It took about five minutes of John keeping his head back and pinching his nose to get the bleeding properly stopped. By that point, John was absolutely covered in blood. Luckily, their water didn't seem too limited, so once John could speak and look around again, Rodney forced him to dampen the edge of his shirt and wipe the blood away. Once that was done, John looked much less macabre, although still in quite a bit of pain.

Now that that was sorted, it was time for lunch. Rodney grabbed his bowl of...well, he wasn't quite sure what it was, and set John's down in front of him too.

"What is it?" John asked dubiously.

Rodney pushed his portion around with a spoon. It looked like a thick, rather lumpy pudding. "I'm not exactly sure," Rodney said, "but it looks like it's been rehydrated. So my guess it's been designed to travel, it's possibly even what they use to feed their military…."

"But what does it taste like, Mckay?" John asked. His voice sounded a little thick, probably because of his swollen nose.

"Well, I don't know. We'll need to try some."

"I'm not trying that," John said definitively. "It looks disgusting."

Rodney stared at him. Sheppard hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours, and now he was turning up his nose at what they'd been provided?

"What?" Rodney said.

John swallowed hard. "Looks...looks gross," John said. His good hand migrated to his stomach, and Rodney remembered that he'd swallowed an awful lot of blood when they'd been trying to get his nose to stop bleeding. It was no surprise he was feeling a little sick, although there wasn't exactly anything that could be done about it.

"Well, I can't try it first!" Rodney said. "What if it has citrus in it?"

"Here we go again," John said, and Rodney frowned at him. "Why would this have citrus in it?"

"I-"

You just said it was supposed to travel as easily as possible, so I bet it doesn't have any additional flavorings. Plus, this place looks like Canada or something. I don't think they can grow citruses here."

Rodney frowned again. He supposed those were some pretty good points. Reluctantly, he dug his spoon into the slop and tasted a little bit.

"Oh, it's fine," he said. "Not...not good, but...it just tastes pretty bland. Kind of salty."

John frowned at the slop, and wrapped his arm a little tighter across his stomach. "You sure you don't need some of mine, too?"

Rodney sighed, glaring at Sheppard. Then he stopped, feeling a little bad - John did look absolutely terrible. His face was horribly black and blue by now, and his clothes were spotted with blood from both his arm and his nose. Rodney could only imagine how much pain he was in, and although the concept of not wanting to eat was completely foreign to Rodney, he couldn't very well criticize Sheppard.

"No," Rodney said firmly. "You need to eat. It's been almost a day and a half, I don't even know how you haven't passed out yet, between the blood loss and the lack of food. I'm not taking any of your food this time."

John looked as though he didn't like that at all, but he nodded and painfully pulled the bowl towards him. He had to leave it on the floor beside him, one-handed as he was. Carefully, he reached for the spoon, and Rodney realized with a jolt of panic that his fingers were trembling. Was it the blood loss? The hunger? Now that Rodney started to think about it, John was beginning to look awfully cold…. But Rodney wasn't sure how to ask him if anything was wrong, and John didn't volunteer any information. He just dipped his shaking spoon into the slop and tasted it, eyes screwed up in preparation.

"Not terrible, right?" Rodney asked.

"Nggh," John replied, the small sound verging on a whimper. Rodney laughed, not unkindly, and went back to his own food.

"Better than starving," Rodney said philosophically.

"Is it?" Sheppard muttered, but he continued to eat.

"It is to me. You know, I'll eat frozen meals-"

"Right out of the package, without microwavin' 'em," John finished. "Yeah. I know."

"Oh. Have I...have I told you that?"

"Uh-huh. A bunch of times."

"Oh," Rodney said, and considered. Should he apologize? He hadn't realized that he'd been repeating himself. If Rodney was being completely honest, he didn't really listen to himself talk very much. He hadn't thought that John was listening, either.

But Sheppard didn't seem annoyed. He was back to staring unhappily at the slop, eating it in small bites. The spoon in his hand was still shaking, although Rodney thought it might look the slightest bit steadier.

It took about an hour for whatever strength John had gained from the food to vanish again. Rodney was starting to think he was really looking pretty bad. His face was flushed, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, but he was shivering like he was freezing. Earlier, he'd been pacing around, but now he just sat curled listlessly in the corner of his cell, hardly talking.

Rodney tried his best to force water on him. He'd seemed thirsty in the morning, but now, although he'd managed to get down most of the bowl of slop, he was reluctant to put anything more in his stomach. His lips were so chapped Rodney was shocked they weren't bleeding, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed, and still, he wouldn't drink.

As the sun went down, and the temperature in the cell started to drop, John's shivering got worse.

"Hey," Rodney finally said. "I...I think you're really starting to get sick."

It was the first time either of them had said it out loud.

John blinked at him with heavy-looking eyes, and shook his head slightly. "I'm alright, Mckay."

Mckay took a moment to collect himself, trying very hard to keep his voice even. "I don't think you are."

He shrugged slightly, using just his good shoulder.

"Do you want me to check that?" Rodney asked, gesturing at the bandages on John's arm.

John paled. "No. No, it's...kinda hurtin' right now."

"I really need to-"

"Maybe tomorrow," John said softly. He didn't sound angry, just resigned.

"You should get a little sleep," Rodney said.

"Yeah," John whispered. "I...I think I'm going to do that."

He lay down on the thin mattress in the corner, good arm pinned beneath the weight of his body, possibly for warmth. It seemed to take less than a minute for his face to relax with sleep.

Rodney wondered if he should try checking John for fever. Now, while he was asleep, the only time he was likely to let him. But Rodney realized he didn't really need to check John's temperature, not now. It was clearly elevated, and there was nothing Rodney could do. The best he had to offer John was a glass of water, which it seemed John was too nauseous to even consider. They had no medications, and even if the guards cared enough to notice that John was sick, Rodney didn't think this society had much in the way of doctors. John would just have to get better on his own, or else….

No. Rodney wasn't going to think about that, he couldn't. From the other corner of the cell, John shifted, letting out a small pained noise. He curled around his good arm a little tighter, but didn't wake up. Maybe, if Sheppard got a good night's sleep, his body would work through this and he'd wake up feeling just as energetic and annoying as ever.

Rodney hoped so. In the meantime, sitting around staring creepily at John sleeping wasn't doing anything to help. And by now, Rodney could feel the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. He was so tired that even the thin mattress was starting to look comfortable. He lay down, and even as worried as he was about everything under the sun, it wasn't long at all before sleep claimed him.

Rodney was woken up by a sort of loud, annoying clicking sound coming from the far corner of the cell. He sat up quickly, before he was fully awake, prepared to tell John off for interrupting the first sleep he'd gotten in two days. Whatever insane thing John was trying to do in the middle of the night...digging through the wall with a spoon, or something, it could surely wait until morning.

But John was still asleep, curled tight on top of the mattress, his body racked by constant trembling. Even after that, it took Rodney a few more seconds to realize that the clicking noise was John's teeth chattering.

"Oh god," Rodney muttered, and he was across the cell before he'd figured out what to do. He took John by the shoulder and shook him awake. Sheppard moaned softly, then slowly twisted his head towards Rodney.

John looked, if possible, even worse than he had a few hours ago. The eye that had started to blacken before was now badly bruised, providing a nice contrast to the fever glaze of the other. His nose and cheek were swollen black and blue, and Rodney could only imagine that opening his mouth enough for his teeth to chatter must be quite painful indeed. Even despite the swelling, his face looked thinner, and Rodney wasn't sure if that was his own grim imagination, or if it was some combination of the fever, the dehydration, and the hunger.

"Why'm'I awake?" John mumbled, coughing weakly at the end of the sentence.

"You were shivering so hard your teeth were chattering," Rodney told him. "It woke me up."

Something dark passed behind John's eyes, and he pulled away from Rodney's hand, withdrawing back against the wall. "Oh. 'M real sorry I'm interruptin' your sleep, McKay."

Rodney watched in consternation as the muscles in John's neck tensed, and he turned his back to Rodney. Rodney cleared his throat, shaking his head frantically.

"No, wait, Sheppard, that's not what I meant. I just- Let me start over. You're...I heard you shivering. Are...are you alright? You don't look good, and I'm starting to get worried."

Surprise flashed over John's face, quickly replaced by a rather soft expression that Rodney hadn't expected. "I'm...I'm alright," he finally said.

His chattering teeth told a different story, but honestly, Rodney wasn't sure what else he could do to help. It wasn't like they had extra blankets or anything. He wished he had some medication for John, since if they couldn't get out of this cell and his shoulder kept getting worse he would probably die, but he simply...didn't.

"Are you sure?" Rodney asked. He felt strange simply turning around and going back to sleep. "Water?"

John shook his head. "'M alright," he mumbled. "Really."

"Okay," Rodney said. "Um, I guess. But please wake me up if you need me. Or...or anything."

"'Mkay," John said softly. Rodney figured he didn't want to talk anymore, so he let John curl up in a painful-looking ball and try to get back to sleep.

John thought he woke up in the middle of the night, but he wasn't entirely sure. Fevers tended to spike in the middle of the night, wasn't that medical science? It certainly seemed to have happened to him, at least. Everything since he had gone to sleep was a rather vague blur of misery and cold. He kind of remembered talking to Rodney, and being accused of shivering too loudly. He thought he might have woken up one other time too, and possibly been accused of shivering too loudly a second time. He also might have asked Rodney if he was being loud. It was a bit hard to remember. It was hard to tell what was real.

But, in the morning, he found that he had an Atlantis jacket spread over him. For a second, he didn't even register this as strange. But then he remembered that his own jacket had been turned into the bandage that was currently around the wound in his arm, so the jacket that was spread over his chest and shoulders had to be Rodney's. John didn't really remember the interaction that had led to Rodney giving him his jacket, so he could only assume that he had been worse off during the night than he had realized.

Gratitude unfurled in his chest, but with it came shame. Rodney shouldn't have to take care of him that way. John was the team leader. If anything, he should be the one giving jackets to Rodney. Carefully, John balled the jacket up and set it down by his side. Then, he glanced across the cell at Rodney, who was wearing the same thin t-shirt that John was. Slowly, trying to ignore how much every part of his body hurt, John made his painful way across the cell and returned McKay's jacket. There was no point in them both freezing.

It was a while before Rodney woke up. John wasn't sure how long, and he spent what had to be a good five minutes wishing that he had some way to tell before remembering that he was still wearing a watch. That...that couldn't be a good sign. And neither could the sickening agony in his shoulder that came when he tried to move his wrist enough to see the time, nor the dizzying way the numbers blurred on the watch face.

After determining that it was 7:05 AM (Atlantis time), John realized that his newly gained knowledge didn't really help him in the slightest. He went back to huddling against the wall and shivering. The stone was cold, the damp chill of it soaking through his thin t-shirt, but he couldn't move away from the wall. He was afraid he'd need the support to stay sitting up.

When Rodney finally woke up, John's teeth had started to chatter again. Even that hurt. The swelling in his cheek and jaw seemed to have somehow gotten worse, rather than better, and each time his teeth clicked together, he felt the painful reverberation through his aching face. And he was trembling, too, which seemed to be aggravating his increasingly painful shoulder.

John drew his knees up to his chest and tipped his head forward against them. For a moment, that was warmer, and then the cold from the cell leached through him and stole whatever warmth he'd managed to gain.

"How are you feeling?" came a strident, worried voice from the corner.

Rodney was awake, then. Getting his head upright again required a surprising and unnerving amount of effort, but John managed it at last. Still slightly ashamed over apparently needing Rodney's jacket in the middle of the night, John avoided McKay's eyes as he shrugged, very slightly. The movement was lost in an especially violent shudder, but John figured Rodney probably got the idea.

"'M okay," John mumbled, vaguely remembering a similar conversation from the previous night. He wished he could make his words clearer, more firm-sounding and credible, but his jaw hurt too badly for him to open his mouth enough to properly enunciate.

Rodney glared at him with an expression of outright skepticism. Either the physicist was getting more observant, or John was too far gone to be believed. Sheppard shrugged again, wincing as the movement jostled his shoulder, and tried for a smile.

"M-maybe jus' a bit c-cold."

Rodney's eyes narrowed further, and he brandished a finger in John's direction.

"You're sick, aren't you? You're probably dying from your stupid shoulder, and I'm just going to have to sit here and watch it."

"'M not dyin', Mckay," John grumbled. He was pretty confident that this was, in fact, true. Although he didn't feel very good, he thought that it would be a little while yet before things got really bad. In order to really reinforce this point, he followed up with a request for some food and water. They still had a little dry bread and warmish water from the day before, and while it was a little hard to get down, John managed it.

"How do you feel now?" Rodney asked suspiciously once he was done.

"I feel a lot better," John lied.

Rodney frowned. "I can tell you're lying. You know you don't always have to be...Major Invulnerable, or whatever. I understand that this situation isn't ideal. And, as much as it pains me to say it, it's probably worse for you than it is for me. You're the one who has a giant hole in his shoulder."

"Thanks, Mckay," John said sarcastically.

"Stop that!" Rodney said sharply. "There's no need to always be sarcastic, you know."

"You're always sarcastic."

"I am not always sarcastic. I'm always dramatic. There's a big difference."

"Whatever," John said. And then, more quietly, "I guess I am a bit scared. And, you know, my shoulder hurts."

"You're pretty sick."

"Yeah." John sighed softly. "I'm pretty sick."

They were silent for a moment.

"Why don't you take my jacket back?" Rodney finally said. "It's...you know. I'm not using it."

"Don't want to take your jacket, Mckay."

"I really don't need it," Rodney insisted. "I'm not cold at all. In fact, I'm actually kind of hot. I tend to run a few degrees hot, I don't know if you knew, my doctor says it's because my heart beats too fast, so I don't know if-"

"Fine," John said. He thought just taking the jacket would be easier than entering into a long discussion on Rodney's medical history.

Rodney immediately stopped talking and handed the jacket back to John, almost grinning. It was very similar to the expression John had seen him make when McKay had just solved another impossible problem, and John was slightly shocked to see it. Not as shocked as he would have been two days before, but still shocked.

John accepted Rodney's jacket, managing a nod of thanks that was only slightly awkward. Part of him still wished that he could protest and hand the jacket back to Rodney, but he was so cold…. He was shaking almost constantly now, and the cold was making his whole body ache until he felt oversensitive and raw. The skin on his arms seemed to be 99% goosebumps by now, and he'd do just about anything to feel warm again.

John pulled the jacket halfway on, then choked back a cry of pain as he moved to pull his injured arm through the sleeve. He wasn't sure if it was the cold or the probable infection, but his shoulder seemed to be hurting about a million times more now than it had at first. And it had hurt a lot at first.

Abandoning his attempt to fully put on Rodney's jacket, John pulled his injured arm close to his chest and zipped up the jacket. Even with his arm wrapped around his chest, it was easy enough to close the zipper. In fact, Rodney's jacket fit much better than John had been expecting, given that the other man was a good five inches shorter. John was somewhat distressed to discover that McKay's shoulders were broader than his own, which he supposed was a good thing in the current situation, but not a fact that he wanted to become common knowledge.

"Better?" Rodney asked, and John nodded, momentarily overwhelmed by the blissful feeling of warmth.

"...Thanks, McKay."

Rodney coughed awkwardly and muttered something about not wanting John to freeze to death, then turned his attention to finishing off the last of the bread. There was silence in the cell for a while after that, broken only by the occasional chattering of John's teeth. Still, he was warmer than he had been, and that was something.

"Do you think Elizabeth will come for us?" Rodney asked suddenly, startling John out of his dim fever haze.

John paused, turning the question over in his mind. Rodney's voice had been thin and worried, clearly hoping for the reassurance that Elizabeth was seconds away from sending a team of Marines to break them free. John wished that he could offer that, but he didn't want to lie to Rodney, either, and he really didn't know what Elizabeth was going to do.

"They're askin' for weapons," he finally said reluctantly. "More'n asking. Ransoming. She...I don't think she's gonna like that. If it were me…."

"If it were you, you'd tell them no and then launch a crazy rescue operation that had a one-in-a-million shot at working but somehow goes off perfectly," Rodney said, only sounding a little bitter.

"Only sometimes," John mumbled, trying not to think about all the rescues that hadn't gone so well. "And I'm not really s'posed to be doing that. She's a lot better at that kinda stuff."

"So you think she...is negotiating with them?" Rodney asked. "Trying to get us back?"

"I-" John's voice suddenly gave out, and he had to swallow hard. Atlantis, like most bases he had been on, had a policy that they didn't leave their people behind. But that...sometimes, that was a lot easier said than done. John was sure Dr. Weir wouldn't voluntarily give up her de facto Military Commander and her Head of Science. But...how far would she go to get them back? Would she hand over the weapons? Launch an attack? John didn't fully understand how she operated yet, and so it was impossible for him to say.

He wanted to believe that she was trying to get them free, even as they waited for her in the cell. But John didn't even know for sure that Centero had been able to make contact with Atlantis. It was possible that Dr. Weir and the rest of his team didn't even know where they were.

"She definitely…wants us back, right?" Rodney asked, voice suddenly small. "I mean, we are kind of...me more than you, but still...I'm sure she could find people who are easier…."

This was a side of Rodney that John had thus far been unacquainted with. He thought of Rodney as someone with so much confidence and so little self-awareness he almost felt like a parody of a person, and John was still undecided as to whether that was something he hated or admired. But, apparently, there was another Rodney hidden inside the abrasive one, a Rodney who was worried that Elizabeth found him so difficult to work with that she would rather leave him to die in a cell than try to get him back.

"I'm sure she wants us back," John said, trying very hard not to think about how much trouble they had already caused for Atlantis, and how much easier of a time Elizabeth would be having now if there was someone else in both positions. "She just...I think she is coming, you know. It might take a little, but I'm sure…."

"You're sure she wants to get us out," Rodney finished.

"Yeah. I'm sure she wants to get us out." Convincing Rodney was helping John convince himself. "Atlantis doesn't leave people behind."

Assuming they knew where the people were. And had a way to get them out without compromising their morals. And the people they were trying to get out were even still alive by the time Atlantis had a plan.

"Alright," Rodney said. "Yeah. Hopefully...yeah. She might be coming. I'll give you that."

"She's coming," John repeated. He hugged the jacket a little tighter around himself, ignoring the bite of pain in his arm. He shivered, then couldn't stop. Elizabeth might be coming, but John really needed her to come soon.