It was dim in the recovery room. The lights had been turned down low to try and give the exhausted group of people huddled inside some sense of peace. Peace Evan Lorne knew none of them would be able to find.

He stood in the doorway to Sheppard's room, arms folded across his chest and a shoulder propped up against the doorframe. He kept his distance, unsure if he was welcome amongst the people standing vigil, or if they all still considered him an outsider.

For most of his life, Evan Lorne had been flitting along the outer edges of most things, and this particular moment was no different. He wanted to go in. Had a very strong feeling that he would be welcomed by them all with open arms. But no matter how hard he tried, his boots stayed rooted in place.

It was lighter out in the hall and his body cast an elongated shadow on the brick of yellow light spilling into the room from outside. No one had looked up when he'd darkened the doorway about 15 minutes ago. They were all too busy sitting quietly in their respective chairs watching John Sheppard die.

The gazes that settled over the bruised and battered body of the Brigadier General were mixed. Rodney was sitting next to a young man Lorne had never seen before and he could tell the scientist had been crying. He was looking Sheppard over with a mixture of bitterness, exhaustion and utter helplessness. The emotions flitted across his face, changing up every few seconds as he struggled with his composure. More often than not the young man sitting unobtrusively next to him cast concerned glances in his direction as though worried Rodney might break. Though Lorne was 100% certain the kid was somehow related to Teyla, he had no idea how that was even possible. He made a mental note to ask Landry about him later on.

Whoever the kid was, he'd been absorbed into the group seamlessly, and Rodney seemed very happy to have him there.

Taking up another chair on the other side of John's bed was Carrie Sinclair. Wrists freshly bandaged and clinging to one of Sheppard's hands like it was a lifeline, she spent most of her time watching the mechanical rise and fall of John's chest. She was wrapped up in one of those ugly infirmary robes Lorne had never had the displeasure of wearing. She didn't seem to mind though and focused all her attention on making sure the ventilator helping John breathe kept up its job.

Lorne shifted quietly in the doorway, trying not to disturb the reserved group, trying to talk himself into just going in there. He had some news to share. A tiny bit of sunshine in the darkness. Carson Beckett was awake, only Lorne couldn't convince himself to go in and shatter the delicate silence everyone had seemed to have settled into.

Ever since coming to Atlantis all those years ago, Lorne had always just kind of been on the periphery of things. He hadn't minded it. There was always a need for a 2nd string quarterback, and his talents had never gone to waste. It was just that Lorne had never officially fit in with John's team. They'd called him in to help on more than one occasion, and he'd always been willing to help, but he had never truly been part of the team.

Lorne had forever been circling the edge of greater men. This felt like that all over again, standing there in the doorway, feeling like he didn't have a place in that room amongst Sheppard's mourners, but still having a job to do.

Lorne had come a long way since Atlantis. He was a Colonel now. John Sheppard's 2IC, if he lived. From what Lorne had been able to pull out of a shell-shocked Rodney a few hours ago, the bullets Sean... Liam Maguire had put into Sheppard's chest had missed his heart by millimeters, though they did manage to do considerable damage on their way out.

John's condition was critical. There was no getting around that. His doctors didn't want to risk even moving him to the infirmary. They had set him up in a private room instead. One where they could keep a constant eye on him.

Lorne cast his eyes over to the tinted glass of the little elevated room where he knew a doctor sat, keeping watch over the various monitors and machines currently trying to keep John Sheppard alive. Dr. Beckett was already demanding to be allowed to come over here, and Lorne didn't know how he was supposed to talk the doc into staying away.

Everyone was worried, and that worry didn't stop at the doorway Lorne was currently blocking. The entire base seemed subdued, a heavy cloud of sadness covering everything and making everyone walk just a little slower. Hunching their shoulders down just a little further. Lorne had been in meetings ever since arriving back at the base, but he'd noticed the heaviness the moment he started walking through the SGC.

The news of what happened in the cottage was naturally spreading like wildfire. His men were reporting a constant stream of visitors to the checkpoints they'd set up around the surgical suites. People were desperate for news on General Sheppard's condition. Lorne had ordered them all to be turned away. The threat that had been hanging over their heads for months was gone now. He no longer worried for the safety of the people sitting around Sheppard's bedside, but he would keep the security checkpoints in place, just in case. At least until Sheppard stabilized, and probably even after that.

Not only were things so unstable now that Lorne feared even the slightest shift might change John's course and send him crashing, but everyone needed a moment to breathe . To mourn. To stop and acknowledge what happened. They couldn't do that when they were constantly being bombarded by well-meaning people who were just trying to help yet making the whole process harder in the long run.

It was hard to imagine sometimes that one man had caused all of this. Lorne had never had a hand in actually hiring the man who had called himself Sean Fitzpatrick, but the task force sure missed all the signs. A task force he had been tapped to lead, no less. While Lorne couldn't remember Fitzpatrick's name specifically, he knew they had done extensive background checks on all the people who would have direct access to Sheppard. Nothing had ever come up, and yet Lorne found himself shouldering the blame for all of it.

He knew Fitzpatrick had been smart. He knew if he walked into John's room right this second and apologized for what he had allowed to happen, people would be out of their seats telling him what an idiot he was being. But Lorne couldn't help it. He'd been given one task: Protect Atlantis and keep the ATA gene carriers safe. Yet at his first trial by fire, Evan Lorne had failed. Spectacularly. More than that, really. He'd allowed her leader, the one person they needed most to pull it all off, to be drawn into a madman's sick game of sabotage and murder. It never should have happened. John Sheppard shouldn't be lying a few feet away from him, hooked up to machines Lorne couldn't even name, fighting for his life... and apparently losing. Lorne was going to carry this failure with him for the rest of his life. And it wouldn't matter if John Sheppard lived or died today because this wouldn't be the first dark thing to live inside of him. Lorne had never come out and admitted it to anyone in particular, but he also shouldered some of the blame for something else that had happened over 18 years ago.

What if? It was a phrase that had often run through his head when he allowed himself to think back on those chaotic first few months after the Wraith were destroyed and everyone was starting to figure out exactly what happened. Lorne had been so angry. Sheppard had disappeared on his watch, and then he'd gone and made some very loud accusations that had gotten him thrown in jail. He should have just kept his damn mouth shut and helped Rodney bring the IOA down. Instead, he ran his mouth off and ended up sitting around in a jail cell for six months waiting for his friends to rescue him instead. In the process, John remained missing and Mitchell and Carter had lost their lives.

If he had stayed by Sheppard's side that day, would any of this have happened? Would Cam and Sam still be alive if he hadn't been so stupid? The two sins were so similar, no wonder he was having a hard time dealing with the fact they both were taking up space inside of him now.

Lorne heaved a heavy sigh and started to turn away from the quiet scene before him. He could give them all the news a little later.

As Lorne turned to leave, he noticed a figure standing in the hallway watching him quietly. Lorne stiffened a little, wondering if this was the part where General Landry told him his services would no longer be required at the SGC, seeing as how the moment Lorne had been left in charge, everything had gone to hell.

He tried not to let his head fall as he marched over to where the General stood. The corridors down here didn't have those strange colored stripes painted into the tile and he had half a mind to ask, once and for all, just what purpose they served. He didn't though.

"General Landry," Lorne intoned, trying not to let his eyes give too much away.

"Colonel Lorne," Landry nodded in greeting. "Have you told them?"

"That Dr. Beckett is awake?" Landry nodded again. "No, Sir. It didn't seem like the right time. Brigadier General Sheppard is still in pretty rough shape."

"So I've heard," Landry said with a bit of a sigh. "In fact, they tell me his prognosis is not good."

"No, Sir," Lorne replied, casting his eyes back towards the room, wishing now he'd just gone in like he'd wanted to in case that was the last time he ever saw John Sheppard alive. "It isn't."

"Lorne, you and I have been working together for quite some time now, haven't we?"

Lorne felt his stomach bottom out as he forced himself to turn back towards his boss. If it was finally time to pay the piper, then Lorne would do so bravely. Not averting his eyes like some coward. His only hope was that Landry would allow him to stay on base, at least until they knew if Sheppard was going to make it or not.

"We have, Sir," he answered. There were excuses he could try to make, but what was the point? Landry was just doing his job, and in light of what had happened, Lorne couldn't blame the guy. Someone had to take the fall, and he was willing to shoulder that burden if it meant Rodney McKay and Carson Beckett and all the other members of his team were safe. It was the least he could do considering, and his first step towards atoning for his two sins.

"Because I don't even feel like I even know you, Son."

Landry was a lot younger than Lorne, but somehow his use of the word 'son' didn't seem wrong. Lorne let his head fall in shame.

"I never meant to disappoint you, Sir. I..."

"Disappoint me?" Landry interrupted immediately, causing Lorne to look up sharply. "Are you serious Colonel Lorne? I've just spent the last day and a half listening to countless reports from your men telling me how you single-handedly coordinated an entire mountain evacuation from the back of a cloaked puddle jumper. And all while mounting a full scale rescue operation, I might add. My goodness, son, I was coming to see if I could actually talk you into sticking around the SGC instead of heading out with Atlantis!"

Lorne knew he looked ridiculous. His mouth was agape and his eyes were wide with astonishment. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But..."

"You did good, soldier," Landry said, sobering suddenly and putting a hand on his shoulder. "And they are all very lucky to have you."

Lorne didn't know what to say. Landry apparently didn't have anything else to say and shook his hand before leaving again. Lorne looked down at his hand, wondering if all of that had just happened, or if he had hallucinated it somehow. Well, whatever the case, he no longer felt on the edge of things.

Lorne dropped his hand, turned on his heels, and headed into John's recovery room.

Time passed differently in the medical wing of the SGC, as though John's condition had ground it to a halt somehow. While they all sat there in limbo, all the bad news constantly streaming out of the John's doctor's mouths slowly whittled each one of them away. Only the whittling was gradual, and not very noticeable at first. But Rodney was starting to sense it now. It gave him the feeling of being paper thin and liable to break apart at the first sign of a stiff breeze. He tried to ignore its effects. Hide the rips as best he could.

Rodney took off his reading glasses and massaged at the impressions the nose pads had left in his skin. He didn't often even wear the readers, convinced they made him look too much like the old man he refused to believe he was becoming, even though he knew he needed them. It was one part of getting old he didn't quite appreciate, though it beat the alternative.

John Sheppard was taking a nice long look at that alternative right now and Rodney didn't quite know what to do about it.

John was dying.

John was dying and there was nothing he, or Carson, Lorne, Landry or Carrie could do. In fact, Rodney was about ready to start shaking his fists at the sky and demanding that a God he'd never really believed in pull a miracle out of his ass right now and save his friend. John didn't deserve it – any of it – and Rodney was starting to get angry.

Since when did it become alright for mere mortals to play god? Those IOA members had done it 18 years ago with the Wraith Hive ships and then Sean Fitzpatrick, or whoever the hell he was, had done it again a mere two days ago.

Rodney had listened to the recordings of John and Liam's conversations. The kid had led a sad and lonely life that had been full of loss and betrayal, just like John's, of that he had no doubt. But where John Sheppard had chosen life, Liam Maguire had chosen madness and it just wasn't fair that he still might win.

John's doctors had been by only moments ago to tell them all to "prepare" themselves. The words were out there now and no one would ever be able to take them back. They were preparing themselves to lose John forever and Rodney couldn't help but rage at the universe for the injustice of it all. There were plenty of evil men out there in the world who deserved a fate worse than death. So why was it John, a man who would protect to the death even the weakest of creatures, lying in that hospital bed now, fighting for his life? Why was he the one made to lose everything when all he'd ever done was try and make the world a fair and just place? Nothing about the current situation made any sense and it was driving Rodney mad.

Science was a tool he used to find order in the chaos. It broke things down to their most basic elements and delved into how it all worked together to form his existence. Yet there was nothing in any textbook on the face of the Earth that Rodney McKay could read that would adequately explain to him why all of this was happening.

And that was unacceptable.

He could find a plethora of information on why John's organs were shutting down if he wanted to. He could find out exactly what the infection raging through his body was doing to him right this very moment, if he felt like it. But there was nothing, nothing at all, that would explain to him why John had been targeted not once, but twice, by pure evil.

Rodney tossed the book he hadn't really been reading onto the bed beside John's blanketed feet and stood up to stretch for a moment, trying to shake away from his anger. TJ had left a while ago to go and take care of some business in the mountain. Rodney had been left alone with Carrie for the past several hours, a fact he didn't seem to mind in the least. The woman from Blue River knew the value of silence and Rodney had decided long ago that he would continue to like her based on that fact alone. Well, that and the fact she hadn't insisted they turn on the little TV bolted to the wall for a distraction. Rodney wasn't sure he could take the noise right now, and the machinery keeping John alive right now was all the distraction he needed.

Rodney looked over at John, letting his eyes linger over the network of cuts and bruises on his face, the blue ventilator tubing disappearing between slack lips, the monitors beside his bed flashing numbers Rodney knew nothing about yet knew instinctively were bad. John's doctors telling them to 'prepare' had been evidence enough of that.

Carrie was sleeping on the other side of John's bed, her head cradled against the crook of the elbow she had resting on the sheets right beside John's shoulder. Her hand was still wrapped around his as her soft exhalations timed themselves perfectly with the ventilator's. Rodney couldn't fault her for trying to get some sleep. They'd all been through a rough few days and it didn't look as though their little vigil would be over any time soon. John had yet to give up the fight quite yet.

Wondering if he should wake her to see if she needed anything, Rodney opted to let her keep sleeping. A commotion out in the hallway nearly ruined that plan a moment later.

"If you do not get your bloody hands off me this instant, I'll knock you into the next world, laddie!" Rodney glanced over at Carrie to make sure the commotion hadn't woken her, but she slumbered on.

There was no doubt in his mind who was out in the hallway now. Rodney would have been able to recognize those dulcet tones anywhere. Reluctant to leave John's side even for a moment, Rodney begrudgingly went out into the hall to help Carson get around whoever was trying to bar him from seeing John this time around.

They were headed into day three of nothing good with John. Nerves were frayed all around. Rodney had to wonder why they were even bothering with trying to keep Carson away anymore. Health reasons seemed to be the general consensus, though if his friend's tone was any indication, keeping him away was only doing more harm than good at this point. Rodney had tried to track Lorne down to talk him about possibly easing off his stringent no visitor's policy, but the man had been mysteriously MIA for the past several days. Rodney knew he visited. He'd stirred from sleep more than once to find the worried Colonel hovering in the doorway, watching over John carefully with something unreadable behind his eyes. But Rodney figured, like the rest of them, Lorne was just dealing with what had happened in his own way. They were all on edge. Especially now that "prepare yourselves" had been officially spoken by John's doctors.

Rodney let his hand rest lightly on top of John's and tried not to be alarmed by how hot and papery the skin felt. He knew it was a result of the fever raging its way through his friend's body, but feeling it somehow made it all the more real. The infection was taking over and pretty soon there would be talk of sepsis and maybe even discussions of taking John off life support and letting him go peacefully. Making him linger like this was just wrong and he didn't deserve to spend the remainder of his days lost in an inferno of fever and pain. Those thoughts had Rodney practically bolting for the door, the need to get Carson in here pronto preparing him to pull out his patented Rodney McKay Charm to get what he wanted.

When he got out into the hall, Carson was sitting in his wheelchair and glaring up angrily at the guard trying to grab the back handlebars of his chair. The wheelchair was laden with machines: oxygen tanks, heart monitors, IV stands, and he was spinning around in it, giving the young guard a run for his money.

"You better bloody well move, young man. Or I'll have you cleaning bedpans in my infirmary for the rest of your career!"

"I'm sorry Dr. Beckett, but I was given strict orders..."

"I dinnea give a rat's arse about your strict orders, man! Now get the hell out of my way and let me in to see my friend!" Carson rolled his chair forward menacingly and the guard had the good sense to back up a few steps before his toes got run over. Carson was out for blood.

"Rodney!" the physician exclaimed when he finally spotted him coming down the hallway. "Would you kindly tell this mammoth here that it's okay for me to come in? That I'm not gonna try and blow up the place or steal his body!"

"Dr. Beckett, you're not..." the man stammered.

"I bloody well know what you're about to say, and you can shove it. My friend is down there dyin' and some baby faced Lieutenant is'nea gonna keep me from seeing him!" Carson exclaimed, readjusting the nasal cannula that was starting to come loose from one ear. Rodney couldn't help but wonder how Carson had managed to get out of the infirmary at all. He got his answer a moment later when Lorne came barreling down the corridor towards them.

"Stand down, Harris. It's okay. I said he could come," he explained, slightly out of breath when he reached the pressurizing standoff the same time Rodney did. "Though he was supposed to wait for me."

"You were taking too long," Carson replied petulantly, his angry eyes following the guard as the young man left to resume his post.

"If you would have waited for me, I would have brought you down here myself," Lorne said through gritted teeth. "And avoided making a scene!"

Carson crossed his arms over his chest. "And what, push my chair the whole bloody way? I think not, laddie. Everyone's been trying to baby me ever since..."

"...Ever since you woke up from your coma , Carson? Is that what you were about to say?" Lorne's eyes flashed with barely checked anger and Beckett had the good sense to clamp his mouth shut and back off a little.

"Well, it's nice to see you're feeling better," Rodney finally spoke up and two pairs of irritated eyes snapped his way at the same time. The heat in them both fled just as fast and Rodney nearly laughed.

"How's he doing?" Lorne asked once he'd recovered.

Rodney shrugged. Something he'd been doing a lot of lately. "Not so good." The words seemed to hang in the air between them. They were heavy and unwanted but altogether unavoidable.

Carson shifted in his wheelchair. "Would you push me in then, lad? I'd like to sit with him for a wee bit."

Lorne was closest and started pushing the physician's chair towards John's room as requested.

There was something fundamentally broken between them all right now. Rodney could sense it. It was a missing piece they all knew how to find yet had no idea how to go about putting it back. It was John, pure and simple. His easy laugh and ridiculous hair. His absence from their lives. Rodney knew they would all be ok if they could just pull John through this. Put him back together again and where he belonged. But for the first time in his life, Rodney was at a loss on how they were supposed to do it. There was no manual, no textbook. It was a squirming, orphaned TJ in his arms all over again.

How was he ever supposed to get through this?

Rodney walked beside Carson's chair as Lorne wheeled him the rest of the way into the room. He also tried to ignore the way Carson shook when they finally came to a stop beside the bed. Their healer drew in a shuddering breath and let out a strangled cry that made Rodney and Lorne both stop. It was a dark, agonized sound. As if Carson had suddenly found a way to voice everything that had been battering up against them all for days. One mournful cry that seemed to say it all.

As soon as the physician was close enough, he threaded a hand through the bars of the side rail, and took John's IV'd hand in his. It was such a surreal inversion of what had taken place mere days ago when John had sat beside Carson's own bed that Rodney had to look away. He kept forgetting that he wasn't the only one being pulled apart from the inside over what had been done to their friend. Carson was ill to boot, and he couldn't help but wonder if letting him visit John in this state was a mistake. The man was barely out of his coma, and now here he was, hooked up to oxygen, unable to get around except for when he used a wheelchair, and being faced with the very real prospect of losing John forever this time.

Rodney could only imagine what it must have been like for Carson to watch John fly away on that helicopter. He saw all the parallels to that moment now and realized the actual mistake they'd made was trying to keep Carson away for so long. They should have let him come and sit beside John the moment he woke up. Found a way to push their beds together because they had just got John back. For 18 years they had imagined him dead. Rodney himself had come up with a million and one ways it could have happened in his head, never believing for a second that they might find him again or that he'd be forced to watch as one of them actually played out before his eyes.

Feeling ashamed and utterly drained, Rodney collapsed back into the chair he'd been occupying for the past several days and massaged his aching temples. Carrie, he could see, had somehow managed to sleep through all of Carson's dramatic entrance, though they had been doing their best to stay as quiet as possible. She was still sawing logs, as Diane used to say, and Rodney envied her. He hadn't been able to turn his brain off for days. He knew his body was starting to rebel against him for it, but none of it mattered right now. Rodney wasn't going anywhere. At least, not until John was finally gone, or Rodney knew for certain that he was out of the woods.

Rodney let his exhausted gaze settle back on Carson who was trying very hard to hide the fact that he was still trembling. Whether that was out of fatigue or emotion, Rodney couldn't say anymore, but his eyes fixated on the bent figure in the chair as he constantly checked it for signs of cracks. Rodney wanted Carson to have as much time as possible with John, but not if it was going to threaten his life as well.

"Lads, I had one of John's doctors bring me his chart this morning," Carson started to say, loud enough to startle Carrie from sleep and get Rodney sitting forward in his chair a little. "He isn't doing as well as we would hope, and I think there's something we might try for him. That is, if you are all agreeable to it."

Carrie was blinking up at all of them blearily, but she didn't say anything. Just looked back and forth between them before rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"I don't know for sure, but maybe what I'm proposin' will help us both to heal a mite bit faster."

"You want to take him to Atlantis," Rodney said, noting the moisture on Carson's cheeks when he turned his face towards them. "Don't you."

"Aye, laddie, I do. You may think I'm crazy to even suggest it, but I'm betting that city might just be able to help. And our friend here needs all the help he can get right now."

Coming from Carson, the words seemed to hold more weight. But he was right. It was a crazy idea.

Rodney glanced back over at John again. Watched machines do for him what his own body could no longer do for itself. He was suddenly hard-pressed to come up with any reason why they shouldn't at least try.

"What's Atlantis?" Carrie asked, all innocent and sleepy. Rodney had nearly forgotten she was even in the room.

Lorne snapped his eyes over to Rodney. Carson did the same a beat later. Rodney stared back and forth between the two of them with a scowl. "Well, I'm not going to explain it to her!"