"Sheppard's been injured," Ronon reported to Weir. The stark news was blunted by the fact that the colonel could be heard arguing with Beckett in the background. "We haven't been able to locate McKay yet."

"Very well, keep me informed. Weir out."

Sheppard was sitting on one of the bench seats in the back of the jumper, legs drawn up to his chest, as he rested his forehead against the crossed arms on his knees. Teyla and the sergeant could be seen through the rear hatch, standing guard nearby. P-90's in hand, they waited as Lorne and the rest of his men searched for any sign of their missing scientist. His report now complete, Ronon handed Sheppard a pistol and a radio, completely oblivious the doctor's angry glare. Reaching into the overhead webbing, he also pulled down two P-90's, placing one on the seat next to Sheppard and shouldering the other as he left the jumper to stand guard duty with Teyla and the sergeant.

Carson, in the meantime, had unpacked some of his own gear and began carefully cutting through the dark fabric of Sheppard's shirt. Gently peeling it away, he suppressed a hiss of dismay when he saw the burn scoring Sheppard's back. "I need to get you back to Atlantis to treat this."

"I'm not leaving without McKay."

Beckett could feel the colonel trembling under his hands, on the brink of exhaustion and shock. "You have a squadron of men out there searching. They'll find him," he argued, knowing that he might as well be talking to a brick wall. He supposed that he should just be grateful the man wasn't dragging himself though the underbrush looking for Rodney as well.

"Just bandage it up temporarily, okay?"

It had the form of a question but Beckett knew better than to think Sheppard was really asking. Carefully probing the wound, he realized it wasn't as deep as it looked; and though long, it was shallow – a testament to the man's diving skills. The crisped edges of the wound showed that the blast had had a cauterizing effect. Surgery to remove the dead flesh and sew together healthy skin would probably be necessary, but the streak was narrow enough that he knew it wouldn't be a terribly difficult procedure. Weighing the pros and cons, he decided to let the colonel have his way – for the moment. "Very well," he said, unhappily.

He began looking through his medical pack for supplies, pulling out what he needed. "What caused this?"

"A staff weapon."

Beckett harrumphed. After everything he'd seen, little surprised him anymore -- at least not when it came to the type of damage weapons could inflict on the human body. Spreading a thick layer of antibiotic burn ointment over the injury, he taped several pieces of gauze on the colonel's back, completely covering the wound. Sheppard hadn't made a single sound during the process, but Beckett could feel the colonel's tension under his fingertips as he worked. High threshold or not, such a burn would be incredibly painful. He was sure the man wouldn't ask for any painkillers though, worried that the doctor would use the request as an excuse to force him to return to Atlantis before their missing teammate was found.

Mentally cursing daft colonels and direction-challenged scientists, he pulled out an ampoule from his pack and filled a syringe. Sheppard shot him another sidelong glance but didn't object to the shot. Within a few seconds, Beckett could see him start to relax as the morphine kicked in.

As both the pain in his back and the constant nagging headache eased, the colonel tipped his head slightly from where it was resting on his arms and looked at the doctor out of the corner of his eye. "Marry me, Doc," he joked, taking a few deep pain-free breaths.

"I've turned down better offers than the likes of you," the physician quipped as he removed his jacket and laid it over Sheppard's shoulders, careful not to disturb the bandages.

Sheppard gingerly maneuvered his arms into the sleeves and pulled the jacket, still warm from Beckett's body heat, around his bare torso. It overlapped in the front, but it felt heavenly. "Thanks…again."

"You're welcome."

After confirming for himself that Ronon had sustained nothing more than some scrapes and bruises, and wrapping Teyla's ankle against further injury, he went back into the jumper and took a seat beside Sheppard, preparing himself to wait.

Five heads jerked up in surprise as a gunshot was heard in the distance.

-o-

Melosh/Denwen stood and watched in amusement as McKay writhed in pain, pressing his hand against his thigh in attempt to stop the massive bleeding.

After a moment or two, he walked over and peered down at the scientist. Denwen's eyes glowed and he smiled gleefully. "Melosh says this is a fatal injury and that you will soon die from blood loss."

Rodney took off his belt with blood-covered, shaking hands and pulled it tight around his leg just above the wound. The widely woven webbing allowed him to buckle it at whatever point he wished so at least there was no need to cut a hole in it. He looked down and realized blood was still flowing through the wound at an alarming rate. He tightened the tourniquet further, using all his rapidly diminishing strength and finally slowed the flow from the wound as he managed to buckle it in place. He lay back then, struggling not to pass out. He was in trouble and he knew it. The tourniquet was far too tight and would be stopping the flow of blood to his entire leg, but it was either that or bleed to death within minutes. And after all, he didn't need two good legs to be a physicist, he told himself. Look at Stephen Hawkings. There was plenty to do on Atlantis to keep him busy; he didn't necessarily need to be able to go on missions. Despite his reasoned internal monologue, the thought terrified him almost as much as the creature standing over him.

"Good, good," agreed Denwen who had been watching his efforts. "You don't deserve a quick death -- better you suffer like my beloved Wadjet." He held out his glowing palm toward the stricken man, smiling gleefully as the murderer of his beloved cried out in agonizing pain.

A shot rang out and Melosh/Denwen cursed as a bullet ripped through his shoulder. Looking in the direction from where the shot had originated, he saw a group of soldiers running toward his position. As their leader raised a gun, Melosh/Denwen made a dive towards the woods, intending to regroup with his own men who were still searching the forest nearby for Sheppard and the rest.

Tucking the detector into his vest, Lorne crouched by the prone figure; checking for a pulse and was rewarded by a fast, albeit weak beat beneath his fingertips. Giving McKay a cursory glance, his eyes fell on the tourniquet. He loosened the belt slightly, knowing the inherent dangers of such a device, and cursed under his breath when he saw the fresh blood well up. Quickly tightening it back down, he reached for his ear to radio Beckett but stopped when he caught sight of one of the soldiers signaling him.

Pulling out the detector, he saw more and more dots appearing at the edges of its screen. He looked back at McKay and was surprised as pain-filled blue eyes met his own. The scientist opened his mouth in what Lorne was sure would be a flood of questions so he quickly but lightly clamped his hand over it, bringing his lips near the scientist's ear. "Shhhhhh." McKay gave him the slightest nod of understanding and the major removed his hand and squeezed the injured man's shoulder in approval.

"Sheppard?" mouthed McKay.

Holding up three fingers to indicate the entire team, Lorne then gave an "okay" hand signal even a scientist could interpret. Rodney closed his eyes in relief.

Checking the detector again, Lorne sent several more complicated hand signals to his men, ordering them to tighten their perimeter and guard their flank and rear. He leaned closer to the scientist, grasping him by an arm and his uninjured leg, and hefting him into a fireman's carry. McKay muffled a groan of pain against the major's shoulder.

They made their way back towards the gate as quickly as possible with Lorne stopping every few minutes to check his lifesign detector and catch his breath. The scientist was no lightweight.

As they approached their destination, he chanced a whispered call on his radio. "This is Lorne, we have McKay and we're on our way back with company."

"Understood," was the sergeant's quiet reply.

"Is Rodney okay?" Beckett inquired, keeping his voice low as well

Lorne shifted the now limp bundle that across his shoulders slightly. "No." He forestalled any further questions. "Be ready to dial the gate. I have a feeling we're not getting out of here without a fight."

Beckett started to say something else but Sheppard cut him off with a "We'll be ready."

-o-

The whispered sounds of tree branches against clothing to their left caused Teyla and Ronon to raise the muzzles of their guns in that direction, expecting Lorne and his men, but leaving nothing to chance.

Sheppard started to rise, but Beckett's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Stay put," said the doctor softly, pulling his own weapon from its holster and moving closer to the jumper's lowered hatch. He doubted the colonel would be able to stand, much less shoot straight while under the influence. Of course, he thought wryly, even in his current condition, the injured man could probably outshoot him.

Lorne's team broke cover and he and his men picked up their pace. Teyla had already entered the jumper and begun dialing. Ronon stood to the side of the clearing, his gun aimed behind them, ready to pick off any of the natives who might be overeager enough to be the first to break cover.

As the wormhole whooshed to life, Lorne entered the jumper and leaned down to let McKay roll off his shoulder, onto the bench opposite Sheppard, and into Beckett's waiting arms. He could see the doctor's eyes were drawn immediately to the blood covered pants. "It's bad."

Beckett gave him a nod of understanding and quickly radioed for a trauma team as Lorne made his way to the pilot's seat. He was still broadcasting orders as they exited the wormhole. The second the jumper landed, it was swarmed with medical personal. An orderly helped Beckett lift the scientist onto a waiting gurney even as a nurse was handing him a pair of scissors. Cutting away Rodney's pant leg in one smooth move, he grimaced at what he saw. "Gloves," he said to the nurse before he realized she holding out a pair, anticipating his needs. He slipped them on and nodded to her to loosen the tourniquet, knowing that every second counted. As the blood welled up anew, he called for a clamp.

The nurse started an I.V., a bright bag of blood clutched in her hand. "I need another clamp," snapped Carson. One was instantly placed in his waiting hands. After a few seconds, he pulled his hands back and held his breath, praying he had stopped the bleeding in time. "Let's get him to the infirmary."

As Carson's team rushed Rodney away, Weir turned to Lorne. "How bad was he?"

The major looked grim. "I'm not a doctor, ma'am."

Weir shook her head at the obfuscation. "Major…"

He pursed his lips and stopped holding back. "It looked bad. Really bad. He lost a lot of blood and there was the tourniquet. I don't know when it was put in place but if it was too long…"

"He could lose the leg," Sheppard finished for him.

Weir took a calming breath. "Alright, he's alive. Right now, that's the most important thing," she told them. Her eyes rested on Sheppard when she realized he was swaying a little and suddenly remembered that Ronon had said he had been injured. "John, are you okay?"

"He was hit by a staff weapon. His back is badly burned," said Teyla, reaching out automatically to steady the injured man. "He should be in the infirmary."

Sheppard shot her a look for the mother hen behavior, but didn't argue. The infirmary was where he wanted to be anyway. Weir was the one who voiced the thought though. "I think we all would like to be in the infirmary." She turned to Lorne. "Major, can you give us a briefing as we walk?"

Lorne nodded, pulling the P-90 from Sheppard's unresisting fingers and handing it and his own off to one of the men to return to the armory, Teyla and Ronon following suit. He fell in near Sheppard, so he could ostensibly watch the colonel and render his assistance if needed.

-o-

Muffled sounds and a strange smell tickled Rodney's senses. He couldn't think clearly enough to place them but there was something about them that made him feel safe and secure. Hands touched him at a muffled distance. Somewhere, nearby, he knew pain waited, but all he felt at the moment was a deep lethargy. There was something else, something important that he needed to know. It was too difficult to concentrate, though, and it slipped away as he sunk into oblivion.

"He's out," confirmed the anesthetist checking the monitors. Beckett nodded and moved the large suspended magnifying glass closer to his patient's leg before reaching toward a tray of gleaming instruments.