"Kate, I don't know what to do. He needs to talk to someone. Something's eating at him, and if he doesn't get a good night's sleep soon, it's going to affect his job performance. I'll have to ground him." John stood in the doorway of Kate's office, not daring to step in further in case she was bored and needed to analyze something.

Dr. Kate Heightmeyer, established head-case surgeon, nodded. "I can't force him to come to me, but I'm glad you told me this. Is there anyone he feels he can talk to?"

Sheppard thought about that. "No. He's not exactly the open type. Sure, if he's hurt or scared, but if something is bothering him? Not really."

"That's because he doesn't trust anyone."

"You think?"

Kate smirked. "You found him after he left the infirmary. Did you try talking to him then?"

Sheppard barked a laugh and studied the walls. "What am I supposed to say? 'Hey, sorry you're having bad dreams, get over it'? 'Grow some balls'?" His subtle glance met Kate's raised brow. "Look, if he needs touchy-feely, then he needs to come here."

"Oh, you think so?" Kate folded her arms, her voice sharp.

"Oh, come on, I didn't mean i that /i ."

"Since when were you an authority on what Rodney needs?"

"Since I'm going to have to be the one to tell him that if he doesn't get his head on straight, he's booted from the next mission!"

"How's his ankle?"

Sheppard frowned. "Excuse me?"

She annunciated carefully. "How is his ankle?"

"Fine! I guess, I didn't exactly ask him."

"No, you sat with him on the floor, then patted his head like a puppy and walked out."

Sheppard crossed the room in three steps. "That is not what happened! I sat with him. I waited forever for him to talk, but he wouldn't. He finally got dressed and limped outta there, so I guess his ankle is just peachy!" He realized he was yelling, and blinked as he pulled back.

Kate let her arms fall and gave a small smile as she turned. "You're feelings of inadequacy is getting the better of you, John."

"What the – what's that supposed to mean?"

She threw her hands up in the air. "Why are men so fucking blind?" She rounded on him, looking like his mom did before the spankings commenced. "You want to help. You say you can't. And furthermore, the fact that you care enough about him to want to help is driving you crazy. You can't stand it. He's an egotistical brat of a scientist, and yet you care enough to seek help for him. What self-respecting soldier would do that?"

Sheppard was already shaking his head. "That's not it at all. We've been through things. He's important here. If something is wrong then we, as a city, are as good as screwed!"

She folded her arms. "And so you take it upon yourself to fix him. Touching."

Sheppard had no idea where she was going with this. "I'm saying, I am acting in the city's best interest."

"Not in the interest of a friend."

What the hell did she want from him? "Fine! He's a friend. Okay? I'm concerned. There, I said it. Happy now?"

"Are you?"

He knew he shouldn't have entered her office. "Dammit, I'm not the one on trial here! I. . .Christ, forget it. He'll probably feel worse after talking to you."

"I don't think he's ready to talk to me. I'm too distant. When he's ready to analyze, I'll be here. But right now he needs someone he can trust, and as much as I'd like to get my hopes up, I'm not that person. So you have a decision to make, John. Are you going to open that path, or should we find someone else who can?"

Sheppard glared. "You're a bitch, you know that?"

"And you lie to yourself. I have no time for it." Her look turned cold. "Unless you're willing to do more, don't pawn this off on me. He needs you, John. You're the closest thing to a friend he's got here. Just accept that and move on, will you?"

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Rodney stared at his face. He rubbed at it, waiting for the skin to roll away, but it stayed. Thank god. He sniffed and wet his hands, lathered them, and rubbed the soap along his cheekbones, over the stubble, around his mouth, over his forehead. Nice, intelligent forehead. Good bone structure. Cupping his hands underneath the flow, he splashed the coolness on his face and looked up as the water dripped from his chin. Stared at his reflection, studying his eyes. He took a deep, steadying breath. He looked too damn tired, but at least he was sleeping in abbreviated naps. Just enough to keep his system from completely shutting down. He dried his hands and wiped his neck and chest. Shuffled back, the hem of his pants just scuffing the floor, and stood in the middle of his small room. His black shirt was flung over a chair, and he forced himself to walk over to it, pick it up, sniff it, and pull it over his head. He dug his socks from the pile sitting in the chair and sat on his bed, reluctant to move. For god's sake, all he had to do was bend and pull the damn things over his feet. His ankle throbbed, but was tolerable. With any luck he could get a boot on today. He glanced at the wrap sitting beside his bed, dismissed it, pulling on his socks and boots and tying the laces tightly. And again, he sat.

What was on the agenda for the day? Meeting with Weir, of course, that was standard practice. He wanted to work on that particle transformer if at all possible. Maybe run into a certain redhead he had been eyeing. And of course, ohyeah. He sighed. Power fluctuations. He pushed himself from the mattress, and sniffed. Sniffed again.

Shit.

He didn't want to look. He didn't want to, but his steps moved him towards the mirror in the bathroom. His face looked normal, but the one behind him didn't. He spun, but nothing was there.

That was it. He'd had it. He grabbed his jacket angrily, to uncover a snarling corpse sitting in the chair, a rotten hand reaching out to snatch it back. Rodney yelled and jumped back. He ran out of his room, spinning into the wall opposite, gasping for breath and ignoring the looks thrown at him. Swallowed heavily. Regained his composure, and hurried down the hall.

Why he was in front of her door again, he had no clue. Fist raised, the pounds echoed down the curved hallway. The door opened to reveal her surprised face, calm and beautiful, and incredibly reassuring. "Dr. McKay!" She frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes, something is very wrong." Rodney was suddenly self-conscious, but felt enough desperation to ask, "Can I come in?"

"By all means." Teyla stepped back and gestured for him to enter, keeping her full attention on the distraught man. He was wringing his hands, beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. "Please," she placed a pillow on a small chair and waved her hand towards it. The bed creaked as she sat on it, and waited.

Rodney sat stiffly, his hands working. He looked around. "This-this is nice. Real nice. Very – very. . .tribal."

"Is there something I can do for you, Dr. Mc. . ."

"Rodney. I mean, not like we don't put our lives on the line together, huh?" He tried a smile, but it fell.

"How is your ankle?"

"Huh? Oh, fine, well, actually it hurts like hell but I'm pretty sure Carson's all caught up in some real emergency and doesn't have time for a hobbling scientist to just. . ." he caught Teyla's patient expression. "Sorry. Truth is, uh. . .I don't know why I'm here."

"This is not the first time you have come to me in a moment of crisis."

"Crisis? Who said I was having a crisis?"

"Dr. Mc. . .Rodney, it is obvious something is troubling you deeply." Her eyes revealed the sincerity she felt. "We only wish to help."

Rodney lifted his chin, ready to deny everything, but his words startled him. "I've been having dreams. Really nasty ones." He swallowed, uncertain as to exactly how to progress.

Teyla stood softly. "Would you like some tea, perhaps?"

He looked startled. "Sure. Yes, thank you. Tea, tea would be good right now."

"You may talk as I prepare it."

"Thank you." He gave his head a shake, finding himself sucked into her formality. "I uh, I've been having these dreams ever since we returned from that underwater not-Atlantis. I. . ." he fell silent, and it wasn't until he took a sip from the cup in his hands several minutes later that he was able to gather his thoughts. "I'm dead in these dreams," he continued softly, painfully. "Decaying, a morbid corpse. Sometimes I see other corpses, and. . .it's the most terrifying. . .I can't sleep anymore. I don't think I've slept more than six hours in the past five days. I lie awake, my body rests, but if I start to drift," he shook his head. "I can't! I can't stand the thought of it."

"Has Dr. Beckett given you anything to help you relax?"

"Those damn pills make it worse. Now I'm seeing things when I'm awake." Her eyes widened, and he amended. "I'm not losing it. I just see reflections, and I smell rot. I'm sure it's fatigue."

"Have you told anyone else of these waking visions?"

Rodney paused at her choice of words. "No, not so much. Just you."

"And why me?"

Rodney felt his words catch. Truth was he hardly talked to the Athosian unless field action warranted it. Not that he didn't like the woman, he just had no need. The fact that he was there, in her room, opening up to her like this was disconcerting to say the least. "I don't know. You just seem so. . .tranquil, I mean, when you're not poking someone's eye out with those sticks of yours. I don't suppose the name Xena means anything to you?" A raised brow was his only response.

Rodney looked down at his tea. He could feel the fear radiating from him, smell the bitterness of rotten meat. Oh no, not again. His breath caught, his body stiffening in a way that made Teyla set down her drink and stand. "There, see? How can you not smell that?"

Teyla sniffed at the air like a wolf. "I smell nothing."

"God, it's rancid!" He stood, eyeing her room. "Do you keep meat in here? You do realize it has to be kept at a proper temperature, otherwise. . ."

"There is nothing here, Rodney! Please sit down. . ."

"No! No, I can't sit. I'll fall asleep, and I can't fall asleep, I can't. . ." desperation pulled at his features, and tears pooled in his eyes. Teyla walked over quickly and grabbed his hands. "I'm going crazy, aren't I?" he whispered. "Something's wrong with me."

"You are not going crazy. You merely need sleep." Teyla took his head in her hands and forced him to gaze into her eyes. He did so, finding himself calm slightly. She nodded and put her hands on his shoulders, bending her head down towards him.

"Wha - oh!" He awkwardly put his hands on her shoulders, feeling the smooth skin and bone, and lowered his head to hers. He caught his breath, drifted on a wave of calm, then fell to his knees in sobs as she held him.

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"Dr. Weir, may we talk with you about Dr. McKay?" Teyla hovered in the doorway of Elizabeth's office, with Sheppard and Beckett behind her.

"Of course." Elizabeth stopped gathering her papers. She looked at her pile. "I guess since we're all here instead of the briefing room we can just. . ."

"This is a personal matter, we did not wish someone to walk in on our discussion." Teyla took a seat. The men behind her remained standing, respectfully.

Elizabeth didn't like the looks on their faces. "Is Rodney okay?"

"I'm not sure." Carson shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his lab coat. "Elizabeth, the man is on the verge of a nervous collapse. He isn't sleeping, he's apparently suffering from waking hallucinations, and he refuses to seek help. Dr. Zelenka has reported rather erratic behavior the in lab."

"He's headed for la-la land," Sheppard cut in. "In this condition he can't go on off-world missions, much less try and cope with the threat at hand."

"Is this stressed induced?"

"Aye, I think that has a lot to do with it. But it is the nature of his visions that bother me."

Sheppard smirked. "He sees dead people."

"I don't think you're taking this very seriously, son!" Carson reprimanded.

"I'm taking it just as seriously as the next guy! I just wanted to say that line." Carson merely glared, and John backed down. "Carson's right. Whatever these dreams are, they're terrifying him. I mean more so than regular run of the mill nightmares."

"And he won't talk to anyone?"

"He has come to me," Teyla said, "and spoken of these dreams. He does see things when he is awake, and he is frightened. I do not believe he knows how to ask for help in this situation."

Sheppard looked guilty. "I may be the cause of that."

Weir raised a brow. "How do you mean?"

"The other day I was egging him on, trying to get him to attack me." She looked alarmed. "We were sparring, okay? In the training room. I told him he went out of his way to. . .get attention."

"You didn't."

"I think maybe I clammed him up."

Weir nodded, her disapproving gaze settled on his. "What do we do?"

"Take him off duty for a day or more for medical observation. Induce sleep." Carson's voice was firm.

"Are you sure we can we spare him?"

"At this point it would be better to spare him for a day than permanently. Dr. Zelenka can fill in, and has offered to do so. Truth of it is, he's been covering for Rodney for the past few days."

"Rodney's not going to like this."

"It isn't up to him."

She nodded. "Do it."