Chapter 12

The aliens at the end of the portal weren't wasting any time. Carson muscled his way past Ronon and made a dive for Sheppard, started undoing the restraint straps as fast as he could. A marine was in front of Kate, trying to do as he'd been trained – protecting civilians – but this particular civilian ignored him and joined Carson.

Rodney in the interim, observing the mayhem, thought it would be a good idea to get rid of the thorn in their sides. Namely, the homing device. He hustled over to the platform, along with Hermiod.

It was lying there, covered in mucus and blood, micro thin tendrils snapping around like the arms of an enraged octopus. The fact that it even had tendrils made Rodney want to barf. Worse, it seemed like it was missing some legs. Presumably they were still in Sheppard's head somewhere.

Hermiod observed the writhing mass of what appeared to be a cybernetic organism. "We should keep it for further study."

Normally Rodney would have agreed. In fact, he probably would have been the first to suggest it. But right now, with a subspace portal opening up in his lab, everyone getting a bird's eye view of doom, and Sheppard facing another abduction, Rodney decided on a more immediate solution.

"Get me a hammer."

((--))

Ronon watched as the portal widened, braced himself, aimed the blaster. He could count maybe five figures, blurry and unfocused, standing on the other side of the portal. Five didn't seem many, in fact it seemed a pathetic amount. Assessing the situation initially he thought they either simply didn't have the numbers or it was hubris. Technically superior race gets smug, presumes its invincible.

He'd have to see which way the fight went.

The portal itself wasn't much bigger than three feet, but the aliens weren't exactly big in stature. So they'd be coming through a whole lot sooner, rather than later.

He could hear Caldwell's voice over his radio, broadcasting to all frequencies, trying to assess whether the lab was compromised or not. Ronon ignored him and decided that he'd continue to do so unless there was imminent danger of Caldwell deciding to vent the air.

The portal was wide enough for the aliens to start to move into the lab. Ronon fired off a shot, expecting the first alien to drop, but the stick figure from hell just remained upright.

One of the key traits of an intelligent being was adaptability and it seemed that the aliens had adapted to Ronon's attempt at killing them by changing their tactic. It was less about disabling Sheppard and more about disabling everyone around him. Bigger weapons, maybe some sort of personal body armor. That pissed Ronon off because he didn't think they were playing fair. But when had aliens that used evil as their main reason for getting up in the mornings, ever played fair?

He readjusted his aim, trying to get an angle on the head. The basic principle of shooting someone was this; aim for the torso. It's the biggest, most stable target on the body. If you could get off a head shot, excellent – the target was more likely to drop where it stood. But the torso was generally the way to go, unless of course they were wearing body armor and the head was a much bigger target. For the gray guys, it was definitely the head.

The first alien out swung around, seemingly unfazed by the sheer size of Ronon, the alien's movements a blur. A little tricky to get a bead on them with all their hyperactivity but Ronon began to think the task was going to be easier than he'd calculated, considering their callous disregard for their own safety. At about the same time he was trying to squeeze off a shot, another alien, one that Ronon hadn't been paying attention to, came in for the kill. Ronon instinctively threw himself to the side as he saw the altered movement and the flash of a weapon but it wasn't enough. He smelt burning flesh, vaguely thought of barbecue, then the pain hit and he realized he was the barbecue.

He crashed down to the floor, hitting heavy, his blaster still in his hand. If he was capable of moving he would have swung around and tried again, but the pain, and some sort of creeping paralysis were working on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a streak of gray and he heard the weird skittering sound, close to him, and he understood why Sheppard was freaked out by them. He was freaked out himself. But at least he wasn't dead. The Grays seemed sloppy that way, or maybe just arrogant, or delusional. In war, a man went down, in some cases you made sure they stayed down. Ronon had fought enough tough battles to know the so called 'rules' were frequently broken. Seemed the Grays no longer considered him a threat and that was all they cared about.

He heard the firing of P90s, loud, and the burst of fire was abruptly cut short and he figured the marines had met a similar fate. They were maybe alive, maybe dead, the intensity of the charred odor pointing towards dead.

Ronon made one last attempt to get up. He put all of his remaining strength and muscle into it, thought for a moment he might just make it even though he was sweating and felt sick to his stomach. Seemed five of them were quite enough after all.

That was the last thing he saw.

((--))

Rodney was standing back by the platform, having just grabbed the hammer off Hermiod, most of his attention focused on the fracas taking place about three meters away. The volunteer marines, the ones that seemed reasonably pleasant and very young, were now so much charcoal, desiccated flesh and exposed bone. What was the term Sheppard used? Oh yeah, crispy critters. The poor bastards were crispy critters.

Ronon was on the floor, unconscious, his side still smoking, and Rodney had no idea how bad the injury was, or how the hell Carson was going to fix it. Lorne was unconscious too, but appeared, thankfully, to be undamaged.

That just left Carson, Sheppard and Kate. Carson and Kate had managed to free Sheppard, pull him out of the way and they were standing protectively in front of him as the Grays advanced. Of course, another name for 'protectively' could have been 'foolhardy'.

Hermiod interrupted Rodney's observation of events to date.

"Dr. McKay, I think now would be an excellent time for you to put your plan into effect. I am going to attempt to aid the others."

"What the hell are you going to do? They'll snap you in two like a pretzel."

"I am not sure, but I will do something."

Hermiod moved down from his position from behind the lab controls. Rodney turned and went to try and get at least one thing right in the whole mess. He crouched down and took to the homing device with the hammer.

To Rodney's intense satisfaction, the device was promptly flattened, spraying out a combination of its internal circuitry, fluid, and what looked like organic components all over the platform. The creature made one last slashing movement with its tendrils before giving up and dying.

He'd never quite understood why they had hammers on the Daedalus and he'd always supposed it was for the maintenance crews. When they couldn't fix the plumbing or whatever, they presumably just hit the problem with a hammer. He used to think including a hammer and screwdrivers (flat head and Philips), wire cutters and a dozen very mundane and ordinary tools on a ship built by the Asgard was stupid.

Admiring his handiwork he decided that he'd changed his mind. He really, really liked and admired hammers. They were brilliant. There should be more of them.

The much admired hammer was being wrenched out of his grasp. He stood upright, whirled to fight off one of the Grays and found himself confronted by John Sheppard. Rodney thought the best way to sum up Sheppard at this particular point in time was super sized insanity. Hospital gown, messy hair, bare feet, orthopedic screws on his face, and a psychotic killer expression.

"They said I'm supposed to be good but I think I'm going to be bad," said Sheppard.

Then he strode down the steps, clutching the hammer and it occurred to Rodney that in all of the excitement he'd forgotten to call for reinforcements.

Watching as the aliens started getting unnaturally interested in Carson, Hermiod standing opposite a Gray screeching like a tom cat, and Sheppard about to wreck vengeance, he guessed that right about now would be an excellent time.

((--))

Carson freely admitted to himself and to others that he wasn't a tough guy. He still missed his Mum, and tended to cry more easily than others, except of course when there was a medical emergency. Something to do with all the empathy stuff he was supposed to be good at.

Right about now he thought crying wouldn't cut it. Screaming might. Because the sinister aliens, who really shouldn't have been all that menacing considering their size, seemed to have divided their interest between Sheppard and himself.

He and Kate had stepped in front of Sheppard to protect him, by instinct, and two of the aliens had stopped and sniffed the air like dogs on the trail of a scent. One of them had smiled at Carson, with a mouth full of teeth seen in two-year olds, narrowed his eyes and pointed in his direction.

"Crap. I've got the bloody A.T.A gene," said Carson, more to himself than the others. Those hair-raising little buggers were going to go for a two for one deal.

He barely had time to get out the sentence when the same two aliens lunged at him, blurring their movement so they were like a bad CGI effect in a cheap SF movie, grabbed his legs and simply hauled him backwards. The movement completely caught him off guard, and he crashed to the ground, landing on his back.

He was even more surprised when they started dragging him towards the portal. Little gray aliens that sort of bore a resemblance to Hermiod should not be able to drag a human male across the floor as if they were kids dragging a puppy by its leash.

Kate was torn between who needed her help more. Sheppard was seemingly paralyzed by indecision and the sedation. Carson was doing his best to get himself free but there was nothing to grab onto. Kate made a decision, ran for Carson, grabbed an arm and tried pulling him back.

He'd turned into a giant wishbone. As long as they didn't snap him in half, he'd be happy.

"Hermiod, grab the other arm!" It was Kate again, trying to get some help. Hermiod hurriedly joined in and Carson wasn't sure if two Grays versus an Asgard and a petite psychologist was an even match, but his would be rescuers were doing their best to slow the process down.

Of course, that didn't take care of the other aliens running around in the lab, making a beeline for Sheppard.

Who'd promptly taken off running towards McKay.

The aliens hung back, seemingly amused. Maybe they just enjoyed watching the struggles of their prey like a cat enjoyed toying with a mouse before they ate it.

Sheppard grabbed the hammer from McKay.

More dragging, he lurched forward.

The portal was getting awfully close.

((--))

Sheppard wasn't entirely sure what was happening. He was tired, but the adrenalin seemed to have kicked in or maybe it was just the sedation wearing off. Nothing was making much sense except that he was hyper focused on the only thing that mattered. The survival of the people in the lab.

He wasn't particularly concerned about his own safety any more. Not when he was watching Carson being hauled towards the portal and Grays heading his way and behind him, a frantic Rodney requesting as many armed personnel as Caldwell could spare, right damn now.

He'd had enough. Insistent voices in his head were telling him what to do. His father was telling him to sit down. Sit down and shut up. If he was good, Sheppard would sit down because he was going on a trip and the trip would take him a long way from anyone.

He didn't want to sit down, didn't care about being good. He'd tried often enough but being good kept going wrong. So he thought, maybe I should be bad. Bad would work.

The bad stuff he was planning wasn't well thought out. He'd be sloppy and probably get himself killed but he had a few tricks up his sleeve from his training with Teyla. When it came down to it, a hammer was just as good as Teyla's sticks and hurt more. Especially when using the claw end.

He stepped down, let out a roar, and charged at the Grays. There were three of them, observing his reactions. They obviously didn't consider him much of a threat. They were smiling away, presumably due to some joke they hadn't shared with him. Maybe it translated to, "Oh look at the dumb inferior human trying to attack us with a primitive weapon."

The first one, with the alien weapon, stood there like an idiot and Sheppard swung as hard as he could, using the ball of the hammer, connecting with the bloated head, the audible crack telling him that he'd pulled off his first kill.

The smile left the faces of the other aliens. They seemed confused by the response from their best test subject to date. Sheppard knew he wasn't supposed to be acting like this. They'd stuck a few hints into his thoroughly scrambled brains that said when he saw his new lord and masters he should shut up and follow meekly. And yeah, the desire was there, but the stronger desire was to protect his friends.

The other two, presumably the equivalent of Gray researchers, didn't have weapons. They panicked, spun on their midget heels, ready to run off. Sheppard aimed for the closest one, threw himself forward as fast as he could, smashed the tiny bastard right in the back of the head, heard the crack, felt the hammer sink a decent way down into the head. Seemed they had one serious weakness – their skulls weren't exactly thick.

The remaining alien let out a frightened squeal and made a move towards Carson and the other Grays.

Sheppard ran after him. From outside the lab he could hear some sounds, like someone trying to cut the door open with a welding torch. Probably the cavalry, although at this point in time, he thought they were going to be too late.

He weaved around behind the aliens, got between the group and the portal. He could feel it pulling at him, ready to drag him in. He was fucked anyway, so he didn't care.

"Let my friend go, or you're fucking next!"

The aliens were discovering the difficulties of trying to add in an unscheduled test subject while ignoring the strategic situation. Presumably they'd underestimated their enemy and gone in cocky. Served them right – a classic, greedy mistake.

The third one had joined his team mates, grabbed a weapon and whirled around to fire. Maybe he thought Carson was just as suitable as a test subject, so losing one was no big deal, and besides, in the end all of the A.T.A gene carriers were expendable. Sheppard reacted, all instinct, threw the hammer straight at its head, got a rewarding clunk as the claw end embedded into its forehead. It fell backwards with a thud. See, Gray, see what you get when you mess with a bad person.

Two left.

The remaining two finally quit, and dropped Carson's legs. They refocused back to their original intent – taking Sheppard.

He didn't have a weapon, and when he felt those parchment skin hands grabbing at his, his resolve to fight began melting away like a rogue hail storm on a summer's day. Oh. Shit. He was screwed.

He made an attempt to shake them loose, but their grip tightened, and all that conditioning he'd been fighting so hard to tamp down, started welling up. He would be going back, there wasn't any choice and he could only stand there, dumb, mute, waiting to die.

But at least he'd saved his friends.

He saw Carson scrabbling to his feet, Kate heading towards him, a hand held out, trying to somehow reach him. The aliens tugged him, pulled him into the vortex, and he was there, right there on the edge of precipice, every sense he had picking up the noises from the other side of the maw, the pitter patter of feet, the smell of death and he was teetering over, falling, falling backwards…

A hand reached out, grabbed a bunch of material on the hospital gown, another hand grabbed an arm and yanked. Another hand got the other arm. More pulling.

He'd closed his eyes, screwed them up tight when he'd felt the swirl of death behind him, but he forced them open now, saw that Rodney, Kate and Carson had grabbed him, their arms actually inside the portal's horizon, desperately trying to bring him back.

If they didn't let go, they'd be dragged in. The aliens would dispose of Kate, maybe Rodney, keep him and Carson before returning them – or not. He knew instinctively the upcoming round of testing they had planned for him might not kill him physically, but they'd kill him mentally. He'd be gone. Gone, gone, gone. Then again, at the rate he was going, he was fairly certain he didn't have a whole lot left in terms of sanity for them to take.

"Stop it!" He bellowed at them. They had to understand. "Let me go, you can't win. Let me go!"

Nobody answered him, and he felt himself at the center of another tug of war. He closed his eyes, told himself what he always told himself of late. I can go away from this. I can go far away and it's okay there, it's safe, I am untouched, and I am alone and that was the best way to be. People hurt, you got close to them, you trusted, put your faith in them and they betrayed you every single time. They walked away, disappeared. Or died. Not that it was their fault. The dying. They just did - but it still didn't make the sense of betrayal any easier to get over.

Hands were still yanking at him, both sides, he was like a chew toy, and he started screaming in rage and frustration, couldn't stand to have anyone else touch him, even though with the homing device gone the physical pain and overwhelming revulsion had left, but here he was, fought over like a souvenir.

He was vaguely aware of the sounds of something else in the portal. A Wraith stunner, the sounds of shooting. It struck him as a dangerous tactic in an enclosed space.

The hands kept tugging, more latched on, someone was yelling, "Don't let him go!"

The aliens actually seemed to loosen their grip. He heard a squeal to one side, like a stuck pig and his right arm wasn't being pulled out of its socket any more. Another squeal, a piercing screech and the left arm was free, and he was flying forward into a pile of people. Hey, the cavalry had arrived in time.

The smell of death, and the pull of the subspace vortex were gone.

"That'll teach them." The voice sound vaguely like Rodney but he wasn't sure. Another set of hands was pulling him upright, to his feet. He risked opening his eyes. The room was spinning around and he wasn't sure why. Carson was standing in front of him, looking distorted and blurry.

"John, are you okay?"

Debatable. He felt like he was submerging into a vat of molasses. Sinking slowly, no energy to pull himself free. He scanned the anxious faces looking at him, wished they'd stop, he wasn't some side show, and he'd been studied enough.

His eyes searched for danger, instantly homed in on one last problem.

A Gray. Standing there. Casual. What was he trying to do? Blend in? He was standing right beside Rodney, didn't Rodney see him?

He guessed they thought he'd run out of steam, but he had enough energy left, just enough, to deal with this one last problem. Kill him and it was over. All over. No more.

It took everything he had and he launched himself, leapt forward, grabbed the scrawny fucker by the neck. He was going to snap him in two.

"Jesus, he's got Hermiod. Someone get him off!"

He didn't know who said that. Didn't care. He squeezed, squeezed hard, felt the thing in his hands squirm, thrash, choke as it tried to get air and it was good, it was good to see his nightmare dying like this. Just one more death, just one more to send to hell and he could sleep, sleep a long time, go away, never come back. He'd feared going away into the portal but upon reflection, it wasn't such a bad idea. A good escape plan for a bad guy.

The hands were back to grabbing him again. He shrugged them off.

"Colonel! Colonel Sheppard! Christ, you're killing him. Stop it!" The statement was tinged with hysteria. Must have been McKay.

He laughed, relieved, because that was his intent. The hands were trying to pry off his fingers, actually lift them up, but this was his last shot and they would have to fucking break them to get him off.

There was a sensation on his arm, wasn't worth taking much notice of, like a scratch. Easy to ignore. The hands continued to pull him backwards, the thing in his hands refused to die but it was getting weaker. Yes.

He couldn't keep it up, something else crept through his veins, he was fading, his eyes were shutting again, he fought to keep them open. He really was leaving, which was a shame since the thing was still alive.

Kate was in his line of sight, and so was Carson. Carson was talking.

"It's over, you're okay. Everything is going to be okay."

Carson was wearing his lab coat. It was white. White was the color of the good guys and vanilla ice cream and paper and whipped cream and angels and snow.

He liked snow.

((--))

Carson caught Sheppard as he slumped, a couple of marines helped set him down on the floor. Rodney had gone to the aid of Hermiod and Carson immediately ran back to Hermiod as soon as Sheppard was lying down.

Hermiod was on the floor, struggling for breath. Rodney was kneeling beside the Asgard, wearing a shocked expression.

"He's not going to die is he? I mean, underneath it all, I like the little guy. You hear that Hermiod? I don't think you're that bad."

Carson bent down to view the injury to Hermiod's neck. Bruising all ready apparent, Sheppard's hand a clear outline, the bruises shaped like fingertips. Carson tried to run through the injuries in his mind, but he didn't have any idea about Asgard physiology. Strangulation in humans could break the hyoid bone, fracture the larynx, there might be a fracture of the vertebrae. The swelling could kill a person. Did Asgard even have those parts? The basics were the same; ensure the airway was open and stable. Hermiod was struggling to speak, clearly couldn't.

"Don't worry yourself Hermiod. We'll get you fixed up in no time." Carson hit his radio button, took a quick glance around the room at the wounded and dead.

"Dr. Jacobson, I've got a medical emergency in lab three. Hermiod's down. Possible severe neck injury. I have one male with a burn and possible abdominal injuries, unconscious, and I have another male unconscious, status unknown. I have one sedated male who's also going to need transport."

The radio immediately crackled into life. "Don't worry Carson, we're about thirty seconds away. Caldwell called in and said there were casualties."

Carson could do nothing but stay by Hermiod's side. His thoughts drifted to a variety of medical problems. He didn't know how they were going to stabilize Hermiod's neck for transport. Did they even carry pediatric cervical collars?

True to his word, Jacobson hit the lab, with an EMT team, extra gurneys – slammed to a stop as he momentarily surveyed the chaos.

"Holy, shit."

Carson beckoned him over. "How's your Asgard biology?"

"I studied it before I got posted to the Daedalus."

Jacobson bent down beside Hermiod, did a visual survey but restrained himself from palpitating the injury site until he had a better idea of what was happening.

"Hermiod, we're going to get you down to the infirmary and then we'll probably put you in stasis until the High Command can transfer you to a ship. Okay?"

The Asgard didn't say much, just closed his eyes.

While Jacobson busied himself getting Hermiod ready to move, placing around a specially designed collar, Beckett moved to his next two patients. Ronon and Lorne.

Both were unconscious, both breathing. Breathing was always a bonus. Lorne had no obvious signs of injuries so Beckett presumed he'd only been stunned. He wouldn't be surprised if it hadn't been a case of friendly fire, considering the close quarters fighting. He went to Ronon, checked the shirt around the burn. The material had fused into the wound, a deep furrow through the skin and part of the muscle. Healing a wound that size, especially a burn, was going to take a considerable amount of time and specialist care.

"Theodore, once you've assessed and stabilized Ronon, can you arrange to get him transported to SGC? He's going to need a dedicated burns unit."

"Got it."

The injured and dead were removed, whittling the numbers down until they were left with nothing but Sheppard. Rodney helped Carson get Sheppard upright, along with Kate, and place the man on the last gurney.

Rodney stood back, his expression miserable. He looked like he was about to cry. Kate came up to him, took his hand, squeezed it.

"We're going to be all right, Rodney. It's going to be okay."

Rodney tugged his hand from hers. "Right. Yes. We're all going to be just fine because of course, seeing Sheppard try to strangle Hermiod to death is just an every day occurrence. Yeah, this day has been fun. A lot of fun. We should do it again, real soon."

Carson didn't blame Rodney for his reaction because he wasn't feeling too stable himself. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. Thank God he didn't need to do any surgery immediately. He could do with a few minutes to calm down.

"Rodney, I don't think they're going to come back. The homing device has gone, and considering what just happened, they'd think twice."

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." Rodney turned his back on them, strode back to the consoles. "You should take Sheppard down to the infirmary. I've got work to do."

Carson opened his mouth to say something, but Kate gave him a warning glance and he didn't push it. Just grabbed the gurney and started wheeling it out of the room.

((--))

It was a mess. A big, fat mess. They'd come back from the Daedalus emotionally crippled. Sheppard was catatonic, Rodney was a wreck. Even Kate and Carson seemed dazed.

Elizabeth did as the leader of the Atlantis expedition was expected to do. She arranged the paperwork for Ronon, made sure the SGC knew his background, prayed he'd be okay and make a speedy recovery. Lorne was back to duty within a day, healthy, the effects of the stunner worn off.

She didn't quite know where to begin with the rest of the team and she was dreading writing the report. Caldwell had pretty much moved in permanently with John out of commission and Kate seemed to think it would be a long time before John came back, if ever.

She thought back to her original push for the security protocols to be implemented. Carson had warned her to leave well enough alone when Sheppard hadn't been able to remember. She could have done nothing, not even mentioned it in her reports, fibbed, told some lies. But she'd pushed and then she'd regretted the push and it was too late to take back. Too late to undo any of this.

Elizabeth Weir hated days like this. She'd second guess herself to the end of time, rerun her decisions, rerun her actions.

She sighed, signed onto her laptop and began to type. About the only thing she could do now was figure out a way to stop them sending Sheppard back to Earth because once he was there, she doubted she'd ever see him again.

((--))

Sun was shining through the window. The rays of light came through the glass, created patterns on the floor covering and he liked to watch the patterns, watch the floor. He was unconcerned that the patterns took a long time to change.

He was slumped on the couch in Kate's office. Sometimes he sat, most times he lay on his side, curled up, arm under his head. Wherever he went he took the Ancient toy that Rodney had given him. It worked now, since the device had gone and it was reassuring to be able to pull it out of his jacket pocket and activate it. He liked that it talked away in its silly voice. Even Kate didn't seem to mind but he figured he must have taken a serious trip over the cliffs of insanity if she let him just lie around in her office like a beached whale and occasionally play with nursery toys produced by a long extinct race. Hey, a beached whale that had fallen off the cliffs of insanity and into a vat of molasses while playing with toys. Yeah, screwed. So screwed. Bad analogies were just the start.

Apparently, it had taken him a few days to come back from his latest attempt to depart reality prematurely. Carson and Kate had agreed on using the standard treatment first. Lorezapam, into the muscle. Carson had just kept plugging him with doses at the prescribed intervals and three days later he'd swum back up from wherever he'd been, and rejoined the land of the living. He was back on Atlantis, in his favorite room in the infirmary. There was sarcastic emphasis on 'favorite'.

The first day of awareness, his face still hurt from the guide screws, so he got ibuprofen for that. Then his sinus decided to spontaneously drain. He hadn't been capable of doing anything but lying in the bed, didn't have the strength or energy to take care of it. He'd felt a tissue against his face.

"Blow. You've had a wee bit of a sinus infection."

His brain, still trying to make sense of the various stimuli, thought he was four again, and it was his father. He did as he was told. A wad of snot seemed to seep out of his nose. The event was followed by a brief silence, and he thought he saw Carson examining the contents of said tissue.

"Lad, I think your sinus is going to take a while to drain."

He pulled a face. "S'not good." His brain said he may have inadvertently made a joke but he was too tired to care. He felt his eyes closing again.

After that, he was more lively, but living was open to interpretation. He talked when he was asked a question, he made himself lie still when Carson or Richard changed his dressings, even though he wanted to squirm away, because it was another thing that they'd want him to talk over. Mostly he found that he liked staring at walls. Or the ceiling. Or a speck of dust on the bed table.

Rodney visited him a few times, seemed off kilter, spooked on many levels. Sheppard would have provided some support if only he could think of the words to say.

Carson told him Hermiod was okay. It didn't have much meaning to him. He didn't remember Hermiod being around. Grays, yes. Lots of them. Or it seemed like a lot. He'd remembered them trying to take Carson and he was glad that the plan had failed. Carson was still here, and that was good.

Kate usually just stayed in her chair when he was in her office, but sometimes she knelt beside him and put her hand on his arm. He never reacted, but he never pulled away either. Sometimes she said something, usually something meaningless because he didn't want to talk about what had been happening and she couldn't make him. Besides, he couldn't make any sense of the images. They were disjointed, like someone had done some bad editing on a movie. When the movie got too shocking, he tried to leave. One day he'd been in her office, and a piece of paper had fallen on the floor and for that second, when it was fluttering down, it sounded like the scratch of unnaturally small feet. He'd bolted, found enough energy to leave, used a couple of transporters to find a deserted part of the city and hide out.

The place had gone bat shit. They'd sent out search parties and located him a day later. He didn't care, he'd kicked back in a long deserted set of quarters he'd found. Not comfortable but not bad. He preferred the quiet, and he especially liked the lack of people, and the lack of reminders of the past month or more.

When they'd found him - Carson leading the charge - Carson had wearily remarked, "I see you can find some get-up-and-go when you need to, Colonel."

Sure, if it involved crawling off by himself to lick his wounds, sure. Unfortunately all of the compassionate people surrounding him with masses of pity and concern thought it was a bad idea. Hey, a bad idea from a bad man – why were they surprised?

Kate let out a soft sigh, glanced at her watch.

"Sorry, Colonel, I have someone else to see. I'll come and visit you tonight, okay?"

He nodded, managed to get himself upright. The door opened, Richard came in. After his last escape attempt, he got escorted to and from Kate's office. He guessed he could have taken Richard out if he wanted to, but he didn't. Besides, he'd had enough killing for a while. Killing – even of Grays – left him with nothing but endless flashbacks of the physical sensations of feeling them die by his hand.

He was stepping out of the office, Rodney almost crashed into him. That was the other person. Rodney hesitated, looked embarrassed.

"I'm helping her out. She's hopeless with the WiFi connection, can't seem to get her laptop connected."

Sheppard smiled, a small smile, knew that Rodney was lying because Rodney couldn't lie to save his own life – and that was a literal truth.

"Well, hope you're feeling better soon," said Rodney. It sounded stilted and forced, as though Kate had been making him practice saying the phrase, which presumably she had.

For some reason it suddenly seemed important to figure out what was bugging Rodney. The scientist was avoiding him, or maybe not avoiding him, just unsure of how to act around him, or what to say. Rodney, and him, it was a difficult friendship. They traded insults, fought like cat and dog, Sheppard yelled at him, Rodney protested at his treatment. Ultimately McKay pulled their collective asses out of the fire, and Sheppard worked some weapons magic and provided backup. They were actually a good team, if they could just get past the superficiality. Scientist and Soldier. If Rodney couldn't figure it out they could always blow it up with C4. It was like a perfect combo. Like milk and cornflakes.

There were those bad analogies again. Although Sheppard knew he'd definitely become a flake.

"Hey."

Rodney was half way through the door. He stopped, turned around.

"Yes?"

Sheppard shifted the weight on his feet. He'd managed to get back into shoes over the last week, for which he was grateful but not as grateful as he thought he would be. His emotional range was distinctly flat these days, not that it was ever exactly there to begin with.

"Are you okay?"

Rodney frowned, looked at him like he'd just asked the world's stupidest question. Kate hovered in the background, eavesdropping.

"No. Not really. But thanks for asking."

Both men stood there, Sheppard unable to think of anything else to say, Rodney not inclined to offer him more. Sheppard's brain ticked over. Did he care whether Rodney was okay or not? On many levels, it didn't matter. It was all about keeping safe, keeping everyone at arm's length, because he didn't think he could go through more loss or any more pain, or worry that by Sheppard simply being around, others could be hurt. Atlantis had, unfortunately, gifted him with friends, whether he liked it or not. Friends were just something to worry about.

He shifted again, rocked on his feet. "Uh, I'm sorry?" Sheppard looked at McKay, tried to judge whether that was the right thing to ask. Or say.

"What the hell are you sorry about? Jesus." Rodney crossed his arms.

"McKay."

"Yes?"

"I don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"Understand. What happened. There's stuff. It's, uh, it's kind of jumbled."

"Oh." Rodney uncrossed his arms, didn't seem to know what to do next. Kate stepped forward.

"Rodney, how do you feel about John sitting in?"

Rodney shrugged. "Sure. I guess. He'd better not blab about this to anyone though. I have a reputation to protect."

It was Sheppard's turn to shrug. "The way my brain operates these days, I doubt I'll remember what I had for dinner."

"Yes. Okay then. Fine."

Sheppard took his cue from Rodney and Kate and followed them back in. This was a big risk, and he wasn't sure why he was taking it, but maybe he'd get some of his marbles back.

((--))