Not surprisingly, John found Rodney in his lab. He was working alone, body hunched over his laptop, typing sporadically while muttering under his breath. John cleared his throat as he approached, not wanting to spook him. They had all been scared enough lately to last a lifetime.

Rodney stiffened and turned to stare at John. "Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"I'm not sick or an invalid, Rodney," John drawled, and then he pulled something out of his back pocket and tossed it at McKay. "Catch!"

"What is it?" Rodney asked, even as his hands lifted instinctively.

John grinned. "Chocolate."

Rodney's eyes went wide as he stared at the candy bar in his palm. "It is chocolate. You've been holding out!" The tone was accusatory.

"Sort of," John allowed. "But now I'm sharing."

"Why?" Now Rodney was suspicious, but that didn't stop him from unwrapping the bar and taking a bite. He closed his eyes, looking blissful.

John moved closer, feeling a genuine smile curve his lips. It was nice seeing McKay having a normal reaction to a good thing. He wanted to be able to make life this simple for them all again. "Rodney...we need to talk," John said, his smile fading. Because nothing about their lives was ever simple. But now it was twisted and complicated in a way that scared John. He didn't like being scared.

Rodney stiffened, tension radiating off him in waves. He swallowed a second bite of chocolate then countered, "Talk about what?"

"You know what." John kept his voice soft and soothing, or so he hoped. "It doesn't go away no matter how hard you try to ignore it. Trust me on that one, Rodney."

"You've had your tongue cut out!" Rodney snapped back.

John flinched, remembering that image all too clearly. Even looking at Rodney now, he could see the blood pouring from his mouth. Shaking his head, John whispered, "No...no, I haven't. But I spent six days in an enemy camp with two other soldiers. It wasn't summer camp, Rodney."

A grimace of regret twisted Rodney's face. "Sorry...didn't know."

"Long time ago." John blew it off. "My point being that it doesn't go away just because you want it too. You have to talk about it."

"Did you talk about it? Before?" There was anger in Rodney's tone, along with curiosity.

John hesitated. He didn't want to lie to Rodney, but he wasn't sure how honest he could be. He hadn't talked to anyone. He'd been forced to see a shrink but John had just played the game then, bluffing his way back to full duty. He had his own way of handling things. "I did what I had to do, Rodney. Whatever it took to get back to flying. I want you back on the team and ready to go through the gate. What do you have to do to get there?"

Rodney tossed the half eaten candy bar on the lab table, and then he turned to face John, arms folded over his chest. "I don't know," he said, sharply. "When I figure it out I'll give you a call. Until then, Major...I have a lot of work to do. Go bother someone else." That said, Rodney turned back to his laptop and started tapping at the keys.

There was nothing more John could say right now, and he knew it. So he slipped out of the lab, feeling worn out and frustrated. He wouldn't give up on Rodney, though. He'd hunt him down at dinnertime and try talking to him again. But since he couldn't do anything more here, John went in search of Teyla. Not surprisingly, he found her in the gym. For a time, John leaned against the doorframe, watching Teyla move about the room. She was lithe and graceful, her motions more like a dance than anything. But John knew how deadly she was. How strong. He felt the urge to join her for a session, but he knew his ribs wouldn't hold out. Still, he walked into the room and picked up the extra set of sticks that lay on the floor. Carefully, he did some movements Teyla had taught him, hissing a bit at the pull to his ribs.

"You shouldn't do that," Teyla called out.

"I know." John lowered his arms and turned to face her. "Don't tell Beckett," he beseeched, with a smile.

Teyla shrugged. "That depends on you, Major. Sometimes you don't know when to quit."

John arched an eyebrow, knowing she wasn't just talking about him using the sticks. "You're not a quitter, Teyla," he said softly.

"Sometimes it is not about quitting," she replied. "It is about knowing that you cannot win." As she spoke, Teyla moved to the window seat and shoved her sticks in her bag. She then grabbed a towel and patted her face. "I feel very alone now."

"You miss your people," John guessed. He knew that Teyla liked it here in Atlantis, and that she liked him and the others, but it wasn't the same as being home. Although, John realized, Atlantis had become his home.

Teyla sighed. "I do...but it is more than that."

John moved closer, locking his eyes on her face. "Are you sorry you came to Atlantis?" He couldn't help but blame himself for what had happened to her. He had signaled the Wraith by picking up her necklace in the cave. The Wraith had then culled her home world leaving Teyla and her people, homeless. The Athosians had made a new life for themselves on the Mainland, but John knew it wasn't the same. They had lost so much because of what he had done. Teyla all the more so, in so many ways. Had she not joined his team, she wouldn't have been tortured.

"What happened, happened," Teyla said quietly, reaching out to touch John's arm. She smiled, a sad curving of her lips, then said, "I have no regrets in coming here, Major. But I do miss my home, as I imagine so do you."

"Sometimes," John allowed. He did miss the things Earth had to offer. But he had always been adaptable. He knew Teyla was the same way. "Do you want to talk?" John asked.

Teyla shook her head, looking regretful. "Not now. Perhaps later." Turning back to her bag, she slung it over her shoulder then she glided past John and out the door.

Heaving a sigh of frustration, John watched her go then he went back to using the sticks, biting his lip against the pain in his ribs. He worked at it until he couldn't ignore the ache and burn. Dripping with sweat, John dropped the sticks and headed for his room. He showered again, made himself down a powerbar, then he made his way to the infirmary to talk to Ford.

To John's surprise, Ford had been released to his room. John thanked the nurse, Sally, and then he charmed two Tylenol from her and left before Beckett popped up and insisted on another exam. John knew if Beckett touched his ribs now he'd go through the roof, and when he came back down he'd be stuck in the infirmary again. So he beat a hasty retreat, stopping by the mess hall for bottled water. John took the pills then he made his way to Ford's room. It took two knocks before Ford invited him in.

"Hey," John offered in greeting, as he stepped into the room.

"Sir," Ford replied.

John studied him. He looked pale and jittery and he was tossing a nerf football from hand to hand. Something easy enough to stuff in the corner of a backpack. "How ya feeling?" John asked.

Ford shrugged. "Been better."

"I know. Want to talk about it?" John offered, hopefully. He was '0' for two so far.

"What's to talk about?" Ford snapped. "What happened...and it's all YOUR FAULT!"

John flinched at the rage in Ford's voice, but he held fast when Ford got in his face. "You're right," John said quietly. He was more than willing to take the blame, and he would encourage it, especially if it kept Ford talking.

Ford's face contorted in anger. "You should have lied to them! You should have made up a location for Earth! You should have done something to save us!"

"You're right." John kept his voice soft. "I should have done something to save you." He saw something dark and ugly in Ford's eyes and John half expected the lieutenant to slug him. Instead, Ford wheeled around, strode over to his desk in the corner and picked up his gun. He held it to his head and John felt panic wash over him. "NO!" He shouted, running over and grabbing Ford by the wrist. He yanked the gun away from his head.

"Please!" Ford sounded broken. "I can't take this anymore!"

John held fast. "Not like this!" he whispered. "No way. You want to blame someone, you blame me. I did this." Slowly, forcefully, John pulled on Ford's arm until the gun was pressed into his own chest. "If you think the only way out is to shoot someone, then you shoot me." John's eyes never left Ford's as he spoke. "I did this," John whispered, and he meant it.

Ford's finger twitched over the trigger, then he was shaking his head and trying to pull his hand free. "No…no! Please…I'm sorry."

"It's okay." John let him go. He took the gun from Ford's slack fingers and clicked the safety on before tossing it onto the bed. Then he wrapped his arms around Ford and held on tight. By habit, John had tucked his radio behind his ear and he tapped it and called for Beckett. While they waited, he rocked Ford, whispering soothing words and praying that everything would be all right.

An hour later Ford was sedated and curtains were drawn around his bed in the corner of the infirmary. John sat with the others. Weir and Teyla and Rodney. They didn't say a word to each other. There was nothing to say. John had told them what happened, speaking clinically and without emotion. Kate had been called and she and Beckett had taken care of Ford.

John watched the others, seeing how stunned Teyla and Rodney were. Seeing hopelessness in both their eyes and at the same time John knew they were wondering if maybe oblivion wasn't the answer. Teyla shook it away, but it lingered in Rodney's eyes and that worried John. He didn't see any blame in their eyes, but he wondered if they felt the same as Ford.

Kate and Beckett approached the group, looking tired and grim.

Weir was the first to ask, "How is he?"

"Worn out," Carson replied. "I'm going to keep him sedated for twelve hours so he can get some rest. After which Kate will talk to him. We'll work it out."

"I want to be there when you talk to him," John said to Kate. "I want Ford to know he's not alone. Besides which...I'm an issue and we need to deal with it."

Kate nodded. "I think that's a good idea." With that she nodded to the group and walked out.

Weir looked at Beckett. "So what now?"

"The rest of you go and get some rest yourselves." Carson looked at Teyla and Rodney. "If you think you need help sleeping, don't hesitate to come get something. I mean that. It's not a cure but you need to rest."

"I will let you know," Teyla allowed.

Rodney gave a little wave of one hand. "Yeah...sure. I'll let you know." With that he wandered off, Teyla following in his wake.

Weir gave a nod and turned to leave as well.

John slid off the bed he had been sitting on and made to do the same, biting back a moan as his ribs made themselves felt. When his feet hit the floor his knees buckled.

"Not you, Major," Carson stated, a determined look on his face as he caught John by the arm to support him. "You look like death warmed over. You're staying. And, by the way, Teyla told me you were practicing with the sticks. Are you daft, man?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" John countered, trying to force a grin. But he hurt too much and he was too worn out to muster one and he gave it up. Instead he let Beckett push him back onto the bed. He didn't make a fuss when a needle pricked him. Instead John let his eyes close as warm darkness drifted over him, easing the ache in his heart and soul.