Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate or any of its characters, I wish I did. I'm also not making any money on this story (or anywhere else for that matter!). Blah blah blah, you all know the drill.

But I would like to borrow Carson for just a little bit, I promise to return him (mostly) undamaged!

Summary: Dr. Beckett, Major Sheppard and his team must race to solve a mystery on an alien planet before another life is lost.

Warnings: PG for a little whumping and angst. I intend to have some fun with the Atlantis characters, although I do promise to return them all in the condition in which they were found!

OK this is it, the final chapter! Sorry it took me so long, it's busy season at work. Thank you to everyone for reading this and a special thanks to everyone who provided feedback. Just a few individual responses to some of the feedback and then it's back to your regularly scheduled programming!

b7-kerravon: Thanks for posting the song lyrics, I was worried that putting two songs into one chapter was too much.

huh: I don't really hate Rodney, I'm much meaner to Carson. It's true that you always hurt the ones you love!

Chesirecat: My characters are from the SG-1 universe. They landed in the Pegasus Galaxy by accident, so the Colonel's rank shouldn't be an issue.

Chapter Six

Sheppard raced towards the Jumper Bay, Ford on his heels and a security team behind them. Beckett came limping after them, a medical bag clutched in his uninjured hand. Sheppard called over his shoulder as he was powering up the ship, "Off the ship, Doc. We need to get out of here."

"I'm comin' wi' ye."

"You need to tend to Grodin and to yourself, Doc."

"Grodin has a wee concussion and is in capable hands. I am fine as well and I am goin' wi' ye," the normally placid and unassuming Scot said forcefully, hands on hips and a steely look in his blue eyes. He sat down in an empty spot, staring straight ahead at nothing, his brow furrowed in thought.

Sheppard closed his mouth and continued to power up the little ship, deciding that it was not worth the trouble of arguing with him. The Gate opened with a whoosh and Sheppard maneuvered the ship through it and back onto the lifeless hell they had so recently rescued Sofia from.

The team fanned out, looking for signs of Sofia. Beckett followed Sheppard down the path towards the camp they had found earlier. When they reached the camp, Sheppard looked over at the doctor, "Stay here doc"

"I willna…" Beckett stopped when Sheppard raised his hand and motioned forcefully for silence.

"Doc, if you stay here we will know where to bring Sofia when we find her."

Beckett grimaced and assented grudgingly. After Sheppard left the clearing, he stared at the structure where Sofia had spent her lonely exile and thought about what it would take to get her back to some semblance of normality, if it could be done at all. He was no psychiatrist and there were no guarantees that she would be found before she did herself any harm, but Beckett pondered on what it would take to heal her.

After a few moments, he walked over to the building and the hesitated, his hand on the door. An intense desire to not enter the building froze him in place. He could have sworn he heard the final words to the Humpty Dumpty nursery rhyme being whispered in his ear. He tried to force his muscles to obey him and open the door, to move away, to do anything, but he remained frozen in place.

After what seemed to be an eternity, he felt a gentle breeze brush past his unruly hair and then his muscles relaxed all at once, causing him to drop to the ground. He tried in vain to check his fall, but was unable to regain control of his muscles. As his head rushed towards the large stone that had been placed in front of the building as a doorstep, the only response his brain could summon was, "Bloody hell, not again!" before he felt the blinding pain and then blissful unconsciousness.

Several minutes later he struggled back to consciousness, groaning as waves of nausea from a concussion washed over him. He retched and groaned for several more minutes before he was able to open his eyes. Sheppard was standing over him, a look of concern mixed with boyish mischief on his handsome face, "What's that they say about 'Physician, heal thyself', doc? I don't think it's working out too well for you."

Carson attempted to summon up the strength to curse, but could only produce a tortured groan. Sheppard knelt down and placed a gentle hand on his brow, asking with concern, "You OK, doc?"

"Does it look like I'm alright, ye idiot!" Carson muttered.

Sorry, doc. It's just… you have to admit that you've had quite a day. I just… I guess it was easier for me to find the humor in it."

Carson opened one bloodshot blue eye and glared blearily at the major, "Could I ha' some help here, or do ye plan on jest standin' there and laughing at me all day?"

Sheppard helped the wobbly doctor to his feet and watched in concern as he swayed back and forth, attempting to find his balance. When he was steadier on his feet, Sheppard asked, "So what happened here, doc?"

Carson tried to find an explanation that wouldn't get him locked up in a padded room and couldn't. "I tripped over something, must have hit my head on that rock. I'll be fine, just give me a minute."

Sheppard cocked his head to one side, obviously not quite buying Carson's story. After a moment he decided that it wasn't worth it and patted the doctor gently on his shoulder, "Are you sure you're going to be OK, doc?"

"Aye, thank ye, major. I'll just stay here for a while and wait for ye."

Carson waited for Sheppard to leave the clearing and then turned back to the door, debating whether he was up to trying to open it. He eventually shrugged his shoulders and placed his hand on the door. The eerie sensation he had felt before was gone and he was able to push the door open with no resistance.

Dust flew everywhere and he sneezed violently, then held his aching head in pain. "Och, ma heid!" When he opened his eyes again he saw a bundle of green rags in a corner and some neatly stacked personal belongings if four precise piles. The neatness of the belongings jarred with the scattered bundle of rags in the corner and set off warning bells in his head.

He walked towards the pile of rags and could have sworn that he heard the same nursery rhyme he had before he froze outside the cabin's door ringing in his head. No paralysis gripped him and he continued toward the pile, wondering why it looked familiar, but unable to pull an explanation out of his aching brain.

As he knelt by the pile of rags, a dawning horror began to resound in his brain, but he was unable to process the reason. He stood and stared at the rags, attempting to make some sense out of them, but couldn't. All he could do was stare at them in shock, gripped by a paralysis of his own making.

The reality of what he saw began to dawn on him in a cold and creeping sensation. Goose bumps popped up all over his body and he sunk to his knees, unable to come to terms with what he saw. The rags were camouflage-colored, not at all surprising considering the limited amount of supplies the team had been stranded with all those years ago. At one time it had obviously belonged to a Captain in the US Army.

The nametag was clearly visible, a neatly printed "Sutherland" just above the breast pocket. What had caused Carson to drop to his knees in horror were the items contained within the bundle of rags.

A desiccated corpse, human and most likely female, judging by the hair still attached to the withered skull, was curled up in a fetal position within the rags. Clutched in one skeletal hand was a leather-bound book of some sort. As the obvious reality of what he saw dawned on him, Carson sat back with a cry of despair and lost his balance. As he fell towards the ground for the second time that hour, he was unable to even feel grateful that he was falling backwards and not towards the withered corpse that had once been Captain Sofia Sutherland.

Carson regained his balance enough to land sharply on his tailbone, rather than back on his head again. He stifled yet another cry of pain.

He twisted his legs underneath him and reached for the leather book, hoping that it contained the answers he so desperately needed.

The book was a journal, clearly marked with Sofia's name and rank. It seemed to detail the daily events in her life, starting with the day she was assigned to the Stargate program. He flipped through the pages, looking for the last few entries.

"Date: Unknown

Place: We aren't in Kansas, anymore, Toto.

I buried the last of my three teammates today. The wasting disease that has afflicted us all since we set foot on this accursed hellhole of a planet took my friend's life, not in the great blaze of glory we all thought we would go out in, but in a pain-ravaged and undignified state. This disease will claim my life soon, and who will ensure that I receive a proper burial? What must they have told my family, now that I have been missing in action for so long? If you re reading this, then I know that the people at the SGC were finally able to solve our disappearance. I only wish that our rescue had not come too late.

The entity that has been plaguing us since our arrival has become more persistent and continues to plague me daily. I wish that I could understand what it wants and why it is here, but how does a being of flesh and blood, speech and laughter, blood and bone communicate with an entity that is none of those things? An entity that can be neither seen nor heard, and is heard only as a wordless murmur in your mind and felt only as a gentle summer breeze?

As I lie here, writing what may be my last words, I can feel the entity growing ever closer and more insistent in its murmurings. I have been able to escape it before, but am no longer able to resist its presence. How is it that an entity that I cannot even prove exists seems able to drain me of every thought, each precious memory, all of what makes me who I am just with its presence?

I know who I am, I can remember my life, but each minute that the entity stays close to my wasted body, I feel more and more as if that wonderful life had happened to someone else entirely. It seems as if a haze obscures my memories, even the most recent ones. Not even my memory of burying my friend this afternoon is clear. It is as if it all happened to someone else. I…"

The journal ended there, the "I" drifting off the page, the remaining pages blank. As Carson sat there, trying to process what he had read, to make some sense of it, he felt the murmur and gentle breeze that he had felt just before he had frozen in front of the door. Unlike Sofia's experience with the entity, he felt no lessening of his own memories or spirit. Instead, he seemed to feel an added presence, and wondered if perhaps the entity had absorbed something from Sofia, perhaps to preserve a part of her after her body had returned to dust.

The image of Sofia as he imagined she had looked when she first joined the Stargate program appeared before him, young, vibrant, healthy and happy. She smiled sadly, almost gratefully, and then faded from view. Carson sat there and cried silently, tears streaming down his cheeks, clutching the journal to his quaking chest. Sheppard found him there ten minutes later, still crying silently for the woman he thought he had known.

Author's Notes: That is all, finito, done at last! Thank you for reading, and for waiting patiently (or impatiently as the case may be, you know who YOU are!!!) for me to finish. Happy New Year 2005 to you all.