Sheppard had cleared the lab of all personnel. He wanted to be able to search through things without seeing the panicked looks in their eyes, he wanted to be able to move things without them hovering. At least McKay stayed where he was and just snapped for him to put things down. "Of course, if you stayed where you were supposed to be, I wouldn't be doing this!" He shuffled through the papers in front of Rodney's empty terminal, looking for a clue. Something. Anything to say what frame of mind he was in, what his precise thoughts were, if he had suddenly ventured off on a hunch. One this was certain, he had to be on the station. There had been no gate activity, and all jumpers were still accounted for. So unless he found some sort of alternate transportation system . . . his gaze fell onto an object on the floor, stopped against a table leg. A ball of some kind. He picked it up, tossed it in his hand, then placed it on the desk. And he sighed and continued his search.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carson followed Rodney into the wall, with Lenore's description ringing in his ears, 'jelly'. It was like jelly, some sort of gelatinous product that sucked on his limbs and weighed him down. It tried to enter his nose, causing him to constantly exhale forcefully. His ears clogged. The pressure abused his closed eyes, and there was no way he was going to open them. He wasn't sure he could. He'd gripped Rodney's shoulder as he entered right behind the man, but could no longer feel him. He heard nothing. It was like being swathed in sticky gel. It was total sensory depravation, except for touch. Every nerve ending was aware of the odd substance around him, and didn't like it a bit.

His arms were extended as far in front of him as possible. He could feel the area around him tighten, feel the molecules join and coalesce, and wondered if Rodney found the process as fascinating as he found it disturbing. He suddenly realized why.

The wall was reforming. And he was still inside.

Frantically he forced his legs forward, but they barely moved. He was stuck in a dream, one of those bloody dreams where he would try and try to run only to stand still. The pressure increased on his chest as his lungs tried to expand, to fill with depleting oxygen. Panic set in. He would suffocate. He was going to die, alone, in a wall. He was standing in his coffin.

Then there was a new sensation, wrapping around his hand, stinging warm and soft. Fingers.

One bone-shattering jerk had him down and gasping on the floor. He coughed until his lungs burned. He realized there was something soft half underneath him, and raised his head to find familiar blue eyes watching him closely. "Rodney?"

"You okay?" The voice was rough.

He had to think about it. "Yeah." He coughed. "You?"

"Kinda hard to breathe, actually."

"Might've gotten . . . some of that stuff . . . in your system. . ." Carson coughed.

"Not what I meant." One hand pushed at his shoulder.

"Oh!" Carson rolled off of Rodney, landing hard on his back. His arm wavered in the air for a moment before setting still beside him. And he just breathed.

The room was darker, and in the blackness, a small penlight flickered. Rodney had pushed up on his elbows, seeing who had made it through. He saw Abrams supporting a coughing Burkes, saw Shaw with Lenore. All accounted for.

He sighed and rolled over, right into a pair of hands and a distorted face, screaming in pain. "FUCK!"

He scrambled back, pulling Carson along with him. The others followed his pointed finger. "Well, I'll be damned," Burkes muttered calmly. Then he rolled over and vomited.

"Oh good, that's it, contaminate our room," Rodney responded in disgust. "'cause I'm just dying to go through a wall again." He regretted the words as soon as he said it, especially when Lenore was coherent enough to take in the sight. She gave a sudden scream and buried her head in Shaw's shoulder.

"Whoever it is, he didn't make it through," Shaw muttered.

"Well, part of him did," Rodney said. His features were twisted in distaste. His light swept over the face of one who had died slowly, horribly, crushed to death half within the wall. Two other lights cast beams toward the grotesque sight.

His eyes were wide and unfocused. His hands reached out desperately, fingers curled around a friend's hand, now gone. Black blood coated his open mouth.

Carson said nothing, just remembered the crushing, suffocating feeling of the walls closing in around him. It was the ultimate form of claustrophobia, and he prayed Rodney would never experience it. "So now what do we do?" he asked quietly.

Three beams swept the room. "This room is just like the other, except. . ." there was a panel, and of course Rodney was drawn to it with a magnetic pull. He popped open the door, his light fixed firmly between his teeth. He spat it into his palm and aimed the beam inside. "I don't believe it!"

"What?"

"It's empty! Who'd fix up an empty panel?"

"Maybe it's been gutted," Shaw offered.

"No, there isn't any evidence that anything was ever here. No wires, no fixtures, nothing. No holes, no marks. This thing's as clean as the room we just left." Rodney frowned. "Except for this." He ran his finger over a small lever that angled from the lower corner.

Carson looked over his shoulder. "What the . . . what is that?"

"By all descriptions, and I could be guessing here . . . I think it's some sort of lever."

"Rodney," Carson warned.

"Well, see if you can ask a ridiculous question next time, huh?" he snapped.

"I mean, what does it do?"

Rodney's light fell to his side in disbelief. He rolled his eyes in the faint glow. "See previous statement." He raised the light again, fisting it anxiously.

"No, don't! Please." Lenore was at his side, pushing past Carson. "We need to go back, you don't understand."

"Apparently you do." He shone his light into her eyes, making her blink and step back. "Just what do you know that you're not telling us, huh?"

She raised a hand to protect herself from the sharp glare. "Oh, just find out for yourself," she muttered, retreating to the far wall.

"Oh, that's very helpful," Rodney replied, and flipped the switch.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a portion of the wall behind them slid open.

The group stared at it, when they weren't glancing at each other in uncertainty. Carson took a step forward, stopping at Rodney's restraining grip. He was looking at Shaw, who was closest, and was edging his way to the opening.

It was about four feet by four, and a good eight feet off the floor; a square hole, leading into blackness. Shaw snapped his fingers, and caught the light that Burkes tossed to him. "Give me a hand," he said to the other soldier. Burkes threaded his fingers together and boosted Shaw into the opening, providing a stable base while the man looked around. "Seems empty," he said. "Just like this room, but pitch black."

"Let me see." Abrams shoved them aside, ignoring the fact that he nearly spilled Shaw to the floor, and hoisted himself up, balancing on the ledge. His light cut through the dark. "Nope. Nothing here." He turned back, and his expression peeled back in horror. "Beckett, watch yourself!"

Carson had no time to turn around. He felt the grip behind him, felt himself being sucked to the wall he was leaning against. He saw the fright on Rodney's face, saw the man dart forward to grab him, but knew it was useless. He saw his own arms fling out, the distorted faces around him being covered by the metallic sheen of the wall as it swallowed him whole, closing in around him. His mouth gaped, and he managed to gasp, "Rodney. . ."

"FUCK!" Rodney's screech brought him to focus, and he felt his friend's hands tear at his arms, nearly yanking the joints from their sockets. The force behind him increased, pulling his breath out through his spinal column. The people before him faded, covered in film as the wall tried to close.

But Rodney wasn't having any. He threw himself half in, his features suddenly becoming clearer. He wrapped both arms around Carson's body, yelling over his shoulder for them to pull him back. There was a mighty rip, a suction, and Carson spilled over, landing hard on top of someone and not caring in the least. He rolled over and rapidly crawled away from the wall, gasping for air, clawing at his burning throat.

Rodney was beside him in a heartbeat, pulling his hands away, panicked. "What – what, what? Carson, what is it, what's wrong?" But all he could do was claw at his throat. His mouth opened, and blood bubbled out.

"Shit! Oh . . . oh god, oh . . . god . . . " Rodney had no clue what to do. His eyes darted around the room, looking desperately for an answer to appear out of thin air. The others were backing away in fear. "Don't just stand there . . . fuck! Help me!" He turned back to the stricken man. "Help me, what do I do, what . . . dammit!"

Carson managed to cough, and a clot landed on the floor before him. He fought for a strangled breath, blinking rapidly, and caught hold of Rodney's arm. "S . . . okay," he rasped painfully.

"Okay?" Rodney squeaked. "You think this is okay?" He felt ready to faint, but was determined to stay conscious for his friend's sake.

Carson swallowed and leaned back, then continued to gasp for breath, though the pain was easing. Lenore tore at the bottom of her shirt, pressing the cloth to Carson's mouth as the coughing started again. It eased with no further incident.

He wiped at his mouth. There was no blood. Checked the torn shirt. Again, no blood. And nothing on the floor.

Rodney was frowning, the corners of his mouth turned down at a near impossible angle as he slowly backed away. "What the hell?"

Carson just looked at him, amazed, and studied his hand. "I-I don't know. Felt like someone was pulling my lungs out of my back."

"But . . . you're okay."

"Yes, I'm fine." He sounded astonished. Rightfully so.

Abrams was shaking his head. "Shit no. No, that ain't right. That ain't normal." He turned to Rodney. "What kind of devil place have you landed us in?"

"Why is it always me?"

"Because you can't keep your curiosity to yourself, that's why!"

Rodney hrmphed and turned away. "Here we go again. When confronted with something you military types can't understand, you either look to us for a solution or blame us for your ignorance. Either way it's a loss."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Rodney pointed. "See?"

"Oh, can it, you two." Carson pushed himself from the floor, feeling like he'd just had his innards pulled like taffy. "Is that hole a way out?" He started to brace himself on the wall, and stood in the center of the room instead.

Shaw shook his head. "Not really. But then we thought this room was empty too."

"Obviously not empty," Rodney said, "but still . . . disturbing."

"So one of us should go through."

They studied each other. No one moved.

"I'll go in," Shaw nodded with a smile. "Hell, I always wanted to be in some sort of sci-fi flick."

"Son," Carson said slowly, still doubled over, "we live in a sci-fi flick, or hadn't you noticed? You needn't go barging in to prove yourself."

"Immature testosterone," Rodney muttered.

Shaw just smirked and threw himself onto the ledge, hesitating as he peered in, and landing with a soft thump on the floor.

For a group that had been hesitant to watch, they moved fast to see the result of Shaw's bravery. His light shone around the empty room as he circles several meters below them. "Looks clear," he yelled up. "Bigger, but nothing to see, no visible way out." He crossed to the opposite side to examine the wall as his echo lingered.

"Hey Matt, be careful, huh?" Lt. Burkes was hovering on the lip of the opening, swinging his legs over the side. "You need some help?"

"You kidding?" The light swung again. "Ain't nothing here!"

"Maybe there's a trigger on this side, I'm gonna double check." Burkes swung back, and started to examine the walls.

"Trigger for what?" Carson asked, eyeing the opening suspiciously.

"I don't know," Burkes shrugged. "Just thought I'd check."

"Like we haven't already." Rodney sighed and re-examined the control panel he'd found. "Couldn't hurt, I suppose, though I get the feeling that. . ."

"Dude!" Burkes had joined Rodney, and pointed to a new light inside the panel. "Look at this!"

Rodney turned to Carson in disbelief. "I'm sorry, did he seriously just call me dude?"

"I mean - I mean Dr. McKay, you might want to. . ." he pointed again and stepped back.

The soldier's sudden enthusiasm had been followed by an abrupt squelch that reminded Rodney rather wistfully of Lt. Ford. Must be a trait among the young, he thought, and eyed the light that suddenly started to flash. "What the. . ."

"Hey guys, I think something's happening in here," Shaw's voice echoed. "I hear something."

Burkes crossed the space and shone his light inside the second room, as did Major Abrams, who had remained quiet despite his earlier bravado. "I don't see anything, Matt. You sure?"

"Yeah." The young man flipped his beam around. The noise was steady, not overly loud. "Sounds like a mechanism. Maybe a door?"

"Then wouldn't it be opening?" Carson stood on tip toe to peer between the men. "That's a lot of racket for no motion."

Shaw shook his head. "No. . .there's something's going on. I can feel it."

Rodney remained on the opposite side of the room at the panel, staring at the light and wondering at the sudden pinch of unease in his gut. A very faint breeze tickled the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Funny, the air had been still. . . "You guys feel that?" he asked, turning.

"What?" Abrams sounded tired and annoyed.

"The air. It moved, and if it moved, then something moved it."

"Sure you ain't just blowing gas?" Rodney pinned Abrams with a stare as Burkes interrupted.

"No, no, he's right, I thought I felt a breeze or something," he muttered, and held his hand to the opening. A moment later he felt it again, and noticed the shadow thrown by a light change. That wasn't right. . ."Doctor McKay. . ."

"Waitaminute, I. . .oh shit. SHIT!" Rodney suddenly spun and darted across the small space. He grabbed a light and forced himself onto the thin ledge, pushing past the men who now supported him.

"Rodney! What the hell are you doing?" Carson grabbed him around the waist as he leaned in recklessly. "You'll land on your head!"

But Rodney didn't have time to answer. His light shone upwards, and he shrieked as the ceiling knocked it from his hands, nearly taking him with it. He felt hands grab his legs as he tilted forward. "SHAW! Get your ass out of there!" Even then it took a moment for the action to sink in.

Then everyone moved at once.

Carson had grabbed the waist of Rodney's pants in a panic when he saw his friend pitch forward. Now he pulled Rodney back just before the descending ceiling took off his head. Even so, he tried to reach back through the hole as did everyone else, and saw Lt Matt Shaw's fingers grip the edge.

"Get me out!" A hand appeared, and frantic eyes before the ceiling closed them off.

"Matt!" Burkes had his palms flat against the forming wall, trying to push it back. "Matt!"

"Oh god!"

"Shit . . . MATT! Oh . . .FUCK!"

Carson had landed on the floor without knowing how he got there, felt Rodney lean against him and away from the terror before them. He had heard Matt's screams, heard Abrams' shout as he held on to the arm that grabbed at help through the hole, heard Burkes' frantic cry, and saw the shadow close the gap, tearing the arm as it passed. The damped scream of pain could be heard, the desperate yells as the ceiling descended, the final terrified shriek that suddenly stilled. And all that remained was a bloody stump pooling on the floor, stringy with torn flesh.

"Oh, fuck, fuckfuckfuck! Matt? MATT!" Burkes threw himself at the opening, punching at the metal wall that now closed off the other room. "MATT! You shit, answer me!" His fists were bloodied. "Open this damn thing, get him out of there! Get him out!"

Abrams grabbed the younger man by the waist, dragging him kicking and screaming to the other side of the room, forcing him to sit still in a corner. His hands steadied the man's shoulders as the sobs came, and he buried his head.

Rodney was standing, motionless, staring at the bloodied stump. Lenore was watching as always, her large eyes taking in every motion, every action. And this time she didn't move when Abrams took out his rage. It was aimed at the only thing he could reasonably blame, and at the moment that was Dr. McKay.

"You," he said in a low voice, standing and crossing the room, "you knew this would happen. You could have stopped this."

"What?" Rodney was already backing away, not liking the madness in the man's eyes. "Are you insane?"

"You knew this would happen, and now another one of my men is dead! How should you answer for that, huh?" He stood nose to nose with Rodney, staring him down, sensing his fear. But the physicist held his ground, and at any other time, any other time, Abrams would have liked that. It was true he did hold a rather begrudging admiration for the man, but not because of his brains. He liked that McKay didn't feel the need to prove himself to anyone. He had the arrogance of a commanding officer. But that didn't excuse him, no sir. "Do you have any idea, mister, what it feels like to lose one of your men? Huh?" He snatched Rodney's shirt in his fists and plastered him to the wall, staring him down, then turned him and shoved him away before slowly advancing on him once again. "Do you?" His rage stemmed from much more than loss.

Unfortunately, he hadn't realized what a sore subject he had tapped into. Rodney's eyes changed, and he leaned in. "Yes," he spat, "I know exactly how it feels! You aren't the only one to have lost men around here, so don't even start with me! You assholes are at least trained to accept it, the rest of us have to swallow it and go on!" And he did swallow, hard.

Abrams' eyes narrowed as he shoved his face towards Rodney's. "You calling me heartless?"

"I'm saying I've lost people too, good scientists who didn't stand a chance. They weren't supposed to die. A soldier knows the risks, at least he's prepared!"

Screw McKay saying what he thought. Screw him. "You slimy piece of shit . . ." he ran at Rodney, pushing him to the ground, and knelt on him, growling as he felt hands on his back.

"All right, that's enough!" Carson grabbed Abrams' jacket. There was no way he would let this continue, not this constant abuse toward his friend. But he wasn't expecting the consequence of his interference.

The fist that connected with his jaw was like an iron club shattering stone. Carson fell onto his back, shocked by intense pain, and felt a great weight crushing his chest. He heard his name called in fear, saw a shadow over the bulk that pressed down on him, and was aware of a second set of hands being shoved away. His head snapped to the side as that iron fist connected again, and again, each strike loosening any resolve he had to stay conscious. He could feel the blood, could feel the major rock back and forth over him with each blow, could hear Rodney's rage and see hints of the man trying to help him. But his head hurt too much, his neck ached, his ribs were crushed, he was certain of it. His hands were useless in blocking the blows, and he suddenly wasn't sure just where they were. A staggered breath choked him as thick fluid filled his throat, the metallic sting just below his nostrils.

The weight shifted then fell from him. Carson gasped for air, his hand closing around his throat protectively as he rolled to his side to see Rodney shoving Abrams to the wall, his face red with exertion and anger. Abrams turned away as Burkes merely looked at him, his face lined with wet tracks, with Lenore at his side.

Rodney slowly helped Carson sit up. Between the earlier gash and the beating . . . "You know, you've looked better. Not saying you ever looked great, but . . ." his breath caught as Carson tried to keel over, "shit . . . nonono, okay look, lay here. Just . . . just relax." Carson closed his eyes with a nod.

Rodney swallowed hard and caught his breath, then turned back to Abrams. "Listen. If we're going to get out of this, we have to work together. You got that?" He wasn't expecting a response, which was just as well, because he wasn't disappointed. Abrams stood his ground, fuming, but made no advance. Rodney eyed Burkes and Lenore, then turned his attention back to his friend.

Carson was pitching sideways. He couldn't sit up properly, and Rodney didn't like that. The confusion on Carson's face revealed head trauma, and he had no clue what to do about it.

That was when the room tilted. Literally.