Well, I'm done watching the corn grow today. Here is part 2. The last part (3) should be here tomorrow...and then the epilogue after some time later. Its written, but watching the corn is taking all my time.

Part 2

The blue sky eventually faded to light grey. Shadows stretched, the breeze picked up and dust and debris fell a little quicker and a little more solid.

Not a soul shouted for survivors. Time crawled pass. The breeze whispered into a wind and cool temperatures dipped to cold.

Carson flittered and flirted with the waking world. He stared at McKay on occasion, spoke nonsense, jabbered without coherency and drifted off more times than not mid-sentence.

McKay had tried to assess Beckett's level of orientation and consciousness and finally concluded he had neither the patience nor inclination to pursue such things. There was nothing he could do for Carson at the moment if things should go bad for Beckett.

The grey of sunset quickly bled away to the darkness of true night.

In the blackest part of the night, when temperatures dropped and the breeze sliced through his skin like a flaying knife, McKay intermittently found Beckett staring at him. It was then Rodney would try to engage Carson in conversation, ask questions, make erroneous statements and seek agreement on things that should have sent the Scotsman into a tizzy.

Each time Beckett would merely close his eyes and drift away, unconcerned, uncaring, or most likely unaware of the dropping temperature, the lingering intense fear of Wraith, and burden of knowing they had been abandoned.

McKay lay awake, alert, listening and staring up through the hole in the ceiling. He stared at the sky, watched as stars slowly became visible. He tried making shapes, drawing lines and creating constellations. There was no Big Dipper to be seen, no formidable and fearless Orion or majestic Leo. None of them were to be found. Nothing familiar.

He missed Canada. He missed his sky, his stars. He missed maple sugar, his coffee and his favorite sandwiches from the corner gas station just down the street from his old apartment.

The cold leached into his bones.

Pain, it seemed, was inversely related to temperature.

McKay gently rubbed at the lateral aspect of his thigh trying to sooth the horrific ache that ate its way up from his broken leg. He cringed with only the barest hint of vocal discomfort as large muscle bodies cramped and contracted.

With each movement his shoulder was jarred. Pain waved through him in endless waves.

He was trapped in a collapsed building, in a broken body with no hope of relief in sight.

Frustration built, knotting his abdominal muscles, clenching his jaw, bulging masseter muscles and inadvertently flexing leg muscles. Broken bones shifted. Splintered ends of bones that were not meant to be splintered crossed paths with electrifying intensity and pain so pure that it brought tears to his eyes.

McKay ground his teeth and hissed in his breath as he clutched cautiously at his thigh. It shifted his shoulder. A desperate gurgle bubbled forth. His hand froze near his injured thigh, praying his leg would not flair with pain.

Quadriceps flexed and knotted, his knee bent and his calf muscles bound and balled like the punishing fists of a fanatic. Rodney rolled to his left uncaring of his injured shoulder until he jostled it. Still, he rolled and curled into himself dragging his broken leg closer to his chest, dragging his limp ankle and foot through the fine soot of debris and destruction.

He lay panting, eyes squeezed shut with such intensity that little sparks of light flittered and flashed behind closed lids. His stomach rolled and bile rose.

At that moment, he hated the Pegasus Galaxy.

After a time, the excruciating pain that came in building waves receded and let go of its grip, ebbing away slightly, granting its victim a chance to catch his breath.

Rodney sighed and opened his eyes, unaware of the pink tinged saliva that dripped from the corner of his mouth.

No sounds of footsteps. No calls of rescuers. No search parties dotted the night.

The wind scoured the land. The sounds of ruined construction collapsing outside, sometimes far away, sometimes ominously close, sent his pulse racing and fear spiking. He found himself holding his breath and waiting---hoping for a rescue and fearing discovery by lingering marauding Wraith.

Those times he envied Carson's oblivious state. The CMO had to be in a bad way. Perhaps he wouldn't survive the night? Or worse, survive but no longer be Carson. The Carson he knew and, God forbid, respected. It would be like death, but worse.

McKay lay slightly on his side, curled clutching his useless leg with his one useful hand. As the pain systematically built and crashed through him, he shut his eyes, ground his teeth and breathed harshly through clenched teeth. When the pain receded, granted him a reprieve, he would open his eyes and stare through the thick shadows at Beckett's still silhouette.

Maybe they would die out here alone, away from home, with no friends or family about. Rodney would gladly concede that he didn't need his family, but Carson did. The man was worse than a big floppy eared dog with a nose to head home. Rodney didn't pretend to understand it.

However, right now, in the dead of night, he would gladly give anything to have the colonel nearby and Teyla and even Ronon. Any of his team. What he wouldn't give at the moment to have one of them here with them. Or to be back in Canada.

Buildings didn't tend to fall on him in Canada. Nor did people shoot at him on a regular basis or stun him or shower him with poisoned darts, or try to suck the life from him. Canada was a virtual paradise.

But his team wasn't there and this wasn't Canada. Wishes didn't make anything happen and they were about as useful as organized religion. Wishes were crutches and prayers were private wishes. Rodney didn't need a crutch when he had his mind.

By the light of the moon, Rodney found himself occasionally staring into the dazed and lost expression of Beckett.

"Go to sleep, Carson," McKay whispered. There was no reason for the two of them to suffer the cold, the nauseating pain, the loneliness and the stunning homesickness that struck without warning in the dead of night on a world so far from their home that the number of zeros involved were too many to write long hand.

A slight smile curved the corner of McKay's mouth when Beckett's eyes would flutter close on demand.

There was no reason for them both to suffer. Not here, not like this. Not alone.

As the temperature dropped and the minutes stretched to hours, it seemed as if their chances for survival slipped away.

Each fierce spike of pain that lashed his leg and roared through his shoulder seemed to sap a little more hope from him.

Where was Sheppard? Where was his team? They should have been here by now searching for survivors if they thought they were any.

SGA-1 would never leave one of their team behind. None of the off world teams would do that. Not Lorne, not Galvin, not Shaunessy, not McDermit, not O'Leary, or Timolty or any of the others. They came back through the gate with everyone. Maybe not everyone upright; maybe not without sparking a few curses from their CMO when he met them in the gate room, or a few silently shed tears if Biro was called in to sharpen her knives behind closed doors. They might not all survive but they all came back through the gate one way or another.

The stargate was a wondrous beguiling piece of technology. It was almost art, but incredibly more useful.

McKay smiled as he pictured the fluid surface, the crystals, the incredible simplicity of its working and the beautifully complicated math that made it work with unnerving flawless accuracy. Unless Kavanagh touched it.

McKay's smile dipped into a frown. What if Kavanagh worked on the Stargate at home? No doubt Zelenka could probably fix it, but time was of the essence.

The punishing silence of night stretched on as temperatures dropped. Time slipped past with all the urgency and speed of chilled molasses from a spilled glass.

Rodney carefully rolled slightly onto his shoulder and reached out a shaking hand and felt for a pulse on Carson's neck. It took a few tries and just as panic was setting in, the soft steady drum of a solid pulse rolled like tiny ocean swells under his dirty fingertips.

Yeah, Carson was still with him. Carson wouldn't leave him. Scared as he was of his own shadow or so it seemed at times, Beckett would stand by Rodney. They had been friends for a long while. Long enough to learn that both would stay together, right or wrong, they stood together, perhaps with ire in their voices, and promise for payback ringing in their ears. McKay knew Beckett would be at his shoulder. Just as Rodney hoped he would stay by Carson.

Through thick and thin.

Well, maybe not too thick or too thin. But pretty much through most things, they would stand together. Having Carson drifting in and out like he was, made it easier to believe Beckett would stick close…and of course, having his own leg snapped and shoulder wrecked, pretty much assured McKay that he wouldn't leave Carson either.

They might not be military, but they sure as heck understood what it meant when it was dictated that No Man Gets Left Behind. No man means no one. Not just the military types---but the geeks too.

Rodney pulled his hand back from Carson's jugular pulse. He shifted delicately onto his back and hissed in agony as something in his shoulder grated where it had never crunched before. Not good. Rodney slowly forced himself to once again focus on the stars.

Phillips ran off with his team. Hightailed it into the mountains, probably to save himself. Maybe he was back on Atlantis getting his ass chewed by Sheppard. Maybe Ronon was breaking Phillip's leg or Teyla was using his head for a hitting post.

It wasn't right to leave the geeks behind in a collapsed building, alone, hurt and without any type of gear.

Though they not having gear wasn't anyone's fault except the Chancellor of P39-604. What type of moron asks people to leave their packs outside in a hallway?

McKay sighed carefully. Worse yet, what type of colossal moron listens to such requests? Rodney rolled his eyes toward Beckett. Carson continued to lie face down in the dust oblivious to the burden of blame just shifted to his shoulders.

Rodney returned his focus toward the black night sky.

The stars were no longer visible. The wind had stopped. The wood beam no longer squeaked.

McKay stared at the night sky, curious as to the sudden depth of darkness and lack of stars. He furrowed his brow.

The first raindrop hit him square on the forehead. It made a small wet splash and then rolled toward the medial canthus of his eye forcing him to blink. It itched.

The delicate soft patter of a light rain filled the area.

"This is so unfair." His quiet declaration held the solid conviction of one who had met unfair and unjust many times before and lost.

Life was frequently unfair. That was certainly true. But why wasn't it ever unfair in his favor? Just once?

The soft patter turned into a shower and then a punishing deluge.

It was deafening.

The pelting rain hurt.

Through the torrent McKay wiggled, whimpered in misery and slid himself closer to Beckett. His tiny rasps and cries of pain drifted off into the night unheard. He gingerly shucked free of his coat, grinding his teeth at the self induced torture and slid the jacket carefully out from under his injured shoulder. He awkwardly spread it over both their upper bodies. The process left him bathed in sweat and fighting the intense and sudden urge to vomit. Beckett owed him big time.

The jacket fell miserably short as a blanket or rain protection but it was something.

McKay lay still under his tiny corner of canvas coat. He kept his eyes closed and for the first time in a long time almost believed in a God.

Something had to be responsible for his current state of complete and utter misery. Something other than himself.

And this wasn't his fault. Not at all. He didn't bring the Wraith to this planet. He didn't collapse a building onto Carson and his heads. He didn't run into the mountains and hide. He didn't do any of this.

None of this was his fault. Why was he being punished?

McKay paused. Why would he think he deserved punishment?

Of course he didn't. He was McKay. He didn't deserve anything of the kind. Accolades, now those he deserved and ten fold. He was, after all, a genius.

Carson didn't deserve it either. In fact, he probably deserved it even less than Rodney.

Poor Beckett was rapidly paving the way to Hell right through the middle of the Pegasus Galaxy with all his good intentions.

The driving rain was short, intense and thorough.

It tapered back to a shower, then to a patter, a sprinkle and then disappeared all together. The breeze kicked up.

Rodney carefully rolled the soaked jacket back off their heads. The stars shone through the hole in the roof and McKay once again found himself staring at constellations he didn't recognize, on a world he really shouldn't be on, all alone…well except for Carson.

Beckett, who was succeeding in doing a brilliant impersonation of broccoli.

McKay rolled his head and found Carson staring at him again. The rain had managed to streak Beckett's face even more, mingling old blood with soot and insulation, making the man appear more battered than before.

"Go to back to sleep, Carson," Rodney ordered.

"No."

"Fine." McKay responded in his typical façade of uncaring. He swung his gaze back toward the stars and waited. After just a few moments he turned his attention back to Carson.

Beckett's eyes were closed.

McKay carefully reached out a shaky hand once again felt for a pulse. He found it quicker. The pulse bounded just as effortlessly as before.

A brisk wind cut through the ruined building. It cut its way over and around and through McKay's wet clothing, slicing its way into him like the fine edge of a stiff paper. And it hurt. Worse. Much worse.

Muscles tightened and contracted on reflex to generate heat.

He shivered. His broken leg shifted, his shoulder slipped. Pain flashed upon him with bloodcurdling intensity.

A soft cry of pain and a desperate lunging curl to wrap a clenched ash streaked hand around his mangled leg marked his agony. His other hand lay limp folded on the floor against his midsection.

No one witnessed it. No sympathy showered down upon him. No comforting hands tried to soothe the hurt, no soft voices.

Nothing.

The wood beam creaked, the unseen paper rattled, and debris swirled about twirling in and out of shadows of deep night.

A bitter cold embraced him.

Rodney held his leg cursing the day he was born, vilifying the Wraith and promising revenge on Phillips and his team.

Nausea waved and receded with the flooding pain that burst up through his leg to his hip and lower back. McKay remained curled, as still as his breathing would allow, gripping his leg tightly, desperately hoping that this wave of agony would disperse and ebb and leave him be for the time.

No such luck.

He struggled to level his breathing as he lay on his side with his back bowed, head buried and chin sunk to his chest. Saliva pooled beneath his jaw and teeth ground against one another wearing enamel and fillings.

How long he remained like that, Rodney was not sure. Perhaps, he mulled, he had passed out or simply fell asleep. Not that it mattered. There was no one to bear witness.

Rodney opened his eyes and discovered himself still curled, the thigh of his broken leg was still grasped weakly in his grey rain spotted hand. The hand of his injured shoulder had lost feeling and remained folded and thickened near his midsection.

He lay quietly for a moment blinking, staring at the grey material of his off world clothing. The folds and creases of his dark grey pants were mottled with lighter dusting of powder and debris. The rain had darkened his clothing in spots, soaking him through.

He shivered and it hurt. Everywhere. Not just his leg or arm. Muscles cramped and stiffened complained and burned with each movement.

He wished he would stop shivering.

It was then he noticed it was light.

Not the light of a true sunrise but the expanding light of a false dawn. That time of day was his favorite. The world slept then, everyone was quiet, everyone that is, except the mad fanatics that chased their dreams and crazy goals. While the normal world slept through the breaking of a false dawn, the driven, the ambitious, those on edge too harried to sleep were moving about. Atlantis was full of those people. Some would not have seen their pillows yet, while others would have left the comfort of their quarters well before the light of a new day. Atlantis was home, perhaps even a haven for those from Earth that found the mark of a too early morning or too late a night---to be just right.

McKay slowly uncurled groaning as his lower back protested.

He rubbed at his face, felt the itchy growth of a fledgling beard and wondered how Carson put up with it. Of course, it wasn't that Beckett thought he looked dashing or sexy with his five o'clock shadow. More often than not, Carson simply forgot to shave. It still rattled Rodney, knowing that the man who put lives back together, pulled people from the brink of death, would forget what his razor sitting on the edge of his sink might mean, if in fact he even saw the razor.

Too damn focused most times.

Rodney understood what that was like. Yeah, he understood that all too well. Not being able to find his socks some mornings drove him to distraction until he put his shoes on only to realize he was already wearing his socks.

McKay shook his head.

"Interesting conversat'n Rodn'y?" The humor in the question was not masked by the slight slurring of words or unusually heavy accent.

"Oh, so you've decided to join us?" McKay asked carefully straightening his head and meeting Beckett's stare.

"Us?" Carson asked slightly perplexed and not just a little bit hopeful.

Rodney sighed, "No us, just you and me." He rubbed at his leg again, feeling the muscles starting to knot on their own and hoping to prevent it. "You really in there?"

"Aye, Rodney," Beckett whispered. He dragged a heavy hand up to the side of his head.

"You might not want to…." McKay let his statement fade as he watched Beckett finger the gash on the side of his head.

Carson flinched and grimaced when his stiff fingers found the wound and then inadvertently caught an edge and shifted it. The stiff skin and dried meat cracked and bent, hypersensitive nerve endings fired and sparked an intense focused headache. He shut his eyes and let the building saliva string from his mouth to pool. He couldn't trust himself to swallow.

"Carson?" Rodney asked worried at the sudden pallor that bleached Beckett's face.

"Fine," Beckett breathed.

"Right," Rodney responded not masking his total and utter lack of disbelief.

"You?"

"Broke my leg."

"Bad?"

"Is it ever good?"

"Aye, ya 'ave a point with that." Carson slowly opened his eyes and took in his immediate surroundings. "What happened?"

"Wraith."

"Bothersome buggers aren't they?"

"Took you all this time to figure that out?"

"Snappy," Carson noted closing his eyes again. He contemplated rolling over but gave up the idea as soon as he shifted his hip. He drooled some more.

"You okay?"

"Been better."

"You look like shit," McKay honestly pointed out.

"Why thankyou, Rodney," Carson slowly opened his eyes and stared at McKay, "but I'm thinkin' I look a sight better than you."

"You'd be wrong," McKay stated unequivocally.

"Not likely," Carson retaliated.

"Your head wound is making you delirious."

"Aye, probably." Carson relaxed his shoulders and back, losing the tension that had gripped him since waking. He settled heavily onto the floor. "Are there others?"

"We're it," Rodney stated with a touch of bitter anger.

Beckett furrowed his brow. "What happened?"

Rodney rolled his eyes and stared at Carson for a moment gauging whether or not to answer the repeated question. "The Wraith."

"Oh," Carson muttered, "nasty buggers."

Rodney sighed. "Go to sleep, Carson."

Beckett dutifully closed his eyes but then peeled them open. "Are you hurt, Rodney?"

McKay continued to stare out the hole in the ceiling, watching the stars fade away with increasing rapidity as sunlight crested an unseen horizon. "No, Carson, now go to sleep, you're distracting me." Rodney waited a moment longer before rolling his eyes toward Beckett. The doctor slept slack jawed, dried blood and insulation caking his face.

McKay turned his attention back to the sky, ignoring the torn and shattered ceiling, staring at the grey sky that slowly lightened taking its own sweet time.

Somewhere outside a morning bird chirped. A moment or two passed and a few more chirped. And soon the early grey of morning was filled with the sound of birds.

Why couldn't the Wraith eat birds?

The smell of pine floated in on the crisp morning air. Dew puddled and pooled, shimmering and rippling in the gentle breeze.

Canada, where he grew up, had pines, lots of pines. Lots of birds too. Canada had scores of things the Pegasus Galaxy didn't have. It was leaps and bounds better than the Pegasus Galaxy.

McKay continued to rub his quads, increasing his tempo as the tightening of muscles continued to knot and threaten a spasm despite his best efforts to stave it off.

His muscles cramped. His toes were pulled outward pointing toward the rest of the room while broken bone edges were thrust against one another before slipping along side their partner.

He cried out, burying his chin his chest, hiding his face in his arm. He curled tighter into himself, dragging his injured arm through the damp dust. He lay panting, fighting for control and hating his leg, hating the Pegasus Galaxy and its life sucking villains, but more importantly, hating Phillips and his team for abandoning him and Beckett.


"Hey Doc, you in there?" Sheppard's jovial voice filtered into McKay's dark world. Who was Sheppard talking to?

Canada didn't have Sheppard. Or good but irritating friends like him. Canada didn't have teammates like the ones you found in the Pegasus Galaxy.

"Come on, Doc," Sheppard's voice took a hint of demand. "Hey, that's it. There you go. Come on, look at me….No. No." There was a hint of panic.

Rodney furrowed his brow slightly. Why would Sheppard be panicking? He wasn't left alone on a planet.

"Doc? Beckett, come on, look at me. You see me? Hello in there."

There was a thick mumble and then Sheppard chuckled, "No Doc. No class today. A briefing, maybe, when we get you fixed up. Okay?" There was another incoherent mumble.

Rodney tried to concentrate. He tried to follow the voices.

"I believe Dr. McKay is coming around as well," Teyla's voice startled him with its proximity.

"That's good." Sheppard's voice again. "Ronon, tell Major Lorne to swing the jumper over to our position and have him radio Elizabeth. We need a med team standing by."

"Dr. McKay, Rodney," Teyla's voice again, "please open your eyes for me."

Rodney really didn't want to open his eyes. His leg and shoulder hurt, he was cold and nothing good came from opening your eyes when you were on a planet in which buildings fell on you.

"Doctor McKay?" Teyla's worried expression was blurred. But Rodney could make out just enough to note the unique tilt of her head she used and the dip of her eyebrows when something concerned her---like an injured friend.

"They left us," McKay whispered wanting it to be very clear that what befell him and Carson was not their fault.

Teyla shot a worried glance to Sheppard. The colonel merely shook his head. Now was not the time.

"Carson?" McKay asked. He tried to drag a heavy hand up to his forehead but found it too much effort.

"He will be fine," Teyla smiled but the concern did not leave her eyes.

"A roof fell on his head." Rodney paused trying to remember another piece of information. "His hip too. He said his hip hurt. Part of the ceiling must have hit his side."

"And your leg and shoulder as well," Teyla pointed out quietly. "But you are safe now. We are here and will get you home."

Rodney furrowed his brow in confusion. The urge to return to Atlantis overrode any previous desire to go back to Canada.

McKay's attention was drawn back to the duo beside him when he heard Sheppard's hissed intake of breath. "That's gonna hurt."

Rodney swiveled his head just in time to see Sheppard carefully lower Beckett's shirt, partially hiding the deep discoloration that monopolized the Scot's side.

McKay grimaced.

"Does your leg or shoulder pain you?"

Teyla's question caught him off guard and seemed irritatingly foolish. A ceiling had collapsed on him. Of course he hurt. It was almost as if asking: Do birds fly?

"Rodney, be nice." Sheppard's soft rebuke would have startled McKay had he the energy. He hadn't known he had spoken out loud and that disturbed him.

"Not penguins." Beckett's raspy voice tiredly answered, startling the people around him, "Emu's either or ostriches---some fish fly---not sure it's true, none of those buggers flew into my nets."

McKay tossed the physician an exhausted irritated look.

"Doc? You in there?" McKay heard Sheppard ask Beckett.

"Nay," Beckett mumbled and his dust covered form seemed to settle heavily, as if melting even further into the floor as his eyes fluttered closed.

"No, Doc, come'n now. Stay awake." Sheppard's soft pleading went relatively unheeded.

Teyla turned her attention back to Rodney, "Dr. McKay?"

McKay merely dipped his chin a fraction.

"The morphine should make you feel better." It was strange how reassuring Teyla's voice seemed. How strong and secure and safe, as if everything was going to be okay, even though Rodney himself did not hold the ever important reins in his rescue.

McKay hadn't seen the ampule or the needle or even feel it enter his bicep, however, within a few moments, he felt the warm flush of its effects.

The Pegasus Galaxy was leaps and bounds better than the Milky Way.

A smile ghosted over his features. The grey morning sky had given way to a bright blue with lazy white clouds hanging overhead. He took a steadying breath, felt air rush into his lungs, could picture the molecules rolling through his airways and hitching a ride with his red blood cells. His smile broadened, his focus waned and his chest settled heavily with the exhale.

"Colonel, I think Dr. McKay is ready to transport." McKay heard Teyla's voice, saw her face but somehow missed her movements. He felt himself get lifted and then shifted but didn't recognize the feel of the many pair of hands or understand the thrum of voices that surrounded him. Faces blurred and darted in and out just on the periphery of his vision. His spot under the hole in the roof suddenly disappeared.

A face blocked his view.

Ronon.

Then McKay felt himself moving, floating. He recognized the intact section of roof and then a chipped and broken doorway and soon he was outside under the blue sky, without jagged broken beams to mar his view.

Again, he found Ronon's face suddenly in his view and Rodney frowned.

"It is good you are alive, McKay," Ronon stated in his no nonsense manner.

"Yes, yes," McKay muttered. He waved his hand impatiently at his side, motioning the runner to move away. Ronon disappeared and the blue sky was back for just a moment. Then it disappeared replaced by the ceiling of the puddle jumper.

Canada didn't have Athosian's who could hand out Whup Ass like no one else. It certainly didn't have gnarled haired Satedans that could snap you in two while eating with one hand. And Canada didn't have puddle jumpers. He didn't need a license to fly---just a gene.

His quiet float trip came to an abrupt end. The settling of the stretcher jarred him.

McKay groaned.

It seemed no time passed and then Sheppard was staring at him. "You did good, McKay, real good."

Rodney stared at the Colonel in confusion not understanding what he did good at and why. He simply closed his eyes but then opened them, "Carson?"

"He's right beside you. You did good keeping together, Rodney, and looking out for the Doc." McKay nodded, not truly understanding what was being said. Instead, he let his eyes close and listened to the hum of human life around him.

Someone was still asking the 'Doc' to stay with them. To keep his eyes open. Talk to them.

McKay smiled slightly to himself. Carson was there with him. Geeks and scientific types understood the importance of not leaving anyone behind.

A fact made simple because most geeks were left behind from the time they went to school and learned they were nerds. Nerds and Geeks, Geeks and Nerds, there was a difference, but not in the eyes of the intellectually average. Nerds and geeks were left behind until needed.

Being useful kept you 'in the loop,' kept you in the crowd. It also kept the Geek needy. It gave a fleeting taste of what it was like to be 'in' and accepted ---only to be left behind later. The taste was often initially so sweet and addicting but turned rapidly sour.

Leave no man behind meant something to the military, but was also understood by those who were constantly left alone to fend for themselves whenever a challenge arose in school halls, classrooms, playgrounds, or locker rooms. A geek had no friends or back up when the going got tough.

The adage of leaving no one behind was something the Pegasus Galaxy had over the Milky Way. Even Geeks and Nerds were protected in fact, they were especially protected when potentially violent challenges arose in the Pegasus Galaxy.

Except for the other day. Phillips had left them.

Rodney listened to the voices around him.

Someone still tried to pull Carson into the waking coherent world. Beckett apparently was having no part of it.

Someone was talking about the loss of another good team. Someone else cursed the Wraith.

Morphine kept Rodney from putting it all together.