Chapter 5:

A/N: Thanks to those that have reviewed. I'm not sure if my replies made it through since I noticed I had my PM disabled.
A/N2: Medical procedures . . . not my strong point. If anything is correct, it is purely by accident.

Beta: J.A.B.
Edited on 1-27-06 for suits/suites!

Spoilers: The Hot Zone, Poisoning the Well, possibly more

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The gate was a beautiful sight to Teyla as Ronon dialed Atlantis. The whoosh and the stable puddle of sparkling blue light that reminded Teyla of the waters around Atlantis went a long way to sooth her rattled nerves.

Not that her calm face indicated her rattled nerves to Ronon.

Ronon, on the other hand, didn't care who knew that he was frustrated and pissed off. His lips had been twisted into an almost permanent snarl since the fight at the caves. He even muttered things under his breath, but Teyla didn't need to hear them to know what he was saying.

Having lived with warriors all her life, she could guess the gist of his angry self-monologue.

"Colonel Sheppard?" was the immediate reaction to the gate activation and open wormhole. Dr. Weir's voice held the steel of her authority and the worry for her most experienced off world team.

Weir knew the experience had been hard won during the many difficult missions Atlantis' first team had fought and lived through. Now, it seemed there was yet another hardship that would force the team to face yet another difficult learning experience, possibly with loss of life.

"Dr. Weir, it is good to hear your voice. We are in need of help from Dr. Beckett and his team." Teyla was proud that her voice stayed steady as she talked to the female leader of the Earth expedition.

There was a pause in the communication and Teyla could almost envision the tightening of Elizabeth Weir's lips and the deepening of the small lines on her forehead. "Who is injured?" The question was professional, but her voice betrayed a thread of worry.

Ronon shook his head in irritation, letting his long hair slap against his shoulders with a pitter-patter sound. "Like she has to ask?" he muttered in a rough growl almost in Teyla's ear.

"Ronon," hissed Teyla. Sometimes she felt as if she was the de facto mother figure of this team of men. They seemed long on the ability to cause trouble, and they were short on manners and tact most of the time.

She wondered if Dr. Weir ever felt the same way.

Most likely.

"Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay had been forced into the Sodden Lands by a Wraith culling. The people who live here on P2M-649 had some very . . . disturbing things to say about what happens to people who wander into the swamp."

"A culling?" Weir's voice took on a new tone, one that conveyed anxiety at having been out of communication with her people long enough for a culling to have taken place. Long enough for her people to have been taken—fed upon—with her none the wiser until they missed the check in time.

"It was a very . . . disturbing experience, but the Wraith have now gone." Teyla looked around at the smoldering ruins and at the bodies too damaged for the Wraith to bother dragging away. "There is nothing left to do but hope for a recovery for these people. Many were taken."

There was a murmur of voices over the open link as Weir asked for Dr. Beckett. "Understood. I'll have Dr. Beckett here in a moment. I think it would be best if you debrief him directly about what may have happened to John and Rodney."

Teyla nodded wearily, not caring that Weir could not see her response.

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Rodney was tired, cold and sticky with mud; and the half chocolate bar in his vest pocket was calling his name.

Literally.

What?

McKay jumped and started slapping with his blistered and burned hands at the pocket that contained the suddenly vocal candy.

'Rodney, you know you want me. The Wraith are gone. Sheppard is sleeping. Ouch! Don't be this way Rodney!'

McKay jerked the chocolate out and threw it into the mud, the pain in his hands forgotten as he brought his gun up to target the candy warningly. He was afraid the damn thing would try to claw its way back to him.

He whimpered as he suddenly had the disturbing mental picture of the chocolate trying to force its way down his throat as he choked and coughed.

Rodney slowly started to shimmy away, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief as the chocolate on the ground did twitch in a slightly threatening manner.

'You can't eat me if you leave me here, Rodney. I'm getting all muddy.'

Without turning his head from the candy, Rodney started yelling. "Shut up, you! Colonel! No, no, no, no. I'm not hearing talking candy," Rodney hissed to himself. His left hand wiped nervously at his mucky pants. "It's the stress. Yeah. Seeing Sheppard stuck in the mud and then having the Wraith hunting you through the swamp. Stress. Colonel!"

He chanced a look to see John Sheppard with his eyes closed, lying in the cold mud. There was no movement. Maybe the candy was right and Sheppard was asleep.

"Colonel! I've . . . uh, we've got a problem. Wake up!"

The candy started to move across the ground. With a squeal, Rodney staggered back on shaky legs and almost lost his grip on his gun.

"Wake up!"

With a snort, Rodney jerked awake, Sheppard's hand still shaking his shoulder. "Watch out! The chocolate!" yelled the disoriented scientist as he shot upright to look Sheppard directly in his glassy eyes.

Rodney's right hand, his gun hand, was pointing over Sheppard's shoulder and toward the muddy swamp.

"Gee, McKay . . . I knew you could sleep anywhere . . . but in the middle of this stuff?" The Colonel shook his head, eased himself into a sitting position and tried to make out Rodney's face in the dark. "And . . . you do know that mud is not chocolate. Right? Or . . . did you have a bad . . . dream?"

Rodney's breath was whistling in and out, panic stamped all over his face. He didn't begin to calm down until his left hand poked into the chocolate bar's pocket to find it still safely ensconced.

No talking candy. No moving candy.

The nightmare started to fade but the adrenalin still pumped through his veins, making him jittery and nervous.

"Uh, no," Rodney squeaked before clearing his throat and lowering his shaking right arm. He wanted to frown because the Colonel witnessed him in the middle of a nightmare, but his face was stiff and sensitive to his movements. "Anyone call?"

Earlier, Rodney had handed over his radio and his gun before trying to get comfortable while waiting for rescue. Of course, that was after a short argument with Sheppard over McKay leaving him to go get help. It only took a few shaky attempts by both to stand to demonstrate that neither of them were in any shape to make it back without assistance.

At last contact, Teyla had at least known of Sheppard's troubles. Therefore, help should be coming. Eventually.

Sheppard shook his head and stuttered out a sigh. "No . . . haven't heard a thing."

"Oh." Rodney took a quick look at the sullenly dark sky. "Sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep," he mumbled in embarrassment.

"Are you . . . breathing okay?"

Rodney jerked his head back to look at Sheppard, again trying not to frown. "What?"

"You took . . . that explosion in the face."

Rodney tried to waive away Sheppard's concern, but stopped when his hands prickled with an uncomfortable throb. "My breathing is fine. For the moment." Panic began to creep in again. "Do you think I might have a delayed reaction? Yeah, yeah, yeah! I wasn't eaten by the Wraith but I could die slowly from a swollen airway. Choking for air—"

"Rodney—"

Forgetting the pain, McKay's arms started to flail. "Like a beached fish. Gasping for air! Beckett getting here about three minutes too late to do anything for me. Maybe I'll see a white light and a long tunnel. Oh, god, you don't think my dead Aunt Delia will be waiting for me? That woman hated my ever living guts and I wouldn't put it past her to—"

John's hand suddenly grabbed Rodney with surprising strength, even with the Colonel's current weakness, "It's fine, Rodney. You're fine. Just watch out for your hands. You need them . . . for your job."

John didn't want to mention the possibility of infection because of the burns to Rodney's hands, and because of Rodney's exposure to all the brackish water and slimy mud. Rodney was already wound up enough.

Rodney looked at his flapping hands and abruptly he curled them into his body for protection. He did need his hands—for a lot of thing. "Okay, watching out for the hands." He cleared his throat again, struggling for some control. "Are you okay?"

Sheppard tapped the radio twice and then he scowled at the slight hissing sound in his ear. "Yeah . . . I'm fine."

McKay snorted in disbelief as he saw Sheppard shivering again, making his hand on the earpiece shake. "You look it and sound it. My jacket is still over there if you need it."

They both slowly turned their heads to look at the soggy, blue paneled jacket lying on the wet ground. Still in the same place where it fell off John's shoulders as he was pulled from the mud pit by the Wraith.

"It's wet and muddy," said a disgusted John as he tried to wrap his arms around his chest to keep what little heat he still retained from escaping into the moist, cold air.

"You need to stay warm. It will help," insisted Rodney. "And you're already wet and muddy."

John shook his head. "Okay, but you go get it. I can't seem to move right now."

Rodney made a small noise of agreement, even knowing he probably couldn't pick up the sopping material with his burnt hands. That is, if he could make it over to the jacket to begin with.

Sheppard also knew he probably couldn't make it either.

McKay sat staring at the discarded coat with a focused look and slumped shoulders.

"Luke, use the Force."

"What?" blinked Rodney, his concentration broken for a moment.

John huffed his breath onto his cold hands and rubbed his arms. "We're on an alien world and . . . you're staring at that jacket as if you're trying to . . . raise an X-Wing out of a swamp."

"Oh, well I'm sure if it can be done, I can do it." He turned his glare back to the unresponsive coat. "I do use a lot more brain power than most on this expedition. A lot more."

The coat stayed exactly where it was. It seemed almost to mock him and his huge brain capacity.

Damn coat.

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After his talk with Teyla, Dr. Carson Beckett was in a foul mood as he supervised his medical team, and the packing of their supplies.

He really, really hated off-world missions.

"Do you really need all of this," asked Weir as she dodged two scampering nurses holding big bulky blue suits, and she barely caught herself from falling over a stack of boxes.

Elizabeth swallowed hard as she recognized the blue containment suits that had been used when the city had been locked down during an outbreak of the nanovirus.

"Aye. From what Teyla tells me, we'll need this and more." Beckett seemed reluctant to speak, but he shook his head and continued. "Now, I know this will be unwelcome news, but I don't think I can bring them back to Atlantis for treatment."

"What!" Elizabeth's eyes were wide and her shoulders were thrown back as if she were getting ready for an argument. It was funny that in times of crisis she seemed almost more military than civilian when she clasped her hands behind her back like that. "Carson, I've read the report on that society. They don't have the medical technology to—"

Carson understood. Truly, he did. He wasn't happy about it himself. "Now, you know what happened when the nanovirus was loose in the city. The city took steps to protect itself. I really don't want the whole city to lock down as soon as I bring them through the gate."

"Can't you put them in hazmat suits? The city ignored Teyla and John when they were in hazmat suits during the emergency."

Carson sighed and leaned against a stack of supplies. "Aye, it did, but the Colonel and Teyla were not infected with the nanovirus and the suits kept them clean. It may be a different story this time, and I don't know if the city will like us bringing in two, maybe more, contaminated personnel through the gate, suits or no suits."

"I don't like it," replied Weir softly. "There was a culling there, Carson. There's no telling how much help or equipment will be left in the town for them or for you."

Carson smiled wearily. "No troubles. I'm sure you'll be glad to lob what we need through the gate."

She reached out a hand and patted his elbow. "Anything you need, Carson. Anything to get you all back safe and sound."

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The Colonel appeared to be sleeping again, but Rodney wasn't sure. McKay took his right hand away from its tucked position long enough to check Sheppard's breathing and pulse.

Having taken his own pulse several thousands times since he read that symptoms of diseases book when he was eight years old, he could do it without looking at a watch.

He frowned when the Colonel's pulse seemed weak and thready.

Maybe Rodney's burnt hand was keeping him from taking an accurate pulse.

Sure.

The respirations he could tell just by looking at the rise and fall of his friend's chest. It seemed shallow, but he'd seen Sheppard on overnight missions breathing just as shallow when the team had to share sleeping space in some mud hut or some patch of bare dirt.

So, hopefully, Sheppard was okay.

Rodney's rosy diagnosis was contradicted when John's body shivered and he tried to curl into a tight ball in the cool mud.

McKay sighed and looked at the peaceful sky. It was soothing with the new dawn colors of pink and yellow highlighting the puffy cream-colored clouds. Just like a fairy tale view depicted in some kid's book.

Very different from the horrifying star-studded blackness that supported screaming Darts as they scooped up living beings to be fed upon by the hungry Wraith Hive.

McKay shifted a little closer to Sheppard, hoping to share what little warmth he had left even though he knew it probably wouldn't make a difference at this point.

Rodney carefully pulled John closer with his forearms under his friend's arms and hugged him to his chest. The scientist slipped his arms under John's moist coat and let his curled hands rest on John's cold back. Sheppard's head fell forward to lay on McKay's shoulder.

Rodney then let his head thunk against a raised tree root and contemplated the morning sky's display as he hoped with all his heart that Sheppard would be okay until help arrived.

They had given up the radio vigil since all that came through was static and the gun was securely in Sheppard's leg holster since neither one would be able to fight off a swarm of gnats at the moment let alone fire off a 9 mil.

McKay didn't know what the Colonel had thought, but Rodney was sure that the time for rescue was getting close. He believed it like a man lost in the desert is sure that water is just over the next dune or just past the next expanse of sand.

And he knew his team. He knew Carson and Elizabeth.

The culling was long over; Teyla and Ronon would have contacted Atlantis by now. Elizabeth and Carson would be along as soon as they could with help. Probably bring an army of nurses and techs and stacks of warm blankets, and coffee.

Rodney was still contemplating the wonders of hot coffee when Sheppard unexpectedly shifted.

"No sounds," whispered a hoarse voice near Rodney's ear.

McKay flinched and shifted to look at Sheppard's tired face resting against his vest. "What?"

Hazel eyes opened long enough to look past McKay at the empty swamp with the stands of trees and tangles of roots. "No sounds, no moment, no life . . . not like Florida."

Rodney carefully scrunched up and looked around for animals, lizards, bugs or other crawly things, but there was nothing. "Seems good to me. I already have muck in places I don't want to contemplate. I definitely don't want to be picking this place's version of leaches out of my underwear when we get back to Atlantis."

John didn't seem to hear him as his glassy eyes gazed at the brightening sky. "Doesn't seem . . . right."

Then he was out again.

McKay tried to keep his rising panic under control until medical help could arrive, and he could relinquish his friend into their care.

Then he could break down in comfort once he was safely ensconced in an infirmary bed with clean sheets and all the Jell-O he could eat.

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Teyla was waiting at the stargate when Dr. Beckett and his team came through with several cases of equipments and supplies.

"Ah, Teyla, how are you?" asked Carson as he carefully put down the case he was carrying, and as he surveyed the area with a veiled nervous look.

The Athosian leader felt a brief flash of affection for the poor doctor. He was never completely comfortable being away from his infirmary on Atlantis.

It was completely understandable that he was tense after his previous experiences with unfamiliar cultures. The results were often painful for the man.

"I am fine, Dr. Beckett." She let her P-90 hang from her vest as she leaned in to help with the quickly rising pile of equipment. "The Director of the town has inspected their medical facility and he says that it is safe for you to use."

Carson seemed to relax slightly. "That's good news, love. Lead the way."

Teyla slowly nodded her head, looking at him with that sideways glance she used, the one that made her look wise and completely in control.

Carson felt his anxiety slip a little further into the background as he let out a breath. He had patients who needed to be found and transported to the medical facility.

Time was wasting.

Beckett started organizing his teams and they struggled to the town to set up a field hospital of sorts.

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Ronon was getting impatient. It had been hours since Teyla last saw Sheppard and McKay. For all they knew, Sheppard was dead and McKay was lost in some tainted fog somewhere in the swamp.

Teyla had left to meet Dr. Beckett and help him with his supplies, so Ronon was left in the town to guard the medical building that would be used for Sheppard and McKay when they were found.

Ronon shifted and let his hand caress his gun. It was still set to 'kill' and he wasn't in a hurry or in a mood to change the setting.

The people of the town were beginning to give off strange vibes that put the former Runner on edge.

Sullen and bloody people from the caves were collecting in the streets. A dull murmur of strained voices came from the small mob.

Dark looks were thrown at Ronon, and hands were raised as small arguments broke out amongst the crowd. That led to more dark looks at Ronon and the building at his back.

Ronon caressed his gun again and let the butt stay in his hand.

Mobs were never good.

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McKay looked up and laughed.

So what if it had a slightly hysterical tone?

"What?" slurred Sheppard as he woke from his stupor.

McKay shook his head and he just nodded for John to look.

Sheppard painfully turned from McKay's shoulder to see big blue blobs coming in their direction through the mangrove-like trees and roots.

The big blue blobs seemed to be having a difficult time getting through the tangles and vines.

"Bloody hell!" snarled an accented voice as two slim trees tried to pull the contamination suit from Beckett's back.

Sheppard snorted. It wasn't exactly a laugh, but it was the best he could manage since he was feeling like hell. "Seems like Doc . . . to the rescue."

McKay let out a fretful breath. He let his doomsday predictions about their health fall away at the sight of Carson Beckett and four of his personnel. Gently, he lay John on his back in the mud and patted him on the chest as Sheppard made a sound of pain.

Rodney watched the approaching figures with happiness until he recognized what the blue suits were . . .

TBC