The American Military loved its rules. There were procedures and proper protocols in place for just about everything and not even lead scientists of major, top secret programs were allowed to deviate from those rules. That was how Rodney McKay came to find himself slumped in an abandoned chair in a hallway just off the medical wing, covered in John Sheppard's blood with his head resting in his hands.

He'd yelled, he'd fought, but in the end, they hadn't let him in. 'Procedure', they'd said. And Rodney McKay hated it.

If this were a medical emergency back in the day, he likely would have retreated to his lab hours ago. Back then, Rodney had always been the type of man who would throw himself into work. Not sit idly by through desperate hours of waiting, twiddling his thumbs and drinking cup after cup of horrible coffee, staring at the walls of sterile waiting rooms. It wasn't that he didn't care back then. Rodney always cared. It was because people were always trying to discreetly suggest that maybe it was better for everyone involved if he just stayed away. When he was scared or feeling helpless, Rodney turned into a bit of an asshole. When there was nothing for his intellect to chew on, that was when the old Rodney McKay came out to make life miserable for everyone around him.

But Rodney was different now, and this was no ordinary medical emergency. While he had toyed with the idea of heading back to his lab briefly, the gravity of John Sheppard was just too strong. It had pulled him back into a constant orbit that he had been unable - and unwilling - to escape from.

The chair Rodney was occupying was tucked up against a wall in a hallway he'd never been in before, located just outside the SGC surgical suites. The suites were a new addition to the base, as were the surgeons purloined from various prestigious medical facilities around the country and currently performing surgery on John.

For hours he'd been waiting in that chair for news of his friend, and for hours the door a few yards down from his little row of chairs had remained resolutely closed. He'd been trying to take it as a sign that John was still alive. That his doctors hadn't, in fact, pulled one of those sterile white sheets up over his head and declared him dead. Rodney didn't think he could handle seeing John that way. The man had, and would always be, the epitome of strength and voracity in his eyes. Seeing him otherwise just wouldn't compute. It would crash his systems, and Rodney was only barely holding it together as it was.

John had been in that room for over... Rodney looked down at his watch, remembering suddenly that the damn thing hadn't worked in days. Frustration reached up from somewhere deep and gripped him tightly, the urge to get up out of his chair and throw it against the wall a very real thing... But random bursts of aggression were more John Sheppard's style.

Whatever time it was, John had been wheeled away hours ago. Hours that had passed by for Rodney in a fuzzy haze of nondescript people bending over him every once in a while and asking if there was anything they could get him. The answer had always been no, of course. They couldn't possibly give Rodney what he needed right now, though he had pulled his cell phone out of his pocket a few times now and contemplated the numbers he brought up onto the screen. They were the only two people in the world he really wanted with him at that moment. The only thing was, Rodney had no idea how to ask for their help considering he'd been absent from their lives for some time now.

Rodney might have been alone at the moment, but he'd had a few visitors during the long hours of his vigil. Not all of them had been unwanted. Zelenka had stopped by to let him know that Carson was doing well and showing signs of waking up. Rodney's colleague had gone on about other things, but Rodney had been fuming over a fight he'd just had with one of the soldiers guarding the entrance to the operating rooms at the time and hadn't been paying much attention. He seemed to recall Radek's parting words being something about promising to watch over Carson while they were all dealing with John. Lorne had come in with John's transport, but Rodney had seen neither hide nor hair of the man ever since. He was probably off trying to deal with the aftermath of Sean Fitzpatrick. Or were they supposed to call him Liam Maguire now? Whatever his name, there were going to be a lot of questions in the coming days about how he had managed to infiltrate one of the most top-secret government programs in the world. Once word got out that Cheyenne Mountain and all her residents had nearly been gassed to death, Rodney figured his time was going to be in high demand.

With the little bit of information he'd been able to uncover during his hurried searches in the puddle jumper while John was down in that caretaker's cottage, Rodney hadn't been able to find much. There was no mention of Liam Maguire's name in any of the databases he searched. The former IOA had likely wiped all evidence of him from the system and Rodney had never even considered the kid in the chair when he had gathered his evidence that day after the crash. Knowing the US Government, any investigation into this would likely be kept very hush, hush. Especially since they'd let some madman infiltrate their ranks.

But Liam Maguire had fooled everyone . Rodney and Carson included. It was embarrassing just to think about, but what Maguire said to John down in that cottage was true. They were all so desperate to get John back onto Atlantis that they let the enemy knocking at the gate waltz right through. No hesitation, no question. Someone was going to have to take the fall. The USSF would demand its pound of flesh. Rodney just hoped it wouldn't be anyone he knew.

Sitting back in his chair, Rodney ran tired hands down the sides of his face. His shirt sleeves were coarse and stiff with blood. They made his skin itch as he moved. He looked down at the blood-soaked fabric for a moment, lost in the memories of their frenzied flight back over to Cheyenne Mountain.

In a perfect world, Rodney would have just demanded the use of the Deadalus and the Asgard beaming technology aboard. But the Earth ship had been sent ahead to Pegasus days ago on a reconnaissance mission. The IOA wanted to know if the Wraith were still out there. Rodney was cursing the IOA for that decision now. For jumping the gun and sending out an advance guard so soon after John had returned. But those idiots rarely paid much attention to him these days. But if they had, maybe John wouldn't be on the other side of that door fighting for his life right now.

When John had lost consciousness in the cottage, Rodney had thought that was it. That they had finally lost him for good this time. Lorne had been too busy trying to disarm the C4 that Fit-Maguire had rigged to the underside of Carrie Sinclair's chair so he hadn't been there to see.

John had been shot four times. Once in the shoulder and three other times terrifyingly close to where Rodney was reasonably certain his heart was supposed to be. He was no physician, but even he knew there was no coming back from a bullet to the heart, if Liam Maguire's aim had been true.

And what a place to aim for. If Rodney had sat John down and asked him where got all that inherent strength of his, John would probably just laugh it off at first and tell Rodney that he was crazy. But when Rodney eventually pried an actual answer out of him, he would probably say his training as an Air Force pilot did it. But ask anyone else involved with the Atlantis expedition, or anyone who had ever known him for that matter, and they would all invariably say the same thing.

It came from his heart.

The scientist part of Rodney's brain identified the heart as nothing more than a complex muscle located in the chest whose primary function was to pump blood throughout the body. But that wasn't the case with John. For Sheppard, his heart was what defined him. What gave him that irritatingly honorable need to take in all the strays and find them good homes. That attribute had always been endearing. Unfortunately for them all, this time around, it had come back to bite John in the ass. It just didn't seem fair to Rodney.

Those seven maddening minutes it took for the medical team to arrive in the cottage certainly weren't fair and the hands in Rodney's lap began to tremble as he let his thoughts wander back to that place again.

One of the USSF guys with them must have been a medic. Rodney had watched him perform CPR on John while he knelt on uneven floorboards and clamped his hands down over the geysers of blood trying to well up from between his fingers. His friend's face had gone grey and slack from blood loss. It was an image that would likely haunt him until the day he died. Helplessness was not something Rodney handled very well, and the scene that had unfolded mere hours ago had tested the very limits of his endurance.

John being pulled away from the wall by his boots so they could get at his gunshot wounds better. The pool of blood that had gathered beneath his body as Rodney tried to keep in what the chest compressions kept trying to push out.

Rodney had been waiting for the moment when John would miraculously start breathing on his own again, like they always did in the movies. It was that sputtering intake of breath that was important, because it always heralded the victim's sudden return to consciousness. A doctor's muttered assurance that he was out of danger coming only a moment later... But it hadn't happened that way and Rodney McKay had spent the next unbearable minutes waiting for help to arrive, wondering the entire time if the words he had just exchanged with John were going to be his last... If the hands he'd clapped over the holes were going to be enough to save him.

When help finally did arrive, it wasn't the grand entrance Rodney had been expecting. The medical team looked just as worried and anxious as he felt and he'd never seen more activity centered around one man in his entire life.

John was the focal point in a raging sea of churning color and disorder. Rodney had fixed his gaze on the epicenter of that storm and never let it go. Not even back in the jumper when Lorne had tried to hold him back and keep him from following after John's gurney. Not during the frantic, wheeled trip down unfamiliar halls and towards the SGC surgical wing. Rodney would have kept it up all the way to the very operating table if a solid arm hadn't reached out to halt his progress. It was a guard, and a big one at that.

Rodney had reached the end of the line, even though he fought like hell to try and get past it. But even he had given up in the end, because there were just some places in the universe where Rodney McKay would never be allowed to go, no matter who he was or what position he held within the SGC.

That was fine, but he didn't have to like it.

And so Rodney sat, banished to the outer hallways of the surgical wing, left alone to wait anxiously for news of whether or not John had lived or died. Patience had never been one of Rodney's stronger virtues and the waiting was driving him mad. Desperate for anything that might take his mind off the fact that John could very well be dying just on the other side of that door, Rodney pulled his phone out of his pocket. He sighed, noting the 3 text messages he'd somehow missed. He punched at the screen but the sound of a door opening down the hall drew his attention away before he could read them.

Rodney lifted his eyes, disappointed at first to find that it wasn't the door he was waiting for, but rather one further on down the hall. Once he realized who had entered his little inner sanctum, however, Rodney straightened up in his chair.

The robed figure with bandaged wrists was speaking quietly with the guard. When she started walking down the corridor a moment later, Rodney was suddenly terrified. What was he supposed to say to her? Carrie Sinclair was likely feeling the same desperation he was, but Rodney had no idea, beyond a distant memory of a broken window, of the kind of relationship John had had with the woman. Did he comfort her? Give her the cold shoulder? Talk her into leaving?

Carrie seemed just as nervous as Rodney was as she plopped down into the seat beside him. But it was when she grabbed his hand a moment later and didn't let it go that Rodney figured he probably didn't have anything to worry about.

"Has there been any news?" she asked him.

Rodney shook his head angrily. "No. Nothing. I haven't moved from this spot for hours and no one's come out of that room since I got here." He inclined his head towards the door John had disappeared into hours ago and Carrie glanced over at it. Her gaze lingered there for a moment as if she were trying to talk the door into opening on sheer force of will alone. It didn't work.

Rodney could see immediately why John had been drawn to Carrie Sinclair. Her wide eyes hinted at an intelligence her youthful face tried to mask. Despite their dark coloring, those eyes were bright and alert, even at this late hour. She seemed to absorb everything around her like a sponge and Rodney had the feeling, if given enough time, she would have all of this figured out. In fact, she probably already had.

Carrie had lovely long hair that she had tied back away from her face in a messy ponytail. Rodney had to admit that she was pretty, though pretty didn't interest him much these days. But even wrapped up in an ugly infirmary robe with white bandaged wrists, he could see why John might be attracted to her.

"We haven't officially met. I'm Rodney McKay."

"Carrie," she said simply.

"How are you holding up?" he asked his new friend who was still clutching his hand. She let go when he looked down at it.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I'm doing pretty well. Besides some abrasions on my wrists and ankles, the doctors say I'll be perfectly fine."

"Did anyone stop by and talk to you while you were in the infirmary? Did they explain any of this to you?" Rodney asked, gesturing around the corridor.

"No one has told me much," Carrie replied a little stiffly. "But I did finally convince them to let me come and sit with you." The smile she gave him next was sad.

"Well, a lot of what we do here is top-secret. I imagine someone will debrief you once things calm down a bit." He'd almost said when they finally found out if John was going to make it, but stopped himself. "I can't tell you much about this place, but I'd really like to know what you saw down in that cottage. That is," Rodney paused, feeling nervous and out of his element again, "if you're up to talking about it."

If Carrie picked up on the fact that he was uncomfortable, she didn't show it, and launched into her version of events without pause.

Rodney had heard most of what she told him over the comms in the jumper, but some of it was new. Like how very close John had come to actually shooting Richard Woolsey in the head.

Rodney wasn't stupid. He knew John was only human, no matter how many people at the SGC tried to tell him otherwise. No one could blame him for a split second of hesitation when presented with the opportunity to enact his revenge. John had protected Woolsey in the end, for all the good it did, and no one would ever convince Rodney that that hadn't been John's intention all along. He'd just needed a moment of recalibration in the end.

As horrible as Woolsey's final moments had been, Rodney found he was just the slightest bit relieved that the man was finally gone. He'd caused so much misery over his long, disgraceful life and it would be nice to finally close the book on that last chapter of his.

Rodney's only remaining concern, should John survive, was that irreparable damage had been done to his soul. He'd put his trust in men like Richard Woolsey and Sean - Liam Maguire, and each and every time, he'd been betrayed. There were only so many times a man, even one as strong as John, could be treated like that before he just wasn't able to bounce back from it anymore. John was going to be leery of everyone now and Rodney worried about how they were going to get him to open up and talk about what happened. Liam Maguire posing as a psychiatrist wasn't going to make that easy. John had divulged things about himself to that man that would thankfully be taken to the grave, but that didn't lessen the weight of the betrayal. Or negate its catastrophic consequences. The harm had already been done, and it would take every single one of John's friends to try and come up with some way to make this alright again.

Rodney realized his thoughts had wandered and he focused back in on what Carrie was saying. It didn't take him long for him to realize his assessment of the woman was correct. Carrie Sinclair was smart and had most everything figured out already, though Rodney couldn't really answer any of the questions she had for him. So when she was finally finished and he hadn't been able to help much, Rodney could tell she was a little frustrated with him, though she tried hard not to let it show.

"Look Ms. Sinclair," he started, resisting the urge to rub at his tired eyes.

"You can just stop it right there, Dr. McKay," she smiled despite his terseness. "It's Carrie. Ms. Sinclair is my 90-year-old busy-body auntie who lives in Blue River."

Rodney couldn't help but smile back. "Well, fine then. If that's how you want it. The same goes for me. You can call me Rodney."

"You know, he talked about you sometimes. John, I mean," she said thoughtfully.

Rodney had to look away. "Oh?"

"He always thought he was being so careful in keeping all this from me," Carrie said, gesturing vaguely at the space around them. "But every so often I could get him talking. He'd have these - I don't know. I guess you might call them episodes? - every once in a while. He'd just go on this tangent and there were always a few people that he mentioned fairly regularly. I've spent, what... 5 minutes with you, and I already know which one you are."

"Do I want to know?" Rodney asked, trying to keep things light.

"Maybe not all of it," she smiled, "but every time he talked about you, I could tell you were someone very special. I know he was never exactly what you would call an open book, but when John cared about someone, you knew it."

She was looking away as she said it, but once she started to turn those dark eyes on him, Rodney had to look away and down at the hands he had clasped in his lap. If he looked into her eyes and saw any hint of the years she had gotten to share with John while Rodney had thought him dead, he was going to say something he'd regret. It wouldn't be her fault and she sure as hell wouldn't have deserved it, but his heart would take over his mouth, and that never turned out well for anyone.

Carrie Sinclair had gotten to spend a decade with John. Had likely shared his bed. Even though they'd never put a name to the closeness that had sprung up between them those months before the Super Hive, Rodney found that he was extremely jealous of the woman sitting next to him. Those years should have been Rodney's. He was the one who had been by John's side since the beginning. The woman sitting beside him, while extremely beautiful, didn't have a clue about what was really out there. What dangers the universe held for anyone foolhardy enough to go looking. Rodney doubted she had ever traveled much further than the small towns surrounding Blue River. She knew nothing of other worlds and hostile aliens. Those memories and experiences with John still belonged to Rodney, and Rodney alone.

"He's going to be okay," Rodney blurted out suddenly. For whose benefit, he wasn't really sure, but it made Carrie look away again. He could tell neither of them really believed it, but it felt good to say all the same. They were together in this now. He might be jealous of the woman sitting next to him, but at least she'd had the character to get herself out of the infirmary and find her way here.

Rodney started to ask Carrie more about what John might have mentioned about him when some commotion at the end of the hall caught his attention. There were two men at the door now, talking with the guard. Rodney froze solid in his chair the moment he saw who it was. Carrie, noticing his sudden stillness, craned her neck around to look over at the two men about to head towards them.

"Who are they?" she asked, turning back around. When he didn't respond, she put a concerned hand on his shoulder.

"Rodney, is everything alright?"

"No," he practically laughed. "Things are definitely not alright... but it's looking more and more like they might be."

Rising from his seat, Rodney didn't even try to stop the wide smile that broke out across his face. Nor did he care that he took the last few yards of the corridor at a run. He only had eyes for one of the two men walking down the hallway towards him. When he finally reached them, Rodney pulled the younger of the two into an immediate and almost desperate embrace, breathing in the New York smells TJ had brought with him.

His son seemed taller somehow, though Rodney knew that was impossible. Just like he knew he probably shouldn't be hugging him right in front of General Landry like he was. Rodney had made a promise to himself never to reveal his relationship with TJ to anyone, at least at first. But seeing him now, especially after all that had happened? Rodney was tossing all those carefully laid plans to the curb. TJ was like a port in the storm. True north on the compass. Rodney clung to that calm for as long as he could, TJ letting him do so for as long as he needed.

When Rodney pulled away, he held his son at arm's length to inspect him. There wasn't a dry eye in the place.

"H-How?" he stammered, trying to ignore the moisture gathering in his own eyes.

"General Landry," TJ smiled, nodding over at the General.

"As soon as I was debriefed on what happened, we picked TJ up and headed back to the SGC. I'm only sorry we couldn't get here sooner," Landry replied, smiling widely like he had been in on the big secret all along. Rodney knew well enough not to push the issue.

"How long can you stay?" he asked.

"Well, I guess that's up to the General," TJ replied.

"As far as I'm concerned, your transfer is officially approved," Landry said, almost proudly, apparently very pleased with himself for having orchestrated such an unexpected family reunion. "So I guess the answer to your question is: permanently."

Exhaustion, worry, and the constant ebb and flow of his emotions over the past several hours filled Rodney's eyes with tears. He tried to inconspicuously wipe them away with the back of a hand, but it was a lost cause.

"Oh, hey! There's someone you two should meet," he said, grabbing TJ by the arm and leading him down the hall and back towards the bank of chairs. Carrie was still sitting there, kindly giving them their space.

"General Hank Landry, TJ, this is Carrie Sinclair. A friend of John's from Blue River."

"Ma'am," both of them said with a nod.

"Carrie, this is TJ, my son, and General Hank Landry. He's the Commanding Officer here."

The group exchanged their pleasantries, but Rodney could not take his eyes off TJ. The kid really did seem taller, and regal almost dressed in his brand new USSF uniform. He was still a little lanky, though ROTC training had managed to bulk him up a bit. He looked good and Rodney couldn't keep himself from smiling at the kid as he sweet-talked Carrie and had everyone laughing in spite of the dire situation they all found themselves in.

Torren John had always been tall. He had both of his parents to thank for that. Rodney could see a little bit of both of them in the young man standing before him. TJ had his father's hair but everything else was Teyla's. The only thing Rodney could lay claim to was that intelligent spark behind his eyes. The one that let everyone know he was the smartest kid in the room. That one Rodney couldn't decide was a good thing or not, settling finally on the conclusion that he wouldn't apologize for pushing his son to be the best he possibly could've been.

"Well, Ms. Sinclair," Landry was saying when Rodney started paying attention to the conversation again. "Why don't you come with me for a while, and we'll give these two a chance to catch up?"

Carrie appeared amenable enough to the offer. Before Landry could lead her away, however, she paused and looked over at Rodney. He already knew what she was going to ask.

"If we hear anything, anything at all," he promised, "even if it's just someone coming out to tell me they ran out of gauze, I'll get word to you."

Carrie eyed him skeptically for a moment, like she wasn't quite sure she could believe him. A second or two later, however, she let Landry lead her away. When the door finally closed behind their retreating figures, Rodney practically fell back into his seat. TJ slid into the one beside him.

"I can't believe you're here," he said. The events of the past few days were making him mushy, but Rodney figured a little mush was the least of his worries at the moment. His clothes were covered in someone else's blood. There was enough of it that Rodney was surprised someone hadn't said something to him about it. Especially when he pulled TJ into such a desperate hug earlier.

TJ being there was like the answer to some unspoken prayer Rodney hadn't even realized he'd made. He reached a hand out to grab hold of one of TJ's and squeezed. They had never been what anyone would call an overly affectionate family, but Rodney still knew how to show his adoptive son just how much he loved him. He had always made sure to take every opportunity he could to let the kid know just how very much he was wanted. Though TJ had no idea that his father was alive, he'd still been living with the loss, and that was entirely Rodney's fault.

Worried his exhaustion might make him say something about Kanaan to TJ right then and there, Rodney took his hand back and swiped at some of the dust covering his knees. He hadn't even noticed it before and figured it was from when he had knelt on the floorboards beside John. When he moved his arms to clear them off, the fabric encircling his wrists made a crackling noise as he disturbed the dried blood there. He was a mess, and yet, having Torren John in the seat beside him made none of it matter anymore.

"That Landry is something else," TJ began. "You should have seen him, Pops. He stormed into my COs office and demanded he release me early and then we jumped on his jet and came here. I gotta tell ya, this place definitely has its perks."

"Wait until you see Atlantis," Rodney smiled over at his son. "Then talk to me about perks."

He ran his hands over thighs crusted with dried blood. Little flakes of red puffed out from under his hands and floated to the floor beside his boots. He ignored them.

"How's General Sheppard?" Torren asked as if reading his mind.

Rodney shrugged. "No idea, they haven't been out to tell me anything."

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Now you sound like your mother," Rodney snorted, rolling his eyes. "And no, I haven't. But before you ask, I'm not hungry."

"Come on, Pops," TJ pressed. "You're not going to be any good to anyone if you're dead on your feet. How about a shower and a change and then you can show me what kind of Mess Hall you have in this place?"

"But I don't want to leave," Rodney argued. The thought of abandoning John had anxiety filling the back of his throat with something bitter. "What if they come out to give us an update and I'm not here? And watch who you call me Pops around, would ya? No one here knows you're my son quite yet." Pops was something TJ had started calling him around the age of 14 and Rodney had been having a love/hate relationship with it ever since.

"Don't worry Dr. McKay ," TJ said sarcastically. "I won't blow your cover. But seriously Dad, you need to at least change. You look like some kind of extra on a horror movie set."

Rodney looked down at his shirt front again, finally paying attention to just how much blood there really was. It had all dried down to a ruddy brown color with only the barest hint of the white shirt beneath. A mess was an understatement.

How was John ever going to survive this?

"I don't think I can do it, kid," Rodney said thickly, and not in response to his son's suggestion that he leave for a while.

"Do what, Dad?"

"Leave him."

TJ turned to regard him seriously, eyes running down Rodney's blood-stained shirt front, absently twirling his hat in his hands. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"Crazy happened, Son," Rodney replied. "And it shot my friend in the chest... four times."

This time it was Torren who reached out to take his hand.