Rodney felt a weight on him that he couldn't push away, and fired blindly into the air, screaming, but not understanding why. He fired until he had no more bullets, then shoved at the body that lay across him. It rolled, and Rodney blanched. "Oh. . .SHIT! Oh god. . .god god god. . ." he waved everywhere over the body, searching for a way to stop the bleeding without using his own hands. Carson was staring, his eyes rolling, but not seeing anything. His chest was crimson.

"Okay, okay, I got this, hang on, just hang on. . ." Rodney ripped off his jacket and pressed it to the man's chest. Carson's breath caught, and he managed to focus on Rodney.

"Keep. . .pressure. . ."

"Yeah, yeah, got it." He heard more noises behind him. "Dammit, they're coming again. . ."

"Go."

"Be serious."

"Rodney. . ."

"No! The answer is no, now just. . .shut up, okay?" He raised the jacket and peeked underneath, then pressed harder.

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"And you carried him."

"We couldn't stay where we were. I had to get us where they were afraid to go." Rodney rubbed the back of his neck. Sorrowful eyes kept straying to his friend. He could swear he saw that thick chest move. Swear to it.

"You were either very brave, or very foolish, and I'll let you be the judge of that."

Rodney pulled his eyes from his friend. "Where are you from?"

The man looked bewildered. "Here. Where else?"

"No, I mean. . .you speak like we do. Back on Earth. In another galaxy, now, I know that there are people here who are of the same race, or similar enough, but you speak as though you've been to earth recently."

"I have traveled far and wide. This is not my only home, only my origin."

Rodney gave his head a small shake. "How?"

The man smiled. "It is better you do not know."

That couldn't be good. "What's your name?"

The man raised his chin. "My name is Lan. I am Wearden."

Rodney froze, only his eyes had the audacity to blink. "Wearden? Really?" he asked in a small voice.

"Yes. You've heard of me?"

The nod was faint. "Oh, little bits here and there, primarily that you are exactly what I should avoid out here."

"I see." There was a small laugh. "Perhaps they are intelligent, after all."

That made absolutely no sense. "What exactly is a Wearden?"

"You will find out soon enough, I'm afraid. Now you should get some sleep."

"You know, with this new information, I'm not sure I can. I'll just. . .keep watch."

"Over a body that won't move? He's not going to run out and leave you." The Wearden smiled. "But do as you like. I must go out soon, you will be alone. I will see if the people have braved the barren, thought I do believe they have probably turned tail to run home once they realized what you've done. Very foolish indeed."

"Thank you," Rodney muttered sarcastically. Lan retreated to another section of the cavern, leaving Rodney alone with his friend.

Correction.

A dead body.

That didn't help either.

Trying to just tell himself that the body was no longer Carson didn't help. Saying it was didn't help. There was no way to fool himself from his extreme grief, and he was so good at playing the odds and mixing sequences to bid his wishes. Even if the sums didn't add up to his liking he could talk his way around it, pull a truth out of a hat. But this. . .that was too permanent for his taste. There was nothing that could be juggled around.

He rose slowly and crossed over to his friend. It took some effort, but he managed to close the lids. The body was too cold, like putty. Too white, almost grey. Like the village. It was hard to believe this shell had even held life and as recently as a day ago. Now. . .Rodney folded in on himself and fought back the tears. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, "god, I'm so sorry. I knew we shouldn't have come here, I – I want to fix it and I can't. . .I'm sorry." He looked at that face, placed his hand on the still chest, and allowed himself to cry.

The Wearden watched from the shadows.

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There was no such thing as sleep. He was just passing the time with his eyes closed, waiting for the sun to rise once again so he could take Carson back to Atlantis, though he still had yet to figure out how he was planning on doing it. Carrying him would be more difficult. Maybe a sled of sorts could be rigged, something. . .god, what was this, what kind of thought process was this? And where the hell was Sheppard? Some friend. If he had just shown up on time, they would have the medicine, the leader would have died peacefully, and they would have gone on their merry way. Talk about trust. He'd better have a damn good explanation, like he couldn't come because he was lying on his own deathbed or something.

He gave up resting and sat up, hearing his bones creak and pop. Maybe he was too old for gate travel. Well, no, General O'Neill had several years on him when he was still gate hopping, and Sheppard had a year or two, and was as spry as they came. Of course he was military issue, popped fresh out of a government prize box. All Rodney had to do was keep his vision and brain intact, he didn't worry so much about his body. Sheppard had to do all three, and lately seemed to be failing miserably in the brain department.

He had caught a glimpse of the Wearden as he went out, warning Rodney to stay inside. There was more soup, which he sipped a little of and set aside. Other than that, the only thing to do was sleep, or pretend. He could let the shallow breaths ease him in, like the steady rhythm of the metronome on his piano when he was a child. The breathing grew stronger, and he relaxed into it, matched it, letting it soothe him. . .

Matched it? That would imply two. He turned.

Carson was staring at him.