Beckett woke with a start at the sound of a door opening. For a moment he was back in the dark, stifling hut, waiting with sick dread for the next round of coercion. Then he felt the cool of cotton sheets under his skin and opened his eyes to see his own familiar infirmary and Sarah, one of his nurses, just closing the door of the supply closet. She smiled to see his eyes open and called to Dr. Weir softly.

Weir and McKay turned away from another bed to look at him. He saw Sheppard lying there, a white bandage wrapped around his temples. He smiled a little. They hadn't had to shave the Colonel's hair. A butterfly dressing now kept the gash over his eye closed, and there were stray bits of white visible on his face and arms. He was asleep, or so it appeared, and as Beckett watched, Sarah changed out the near empty bag of fluids for a new one. He noticed he had one of his own as well.

"Carson, are you feeling a little better?" Weir asked, laying a hand on the bedrails. He looked longingly at the pitcher of water and McKay poured a glass, holding it out. Beckett took it, grateful his hands weren't shaking too much. It was hard when he really wanted to grab the pitcher and down it, but he knew better than anyone what the result of that would be, so he just sipped.

"Had yourself quite the adventure…" continued Dr. Weir.

"How is Colonel Sheppard?" he croaked, ignoring her comment.

"Dr. Schwartz says he'll be fine once he's had a little time to rest up and heal."

McKay knew him well enough, though, and snagged Sheppard's chart for him. Glancing through, he rattled off a few of the highlights before Beckett could snatch the chart from his hands.

"Mild concussion, three cracked ribs, multiple contusions, abrasions and grazes, dehydration, right shoulder wrench, left shoulder dislocated and a couple of broken fingers." Beckett flapped a hand at him distractedly as he rapidly scanned the chart.

"Carson," Weir repeated, her tone gently insistent. "How are you feeling? Dr. Schwartz has said Colonel Sheppard will be fine."

Shame roiled up in Beckett's throat and he looked away from them. "This is all my fault." Weir looked at him, her negotiator's poker face firmly in place.

"You said that before, Carson. What do you mean?"

"Yes, what are you going on about, Carson?" McKay sounded irritated, but one look at the scientist's weary face and Beckett knew it covered a days deep worry. Weir, however, shot McKay a warning glance before continuing.

"Who is the woman and child? Teyla said you requested we bring them back to Atlantis." Beckett's eyes flew back to Weir's face.

"I'd forgotten all about them," he said. "How are they?"

"Who are they?" McKay said, ignoring another glare from Weir.

"I wouldn't sacrifice the child," said Beckett, his voice faint. "Tha's why they were torturing the colonel. If ye hadna shown up when ye did…" his voice trailed off awkwardly. McKay and Weir exchanged a look over Beckett's bed.

"Yes, well," said McKay, speaking a little too loudly and clapping his hands together. "Alls well that ends well, right? I'll be needed back at the lab, and now that you're awake I'm sure you and Elizabeth have things to discuss. I'll be back later. For dinner." Weir watched his hasty departure with one raised eyebrow, and turned back to Beckett, a faintly amused expression on her face.

"Rodney looked as though he expected…," she paused, smiling a little. "Well, I'm not sure what he expected." She settled in comfortably beside him. "We do have things to discuss, but not until you're ready, Carson."

Beckett took a long shuddering breath. He wasn't sure he ever would be.