A/N - I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving, and is staying healthy and safe! This chapter wraps up this fic. The next fic I'm going to post is a oneshot centered on John's relationship with General O'neill, and after that I have a rather Carson-centric fic in the pipeline.

He thought it was only about twenty minutes before the guards came with two bowls of food, although John couldn't be entirely sure. He'd forgotten to check his watch again.

"Hey," Rodney said, sounding irritated. John rolled his head to look at him, and found the physicist staring angrily down into the new food they've been given. "I can't eat this."

"Why not? You been eatin' it," John pointed out.

"No, no, no, this is different, this is citrus," Rodney insisted. "I'm deathly allergic to citrus. What, do they want me to die?"

John frowned, some hazy thought doing its level best to make its way through his exhausted mind.

"I'll just have to tell them," Rodney grumbled. "Hopefully, they believe me, and-"

"Wait," John half-shouted, talking louder than he had in days. He sat half-up off the wall, a few thoughts that had been trying to connect themselves earlier swirling lazily around his brain.

"What?" Rodney asked, turning to stare at him.

"What you said. They don' want you t'die."

"No, they don't," Rodney said, sounding impatient. John growled, wishing he was having less trouble articulating his thoughts.

"Pretend to eat th' food, an' fake a reaction. You carry an EpiPen, right? In th' vest? I'll tell 'em you're dyin', and we need the vests. I c'n grab the comms."

"That...is actually not the worst plan," Rodney said slowly, snapping his fingers a few times and pointing at John. "You're smarter than you look, you know that?"

John decided not to mention the fact that Rodney had basically given the plan to him piecemeal, between reminding him that the guards really didn't want them dead, and telling him that what they really needed for this escape to work was their comms.

"Is it really citrus?" John asked, peering into the bowl that Rodney was brandishing. "Could be squash."

"It's not squash."

"How do you know?"

"Did you smell it?"

John smelled the food, very tentatively, not wanting to set his stomach off again. "Oh," he said. "It smells like lemon."

"Yes, it smells like lemon," Rodney said. "Now, if you could stop asking these meaningless questions, and we could get back to making our plan…."

"How do ya know you're allerg'c to citrus from a different galaxy?" John asked. It didn't really pertain to the plan, he was just curious. He took Rodney's allergy at face value, and hadn't spent all that much time thinking about it.

"Beckett did an analysis when we got here, on everything that was a potential allergen. The chemical compound that I'm allergic to in citrus is the same thing that-"

"Okay," John said, cutting him off. It had seemed like it might be interesting for a moment, but now John was starting to get worried that he was going to fall asleep or something before they even got their plan started if something didn't happen soon.

They were silent for a minute. John wondered if Rodney had forgotten they were supposed to be doing a plan. He wondered if perhaps there was some part of the plan that he was supposed to initiate that he had forgotten.

"You know, if there's no one on this planet, the comm devices aren't going to help. Really, the only thing they'll do is make it slightly easier for Atlantis to find us, I mean, if they're even looking. And...I guess we'll be able to let them know how sick you are. But like I said, that's only if they're on the planet, and can even hear us…."

On the best of days, John wasn't super clear about how their comms worked in deep space, and how that interacted with the wormholes. He didn't really want to have a conversation about it now either. Even the thought made him feel sick.

"They'll be lookin'," John said. "And if they aren't, well...plan B."

"Which is?"

"Weapons."

Rodney was quiet for a moment. "Sheppard," he finally said, "how are you at acting?"

John wasn't exactly sure where this was going, so he shrugged. "Dunno. Okay."

Rodney looked as if he didn't like that answer very much, and John shrugged, or at least managed to move his good arm a fraction of an inch.

"Sorry," he mumbled, still not understanding why Rodney was asking.

Without warning, Rodney leaned across the space between them and felt John's forehead with the back of his hand. His face fell even further, if that were possible.

"You're really, really sick, huh?"

About two seconds too late, John managed to react, bringing up his good hand and swatting feebly at Rodney. "Hey. G'toff me."

Rodney was already drawing his hand back, looking upset and panicked but also resolute. It was the same expression he'd had right before wading into the energy being, armed with nothing but the Ancients' shield. John started to get a bad feeling, without really knowing why.

"Get ready," Rodney told John, and the feeling intensified.

"Ready f'r what?"

Rodney didn't answer him. "Okay," he said, eyes closed. "Okay, okay, you...you can do this, Rodney…."

"Do what?" John asked desperately, and then Rodney stuck his spoon in the bowl of lemon something-or-other, and brought the spoon to his mouth.

Prior to this moment, John had not really known what an anaphylactic allergy entailed. He'd had a few friends in college with run-of-the-mill, seasonal allergies, or slight allergies to things like almonds or apples. He'd had one friend that carried an EpiPen just in case, but the one time John had seen him have an allergic reaction, it had been limited to some swelling and shortness of breath.

This was something different entirely. As soon as the food touched Rodney's lips, he was gagging, throwing up even before he'd even swallowed it. Rodney threw up again, wheezing for breath after each painful heave. Was it John's imagination, or was he already swelling up?

"HELP!" John screamed at the top of his lungs, ignoring the dizziness from his own shortness of breath. He staggered to his feet, almost fell, then lurched heavily against the bars. "HELP! He's gonna die, you gotta come, somebody, HELP!"

On the floor, Rodney gasped, and John could definitely see swelling around his face now. John screamed and rattled the bars again, falling relieved to his knees as he heard the telltale footsteps from the other end of the passage. Pushing himself upright again, he managed to make it to McKay.

"Fuck, Rodney, why'd you really have t'eat it?" John asked him, voice gone hoarse from screaming for the guards.

Rodney didn't respond. John didn't think he could. His face was blotchy and red, his breath coming in thready, wheezing gasps. His eyes were open, focused on Sheppard, but John wasn't sure if he was really there anymore. In less than thirty seconds, Rodney had gone from making plans to lying almost unconscious on the floor, struggling for air.

The two guards appeared at the door, and John turned towards them, even though he hated to let Rodney out of his sight for even one second.

"Against the wall," one of them said.

John understood now why Rodney had thought a real allergic reaction would serve John better. Adrenaline was coursing through his body, making everything feel clearer than it had in days. "He's dying," John said, voice the sort of calm that he was sure the guards would recognize as only possible during a true emergency. "If you come in here to examine him, he'll be dead before you leave. We need the vests that you took from us. We have medicine, I...I can save him."

The guards exchanged a glance, but didn't make any move to actually fetch the tac vests.

Rodney twisted slightly, one hand reaching for his chest and then falling limply back to the ground. It sounded like he was choking.

John's pulse thundered in his ears. Had he been in pain before? That felt like a distant memory.

He staggered to his feet. "Move!" he yelled, stumbling towards the door. "Now!"

"Go, go!" one of the guards ordered the other, apparently deciding he believed John after all. "Get the vests."

"Quickly!" John shouted, banging a fist on the barred door for emphasis. The first guard left, while the second remained outside the cell, staring at Mckay's body with an expression of panic and horror.

John whirled away from him, dropping to his knees beside Rodney again. Rodney made a horrible sort of whining sound, whether a whimper of pain or a strangled breath, John couldn't be sure.

"It's gonna be okay, Rodney," John told him, hearing his voice shake slightly as he put a hand on Rodney's shoulder. Maybe he'd been too hard on McKay for panicking earlier, when John had been shot. This...this was terrifying, and even though it was Rodney who was choking to death, it was John who felt like he couldn't breathe.

There was a clatter as the second guard returned, carrying the tac vests. He opened the door and threw them in, and John scrambled over to them.

"Go tell the Duke," the first guard ordered, and the second nodded and ran off. Hesitantly, the first guard entered the cell, closing the door behind him.

John ignored him. That wasn't his focus right now, his focus was Rodney. He pulled Rodney's vest over first, wishing he had more than one hand as he rifled through the pockets. Every fibre of his being was telling him just to instantly find the Epi Pen and help McKay, but a few more seconds wasn't going to make a difference and he wasn't about to let Rodney's insanely brave play go to waste. He had to find the comms first.

They weren't there. John searched through the vest again, feeling a panic ignite deep within his chest. God, if they didn't have comms, if Rodney had done this for nothing…. No, that wasn't an option. John palmed the Epi Pen out of Rodney's vest pocket and moved to his own, searching frantically for anything they could use as a weapon.

Rodney couldn't breathe. He wasn't unconscious yet, although he almost wished he could be, because that would be a far less terrifying alternative than slowly choking to death in a prison cell. Killed by a lemon. What a way to go.

And then Sheppard was hovering over him, white-faced and wide-eyed, almost blotted out by the spots collecting in Rodney's vision.

"Hold on, buddy," he said, and Rodney felt the sharp prick of a needle in his thigh. Shortly after that, a jolt ran through his system, and just like that, he could breathe again.

Rodney rolled to his side and took a great, shuddering breath, reveling in the feeling of oxygen rushing into his lungs. The adrenaline was clearing his mind, coursing through his blood, and even though Rodney knew the feeling was temporary, he felt better than he had in days.

"He's okay?" an unfamiliar voice asked, and one of the guards moved into Rodney's field of view.

"He will be," Sheppard said. "But I need your help with somethin'."

The guard began to crouch down, and John, sick as he was, moved so fast Rodney almost couldn't track it. The guard choked and fell forward, his eyes rolling back in his head. Rodney's rapidly-clearing vision made out an EpiPen, sticking out of the side of his neck.

For a long few seconds, Rodney didn't understand what he was seeing. John...John had put the EpiPen in his leg. He knew he had, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body, opening his throat even as it made him start to shake. But there was also an EpiPen sticking out of the guard's neck, and blood was staining the ground in the cell, and...oh god, Rodney thought he was going to be sick again….

Rodney leaned forward and gagged, but there was nothing to come up.

"Hey," John said, his voice a strange mixture of worried and reproachful and utterly exhausted, "not now, Rodney. We gotta go."

"Sorry...it's...aftereffect...I…." Rodney waved his hand vaguely. Even though he could breathe again, he didn't quite have the capacity to explain to John that the injection had made him feel like he'd had about seventy cups of coffee.

"Come on," John said, and then there was a hand under his arm, dragging him to his feet. "I dunno when the second guard will come back, or the Duke, we don't have much time…."

"Where...second EpiPen come from?" Rodney gasped, reeling against John as the world tilted dangerously around him.

"Had one in my vest too," John said. "Just in case."

That was a lot for Rodney to process just then, when his thoughts were going a hundred miles a minute. He'd spent pretty much his entire life trying to convince the people around him that his allergy was both real and as serious as he said it was, dodging dangerous pranks and dismissive comments and ignorant waiters. But John...apparently John hadn't needed any of that. He had just listened to what Rodney said and believed him.

"Come on, you gotta be able to at least walk," John said as Rodney tipped against him again. "I know it's hard, but I...I can't carry you."

Right. John was hurt. He could probably barely walk himself. Rodney couldn't lean on him. He needed to...he needed to pull himself together.

Rodney dragged himself away from John. He hadn't realized it, but his heart was beating out of control. His breathing seemed kind of fast too. That was normal, he was pretty sure. And he was breathing, that was the important thing. But he just wasn't sure how well he would be able to walk, it seemed like his legs were shaking pretty badly too….

But when he looked sideways at John, the Major looked almost as bad. He stumbled hard as he pushed Rodney out of the cell, falling against the bars and wincing against the impact. Rodney took a deep breath and focused, as well as he could. As horrible as he felt, seventy cups of coffee had to be better for an escape than whatever was going on with Sheppard. Steadying himself on the wall outside the cell, Rodney reached out and grabbed John's good arm, pulling him forward out of the cell. John staggered slightly, but pulled himself upright, his good eye brighter than it had been in days.

"Let's go," John said breathlessly, pushing Rodney forward, and Rodney ran for the end of the passageway, as fast as he could possibly go. Unfortunately, all the adrenaline in the world still wasn't going to make him a good runner, and Rodney had lack of sleep, hunger, thirst, and a near-death experience to contend with as well.

Still, he managed to reach the end of the passage slightly before Sheppard. Rodney leaned against the wall, heart pounding so hard he feared it would burst, and watched as Sheppard stumbled again, just barely catching himself on the wall.

"Go," John panted, the fever flush mixing with the bruises to give him a ghostly aspect. "I'll...catch up."

Rodney found, somewhat to his surprise, that he wasn't even considering following that order. Instead, he reached out again, taking a firm hold of John's good arm.

"Tol'...you...t'run," John managed, as Rodney yanked him forward. "Y'gotta….get t' Atlan'is."

"You...didn't leave me," Rodney huffed, wrapping his arm securely around Sheppard's waist and fighting the tremors down long enough to open the door set into the stone wall. Together, they hobbled out, into the sunlight. Rodney heard John hiss at the sudden brightness, and Rodney had to resist the urge to shield his eyes.

"Fine," John said, quietly but urgently. "We gotta go, McKay."

Rodney started forward again, accidentally misjudged his footing, and reeled sideways into Sheppard once again. Before he could correct his balance, John's arm was around his waist as well, and Rodney was no longer sure who was supporting who.

The large gate that marked the boundary of the castle wall was open, and no one appeared to be looking at them. They made it through as quickly as possible, and as soon as they were beyond the gate, Rodney felt himself relax.

"Not yet," John said grimly. "They...got us here... las' time. Run."

They needed to run. Rodney knew they needed to run. After everything, they were almost free. All they had to do was make it to the Stargate, and they would be home. Beckett and Dr. Weir would fix everything, and they could...they could….

Rodney couldn't run. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and a horrifying weakness was replacing it. Rodney's lungs were starting to tighten again, only a little, but enough that he knew if he were to run, start to get out of breath….

"I can't," Rodney whispered. "Sheppard, I-"

"You have to," John growled, and Rodney hadn't noticed it before, but his voice was starting to slur around the edges.

"I-"

"John?" a familiar voice said. "Rodney?"

Rodney looked up, and decided that somehow, the adrenaline had definitely made him hallucinate. Teyla was running towards them, looking both concerned and desperately relieved.

"Teyla?" John mumbled, sagging abruptly into Rodney and almost knocking him off his feet. "What…?"

"I am here," she said. "Did the two of you escape on your own?"

"Yeah,"John murmured, as Teyla reached them and took hold of his other side. "Think so. What...what're you doin' here?"

"Dr. Weir was negotiating for your release, but she suspected that you might try to get out on your own. She has had us patrolling the area around the Stargate for days, for a situation just such as this one."

"Oh," John said. Rodney slid out from under John's arm - his legs had started trembling even worse, and all of a sudden he was afraid that if he had to keep holding John up, the strain was going to bring them both to the ground. Teyla staggered as John's full weight dropped onto her, but then she regained her balance.

"Are the two of you...alright?" she asked. Her voice told Rodney that she knew the answer was no.

"We need Beckett," Rodney managed. "He's hurt, and I-"

Rodney realized that he couldn't even bring himself to explain what had happened. He was so exhausted that the words felt very far away.

"C'trus," John whispered. "An'phylactic shock."

Rodney wasn't at all sure that Teyla knew what that was, but it must have sounded serious to her because she put her hand to her comms and spoke urgently into them. Rodney couldn't make out what she had said. All of a sudden, things like that felt far too difficult.

"Y'did good, McKay," John said quietly, leaning a little more on Teyla. Rodney appreciated the words, really, but he could barely process them.

"I-" Rodney started, and John narrowed his exhausted, sunken-looking eyes at him.

"You don' look so good."

He didn't feel so good. His vision was tunneling again, and breathing was becoming more and more difficult. Rodney wasn't sure whether it was exhaustion, relief, or another allergic reaction, but at this point, he wasn't sure it mattered.

"I-I think I'm passing out," Rodney announced quietly, and watched John's eyes widen as he struggled to take his own weight. Before he managed it, Rodney's vision had blurred even further, and he was unconscious before he hit the ground.

John usually hated the infirmary, but in this case, it had a number of things going for it. One, it was warm. Two, he had access to as much food as he wanted, which hadn't been much so far, as Carson's drugs fought off his infection, but it was wonderful to have the option.

He and Rodney hadn't been back on Atlantis for very long, less than a day, John thought. It was a little hard to judge, especially since John didn't remember very much after the escape. Teyla had told him later that he'd managed to stay conscious for a whole thirty seconds after Rodney had collapsed, and then he'd joined McKay on the ground. Teyla had stood guard over them until a medical team arrived, and they'd finally been brought back to Atlantis via Jumper. After that, John had been in and out of consciousness, drifting as Carson tried to bring his fever down. This was one of the first times that he'd woken up and actually felt awake.

John stretched, bracing himself for the inevitable pain in his shoulder, then relaxing as it didn't come. He must be on the good drugs.

"Awake at last," said a snarky voice from his left, and John managed to sit up enough to see Rodney, sitting up contentedly in a bed of his own.

"I been awake," John answered automatically.

"Not really," Rodney countered. "I bet you don't even remember Elizabeth coming by."

John did not. He frowned. "Dr. Weir came?"

Rodney nodded. "She wanted to apologize for leaving us so long. I'm not surprised you don't remember, you seemed really out of it…. She'll probably come back."

"Not her fault," John mumbled, somewhat shocked that Elizabeth had apologized at all. It wasn't as though he'd expected - or wanted - her to give up weapons technology for him. That was why they'd escaped in the first place.

However, speaking of apologies, there was one that he owed to McKay.

"I'm sorry I got you captured," John said. He didn't love apologizing, not even to members of his team, but the drugs made it somewhat easier. "And that you...had to eat a lemon to help us escape."

"It wasn't actually a lemon," Rodney said. "Beckett did some analysis on my bloodwork, and he said it was actually more like a grapefruit…."

"Mmm." If Rodney kept talking about blood analyses and citrus, John was going to go back to sleep.

"And...I'm sorry too," Rodney said. "For...not being able to run, you know?"

"Tha's not your job," John said softly. He was getting awfully tired. "I brought you on to do science, not to run fast."

"Well, I'll still try do better," he said. "Next time. I mean...if there is a next time."

John peeked over at Rodney. He was looking at John with an alarming mixture of worry and hope.

"Course there'll be a next time," John whispered. "You're part of my team."

"And...thank you," Rodney said.

"For what?"

"For carrying the extra EpiPen. I...didn't know you did that. Most people don't believe me, you know."

"Course I carry it," John muttered, letting his eyes slip closed again. He had carried it since before their first mission, when Beckett had pulled him aside and explained how serious Rodney's allergy was. "You're part of my team."