Rodney was officially worried now. Not only did John look like he might throw up at any moment, they couldn't even get him to sit up straight.

Experimentally, Rodney prodded John back to an upright position. Sure enough, John immediately wobbled and fell back, his head flopping over onto Rodney's shoulder. He didn't even open his eyes. Rodney had a horrible moment of panic. Maybe his prediction had come true, and John did have alcohol poisoning, and he was completely unconscious.

"Sheppard?" Rodney asked urgently, rocking John's shoulder slightly.

"Mmf," John responded. That was not enough for Rodney.

"John, are you alright?" Rodney jostled John's shoulder again, and John managed to bring his head up. His eyes were lidded, and his face was terribly pale, tinged with a slight greenish cast that made Rodney increasingly distressed about his chances of making it through this.

"Yeah," John said, his voice lowered so far Rodney could barely hear it. This was not, in the slightest, reassuring.

"I do not think that he should continue to participate," Teyla said, bending down to peer into John's face. He blinked dazedly at her, but otherwise didn't seem to register her presence.

Rodney winced. It was hard to admit defeat this far into the contest, but he had to agree with Teyla. If John couldn't even bring himself to drink water, how was he supposed to stomach more of the god awful moonshine? Besides, he already appeared to be dangerously drunk.

Apparently, this opinion was not shared by Ronon. "Aww, come on, guys. Sheppard can handle it. He's a tough guy."

"He cannot," Teyla insisted. Reaching out, she gently touched John's cheek. After a moment, his eyelids fluttered open.

"John, we believe that you should stop the contest. We will take what we can get with the trade deal. This is too dangerous."

"That's what they think," Ronon muttered. "I know you can do it, buddy."

"Ronon, be silent," Teyla commanded. "John, you must stop."

Rodney saw John's eyes as he struggled to process what was going on. Then, John frowned and shook his head slightly.

"No," he whispered. "I can't."

"None of us will blame you," Teyla insisted. Rodney nodded his agreement. Next, Teyla turned on Ronon, and there was a yelp.

"We won't," Ronon agreed, sounding sulky.

"Won' stop. If...if I do…'m so drunk for nothin'." John glared at Teyla, as well as he was able to under the circumstances.

Teyla looked dangerous for a split second, although her wrath was not necessarily directed exactly towards John. Then, with an angry sort of sigh, she stalked off.

Rodney, worried for the safety of the first person to run into her, followed after her. Ronon seemed to have John under control, so long as he didn't start trying to give John another drink or anything like that.

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked once they were out of earshot of the other two, not that he thought John would be paying them much attention.

"Calling Doctor Beckett," she said shortly.

"What?" Rodney gasped. He had an image of Carson showing up to Kuwani in his lab coat, medical case in hand, and yelling at John in front of everyone. The yelling at John would probably involve quite a bit of yelling at Rodney and Ronon, considering they hadn't managed to stop this from happening, and Rodney could imagine very few things worse. He didn't respond well to yelling, unless it was John, and he certainly didn't respond well to public humiliation. He couldn't imagine exactly what Carson would do to ruin the night, but he was quite sure that once Carson was involved, that was precisely what would happen.

And anyways, he was sure Carson would be disappointed in all four of them, and that didn't seem particularly tolerable either.

Teyla stared at Rodney. "If John will not give up on this stupid...this idiotic...if he continues to drink, he is going to require medical attention. Possibly more medical attention than Kuwani can provide. He will need Carson."

"Oh," Rodney said. He had registered somewhere in the back of his mind that Teyla had stopped after two drinks, and he kind of wished she had told him and Ronon to do that as well. This was turning into more of an emergency than he had expected, and he did not like trying to deal with emergencies without all his mental faculties about him. "Well that...yeah, I mean, I guess that makes sense."

Teyla had already turned away from him, and was talking on her comm. "Yes, we are going to need medical assistance here...no, it is not an emergency...no, we do not need a whole team, just Doctor Beckett should be more than enough...yes, it is the Colonel, he...he drank too much…"

Even standing a few feet away from her, Rodney could hear Carson's distinctive Scottish brogue through the comm. He started asking her a series of questions about John's current condition. Teyla told him that he hadn't started vomiting, he'd been able to drink a little water but not in several minutes, he had consumed ten drinks but the strength was unknown, he was responsive but minimally, he didn't seem to be having trouble breathing, he wasn't cold to the touch, he could not walk on his own. When Teyla told him John was planning to continue drinking, Rodney heard a burst of staticky yelling. He was glad it was Teyla on the other end of it and not him or John.

Teyla sighed, clearly just as frustrated with the situation as Carson seemed to be.

"It is not entirely John's fault," she said reluctantly. "It is part of a ceremony to determine how much Atlantis will benefit in our trade agreement. Colonel Sheppard was merely attempting to improve our chances, but it has now gone too far."

"Aye, I'll say it has!"

Rodney winced. If he could actually make out Carson's words from this distance, the doctor must be absolutely beside himself. Rodney was not looking forward to his arrival, not in the slightest.

Still, once Carson was here, maybe some sense could be talked into John, and Rodney could stop worrying about his friend.

"We will await your arrival," Teyla said into her comm, and tapped it off, cutting off some unintelligible mumbling from Carson. Crossing her arms, she glared back in John and Ronon's direction.

"He's just trying to get us a good deal," Rodney blurted out, feeling the need to defend John from Teyla's wrath. He really must have had too much to drink.

But instead of turning on him, Teyla sighed and shook her head, smiling sadly. "I know, Rodney. I am just worried about his health."

Rodney shrugged. "You know Sheppard, always has to be the hero. He'll be alright, though." Rodney wished that he believed himself.

Ronon was starting to think that Teyla and Rodney had been right. John really was too drunk. The others had been gone for what was starting to seem like a very long time, and all that he'd managed to get from John were a few groans and something incomprehensible about magnets.

"You sure you don't wanna stop?" Ronon asked John in a whisper. He cast a furtive glance around, making sure that Teyla and Rodney were still out of earshot and couldn't hear him betray John.

"Won' ssstop," John said firmly into Ronon's shoulder.

"'Salright if you do," Ronon insisted. "You're still a badass, got it?"

John's head rocked back and forth on Ronon's shoulder, and Ronon couldn't help but grin. Sure, Sheppard was slammed, but that just made it even more impressive in Ronon's opinion. He'd been surprised enough when John had made it past ten, but seeing how clearly ill John was and that he still planned to continue…. Sheppard had already had Ronon's respect and loyalty, but Ronon's admiration for the man continued to increase with every mission.

"You're one tough bastard, Sheppard," Ronon told him.

"Um, okay," Sheppard whispered. One of his hands stirred slightly, and Ronon thought perhaps he meant to say something else. But he remained silent. Honestly, Ronon had no idea if he'd even really registered what Ronon had said.

Abruptly, Ronon realized that at this point, John was unlikely to remember any of what was happening now tomorrow. He had almost certainly blacked out. Honestly, Ronon thought he would be lucky if he remembered much of the past hour.

Ronon estimated there would only be a few minutes until it was time for John to take his next drink. He wasn't sure how long it would take to move John, so he figured he might as well start now. Better to do it when most of the Kuwanese people were distracted, or at least as distracted as he could be, then to do it when everyone's attention was focused on the contestant.

"Hey, it's time for you to get up," Ronon informed John.

John's head rocked back and forth on his shoulder. He made a sound that was possibly no, but possibly something else. Very likely nothing at all.

"You have to," Ronon said.

He shook his head again. He said something that might have been "no moving" but also might have been "no puking" and also might have been "go fluting" or "Joe's doing." Ronon shook him, very gently, until John's head rolled off Ronon's shoulder.

There wasn't much Ronon could do to make him feel better. He would have to move at some point, and if the movement made him vomit, well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Ronon stood, keeping John more or less upright with one hand, and peered in John's face. He was pale, lips slightly parted, eyes mostly closed. He didn't react at all to the movement. It was actually kind of creepy, like interacting with a corpse.

Without letting himself think too much about it, Ronon heaved John to his feet. John made a hollow groaning sound, but he didn't immediately tip forward or throw up so Ronon considered it a victory on the whole. Ronon started bringing John back towards the table, where John's opponent was already seated. John was able to keep his feet under him, sort of, so Ronon was able to half-guide and half-drag him with some success.

By the time Ronon had set John in the chair, the timer had gone off, indicating it was time for the next drink, and everyone's attention was on the Colonel's slow progress.

A Kuwanese man tapped Ronon on the shoulder. Ronon thought he was some sort of top official, but it was hard to be certain. Teyla would probably know, but Ronon had forgotten to pay attention when everyone was introducing themselves.

"Your man does not appear to be very...comfortable," the Kuwanese man said slowly. "This contest is...it is but ceremonial. We are not looking to...cause your people any sort of permanent injury."

"Sheppard will be fine," Ronon growled.

The Kuwanese man glanced at John, who was listing heavily to one side, then back to Ronon. Ronon locked eyes with the man and glowered, prodding John in the back where he hoped no one important could see. John yelped softly and managed to bring himself back to center. Ronon crouched down beside him, where he was joined by Teyla and Rodney.

"You got this, Shep. Just one more shot, okay? Then a break."

"You're doing great," Rodney managed, only sounding mildly panicked.

Even Teyla smiled and touched John's shoulder. "We believe in you, John."

John lifted his head and smiled, just a bit. "Okay," he whispered.

The three of them stepped back, giving John room. He drew himself up, still swaying, and prepared for the next drink.

Shot Eleven

Teyla watched with bated breath as John fumbled around for the glass, finally finding it. It took him a few tries to get his fingers to close around the tumbler, but eventually he managed to bring it to his lips.

John was grimacing before he even opened his mouth, and Teyla winced, sure that this would be the moment that John lost.

John gulped the moonshine down, swallowing heavily. He gagged, and Teyla took a half-step forward before John somehow managed to sit up again. She watched his shoulders and back tense as he swallowed again and again, until he got his stomach under control.

"Damn," Ronon whispered from beside her, admiration heavy in his voice.

Teyla had to agree. However much she might disapprove, John had performed far better than she expected. She was worried for his welfare, but she was also quietly proud.

Still, he didn't have to know that. Not now, when she still stood a chance of getting him to stop. Teyla started forward, intending to collect John and force some water down his throat, when John tapped the table. Teyla stared in utter horror. He couldn't possibly be serious….

Shot Twelve

John was serious. The next shot was poured, and they had to watch the same painful production as before as John tried to get a grip on the glass. Instead of actually grabbing it, he ended up knocking it over sideways. Liquid spilled over the table, and John stared at the mess with an expression of delayed shock and horror. Teyla sucked in a breath, certain he would be disqualified just for that, almost hoping that he would be. But one of the Kuwanese officials just stepped forward, righted John's glass, and refilled it. John nodded slightly and made a noise that was possibly supposed to be "thank you." It was difficult to be certain.

Once John had a grip on the glass, he didn't hesitate. He just lifted it to his lips and knocked it back, grimacing initially at the smell, and then at the taste when it hit the back of his throat. This one seemed to go down slightly easier than the last one had, although the bar was quite low. He swallowed hard, put a hand to his mouth when he hiccuped, and rocked forward slightly. But he seemed to decide pretty much immediately that the shot wasn't coming back up, because as soon as he took his hand away from his mouth, he was tapping the table. His glass was collected from in front of him.

"John," Teyla began desperately, not even sure what she was going to say, but sure that she had to intervene somehow. Her friend was so pale he was nearly translucent, and he seemed barely able to keep his eyes open. If he died for this….

"Teyla," a clear voice said from behind her, and she jumped. She whirled around, hands automatically flying to a defensive position, and saw that it was only Carson. He was staring at the scene in front of him with shock and horror, one hand grabbing tightly onto his medical case.

"When did you get here?" Teyla asked. "John has been…."

"Just now," Carson said distractedly. "How many has he had now?"

"That was number twelve," Teyla said worriedly.

"And you can't get him to stop?"

Teyla shook her head.

"Beckett?" Ronon said, in such an abject display and shock and confusion that she would have laughed if the circumstances were different. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to try to fix the Colonel," Carson said, waving his hand at John, who was watching through half-lidded eyes as his next drink was poured. "Teyla called me."

Ronon narrowed his eyes, and Teyla felt a rush of shame. It was clear that Ronon was a little drunk too at this point, and she hadn't been able to prevent any of this.

"You're gonna make him...less drunk?" Ronon said suspiciously.

"Aye, hopefully," Carson said, eyes still on John. "They've not been letting him take breaks between the drinks?"

"They were," Teyla said softly. "But he...seems to just want to get it over with at this point. I don't think he can handle more than one or two more…."

Shot Thirteen

Carson nodded slightly, eyes on the Colonel. As they watched, John gingerly picked up the glass, and tipped it back. The liquid hit his throat and John swallowed with only a small gag. His throat muscles worked, and then he straightened slightly and a small smile crossed his face. For a moment, Teyla thought that everything was going to be okay.

Shots Thirteen - Ten

And then John bent forward and gagged up a mouthful of moonshine over the side of the table. Teyla gasped, hearing Carson do the same beside her. John coughed miserably, spitting up more alcohol, and slumped forward onto the table. He didn't make any move to get up, just turned his head to the side, shoulders shaking as he fought to keep his stomach contents down.

Teyla snapped out of her frozen horror and moved towards the Colonel, but Ronon had beat her to it, apparently beginning to move as soon as John had started throwing up.

"Gimme that," Ronon ordered, snatching a bowl of food from an important-looking official on his way to John. Turning the basin upside down and dumping its contents on the floor, he grabbed hold of John's collar and yanked him upright, thrusting the basin under his chin.

"'Sokay, Shep," Teyla overheard him saying comfortingly as she arrived with Carson, Rodney trailing behind them uncertainly. "You did great, and now Beckett is gonna make you not drunk."

Teyla didn't think that was really within the scope of Carson's abilities, but she wasn't going to correct Ronon now. Drunk as he was, he'd already managed to think clearly enough to get John a bowl, although the official he'd taken it from was looking extremely disgruntled.

John hiccoughed into silence, but didn't make any move to lift his head from the bowl. Ronon shifted his grip on John's collar, getting a more secure hold, and Teyla moved to support John's shoulders so Ronon didn't accidentally choke him in his enthusiasm to help.

"John?" Carson asked, bending down to try to catch John's eye. Helpfully, Ronon jerked John backwards a little before Teyla could stop him. John's head flopped around, but eventually he managed to halfway focus on Carson.

"John, it's Doctor Beckett." John didn't seem to process this at all, just blinked blearily in the vague direction of the Scotsman. Carson sighed. "What have ye done to yourself now, lad?"

John leaned forward and retched in response, vomiting up a little more of the alcohol into the fancy bowl.

"Shouldn't we move him somewhere more private?" Rodney asked. He was standing a few feet away still, looking both concerned and horribly uncomfortable. "All these people are staring at him, he's...he's gonna be so embarrassed…."

"I don't want to move him just yet, Rodney," Carson said. "If anyone looks like they might start giving us trouble, if you could just politely ask them to provide some space?"

"Me?" Rodney squeaked.

"I can help," Ronon said, dropping John's collar. John immediately lurched forward, and Teyla grabbed his shoulder with a gasp, not wanting him to fall forward into the bowl. "I'll make sure no one gives him any trouble. Watch…," Ronon broke off with a slight hiccup, "watch out, Kuwani."

"Please do not harm anyone," Teyla said quickly. "They probably just want to make sure the Colonel is alright."

Ronon grunted something that Teyla prayed was an affirmation, and wandered off. Teyla turned her attention back to John. Carson had lifted his head slightly, and was feeling his forehead.

"Does he have a fever?" Teyla asked with concern. That would be like John, to somehow catch an illness in the midst of all this.

"No, the opposite," Carson said. "He's cool, feel."

Teyla felt John's forehead. It was cool to the touch, slightly clammy. She managed to keep from pulling her hand away even when John pitched forward slightly - she loved the man, but she did not want to get vomited on if she could avoid it. But he just gagged slightly and spit into the bowl, seemingly unaware that Teyla was even touching him.

"What does that mean?" Teyla asked.

"It means he has alcohol poisoning."

The Athosians did not drink as much as the people from Earth seemed to, so Teyla did not have as much experience with people who were too drunk as she was sure Carson would. But alcohol poisoning...that sounded serious. Teyla swallowed hard.

"Will he...be alright?" she asked.

"Aye, but you did a good thing callin' for me," Carson said. "We'll just wait until his stomach's calmed down some, and then I'll bring him somewhere we can lie him down and he can get some rest."

Teyla just bit her lip and nodded.