AN: I'm posting this on the run, part 3 should arrive tonight crosses fingers if my day goes smoothly, but looks like 4 will be tomorrow. I haven't had a chance to thank everyone for their wonderful comments, and I'm going to try to soon, but in the mean time, thank you! I appreciate it so much, and batman's beauty, I think it was you that made the Ronon and Teyla comment, and yes, they actually get to "save the day" so to speak in this.

Flaming

There was this thing with coming to Atlantis: it had shaken up his life, changed his outlook and ruined all the generalities he'd started to cling to. Before, John had thought he'd gotten the world pegged. Trial and error, fortune and misfortune. People were generally nice, amiable, until you did something they disproved of or didn't like, and then they could be jerks and turn on you faster than you could blink. It was the whole pack mentality thing, and for as evolved as human beings thought they were, they could still behave like animals. It'd been a pretty rude awakening coming to in a hospital on Ramstein, being told how lucky you were to have been rescued in an ancillary operation, and then, "Oh, by the way, as soon as you're on your feet, you're to be shipped back home for a court martial. Feel better soon."

It was one of the reasons why he'd quietly accepted his punishment assignment to McMurdo, the angry political slap on his wrist, and a black mark to follow him around for the rest of his career. He'd decided after that, the hell with everyone else; helicopters, blue skies and cheap entertainment, they were perfectly fine by him. He'd reconciled the crap in his life and had settled in for the long haul. Then General O'Neill had showed up, Carson loosed a drone at them in the air, and he'd had the fortune, or misfortune depending on the day, to have sat in that damn chair.

Suddenly, he found himself in another galaxy, and he began to realize, the people were different. Maybe it was being on their own that first year, isolated and without any options. Or maybe he'd just spent most of his life around the wrong sort, short of those he'd cared about only to lose them in the skies above Afghanistan. Dex and Mitch would've fit in good with Lorne and Ronon. Anyway, whatever it was, John had had to start changing his opinions, and that wasn't an easy thing to do. He still maintained that God had washed his hands of him a long time ago, and John's brush with death had at least given him hope that he wouldn't be burning for eternity when his body did finally give out. Eternal burning or nothingness; not a hard choice there. It was the little things like that, things like being trusted, forgiven, and believed in, even when the chips were down and you looked like you'd made the wrong call, again.

He found himself beginning to care. To trust. To even give a little... okay, a lot.

McMurdo had been cold and lonely and Atlantis was…Atlantis was the long lost friend come to visit, the warmth of the sun on your back as you rode the surf, the bright flame in the window, beckoning you home when you'd been kept too long and were trudging through the snow in the blackness of a cold moonless night. And Elizabeth, Teyla, Carson, Radek, Ronon, and yeah, even Rodney, they were the ones waiting inside to welcome you home. The ones that were happy to see you, glad that you'd made it back alive.

They'd turned John's world upside down. He'd thought he'd limp through the rest of his life without anyone to grow close to again. Hell, he didn't want to get close to anyone anymore. Dead friends, a failed marriage, and an estranged parent – what was left for him on Earth?

He'd been prepared to die a long time ago, from the moment Holland had died and he'd been captured. From the moment he'd agreed to go to Atlantis; he'd figured he was living on borrowed time way before then and anyway, traveling through wormholes and fighting alien vampires, it was like taking a number from the Grim Reaper. You'd be sure to get your turn, it just depended on how fast the line was going as to when it was called.

Irony was a real bitch, though. That just when death came knocking, and John knew he meant business this time, he didn't want to go. He tossed his number into the fire and pointed the barrel of his P90 into Mr. Reaper's face and growled, "Find someone else."

Too bad Mr. Reaper didn't listen or play well with others.

OoO

Sheppard came to for a second time, choking and coughing. "Crap," he whined. He also blinked, his eyes stinging and tearing from the smoke. He was on the ground. Or, at least, he thought he was. As information slowly trickled from his limbs to his brain, John qualified the "on the ground" to "mostly on the ground" and he also realized he was alone.

Panic shot through him, adrenaline temporarily dampening the throbbing ache in his leg. "Rodney?" he hissed. He had to fight against the urge to shout; if there were anyone nearby that shouldn't hear him, he didn't want to give his position away. And speaking of position…

John was lying on his back; someone had propped him against the lumpy bark of a fat tree trunk. He craned his neck and looked around; a large canopy of needles fell to the ground like a waterfall – the wide branches dragged down by gravity created a natural hollow where a person could crawl in and take shelter.

Had his team stuffed him in here because they were about to be caught? Or had they left him behind to go and get help, not able to continue carrying his deadweight?

When no one answered, he debated whether he should try calling again, or climb to his knees and go looking, or just sit back and wait. He was incredibly thirsty; his throat felt scratchy, hot and burnt. He looked around some more. No packs, no water. They'd lost most of their gear when they'd had to make a fast run after relations had taken an unexpected turn for the worse, and what they hadn't left in the village, they'd lost in the jump from the cliff into the water, including his radio. He didn't have his canteen, or a weapon. His vest was still on him. That was something.

The branches rustled and suddenly Rodney's head, followed by his torso, tumbled into the copse. His eyes narrowed on John. "You're awake."

"I think so," he replied uncertainly. He'd hate for this to be a dream…wait a minute, what was he thinking! It'd be nice if this was just a nightmare, and he'd wake up on Atlantis, safe and sound in his bed, and nothing left but a remnant ache to remind him of the dream. No broken leg, no spending weeks in a cast -- assuming they got out of this alive -- and no mortal peril for him, or his team.

"Good. Maybe you'd like to actually stay --"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off in a yelp as Rodney moved wrong. The color suddenly drained from his face and his eyes pressed shut against obvious pain.

"Rodney," John called. "Hey, you okay?"

Rodney took a shallow breath, opened his eyes and swallowed. Then after a few moments of steadying himself, he shuffled, bent over, toward the tree and John, and took another breath. He shook his head as he flopped to the ground next to John. "Do I look like it?" he snapped, waspishly.

"No," John grated. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have asked." He often forgot how cranky Rodney could get when he got hurt. Crankier than John, and that was saying a lot. "Forget it, where's Ronon and Teyla?"

Rodney closed his eyes and took another shallow, panting breath. "Oh, God, that hurts."

"Rodney!"

"Okay, okay." He rolled his head tiredly against the tree, grayish-brown bark chipping off as he moved and clinging in his hair. "I just waved them goodbye, told them we'd keep the home fires burning." He smiled crookedly. John glared. "Fine, fine. No more jokes. The villagers from hell managed to start fires all up and down the river. The good news, it's not spreading fast. No wind to help it along."

John tensed. "And the bad?"

"Who said there's bad?" Rodney replied evasively.

"There's always bad." He took a page out of Rodney's book and let his head fall back against the thick trunk. The pain in his leg just... Wasn't. Letting. Up. God.

Rodney sighed. "Of course," he agreed. "There's always bad. And you couldn't just let it go. It's not enough that your leg is twice the size as normal, you look like death warmed over and I feel like the same --"

"Just tell me, Rodney. I don't need the reminder." His leg wasn't given him the chance to forget.

"We're surrounded. East is blocked by cliffs, the river's west with very bad people, and north and south is burning. Teyla and Ronon just left to search the cliffs; we found this hidey hole before we came up against a sheer mountain side that, by the way, has nothing on El Capitan, and Teyla suggested we wait here while they look for any kind of cave, or crevasse through, seeing how both Ronon and Teyla are relatively mobile and we're not. The tree will keep us hidden if any villagers come looking."

"Why didn't you wake me up? I could've helped look." Did he mention how badly he hated being a dead weight to his team? A liability? A stone around the neck?

Rodney gasped a little as he moved to face John, irritation bunching his forehead. "I don't know if you've noticed," he said in that tone he reserved for when you just weren't getting the obvious, "but you're not exactly feeling well."

"I noticed," John replied dryly. "But thanks." It didn't make him feel any better, though, knowing Teyla and Ronon were out there risking their lives to save his. John knew if it weren't for him, they would've stayed together. Splitting up was never a good idea.

The smoke was growing thicker and suddenly Rodney choked on a cough and then chanted, "Ow, ow, ow," through another.

"If they're not back soon, we need to go." He hated to point out the obvious, but anything can happen, and John wasn't going to lie here waiting to suffocate or burn to death. "How close is the nearest fire?"

Rodney covered his mouth and tried to stifle another round of coughing. "Close," he choked. "And apparently getting closer."

"Rodney…" John felt a pit of dread grow heavier in his gut.

"What?"

"You're bleeding." Blood flecks were visible on Rodney's lower lip…crap.

Like someone had just told him he had a milk mustache or something, Rodney shook his head, his mind slowly figuring out what was going on, then he wiped and stared for himself, seeing the smear of red against his palm. "I'm bleeding?" He thought about it a moment more and said, stronger and more anxious, "Oh my God, I'm bleeding. I'm gonna die."

"No one is gonna die," John retorted, angrily. "We're going to get out of this." Geez-us, now he sounded like Elizabeth, and if that wasn't a sign that everything was getting desperate, John didn't know what was.

"Yeah," Rodney argued, "tell that to the man with internal bleeding!"

"Rodney, calm down."

"No! I'm sick of this! It's not bad enough that your leg is broken and bone is sticking out and bleeding and…" Rodney trailed off when he saw John's face grow two shades paler and John suddenly looked down at the bandaged and splinted leg. When he'd first looked, John's clothes had been wet and torn down where Rodney had done his bandaging. Now, he could see the dry patches that were darker than the rest of his pants, and a deep red stain was starting to discolor the white bandage that wrapped around the center of his pain.

It'd hurt like hell, and it'd kept on hurting at an awful degree of pain; John had known something wasn't right. He'd thought about all the injuries he'd had before and nothing came close to this pain, except that whole Wraith feeding thing – shudder – but a compound fracture, and in these circumstances, oh crap, no wonder Rodney had looked so worried and Ronon had tried to lift him so carefully and no wonder the pain had been so incredible that he'd promptly passed out again.

Compound fractures were bad. Infection, blood loss… "Why didn't you tell me it was that bad?"

Rodney looked at him, guilty and a little pissed. "You already looked awful and I didn't want you to realize just how bad it was, okay? You would've carried on, insisting we leave you behind, and I'm sorry, but that is not going to happen."

"You're right, I would've." John had to swallow back the fear even now, and like he'd said before, he wasn't even all that scared to die. But compound fractures… Infection was a huge deal, and every minute that went by without him getting treatment, was another minute pushing him into an early grave. And even if he did live through this, healing time was gonna be a bitch. They'd probably try and send him back to Earth.

Damn it!

"This sucks," he said, throwing a filthy look at the canopy of pine needles in front of him.

"A bit of an under-stater, aren't you," Rodney hmmmed, choked again and tried to breathe through the thicker wisps of gray smoke that curled in through miniscule spaces between the branches.

At least Ronon and Teyla so far seemed to have survived unscathed. Now the problem would be convincing them to go if that's what it came down to. John knew it'd be an argument he'd probably lose, but he'd have to try. Dying together was a nice sentiment, but he'd haunt them for eternity, regardless of what came in the thereafter, if they let themselves die needlessly because of him.

They grew quiet then. Rodney was preoccupied trying to breathe, shallow enough to avoid as much pain as he could. John tried to keep from looking at his leg. The break was low, down on his left tibia. That was good; the bone in his lower leg was smaller than if it'd been up higher. Less blood loss, or something, he thought, trying to remember what they'd learned in First Aid and Buddy Care class.

The problem was the pain. If he even moved a little, it increased ten-fold. In the moments between, it just steadily thrummed and burned and made him feel sick. It was an awful injury, and he knew it. He'd tried to hit the water at a safe angle, tried to keep his body stiff so something like this didn't happen, but when you're in free fall, you can't always correctly anticipate the moment of impact.

He thought it was kind of ironic that his leg burned, a constant source of fiery agony, while the forest around them was slowly going up in flames. It was ironic, wasn't it? Or was the pain making him so delirious that he was indulging in morbid humor?

When his vision got even hazier, John thought he was drifting. Until he choked and realized it was because of how much smoke had seeped into their shelter. He looked over at Rodney, surprised to realize his buddy had passed out. He rolled at his hips and shook McKay, a little frantic at first. "Rodney! Hey, wake up! We've got to get out of here!"

John knew he wasn't going to be able to make it, at least not very far. His body felt encased in lead, weighed down and numb, and it was all he could do to even think straight anymore. The smoke, the compound fracture that was burning him from the inside out. But Rodney still had a chance.

A low moan rose from Rodney's lips and he blinked sluggishly. "She'prd?"

"Yeah, Rodney. You've got to wake up, get out of here. The smoke's getting too thick; you won't be able to breathe much longer."

Rodney groaned some more before managing to get on his hands and knees. He was moving in a fog, not quite with it, but knowing he had to go, because John told him so. Good, maybe if Rodney could get to Ronon and Teyla…

"How're you going to walk?" Rodney mumbled.

"I'll drag myself, right behind you," John assured him softly. "Just get going."

"Good, good."

John could tell that Rodney was barely aware of anything. His shallow breathing had made him more susceptible to the smoke and the lack of oxygen. He crawled ahead of John, panting and choking, toward the canopy surrounding them. The copse was filling up fast, all the breathable air disappearing under the onslaught of smoke.

John thought about staying here. Just letting asphyxiation take him so his team wouldn't sacrifice their lives trying to save his, but he wasn't quite that accepting. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it, but not trying went against every instinct in his body. He'd convinced Rodney to go, that was the big thing. He'd at least try to follow.

He tried to lever himself up enough to flip onto his stomach. That way he could pull his body along. It took a few tries and it left him breathing hard, panting against the bed of dried and yellowed needles, his face so close that he could smell the mustiness from the ground.

Rodney had managed to get through the branches. Now, it was John's turn. "Just keep going, back toward the cliffs, Rodney," he choked.

He'd wanted to say river because it was the only place safe from the fire, but Ronon and Teyla were at the cliffs. If it was time to give up, to head back toward the water, well, Teyla at least would see that Rodney got there. Ronon just might stay back and burn with John, if it came down to it. John knew the runner was dead serious that he'd rather die then be captured by the Wraith again.

John didn't really blame him.

Have you ever felt pain that overwhelmed every single sense you had? Pain so great and overpowering that you stopped being able to hear or see, or even think? That was the kind of pain John felt now. Once he started to move, the fire in his leg stole his eyesight away, his hearing, his sense of touch or smell. He only knew that he felt like he was dying. This, this was like when the Iratus bug had latched on, except then it'd quickly given way to paralysis. Now, he wasn't granted any such relief. It was so God-awful overwhelming, but somewhere inside, he just kept pushing his hands forward, and then blindly pulling his body forward, then he'd collapse, pant and moan, before doing it all over again.

He thought he might've made it through the branches. He thought someone grabbed him, but he wasn't sure. Things had grown dimmer, darker, and he heard the crackling of fire burning close by. Too close.

The air was hot in his lungs and each breath made him cough and choke. He turned his head, trying to get away from it.

"John, we're here," Teyla soothed. "We found shelter. We found a cave where we'll be safe from the fires."

Then, Ronon tightened his hands around him and said urgently, "Hold on, Sheppard."

"Rodney." John hated how weak he sounded.

"I have him," Teyla answered softly. "You're both going to be fine."

John nodded against Ronon's chest. Fine, they'd be fine. They'd hide in the caves and let the fire burn and then they'd get to the 'gate, and back to Atlantis, and Carson would fix Rodney and fix John's leg and fix the burning that seemed to be eating him alive.

With a final moan, John let go, again.