Beckett looked down at his patient and rubbed his shoulder gently before walking over to McKay.

The physicist was glaring at him. "Are you ready for me now?"

"Rodney, the man was in pain!"

"And I'm not over here dancing the mambo!" He threw the covers from his leg and pointed to his bandaged foot. "Do you see this? This hurts!"

"It will be fine."

"Fine? I break an ankle and nearly drown, and all you can do is say fine?"

"I said your ankle will be fine, it isn't broken. You'll want to use a crutch for a day or so and keep it elevated when you sit."

"But it hurts!"

"Aye, I expect it does! You gave it quite a jolt when you tried to free yourself."

"Not broken? Really?" He shifted his foot and wriggled his toes carefully, and winced.

"No, Rodney," Carson gently took Rodney's heel and moved his foot back onto the bed, covering it. "How is your head?"

Rodney leaned back, his expression suddenly stilled as his demeanor changed. "It's fine."

"Are you certain?"

"I said it's fine, didn't I?"

"Funny how that word seems to have a different meaning when you use it," the doctor sighed. "Very well then. Call me if you need anything."

Rodney caught the sigh, knew what it meant, and closed inwards. "I won't need anything." His mouth was set, and he pushed his head back into the pillows and closed his eyes.

Carson walked to his desk, nearly colliding with Sheppard, who was patiently waiting for him. "How is he?"

The doctor sighed resignedly. "He'll be alright. Recovering from the scare. Suffered a mild concussion, and his ankle's fairly bruised. He's annoyed and in rare form."

"I bet." He perched himself on the edge of Carson's desk as the doctor sat. "He cut it pretty damn close this time. He was underwater for several minutes before we could get him out."

"I don't suppose you were the one giving him mouth to mouth until you got an oxygen mask on 'em."

"If you tell him that, I'll make sure the next anal exam has your name on it."

Carson flashed a grin and started to sort his papers. He glanced up as Sheppard continued to sit. "Can I do something for you, Major?"

Sheppard pursed his lips, gave the question due consideration, and stood. "No, I'm good."

"Then why don't you just go in and see the man?"

"Nah, I don't want to disturb him."

"Five minutes." Carson waved his paper towards the beds. "Go."

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Weir sat at the table, staring at nothing, waiting for everyone to arrive for the meeting. The power spike and fluctuations had continued through the day and night, sending poor Radek in circles. If he had a tail, he'd be chasing it. With Rodney down and out for the next day, due to his head injury, it was all the poor man could do to keep up. He was handling it exceptionally well.

Kavanaugh, on the other hand, was throwing out theories left and right, calling Weir every half hour with a new prognosis on the internal systems that needed to be checked. He was driving her crazy, and although she appreciated the work, she couldn't help but wonder if he was being so eager only because Rodney was down for the day. He had a tendency to shine brightly if he knew he was in the light, and at the moment, he and Zelenka were the star attractions.

They filed in to her office with polite greetings, followed by Sheppard, who looked well rested. Ford walked in a moment later, and she brightened at his youthful face. "Lieutenant! I'm glad you're back with us, how was your trip to the mainland?"

"Wonderful, ma'am," he responded gleefully, barely able to contain his enthusiasm within proper military constraints. "They have this beach, nothing but sand for miles. And we found this waterfall where you can swim, I'm telling you, shore leave? This place is the bomb!"

"So your scouting party was a success, then," she smiled.

"Cook-outs and all." He grinned and sat, waggling his thick, dark brows at Major Sheppard, who couldn't hold back his smile. "So what's been going on here?"

Weir cleared her throat and sent him a look as Kavanaugh scowled. Ford immediately straightened and put on a professional face.

"What's 'been' going on," Kavanaugh said smartly, "is we have experienced power fluctuations and failures since you left. None of these fluctuations have drained our resources to the point where it can't be replaced, but it is only a matter of time before the seam rips."

"We have been monitoring the fluctuations," Zelenka added in a more courteous voice, "there is no pattern. It is impossible to track, therefore impossible to predict and contain."

"And we have no idea what's causing this?" Ford asked with concern.

Zelenka looked at Kavanaugh who, for once, said nothing. He just shook his head.

"How many have we experienced so far?" Weir asked.

Zelenka quirked the corner of his mouth. "At present, count it twenty three separate, and very minor, with three larger. But each time we have managed to replace any power lost by rerouting systems to compensate, only. . .."

"Every time there is a power loss somewhere in the city, it is because it was rerouted to spike in another area of the city," Kavanaugh cut in. "But we don't know as yet why, or how, it is being rerouted."

"There isn't a visible power drop before one of these spikes?"

"No, ma'am," Radk responded, "it happens simultaneously. Only after studying the last set of readings, we discovered this. There is a spike, then there is a loss somewhere in the station at that exact same moment."

"That's a damn fast transfer," Sheppard commented, and Radek agreed with a nod.

Weir took a deep breath. "Well, it doesn't sound like there is much else we can do. Keep an eye on it, and keep me informed." She nodded as they thanked her and stood. Kavanaugh was talking the minute they exited.

It seemed that lately, all she did was tell her people to keep her informed of one thing or another, to the point where her request sounded more like a dismissal. Elizabeth fingered the paper before her, then turned her gaze outwards. Maybe a trip to the mainland was what she needed, just for a day. Surely the station could do without her for a few hours. Of course, there was the power fluctuations to be considered, and a delegate from the recently discovered Tanii people was due to arrive to negotiate food for minor labor and medical assistance. Then there was a meeting with Teyla and Norak to discuss the incoming crops from the mainland, and their proper distribution, there were reports to be reviewed, Carson's weekly medical log to be read and the update on the new viral scanner, and at some point she had to fit in a meal. Her vacation would have to wait.

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Rodney knew he was asleep. It was those damn pills no doubt. He lay there in the dark, everything silent around him, the surroundings stifled and hot and sticky. And rank. He didn't want to breathe, the air was putrid. His nose wrinkled in distaste and he opened his eyes, blinking. He saw nothing.

That wasn't right. Oh, of course, he was still dreaming. That was it. He was in a dream, laying there, realizing he was dreaming. Except. . .he wasn't. He was just laying there in the dark.

He waited. Nothing happened.

Okay, this was ridiculous. He tried to sit up. His head bumped against something hard, something just inches above him. He reached up and felt a soft, satiny material, sightly puckered. "What the. . ." he pushed at it, and it didn't give. His fingers trailed the material over his face, and down beside him, the same satiny puckered feel. Just inches from him, cushioned beneath him, all around. Everywhere.

Inches from him.

Oh. . .GOD.

Frantically he pressed his palms to the lid. He pressed and pounded at the sides, kicked at the base, yelling until his voice gave. The air was hot, so hot, and he couldn't see, and the smell was so bad. . .he felt something drop onto his face and gave his head a quick shake, swiping at it with his hand. Something stuck to his sweaty cheek, and again he swiped, then realized what he was wiping away was his own dead, decaying skin, and his hand had become bone. . .

"Rodney! For god's sake, wake up!"

Rodney sat up, gasping, and promptly leaned over the bed and vomited. Carson quickly stepped aside, nodding at a nurse who immediately went for the cleaning supplies. "Rodney? Easy now, easy. You were having a dream, easy."

Rodney looked up.

Carson was a skeleton.

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"What do you mean, he's gone?" Sheppard stared at Beckett.

"I mean I left to go and check the medical stock like I always do this time of day, and when I came back he had gone!"

"Where was your nurse?"

"I was in supply! How the bloody hell should I know? Maybe she had to take a pee!"

Sheppard grabbed the distraught man by the shoulder. "Okay, easy. You said he was better, is he good to leave?"

"Aye, I was going to release him today, but it isn't like Rodney to just walk out no matter how badly he wants to!"

"Right. I'll go find him." Sheppard rushed past Carson, who called out, "and when you do, give him a right thrashing for me, bloody pig-headed bastard!"

Sheppard knew Carson was livid. He was pretty close to it himself, especially since through his radio contacts, no one had seen him. He wasn't at the lab, nor was he in the gate room. Possibly in his own quarters, then? That would be the first place on the list to look, and it stood to reason that the man would need a set of clothes. Sheppard made a quick about face and ran to Rodney's quarters, skidding to a stop in front of the door.

This time when he opened it, he remained in the hall until he was certain that Rodney wasn't lurking in the shadows. And he wasn't. He was in the corner, staring at his hands. He had his pants on, but nothing else.

"Rodney?" John cautiously entered. Rodney didn't look up, he just continued to stare at his hands. The fingers were reddened, and he picked at them. "You okay?"

Rodney said nothing.

John swallowed. This wasn't right, this wasn't anywhere close to being right. This wasn't Rodney McKay. Rodney wasn't. . .like this. He reached up and slowly grasped the man's wrists, drawing them apart from each other, and that was when he got Rodney's attention. The blue eyes were fearful. "Major?"

"Rodney, what the hell's going on?"

"It. . .I-I was. . ." his gaze wandered to the floor, and John realized that Rodney wasn't acting like he lost his mind, but more like he was trying to come to terms with something. His gaze snapped back. "I was dead." He looked Sheppard up and down. "Why are you here?"

"You left the infirmary without saying goodbye. Carson's pretty pissed."

"Did I?" He seemed to take in his surroundings for the first time. "I was trying to get out, but the skin was coming off. I couldn't get out."

"Of the infirmary?"

Rodney met his eyes. "Of the coffin."

John's face twisted. "What coffin?"

"I was in a coffin. I thought I was in a bed, but it was hot and I couldn't breathe, and I realized I was. . ." He shuddered.

John fell silent for a moment. He had no words for this, nothing that would ease that obviously distressed mind. "Look, it was a dream. You've been through a lot lately, your mind is just playing with you. You nearly drowned for god sake, maybe you're still thinking about that."

"Yeah." He didn't sound totally convinced. "Except. . ."

"Except?"

"I smelled it. That day in the commissary. I. . .smelled the decay, and it smelled just like that coffin."

John's expression was pinched. He squeezed Rodney's wrists, then let them go. Nothing more was said, he just sat down beside his friend.