Getting him into the infirmary was too easy. The man was dead on his feet, lying on Teyla's bed where she had left him. They practically carried him to Beckett, ignoring the stare of those they passed. Some were concerned. More were curious. And Rodney was protesting, of course, with limp reasoning. Teyla stepped aside as they drew the curtain, and Sheppard waved away the nurse, helping Carson to unclothe the man and put scrubs on him. They lay Rodney back, and even then, he was fighting, talking about his projects and the power spike and how he had a theory, but it was all babble on top of babble, designed to keep his mind active. He had one coherent moment, when he saw the needle. "No shots."

"Rodney. . ."

"I said no shots!"

"It's the only way to guarantee you'll rest!"

"There is too much to do for me to rest! I'll rest when this is over."

"There hasn't been a power spike in the last eighteen hours."

"So we're overdue."

"I'm saying, I think they can do without you for a while."

"So you think I'm superfluous?"

"I think you're being a right ass! Now roll up your sleeve."

"What?"

"Do it, Rodney, or we'll do it for you." And he did, and yelled out as the shot in his arm jolted him back to reality, and then he was under.

Sheppard hovered for a few moments, watching as sensors were attached to Rodney's head, to his chest, and a blood pressure monitor clipped to his finger. He was asleep. Finally.

But he wasn't resting.

His face twitched. His fingers jumped slightly, reaching for letters and symbols that weren't there. His eyelids betrayed the hidden activity beneath. The man was working in his sleep.

Sheppard decided he couldn't watch anymore. It was disturbing, to say the least. He turned on his heel, and ran into Teyla just outside. It was obvious from the way she matched his stride that she had been waiting for him. "Major Sheppard, may I speak with you?"

It was hard not to roll his eyes. He just wanted to be alone. "What is it, Teyla?"

She looked confused. "I'm not sure. I just feel. . .I feel like I should apologize."

"What on earth for?"

"That is a good question." She turned to face him. "Did you not talk to Dr. McKay when you said you would?"

Sheppard paused mid-step, then continued walking. "I didn't have the chance."

"Are you not his friend?

What was with everyone's twenty questions concerning him and McKay? "Rodney? Don't know if I'd call it friendship."

Teyla raised her eyebrows knowingly.

"Oh, come on! Rodney? Mr. Egotistical-hyprocondriac- unconscious prone" he sought for words.

"Friend?"

"Maybe."

"Talk to him."

"He blows me off more than anyone!"

"Perhaps he is afraid you will press judgement upon him."

"Moi? And since when does he care what others think?"

Teyla reached out to grab his arm, stopping him. "Since it started to threaten his work."

"Okay." Sheppard shook off her grip. "Let me get one thing straight. I don't know why everyone seems to be pushing me to get Rodney back on his feet. I can't do it. I don't have any kind of mojo magic, there is no special bond, there is nothing that I can do that anyone else can do. Why is everyone coming to me for a cure?"

"Who else has confronted you about this?"

"Dr. Heightmeyer, for one."

"She is perceptive."

This conversation was becoming increasingly annoying. "How?"

"I believe whatever happened in that other city has affected him greatly. You were there with him. You know what he experienced first hand, do you not?"

Sheppard leaned in. "If you mean did I drag him out of a hole, yes. That doesn't mean I can fix it," he said slowly.

"But you can understand."

"No, I can't! I don't know what he's going through, and I wish everyone would stop trying to make me crawl into that matrix to find out! I don't need to know more about Rodney McKay, I don't want to know more about Rodney McKay, and that's that!"

"Because you are afraid of what you will find." The sentence was said with finality, and she stared to walk off.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. What the hell do you mean by that?"

Teyla had that all-knowing look on her face that he found irritating. "He was not the only one affected down there. You came to a realization yourself, and you are fighting it with everything you have. Your relationship has always been unique. Somehow you've passed a point that you can not venture from."

"Wait." He laughed. "You make it sound like I've fallen for him or something!"

"No." She smiled. "But there is a realization, just the same, and you are fighting it." She held out her hands helplessly. "That is all I can say. But everyone knows. The two of you, what it is you say. . .you click. Why can you not allow yourself a friend in Rodney McKay?"

His gaze turned hard. "Because friends die out here. Or hadn't you noticed?"

Her eye narrowed. "Is that what troubles you? You are afraid of death?"

"Mine? No. His?" The question poked at him. "Somewhat."

Her brows raised in acknowledgment. "Then there is hope. You would not fear if you did not care."

"Now see, there it is again! Why is everyone so convinced that I care?"

"Because you do," she said firmly. "Because you are the only one who can free him of this, and yet you won't do it."

"And again. . ."

"He told me, Major." Her voice softened. "When he lay back on my bed. He asked for you, he said you would know how to fix things. There is something more going on that he isn't telling us, and the only way he will tell you is if you let him. You have to let him."

"Just that easy."

"If you wish."

Sheppard felt cornered. He studied the floor, his teeth grinding together. His head snapped up, his gaze avoiding hers, and his fist pounded a rhythm against his leg. "He reminds me of someone," John admitted. "It didn't even occur to me until we were down there, I guess because that's the most time I've spent with the man. This. . .someone, was brilliant. I'm talking scary smart. We used to play these games where we'd try and outguess the other, and the one that lost had to take a dare. It could be anything, riddles, math problems, trivia. Football scores from ten years back. He was good, until we got to the football, because he was into soccer." He saw Teyla watching, her full attention gripped by his words. "I dared him to climb to the top of our oak tree. It was huge, and we were pretty small. He was so determined, he climbed straight up. And a few moments later, he fell.

"He broke his collar bone and his spine. He was so determined to be right, to best me, because he knew I had never been up that tree. And he was pissed off that he got the question wrong. It was stupid, sending him up there, because there were rotten branches, it was an old tree, and I knew he might, just might, fall." He took a deep breath. "I was jealous. Pure and simple. I wanted to hurt him. I couldn't stand that he was smarter and better, and he was. I sent him up there out of spite. I hoped he would fall."

Teyla nodded slowly. "And you blame yourself for his injuries."

Sheppard shook his head. "No, you don't get it. He was never able to walk again. He was paralyzed, unable to move anything but his mouth, blink his eyes. He had an head injury which was looked at, but no one realized how severe it was. It slowly shut down that brilliant mind of his." Sheppard's eyes were closed tightly as he fought the memories. "I would visit him, and he would just glare at me. He blamed me. He died blaming me."

Teyla's face was tight in sympathy. She rubbed his arm. "I am sorry," she said slowly. "That is a terrible thing for anyone to go through, especially a child." She gave him a moment, then added, "But I do not see what this has to do with Dr. McKay."

Sheppard fought to control his breathing. "I nearly did the same thing with him," he whispered. "Dammit, I like the man. I really do. But for one moment," he gritted his teeth, "just. . .one. . .moment, I wanted him to take that bitch's offer. I wanted him to ascend."

"Why did you wish this?"

"Because he was irritating me! Because he wanted it so bad! Because I'd had it up to here," he pointed to his head, "with his smart ass mouth! Because I wanted to see if he was really as brilliant as he claims, if he was worthy of it! I wanted to laugh when the ancients got a taste of him and spat him back out!"

"And yet you prevented him."

"And what would have happened if I didn't, huh? He'd be in the clutches of that creature, or dead, I don't know."

"Then you did the right thing."

Sheppard pulled back. "No, see, you still don't get it! I wanted to do the wrong thing. I wanted to test him. I wanted to see if he would actually do it, if he would live up to what that damned mouth of his was saying. And I would have lost the closest friend I've had in years!" He stopped, mentally jerked aside by what he had just said.

Teyla managed a small, soothing smile. She took Sheppard's hands. "You did the right thing. We all have our moments of evil thoughts, of lashing out at others. Yours just showed you what you have, is worth fighting for."

Sheppard just looked confused. Teyla released his hands. "Go to him, when he wakes. Help him. Whatever plagues him has something to do with that city, and I believe it will relieve both your demons." She gave a firm nod, boding no argument, and walked on. Sheppard remained, staring at the wall where she had been.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She was there, over him. She knelt down, one knee on either side of him, her hands on his chest. Her skin was electric yet silky, and he felt waves of pleasure that he had never experienced before. Such ease, such bliss. Calm, carefree. No fear. "Do you remember?" Datanunana whispered.

"Yes," Rodney said softly.

"And you agree?"

"I – can't. . ."

"You prefer the alternative?"

"Why are you doing this to me?"

She smiled. "Am I doing this, or are you doing this to yourself?" Claws shot out from her fingertips, digging into his ribs.

He yelled out and tried to sit up, but was pinned underneath a lead weight. Her fingers dug in further, blood welling stickily around the wounds. "I will drain you here."

"NO! What. . .what are. . ." everything was spinning, darkening. . .

His eyes snapped open, but he didn't care look down. He studied the ceiling above him and panicked, because he knew it was bearing down on him, crushing him. The cart beside him crashed as he bolted upright and threw himself from the bed, tearing his IV from his arm. He heard an exclamation, felt someone near him but shoved the body away. There were more voices, yelling, shouting, hands grabbing at him, and he heard his voice cry out over the mix, heard his own screams as he tried to tear away from the grips that would lead him back to hell. One voice was familiar, and he recognized it as the voice he heard before hell. Everything was before and after hell, and there was no longer any way to distinguish between the two. Waking hell, sleeping hell, heavy weight holding him down, holding his arms and legs and forcing him to the ground. He growled deep in the back of his throat, a feral threat, and felt a needle prick his skin. He went limp. The grips fell back, and he was hauled to his feet. But there was one last bout of defiance in him.

He caught a glimpse of her in the glass near him. With one powerful aim, he shattered it.