Chapter 7

In his dreams, he was back in the cave. He felt the weight of his friend in his arms, the way the rock dug into his shoulder and arm when the pain twisted the wounded man. He curled around, trying to make a blanket of his body to protect his friend from the cold, from the agony. From mortality. He curled tighter, thinking in a confused, dreamy way of hiding McKay from death...

And was abruptly awake again, having knocked his head against the bedside table.

"Ow."

He straightened out, it appeared he'd been trying to crawl to the end of the bed - weird - and rubbed the sore spot on his forehead.

"John?" It was a voice he'd been certain he'd never hear again, and he blinked hard before climbing off the bed.

"You're ok?" McKay's tone was a mix of relief and astonishment. He looked up at Sheppard with an expression at once hopeful and foreboding. "This isn't a near death experience or something, is it?"

Sheppard grinned and sat on the edge of McKay's bed. McKay shifted over automatically to make room, then froze - it should have hurt, he knew. It didn't. Sheppard smiled at the look on McKay's face.

"A Tok'ra," he said. "With a healing device." He poked McKay gently in the stomach. "Patched up that big honkin' hole."

McKay's eyes gleamed with excitement. "No kidding? Amazing. He healed you too? When'd he get here? Who was it?" He sat up gingerly, waving off Sheppard's hand with a nod of thanks, and smiled broadly at the absence of pain.

"Yes, he healed me, they got here about a day ago, the man is Jacob and the Tok'ra is Selmac." McKay glanced up at the name and Sheppard nodded at the question he saw. "She's here too. And Teal'c, and Daniel."

McKay smiled smugly, and then it faded. "I don't remember anything after you started breathing again in the cave. What happened?"

Sheppard nudged the knee nearest him and McKay scooted back, crossing his legs, making room. Sheppard settled himself against the foot of the bed; catching the pillow McKay tossed him and wedging it behind him as a backrest. McKay adjusted the remaining pillow, catching sight of the leftover biscuits and retrieving one. He offered the other to Sheppard, munching.

"No, thanks. I ate already."

McKay shrugged, finished the first and started on the second, and Sheppard felt a grin spread across his own face. McKay was eating. All was right with his world.

"Well?"

"Right. What happened." He tucked his feet under the extra blanket. The floor was cold. "I don't know when they found us, but I woke up a lot later here. Didn't see you. It was...fairly alarming. Carson told me they'd done everything they could, but you were getting worse. They put you in stasis."

"Where we found Elizabeth? It was damaged, I didn't think it would work again."

"Zelenka and Kavanagh got it going, for a few days, anyway, long enough for Weir to get the message through to SGC and for them to get back here. It was close, though. The field failed about an hour before they got here." His brow furrowed, he stared at the blanket, picking at a miniscule bit of lint.

"You were there, though," McKay said suddenly. "I remember you holding on. Like you did in the cave."

Sheppard looked up at that, and his face cleared. "I'm impressed. Carson left my comm here, and I heard what was happening. Carson'd taken off by then, but Halling helped me into a wheelchair, and Teyla met me halfway there. I got there just after the pod failed. We were - just waiting, and then the cavalry arrived."

"Wow." McKay leaned back. "So, basically, you're saying two of the neatest things possible happened to me, and I slept through it."

Sheppard eyed him. "Yeah, you could look at it that way." There was an emphasis on the word 'you' that McKay didn't miss.

"Maybe neat is the wrong word," McKay amended. "Unusual? Out of the ordinary?"

"Everything here is out of the ordinary, McKay. And can I just say how much of a geek you are? Those are two of the neatest things?"

"Yes, Major, they are," McKay said. "And I thought we'd established long ago that I am Supergeek. Come on, isn't that why you all love me?"

It was a facetious question, but the simple "Yes" from Sheppard shut the physicist right up. He eyed his friend at the foot of the bed with something akin to suspicion. "What?"

"You are Supergeek, and I love you for it."

McKay recovered from the shock surprisingly quickly.

"Naturally," he said smugly. "But that doesn't mean we're going steady, now."

Sheppard laughed. "Not that kind of love, McKay."

"Better hope no one heard that, or it'll fuel those rumours no end."

He grinned at that, and slid off the bed. "It's late. Or early, depending on how you look at it. Carson said we'll be outta here tomorrow, which means you can introduce me to your friends properly." He tossed the pillow back to McKay and climbed back into his own bed.

McKay shifted around a bit, as much to get used to the fact he wasn't in pain as anything else, and finally settled down.

"McKay, you're worse than my old dog. You done?"

"Yup."

Sheppard doused the light, rolling on his side. He happened to sleep on his right, and he happened to end up facing McKay. He was drifting off when he heard a quiet call.

"John?"

He managed not to sigh.

"Yes, Rodney."

"Did I ever say thank you?"

"You're still here. That's enough."

Fleetingly, he wondered at himself - he was being far more open than he usually was, but then he thought about what they'd been through and decided he was entitled. Besides, it was really late - or early - and wasn't it the rule that what happened in the long, dark hours wasn't to be discussed in daylight?

"Thank you anyway," McKay said. "I'll never forget what you did. If I can ever do the same for you, I will. I'll be there, I promise." His voice fairly vibrated with conviction, as if he expected Sheppard to disbelieve him, and John realized he wasn't the only one who's emotions were running close to the surface.

"I know you will," he replied. "I trust you, Rodney." A small sigh from the other bed, and Sheppard shrugged to himself. "You're my best friend. Of course I'd trust you to be there for me."

There was no more noise from the physicist, and he settled again, pulling the cover up and closing his eyes.

oOo

But this time sleep didn't come. His mind wouldn't shut off, and finally he gave up, opened his eyes again, and turned on the bedside light that sat on the table on the far side. Someone had brought his book, but he wasn't in the mood for it and he glanced around the immediate area for some other reading material. In the faint light, he could see McKay was turned on his right side too. Sleeping, he thought, but his gaze lingered, there was something - off. He saw McKay was curled over, and as he watched he saw the bowed shoulders were shaking slightly.

Crap.

He remembered his own first serious brush with death far too clearly. He'd lost the tail rotor on an Apache while seven hundred feet up, managed to fight the autogyration and control the crash into a forest. He'd bailed out with his gunner soon as they hit, but the chopper hadn't blown.

Making the emergency call, he'd noticed a branch had pierced the already cracked glass, somehow, and driven into the headrest not half an inch from his helmet. He'd avoided death by half an inch.

It hadn't hit him fully, not then. Or when he'd made his report. But that night, in the shower, his mortality had descended on him like a tsunami, and he'd collapsed, curled up in the corner of the stall like the guy in that movie, shuddering and crying.

He couldn't remember how long he'd sat there, but he did recall shakily toweling off later, noticing his fingers were wrinkled. He'd stared at himself in the mirror, but the glass reflected only the dark, empty apartment behind him.

He remembered feeling utterly alone. And that had made it so much worse.

He pushed his covers back and stood, moving quietly to stand by McKay. He was curled tight, and the sobs were almost silent - he had a flash of a much younger Rodney; bullied at school, in the play yard, perhaps, coming home for help and comfort, meeting indifference.

It had been shortly after the storm, when the four of them had held their own wake for Latraverse and Gray, that McKay had made the comment. It had been offhand, inserted in a fairly tipsy conversation between Sheppard and Teyla about why men didn't cry, and it was the dour observation that, where he grew up, you cried quietly or you were given a reason to cry loudly.

That memory prodded him to sit on the edge of McKay's mattress, behind the man's back. The physicist froze at the movement, but Sheppard simply laid a non-judgmental, comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's ok," he said gently, knowingly, and that was all.

One hand crept up and over his, holding tight, and he just sat there, his proximity giving permission to be human, to share the burden of fear with someone who cared. The Canadian's innate reserve made him seem standoffish, and his carefully cultivated superior attitude combined with it to leave him inaccessible to most. And, he admitted to himself, he'd bought into the lie himself - for a while, at least.

He sat there, feeling the muscles under his hand tense and relax, trying to think back to when he'd seen through the mask, seen the man beneath. He couldn't pinpoint it. He'd been Sumner's fly on the wall during the briefings, helped organize the sciences requirements for the mission, assisted in the interminable negotiations that balanced human requirements against military requirements against scientific requirements. He'd started out - as everyone did - feeling disdain for the opinionated head scientist, but that had grown to a grudging respect before leaving the SGC. Once in Atlantis, the respect became unbridled, grew through frank admiration to genuine affection, all carefully hidden behind the seemingly biting banter. Come morning, he knew, the snarking would resume. He wouldn't have it any other way, and knew McKay wouldn't either.

The soundless sobs were easing. He supposed he should be feeling slightly uncomfortable, sitting on another man's bed, in the dark, holding hands, but he still clearly recalled his own feeling of desolation, isolation; and after all, it wasn't just anyone, it was Rodney McKay, Supergeek, brother.

'Nothing good comes easy.' his granddad had told him.

He sat there, quietly, as the hitching breaths slowed to regular breathing, deepened to sleep. McKay's grip loosened, and he carefully retrieved his hand, slipped off the bed, climbed in his own.

Sleep came easily now, and was dreamless.