A/N: I admit that this chapter has been the most disturbing for me to write so far. I won't go in depth, but I have had some bad experiences in my past that I drew upon while writing this. I hope you're all enjoying it, because I sure poured my heart into it.

John had suffered through a migraine headache most of the day before finally being allowed to take some aspirin. By that time, every other member of his team had been informed that they were cleared to go back to their normal duties after the second round of blood tests had come up negative for infection. McKay had been the first to disappear from the infirmary after the news broke. He was positive that McKay had quite a few choice words for Dr. Zelenka, who had blatantly ignored every one of his attempts to have someone bring some of his research to him in the infirmary.

Not that he could blame him, though, for being worried considering all the different stories that were floating around. As he sat quietly eating his lunch in the commissary, he could scarcely believe it himself. Every time he overheard someone retelling the story to someone else, it seemed exaggerated and became more and more gruesome every time he heard it. If there was one thing he hated about living in a city with more civilians present than military personnel, it was the way scuttlebutt was passed along like that.

He looked up from his meal as a tray was set down on the table in front of the seat across from him. Dr. McKay sat down without so much as a greeting and started eating his turkey sandwich. Neither of them was in a very good mood today.

"So," Rodney began with a mouthful of turkey sandwich. "Did you see Carson today?"

John wasn't all that sure he really wanted to talk about it, but responded anyway. "Yeah, I have."

Rodney swallowed hard and waited a moment before taking another bite. "Is he feeling any better? I haven't had a chance to see him since yesterday."

Sheppard looked away and scratched his head reflexively. "No, Rodney. I'd say he's not feeling better."

He stopped mid-chew. "What do you mean?"

"The last time I saw him, he was catatonic." John decided that it shouldn't be necessary to say more.

"Hmm," Rodney mumbled somewhat more apathetically than he meant to. "Well… maybe I should go see him again, then."

"I wouldn't," John replied despondently. Deciding that he'd had enough lunch as he rose from his chair, he picked up his tray and set it down on the pile to be washed.

Rodney watched him leave and suddenly wasn't sure that he had enough of an appetite left to finish his sandwich. He wondered why John had so casually discouraged him from seeing Carson. With everything that had happened, Rodney couldn't imagine that the good doctor wouldn't want company. Being in a catatonic state just meant that he wouldn't be able to argue with him about anything he had to say. Maybe if Rodney could somehow manage to annoy him enough, Carson just might decide to wake up and say something.

He halted, hesitant to open the door. Rodney had been given an expectation by one of the guards at the door of what he would find inside, and he was suddenly reluctant to confront it. For a long moment, he simply stared at the panel on the door, debating silently with himself over whether or not he should just forget about it and go back to work or simply get the visit over with.

He knew it would nag him the rest of the day if he didn't do it. Slowly, Rodney reached for the panel, opened the door, and stepped through. He was almost thankful that the guards didn't bother to follow him inside.

In the center of the tiny isolation room, Carson was laid out flat on a cot. Rodney almost thought he was asleep for a moment, but as he stepped closer he noticed that Carson's eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling. He pulled up a chair next to the cot and sat down. For a long moment, Rodney just sat there quietly. It was one of those few and awkward moments in his life where he wasn't really sure that he knew what he wanted to say.

"You know what your problem is?" Rodney began, speaking more to himself than to Carson. "You're too nice to people. Every time you go off world, something awful happens to somebody and you're there to pick up the pieces. This time it just happened to nip you in the ass instead of someone like me."

His commentary elicited no reaction. Rodney wanted to slap him across the face to make him wake up and pay attention, but restrained himself. Another moment of awkward silence filled the room.

"Don't you ever get tired of it?" He wasn't even thinking about trying to be meaningful any more and just let loose a stream of consciousness, pausing dramatically between sentences. "Don't you ever get tired of being nice? You don't have to be nice all the time for people to like you, you know. I mean, look at me; I'm rude to everybody, and nobody hates my guts. Well, maybe not 'no one', but I don't think people hate me. Do you hate me, Carson? Am I a horrible person for letting this to happen to you?"

"No, Rodney." Carson's weak response was so unexpected that it almost made him jump right out of his seat. "I don't hate you."

"You just scared the hell out of me, you know!" Rodney jumped up, almost frantic, his back as straight as a board. "I thought you were supposed to be comatose or something."

"Catatonic, you mean?" Carson clenched his fists and took a deep breath in an attempt to keep from becoming overly annoyed. "Maybe I was for a while, but I'm starting to feel better now. And it wasn't like I couldn't hear you or Colonel Sheppard when you spoke around me."

He frowned. It was instantly obvious to Rodney that Carson was in a bad mood, and it made him feel defensive. "So, you were just pretending then? Talk about rude."

Carson sat up stiffly on the cot, his thin lips curling into a snarl, and shot him a cold look. "I'm in no mood for your bickering today, Rodney."

The look on Carson's face shocked him. His normally bright blue eyes were narrow and had turned an unnaturally pale shade of green, sunken deep in his pale, sweat-soaked face. Carson was furious with him, and Rodney had never seen him furious with anybody; his kinder and gentler nature was always the more dominant. Rodney folded his arms across his chest and decided it would be best to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"So you're feeling better then?" he mumbled.

Carson's eyes softened a bit as he looked away. "Better."

Rodney fumbled for more to say. "Do you, uh, want anything?"

"What could I possibly want?" Carson demanded, his eyes narrowing. Frustration was again obvious in his voice.

"I don't know," Rodney replied with agitation apparent in his voice. "Pick something. Maybe you'd like an extra pillow, or a blanket, or maybe a snack from the commissary?"

Carson simply looked up at him as if he was crazy.

"Look," Rodney assured him, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm trying to be nice for a change, okay? Give me a break."

Something in Carson's mind broke in half, letting loose a torrent of emotions that mixed with his growing frustration that was directed solely at Rodney. He exploded with rage, sending Rodney reeling backward with surprise. The next thing Carson knew, he was on his feet, grabbing Rodney's jacket, and was shoving him up against the wall. A sudden desire to begin strangling the life out of him was almost overwhelming, but he caught himself before succumbing completely to the powerful onslaught of emotion.

"I don't want your pity, nor do I need your compassion," Carson muttered angrily, letting fly a gob of spittle that disappeared over Rodney's shoulder.

At that moment, the door whooshed open and Teyla stepped through. Peering at the two men curiously, her shock and dismay were made apparent through her expression, and she moved immediately for the door to summon the guards standing watch behind the door. As they attempted to extricate him, the rage engulfed his mind once more. At his fury, they attempted to tackle him from behind, and he threw them all off of himself with frightening strength. Then, as he pushed himself back up to his feet, three more orderlies from the infirmary joined into the fray. Together, the seven of them slowly managed to haul a screaming Carson back to his cot.

Two of the orderlies began slapping restraints on his chest, wrists, and ankles while the third prepared a syringe loaded with an anti-psychotic sedative. As the sedative was injected into his upper arm, Carson screamed again with rage. But after a few moments passed while the guards continued to hold him down, the screaming abated.

The room began to spin, and waves of vertigo and nausea passed through him. As Carson's heavy breathing became less labored, tears began to well in his eyes. Before they could slide unbidden across his flushed cheeks, his eyes slowly closed, and he slumped back against the pillow, his restraints creaking as the pressure being held against them was slowly released.

Despite his trembling, Rodney slipped off his jacket as quickly and carefully as he could. A large area of the front was covered with gooey slime where Carson had grabbed it. He hadn't honestly believed that Carson would have hurt him, but the enraged look on his face had been enough to scare the hell out of him. Looking down on him now, asleep from sedation on his cot, his face seemed more peaceful at least, although perhaps still a bit troubled; close enough to remind him of the Carson Beckett that he knew.

He felt a sudden need to breathe some fresh air. Rodney tossed his jacket into the corner, not desiring to contaminate the rest of his laundry, and made his escape from the claustrophobia-inducingly tiny room. He strode aimlessly through the corridors of the city, wandering for hours with no particular destination in mind, until he happened upon a curious entrance that led to a balcony overlooking the ocean.

It was night, and dreary clouds hung overhead, blocking out the stars. A stiff breeze kicked up around him as he leaned against the railing and looked down at the ocean, allowing the sound of the lapping water to lull him into a trance-like state. The wind was a bit chilly, but refreshing.

Rodney sat down and dangled his legs over the ledge, leaning on the bottom edge of the railing. A large part of the city was visible beneath him as he surveyed it with his eyes, mentally comparing what he saw with the layout of the city that he had seen so many times before. He could see some lights still on in some of the towers, towers that he knew other members of the Atlantis expedition had rooms in. Those lights would just have to be his stars tonight.

He rested his head against his arms and watched as the clouds broke slightly, allowing one of that world's moons to be seen rising from the northeast before it disappeared under the clouds once more. Rodney's awareness of the world around him disappeared with it as he fell asleep.