The head injury was actually a good sign, in Carson's opinion. It explained why the Colonel hadn't fought for the surface in the first place, and all but ruled out a spinal injury. Now, it was mostly just a matter of performing rescue breathing, and hoping and praying that that was enough to get John breathing on his own again. In the back of his mind, some part of Carson had registered how cold John's face and hands were, and he knew that if he could get John breathing again, hypothermia would be a real concern. But one thing at a time.

Carson deftly tilted John's face up again. He gave him four rescue breaths, forcing as much air into John's lungs as he could manage. He listened at John's chest - nothing. He started a round of CPR, then went back to the rescue breathing. John was almost painfully cold beneath him, and still as the dead. Carson tried to tell himself that he was just another patient, but it didn't feel like that and he knew it. This was one of his closest friends, very possibly dying at his hands. This is why they didn't have doctors treat the people closest to them.

Carson did another round of CPR, another round of rescue breathing. This time, finally, he felt John start to shift beneath him. Carson quickly turned John to his side, and John coughed up a truly incredible amount of water. He started vomiting, and Carson rubbed his shoulder.

"That's it, son," he said. "Just get it all out."

"Is he okay?" Ronon bobbed up behind John, looking nearly frantic. Carson nodded, not letting go of John's shoulder.

"Aye. At least, he will be. He's a wee bit chilly, and he might have trouble breathing for a while, but he'll live."

John moaned quietly, curling in on himself. Ronon winced at the sight of blood matted in the back of John's hair.

"What about his head?" Ronon asked. From all too many personal experiences (with both himself and John), Ronon knew that head wounds could be extremely nasty. Surely, that was the last thing John needed.

"It's not good," Carson admitted sadly. "The fact that he fell unconscious, even briefly, is a bad sign. But his pupils are responding well, and I'm fairly confident that he's not too badly injured."

Possibly in response, John coughed a few more times, managing some sort of inarticulate mumbling.

"That's right, son," Carson said, still supporting John's back.

John spat out the last of the water, then stirred. "Wet," he mumbled.

"Yeah, you just about drowned," Ronon told him, moving closer. "You okay, buddy?"

John nodded slowly. "Thanks," he said, still sounding a bit out of it. He tried to sit up, but between the near-drowning and the original weakness from the spider bite, he barely even made it to his elbows before Carson was pushing him back down.

"Lemme up," John mumbled, spitting out another mouthful of water.

"You need to rest, Colonel," Carson said sharply. "We're out of the flood zone here, and we just need to wait a while for the rain to stop."

John raised a skeptical eyebrow, glancing towards the still-torrential downpour cascading through the ceiling of the Gateroom. Ronon snickered before he could stop himself, and Carson glared at him.

"We're waiting for the rain to stop," he snapped.

"I agree with Carson," Zelenka interjected, staring at John with wide eyes. "Colonel Sheppard, I really think that you should rest. You've been through...quite a lot."

John rolled his eyes at Zelenka, as if everything that had happened to him so far was nothing but par for the course. Ronon couldn't actually argue with that - obviously he was very worried about Sheppard, but Zelenka wasn't a field operative, and he clearly didn't have a good handle on SGA-1's monthly fiascos. In comparison to some of their other missions, what John was dealing with now really was a cakewalk.

"What about the Gateroom?" John asked softly. He didn't try to sit up again, thankfully, but he did roll over, eyeing the flooded Gateroom unhappily. "At this rate, it's going to end up completely underwater. We gotta...we gotta do something."

"You need rest," Carson said quickly. "Don't worry about the Gateroom." He knew that drowning patients could sometimes have serious aftereffects, even hours later, and he wouldn't really know if John was out of the woods until he had a chance to listen to his lungs. The least he could do was keep John from moving around too much, and make sure he was constantly monitored in case something did happen. He wondered vaguely if there would be a way to get John to the infirmary, if he really needed it, and decided not to think about that too hard.

"Also, we cannot exactly stop the rain," Zelenka said reasonably. "While the Gateroom flooding would be very...ah, unfortunate, there is not much that we could do to prevent it."

"I have an idea," John said. "Sort of."

Carson sighed. When Rodney and John were together, it seemed they spent most of their time coming up with harebrained schemes with a somewhat limited success rate. When Rodney was gone, John seemed to feel he needed to fill the vacuum with ideas of his own. And somehow, his ideas were even worse when they weren't tempered with Rodney's intuitive grasp of physics and deep sense of self-preservation. Carson was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the next thing out of John's mouth.

"What is it, Shep?" Ronon asked excitedly.

"Jumper," John said simply, coughing a bit for emphasis.

Everyone was silent for a moment.

"What...what about a Jumper?" Zelenka finally hazarded.

"Think about it," John said. He started to sit up again, but Carson didn't even need to push him down. He was still too weak to get more than a few inches off the floor. "That hole in the ceiling, it's right about the size of a Jumper. If I could land a Jumper on the roof...I bet that would block most of the water from coming in. Like a cork in the bottle."

Ronon looked like he was seriously considering John's idea, and even Zelenka looked somewhat intrigued, so Carson knew he had to nip this right in the bud.

"You're not flying a Jumper in your condition, son," Carson said.

"But-"

"And I'm sure not either. Not in a storm like this."

John pouted. "It's th' best option," he mumbled, slumping back down on the Gateroom floor.

Carson glared at him. "I'll keep it in mind. But if it comes to that point, you still won't be the one flying it."

John's eyes narrowed, but Carson thought that even the Colonel was aware that he couldn't expect to nearly drown and then immediately be permitted to pilot a Jumper in the middle of an intense storm.

There was a crack of thunder, and Carson glanced towards the rain sheeting down through the hole in the roof, shivering. The storm really was getting bad - if they did have to execute John's insane plan, he really didn't think he would be able to pull it off. Hopefully, it just wouldn't come to that.

John still thought they should have plugged up the hole in the ceiling. For one thing, the water was still rising quickly in the Gateroom, and he was beginning to worry that it really would reach the control center. And, perhaps more immediately concerning, it was freezing. John was starting to shiver, badly. Even though his arm felt a lot better than it had before Carson's drugs, it was still tender enough that every sharp movement sent a bolt of pain through him. And with his near-drowning, and his soaking wet clothes, and the chill of the water permeating throughout the Gateroom, he was shaking almost constantly.

"W-w-we should plug the h-hole," John tried again, wrapping his one good arm around himself and wishing he sounded less cold. He still hadn't managed to sit upright, either - what little strength he'd regained had been drained by the water, and the cold was exacerbating the feeling of weakness deep in his bones.

Half-heartedly, John tried to sit up again, but only managed to get himself a few inches off the ground before the pain and the cold and the exhaustion kicked in, and he curled around himself.

"John, no," Carson said, sounding exasperated. "You can't even sit up. And look, you're trembling."

John frowned, trying to decide if getting warm or maintaining his pride was more important. Much to his surprise, the option of warmth won out.

"That's w-w-why we gotta c-close th' hole," John muttered. "'S t-t-too cold."

Carson sighed softly, looking miserable. "Of course you're cold, son. Taking an unplanned swim in freezing water is sure to do that. But that's just all the more reason that you shouldn't be flying the Jumper. Here, let's find you a blanket."

It soon became clear that all of their blankets were soaking wet. All of their everything was soaking wet. Carson ended up settling his own jacket over John's shoulers - it wasn't dry, but the heat from Carson's body had kept it from getting as cold as everything else they had. Zelenka added his jacket to the pile too. Ronon tried to give his jacket to John as well, but Carson stopped him. John was grateful - Ronon had also gone for a surprise swim less than twenty minutes earlier, and his jacket was both soaking and freezing.

John coughed weakly, and tugged the two jackets more tightly around him. He supposed he shouldn't expect to feel great after what he had been to, but he was surprised by how raw and tender his lungs and throat felt. It was just water. And yet, his insides felt as if they had been scraped raw by a giant brillo pad, which honestly just felt like too much on top of everything else.

"Here, son," Carson said gently. He took John's hands and manipulated them under his arms, which was certainly embarrassing but probably something John would have been too weak to do himself. John's core wasn't exactly warm yet, but he'd been half-frozen enough times to know that as his body temperature slowly started to rise again, it would bring warmth back to his fingers as well.

"Th-thanks, Doc," John whispered. The words sounded alarmingly quiet, even to himself.

"I don't have anything warm to give ya," Carson lamented. "I have tea in the infirmary, it would warm you right up, heated blankets, I...I could scan your lungs for damage…."

"Painkillers," John said dreamily. He was pretty sure he'd missed his last dose. He was also pretty sure that he was so miserable at this point that the only painkillers that would even help were the kind that would pretty much completely put him under. He sure couldn't have those now, in the middle of a storm, but it was nice to think about.

"But the infirmary's…." Carson gestured at the Gateroom. The water was high enough that it had started down the hallways that branched out from the Gateroom, one of which led to the infirmary. If they wanted to get there, they would be going for a swim.

Ronon looked unhappily up at the ceiling. "How long do you think it'll keep going like this?"
"I imagine the intensity will vary over time, but based on the weather patterns Dr. Mckay and I have studied in the past, the storm as a whole could last over twenty-four hours."

"Huh," Ronon said. "The water may start getting into our rooms."

John stiffened. He hadn't thought of that.

"That's not good," he said, alarmed. "I have stuff in my room. Not waterproof stuff."

Ronon frowned. "Me too. It better not get that far."

"I'm sure it won't," Carson said, weakly and unconvincingly. "If it does…that's a bridge we'll have to cross if we come to it."

Zelenka was now so miserable that he was barely even thinking about getting fired anymore. That thought had diminished from an agonizing worry with every other breath to a nagging possibility in the back of his mind. This was somewhat shocking to Radek, considering that Atlantis was wrapped up with his entire life, his entire scientific reputation, but he actually had bigger things to worry about.

For one thing, the water had made it quite a ways down the long passageways leading away from the Gateroom. Down one of those passageways was Zelenka's lab, full of irreplaceable equipment and priceless research, none of it waterproof. Radek had been doing frantic calculations for the past few minutes, piecing together the rainfall rate, the volume of the passageways, and the worst-case scenario of storm length. So far, his lab was safe, but if the rain kept on the way it seemed to be threatening to, all of his work would be lost by the end of the 24-hour period.

Of course, if it actually kept raining for that long, they wouldn't be able to get to the infirmary or the mess hall, either. Zelenka thought that John would be alright for that long, but he couldn't actually be sure. The Colonel was pale and shivering underneath the two standard-issue Atlantis jackets, looking almost as bad as he had right after the spider bite. Carson seemed to want to get him to the infirmary sooner rather than later, which Zelenka could only assume to mean that Sheppard wasn't in the clear yet. More than anything, he probably needed warmth - something else that would prove impossible if the Gateroom continued to flood.

Zelenka breathed a very shaky sigh and slid down the wall to a seated position, burying his head in his arms. He wasn't going to mention it, not when John was likely pre-hypothermic (or some equally terrible word), but Zelenka was freezing as well. After donating his jacket to the pilot, Zelenka was left with only the thin long-sleeve Atlantis expedition shirt. It had many qualities that Zelenka had been assured were excellent for fieldwork, but apparently warming properties were not one of them. If the rain continued to drop the temperature of the Gateroom and keep their clothes from drying out, John wouldn't be the only one who was in danger of freezing.

"How are you doing, son?" Carson asked John gently.

The pilot's eyes snapped open, and he looked around, managing to focus on Carson. His teeth were chattering.

"C-chest hurts," he managed.

Zelenka eyed him worriedly - that was not the answer he had expected. Clearly, Sheppard was freezing, and if there was something else that felt more pressing to him than that….

Carson seemed to agree. "Alright," he said definitively. "That does it."

"Does what?" Ronon asked, but Carson was already getting to his feet.

"I'll need you two to watch him," Carson said. "He may experience confusion, drowsiness, mental fog - all of those are very bad signs. That would mean his hypothermia's worse, and you'll need to share body heat with him. I don't have to explain how to do that, right?"

"Doc," Ronon asked. "What-?"

"There are some very rare complications that can occur after drowning, where someone can seem fine but begin to struggle for air later. I can't really rule out the possibility of something like this until I've been able to scan his lungs. I want you to monitor John, make sure his breathing stays strong, and if he starts to have any trouble breathing, I want you to call me." Carson hesitated for a fraction of a second, suddenly looking worried. "There isn't much I would be able to do without being able to support his breathing, but I'll be able to properly monitor him at least…."

"But Doc," Ronon asked again. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to try John's plan," he said. "I'm going to block the hole with the Jumper."

John looked shocked. "Hey!" he exclaimed weakly. "I thought you said that was a bad plan."

"I actually did not believe we did," Zelenka said reasonably. "Only that it would be an impossible one, given our current conditions." Zelenka turned to Carson. "But, Dr. Beckett, are you sure you can...fly it?"

"Yes," Carson said, although he did not sound very sure at all.

"It will be-"

"I know it will be difficult," Carson snapped. "But the flooding...we can't just hope the rain stops eventually. Atlantis will be destroyed by the time it does."

Zelenka thought that if Carson had been here the past week, he wouldn't say something like that so lightly. An awful lot of things that Zelenka had been pretty sure would destroy Atlantis had so far failed to do so. But still...Zelenka saw Carson's point. Even if Atlantis itself could withstand the water, there were many things inside that could not. Colonel Sheppard very possibly among them.

"I should go," John whispered, looking entirely unconvincing.

"No," Carson said bluntly, getting to his feet and turning towards the Jumper bay. "I can...I can do this."

"N-no offense, but I don't think you can," John told him, managing to open his eyes all the way and focus them on Carson. Zelenka even thought that his voice sounded a bit stronger. "It's a t-tricky flight, would be...even for me. An' you hate flyin'."

"Son, I have no doubt it's a tricky flight," Carson said gently. "But you're simply in no shape to make this landing. Your chest is hurting, that's not a good sign. What if you passed out at the controls? You could crash, you might kill yourself. Or us, if you went down over the city."

Zelenka shuddered. "Please, let Dr. Beckett try," he pleaded. "I am not superstitious, but I am not stupid either. The last thing we need is another disaster."

"Yeah, I think you better sit this one out, Shep," Ronon said softly. John looked at him with wounded eyes, as though he couldn't believe that his partner in crime was siding against him, but Ronon's words seemed to bring him to his senses.

"Fine. G-good luck," John mumbled, closing his eyes and seemingly accepting defeat. Zelenka saw Ronon cast a worried look towards the pilot, a sentiment that Zelenka couldn't help but share. Still, if Carson could pull off John's insane plan, then they'd be one step closer to getting Sheppard the help he clearly needed.

Carson sighed. "I don't doubt I'll need it," he muttered, and left the Gateroom.