- Chapter 12 -

Waves rolled softly over the pebble-covered beach, bursting into millions of tiny bubbles on impact, colouring the very edge of the shore a brilliant white. Molecules of air and water fused together before disappearing into a fine mist. Rocks, smoothed by water and time, collided with each other; constant movement rearranging transient order and appearance.

The breaking water curled cool fluid over his bare feet, filled the space between his toes, tickled sensitive spots on his heels. He wanted to scratch the itch, but it wasn't important.

A soft wind was blowing. He could feel its smooth tendrils licking over his face. It should have been a familiar feeling, but it wasn't.

He walked along the waterside, his footsteps destroying arrangements of pebbles, pressing them deeper into the ground. Water, filling the depression, made the shore lose a fight in the endless battle between solid matter and fluid.

The coast continued infinitely to all sides of him. There was nothing besides the dark vastness of the ocean on one side and a wasteland covered to the horizon with rounded rocks on the other, their moist surfaces glistening silvery in the faint sunlight.

The sensations crashing into him were stunning. His skin was supersensitive, he could feel each tiny drop of moisture hitting his hand as if he was scooping up a handful of water. He could smell the dusty aroma of rocks exposed to sun and the sweet odour of stale water. The bitter taste of drying salt burned on his tongue, making him thirsty. Feelings were permeating his entire being.

Yet there was something missing, and he didn't know what it was.

He crouched down and picked up one of the perfectly rounded stones. They were all the same. Same size, same colour, same shape, same weight, with not a hint of moss or other vegetation on them. They were perfect.

Losing interest, he let it drop back onto the ground; watched it bounce, felt the slight vibrations of the impact on the soles of his feet, and saw it settle down, once more forming a perfect alliance with its siblings.

Sound.

It was missing. He'd seen it, felt it, smelled it, even tasted it, but he hadn't heard it. Hadn't heard the wind blow, hadn't heard the waves breaking at his feet and hadn't heard the small rock drop to the ground.

Suddenly the vastness around him was suffocating. The wide space consumed all oxygen until nothing was left for him anymore. He felt himself shrink, become a tiny atom in a universe filled with mute sensations.

He cowered on the ground, buried his face between his knees and wrapped both arms protectively over his head. Now, he could only see the faint outline of his trouser legs, smell only the familiar scent of his own body and he could pretend he didn't hear anything simply because his sleeves were muffling any sound.

He could breathe again.

Something changed, but he was too scared to leave his shelter, so he stayed motionless.

The wind stopped blowing through his hair and along his exposed fingers and toes. A rougher, solid material replaced the breeze from before. He could still smell his own skin, but a sharper, artificial smell accompanied it now. Still too scared to lift his head from his knees, he slowly became aware that there was something else. His ears were picking something up.

A sound.

Like a drowning man struggling through water to draw in life-giving air, Carson followed the sound, chased it, hoping so desperately to quench his thirst; for all five senses to come back to him.

When he suddenly broke through the heavy blanket of silence the sound was almost deafening in its intensity, but he welcomed it all, embraced it with the relieved awareness that it had all been a bad dream.

But not all had just been a bad dream.

Forcing his eyes open, he could see the infirmary around him, smell the disinfectant, hear the buzzing of equipment and see people moving about beyond the surrounding curtain.

A tiny spotlight created by a single ray of the planet's sun settled near his forehead on the pillow and Carson moved his head a little, so he could see it better. Drugs were flowing heavily through his veins, making him feel oddly calm and in control. There wasn't any pain, just…numbness. A heavy, muggy numbness.

The little yellow dot had a mesmerising effect and he spent several minutes just looking at it, marvelling at the spectrum of colours created by the prism-effect of the window. He wondered about the innocence such a small thing possessed after having travelled through the destructive environment of vacuum.

It felt good to have some company.

He must have dozed off for a while for when he opened his eyes the tiny dot had moved on the pillow. It wasn't the friendly little companion from before any more; the one that kept his thoughts from drifting in directions he couldn't let them drift in at the moment. It had moved and settled on his eyes now, making everything around him too bright, so that he couldn't see. Even moving his head didn't bring a real respite, since the light would stop burning his retinas, but, no matter what he did, he couldn't get it off his face.

It had lost its innocence. It branded him, marked him a target, left him vulnerable and exposed.

Looking around, he hoped someone would be there who could help him. He knew he was still half-caught in the remnants of a drug-induced sleep, and needed something to pull him out into reality again.

He wanted to move; to slide down the bed or curl up on his side, but, apart from his head, Carson stayed stock-still. He could live with the bright mark on his face, but he couldn't live with the knowledge of not being able to move. So he chose to stay still out of his own free will, because this left him in control. He could move if he wanted to, he just chose not to, just like in his dream.

And no-one was there to tell him otherwise.

oOo

Taking three steps at a time and the last five in one big jump, John Sheppard hurried down the broad stairs. Addressing no-one in particular, he shouted at a group of men, dressed in Atlantis' black military uniforms, who were standing near the deactivated Stargate.

"The Daedalus is sending down the last of their cargo for us. I want it checked and delivered to the appropriate sections yesterday. Then I want a full inventory of the armoury. I want to know how we stand."

"Yes, Sir." Stressing the 'Sir', the highest ranking amongst the men was quick to respond, and, as the major passed, they all stood to attention.

With the exception of Bates, his people had begun to lose the stiff military behaviour towards him over the course of the past year. John had always encouraged this, since he hated it and wasn't exactly known as a model-soldier himself, here nor in the Milky Way.

For some reason though, today it was back full-force, and it pissed him off. He had yet to figure out whether it had anything to do with the new batch from the Daedalus, her tight-ass Captain or something else.

All he knew was that wherever he went, people were giving him wide-eyed looks that would put every Japanese Animé to shame, and he had the distinct impression people were going to great lengths to try and avoid him.

The last night had been short and full of nightmares about the Wraith. Earth had exploded at least twice and at one point his Jumper had blown up, but inside the Daedalus instead of one of the Hive ships. And when McKay's frantic call about Carson had woken him up in the morning, he had just been playing a game of poker with Rodney, Beckett, Ford and Elizabeth, all of them aged almost beyond recognition, their skin outlining fragile bones, eyes missing in dark, empty sockets.

This day had started out bad and was only getting worse with each passing hour.

A quick look at his watch told him that it was rapidly approaching dinner time already. He hadn't noticed how fast time had gone by. After leaving the infirmary, John had busied himself with work. He had been running around, checking on the progress of the repairs, the delivery of supplies, and designating work to the Daedalus crew that had come to help out, only to check their work minutes later.

Some of what he did might have been trespassing on Elizabeth's territory, but she had a huge workload as it was, and, since he was already there, he might as well do it. Elizabeth wasn't exactly grateful and had more than once asked whether he didn't need to do some paperwork, somewhere else. But there was no way he could sit down and concentrate on a piece of paper. He had to move around, do stuff.

Sitting meant thinking, thinking meant getting mad at Beckett for lying in the infirmary and getting madder at McKay for making things worse than they already were. Getting madder meant losing the battle to take a Jumper, fly to the next Wraith ship he could find and kick their asses all over again for daring to attack his home and his friends.

Since there hadn't been any more live Wraith around for a day now, kicking walls and boxes was the natural next choice. And no, he hadn't meant to make Dr Kusanagi cry because she thought he had destroyed her new microscope. It had been an accident, and, if he'd known the damn thing weighed about a ton, he wouldn't have tried shoving it down the corridor with his foot.

When one of the scientists working in the control room politely asked John whether he had a degree in engineering, if not, then he would just have to take her word that she'd be able to do it without him, thank you very much, John finally went to look for Teyla.

A sparring match might be able to release some of the tension that was making his muscles quiver with pent-up energy.

Deciding that walking around to look for the Athosian would already give him some sort of workout, he didn't bother calling her over the radio. And, soon enough, he could hear her voice coming from within a group of people standing near the Jumper-bay.

"No, Madra, take only what you and your son need for the next few days. Everything else will be brought to you later, after all of our people are back in the settlement."

"Teyla, Teyla, Teyla. Teylaaaaaa!" The shrill chanting of a little girl drowned out the woman's reply to Teyla and John had to fight the urge to stick a finger into his ears to protect his eardrums.

Without even being able to see his team-mate, he could hear the small sigh she always gave when faced with a situation that put her patience to the test. Usually he heard it whenever she broke up another one of his arguments with Rodney.

"Yes, Buthi", Teyla addressed the girl.

"I drew a picture! Just for you! You have to come and take a look. You must come with me! Come, Come! Pleeeeaaase!"

Even from a distance of at least five metres, the girl's loud, whiny voice was hurting his ears, and Teyla wasn't fairing any better. The two people right in front of him had left, so Sheppard could see her now.

"I am sorry, Buthi. I do not have time right now. But I promise I will look at it when we are back in the village." Unceremoniously untangling the small fist from her trousers, Teyla gave the girl a gentle but resolute shove towards another woman and got out of the small circle of Athosians. "Halling, please make sure everyone knows only to pack the bare necessities for the moment, and that the first group will leave with first light tomorrow." Teyla walked backwards while she spoke with the tall man, trying to get away from the mob of people and John caught her arm before she walked right into him.

Whirling around when she felt his touch, she looked surprised to see him. "I am sorry, Major. I did not see you."

"Yeah, I didn't want to interrupt. Everything going okay?"

"It is…" he had a feeling Teyla was trying to avoid the use of some of the more colourful words she had learned since joining his team. Obviously deciding against their use, she finished diplomatically, "…Many things have to be done before we can get everyone safely back to the Mainland.".

"I bet. Listen, Teyla. You don't by any chance have some time for a little sparring? Might be a good diversion." He sounded desperate, but he was, so he didn't care.

"I wish that were possible, Major, but I need to help my people." She sounded sincerely regretful.

"Okay. Some other time then." On some level, seeing Teyla struggling with the attention of so many people had improved his mood slightly. After all, a problem shared is a problem halved, but her turning him down, had dropped it back to arctic levels. And her next comment didn't make it any better.

"Yes, that would be nice. I heard Dr Beckett is doing a little better. When you get back to the infirmary please tell him I am very sorry for not having had the time to visit since he awoke. And that I will see him as soon as possible."

"Teyla."

"Teyla."

The shouts coming from both sides of the hallway made her turn around, confused as to who to answer first. Grimacing slightly the Athosian leader apologized to John with a soft "Sorry" then left him to meet the approaching men.

Now, standing surrounded by a bunch of hectically moving people, he felt even more like he had nothing of real importance to do while everyone else was working overtime. And, not believing it possible, he found that his bad mood had got worse.

"Major?" The female voice coming from the small microphone in his ear said so much more than just his rank.

Not again. Paperwork just wasn't his first priority now, couldn't she see that? But, judging from Elizabeth's tone of voice, she wasn't in the best of moods either so John tried not to push his luck too far.

"Elizabeth." Oh no, he'd forgotten about the damn meeting. He so didn't want to face McKay and Caldwell right now. And Elizabeth wasn't his favourite person at the moment either; in fact right now, no-one really was.

"The meeting?" The normally eloquent leader was getting mono-syllabic, which was fine with him since he didn't really feel chatty himself. Suppressing any snide comment or impatient sighs, the major turned around and kicked his way back to Elizabeth's office.

oOo

So long, Rodney.

Everything screamed at him to leave, to find the darkest, smallest place in the city and hide forever. But after running aimlessly through empty corridors for almost two hours he was suddenly standing in front of Peter's apartment, breathing hard, with legs that just wouldn't move anymore. With arms wrapped protectively around himself, he bit on dry lips, until blood stained them bright red, and reached out with a shaking hand to open the door.

The small room behind it was almost dark already, the setting sun casting long shadows over millennia-old furniture. Rodney had never been in this room before, had only seen parts of it from outside and even that only a couple of times. So he hesitated before entering, one hand kept right on the door frame as if he was keeping an elevator from closing.

It's the only option and you know it.

Swallowing hard, he silently asked Peter for permission before he finally walked into the apartment, the doors closing quietly behind him. Stale air made him draw in deeper breaths to compensate for the lack of oxygen, but, apart from this, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was a nice room. Sparsely decorated, just like everyone's, with only the few personal belongings that they had been able to bring with them to the Pegasus Galaxy. Still, Peter had somehow managed to give it a personal touch.

Several family pictures had been stuck haphazardly to the walls, their edges already slightly bent without the support of frames around them. Some of them had a rumpled appearance as if they had been handled quite a lot.

A big map filled with familiar star-constellations of their own home-galaxy hung over the main desk, some stars were crossed out, others had a big yellow circle around them, and, on the right, a fat, hand-drawn arrow pointed to whatever lay behind the edge of the poster.

The bed, surprisingly, was unmade. He'd thought Peter the kind of perfectionist who only left his quarters in pristine condition. Several sheets were coiled up in a big ball of fabric, with a pillow lying next to the bed on the floor together with T-shirt and boxers.

It was a mess. But a very personal one.

One that spoke of late nights and early mornings; one that said life outside was more important than time spent alone in here.

Rodney walked dazedly over the carpet-covered floor towards the big window just left of the bed and opened it; The warm evening breeze filling the room with the familiar smell of sea-water.

Leave me.

"Peter! Shut up. Please!" The constant little voice in the back of his head just wouldn't stop whispering.

A sudden breeze went through the room and some of the pictures began to flutter, the soft clapping sounds startling him. A wrinkled piece of paper fell from the nightstand and got tangled between T-shirt and pillow. Rodney picked it up. It was a To Do List.

It's the only option.

The page was almost full, half of the items already messily crossed out. Some were work-related, others reminded Peter to do his laundry, or to clean. Quite simple things. Rodney was maintaining such a list, too - on his computer; what was done was erased from the file. But in this case, the list was handwritten and not everything had been crossed out.

Rodney almost choked when he read through the handful of everyday things on the bottom of the list that Peter still wanted to take care of, but would no longer get the chance to. Beckett had a computerised list too. Rodney had shown him how to operate the programme, after he found the doctor screaming bloody murder at his laptop when he couldn't get it to work.

Maybe Carson, too, wouldn't be able to do the things on his list anymore. And Sheppard and Kavanaugh were right: it would be because of him, Rodney McKay.

Rodney. Leave me.

"Not real, not real," he breathed, wincing, when his forehead pounded more fiercely. The tenuous control he had on his emotions was slipping.

come back for you after it's done.

"Shut up! We won't come back, okay! Because there is nowhere to go back to!" He screamed at the empty room, breaths coming in increasingly quicker spurts. The shaking in his limbs became more and more pronounced until his knees could no longer support him and he slowly slid down the glass wall underneath the window.

The human body was only designed to withstand so much and Rodney McKay's slowly started to succumb to the effects of weeks of stress and gruelling exhaustion, combined with guilt and a lack of food. Panic was overwhelming him; pictures of exploding satellites and Jumpers and Carson's bloody body lying in front of his door, assaulting his mind.

Folding in on himself, Rodney sank his head onto his knees, hands covering his ears as hard as he could to block out any sound.

After it's done, then.

"I'm sorry."

Rocking back and forth he gave in to the panic attack; welcomed it. He let it take him somewhere else where there was only darkness and no feelings.

After it's done.

"I'm so sorry."

So long, Rodney.

A/N Thanks so much for all the wonderful feedback!