"What's up, Sheppard? Getting old?"

Ronon came to a clanging halt on the flying walkway and slapped me hard on the back. I clung to the railing, gasping, my stomach threatening to launch an air-to-ground in the form of last night's pizza.

I managed some kind of grimace to stand in for words - denial, protest, assurance that I was 'fine' - whatever.

"Just - Just need a breather."

"Yeah, sure."

With characteristic economy, Ronon frogmarched me down the curve of the walkway and pushed me into the transporter.

"See you at breakfast," he said, his voice already retreating into the distance.

I slumped against the wall, letting my head hang and massaging my fingers through my hair. What the hell was wrong with me? I mean, yeah, we'd been pounding the hallways of Atlantis pretty hard and fast, but I'd usually hold my own against the ex-runner. Just about.

My hand shook as I tapped my destination on the transporter map. It flashed, I staggered out, and soon I was leaning gratefully against the wall of my shower, letting the hot water pound some life and energy back into my cold, heavy limbs. The shower would revive me, then I'd get dressed, head to the Mess and make sure I had plenty to eat to accompany my strong, black coffee. Maybe I'd load the coffee with sugar.

Because that was all this was - low blood sugar, like McKay got, or claimed he got when he fancied an extra snack. I'd had that pizza last night, but the last few weeks it'd been one thing after another. First there was that horror-movie hallucination, when the Sekkari had pulled Kolya out of my memory and had him torture me. Then we'd had to go and bust Major Teldy's team out of a weird Pegasus Alcatraz where they'd been put for trespassing on sacred ground - or had that been the crime committed by Stackhouse's team on their disaster of a mission? Anyway, I'd led a couple of teams on a short but bloody assault on the prison, rescued my people, and we'd just got back from there when the news came in about the other team that had fallen foul of unfriendlies. So, back through the Gate we went, and reached their location as flaming torches were being applied to the base of four wooden posts, well-stacked with tinder-dry brushwood, ready to flamegrill the captives. Nasty. Or it would have been if we hadn't been on hand to subdue the irate locals and cut down our team.

And then there'd been the rookie scientists who'd set off to explore Atlantis like they were playing a game of Dungeons and Dragons, with not a real life weapon between them. They probably had multi-sided dice though. Roll an odd number - you enter a flooded section and drown. Roll an even - you get trapped in an Ancient bathroom, fight over and break the one radio you've got and force the Military Commander to mount a citywide S and R. They were lucky they'd rolled the even, so it was live, shamefaced scientists we rescued rather than grey, bloated corpses.

I guessed they mightn't've felt many steps up from bloated corpses by the time McKay'd finished with them, though. He was all for dumping them in the brig until he could personally drive them back onto the Daedalus, flicking at their heels with a whip - or his sarcasm, which amounted to the same thing. I'd had a word, though, and they were getting another chance. They were very young - young, brilliant and green as grass. The scare would settle them down enough to be of some use - take some of the load off McKay and Zelenka, maybe. What can I say? I have a weakness for geeks.

Anyway, those incidents, and a whole host of other things, meant that I hadn't gotten around to eating that often in the last few days. Or sleeping much either. So that would explain my dismal performance this morning.

I shivered as I stepped out of the shower, but the towel felt like sandpaper as I vigorously rubbed myself dry. Problem in the laundry, no doubt. The Ancient washer-dryers could be pretty temperamental. I'd check in with Sergeant McDonald who oversaw the domestic side of things. Or no - Lorne could do that. I wasn't about to get drawn into another conversation about detergent. I mean, yeah, my command style is pretty slack - it works for me, by and large - but just because I don't want the clicking of heels and snapping of salutes at every turn, doesn't mean I want to get down and dirty with the exact consistency of the scummy residue left behind in the machines and how it clogs the pipes and could I get Dr McKay to have a look because he wouldn't reply to his emails? Definitely one for Lorne.

My uniform had got the same treatment as the towel, rasping over my skin, awaking rippling shudders down my arms as I pulled my button-down over my t-shirt. I fastened the cuffs instead of rolling them up and pulled a fleece on over the top. Must be a problem with the heating as well. What was up with Atlantis today? The whole place was out of whack. Even the happy little hum of ATA awareness which lurked, usually unnoticed, in a corner of my mind was muffled. And if the city's systems were upset you could be damn sure McKay would be upset along with them. Upset. Huh. In a thundering rage, more like, and looking for someone to take it out on. Oh well, the Mess Hall had to be faced.

When I got there I nearly turned straight back. What the hell had gotten into everyone this morning? Mealtimes were rarely peaceful, the high ceilings magnifying the voices of even a small group, but today everyone was shouting at once, trays were smacking onto tables, crockery was banging together. It was like some primitive ritual to frighten off evil spirits. Maybe they'd got the idea it would chase rampaging scientists away. Well, it hadn't, because there was Rodney, with Ronon and Teyla, at our usual table. And actually, he looked pretty much normal - coffee mug in hand, one cheek bulging with today's choice of breakfast items, his lips twisted so that he could talk and eat at the same time.

"Sheppard!" He waved me over. "Sheppard, I saved you some bacon!"

There was a tray in the empty space next to him. I sat down.

"Which is only fitting," he continued, "given the countless times I've saved your bacon metaphorically speaking! Anyways - bacon and eggs. And look, even hash browns!"

"Thanks, McKay."

"Well, you could show a bit more enthusiasm. If I'd left it up to you, Colonel Tardy, all you'd be getting would be that cement-like substance that stands in for oatmeal. The coffee might be cold by now, though."

It was. I sipped it anyway, putting off the moment when I'd have to get some of the bacon squared away or risk the wrath of McKay. The coffee was bitter. It did nothing for my thirst and just added to the rising tide of acid my stomach was putting out. Food would help - wouldn't it?

"John, are you well?" Teyla reached across and put her hand on mine. She did that kind of stuff sometimes and it always surprised me. In a nice way.

"Yeah. Just hungry."

"Then you should eat."

"Yeah." I picked up my knife and fork obediently, and started on the bacon. It was crispy around the edges - just how I liked it normally. But today it was like swallowing bits of glass. I took another sip of coffee.

The hairs rose on the back of my neck. There were eyes upon me. But it was just Ronon, sitting diagonally opposite. Ronon's gaze was always pretty intense, but he didn't usually give me the heeby-jeebies - that feeling you get when there are cross-hairs fixing you as a target and you'd better take a dive right now.

I resisted the urge to dive under the table. It would've caused a stir and drawn attention I didn't want. And anyway, it was just Ronon.

"You got something to say, big guy?" He continued to glare. I put down my knife and fork. "Ronon?"

"Nothin'" He shovelled the last of his eggs into his mouth and gave me a last, searching glare before picking up his tray and slouching his way to the bussing station to loom over one of the catering staff, who blushed, giggled and twirled a strand of kitchen-damp hair around her finger.

"Are you going to eat that or not?"

A fork crept into my field of vision.

"Rodney!"

The fork retreated at Teyla's rebuke.

"Well, he's not eating it!"

"Yes, he is. Aren't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." I'd give the eggs a go, even though I didn't feel that hungry any more.

"What are your plans for the day, John?"

I swallowed my rubbery egg dutifully and looked up into Teyla's morning-bright face. "Uh, you know. The usual." I put down my fork to rub away an ache at the back of my neck.

"Slouching about avoiding any real work, you mean?"

I shot McKay a sneer. "Me and Lorne are reviewing team structures and working out a schedule for the next couple of weeks. So you'd better keep on my good side or you'll find yourself being lent out every time there's a mission to somewhere real nasty."

"Oh, ha ha. You'd never lend me to another team. And anyway I'd refuse to go."

"You'd have to if I declare it a military necessity."

"Don't play the hard-ass with me, Sheppard. You'd never get anything like that past Woolsey."

He rocked his chair back and folded his arms, looking down his nose at me expectantly. I couldn't think of a good comeback, though. "Yeah, whatever."

"Very witty. Really. You've outdone yourself, Sheppard. I'm crushed."

"I do not think John is in the mood for arguing, Rodney," said Teyla.

Rodney let his chair fall forward and then there were two sets of eyes scrutinising me. I looked down at my plate and pushed a hash brown around.

"Why not? Sheppard's always in the mood for the cut and thrust of witty repartee - it's what we do. Well, okay, sometimes it's not that witty, but you get my point." He lunged across the table and poked my shoulder. "Sheppard? What's up with you? Are supplies of ammunition running low? A discrepancy in the arms inventory? What?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Oh, now I know there's something wrong! You've damaged one of the Jumpers haven't you? Just as we've got the full complement overhauled - you've taken your stress-testing to extremes and broken one. Haven't you? Sheppard?"

He prodded my shoulder again and I shuffled back out of reach. "The Jumpers are all fine, Rodney."

"The Control Chair, then - what've you done to it? You didn't carry out that insane plan to connect it up to your Nintendo did you? Because if you did, you'd better just come clean right now."

The ache in the back of my neck had travelled inward and Rodney's jabbing words awoke spikes of pain which would not make me rub my scalp and squinch up my eyes. I needed some fresh air. Fresh air and somewhere quieter, and maybe I'd feel more like eating at lunchtime. I pushed up my sleeve to have an obvious check of my watch.

"I'm meant to be meeting Lorne. See you later."

My chair legs scraped as I stood; I suppressed a wince, took up my barely-touched tray and left before either Rodney or Teyla could say anything else.

It was a relief to be out of the noise and bustle. And away from the scrutiny of my teammates. My team had become my family - even I recognised that. I cared about them and they genuinely cared about me. But accepting that level of concern wasn't something that came naturally to me. I mean, the camaraderie, the having each other's backs - yeah, that was natural. And, apart from flying obviously, it was the best bit of being in the military - the loyalty, the knowledge that, no matter what happened, you would be there for your team and they would be there for you. That kind of thing just clicked - sometimes more than my superior officers had bargained for, so that, for me, loyalty to my buddies had always overruled the orders I was actually supposed to be following. Well, come on - orders which told me to leave a man behind were just bad orders, weren't they?

But the other bit of being on such a close-knit team was hard. The bit which meant you couldn't hide, or that it was difficult to hide. I was used to hiding weakness - it was what I'd always done, what I'd been brought up to do. I'd been taught that weakness equalled shame and being a burden - weakness meant you'd let everyone down, including yourself, and it was treated with brusque impatience at best and outright fury at worst. Any vulnerability should be hidden away behind a mask of stoicism, buried down deep where it couldn't leak out. And that meant avoiding things that might bring it to the surface - soft enquiring voices, gentle touches, hugs and so on. So I never knew where to go with stuff like that, because it was a massive conflict in my mind; on the one hand, I wanted that closeness, that thing I'd been denied. But on the other, I was afraid of what might rise up and explode out of me.

I hadn't told anyone what the Sekkari had done. Or what I'd done. Because they'd said - he said - I did it to myself.

Kolya's words rang in my head yet again: You torture yourself every day. Except it hadn't been Kolya. Kolya was dead. I'd killed him. And I should've known none of that was real, over on the mainland, babysitting that botany team. I should've realised it couldn't be real, even against the evidence of all my senses. Enough screwy shit had happened over the years that an alien consciousness manipulating my thoughts should've been an option that sprang to mind straight away, as soon as I saw him. But instead I'd chosen to be beaten. I'd chosen to be restrained and helpless, to have my arms pulled out to either side, to have a machete hack off my left hand and to feel the agony and the hopelessness. I'd chosen that, as something I deserved. Or so the Sekkari said.

I hadn't lied - Lorne would be waiting for me. But he could wait a bit longer. I took a transporter to the top of one of the towers on the west side of the central zone, stumbled gratefully onto the small balcony and just stood there for a bit, looking out over the city.

There was a stiff, lively breeze. Beyond the sheltered bays between the piers, the waves were flecked with white. And there was some cloud cover - not enough to mean rain, though. Not yet anyway. A good day for flying, although most days were good for flying in a Puddlejumper - anything but total, crazy extremes of weather were a cinch for a machine that could cope with atmospheric re-entry.

I leant on the railing and breathed, letting the cold, salty air fill my lungs and then trickle out in a long stream. Fresh air would clear my head and then I'd go in and get on with my day.

It was only when my heart rate slowed that I realised how much it'd been thumping away. What was that all about? Was the stress of running this place finally getting to me? Was I having or about to have some kind of breakdown?

You torture yourself every day. Did I?

How could I have done that to myself? How could my own mind have provided all the details of my capture by my old, dead enemy - my restraint, my interrogation, my torture? It had been so real, so real - the crippling fear when they'd made me kneel, my arms spread, the ropes around my wrists, and I'd realised what Kolya was going to do. To me it had been real - the shrieking of severed nerves, the bitter iron tang of my blood, the dull thump as my severed limb had hit the ground.

And the Sekkari had said I did it.

I sagged further over the railing, closing my eyes, fingers pressing at the ache in the centre of my forehead. A gust of wind flapped at my clothes and lifted my damp hair. I shivered, and the shivers wouldn't stop until I tensed everything against them and gritted my teeth hard together, the muscles in my jaw bunching and twitching. Fresh air would help? It hadn't yet.

My earpiece spat and hissed. "Colonel Sheppard?"

Major Lorne, tracking down his errant CO.

"Sheppard here," I acknowledged. The cold air had made my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat and then followed up with, "I'm on my way."

He was waiting. I should go. The doors slid open behind me, and another swish over my shoulder told me that beyond them the doors to the transporter had also parted. Was that my guilty conscience triggering my ATA into action, or the city ushering me back into its warmth?

I straightened up from my slump over the railing. And around me, the blue-grey sky swirled madly, cut across with the grey slashes of the city structure. I staggered and flung out my arms, smacking one hand into the door frame and clinging to its solid safety. A wave of heat washed up my neck and over my face, followed by a wave of cold. My heart throbbed and fluttered, sight and sound pixelated - and if I passed out up here like a total idiot I'd never live it down. Then the world snapped back to clarity leaving me trembling and nauseous but above all, relieved. I could do without that kind of fuss.

God, just imagine - the med team, the gurney, everyone staring and commenting and looking at me. And there was nothing wrong with me anyway. I should have forced down some more breakfast, that was the only problem.

I slid my hands up the door frame and everything stayed the right way up. A couple of deep breaths, a fixed focus on the transporter and I made the few steps required. Then I paused for a couple more breaths, gathering my resources, fixing a mask back in place, before pressing my destination.

When I entered the office I shared with Lorne, the Major's gaze was moving between the screen before him and some scraps of paper to one side of his keyboard. He'd started without me. I'd broken him of the habit of standing up when I entered the room, although when he slipped up, he did it with far more grace and none of the postural sarcasm I'd been accused of by various senior officers over the years - but only the ones which deserved it. Lorne glanced up, though, and a tiny line appeared between his eyebrows.

"I know, I know. Late again," I said, pulling my desk chair around to his side.

"No, I didn't -"

I cut him off, well aware that he wasn't about to rebuke me for tardiness. "How far have you got?"

Lorne's attention returned to the duty rosters and team lists. "I was going through the list Dr McKay emailed."

"The scientists that want to be rotated off teams?"

"And those that want on."

"Show me." I'd need to check this out, in case McKay had just given Lorne the names of everyone he wanted out of his labs as much as possible.

The Major tapped the keyboard and I peered at the screen. Black squiggles danced in a sea of blinding white. My head throbbed.

"These first five I know, but I can't think who Dr Andrews is," said Lorne.

"Right. Uh…" Come on. Pull yourself together, John. "Oh, yeah, that's Kasia Andrews. She's a chemist. Pretty good with the more explosive side of things." My voice rasped again, my throat prickling from the after-effects of the shards of over-cooked bacon and the cold air.

"Put her with Mehra, then?"

A Marine and a chemist that both liked blowing things up? A match made in heaven. "Yeah, they'd get on." Like a house on fire. Literally. Speaking of which - I pulled down the zipper on my fleece and shrugged it off. "What's up with the heating today?"

"Feels about the same to me."

"Oh." I rolled up my sleeves. "Who's next?"

We worked our way through the teams, reshuffling here and there, and then began to discuss upcoming missions - which teams might be suitable for first contact, which for maintaining existing alliances, which to be held back on base for the inevitable S and R missions. I kept my gaze on Lorne or his paper notes and avoided the glare of the screen as much as I could.

The air conditioning kicked in with a vengeance. I rolled my sleeves back down and then pulled my fleece back on. Coffee appeared in front of me. Sadly, we didn't have a coffee machine in our office. Had Lorne got it himself? Had he sent someone? The light from the screen had dimmed to a washed-out grey. I stared at it, confused.

"Is that better? I turned the brightness down."

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Major."

My hands had curled themselves around the heat of the coffee mug. A chill prickled the surface of my skin and yet suddenly I was too hot again.

"Are you okay, sir?"

"I'm fine." The rasp in my voice was back. I cleared my throat, released my enfolding grip on the coffee, picked it up and drank. It was over-milky and sweet, which isn't how I take it - and Lorne knew that. And now he was shuffling his papers to no purpose, flicking through them, his mouth twisting, his lower lip drawing in slightly as he gripped it between his teeth.

"So… I was just wondering when I should expect to take command - when you have your leave, that is."

"What?"

He looked up and then down at his papers again. "You haven't taken any time off. And you're overdue. I think."

"You've been talking to Mr Woolsey."

He smiled, sheepishly.

"Look, I don't need time off. I'm fine. And we don't have enough personnel with a strong ATA gene as it is."

"We can manage."

"I don't think so."

His mouth tightened. He took a breath. This was an officer working himself up to tell his CO what he really thought. I'd done it myself often enough, except I'd usually do it without all the psyching up. But Lorne was a better XO than I'd ever been.

"You need a break, sir."

"I have breaks."

"You have a couple of hours here and there - that's not enough."

"It'll have to be."

"Dr McKay went to Earth last month. For a week."

"Yes, he did."

"Teyla spends time on the mainland pretty often. And Ronon goes with her."

"Yes, he does. And he joins the hunting parties and has fun killing and eating anything that moves. That doesn't mean that I have to join in."

"I'm not suggesting-"

"I think we're done here, Major."

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean -"

"Yes you did." The mug clattered against the table as I set it down. "Send out emails with the changes we've made. Make sure you copy in McKay." I knew he would. Lorne always dotted the Is and crossed the Ts. "I'll be in the gym."

Or not. As I stood up, my stomach lurched and a wash of cold sweat spread over my face and down my shoulders and chest. But I made it out of the office and fixed my sights on the transporter, snapping a brusque, "Not now," at a voice that tried to call me back.

I made it to my quarters and slumped onto the bed. Had I warmed up before my run this morning? I couldn't remember. Muscles were aching all over like I'd strained them, and maybe I needed some new running shoes because the joints in my legs throbbed. I closed my eyes and fisted my hands into the blankets.

I could just let myself fall, let my head hit the pillow. I could just give in and give up - let the city take care of itself, let Lorne take charge, let the teams out on missions rescue themselves, let the Wraith come, let more of my people die.

I pressed my hands to my face and blinked into the darkness. Why not take some leave? Woolsey had been chasing me up for ages. It had reached the point where I was expecting him to dial up Earth and shove me through the Gate. And who did I think I was anyway? Did I think I was more important, more vital than anyone else? Even McKay had taken time off, and if anyone was indispensable, it was him.

My arms flopped down, dragging my shoulders with them. I wasn't indispensable. No. I was just a guy who happened to have the right kink in his genes and had been in the right place at the right time - or the wrong place, depending on how you looked at it. And if you were one of the many who'd died on my watch, you wouldn't be looking at it at all.

I was just an Airman who'd ended up in charge by mistake. But I was in charge and I had to do my best to protect those under my command. And that meant being there. Being there to take the shot that had put down the guy with the flaming torch last week, being there to take out the others with the machetes, determined to make their sacrifice even if we'd stopped the traditional 'burnt at the stake' option. And If I hadn't been there, would someone else have found their way through that maze of a prison where they had Teldy and her team chained up? Would someone else have found a way to flank the bad guys, to come up behind them with a knife and… The blood had gushed over my hand, dark and thick and iron-rich. It had turned my skin scarlet, it had soaked into my clothes and it had splattered on the dirty concrete. I'd killed like that before. You couldn't do it without getting blood on yourself. You couldn't do it without getting stained. I'd done it before and I would do it again. I'd do it in a heartbeat - I'd do it over and over to save my people.

The blood had gushed when he'd cut it off, when the blade bit through flesh and bone and artery. My hand had fallen to the ground, still with the rope around its wrist, my wrist - and it had lain there, amongst the dead leaves and twigs, a part of me, but now discarded, mine and yet no longer mine. It had only been a split second before I'd passed out, but that image would never leave me - that pain, that despair of body and mind. They would never be forgotten.

I couldn't breathe. Air rasped as my lungs dragged hard against the thickness in my closed-up, aching throat. I was shaking and my fingers hurt from their deathgrip on the blanket but I couldn't let go. I couldn't let it all go and rest because if I did more people would die. But even if I carried on, people would die - they always did. Some always did. The ones I couldn't save. And the ones I killed.

Someone was calling me, saying my name over and over.

"Colonel Sheppard? Colonel Sheppard, come in, please."

And suddenly, there he was - the Military Commander, back on the job, as if I, John, had no say in the matter. I tapped my earpiece.

"Sheppard here."

"Mr Woolsey's called a meeting, sir." It was Chuck. "He'd like to see all senior staff right away."

"What's it about?"

"I'm sorry, sir. He didn't say."

I was already on my feet and out the door. "On my way, Chuck."

Duty called. And I was glad. Duty would get me on my feet and back in the game. Duty would stop the shakes and the cold sweat and the lethargy that dragged me down. That and some more coffee.

They were all there before me - Woolsey, McKay, Keller, Teyla and Lorne. And Ronon, slouching against the wall. Their eyes turned toward me as if I were a criminal entering a courtroom to receive his verdict. There was only one spare chair, between Woolsey and Rodney. I could lean against the wall next to Ronon, ready to make a hasty getaway. But I pulled out the spare chair and sat down. The table and the faces around it rippled. I pinched my leg hard until the rippling settled.

Woolsey shuffled some papers and tapped his pen against the table. "So. Is somebody going to tell me what this is all about?"

My eyes tracked the grain in the table, following the lines to where the Expedition Leader's papers lay before him, blank except for the date written in the top right hand corner, neatly underlined. If Woolsey didn't know what we were all sitting here for, who did? I'd've been pissed if I'd had the energy.

Nobody spoke. Huh. A chair creaked and clothing rustled as someone shifted.

Woolsey sighed. "Is it about the Quartermaster's proposal? Because I realise that it was an unpopular decision to veto on-base alcohol production, but I'm afraid -"

A babble of voices interrupted and I didn't even try to pick out any threads of meaning. The burst of duty-calls energy that had got me up here had gone. I'd been going to have lunch, hadn't I? Something sugary and full of energy. What time was it anyway? I squinted at my watch, but could make no sense of the display. Have to get Rodney to fix it.

Woolsey's hands flickered in the corner of my eye. "One at a time, please! Teyla?"

I looked up to find Teyla's gaze fixed on me.

"We requested a meeting because we are concerned," she said. "Deeply concerned."

Prickling heat broke out along my hairline and spread over my cheeks. When Teyla looked at you like that and spoke in that even, measured tone, you were in for a whole shit-tonne of trouble. What had I done? She continued to watch me, while Woolsey shuffled his papers.

"Concerned?" The expedition leader repeated. "About?"

Teyla's head tipped slightly to one side and her arching eyebrows twitched a question in my direction. Oh God - I was supposed to know what I'd done. She was giving me a chance to confess. Crap. I searched my memory, tried to sift my recent actions, but my head was filled with a rolling mess of trash that pounded against the inside of my skull. Teyla's face hung before me, the rest of the room dissolving into fuzz.

I'd better say something. Something to pass the whole thing off, some snarky drawl to deflect her attention. Something to shift the blame elsewhere, preferably onto McKay. My mouth was bone dry. I swallowed, but there was no saliva to be had and my throat was filled with glass or nails or thorns or all three. Looked like I'd have to stick with innocent, clueless gaping.

Teyla's eyebrows fell. She shook her head and then turned her gaze on Woolsey. "We are deeply concerned for Colonel Sheppard's welfare. We believe that he needs a vacation."

I would have laughed if I'd had the voice. Was that all? "I'm f-"

"Oh, come on!" Rodney cut short my croaking denial. "Enough with the 'I'm fine'. Enough, Sheppard!"

"But -"

"You're not fine!" He wouldn't let me get a sentence out. "You're so not fine!"

A cascade of voices rose again, as if Rodney and Teyla had broken through a barrier. The voices merged into a roar of noise. I wanted to put my hands over my ears, or just go and bury my head somewhere silent and dark.

Then Woolsey's voice penetrated the babble. "One at a time! One at a time, please!" The noise subsided. "I am aware that Colonel Sheppard is overdue for a period of leave."

"He won't take it." Ronon's rumble emerged from the shadows. And so did he, stepping forward and landing a heavy hand on my shoulder. In reassurance, or to pin me in place? Both, probably. "Just says he's fine. Says he can't leave."

"Yes, well, I have already discussed this with Colonel Sheppard and we have agreed that when -"

"When hell freezes over!" I failed to suppress a wince at Rodney's strident tone. "Look, I don't care what you've agreed - there'll always be one more emergency, one more excuse! It'll always get put off, over and over, until he's so worn down that he'll make a mistake and people'll die. Or he'll die. Probably that."

People had already died. On my watch. Again and again they'd died. And not because I'd been tired, but just because I'd been me, John Sheppard, accidental leader - and I hadn't been good enough to save them. You torture yourself every day. Did I? Okay, yeah - I did. And rightly so.

I don't know if anyone was expecting a response from me, but I didn't have one to give. I looked at my hands, which had linked themselves together on the table, holding onto each other because there was nothing else to hold onto. Ronon's hand was still on my shoulder, heavy and accusing.

"Well, in that case, all we have to do is fix a date. Colonel?" Woolsey's precise voice was a flat calm after Rodney's bluster.

I licked my dry lips. If I rubbed the ache at the back of my neck they'd see the tremor in my hands. I left them where they were, linked together, and watched my fingers tighten their grip, digging grooves, pulling the skin taut. Two hands - two hands, right there in front of me. The ropes had been dark against my skin. "Uh…" A ringing contradiction would have been great, but it just wasn't in me.

Then there was another voice - gentle, compassionate, yet professional. I shuddered. This was the voice of goldfish-bowl scrutiny, that could lay bare all your weaknesses and spread them out on display for everyone to see and sneer at - Dr Jennifer Keller. "I don't think it's as simple as that. Colonel Sheppard's team tell me he hasn't been sleeping well for a while. Or eating much at all. I'd like to carry out a psychological evaluation."

"No!" I think my voice was somewhere in the mix, but Rodney's mouth moved too and so did Lorne's. Ronon's hand squeezed and then slackened.

"Rodney, if the Colonel needs help, I have a duty -"

"No. You can't let it go on record. You can't! You'd have to copy the SGC and I guarantee you that as soon as that data burst hits the fan, the IOA'll be onto it so fast, you'll have a new military commander by teatime. And Sheppard'll be dragged back through the Gate!"

"Rodney, as Chief Medical Officer I have the authority to -"

"Look, the Colonel just needs a couple of days off!" My loyal XO spoke.

"He needs at least a month," said Keller. "And that's if he's declared fit for duty after a psych eval."

"No, Ma'am." This was the Lorne who faced down hostile natives, armed to the teeth. "Colonel Sheppard is my CO and no one else."

"Well, that depends on -"

"Look, Jennifer, we didn't bring you in on this to get Sheppard kicked out! You're supposed to be helping!" Rodney half stood up from his chair, his bunched fists resting on the table.

"Rodney, sit down," said Teyla. "I am sure that -"

"I'm not sure at all! We agreed John needs a break! We didn't agree that he needs to be kicked back to Earth to be thrown on the scrapheap! Atlantis isn't just a posting - it's his home! And he's not just my team leader - he's my friend! And I won't let you -"

"Rodney -"

"Dr McKay, let's keep this -"

"You're not taking him -"

"He's the best -"

"It's my duty to -"

"Stop!" I shrugged off Ronon's hand and pushed myself up, my head spinning, my hands - firmly planted on the solid wood - anchoring me, keeping me upright. Or near enough. "Just stop." The faces all turned my way. What were they expecting me to say? I could think of nothing - nothing that would make them leave me alone, no magic words that would bring relief. No way out. And maybe there shouldn't be. Not for me. "Just - Just stop."

"Colonel Sheppard, we need to -" Woolsey broke off. "Colonel Sheppard?"

My arms were shaking. In fact, everything was shaking - were we under attack? No. No, it wasn't the room that was shaking, not the city - my city. My teammates were right. Keller was right. I was buckling under the strain - unfit for command.

Waves of heat and cold rolled over me. I blinked and sweat stung my eyes.

"John, are you well?" Teyla's face appeared to one side, suspended in mid air. Something cool touched my face.

"Sheppard! God, I knew this would happen. He's having some kind of breakdown!"

"He has a fever, Rodney."

My legs abruptly collapsed and someone grabbed me beneath my arms and lowered me into my chair. I couldn't stop my head sagging. A fever? No - I was just tired, just worn down by guilt. Not enough sleep, not enough food, too much responsibility - I wasn't sick.

"Colonel Sheppard? John?" Keller's voice floated, first to one side, then the other. There was a cool patch on my forehead again and a professional grip on my wrist.

"What? What's wrong with him? Sheppard?" An insistent fingertip prodded my shoulder. "Ow! What did you do that for, Conan?"

"Leave him be, McKay."

I tried to agree, but instead groaned weakly.

"Hang on, Colonel. The med team'll be here soon."

I groaned again in protest. No. Not the fussing and the gurney and the staring faces as I was wheeled past - not that, please. That was bad enough when it was just Gateroom protocol, when anyone injured had to get wheeled to the infirmary and you were awake and lucid. Like this, out of control, unable to put up a front - they'd all think I'd lost it completely.

My teeth were chattering. I clamped my jaw tight, but it did no good. "C- cold."

Something was draped over me. Voices spoke, maybe to each other, maybe to me - I didn't care any more. Then there were more voices and more hands touching me, gripping my aching limbs. I couldn't stop a cry of protest and couldn't understand the muffled response.

I was lifted and there was pressure across my legs and chest. I couldn't move. I couldn't move and I panicked, but my weak twitches and moans made no difference. Then the floating faces and their skewed, crazy world rolled away above me in patches of dark and light and my senses gave up the fight and slid away into the void of deep space.