Carson walked the halls carefully, not because of his injuries, but as a result of timidity. He hated bugs. His experience with them was enough to force him to hide in his office for nearly an hour while he regained his composure.

Seven had died from internal injuries. Five others were bunked up in the makeshift infirmary that hadn't been blown to hell by gunfire. It was a miracle that so much equipment survived, he was certain the soldiers didn't intend to destroy the very means of keeping them on their feet. On the other hand, it was such a mess. The bugs moved about with an alarming speed, and it had turned into merely firing at something black and moving. Some very valuable equipment was sacrificed to save the life of the patients. Unfortunately two of the patients had been attached to them at the time, which caused a scare.

It was after they had settled that he holed himself up.

A man need a break. When they first arrived, it was pure science and the odd flu. Now it was genetic therapy and manipulation, experimentation of a nature he never considered, on a scale he wouldn't have dreamt of. His mum would have fixed him a nice mug of tea. He ended up wandering the halls, wondering where Colonel Sheppard and his men were.

Sheppard had been released an hour earlier. He was needed; there was no reason to keep him locked away in the infirmary. Carson had given him an antibiotic, and shoo'ed him away. The bite was red and sore, but no longer infected. The effects had worn off, and thirty minutes after waking he had been itching to leave.

Rodney had retreated to the biology labs. Carson considered joining him for a moment before returning to his work, but his eye caught sight of a large figure propped against one of the huge stained glass windows that decorated the city. Ronon.

Carson approached him cautiously. "Ronon? You okay, lad?"

It might have seemed odd, calling such a large, imposing figure a lad, but Ronon visibly warmed up to it. He rolled his body to leaned back against the wall, folding his arms in front of him. "Are you?" he asked deeply.

"Aye, I'm right as rain, thanks. Now don't avoid the question."

Ronon smiled wryly and turned. "I'm fine."

Carson joined him, and took in the view for the first time. "Holy Hannah."

"Lot of them."

"And they're all headed here?"

"Seems that way."

"Are we going to evacuate?" Carson's voice was rising as he watched the black mass bob on the waves.

"Dunno. Nothing's been said."

Carson faced him. "What do you think we should do?"

Ronon fixed his green-eyed gaze on the doctor. No one usually asked his opinion in this manner. They listened to him, sure, and he offered his point of view, but this was a serious question. His head cocked as he thought. "We can't fight this without damaging the city. So it depends on how bad it gets. Maybe they'll pass us."

"Do you really believe that?"

"No."

The men watched in silence as the threat floated closer. But Carson found, in his irritation, that he couldn't stomach the stillness of the larger man. So he backed away, and silently continued down the hall.

"Rodney, come on!"

Rodney was dragging his feet. He was embarrassed, and he hated the feeling. "I didn't ask for a kiddie escort, alright? Believe it or not, I can make it to the bio lab all by myself!"

"And considering what's going on, I think you need an escort! Now humor me!" John shifted his weapon.

"It's bugs, Colonel. Just bugs. And you're scarily overprotective."

"And you're not the least bit unnerved by them."

"Unnerved, no. Scared shitless, definitely. Hence the need to get to the biolab and figure out what's going on, so why the hell are we going this way?"

John's lips tightened as he stopped, glancing at the ceiling for support in not killing the man beside him, and whipped out his life signs detector. "Here."

Rodney snatched the gameboy-looking device from him. He studied it for a minute, then handed it back. "I see."

"So we go in the back door."

"I never realized there were so many already here . . ."

"Gives infestation a new meaning." John suddenly held up his hand.

"What?"

"Shhh!" He angled his head toward the end of the hall. "Come on."

"I didn't hear . . ."

"Now, Rodney!" John was already running, and Rodney scrambled to keep up. It wasn't long before a body stopped them.

"Crap," John muttered, carefully flipping the figure onto it's back. He sighed heavily. "Reeves. Dammit!"

"Is – is he . . ."

"Yeah."

"Because of . . ."

"Uh-huh."

"I see."

"Would you stop saying that? It's like your crisis mantra."

"Well, what would you have me say? 'Alas poor Reeves, I knew him not'?"

"That's cold, McKay."

"I'm not known for my warmth and comfort, thank you very much!"

John stood slowly, his eyes pinning Rodney's like darts. "He's dead, McKay. Show a little respect!"

"Hey, I have nothing but respect for the dead, okay? So don't start . . .wait . . .wait, wait, wait . ."

He was sure he saw something move, a flicker of an eye that showed the man wasn't dead.

Rodney fell to his knees and leaned in closely, placing a hand on the soldier's chest.

The eyelid fluttered, bulged. A small bug scurried from beneath it.

Rodney yelled and scrambled backwards, feeling his jacket tug and pull as John quickly grabbed him and slid him across the floor, away from the body. "What is that? What the hell is that?"

"Come on . . ."

"They're inside him!"

"Shut up and MOVE!" John pulled Rodney to his feet as the insects started to flood from every opening in the man's body. His skin rippled and split into long, red tears, his eyes bulged. The mouth opened in a silent, dead scream, and a river of scratchy blackness crawled out.

They moved. Fast.

The corridor came to a t-junction, then to a door leading into the next hallway. John shoved Rodney though the door, mentally closing it as the bugs ran towards them. It moved slowly, and John wondered why the hell the Atlanteans didn't design doors that slammed shut. Several bugs were squashed in the frame, blue goo puddling below them, but not before others made it through."GO! Go, go, go!" He pushed the scientist down the hall.

"NO, oh God, waitwaitwait . . ." Rodney had stopped, he was grabbing the back of his neck. "Oh god . . ."

"Rodney!"

"Get it off! Get it the fuck off!" He thrashed, feeling the crawl but unable to find the culprit. His hands reached behind him, then to his ears and eyes, trying to keep the bug from crawling inside of him.

John tore off Rodney's jacket and shirt, and flung them both down the hall towards the oncoming mass. Rodney backed away, his hands desperately searching his skin. John grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hall and into a transporter.

Once inside they stopped. Rodney slowly sank to the floor and curled around himself, his eyes wide. John just watched him, unable to offer his friend any support, feeling the shock himself. The doors opened just as his ass hit the floor, and neither man moved, except to look up into the astonished face of Carson Beckett.

He blinked once, and asked in his typical bedside manner, "What the bloody hell happened to you?"