His sleep was deep. Dreams tumbled through Rodney's exhausted mind, starting one thread then drifting into another, and another. People from his past rarely showed, but the people of Atlantis were there, making bombs and filling the walls with green gelatin. At one point Kavanagh handed him a card and told him thanks but no thanks, that his services were now rendered useless. Which led to him walking the halls in disbelief.

But one part was very real, and it happened as his dream self entered his room and crawled underneath the covers, curling into a ball on his side. He felt a soft arm fold over his, the flesh sweet smelling and familiar. He turned his head, and there she was.

She smiled and sat up, gently rolling him over onto his back. He was unable to speak, or to move, he could only gasp as she straddled him and lightly ran her fingers over his chest. She leaned down, and her fiery hair trailed over his skin, soft as feathers, sending chills to places he'd forgotten about. "I've missed you," she whispered, but he couldn't respond.

She blew the fine hairs on his chest, fingered his nipples, let her hand slowly drift down, down, as he caught his breath and held it, until she was stroking his inner thigh. Slowly she lowered herself onto him, covering him, breathing into him and filling him with a warmth that sent his body aflame. . .

Rodney woke to harsh white lights and the sounds of yelling. He blinked rapidly, his mind confused, and felt a panic grow within him as he recognized the med bay. The mattress gave as he sat up quickly, nearly spilling him to the side, but he managed to catch hold and watch as the medical personnel created a manic pace.

He flagged down a passing nurse. "Hey? Could I get an aspirin or two, maybe three, hey? Hey, I'm talking here. . ." the nurse merely shook her head at him as she rushed by in a white blur. "Well, that's just. . .hey, you! In the jacket, yeah, I know, can I get some aspirin? Tylenol? Anything?" But he hurried on as well, barely sparing him a glance. "Am I here? Is my voice not CARRYING far enough or something? You act like somebody's dying!" And his face paled.

His feet touched down gently as he swung from the bed. He could see the shadows of the medical staff as they worked fervently. Someone was dying, he was sure of it, maybe he should have kept his mouth shut out of respect. Then he could get his medicine. His head thumped, keeping time with the rushing sound in his ears, and he leaned onto a vacated bed near his, watching the flurry of movement in silhouette. He could hear Dr. Beckett's professional, but troubled voice, and the nurses' snapped responses. He heard the equipment wail as the patient flatlined, and the sound drove him to sit on the bed. The movement beyond the curtain lasted only a few more moments, then there was silence.

Rodney leaned back and closed his eyes. He thought he felt a pat on the shoulder, but wasn't sure, and was surprised Carson's gorillas hadn't come to move him back to his own bed. When his eyes next opened, the room was empty.

Rodney's brows drew close together. He found himself walking to the curtain to comfort Carson, who was more than likely sitting beside his lost patient, giving him the guidance into the next life that companionship usually brought. He wasn't a social person, but the thought of someone, anyone, dying alone. . .no one should do that. At least this person would have two souls sitting beside him. Then he could get out for doing a good deed, and get to the mess in time for dinner. Mess. . .god, he was sounding like those gorillas.

The curtain snapped back. The body on the bed was dressed in charcoal and blue, with a familiar stain from the morning's spilt coffee. The body was decayed, crusted. . .and it was his.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"AAAHHH!"

"AAAHHH!" Radek Zelenka dropped his pad, one hand flying to his chest while the other fought to retain his glasses. He sent an incredulous expression to Rodney, who had been dozing in his chair, and now was fully awake. "Do you mind? You scare the crap out of me, with your doing that!"

Rodney was looking around him frantically. He groaned and leaned his elbows on the table in front of him, his head in his hands. "Oh, leave it to you to be concerned for your own welfare! Never mind that I just woke from the worst nightmare imaginable and could have fallen from this seat and cracked my skull!"

"I never told you to sleep there, Rodney. Your fault. I take no responsibility." He shrugged Rodney's comment away and picked up his notepad, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He sniffed and continued to read.

"You're not even going to ask me what I dreamed about?"

"No, because I am sure you will tell me anyway, so my asking," he waved his pen in the air, "only a waste of breath."

"Your concern is overwhelming. But since you asked so nicely, I was in the med bay and everyone was running all over the place, trying to save this patient. Turns out that patient was me."

Zelenka looked at Rodney from over the tops of his frames. "And they succeeded?"

"No. Not exactly."

"Hmm." Zelenka returned to his work.

This prompted Rodney to his feet. "Hmm? That's all I get? Oh, I see, this isn't a case of you wanting my stereo when I meet my maker, you want the whole damn lab? Is that it? Can't wait to be rid of me so you can get your little Czech-ered-mitts on my projects!"

"My mitts already there." He pointed. "You are one paranoid little man."

"Little? I'll show you little! How about a lack of concern for your fellow man, huh? How about showing some compassion for a person in dire need here?"

"Dire need of what, Rodney?" Radek asked patiently.

Rodney closed his mouth, his brows raising as he searched for a plausible answer. "I don't know."

"I see. So you wish for unwarranted sympathy. I have none. Now warranted sympathy I am in full supply of." He turned his attention to the man now studying his notes over his shoulder. "You take medicine that Dr. Beckett give you, no?"

"No. I mean, not yet."

"No, you come here instead. Not a good plan, Rodney. You want me to tell you what your dream means?"

"What are you, a soothsayer now? Doesn't say much for these scientific theories you've been spouting off for the past week, I'll have to go back over these proposals and double check the validity. . ."

"Rodney." Zelenka's voice was sharp. "Dream is easy. You were asleep. A medical emergency woke you, and you saw yourself dead." He poked Rodney's chest. "That says what to you?"

"It says my dream world is sorely lacking."

"It says to GET SOME SLEEP before you drive Radek crazy!"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't make me page Dr. Beckett!"

"Fine!" Rodney turned on his heel, fuming, but stopped at the door. He huffed for a moment. "Radek?"

"Yes, Rodney?"

"That last equation is incorrect. Who taught you calculus, The Count?"

"No, Rodney, he taught numbering bolts of electrical current." Radek waved him out.

Rodney just snarled and moved on.

He rounded the corner and ran right into a wall of major.

"Hey! I was. . ."

"I'm fine," Rodney snapped, shoving Sheppard aside. He continued to huff down the hallway, with Sheppard on his heels.

"I wasn't asking. I was saying that I was looking for you."

"Oh, so you don't care either? That's great. I should be used to that, I don't know why I'm surprised. Actually I'm not surprised at all, they always say that. . ."

"Rodney, will you shut up a minute?" He put on the breaks as Rodney came to a sudden halt, turning to face him while stubbornly crossing his arms. His chin lifted defiantly. Sheppard swallowed, meeting that angry gaze, and his thoughts fled.

"Well?" Rodney pressed.

"I uh. . .Teyla wanted to know if you would be available for a lesson in stick fighting. With this new threat coming, it would pay for all of the scientist to learn a little bit of hand to hand combat."

"Teyla's form of fighting would be more her stick to my head, and besides, that's what we have you trained monkeys here for, to protect us scientist so we can work. Isn't that right, Major?"

"Not totally, no! But mostly, maybe."

"How succinct. I'm surprised they didn't ask you to write speeches for your president." He started off, then stopped with an evil grin. "Oh, wait! I thought that sounded familiar. Geneva convention, wasn't it?"

"Now's not the time to argue politics."

"Why not? We argue about everything else. Stick fighting? Are you nuts?"

"It was Teyla's idea. I said that everyone needed to be prepared for hand to hand, and she offered to teach her techniques."

"Which I'm sure has every able-bodied male waiting in the wings. I'll pass."

"Rodney. . ."

"Major, as much as it would thrill me to be flung around on a mat by a beautiful woman, I hardly think the circumstances call for it." He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, and winced.

Sheppard ran his tongue over his teeth, and decided to let his unspoken jibe slide. "Fine. I'll tell her you gracefully declined."

"Thank you."

"That means you meet me on the mat at seven am sharp tomorrow."

"What?" The hand fell. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"Either hers or mine, now which is it?"

Rodney slumped in resignation. "At least I'm used to being made an ass in front of you, and your technique is probably more familiar, meaning not quite alien."

Sheppard gave a one-sided smile. "Good. Seven it is then." He clapped Rodney on the shoulder.

"Great." Yep. Tomorrow was officially shot.