A/N - And that's a wrap on this fic! I hope you guys enjoy the final chapter - I tried my best to tie up all the loose ends and give everyone a few aftercare scenes. Thanks so much to everyone who left faves, follows, or reviews, I love hearing everyone's thoughts. Look out for some new stuff from me coming soon :)

John was so badly injured Carson considered it a miracle that he was still conscious at all. Carson was glad Rodney had already been retrieved, because access to Rodney's gurney meant that Carson had access to his emergency medical kit. Which meant he had access to the good drugs.

John's blood pressure was dropping rapidly; he was going into shock. Carson was surprised it had taken as long as it had. He had lost a lot of blood, and a compound fracture was a massive stressor on the body. Not to mention the fact that he had scarcely eaten or slept in the past few days - his body was already coming from a place of exhaustion and weakness. Sliding a syringe full of morphine into John's arm relaxed Carson so much he almost felt like he'd taken a hit himself.

"There you go, lad," Carson said. "That should help you start feeling better."

John hummed slightly. Carson almost hadn't realized how tense the Colonel's muscles were until they started to incrementally relax as the drug made its way through his system.

Carson busied himself setting up an IV for John until he heard his patient start to stir beside him. Carson looked over at John. His eyes were open again, and he was squirming around. He seemed to be trying to sit up.

"Mckay?" John asked sleepily.

A sliver of Rodney's pale face appeared over the edge of his bed. "Sh'ppard?"

"Mckay, I just wanted to say…." John was slurring slightly, and he trailed off as the drugs threatened to overwhelm him.

"Yeah?"

John spent a moment panting for breath, and Carson was surprised when he was able to continue. "I just wanted to apologize for…."

Rodney nodded sagely. "Sorry."

"No, I'm apologizing. I did...yeah. It ended up with you getting hurt. I should have...done more better things."

"You had to do it," Rodney said.

"No, Mckay, I don't...I don't think you're understandin' me. I'm tryin'..."

"What are you talkin' about?" Rodney mumbled.

"Umm, I'm sayin' sorry?" John asked. He didn't seem to be very sure anymore.

"Why?"

"Can't remember," John said, beginning to sound upset. "Atlan'is. We almost blew up, y'know. 'S my fault."

"What is?"

"I dunno," John whispered. "Somethin'. 'M sorry."

"It's okay," Rodney said magnanimously. "I forgive you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Nice," John said, smiling broadly. His eyes slipped closed, and Carson seized the chance to insert an IV into his arm. John tipped his head to the side, but he didn't protest.

"Doc?"

Carson looked up to see Lorne, his anxious face barely visible above a mound of jackets clutched in his arms. "Uhh, I don't know if this is useful at all, but people wanna help. Pretty much everyone gave me their jacket, if you need bandages, or blankets…. The Colonel looks pretty cold. So does Dr. McKay."

"Thank you, son," Carson said gently. "As a matter of fact, that's very helpful. If you could just put some down here, and perhaps you could give some to Rodney, as well."

Lorne nodded, looking relieved to be of use, and knelt down beside John. Sheppard's eyes flicked open drowsily, and he watched as Lorne lifted his head, impossibly gently, and slid a jacket underneath it. John yawned, settling back down as Carson spread a few of the jackets across his torso.

"Th'nks," John mumbled, and Lorne's face cleared a bit.

"Course, sir." He stood, nodding to Carson and to John, and took the rest of his pile of jackets over to Rodney's bed.

Carson turned his attention back to the Colonel, who was blinking sleepily, but refusing to let go of consciousness just yet.

"You can go to sleep, son," Carson told him. "You did it. We're safe."

John blinked up at him, then slowly shook his head. "Not ready yet," he announced.

Carson sighed. He hadn't the slightest idea what was going through Sheppard's drug-fogged brain, but he was accustomed to John's stubbornness and knew that a battle wasn't worth it. Soon enough, John would drift off to sleep naturally, no matter what his intentions were. Hopefully, that would be sooner rather than later.

Elizabeth wanted to see John. She had done everything that could be done in the moment, she had redirected teams and scientists, talked to Zelenka and Carson and Ronon, she had sent Teyla to help Zelenka, and then to assist Ronon and the Marines, and she had barely had a moment for her badly injured friend.

As she approached the corner of the room where Rodney and John had been lying, she at first thought that John had been moved somehow. All she saw was a mound of jackets. But then she saw Carson talking to that mound of jackets, and she realized that John was underneath. The jackets were keeping him warm, and she could see the pile shifting slightly with his breathing.

"Is he awake?" Elizabeth asked gently, looking down at John's limp, pale body.

"I'm 'wake," John said. He wrenched his eyes open, and focused lazily on a spot that was somewhat near Elizabeth. Elizabeth knelt down next to him, hoping that would make it easier for him to focus.

"You can go back to sleep," Elizabeth said quickly. She didn't want to keep him awake if it was too difficult for him - he was clearly exhausted. "I am sure you're in a lot of pain."

"'M sorry," John said. "You...you were right. I was so mad but...you were right."

"Right about what?" Elizabeth asked. It was clear John had something he really wanted to get off his chest, but she was struggling a little to figure out what it was.

"'T was...Ronon. Who did the stuff. I said you shouldn't lock him up. I didn't...trust you."

"But it...wasn't Ronon," Elizabeth said, more confused now than she had been before. "Locking him up didn't help anything. All I did was remove a valuable member of your team. You said it wasn't him, and I didn't believe you. For that, I apologize."

John blinked sluggishly up at her. "'M sorry for...yelling at you before. Thought you were being paranoid. Didn't mean to...didn't mean to yell at you."

Weir nodded slightly. She had no idea how much of what she had just said he had actually internalized. It seemed as if it might have been very little. "That is perfectly understandable, John. It was a difficult situation. And your intuition was correct."

"Hmmm," he said softly, closing his eyes. "You know this is...this is really hard. Leading, I mean. It's...really hard."

Elizabeth smiled. She could only agree with him. Leading Atlantis, especially in a situation like this one, was in fact really hard. "You did very well, Colonel."

"Very well?" His eyes opened again, and he brightened visibly.

"Yes, Colonel. Thank you for leading Atlantis through this. You did a good job."

"Mmmm, okay," he said softly. "Thanks."

He closed his eyes again, and Weir thought that he'd gone to sleep again. But after a moment, his eyes opened to slits.

"You...always do a good job, you know," he mumbled. "Even though 't's really hard."

Elizabeth had spent the most crucial part of their current crisis drugged and unconscious, even though her people had needed her. So she appreciated John's vote of confidence. She adjusted the jacket under his head slightly, and then smoothed down his tufts of hair.

"Thank you, John," she said quietly.

"Welcome," he whispered. "'M gonna pass out now."

"Finally," Carson broke in. John blinked once more, and then Elizabeth watched as his whole face relaxed.

"It's about time," Carson muttered, checking John's pulse and nodding in satisfaction. Elizabeth couldn't help but agree. John looked utterly worn out, as though he'd used up every single ounce of strength he possessed. She was relieved that he was finally resting. Hopefully, they would be able to get him to the infirmary soon.

"Teyla? Where are you on clearing the way to the infirmary?" Elizabeth asked, tapping the earpiece that Carson had removed from John and handed off to her.

"We have partially excavated the entrance," Teyla responded. "Ronon is leading a medical team back to the Gateroom now. I shall stay here and continue to clear the door."

Elizabeth breathed a shaky sigh of relief. "They're on their way," she told Carson. At long last, it was beginning to feel as though the nightmare was over.

Ronon ushered the slightly shaken doctors and nurses back to the Gateroom as quickly as they were able to go with the equipment they carried, not to mention the gurney they'd carefully extracted from the infirmary. He knew that Beckett was very capable, but both John and Rodney had seemed awfully pale, and the quicker Ronon delivered an adequate medical team, the better.

Ronon rounded the corner into the Gateroom, half-expecting to find that McKay had coded, or Sheppard had overdosed, or something equally horrible. But it was much as he'd left it. If anything, it was more peaceful. Sheppard and McKay both appeared to be asleep, and Ronon relaxed as Carson waved a handful of the doctors to John's side.

Ronon sat down heavily on the steps leading upwards from the Gate, feeling the pain in his ribs now that he was no longer busy worrying over his team. He let his head fall forward, and he stayed there for a moment, enjoying the break.

"Mind if I join you?"

Weir was standing in front of him, smiling, but he caught a glint of awkwardness in her eyes.

"Sure," Ronon said. She sat down beside him, apparently struggling to find the words she wanted. Ronon made a face. He thought he knew what was coming, and he didn't want another apology. Marines he'd hardly even talked to, maybe sparred with a couple times, kept looking at him uncomfortably and muttering hurried apologies for suspecting him. It was really too much, especially now that it was over and done with. Ronon had been upset at the time, but he'd understood it even then.

"Ronon-"

"Don't," Ronon said quickly. He didn't think he could bear it from Weir, too. "I get it. Everyone keeps saying sorry. I'm not mad."

Elizabeth laughed, and it felt genuine. "Actually, I was going to say thank you. For saving my life."

"Oh," Ronon said. He blinked at her. "Really?"

"Yes. You are the only person on Atlantis who could have pulled it off. And I'm...glad to have you with me."

Ronon smiled, and it felt like the first time he'd really smiled in days. He gave Elizabeth a gentle pat on her shoulder, accidentally jostling her sideways a little.

She didn't seem to mind.

About six hours had gone by since Elizabeth had returned to the Gateroom. It felt simultaneously like both more and less time had passed. Elizabeth hadn't had any time to rest, but now that it felt that Atlantis was on the mend, she hadn't really felt like she needed it.

Soon after the med team had arrived for the Colonel and Rodney, Zelenka had finished the necessary repairs on the Stargate. Weir had sent the three strongest Marines she could find, along with Teyla, through the gate. They were heading to New Athos, where they could get food. Elizabeth had known it would be difficult for the Athosians to provide food for so many people, but she had hoped they would be able to help them at least until Atlantis could be resupplied by the Daedalus. They didn't need much. After two and a half days of near-starvation, anything the Athosians could provide would feel like a feast.

She didn't think it took Teyla very long to return from her trip to Athos, but without having any idea what was happening, it had felt like an eternity. But when Teyla had walked back through the Gate with a few Athosians, all bearing baskets worth of food, all of that waiting had become worth it. Within ten minutes, they had piles of food sitting in the center of the Gateroom where the spare rations had been before. Part of Elizabeth knew that even with the generous gift from Athos, things would still be a little tight until they could get more from Earth. The rations would be lowered, but not completely lifted.

But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the expression on her peoples' faces as they watched the pile of food slowly grow.

Weir hadn't really had time to sit down and eat a meal. Carson had also warned everyone that after eating so little for so long, they should start eating normally again slowly, so as not to overwhelm their systems. He was afraid of the infirmary being overwhelmed with preventable stomach pain, something he didn't currently have the personnel to deal with.

Weir had, as she was walking from place to place, checking on everyone's progress and making sure that her people were rested, eaten an apple. It was the best apple she had ever tasted.

She knew that she should get a full meal, and probably some rest, but she wanted to give her Military Commander the good news in person. Elizabeth didn't know if John would be awake, or even if she'd be allowed to see him, but she wouldn't feel right until she tried.

When she got to the infirmary, Carson was at his desk, his head pillowed on top of his arms. Weir froze in the doorway, not wanting to wake him. She'd forgotten that Carson had been awake just as long as everyone else on the base. She was debating whether to leave quietly or try to find John herself when Carson stirred and pulled his head up.

"Oh, Elizabeth. I'm sorry, love," he said blearily, and Weir grimaced.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she said apologetically.

"And I didn't mean to fall asleep," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "The Colonel's just out of surgery. I had someone else do it, I was afraid I'd drop off in the OR. Still, he's resting nicely."

"Can I see him?" Elizabeth asked.

"He's heavily sedated. He won't even know you're there," Carson warned.

"That's alright," Elizabeth said, and Carson nodded understandingly and pointed her to the recovery room. Elizabeth paused at the door, turning back to Carson.

"Get some sleep, Dr. Beckett."

"Yes, Dr. Weir," Carson responded. "With pleasure."

Elizabeth slipped into John's room, her eyes automatically seeking out his injury despite herself. She still hadn't actually seen John's leg, and she knew next to nothing about what to expect. Part of her expected John's leg to be a mass of metal screws and plates and wires, and she didn't really want to look at it, but she couldn't help herself.

She was relieved to see that John was covered in a pile of warm-looking blankets, and from the little she could make out, his leg had been reset, and was no longer at the horrible crooked angle she'd seen beneath the jackets. She couldn't see much more beneath the blankets, and she didn't particularly want to. Carson had seemed confident in his eventual recovery, and that was enough for her.

John hadn't stirred when she'd entered the room, not that she'd expected him to. Weir pulled a chair from the corner, sitting herself down by the head of John's bed. He looked much more peaceful now, the lines on his face smoothed out, his jaw relaxed instead of clenched in pain. He was still terribly pale, but his skin had lost the ashen grey cast of intense pain.

Weir knew she wouldn't be able to stay long, especially since John wasn't even awake yet to know she'd stopped by. But she just...she was glad she'd been able to see him, even if he was asleep. She felt better knowing he was drugged and resting. She knew the injury had been serious, and he would have a long road ahead of him to recover, but seeing him asleep made things feel more...normal.

She would be back in a few hours. Hopefully, by then he would be awake, and she could greet him with the news that he had been successful in saving his city. Even better, if Carson cleared it, she would be able to greet him with a small meal.

For now, she just patted one of his limp hands.

"Sleep well, John," she said.

"Rodney?" said a small voice from outside Rodney's room in the infirmary.

"Come in," Rodney said. Once the hallway to the infirmary had been cleared out enough to allow patients to be transferred back in, Rodney had been rolled into a private room and given a heavy dose of sedatives. He had spent most of the past several hours sleeping them off, and he was now feeling...well, well-rested was certainly a stretch. But the pain was easier to bear, and he wasn't quite so tired as he had been before. He was on enough drugs that he couldn't think very clearly, but that was alright, because the crisis was over and there was nothing much now that he needed to think about.

The only problem was that he hadn't seen John yet. He knew he had been rushed into surgery as soon as the infirmary had opened back up. Carson had come in at one point to tell Rodney that he was out of surgery and resting comfortably. But Rodney wasn't exactly up to house calls yet, and he didn't think he and Sheppard would be able to see each other until one or the other of them was feeling slightly more mobile.

Still, John had come and visited him in the infirmary so many times during the past few years that he half-expected the voice to belong to him. Even knowing that that was impossible, he was still surprised when the door opened to reveal Zelenka, who was holding a bowl of something warm.

"Oh, sure, eat in front of me, why don't you?" Rodney said. He hadn't exactly meant to say it, it just slipped out. He wasn't mad at Zelenka. In fact, he was impressed at the job Zelenka had done as Acting Head of Science.

But the fact that he had been relegated to nonessential still carried a small bite. And worse, over forty-eight hours since his surgery, he was starting to get hungry.

"This is not for me," Zelenka said quickly, holding out the bowl. "I tried to get jello, but they do not make that on Athos. I know it's not much, but…."

"Oh," Rodney said blankly, feeling a bit guilty. "Umm, thank you."

"You are welcome, Rodney," Zelenka said, pushing the bowl into Rodney's hands and waiting until it looked like he had a good hold on it. Rodney examined the bowl, which appeared to be soup. It smelled...amazing, and Rodney realized with a sudden spinning feeling just how hungry he was.

He'd inhaled half the soup before he stopped to think about the taste, and before he looked back up to find that Zelenka was still standing there.

"I am glad to see you feeling better," Zelenka said, a little awkwardly.

"Me too," Rodney told him. "At least I can eat now."

"Yes, umm, I am very sorry about that," Zelenka muttered.

"It wasn't your fault," Rodney said, perhaps the tiniest bit grudgingly. "And you managed not to completely destroy Atlantis, so I suppose I should be happy. Try not to blow it up before I take over, okay?"

Zelenka shuddered, dropping into a chair. "I did not enjoy being the Head of Science, Rodney. I hope you will recover quickly."

Rodney blinked at the distressed-looking engineer in surprise. He hadn't ever really thought about it, but he supposed he'd assumed Zelenka was just as competitive as he was, merely waiting to seize his chance to become the Head of Science. It had never occurred to him that Zelenka might not actually enjoy the job.

"It was...very stressful," Radek murmured, looking suddenly overwhelmed.

Rodney couldn't exactly blame him. Zelenka had completed an enormous task, and although it might kill Rodney to admit it, he was very impressed.

As terrible as it was, Rodney supposed Zelenka deserved some form of acknowledgement for saving the city.

"Of course, you can't hope to achieve anything like my level of brilliance, but you weren't entirely useless," Rodney admitted. That...wasn't quite what he meant to say. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"I would have estimated that it would take a team of scientists around a week to completely overhaul the main power conduits. And you did it essentially alone, in a day and a half. Without enough food or rest." That was, perhaps, a bit too complementary. It wouldn't do for Zelenka to get too overconfident.

"Not too bad for a mediocre scientist such as yourself," he ended. Perfect.

"Thank you,," Zelenka said, a little drily. "I appreciate what you meant to say."

"That is what I meant to say," Rodney protested.

"Yes," Zelenka agreed. "Enjoy your soup, Rodney."

"I will," Rodney said fervently. "I mean, I am. I mean, I did."

He set the bowl on his bedside table. There was still a bit left in the bowl, and he wasn't feeling nauseated at all, but he didn't think Carson would be very happy if he overdid it the first time he was able to eat and ended up puking.

"Take care, Rodney."

"I will," Rodney promised. "Just wait, in no time at all I'll be back up and bothering you."

He actually had meant that to be kind of mean, but Zelenka didn't seem to take it that way. He just smiled at Rodney, a genuine smile, and then left the room.

John Sheppard was going to be the death of Carson. Or if he wasn't, then perhaps it would be Rodney. And if Carson managed to survive both John and Rodney, well then, surely Ronon would be able to come in and finish the job.

Two weeks after he had broken his leg, John was getting pretty good at using the wheelchair. He still wasn't up for any longer trips, but he could careen around the infirmary just fine, knocking over papers, bothering patients who were resting, and making an obscene amount of noise.

Thankfully, Rodney was able to spend most of the day awake now, so John had transitioned from spending most of his time annoying Carson to spending most of his time annoying Rodney. Carson could hear him in Rodney's room now. They were both yelling, but Carson couldn't make out the words, a fact for which he was glad. They sounded friendly, and that was all he really needed to know.

"Oh, Carson, you're back on duty," Ronon said, entering the infirmary with Teyla following behind him. "Perfect. I had a question for you."

Carson's heart rose into his throat - although Ronon's injuries had not been too severe, just a few deep scratches and some bruising around his eye socket and some cracked ribs, he was in some ways the most difficult of Carson's patients. John and Rodney would be living in the infirmary for the time being, so he could keep a close eye on them and make sure they were receiving proper care. But Ronon hadn't been badly injured enough to spend any time in the infirmary, and it was impossible to get him to do anything. If something had happened that was bad enough Ronon had a question….

"Sheppard said ninjas are cooler than pirates," Ronon said. "He's wrong, right?"

"There is a right answer if you want Ronon to leave you alone," Teyla added helpfully.

Carson groaned. He had made Ronon wear an eyepatch for about forty-eight hours after the fight with the Replicator to let the fragile skin around his eye heal. That had, of course, lead to Ronon and Teyla spending all their freetime in the infirmary watching every pirate movie under the sun. If Carson heard the word swashbuckling one more time, or...or gangplank….

"Pirates are my favorite category of Earth criminals," Carson said diplomatically.

This seemed to satisfy Ronon, and he relaxed. "Mine too."

"Alright, now that that's settled, let me see how your eye is healing up…."

"Nah," Ronon said. "Didn't come here to let you examine me. Where're Sheppard and Mckay?"

Carson glanced at Teyla, who shrugged helplessly.

"They're in Rodney's room," Carson finally said. "But they've been...yelling a lot, now might not be the best time…."

Ronon pushed past Carson, Teyla following in his wake. As soon as the door to Rodney's room opened, their yelling became more audible. It was clear they were placing bets on something.

His curiosity captured despite himself, Carson followed Ronon and Teyla in. Rodney was half propped up on an armful of pillows, shouting loudly to be heard over John, who'd managed to stop the wheelchair just far enough away from Rodney's head that he apparently felt the need to scream.

"You had bone sticking out of your leg," Rodney yelled.

"That's not as bad as being gutshot. You'll definitely be here longer."

"You were STABBED by your own bone," Rodney shot back. "You'll probably be stuck here when I don't even remember being shot."

"Wanna bet?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Rodney sniffed. "How does a week's pay sound?"

John snorted. "No chance. You owe me something like a year's pay by now, you keep losing bets and you never pay up."

"I do not," Rodney squawked.

"You owe me a lot too," Ronon added helpfully.

"Five months and two weeks for me," Teyla told Rodney, looking pleased with herself.

Rodney spluttered into silence, then made his "brilliant idea" face. "Fine. Winner gets to call the loser a cripple until he also gets to leave. And, umm, first dibs on all the Jello in the mess hall."

"I don't like Jello that much," John pointed out.

"Well, you're going to lose, so it doesn't much matter."

John looked very much as though he wanted to get up and hit Rodney, and Carson decided it was high time he intervened before John really did land himself in the infirmary for months.

"How about the two of you bet on who will have to stay here longest?" Carson huffed. "And the winner gets to stay quietly and do all of his physical therapy without a whit of complaint? Or perhaps, you could bet on which of you will drive me to distraction first. Or maybe which of you will get me to finally ask Elizabeth to forcibly separate you, because you're a disruption to the other patients."

There was a moment of silence, and then Rodney frowned. "Those aren't very fun-sounding bets," he muttered.

"No, they aren't, are they?" Carson said with some asperity. Glaring once more at the assembled faces, he looked to Teyla for assistance.

"Can you please try to keep them a bit quieter, my dear?"

"I am not sure that I can," Teyla answered gravely. "But I shall do my best."

"I suppose that's all I can ask," Carson sighed. At the door, he turned back. "By the way, Rodney, you owe me five hundred and ninety six days of pay, a new bioscanner, and a three day fishing trip. I'll wait 'til you're better to cash in, hmm?"

As Carson left the room, he caught Rodney's mumbled words to Sheppard. "Well, maybe I won't take that bet after all."