Three days in, Rodney had to go for a walk. He made sure there was plenty of day light left. Carson was better, moving around a little at a time. He wasn't sure if his body just had to get used to working again, or if Carson was ill, or what the problem was. There was no Dummies guide for rehabilitating the formerly dead.

Bet they write one.

He hiked down the yellowish rocks to the trees below. Not an active man by nature, the effort cost him, and he stopped to catch his breath. The wind rushed by in the trees above him, and the temperature was pleasant. It was a far cry from the area he had fled, though the land still had a touch of illness to it. The yellow was just too yellow. He pushed away from the trunk and walked out onto the barren.

It was cracked in places, with other spots filled with dust pools. He could see the copse that hid the path to the village on the other side of the barren, a mere sliver of green over the tan ground.

The sun beat down, but wasn't hot. It too was a shadow of what it should have been.

He felt a presence behind him, and his head tipped back to face the sky in annoyance. "How did I know you'd come out here," he asked, rolling around to face Lan.

"I was curious as to what you were doing, nothing more." The bent man walked past Rodney and surveyed the land. "And I need water. You can help."

"Water? Out here? You're kidding."

The Wearden smiled. "Where do you think my supply comes from? Urination?"

"That image wasn't necessary, thank you." Rodney picked up the clay pot that had been set at his feet. "Guess you got a well, huh?"

"Now that you mention it," Lan made a show of stroking his chin and thinking, "yes." He smiled brightly and waved Rodney along. "Come, come, your friend is thirsty."

"Well, we can't keep him waiting, now can we?" Rodney smirked, and followed.

"You are having trouble coming to terms with his waking."

"I was having a hard time coming to terms with his death. This waking thing is a whole other show."

"It is a strain. You are handling it well."

"I'm not. I'm not handling it at all."

"That is what I mean."

"Are you ever going to say something that I can understand?"

"Yes." Lan pointed. "Draw water from there."

"Har-har." Rodney fastened the dark rope to the pot and lowered it down. It was heavy, and three times so coming back up. Lan just watched. Once it reached the edge, he hoisted it towards him and tipped the rim to look inside. Satisfied, he untied the rope.

"So where are you from, really?" Rodney panted as the headed back.

"I told you. Everywhere."

"You were a traveler through the gate?"

"Amongst other things."

"You're being very enigmatic."

"Thank you."

"Geez." Rodney rolled his eyes and gave up. "Look, what's with that sonic device? They said it kept you away, well, they said it kept the Wearden away, but they are Wearden as well. So what did it do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? What do you mean, nothing?"

"They were disillusioned. They sought remedy where none existed."

"What of the machine behind it."

"The same. Useless technology from a past time."

"So I was nearly killed for no reason."

"If you see it that way, then yes."

"And Carson? What does he get from all this? Huh?" Rodney crossed to block Lan's path. "Why good does his getting shot serve?"

Lan walked around him in annoyance. "Again, you look for answers! Some things just are! They happen."

"For no reason."

"Exactly."

"I got three words for you. Cause and Effect. Everything happens either to stimulate an event, or as a result of an event."

"True. But that doesn't give the event reason. It just is."

"You're worse than Confucius. I'm getting a headache listening to you."

"Cause and effect in action." Lan smiled.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A week had passed. Carson stood outside the cave, wrapped in a blanket against the chill of the night air. He was watching Rodney, who sat on a large stone that balanced on the edge of a cliff. Surely the stone had been there for hundreds of years, if not more. That didn't mean he wanted his friend sitting on it. "Rodney? What the devil are you doing, man?"

His head slowly turned, and his eyes widened. "Carson!" He leapt down, wincing at the impact and hesitating before limping slightly towards his friend. "What are you doing out here?"

Carson's practiced eye studied the limp before dismissing it. "Looking for you. I noticed you tend to leave the cave every evening about this time, and I was curious."

"Should you be up?"

"I'm fine, Rodney. A wee bit weak, but only movement will remedy that. What are you looking at?"

Rodney wasn't sure he wanted to share. For some reason the Wearden belonged to him and to Lan, and bringing Carson in almost seemed the equivalent to sacrilege. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"I. . .can't." He barked a short laugh. "Good god, I can't even understand it, much less explain it."

"I see." Carson's eye's roamed the skies above them. "I've been talking to Lan. He seems an interesting fellow."

"He is."

"Rodney, I know more than you think I know."

This didn't bode well. "And?"

"And you are a fool to blame yourself."

Rodney took a defensive step backwards. "What makes you think I blame myself? As much as I would have liked, I couldn't prevent your death, and yes, you were dead!"

"I was not. But that's not what I'm talking about." His voice raised as Rodney turned away. "You can't blame yourself for not understanding, and not having all the answers." There was no response. Rodney had walked to the edge of the cliff, and was looking over the valley. Carson sighed and joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder. "Look, I know how ya feel. We're scientists. We want to fix things, we want to understand. Lord knows I'd love to have whatever healing medicine this Lan has," he reached down and took Rodney's hand in his, slowly unwrapping it. Rodney watched as the last of the material unwound to reveal slightly pink skin, and no wound. "You know as well as I that this wound would be weeks in healing. Not a matter of days. I ask him, I talk to him when you are out, but he offers nothing to me."

Rodney looked at Carson. "How are you, really," he asked quietly.

Carson met his eyes. "Devastated."

Of course he was. He was searching for answers himself. "Annoying, isn't it?" Rodney asked in a low voice. He thrust his hand into his pocket. "He gives good talk, but it isn't helpful." He looked at his friend. "I bet you keep asking 'why'?"

"Aye. I'd like to think there is a reason." His sorrow was tangible.

"Reason? What was the reason for this entire mission, huh? And where the hell is Sheppard? Why aren't they out here looking for us?"

'I can't answer those questions, Rodney," Carson said sadly, "but I can tell you that I feel strong enough to leave. I'm ready to go home." A faint screech caught his attention, and he started. "What was that?"

The familiar mustiness filled the air. "A shadow." Rodney shook himself, and took Carson's arm. "Let's go in."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was like spoken magic. The next day the team showed up.

Sheppard walked into the cave room, his gun drawn, and balked as he saw Rodney leap to his feet as Carson slowly looked up from his position beside the fire. Sheppard visually swept the room for signs of danger, and found none. The weapon lowered. "Hey, you guys. You decided to camp and not tell anyone?"

His voice was too casual, and it was enraging. Rodney jumped to his feet before he realized that anger had taken hold, and grabbed the colonel's vest, giving him a teeth-rattling shake. "WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?"

"McKay!" Sheppard forced himself loose as Teyla and Ronon walked in. "Cool it! What's happened?"

"What's happened?" He laughed. "What's happened? You. . .you just walk in here and expect answers, well . . . tough. This isn't the place for it." Rodney waved him away and walked to the fire.

Sheppard had hoped for a 'Boy am I glad to see you' heroic type of reaction, not the bruised end of a battered McKay. He decided to go for a voice of rationale as he eyed the figure sitting beside the fire, draped in a blanket. Carson looked pale, drawn, older. "You okay, Doc?"

Fury had no wrath like Rodney McKay. "Okay? OKAY?" he spat. "He was DEAD, thank you. He DIED. If your sorry ass had been here when you said, none of this would have happened. He would be fine, the leader would have passed away peacefully, and I wouldn't be standing here slowly going mad!" Rodney was rounding on him, back in his face. "Okay? You fucked up!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sheppard yelled back, and it had the intended effect of making Rodney blink and check his anger. Sheppard walked over to Carson, kneeling down and checking for fever. "What's he mean, dead?"

"He says I died. Don't remember a damn bit of it."

"He was shot in the chest," Rodney supplied, and Sheppard heard the weakness in his voice. He shot Rodney a concerned look before pulling away the blanket, raising Carson's shirt and examining his chest.

Carson rather subconsciously pushed the hands away and covered himself. "I'm better."

Obviously. He looked up in shock. "Wait . . . there's no wound."

"Aye."

"You were shot, but . . . there's no wound," Sheppard clarified.

"Yes, yes, and a huge machine blew up in my face and fell on top of me, but my wound's healed too." This statement was flung at Sheppard in an accusatory manner.

"I don't understand," Sheppard said.

"Oh god. . .let's just go home," Rodney sighed, and bent to gather his things.