And still, he had done it.

Except...he hadn't. The device was...designed but not completed, fully conceptualized but not yet functional. And if he lay back, if he relaxed and let Carson examine the wound and drifted off in a cloud of painkillers, it would never get done. Atlantis would fall.

Carson's hand was still on Rodney's shoulder. "I can't…." Rodney gasped. "Please, just let me...don't…."

"I'm just going to see if I can't get the bleeding stopped," Carson said. "Then you can keep working."

"It'll hurt," Rodney whimpered. He thought if Carson touched the wound itself, he might finally have to give in and ask for painkillers. And he...he couldn't have that.

"Aye, a bit," Carson said.

Just the thought of the pain increasing was making Rodney's breaths come faster. He knew he was on the edge of hyperventilating, but he couldn't seem to calm down.

"I'm fine," he said, putting a hand over the growing splotch of blood. "I'm fine."

"Yes, you are, lad." Carson's voice was soft, but his hands were engaged by pulling Rodney's away from his stomach. Rodney squawked softly, indignantly, but Carson proved surprisingly gentle, at least in his initial efforts. Rodney relaxed ever so slightly, letting Carson continue.

Carson pressing down on his wound hurt, and Rodney's momentary calm dissolved in a rush of pain. He squirmed away, whimpering as the pain welled up inside him, black spots dancing before his eyes. His breathing was ragged, rasping in and out of his chest as he struggled not to pass out. If he fainted now, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to wake up again. Carson would drug him, and it would all be over.

Rodney held on as long as he could, but he wasn't good at this, he wasn't Sheppard or Ronon or Teyla. Finally, he shook his head, the blackness drawing ever closer.

"Carson...please, stop…." Rodney's voice was weak and thready, but he tried again. "Please. Can't...gotta keep goin'...please."

"It's alright, Rodney. All done," Carson said soothingly, taking his hands away. For a moment, Rodney just lay there, letting the pain wash over him and recede. Then, he reached for the unfinished device, forcing his clumsy fingers to close around the wires. There was no time to waste.