The group of native soldiers looked fresh from the battlefield and supremely confident in their position over the two surprised offworlders. Rodney fumbled for his own 9 mil and finally drew it, although he was sure he looked anything but threatening as he pointed it inexpertly at the intruders while at the same time holding a sagging Sheppard up against the wall. Several of the men raised their own primitive firearms, a couple of the others only rolled their eyes and didn't bother.

His mouth kicking in again, Rodney blurted, "We found this lovely condo first. You'll just have to move on down the street for your own hideout." The lead native squinted his eyes and cocked his head to better study John's prone form. Rodney shifted slightly to block the man's probing view and regain his attention. "We're not alone, you know. We've got lots of friends. Coming. They're on their way. They'll be here any second soooo…"

The man jerked his head at Sheppard, "He's the one who lead the stang into our ambush?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. But since I also have no idea who these Stang are nor who you are or…"

"Yes. I'm the one." Sheppard was still panting and trembling with surges of intense agony, but his eyes were fierce as he glared down the intruder. "I was leading a group of natives away from my people to give them time to make the 'gate. I didn't know your ambush was there. I spotted you about a second before you spotted them. Got an arrow in the chest before I could figure out which way to go next. Sorry if I ruined your little surprise." He was almost snarling as he spoke in broken gasps, furious at the circumstances that left him so helpless.

The dusty leader held Sheppard's gaze for a long moment, then nodded. With a subtle signal he ordered his men to lower their weapons. "I believe you. And so we owe you a debt of gratitude. The attack would not have gone nearly as well without your…intervention." He turned to smile in a jocular fashion to his troops who were nodding smugly with arrogant pride.

Rodney was taken aback. Rarely did a group of armed aliens suddenly become friendly admirers and he didn't quite know what to do next. "So… you'll go away now?" was all he could come up with.

"If you want. But we could help with that wound. And there are still a few stang about. We'll escort you to the Ring when you're ready."

Sheppard + 6 big guys with guns ≅ Allies? It was almost too good to be true and Rodney felt the burden of decision on his shoulders. Should he trust these men who offered help with no more information than that they seemed to be at odds with the same people who had speared the Colonel? Should he stall them long enough for Ronon and Teyla to return and fight them off? Again feeling desperately out of his element he looked to Sheppard for guidance only to see him shuddering harder than ever in panting convulsions. Scrambling back to John's side, concern for his colleague's life won out over the skeptical circumstances. Looking to the would-be-ally with a plea in his eyes, he begged, "You said you could help him? Is one of you a medic?"

The man shrugged and handing his own weapon to another soldier he walked over casually to also squat by Sheppard. "The dirty stang use tainted darts. Designed to come apart after impact and leave the tip inside to better deliver the poison. Gotta get the tip out first. Then he'll have a chance to fight off the poison."

"How do you get the tip out?" Rodney was pretty sure he knew how these people did it but…

The man just raised an eyebrow and looked as if he was wondering about Rodney's intelligence. Deciding the answer was best demonstrated, he drew from a scabbard on his belt a long and wicked-thin curved knife. Holding it up in front of his face and twirling it idly, he just looked meaningfully at McKay. After a single beat, Rodney grabbed for his radio and clicked it madly, waiting only a second or two before holding the button down to sputter into the receiver, "Teyla! Where are you! You've got to get here now!" The radio remained dead silent. Apparently, they had turned them off in fear of being revealed.

"Look," Rodney whirled next on the native. "You said you'd help. We have a medical team trying to reach us. Very skilled healers with lots of equipment. They don't know we're ah, friends now, so they're hiding from your people and the Stang. It's slowing them down, and preventing them from reaching us. Can you send some of your men to escort them here safely?"

The Commander nodded once then merely looked at two of his men who immediately turned to leave the hut.

"Wait!" Shouted Rodney, now addressing the messengers. "Our people are armed and will defend themselves. Approach them carefully and tell them that Sheppard and McKay say it's OK for them to follow you."

Sheppard made a sound to draw Rodney's attention and managed to hiss out the word, "Ronon…" McKay thought for a moment, understanding the Colonel's concern.

"Yeah that could be a problem," he muttered back. Turning back to the messengers he added, "Tell the big guy with the big hair, Ronon, that McKay says to trust you and if I'm wrong he can string me upside-down again. He'll understand." Rodney chose to ignore Sheppard's feeble attempt at a snicker. With a last glance at their leader, the two soldiers left at a jog.

McKay turned his attention fully back to Sheppard, fussing for a moment over the shoulder wound and worrying over the way even his shudders seemed weaker.

"We should take the dart out," the native Commander was still crouched beside Sheppard and there was something close to concern on the man's weathered face. "The longer it's in there, the harder it is to fight off the poison after. Poison makes the wound bleed more. This fella looks like he doesn't have a lot more to give."

"'This fella' is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, who I'm sure outranks you in every sense of the word and I thought we settled this!" Rodney exploded. "Our medics will be here soon. They'll take out the dart in a sterile and properly trained fashion!"

The man just shrugged. "We should take it out now. I've lost men who didn't get it out soon enough. You've had it longer than most who've lived…" Rodney saw that the last was addressed directly to Sheppard, man to man, warrior to warrior, commander to commander. And at that moment, McKay felt himself fully understand the burden Sheppard carried daily. He knew what Sheppard would do; he would take the risk. But ultimately the responsibility was McKay's. Sheppard was injured, desperate. McKay was in the position to best evaluate the risk, and allow or prevent this stranger from digging out the poisoned dart. His decision could mean life or death for John. It was beyond terrifying, and his respect for the man who led his team soared with the insight.

"Do it," John whispered, but his eyes were on Rodney. Waiting to see what McKay would decide.

Risk ≅ Sheppard + longer exposure to poison but sterile extraction ≥ Sheppard – dart with a knife

"Ok…" Breathed Rodney. He hoped to God it was the right thing, that his logic and equations wouldn't let him down. But even his gut was telling him the poison was the higher risk, so he fumbled in his pockets while at the same time addressing the native leader, "Ok, get the dart point out. You tell me how to help, but I want you to wipe down that blade with this first," and he handed over the small alcohol wipe he had finally rummaged out.

The man took it as if humoring the nervous McKay, but then seemed impressed with the way the blade gleamed after several swipes down its length with the wipe.

"You've done this before, have you?" McKay was still a bit worried by the man's obvious…lack of sophistication. For reply the man just nodded grimly and shot a glance at the closest of his remaining men who also nodded firmly and patted his thigh.

The man finished wiping down the blade then pushing aside more fabric from John's jacket and shirt, he told Rodney, "You need to hold him so he won't jerk away when I'm in there. The tip of the dart is usually barbed, it'll rip a bit coming back out, but it's for the better once it is."

"I won't move," John whispered between clenched teeth, and Rodney could only sigh at the stubbornness of the man even in such dire circumstances. The would-be medic had the good graces not to respond and merely positioned himself carefully in front of Sheppard, leaning his right hand against the right shoulder and guiding the knife with his left. He instructed Rodney to take hold of Sheppard's left shoulder and chest and they pressed him firmly against the wall as the thin knife point entered the wound, following the dart's path without having to cut any more, at least at first.

The sight of the knife slowly digging deeper into the already ravaged shoulder was almost more than McKay could stand and he had to hastily look away when his stomach lurched uncomfortably. Instead he focused on John's face, watching for signs of distress…not that he could do anything about it if there were. If he had thought Sheppard was pale before, it was nothing compared to now. He was completely rigid, pushing back slightly on the hands holding him, but true to his promise did not move or make a sound.

"You do need to breathe, blue is definitely not your color." Rodney admonished him warily, for the man's tension was so complete he seemed to have frozen. Startled into a chuckle, John did take a gasp or two and his color improved a bit as he tried to include breathing into the ordeal.

"There it is," the native's voice didn't seem enthusiastic, just informative. He knew the hard part was coming so he just shot Rodney a stern look and began to twist the knife so that the wound opened. Blood oozed down John's already sticky chest and he growled with the effort of keeping himself from flinching and pushed a bit harder against the supportive hands. Finally, pulling the curved tip back out just a bit the soldier smiled slightly and reached towards the now gaping wound with his fingers. Pausing for a moment before probing into the bloody flesh, he seemed to think for a second and deftly swiped up the alcohol wipe to pinch between his thumb and forefinger. Then he dove into the wound, grasped the tiny shaft and yanked it out in one sudden thrust. Blood gushed freely.

John cried out and fell sideways into Rodney's arms, choking and writhing with the newest agony. McKay gently lowered his head to the floor and frantically pressed the last field bandage into the now ragged and flowing wound. Sheppard was rocking slowly against the pressure on his shoulder, spasmodically clenching his fists open and closed. "Come on, John," McKay whispered pleadingly, so that no one else would hear. "Give up on the macho routine and just go ahead and pass out. You've impressed our friend enough. I've got everything under control."

Sheppard opened his eyes a crack to watch McKay until he glanced at his face again and their eyes met. Nodding almost sleepily, John relaxed and finally let go. After a panicky moment in which Rodney convinced himself that Sheppard really had only passed out, he sat back in surprise. "Really?" he said to the unconscious form. "You actually do think I've got things under control?" He was suddenly warmed and gratified by the display of trust. Maybe there was more to Rodney McKay than equations and a clever scheme.

It was nearly another 10 minutes before Teyla and the Medics arrived. Rodney had to diffuse the tense moment when the 6 armed Atlanteans burst into the hut to see McKay and the native commander hovering over a clearly unconscious and badly wounded Sheppard. Rapidly babbling phrases like "anti-coagulant" and "hypovolemic shock" the medics soon had the man on oxygen and IV fluids. Liberal amounts of powdered clotting agent were poured into the shoulder wound and it finally stopped bleeding. Sheppard made the trek back to the gate wrapped in thermal blankets and riding on a portable stretcher, still blissfully unaware. McKay jogged along behind with Teyla and Ronon. The three teammates seemed to draw comfort from each other's quiet presence, each having lived through their part in the ordeal of getting the Colonel to safety and feeling somewhat at a loss now that they were no longer needed.

At the Stargate, they waved goodbye to their native escorts with promises to return and discuss trading foodstuffs for alcohol wipes. As McKay stepped into the event horizon with an exhausted sigh and deep relief, he rethought his panicky equation of before. Sheppard ≅ MC². It seemed appropriate to put Sheppard in the place of Energy. Something about the man brought out the best in others in quantities greater than one would expect. He brought out the best in Rodney, leaving Rodney only one thing left to say. McKay + Home ≅ Content.

Author's note: This is the "formal" end to the story, but I got carried away and wrote a lengthy if somewhat pointless epilogue. So continue if you wish, and review if you please! And if you're wondering about the goofy ≅ characters, FanFiction strips out regular "equals" so this was as close as I could find, ha!