Here is another part. I said I'd have the whole story posted by Monday. It might not all be posted by Monday, maybe Tuesday. Found the ending, it is pretty bare bones...

Part 3

"They are leaving." Ronon stood leaning against the entrance of the cave staring at the sky. The darts flew in from all directions with the appearance of undisciplined chaos however, to the educated eye the precision and skill of the pilots was astounding.

Sheppard stared at the sky with a touch of awe.

"They will leave some behind on the ground," Teyla spoke quietly and then turned to stare at Sheppard. "It is what they do."

"Can we access the gate?" The colonel asked. He looked over his shoulder again and stared at the figure that lay quietly bound hand and foot in the back of the cave.

Beckett occasionally moved his hands rubbing them into the dirt. Bugs. He had seen bugs; teeny wee ants if one was to listen to the Doc. No one else could see them. The imaginary insects didn't seem to bother Carson but every so often he would smudge his fist into the dirt as if squishing one.

Rodney kept his distance, fiddling with his scanners. He gave them ample warning using the life signs detector whenever a stray Wraith party would chance upon their area.

As a group they remained hidden, quiet and undetected. In those times nervous eyes fell to Beckett who mumbled to himself with half hooded eyes carrying on quiet conversations with figures only he could see and hear. More times than not he would chuckle at something unseen and unheard, crane his head as if following people and voices. He did not seem to notice that his wrists or ankles were bound nor did it bother him. Though on occasion, he did gnaw on the plastic restraints as if in a moment of clarity he noticed his bindings.

"The gate will deactivate when the last dart goes through," Ronon answered and followed Sheppard's gaze to the back of the cave.

"He seems content," Teyla remarked as she watched Beckett rub the side of his head and then rub his hands into the dirt. Another imaginary bug wiped out.

"He's stoned out of his mind," Rodney stated with exasperation.

"He is quiet," Ronon reminded.

"Quieter," Sheppard clarified.

Beckett rolled onto his back and then to his other side. He swiped at his head with a hint of irritability and then settled down. He remained motionless caught somewhere between unconsciousness and sleep.

The group turned their attention back to the darts that whined through the sky dipping toward the ground to disappear through the activated stargate.

"When they're gone, we go," Sheppard announced.


The first thing Beckett became aware of was the pounding, drumming pain that thundered and crammed itself through his head.

The second thing was the bruising and burning discomfort that radiated from a pressing, blunt, focal point in his gut. It hammered and beat into his abdomen with a steady, pounding cadence.

He groaned. His head threatened to explode. He wished it luck.

His head bounced into something soft and then rebounded off of it.

The movement sparked explosive and intense nausea that resulted in the brutal expulsion of everything and anything he had ever eaten. His midsection seized.

His head was crushed with demanding and compressing agony as repeated wave after wave of violent sickness spasmed up through his gut and out his reflexively opened mouth.

Beyond his own muted cries, he heard someone curse and then nothing.

The second time Beckett felt himself come back to life, his head still hurt with tenacious misery. Bruising pressure still drummed through his abdomen and a metallic acrid taste coated his mouth. He cautiously ran his tongue over his fuzzy teeth and found bits of debris wedged in the back of his incisors. It struck him as strange. Moving his tongue hurt his head and made his stomach gurgle. He left the debris alone.

His head banged against something soft, rebounded and then banged again. A dreaded sense of deja-vu filled him.

Nausea flared.

He groaned. It made his head hurt more; he groaned again, his head hurt even more.

His stomach got involved. It forced a whimper.

Someone beyond his feeble attempts at sensory perception muttered, "Oh no" and then his stomach brutally discharged its meager contents and once again he found himself violently and painfully sick.

This time, however, he stayed conscious enough to feel himself get shifted as his stomach tried to forcibly throw itself up into the space occupied by his lungs; diaphragm be damned.

He groaned again and feebly grasped for anything to hold onto. It was then he realized his shoulders burned. His wrists felt glued together but it made no difference to him as his stomach continued its convulsive attempts to escape through his nose and mouth, crawling its way over his heart and lungs.

It left him gasping and whimpering in pain.

"Easy, Dr. Beckett, you will survive this," Teyla soothed from somewhere far away. He so desperately wanted to tell her he didn't wish to survive this and hoped someone put him out of his misery soon.

His stomach attempted its third Coup. He thought for sure he lost a lung, or it was at least wedged up in a sinus. His hands clawed feebly at something grainy and harsh. He didn't care what it was as he tried to gain purchase against the violent and surprising strength of his stomach's suicidal revolt.

A hand slid within his grasp and returned his desperate grip. There was something soothing about it. His stomach once again heaved. He cried out, hoarse, expelling air, bile and painful groans. His hands clenched reflexively, trying to fist and curl. A surprisingly strong grip returned his hold and offered their own strength.

His stomach gave up its aggressive attempt to escape his body through his mouth and he fell back into something soft, warm and pliable.

A breeze ghosted over his sweat dotted skin and a chill trembled sore muscles. He moaned and settled heavily against the warm soft backdrop that supported him. He'd give anything to be relieved of this misery.

His bound hands lost their tight reflexive grip and loosened, freeing Teyla's smaller ones.

He missed Rodney's worried glance as he melted into the Athosian. McKay stared at Sheppard who stood guard over the small group. They were only a few miles from the stargate.

They could make it. Maybe.

Carson missed hearing the worried voices, seeing the concern exchange of glances and Ronon changing his shirt after having been vomited on twice.

He thankfully missed being hauled to collapsing feet and once again hefted over the runner's shoulders. The group headed quickly once again for the stargate.

He missed the running firefight.


The pain in his head brought tears to his eyes. The burning ache in his gut had the tears spilling over his lower lids and freefalling to the ground.

Motion bounced him back and forth pivoting on a single point that burrowed ruthlessly into his sore midsection. "Stop…please." He begged in a voice that barely reached his own ears. The plaintive raspy sound surprised him.

The motion continued.

"Please…stop….please," he tried again. His eyes focused on nothing. Everything was blurry and would then almost focus and then blur again.

Fat salt water droplets fell from his eyes.

"Hey, hold up." It was Rodney's voice. Beckett nearly cried out in relief. Instead he managed only a pitiful moan. The action brought more pain to his midsection and more tears leaked from his eyes.

"Carson?" Rodney's face suddenly twisted into his narrow vision of focus.

"Please, stop," Carson whispered. His head drummed with fierce pain. His abdomen knotted and burned with every jolting move. It felt as if someone had driven a blunt stake through his gut and pooled all his blood into his head.

"Put him down, put him down," Rodney's short directives were music to Carson's drumming ears. Suddenly the crushing pressure left his midsection.

"Watch his head." Hands grabbed at him. They were warm and gentle.

"I've got'im." Someone eased his head down, nearly level with his shoulders. The blinding pain behind his eyes dissipated slightly. Someone lifted his head and placed something soft under it, elevating it slightly.

A gritty hand wiped at his face. It hurt. His skin hurt, crawled with unpleasant sensations. He wanted to go home.

He blinked, noticed the blue sky and white clouds and for a moment thought they might be back on Earth. Maybe a bad night down the pub with his cousins. The boys, when together, could cause quite a row. It always made his mum worry. But nothing too bad ever came of such nights. He and his cousins watched out for one another.

"Carson?" Rodney's face floated into his view.

"Ro'ny," Carson mumbled. He didn't have a cousin Rodney. Carson tried to raise a hand but his wrists still felt stuck together. Trapped. Confined. Maybe it was the pub. Perhaps Chief O'Connor had had enough of him and his cousins. His mum and uncles would be angry, disappointed. It panicked him, but he had no fight left. He'd worry about it later.

Teyla's elegant features replaced Rodney's. "Would you like some water?"

Carson felt his stomach gurgled and was unsure if he was thirsty or going to be sick. He stared at the Athosian blankly trying to decide if cold water would settle. There weren't Athosians down Harrison's Pub.

Apparently he hesitated too long. Teyla's face was replaced by Sheppard's. "Good to see you back. Think you can walk?"

They often had to walk home from the pub, many times he couldn't recall the blind stagger up the hill back to his mum's home…normally it was he that carried one of his larger cousins home. Liam sometimes got into a spot of trouble with his drink.

"Walk? Are you crazy, look at him." Rodney's voice sounded off in the distance.

"We need Ronon's gun," Sheppard answered looking away from Carson off to the side.

The colonel then looked back down at Beckett and smiled crookedly, "Hey, doc you in there?"

"Aye," Beckett breathed. He tried moving his hands again. He felt them lift slightly from his midsection but then settle heavily across his lower belly. It hurt, made his stomach gurgle in a threatening manner. He didn't dare swallow.

Carson knew Sheppard watch his movements as well. Colonel Sheppard didn't go to Harrison's with his cousins. Everything seemed just out of his reach, just out of his grasp. The clouds moved too slow and seemingly in the wrong direction. The sky was just a touch too blue. The breeze across his bare arms felt a bit too sharp. "Feel funny."

Sheppard chuckled, "Yeah, I bet you do. Those villagers knocked your ass for a loop." He sobered slightly and looked serious, "Doc, we got Wraith all around us. You think if we get you on your feet you can walk?"

"Been since wee bairn," Carson muttered. He let his eyes drift closed for a moment. The relentless breeze sliced through his skin and scoured against his bones. His muscles felt too heavy.

He heard a chuckle off in the distance. Then someone was tapping his cheek. "Come on Doc stay with us. I'll cut your feet free. Think you can walk to the gate?"

"Is Peter goin' to follow us?" Beckett whispered keeping his eyes closed.

"Peter?" Sheppard asked looking up at McKay and the others with curiosity. McKay shrugged and twirled his index finger next to his ear.

"Grodin," Beckett breathed, settling heavily into the dirt. "He wants to come back, too."

"Ahhh." Sheppard gazed up to the others looking for suggestions. Dex shrugged with a 'Why not' indifference. Teyla raised an elegant eyebrow. McKay took a breath and nodded hesitantly.

"Sure, Doc, the more the merrier---Now lets go---on your feet. Remember we've got to walk."

"Walk." Beckett mumbled. Yes. He could walk, been walking for years, although at the moment he'd rather ride in an auto. He let his eyes close. Liam and sometimes Brendan or Sean and occasionally Edward but rarely Peter or Henry, got terribly heavy on the trek home after a night at Harrison's. Michael and Robby hardly ever ventured out with them but they occasionally talked Paddy into going and Duncan. Thankfully, Arthur was away most times, that boy and trouble just naturally found one another…much like Rodney and Ronon.

"God, how long is he going to be like this?---How many cousins does he have?" Rodney's frustrated exasperation floated over Beckett. A hand tapped his face sparking him to open his eyes.

The wind was whispering to him. He felt free, but his muscles felt too heavy to embrace the new freedom. So maybe not so free.

Carson didn't feel Sheppard cut the restraints from around his ankles. Once again someone was tapping his cheek. "Okay Doc on your feet. You ready?"

He didn't bother answering verbally but instead smiled crookedly. He wasn't ready for anything. He'd just as soon float away on the gentle breeze. Perhaps soak up another pint.

"Shit," Sheppard muttered to himself. "No pints here, Doc." There was a pause and then the Colonel again, "Okay, up we go."

Carson didn't feel the sets of hands that lifted and cajoled him to his feet. He didn't register the voices that tried to encourage him or the panic in their voices as his knees buckled.

"Shit. Shit..shit..shit."

"Damn it! Grab him. Watch his head."

"I knew this was a bad idea." McKay's grumble had Beckett moaning.

"You could have said something sooner, McKay." Sheppard's frustrated retort had Beckett opening his eyes again. He found himself staring at the sky. Blue. It made him smile.

"Blue."

"Oh God." McKay muttered somewhere in the background.

"Yeah, Doc the sky's blue," Sheppard agreed. "You ready to try again?"

"Wha..?"

"You faded out on us Doc." Sheppard smiled half heartedly, leaning into Beckett's narrowed field of vision blocking out the vibrant blue sky.

"Faded," Beckett mumbled, smiling when he caught sight of the blue just around Sheppard's head.

"He fainted."

"Dr. McKay, now is not the time." Teyla's cool voice sliced through the breeze.

"I can carry him again." Ronon's deep admission had Beckett blinking and his smile fading. Carry who? Not Liam. Liam dropped him once on his head, gave Carson a crick in his neck for a full week. His mum didn't have much sympathy for him. It had made his neck ache that much more debilitating.

"We're going to need your gun sooner rather than later." Sheppard turned his attention back to Beckett. "Come on Doc, open your eyes. You with me?"

"Aye." Carson smiled lazily, "Ohh, Hello Dr. Dumais." An innocent pleased grin dimpled his cheeks. Pinpoint blue eyes followed the movement of a hallucination just behind Sheppard's shoulder.

"Oh, great, Dumais now?" Rodney said flashing his arms upward with frustrated exasperation. "We got a parade of dead people with us."

"Ohh, 'n Sergeant Markham," Beckett's grin grew into a full fledged smile.

"Oh, gee can we go now?" McKay uttered. "Looks like the gangs all here." He lost a bit of his sarcastic edge, "lets not forget the Wraith, shall we?"

"Umm, that's good Doc. Real Good. Now listen," Sheppard tapped Beckett's face again. "Stay with me Doc. We're going to get you on your feet. You lean on us if you have too, but I want you stay on your feet you understand me."

"Feet," Beckett repeated.

"Yeah, Doc stay on your feet." Sheppard patted his shoulder in encouragement.

"Peter broke a metatarsal in Antarctica," Beckett's non-sequitor had Sheppard pausing for a moment and then shaking his head.

"Oh, this is so useless."

"Shut up, McKay."

"Rodney," Carson repeated with a bit of unhinged joy.

"Look at that, McKay, it just takes getting stoned for someone to be happy you're around," Sheppard joked.

"Oh you're a laugh a minute, Colonel, just a barrel of humor." Rodney's sarcastic retort had Sheppard smiling. He turned his attention back to Beckett to find the physician with his eyes closed.

"No, Doc. I want you to think about staying on your feet."

"More than 30.48 centrimetres" Beckett clarified.

"Yeah, sure, Doc." The encouraging pat on his shoulder was welcomed.

"Where'r they?"

"Not important," Sheppard clarified. "Okay, let's try this again. Slower this time." The colonel looked to the others and then back to Beckett, "Stay on your feet. You got that?"

"304.8 millimetres," Beckett mumbled. No pat on the shoulder. Damn.

"Carson, shut up," Rodney directed with an air of incredulous impatience.

Once again hands reached down and gently guided him upward. They paused when they had him sitting up. He leaned heavily to the side. It felt like Ronon. Ronon was not like the gentle flaying of an icy breeze. He smelled like vomit.

"Okay, on your feet," Sheppard ordered and soon hands were lifting and tugging him to his feet.

The world greyed and swirled around him. He shut his eyes and lethargy pooled around him, draping over him as his blood dropped to his feet. He wanted to go back to sleep.

"No! Damn it, Carson!" McKay ground out through clenched teeth. He cinched his hand tighter around Beckett's upper arm.

"Beckett!" Sheppard was shouting in his ear. "Stay on your feet." It was a scolding, frustrated tone, like an angry, disappointed coach.

"Feet," Beckett muttered, wanting back into the good graces of his team.

"Yeah, your feet, that's it." Sheppard encouraged. He watched as Beckett took a little more weight on his legs and the slow small weaving circles slowly dissipated.

"You alright?"

A received an unarticulated grunt for an answer.

Sheppard sighed, "Good.---Now open your eyes."

Beckett complied and then shut them again. The light hurt his head. He heard the Colonel talk to someone else. "McKay, get his other arm. Ronon take point. Teyla you watch our back trail." Then the voice was directed toward him. "Okay, Doc, lets try out those feet of yours. Let's go."

Beckett felt himself stutter step and nearly go down but hands grabbed for him and kept him upright. "That's alright doc; Doing good. Keep going."

Soon they were walking forward in relative silence.

A few moments later the silence was broken by the quiet declaration, "Horses are hindgut fermenters."

Rodney furrowed his brow, "What? What? Carson, who cares?"

"Wombats too," Beckett answered with a sloppy smile on his face.

McKay leaned forward and looked across Beckett to Sheppard.

The colonel merely quirked an eyebrow and shrugged. Who knew?

The group weaved their way toward the gate.