A/N: Sorry for the delay! Real life has been a bear…with sharp, pointy teeth, and scary red eyes:) Hope you all like this part! Emrys

"Leave it alone, Rodney. I can do it!" John snapped impatiently. He drew a shaky hand towards the downed pawn and clumsily maneuvered it to an upright position. Noting that Rodney was, again, reaching towards the board to help him, John flashed the man a warning look that brooked no argument. "I can do it," he repeated coldly.

"It's not that I doubt your ability to move it," Rodney responded impulsively. "It's just that I would like to finish this game sometime before we're all eaten by the Wraith."

The sarcastic statement had rolled off of his tongue automatically, and Rodney recognized it for what it was: just part of the regular routine of snarky conversation between two unlikely friends. But apparently Sheppard was still far from being able to handle what passed for normalcy in their unique friendship, because the deepening chill of his gaze caused McKay to shiver involuntarily.

"Fine!" John yelled and awkwardly threw the contested pawn at the chessboard, thereby ruining their game. He then pushed away the tray stand upon which the board was set and slumped against the pillows. "It wasn't my idea to play, anyway," he added angrily.

Aghast, McKay could only stare at the livid figure that Sheppard made as he tried to get a handle on what was going through the Colonel's head.

"Sheppard, I'm sorry. I was only playing around. Come on, let's start again."

John closed his eyes and turned away from the scientist. "Just go away, Rodney," he muttered petulantly.

"Sheppard, I…." Rodney was at a loss for words, and his fingers fluttered uselessly as if they were trying to pluck the right things to say out of the air. He experienced the characteristic irritation that he usually associated with such annoying occurrences as well as an unaccustomed feeling of helplessness that came close to undoing him. Finally realizing that nothing would assuage the presently emotional Colonel's temper, Rodney moved to solemnly clear the chessboard and pieces from out of the way. When he was finished, he took a closer, more attentive look at his friend and was dismayed to see that Sheppard still maintained an air of fragility. The feeling of helplessness grew, and he swallowed heavily before chancing to speak.

"Fine!" he snapped in an attempt to mask his hurt in his normal, prickly way. He cringed at the broken tone of his voice and realized that he had been less than successful in his deceptive effort. "I'll come back later," he then assured Sheppard in a quieter voice and despite the fact that the man appeared to be doing his best to disregard Rodney's presence in the room.

"Whatever," Sheppard mumbled and drew his body tighter around itself.

A pang of some painful, yet unidentifiable emotion assaulted Rodney so abruptly, that his breath was momentarily taken away. Without another word, he tucked the chess set under his arm and hurriedly left the room.

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Beckett found him still curled up on his side only moments after the altercation with Rodney. John closed his eyes tightly and silently hoped that the doctor would take the hint and leave him alone. Normally he wouldn't mind chatting with Carson, but as evidenced by his poor behavior with McKay, John was feeling frustrated by both his condition and his memory loss. To make matters exponentially worse, he found himself struggling against the strong threat of tears. In fact, John had the feeling that if Carson tried to question him about his less than classy reaction to Rodney's normal, acerbic personality, he was going to start bawling like a little kid who had just lost his best friend.

Carson had warned him about the possibility of drastic changes in mood, and boy, he hadn't been kidding, had he? Between the dark bouts of anger and the frightening attacks of depression that he was experiencing, Sheppard couldn't believe that he would ever feel anything resembling normal again. And the worst part of it was that Rodney seemed to be the biggest target for his wild emotional state.

It had started when John had innocently asked the physicist where Ford was.

Rodney had stared at him for a long, awkward moment; the only indication of him having heard the question was the seemingly uncontrollable opening and closing of his mouth, a behavior that had disturbed John greatly. After what had seemed like hours, and when John's stomach had begun twisting in the very beginnings of knotted dread, Rodney had started babbling frenziedly.

"Maybe I should find Beckett," he had said looking around the room and distinctly avoiding John's eye. "You don't look very well right now, and I really think he should come take a look at you, because we wouldn't want you to relapse now would we?" The desperate hand movements that John recognized as Rodney's unconscious display of anxiety had accompanied the words, and his heart had sunk. As Rodney had continued babbling on about how he really ought to find Beckett, the Colonel had thought about all of the possible reasons for McKay's distress.

Only one conclusion had seemed plausible to him when taking into account Rodney's level of nervousness, and he remembered closing his eyes against the strong wave of grief that had suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. He had liked the kid. Liked his exuberance, his humor and his strong character. And, most importantly, he had trusted Ford both on personal and professional levels. But now, one way or the other the young man was gone.

After John had closed his eyes, his mind had focused all of its attention on McKay's maddening, unrelenting talk, and a flare of anger had ignited within him. The rage he had felt had been uncontainable, and in response to it, John had abruptly sat up and grabbed Rodney's shirt by its neck, effectively silencing the man.

"Just tell me what the fuck happened, McKay!" His voice had been cold and deadly, and Rodney had been frightened by it. The look of fear that had spread across his friend's face had given John the feeling of grotesque satisfaction, which in turn had scared him terribly.

After another long and awkward moment, John forced his weakening hands to release McKay's shirt. "I'm sorry, Rodney," he had quietly said. "I'm sorry. Maybe you're right. Maybe you really should get Beckett."

John had not seen Rodney's departure because he had slumped back into the bed and had closed his eyes against a drowning wave of depression. He had barely heard the physicist's assurances that he would fetch Beckett, and that everything would be all right. And after that he had only distantly heeded Carson's account of Ford's fate.

And even now and contrary to what he knew should be his customary reaction to the bad news of Ford's departure, Sheppard had still not managed to garner any hope for the young lieutenant's retrieval.

Taking his emotions out on Rodney had only escalated as time wore on. John wondered why the man continued to come to the infirmary to spend time with him, especially since the smallest word or gesture tended to set off hyperbolic emotional responses in him. If their roles had been reversed, John wasn't so sure that he would be as willing to entertain Rodney's company.

And now he could just imagine the concerned look in Beckett's eye, and that image combined with the visual he had of Rodney's pained expression as he had collected the chess pieces together was forcing him to lose the battle against the sickening melancholy he felt.

"Colonel…."

"Give me some good news, Carson," Sheppard murmured softly, and in doing so he purposefully interrupted the beginnings of the doctor's questions. He did not want to discuss Rodney.

John kept his eyes closed and his body curled around itself, so he could only imagine the expression that accompanied Carson's deep sigh of capitulation.

"Well, lad, I know you're feeling a mite downhearted right now, but the good news is that your brain chemistry seems to be sorting itself out. I'd expect you to feel more yourself within the next three days or so."

A part of John rejoiced at the news, but the other part that remained incapacitated by his current depression kept him from outwardly responding in an appropriately happy way. Instead he just nodded and relaxed enough so that he could look Carson in the eye as they conversed.

"And the weakness in my arms and legs?" he questioned.

Carson's satisfied smile faltered a bit. "Aye, well. I honestly don't know what to tell you about that, Colonel. Transient weakness in the limbs is quite common after insulin coma therapy, but I would expect it to have diminished by now."

To his horror, John felt an uncontrollable stream of tears begin to track down his face. He covered them with a shaky hand, and turned miserably away from Carson.

"Now don't fret so, son," Carson admonished gently. Sheppard felt the supportive grasp of a hand on his shoulder, and the tears came disturbingly faster. "Honestly Colonel, we don't know that this is a permanent condition. If I had to make a guess, the weakness will dissipate with physical therapy. And remember, you remained in coma for much longer than I had anticipated. It could just be that the side effects of the coma therapy have been exacerbated by your previous condition. Just give it some time, lad, and I'm confident that it will all work out in the end."

Carson's words stretched in a long stream through his consciousness, and John tried to be heartened by them. But it seemed as if the dismal sadness conjured up by his distinctly wonky brain chemistry was thwarting any chance of a positive reaction in him, because suddenly a hazy image from his childhood took over his thoughts.

John's quiet weeping mutated into outright sobbing, and Carson grasped his shoulder more tightly.

"It's alright, son. Settle yourself and tell me what's going through that head of yours right now."

John pressed his head further into the pillow in an attempt to erase the tears and this wholly embarrassing situation from his memory. Striking the side of his bed with a weak fist, he felt a little bit of anger infuse itself through his misery.

"I can't remember the name of that damn dog," he ground out through clenched teeth.

And then the tears took him away once more.

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Teyla found Rodney in his lab, plucking morosely at the keys of his laptop. He was engrossed in his work and had not noticed her presence, so she allowed herself a moment to study him. Her eyes narrowed shrewdly as she noticed his unhappy posture and obviously distracted air. She was aware of his argument with Colonel Sheppard, had; in fact heard the entire ruckus. She had been nearing the infirmary to visit the Colonel, when the sound of his angry voice had drifted to her ears. Realizing that it had not been an opportune time for a visit, she had turned to leave only to have Doctor McKay hurriedly brush by her without recognizing her presence. She had noted then that the man had appeared upset, and that had worried her. Then, after talking to Doctor Beckett about what had occurred to put the physicist in such a state, she had deemed it appropriate to seek out her teammate and talk with him.

Seeing the man so obviously distraught, Teyla was glad that she had come. Doctor McKay tended to be unapproachable, so she had had apprehensions about initiating a conversation. But the man was part of her team, and he so obviously needed some manner of outlet for the overwhelming feelings with which he appeared to be struggling.

Still, Teyla rather hoped that McKay would not turn his acidic tongue in her direction, especially since she was only trying to offer her aid.

"Hello, Doctor McKay," she called gently and allowed a soft smile to grace her face in what she knew was a reassuring way.

Surprised by the unexpected intrusion, McKay visibly jumped, and his hands involuntarily scampered over the keyboard. As ever, his thoughts went to his work first, and before acknowledging Teyla, he studied the monitor to see what harm had been wrought by his mishandling of the keys.

Seeing that no real damage had been incurred, Rodney finally looked up and smiled uncertainly at Teyla.

"What brings you down here?" he asked by way of greeting.

Teyla continued to smile patiently and gestured in his direction.

"I came to see you, Doctor McKay," she answered. And then in a quieter, more soothing voice she added, "I heard that you and Colonel Sheppard had a disagreement."

"The man is insane!" Rodney's response was immediate and heated, and the intensity of his words startled her. "I mean, seriously, if he wasn't crazy before this whole mess, and believe me, that is a debatable issue, then he certainly is now!"

"Doctor McKay you know that the true nature of Colonel Sheppard's illness is not emotional in nature. He is not insane," Teyla insisted strongly. She had become very close to the members of her team on Atlantis and so needed to believe her words as much as she hoped McKay would.

"Well you couldn't tell by the way he keeps losing it on me!" Rodney replied sharply. "If I could only tell you how many times the man has cracked up in my presence during the past couple of days…well, let's just say we'd be here for a very long time."

"Doctor McKay, you know that the Colonel is ill and cannot be held responsible for his actions. He does not mean to strike out at you so viciously. He is simply incapable of controlling his impulses right now."

Teyla knew that Doctor McKay preferred to express irritation and anger in response to distress, and that his harsh words were only an attempt to hide his true feelings. But she also knew that the physicist was exhausted and guilt-ridden. It did not surprise her; consequently, when after Rodney pondered her words he seemed to physically deflate as if he realized that he did not have the energy to maintain the level of indignation necessary to continue his ruse.

"I have more important things to do than entertain an ungrateful Colonel, anyway," Rodney muttered in a half-hearted attempt to carry on his failing deception.

"Colonel Sheppard is your friend, Doctor McKay. No one faults you for being upset by his condition. I, myself, am very disconcerted by the unusual emotions he is experiencing."

McKay huffed and then dropped his tired head in his hands. "Tell me about it," he muttered.

Teyla smiled from where she continued to stand in the doorway of the lab. She was glad that Doctor McKay had found a friend in the Colonel. Her first impression of the physicist had been that of a hard to please man who purposefully distanced himself from others, and to a certain extent her estimation of McKay had not changed with time. He was a difficult man to know, but somehow the Colonel had managed to befriend the erstwhile loner. And to Teyla's eyes, the friendship had changed Doctor McKay for the better.

"I have talked to Doctor Beckett about the Colonel's condition, and he has given me some happy news," the Athosion woman said brightly, in an attempt to cheer Rodney.

"Really? What news?" Rodney's face, when he lifted it from his hands, was one of extreme need.

"The Colonel's 'brain chemistry' is getting better," Teyla said the unfamiliar words with a bit of doubt flavoring her tone, but she continued on despite her uncertainty. "We should see an improvement in his mood within a few days."

A tired and hesitant smile touched the corners of McKay's mouth. "Well, that's good. That's very good!" As he considered the happy news, Teyla observed a recurrence of the doctor's normal high energy and irritable pretense. "And it's about time too! Maybe I'll be able to have a conversation with the man without worrying about whether or not he's going to start planning to kill me in my sleep!"

Teyla chuckled and basked in her returning feelings of hopefulness. "Yes, Doctor McKay, that will be a good thing!" she agreed as she turned to leave him to his own better mood.

"Teyla…."

Teyla turned back to face Rodney when he called hesitantly to her from where he was sitting, sporting a serious expression.

"Yes, Doctor McKay?"

"Teyla, it's just…. I…well, I just wanted to say thank-you." Rodney struggled with the words, and his gratitude was not expressed as eloquently as he wished. But Teyla had gone out of her way to talk to him about his hurts, and he needed to articulate his appreciation in some way even if it was inadequate.

Teyla understood the level of feeling that was behind the man's words despite their clumsiness, and she bowed her head elegantly in his direction to acknowledge it.

"Have a good night, Doctor McKay," she said as she eventually exited the lab.

"Thank-you," Rodney called in a quiet voice that coasted lazily and happily to her ears.