A/N: Gwah, this took longer than I wanted. This'll teach me to write a WIP…anyway, thanks for all your glowing reviews, and an extra big thanks to Fanwoman for pointing that stuff out! Repetition is one of my pet peeves, I dunno how those managed to get in there – as for the GDO thing, I knew I'd forgotten something when I was posting the chapter! I had much the same idea as you and I'd been brainstorming ways around it before it slipped my mind. The previous chappie is now updated accordingly. There's one reference to the changes in here, but it should be fine. If anyone's still confused, just read Fanwoman's review.

Enough babbling. This chappie has spoilers for 'Trinity'. Call it my Christmas present; hope you had (or are having) a good one!

EDIT: Not much changed here, mostly just Lorne's name and the details of his team-mates.

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IV

THE PRICE OF REALIZATION

Not again.

The scene was familiar, repetitive: the bristling satellite framed against the twinkle of silver stars, facing the looming, grey-blue ships in the distance. His body was tense, afraid, determined; his voice was calmer than he felt, portraying a confidence that proved to be useless.

Please, Rodney begged, knowing what was to come, knowing all too well what would happen – what had happened – but this time awake enough to separate himself from the memory.

"I'm sorry."

"Get us back to that satellite –"

White lights flashed in the corner of his eye, the triangular DHD crystals backlit by their symbols as he turned away, towards Miller, who bent his mousy-haired head over the controls of the sloping bronze console –

White lights. Flashing. Puddlejumper lights. But puddlejumper lights didn't flash. They glowed. Puddlejumper lights… didn't flash…

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Radek Zelenka paced down the crimson-floored hallway, his black datapad cradled securely in the crook of his arm, its screen lit up blue and pink in the familiar colours of the Ancient mainframe. In his other hand was a slim grey pointer, clasped loosely between his fingers as he absently pushed his rounded wire-rim glasses higher up on his nose, peering through the lenses at the glowing monitor.

He hardly saw where he was going; a common state of mind for half the inhabitants of the city. His destination didn't really matter in this case, however. What mattered was what was showing on the display and what he'd be able to do with data. So he didn't notice when his feet took him on a familiar, well-paced route, one he had followed many times and only recently taken to occasionally avoiding.

It was a moment before he realized that he was nearing the familiar bronze door, the apex inset in a vague imitation of Atlantis's command tower, the decorative incised panels darkened in the dim glow of the disk-like crystals the city used as light. It was flanked by a drooping potted plant and one of the low, white-cushioned seats so often found in the halls. His steps slowed hesitantly, his gaze rising from the smooth monitor to flicker towards the silently looming entrance, nondescript and almost unnoticeable in the light brown wall. That was when he stopped, debating the empty passage ahead and the closed door, his fingers kneading the top edge of his datapad uncertainly, looped by the material handle.

I thought you had forgiven him, yes? He chided himself, his black sneakers shifting uncomfortably on the crimson floor as he lingered indecisively outside the laboratory. Rodney's laboratory.

Ever since they'd returned from Earth the Canadian had seemed to pull away and become more focussed on himself. It was a Rodney McKay that Radek hadn't seen since he first knew the man, before he'd managed to wriggle his way through Rodney's inner defences and become his friend. None of them were entirely sure why; Sheppard might have been able to find out, but he appeared obsessed with discovering the fate of his former lieutenant and whether it was the fact he didn't have time for Rodney or something else, he hadn't tried.

Perhaps Rodney would have worked out whatever was bothering him by himself eventually… if he hadn't made a mistake.

A big mistake.

And perhaps things wouldn't have become as strained as they had if he hadn't played on his friends' trust, then rejected them brutally when they opposed him. And then made his mistake.

Enough. He has apologised. There is nothing to be gained by continuing things as they are. He is feeling guilty, you know this; when has he not? Radek huffed a quick sigh, steeling himself, and moved, treading carefully towards the entryway as his hand flickered automatically up to his glasses once again.

At his approach the tall bronze door slid open with the soft hiss of hydraulics, revealing behind it a decent-sized room. Immediately before him was a long table, cluttered with Earth equipment that often seemed unwieldy and uncouth next to the simple elegance of the Ancients' technology. Ranging the smooth, square-framed walls were brightly-coloured boxes, often stacked in unsteady piles or crammed into slim metal racks, and tall processing banks, standing patiently between clay-textured pillars that emitted a dim, ethereal glow. Where there was space were several thin desks holding the deep shelves in which Rodney kept his few books and the submitted research of the other fields of science, from tightly lidded tubs of chemicals to rock samples. In the central rear of the chamber was a sturdy metal table bearing the ominous, rounded form of an EMP generator, set against a thick, incised grey pillar which was embedded with columns of the white light-crystals.

For a moment Radek didn't see anyone and his wavy-haired head craned to peek around the corners, the muted lights casting shadows into the wrinkles of his long-sleeved blue shirt. Then his eyes settled on the tall, cone-headed lamp illuminating the long desk, one of the ones that many scientists used to support the faint crystals.

And Radek saw him: the dull blue of the shirt stretched over his shoulders blending him into the subdued lights, half-hidden by the stacks of equipment and technology. He was hunched over his laptop, cheek pressed firmly into the flat keyboard and hands curled almost protectively around the slim grey computer in a deep slumber.

The Czech hesitated, knowing that Rodney usually forgot to sleep and if he ever dropped off in his laboratory it usually meant that he needed it. But there was something about the scene – the lines of his bleak face, his grimly set jaw – that made Radek skirt the table, datapad brushing his beige pants, hand outstretched to wake him up. Rodney had enough to worry about without having to worry about dreams too.

As soon as Radek's hand had touched his shoulder, the grey stylus still caught securely in the Czech's fingers, Rodney's head jerked up and his blue eyes snapped open, fists clenching so violently on the desktop that he almost sent a hard-edged black case to the floor. One hand moved automatically to wipe at the drool glistening on his chin, eyes flickering unseeingly over the laptop's blue-and-pink tinged screen before coming to rest on Radek's worried face.

To the engineer's surprise, animated realization suddenly dawned in Rodney's eyes, smoothing the grim lines and the dazed veil. "Peter." was all he said, all he seemed to be able to say, his eyes gazing past Radek to something only he could see.

My God. Radek stared, knowing that Rodney didn't see him, his own throat suddenly constricted with lingering grief. This is what has troubled him all this time? The pieces of a scattered puzzle suddenly fit together. Of all the members of his team that Rodney had lost, Peter was the one he'd been closest to. He had been able to infuriate the Englishman in a way that no one else could – save perhaps Sergeant Bates – but despite the Canadian's barbs Peter had almost always maintained his courteous dignity, which in turn had frustrated Rodney.

So when Rodney had pulled away… it was a result of the proverbial straw. Radek didn't know whether it had been to protect himself from the potential loss of another friend or to protect his friends from what he perceived as his own failings, and he decided it didn't matter. Either way, it explained a great deal.

"Rodney…" Radek started, not knowing what he was meant to say, his own body tense against the reality of the event. He'd been good friends with Peter too. Rodney's gaze refocussed on the Czech as the shorter man swallowed nonexistent words, looking down to the crimson floor.

"He's alive, Radek," The words were short, clipped with certainty and excitement, but they made the engineer's head jolt up in startled, worried disbelief to meet utterly confident, utterly certain eyes. "He wasn't in the satellite." Rodney continued breathlessly, one hand punctuating his words with restless energy. "They used a culling beam to take him off." A grin spread over his face, making his features glow with elation, but Radek's blue eyes fluttered closed in despair, breathing out a despondent sigh. "What?"

"Rodney," the engineer began softly, gently, meeting the Canadian's confused expression, "…even if," he emphasised the word, his heart clenching at Rodney's slowly fading jubilation. "…they used a culling beam to take him off the satellite, the chances he is still alive after all these months is practically nonexistent." Rodney's gaze unfocussed and, seeing the bleak, grief-stricken realization in his eyes, Radek felt like crying. It was like losing Peter all over again. "And even if he is, the chance of us finding him is even less."

Rodney's lopsided mouth thinned, clenched, his features falling into that familiar, closed arrogance which hid all of his compassion; but this time it seemed somehow melancholy, uncertain.

Before he could say anything the gateroom alarms sounded, pealing through the city's speakers in the familiar serenade of an unscheduled offworld activation. Simultaneously the two men looked skyward and the noise spurred them into action, dutifully following the klaxons' summons with a rush of adrenaline that swept away all other considerations.

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Rodney's legs pumped, his dusky shoes thudding on the silver steps as he raced towards the control room, fingers clenching around the metal railing on one side, flashing from one slim pole to the next on the other. Radek pounded up behind him, fingers twined in the fabric of his datapad's handle, its smooth back pressed to his forearm as he held it out of the way.

They emerged from the hollow stairwell, beneath the bridging curve of its twin leading into the circular jumper bay, just in time to catch the muffled whoosh of an engaging stargate as the event horizon splashing invisibly over the back of the crystalline shield, dyed in icy shades of blue and pink.

"What's up?" Rodney demanded, slightly breathless, passing by the identical maroon consoles sitting up on the central dais in favour of the arc of smaller ones settled before the wide, glass windows looking out onto the spacious, crimson-stepped floor of the gateroom. Doctor Elizabeth Weir turned at his voice, slender eyebrows drawn forward slightly in an expression of tentative consternation, arms crossed over her stomach and the loose curls of her dark hair swaying around the thin shaft of the radio tracing the line of her jaw.

"We don't know yet," she answered, shifting her position restlessly as Radek took a place in front of the shimmering blue-and-green monitor displaying Atlantis's mainframe, suspended at the back of the dais. He waited patiently between the consoles, his datapad held snugly to his side and the light reflecting off his glasses, silent as Elizabeth continued. "It's from P3M-736, but we finished the survey there ages ago."

Beside Elizabeth, Colonel John Sheppard leaned on one of the incised consoles, one hand draped casually at his pocket, his military black-and-grey jacket parted to show the black shirt underneath. His dark eyes were surveying the flicker of blue light bathing the maroon-lined floor over the railing of the sharply lined balcony before him, thin features relaxed but alert. "Are we getting anything?" He cast the enquiry towards Bryan Grimault, the command sergeant usually in charge of the gate, with a sideways jerk of his head.

"Nothing, sir," was the answer from the tawny-haired Canadian, his eyes riveted to the laptop screen perched on the smooth, white-gripped counter below the layered control crystals. There was a slight frown evident in his tone as he continued, "But we are getting some unusual interference."

"What? Let me see that!" In two steps Rodney was behind the sergeant and without waiting for a reply had leaned over him, studying the scrolling icons on the thin monitor. A second later and his shoulders dipped, head bobbing in the familiar movement that passed for an eye-roll. "Oh, please, you call that interference?" His tone was as derisive as anyone had ever heard it, causing Elizabeth to cock her head at him in warning, completely unnoticed. "It's probably a result of inferior people such as yourself –"

Rodney cut off, suddenly stilling, his blue eyes staring hard at the flickering screen. Nonplussed by his unexpected silence, Sergeant Grimault cast him a questioning glance as Elizabeth exchanged her own uneasy look with Sheppard, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"Rodney?"

"It's not interference," Rodney answered Elizabeth's query almost absently, as though unaware he was even speaking, oblivious to the half a dozen querying, semi-patient heads raised expectantly his way. "It's a distress call." He raised a pale face, looking out over the thin railing towards the rippling blue horizon of the stargate. "On an Earth frequency."

Elizabeth blinked, the words taking a second to sink in before her lips parted in surprise and her head snapped towards the stargate with a ruffle of dark curls, her arms unfolding from their cradle against her red shirt. In the same instant Sheppard jerked upright, twisting to glance fleetingly over his shoulder at Rodney as though to reassure himself that the scientist meant what he said.

"It has to be Ford," He turned his intense gaze to Elizabeth, hands loose at his sides, ready and waiting for the command he was sure was going to come. "We don't have anyone else out there and he's the only one who'd know about P3M-736 anyway." Surreptitiously Radek glanced to Rodney, who'd straightened and allowed the sergeant to retake control over the laptop, but the physicist's expression showed nothing and he didn't mention his dream-induced theory.

Instead he began, "Need I remind you, Colonel, that the last time we saw him he was jumping into a Wraith culling beam. Now, call me crazy, but I'd say the likelihood of his surviving that would be next to zero, not to mention the serious implications on his state of sanity –"

The babble of words was cut off by the glower on Sheppard's face, and with a flicker of his eyes Rodney took in the warning look directed at him by Elizabeth and the incredulous expressions turned towards him by one or two of the control room staff. His expression changed from superior to something meeker, humbled, as his hands slapped down to his slacks from where they'd crossed unconsciously across his chest. "But there's always a chance, right?" He managed a small, uncertain smile and the others turned away, apparently not noticing as he released a short sigh.

"Alright, John," Elizabeth agreed, her gaze skittering over the tinted floor in fleeting thought. "But be careful," Her hazel eyes bored into him gravely through the thick lock of hair that habitually fell over her sight when she bobbed her head firmly to reinforce her words. "We want to bring everyone back unharmed this time."

"Right," Sheppard nodded sharply in answer, his expression already miles away and attesting to the fact that he'd hardly heard her, hurrying to escape the glass-walled control room and get geared up. "McKay."

"Right." Rodney echoed in a much surer tone than before, nodding rapidly to Radek as he made to follow the colonel. Briefly Elizabeth met the Czech's worried eyes with a troubled gaze of her own, her arms moving to cross over her stomach once again as she turned to watch the stargate disengage with a whoosh of fading blue flame.

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Peter trailed back towards the shallow cave where he'd taken shelter, his scuffed shoes occasionally catching on the thick, low-slung foliage as he stepped uncertainly through meandering pseudo-paths. The sunlight was dazzling, casting a golden film over the forest that leeched the colours from the surroundings.

He'd spent time interminable trying to reconfigure the beacon, the fiddly mechanics contained mostly within a circle the thickness of a pencil, made more difficult by the unnerving numbness of his fingers, but finally it was done. It proved to be a hell of a lot easier than lugging several dozen decent-sized rocks to the stargate from the cave; truth to tell, he didn't even know if he was up to constant, strenuous labour – not right now, at any rate. And then he'd suffered quite a scare upon realizing that there wasn't a DHD anywhere in sight… until he'd found it beneath the nearest tree, so overgrown with weeds and fallen debris that it was hidden to anyone except a determined hunter.

Now all he had to do was wait.

His callused hand came up, automatically brushing an arching chain of leaves away from his care-worn face, already red from the harsh rays of the sun. His fingers lingered on the rough network of lines that crept over his jaw, only just touching his cheek and almost hidden beneath the bristles of his beard. But they were there nonetheless and he suppressed a shudder, recalling the eerie black web he'd seen etched into his skin, reflected in a shallow stream when he'd gone to scrub off the lingering grime of the swamp.

He could trace its progress, even over the scant day he'd been on P3M-736, and now every prick of the pins and needles was marked for what it was: the spread of some alien virus. It crawled down his arms, now, occasionally stabbing painfully deep into his chest. It overruled his hunger, his nausea, even his exhaustion – but only occasionally, and they seemed to him to be symptoms of something much, much worse.

Something that reminded him eerily of Ford's drug addiction.

He tried not to dwell on it, knowing that his best – if only – chance of finding a cure of any kind was to get back to Atlantis; but it still made him remember a time when he'd gambled on who brought back the next injury or illness, as opposed to returning with one himself.

If it worked.

Of course it worked. He reprimanded himself. He knew his own abilities, and after he'd worked out the basics of Wraith technology it had been relatively easy – if time-consuming – to make the changes he needed. No, it was more Atlantis's presence he doubted… looking back on Ford and his rapid changes of mood, his blasé caringness, had Peter doubting some of the lieutenant's words. Besides, the soldier had admitted himself that it had been a while since he saw his former team-mates; something may have happened between now and then…

They were thoughts that Peter refused to entertain. He had done so for too many of them in the past, and would tolerate it no more.

His shoes crunched on the scattered rubble of the cave, shadow wavering over the larger rocks before melding with the shade beneath the low crags of the ceiling. The far wall of the cave was bathed in dim light, flickering across the deep shrouds in the crags, and Peter frowned. The beacon shouldn't be doing that – unless – Dread suddenly clutching his limbs, he hurried his step, ducking though the rough entrance and almost slipping on the wreckage.

In the dim light of the cave, settled against the inner wall around the dusky corner, a light blinked relentlessly, flashing from red and green and then back again in chirruping repetition.

Damn!

Instantly Peter was there, hefting one of the fist-sized stones and bringing it down upon the beacon with a crack that jarred his hand. The device tumbled from its perch, its innards flailing as it lost the support of the rocks that had previously been maintaining the tenuous connection between wires. With the chink of metal it landed amongst the debris-strewn floor, winking incessantly up at Peter with mocking hues on its chipped and fragmented surface.

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The puddlejumper glided smoothly from the glowing blue event horizon with a ripple, arcing gracefully over the nearest trees. The pleasant hum of the activated technology softened as it settled easily in the grass, the silver of its curved, cylindrical exterior reflecting the bright sun and the incised lines sweeping from bow to stern steeped in shadow.

With a high-pitched sound bordering on a whine the rear hatch opened, forming a study, black-gripped ramp. Colonel Sheppard was the first to emerge from the close interior, squinting up at the sun with a growing sense of irritation. As if he hadn't had enough of the too-bright sun the last time.

"Where to, McKay?" Sheppard asked as the physicist exited the puddlejumper behind him, studiously ignoring the Canadian when he squinted apprehensively up at the sky, one hand shading his eyes and the other cupped around a transparent white Life-Signs Detector. Sheppard had flatly refused to give McKay time to get one of the bright rubber Haz-Mat suits, knowing that they were likely to be subjected to a unending plethora of complaints about sensitive skin and the danger of UV radiation, but if it wasn't one thing it was another; the colonel had heard from Lorne how the physicist complained about the heat on their previous visit. If it was Ford sending the distress call, they needed to hurry before he changed his mind.

"Um," Rodney glanced down at the green-tinged screen of the LSD, absently thinking how inappropriate the name was. It did so much more than just detecting life-signs. It figured that an ignorant grunt like Ford would be so short-sighted as to name it something like that…

He felt a guilty pang. Ford was far from 'just an ignorant grunt'. Or had been, at least… nowadays Rodney couldn't help but doubt his sanity, no matter what Sheppard said. Oh, he still hoped, deep down, that perhaps they could get him back and everything would be all right, but the greater part of him, having spent several hours with the frenetic lieutenant, was already steeling himself against the loss…

"McKay!"

Rodney jumped, startled out of his thoughts, to find Sheppard glowering at him over his vested shoulder, the dark brown of his scruffy hair highlighted by the sun and the black fabric of his BDUs looking almost like an washed-out grey. "Oh." With a sharp little flick the scientist pointed towards the illuminated, pale forest, studying the white circle blipping on the display. "That way."

"Stay in radio contact," Sheppard ordered with a cursory sideways jerk towards Major Lorne, who was glancing around unhappily at the familiar setting from the threshold of the puddlejumper.

"Yes, sir," Lorne answered, gesturing for his own team to take up defensive positions around the now-silent vessel as Sheppard turned and moved stiffly past the trees speckled across the weedy field, the sleek P90 that was clipped securely to the front of his bulky Kevlar vest aimed defensively at the rocky ground.

As she passed him Teyla cast Rodney a tiny smile through her auburn hair, her gold-toned skin lit up by the sunlight, but the scientist didn't notice. Instead he wandered sightlessly after the two, oblivious to Ronon as the tall Satedan brought up the rear, his cream-coloured coat fluttering at his ankles and his intense green eyes scanning the familiar surroundings.

Behind them Lorne surveyed the dull field distastefully, brow furrowing slightly over blue eyes as he gripped his firearm reassuringly.

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"This is the way to the cave," Ronon noted blandly, glancing about at the bright foliage as they tracked towards their destination with varying degrees of concentration.

"Hmn," Rodney looked up from his study of the glowing LSD for the first time since they'd left the stargate behind. "Makes sense, since it's the closest shelter to the gate and any intelligent being," Here he aimed a dirty look at Sheppard's back, "…would take cover from this kind of sun."

"Any intelligent being would be smart enough to shut up before someone kicks their ass," Sheppard shot back without turning around, his P90 levelled at the waist, carefully scanning the translucently-bright foliage ahead. Rodney returned grumpily to the rectangular LSD just in time to see the blinking white circle flicker and die.

"Oh." He slowed to tap ineffectually at the green-tinged screen with one finger, all the petulance flying from his expression to be replaced by puzzlement and a tad of concern.

He didn't notice that Sheppard had stopped short and spun around upon hearing his quiet exhale, hazel eyes locked on the scientist. At least, not until Sheppard snapped in a tiny explosion of breath, "McKay!" Teyla glanced between the two with a ripple of her long hair, her soft brown eyes worried, before settling with wary concern on Rodney as Ronon came up behind him with long-legged strides, the stiff, grey-dyed leather adorning his shoulders looking pale in the light.

"It stopped," Rodney uttered quietly, his brow furrowed in thought.

"That's bad, right?" Sheppard demanded, stepping quickly towards Rodney in a flurry of bouncing leaves, his gun once again lowered to the mulchy ground. "Is that bad?"

Rodney rolled his eyes skyward with a longsuffering sigh. "I'd love to tell you, Colonel, but I'm not there, am I? I'm all the way over here, so unless you have some x-ray glasses with which I can see all the way over there, I'm as much in the dark as you are." His eyes travelled over the bright canopy, fingers flicking in the air to gesture at the layer of illuminated foliage. "Or, well, as much in the really, really radiated sunlight as you are…"

John had already stopped listening. Grimly he turned, marching past Teyla back the way he'd just come, his thin face set with bleak determination. "We need to pick up the pace."

He didn't say anything else. Didn't voice his fears that perhaps, if it was Ford out there, he'd changed his mind or something had happened to him. He didn't need to. All of his team understood his need to bring that once-boisterous young lieutenant home – even McKay.

Even though he spluttered and argued and complained the whole way, an unending rant that had somehow rubbed on John's nerves more than usual after their return from Earth.

And then there had been Arcturus…

Though that was the last thing he wanted – needed – to think about.

Ford. He reminded himself quickly, feeling that twist of hurt in his stomach; the one connected to disappointment, to anger, to betrayal. Think of Ford. We can get through to him. We have to get through to him…

And before he knew it they were there, pacing cautiously towards the threshold of the forest, leaking nature's green finery over the coarse boulders of a rough, weed-poked 'lane' leading to the cave. "Ronon, take point," John murmured into his radio, hunched cautiously over his shiny P90 as he halted beside one of the sun-faded rocks, scanning the moss-gowned stones and drooping ferns to be seen arrayed on the other side of the clearing. Without speaking Teyla covered his flank, Rodney wavering behind uncertainly as Ronon strode forward with soft footsteps through the sun-bathed archway of pale terracotta rock.

Cautiously, swiftly, John twisted his weapon towards the curling border of the woods around the rubble-strewn clearing, covering Ronon as he made warily for the bowing entrance of the darkened cave.

All of them heard the sound at the same time – that of shoes scraping on rock within the cavern – but Ronon was there first. He swung around the corner in a swirl of his long coat, the shadows darkening his chocolate-coloured mane of dreadlocks and the dull orange power module of his long, square-muzzled pistol glowing dimly as he levelled it calmly at an unseen target.

"Wait!" came the shout in a vaguely familiar voice, smooth but urgent, echoing slightly into the depths of the cave. In half a dozen quick steps John was there, spinning around the corner with the P90 raised so he could peer critically down the sight.

It pointed unwaveringly towards the man half-hidden in the shadows, seeming black after the bright, colour-leeching sun, his hands raised with his palms outward to show that he was unarmed. For a moment John could only see an outline, but then the colonel's vision adjusted and he made out the faded blue and red of the man's grimy clothes.

"Major Sheppard," That familiar voice came again as he heard Teyla and Rodney come up behind them, cautiously stepping over the loose gravel and stones.

How does he know my name?

The words almost sounded like a question but weren't, should have sounded surprised but instead sounded resigned, pleading… relieved!

Jaw set tensely, John flicked on the slim flashlight strapped to the top of his weapon that pierced through the shadows, bathing the thin, bearded face of the stranger and making him wince back. For a moment the Atlantean soldier didn't see anyone he knew in the tanned features, the darkly circled eyes, blinking to adjust to the sudden change in illumination. On the contrary, the black lattice of lines spider-webbing up the man's neck made the colonel shudder, his skin crawling in revulsion as the flashlight's beam settled upon it.

Then, "I don't believe it," Rodney breathed incredulously behind him, and a slight smile twitched the stranger's lips, his brown eyes sparkling tiredly with a gentle, reluctant humour that quickly fled.

And that was where John saw it. His firearm faltered, lowered. "Grodin?" he demanded disbelievingly, dimly aware of Teyla's soft, indrawn breath, Ronon's steady, unblinking gaze and even steadier pistol.

"I was right!" Rodney pushed past the stunned colonel, blue eyes jubilant, grinning as though he'd just won the Nobel Prize. "Zelenka said that – well, he was wrong, I really did see it, they used a culling beam, I worked it out this morning but he said it's been too long – so if you were with the Wraith then how did you escape, did you find anything interesting, did you –"

"Rodney!" Grodin said sharply, callused hands still raised as he cast a tentative, wary glance towards calm Ronon. "We don't have time. The Wraith will be coming down on us at any moment."

His voice was thick, but whether it was from emotion or urgency John didn't know. All he heard was 'Wraith' and snapped out of his shock as Ronon asked with confident aloofness, "How do you know that?" The slightly mocking twist to the Satedan's mouth made him seem like he was enjoying the discomfiture he was causing.

Grodin's eyes flickered towards the twisted wires and machinery scattered unnoticed among the terracotta stones at John's feet. Everyone except Ronon followed his gaze, shifting uncertainly to give room as Rodney reached down and seized the largest piece of scratched, grey debris with the speed of a striking snake. "You tried to reconfigure a Wraith beacon!" he demanded almost shrilly, the chipped armband fumbling in his hands.

John saw the familiar, pearly-white face of a homing device, now dead and shattered beyond repair in sharp, transparently crystalline edges. His stomach clenched, his body tensing with familiar adrenaline. He knew what that meant.

"I didn't have a lot of options at the time!" was Grodin's frustrated, snappy response, his hands lowering slightly with the force of his words. They rose again with an aggravated, indrawn breath as Ronon renewed his grip warningly on the cloth-wrapped handle of the pistol, Grodin eyeing the Satedan charily.

Jittery, anxious, Rodney turned towards John, his voice breathless with urgency. "Colonel, we have to get out of here now!"

John nodded, aware that time was now passing on them. His grasp on the P90 shifted uneasily, almost caressing the black metal it as though in comfort. Anticipating the affirmative Teyla turned to leave the cave, stepping gracefully over the rock bed, her weapon already lifted in readiness in case they were sprung.

"What about him?" Ronon asked calmly, not moving at all, his piercing eyes still fixed to the weary scientist now returning his gaze with something akin to resignation. Teyla stopped short on the threshold between shadow and light, her brown eyes skipping expectantly from Ronon to John, but someone got there first.

"What d'you mean, 'what about him'?" Rodney turned on the tall Satedan, his words coming so fast they were almost a babble and his face pale with apprehension. "He's coming with us!"

"We should stun him just to make sure." Ronon returned easily, but that only solicited a derisive snort and a genuine, full-bodied McKay eye-roll.

"Oh, yes, brilliant, then you can carry him to the stargate while we run for our lives to escape the Wraith." Rodney snapped, hand bobbing restlessly in the air.

"He's right. Stand down." John growled, hardly glancing to either the thickset scientist or the rangy Satedan, but his eyes on the carpeting rubble of the cave floor. Rodney stopped short, looking momentarily surprised, but when Sheppard refused to meet his gaze something like hurt flashed across his features, quickly replaced by lofty superiority, and his hand fell.

There was a moment in which Ronon considered whether or not Sheppard's order was safe to follow before he spun the pistol in his grasp and holstered it in one fluid motion, his green eyes never leaving the quiet physicist.

Peter watched all this with an experienced, keen eye, silently witnessing the exchange and feeling a pang of uncertainty come through the combination of anxiety and exultation that twisted his stomach. What was going on there?

"Major Lorne, we're coming back. Look out for Wraith." Sheppard spoke tersely into his radio, signing off before the major could reply. He turned away with a jerk of his firearm, his hazel eyes skittering grimly over each of them. "Let's get the hell outta here," he offered, steel lacing his words, and Peter couldn't agree more.

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"Colonel, we've got gate activity!" Lorne's voice burst through the radio, but Sheppard didn't even break in stride.

"Copy that," was his only answer, lifting the radio strapped to the front of his vest to his lips. "Stay out of sight."

Strung out in a loose line, with Sheppard leading and Ronon bringing up the rear, they paced quickly over the thin pseudo-trail, weapons scanning the thick, bright green foliage and every nerve alight with anticipation.

They were going at a pretty fast clip; quick enough that Peter began to feel light-headed, stubbornly ignoring the dizziness he knew was sure to come soon. Before, he'd felt almost normal – but that was then. Now, pressed onward by the knowledge of Wraith encroachment, whatever compensations that thing – the bite, the wound, he didn't know what to call it – had made were failing.

Then Sheppard stopped short, his fist jerking up to signal a halt, an instant after the shrill keen of approaching darts rang through the listless, faded woods.

"They're coming this way," Ronon noted almost blandly in the pause, his shaggy head turned upward towards the thin canopy, green eyes searching expectantly for the speeding figures that would pass over them high above. Peter took the opportunity to bend over his knees, taking a few deep breaths to clear his head.

"How astute of you," Rodney snapped, turning slightly to throw a disdainful glare at Ronon over his black-coated shoulder, snarky despite the danger.

"We cannot let them see us," Teyla reminded Sheppard urgently from the centre, gripping her P90 tightly.

"I know," Sheppard said on a grim exhale, already moving forward with quick steps. And with a rising degree of tension, the others followed.

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Major Marcus Lorne shifted uneasily, his soft eyes scanning the dull surroundings and his fingers flexing on the black grip of his weapon. He was standing in the entrance to the cloaked puddlejumper, hidden from view, while the rest of his four-man team were spread out around the colour-leached bushes nearby. The darts had streaked off towards the cave, but they were still near enough for him to register the quiet, high-pitched whine in the background.

That didn't last long.

It was with a tense chill that he realized the sound of the darts was once again approaching. Peeking around the smooth silver frame, knuckles white around the hilt of his gun, Marcus saw familiar white flashes rippling over the still forest in the distance. The uninformed might have thought it was a ripple of heat; reasonable, considering the clear, too-bright skies.

Marcus knew it was the random sweep of culling beams.

His stomach clenched but his jaw was set grimly, ignoring the anxiety twisting his insides. He breathed evenly, deeply, refusing to give it free rein, even though his blue eyes were locked upon the undulating shafts of light meandering over the semi-transparent canopy. Some were drawing closer.

The other dark streaks he could see over the horizon circled away, over the cave.

In a corner of his mind he prayed for Colonel Sheppard and his team; that none of them had been caught by the beams. One hand drifted to the radio strapped snugly to the front of his rough-textured vest, resting on it reassuringly. They were in the forest… they didn't need distractions.

They didn't need to cater to an apprehensive major, fearful for their safety.

Sometimes he hated being a soldier.

And then he lost the chance to think about it, because a dart wheeled towards them with a careening shriek, the culling beam raking the edges of the rocky field and making the thick foliage rustle in its shimmering draught. Marcus' eyes cut sharply towards one of the tall trees dotting the weed-choked clearing, where he could see the form of one of his men crouched under the dappling shadow of the branches. His heart thudded in his ribs as the beam swept closer to the man, huddled against the peeling trunk, but it had barely raked the outer leaves of the splayed boughs before the beam shut off and the dart screamed overhead.

Marcus swallowed through a dry mouth, but his words were calm, if urgent, when he ducked his head to speak into the radio. "Fall back to the jumper."

As the blue-and-grey vessel reached the farthest arc of its wide circle, the undulating beam whining randomly over rocks and debris, three figures departed their various, semi-hidden posts and ran like hell for the mark they'd noted in a seemingly empty field.

Before the dart had doubled back on its distance, all three figures had vanished from sight.

The culling beam dipped from the splayed wings of the dart nonetheless, swelling over the rocky ground inches from the still-open hatch.

Instinctively Marcus jumped back with a barely muffled oath, the beam momentarily seething above him like a curtain before continuing on its rippling way.

"Can that thing penetrate the inside of the jumper?" Billick, his second-in-command, asked grimly, sweat making his short, dark hair stick up every which way. He looked odd standing in the centre of the compartment, almost too big for the low, curved ceiling, with the twin cushioned seats lining the walls beneath bulging, black-meshed equipment nets crowding the overhead space.

"Whaddaya say we don't find out?" Marcus replied almost glibly, brushing past his brown-eyed companion to make for the cockpit, hardly passing a glance over the two sprint-weary soldiers exchanging uneasy glances from their seats on either side of the black-gripped floor.

A moment later the air in the centre of the field shimmered, unnoticed and barely visible, as the cloaked puddlejumper lifted with a soft whine and escaped the seething culling beams skittering over the weedy meadow.

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"Major Lorne, what is your position?" Sheppard demanded through his radio, hazel eyes fixed upon the patchy view of the tree-dotted field, scoured by the rippling beams. The two darts wheeled noisily overhead, raking the ground and the forest's thinning canopy, on its nearest stretch before the stargate.

"We're in the air, sir," Lorne's voice sounded tinnily through the speakers. "We didn't know if the culling beam would work through the puddlejumper's cloak."

"Eh, probably a good idea not to experiment under the circumstances," Rodney muttered unasked, and Peter chuckled breathlessly through the ragged gasps shaking his frame. Teyla heard it, her auburn hair whirling over the stiff collar of her red-and-black jacket as she turned to look at him worriedly. The scientist was slumped over his knees nearby a wrinkled tree; its bark was coming off in curls and flakes beneath the trembling hand pressed to the rough surface to keep his balance. His eyes were closed, his face pale, and as she watched she thought she saw a minuscule tendril reach out from the edge of the black lattice on his neck and bury itself back into the skin of his cheek.

Her silent, indrawn breath through parted lips was interrupted by Sheppard's grim tones, her attention drawn away with a flicker of soft brown eyes. "Right. Their pattern probably won't give us time for you to land and pick us up. We'll have to run for it; dial up on an overhead pass when we get close, then circle around and come after us."

"Acknowledged, sir."

Rodney, having seen Teyla's sharp movements, followed her averted gaze to Peter, still bent over his knees and struggling to calm his pounding heart, spinning head and queasy stomach. "Hey, Peter, you slacking off now?"

"Just give me a minute," Peter whispered without looking at him, but the Canadian could see his face was starkly pale, his jaw clenched against nausea and dizziness.

"What?" Rodney demanded, slogging distastefully through the bushes creeping over the debris-strewn ground to reach his side as Sheppard turned, a frown shading his eyes. "I hate to be Captain Obvious, but we've got a time limit here!" he grimaced almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, but a half-hearted grin stretched Peter's lips.

"No, remind me, please," he wheezed. "Are we on a tight schedule?"

"Funny!" Rodney snapped, taking Peter's grimy arm. "You've deteriorated from pointing out the obvious to repeating my words of wisdom. Let's get you out of here before it gets any worse."

"Teyla, get on his other side," Sheppard ordered, fingers rapping in a quick mantra on the butt of his gun. "Ronon and I will take point, cover you from the stargate. Keep to the trees." Teyla nodded and moved to Peter's side, absently brushing away the leaves that dipped towards her. Peter's legs nearly buckled as he straightened, but his arm was already around Rodney's shoulders and the Canadian held him up with a breathless groan about the Englishman's weight. Teyla caught Peter's hand and gratefully he leaned on her, his steps steadying as they turned towards the meadow.

"Get ready," Ronon grunted from the edge of the forest, where foliage spilled onto the field and merged with the stony ground. His green eyes were following the darts as they wheeled towards the closest arc of their circle, his long-barrelled gun resting in the crook of his neck. Then, as they began to curve away, he barked, "Now!"

They broke from the woods on a sprint towards the scattered trees, towards the stargate set as a grey landmark in the washed-out surroundings. They could see the darts as dark streaks on the skyline, too far away for them to identify the Atlanteans among the sparse cover.

Peter stumbled on a rock, a hiss escaping his lips as the movement jerked uncomfortably on his wound. His eyes were locked on the nearby ring, close and yet so far as the chevrons lit with dull clunks, his ears ringing with the shriek of the Wraith vessels – or was that the dizziness that suddenly sent his vision white? His foot caught on something else and he dragged at Rodney's shoulders to keep his balance, hardly aware of Teyla's soft, warm hands steadying him on his other side. His lung burned, his breath came in short gasps, and he was running blind, relying totally on the two team mates flanking him. He was spent; he had nothing left. But that was okay.

Because now he had someone to lean on.

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"What's happening?" Elizabeth's quick step was almost a jog, eating up the short, glass-walled catwalk between her corner office and the wide control room.

"It's from P3M-736," Sergeant Grimault reported quickly, blue eyes flickering over his screen, fingers hovering over the humming crystals. Down below, the security team had their weapons aimed at the fractured shield, crouched at doors and the base of the platform stretching from the stargate to the chiselled stairs leading to the control room.

"We're receiving Sergeant Billick's IDC," Tan Nguyen, an Asian-American technician with sleek black hair, added from off to the side, reading the blipping blue-and-pink window on the slim monitor of his laptop.

"Lower the shield," Elizabeth said automatically, and the sergeant's hand flashed to the crystal beside the DHD's geometric panels to do so. The crystallised shield shattered, vanished, leaving behind the undulating blue event horizon to bathe the crimson floor.

Elizabeth's expression was studiously calm, even though worry was set deep inside her hazel eyes and her stomach was twisting with anxiety. Did they find him? Was it Ford? Were a few of the thoughts buzzing through her mind, half hopeful and half uncertain, afraid.

Three figures staggered through the wormhole with the familiar sucking noise and Elizabeth radioed Carson before skirting the arc of sharp-cornered consoles, slipping between the rows towards the crystal-flanked exit leading into the gateroom. Her gaze swept them cursorily, her stomach tightening when she didn't recognise the filthy man between Teyla and Rodney as two more, Ronon and John, backed into the spacious, sunlit hall, their respective weapons still levelled at whatever danger had been on the other side.

"Lorne's coming through!" John shouted in warning as she reached the stretch of floor between the circular conference room and the control centre, at the height of the steps opposite the stargate. Soldiers all over moved quickly aside but didn't lower their guard as Teyla and Rodney practically carried their lurching, gasping companion to the safety of the short wall flanking one side of the lightly glowing steps, where he sank to the smooth floor, pulling Rodney and Teyla with him.

A second later the streamlined puddlejumper streaked through, halting sharply with a visible ripple of backlashed air. "Raise the shield!" The icy cover plinged into place as the city took over the puddlejumper's controls, the vessel rotating slowly as it ascended through the hexagonal opening in the ceiling.

"What happened!" Elizabeth demanded, pacing swiftly down the stairs at the same time as Carson emerged from one of the bronze, stained-glass doors to the side with a medical team, his white labcoat fluttering around his legs. The diplomat's eyes flashed towards Teyla and Rodney, who had untangled themselves from their companion, but remained anxiously crouched by his side. He himself was slumped on the floor, wracked with fatigue-induced coughs. Teyla was murmuring gently in his ear, her slim hands resting gently on his arm, and Rodney supported his shoulders, his own face grey and lopsided mouth tight.

In the instant that her eyes lit upon them the newcomer caught his breath, his ashen face lifting, and Elizabeth's heart stopped.

Those eyes. Familiar eyes, set in an unfamiliar face, bearded, pale and made gaunt by hardship; eyes that had once held everything from enthusiasm, to shock, to humour… those bright eyes which had once held wit and composure and intelligence, now only thinly veiling desperation, pain, and dulled horror.

"Good Lord," she heard Carson breathe incredulously beside her.

"Peter," Her lips moved but the word was carried on an exhalation hardly strong enough to bear sound. Her own eyes said it all; wide, disbelieving and yet somehow hopeful.

It was a moment, nothing more, because then he sagged against Rodney with a sigh, unconscious. "Stretcher!" Carson snapped behind him, and then he was striding across the hall, past his stunned boss, his team following behind with a soft rattle of wheels and tramp of shoes.

Elizabeth hardly registered as the medics lifted Peter limply onto the stretcher, gaping, shocked, after them as they hurried towards the infirmary with Rodney in tow. When they vanished through the doorway her reverie was broken and she finally became aware of her surroundings, letting out a breath she didn't know if she'd been holding or not, her dazed eyes shifting towards John as he approached, Teyla and Ronon behind him.

"How?" she whispered.

"We found him in the cave," John explained bleakly, his expression distantly sympathetic, softened to wary concern. "Apparently he reconfigured a Wraith beacon, but didn't shut off the Wraith signal. I don't think they recognised us."

She wasn't paying attention. Her glance drifted back towards the door, and John's gaze followed her. "Go on," he ordered gently on a breath, jerking his head towards the corridor. "We can report later."

Elizabeth snapped out of her funk, heard his words, and looked up to the control room just visible over the lip of the balcony, lined in glowing script. Bryan Grimault, himself looking shocked but displaying a calm and attention that would've made Peter proud, nodded to her firmly in answer. Go.

Hesitating no longer, her heart pounding with wild hope, her stomach twisting with uncertainty, with relived grief, with exaltation, Elizabeth hurried towards the infirmary.