AN: Thanks again, guys. Like I said, this lack of a plot really does bother me, but this turned very much into a 'what makes Sheppard tick' short answer to the challenge. I'm glad that you all are enjoying that, as it's always a bit nerve-wracking to dig into the character's thoughts. Look for part 4 tomorrow, I'd really hoped to get it done today but I've got kids and dinner and real life stuff the rest of today (yay yard work and car got done!)


Smouldering

Life and death. The universal yin and yang – everything that lives, dies. Opposing forces and from the moment you were born, you were dying. Some had days, some had years, and some would live a century or more. John hadn't thought much about growing old. He'd never really believed he'd make it. For all that he considered himself an optimist, he was also a realist. The kind of life he led wasn't exactly conducive to dying in your bed of old age.

But knowing you're going to die young and actually doing it are two different things. He'd survived too many times to pretend otherwise. He'd said he wasn't scared of dying, and that wasn't a lie. It wasn't even an exaggeration. Everything that lives, dies. His time would come and he'd be damned if he'd go down scared.

But John had never said he'd leave without regrets. Without wishing he'd done more, or did something different, or said something else. He'd go to his grave wishing he'd taken that mission over Kabul rather than his friends. He'd always regret not being able to save Holland. For touching the locket and shooting Sumner. For not being able to save Abrams and Gall and Ford. For not being able to save Ellia and having to shoot her like she was a rabid animal, for losing control while he mutated from the retrovirus. For not being fast enough or strong enough when people needed him most. When his team needed him most.

He'd reconciled with death, but he'd never reconciled with being the cause of it.

OoO

"Shhhh, John, we are not dead yet," soothed Teyla.

He blinked sluggishly. "It's dark." He couldn't see anything but vague shadows. And it's cold, he thought, shivering. Or was that just him?

"That's because we're in a mountain," Rodney said derisively.

"Rodney?" John knew there was something about his buddy that should be worrying him. Something… "You okay?"

"If dying is okay, then I'm fantastic."

"You're not dying, McKay," Ronon interjected gruffly.

John heard the sound of rustling and a rock kicked against a wall. Then one of the shapes moved near and a flash of light sparked into the blackness. It disappeared in less than a second and Ronon swore under his breath. "This isn't working," he growled.

More rustling, then Rodney grouched, "Of course it's not, the sticks are too large and I told you using scraps of our cloth wouldn't work. They're flame retardant. Besides, in case you hadn't noticed, there's an appallingly large source of fire where we just came from. Incredible that you were too short-sighted to think even moments ahead and drop a flaming branch down ahead of us."

"Rodney, that is not fair." Teyla's voice was above John and full of gentle reproach. He was surprised to realize his head was pillowed in her lap. Information was slowly being processed through the fog he seemed to be in. His leg was hot but the pain wasn't so bad now, and that worried him more than anything. "Getting you and Colonel Sheppard to safety was our priority. Yes, we should have thought farther ahead, but we did not, and berating us now for it will not help anyone. You should not move." Teyla's legs shifted underneath John's head as she leaned over and scolded Rodney. "Lie still."

If they needed a fire, John was sure he could just breathe on the sticks and they'd combust. His leg -- his entire body -- felt like it was burning up. Why was he so hot?

"Can't you just go out and get a burning stick?" John whispered. He was so thirsty – his tongue felt practically glued to the roof of his mouth.

"We dropped into an underground cavern, John. We came in through the roof; years ago it must have collapsed, from storms or erosion. The hole is small and too far to climb out of without help. Getting you and Rodney down without further injury was…difficult." She ran a soft, gentle hand through his hair, and John almost sighed from the heavenly feel. "Ronon cannot carry or lift anymore and I am not tall enough to reach by myself."

"What's wrong with Ronon?" John wanted to get up, to put his team back together and lead them out of this, but just lifting his head took too much effort. Crap, what the hell was wrong with him? Why was he so out of it now? It was hard just to think straight.

"Dislocated my shoulder getting you down here. It'll heal." Ronon struck metal against rock and sparks lit up the cave again. This time, John caught sight of the runner. He was hunched over, a rock clenched low between his knees next to a stick, one end wrapped in scraps of cloth. His left arm hung at an odd angle even while the other brandished one of his many knives. Rodney was next to John, propped against Teyla's other side.

"If we live," Rodney muttered. "Some of us have a countdown clock hanging over their heads."

"I'm not letting you or Sheppard die, so just shut up, McKay." He swiped the blade against the rock again, harder and more violent, and more sparks showered around Ronon's legs.

John could almost see the ferocious glare on Ronon's face as he said it.

He wanted to ask for water. Wanted it more than he'd wanted anything before. But he had a hunch if they'd had any water, it would've been offered to him before now. He shifted restlessly against Teyla.

His leg felt heavy, swollen, and pathetically numb and painful at the same time. He was hot. He could feel the cold from the rock under him seeping through his t-shirt… His vest? "What happened to my vest?"

"Rodney suggested we take it off and let the coolness of the cave work against your fever." Teyla frowned over him, her face illuminated briefly in another round of sparks. "I am sorry, John. We do not have anything left to give you that can ease your pain or your fever. We lost what remaining supplies we had in getting you both here. The fire moved faster than we believed it would."

"Are we safe?" He meant from the villagers and hoped she got that, because he didn't have the energy to say much else; the fire couldn't burn through rock and he felt fresh air blowing across his face, so there was a supply coming from somewhere, untainted by the smoke from the fires.

"At least until the fires die," Rodney replied. He coughed and cried out. Then Teyla was soothing Rodney, whispering for him to breathe shallowly and to stay still. John listened to her and to Rodney's struggles against his own apparent pain – what'd happened to him?

John closed his eyes and saw blood. Blood on Rodney's lips… he remembered telling Rodney that he was bleeding – "How'd it happen?" he asked.

"How'd what happen?" Ronon asked. He also dropped his knife, angry. "This isn't gonna work. We'll have to make do without any light."

"I already told you that," wheezed Rodney. Then he rolled his face toward John. "When I hit the water…" He struggled to breathe without inhaling too deep. "I did a belly flop. It broke some ribs, and obviously something else important."

John choked on a laugh. "You're dying because you're clumsy?"

"Look who's talking! All you had to do was hit without being a noodle and your leg would've been fine, but no, Mr. I'm-In-Control- Always Sheppard, couldn't even avoid having his leg snapped like a twig! Besides, I was still groggy from being stunned, what's your excuse?"

"Sorry," gasped John. "But a belly flop?" He tried to stop laughing and it wasn't even a good laugh, it sounded as sick as he felt, but holy crap, "Here lies Rodney McKay; sad victim of the first fatal belly flop."

Rodney spluttered angrily for a moment, before it turned into a painful snort. "We suck at the Butch and Sundance thing. No one's gonna hire us. We'll need to start taking stunt doubles on missions."

If we make it out of this alive.

John shivered. Where was his vest? "I'm cold," he complained. And his butt hurt from lying down on the hard, rock floor of the cave.

"I know," Teyla said softly. "But you have a high fever. You have to be strong, John."

He heard the strain suddenly in her voice. Her muscles tensed under his head and he blinked tiredly at her face. His eyes had slowly adjusted and he could almost see her clearly. There was strength to be had in that face, and John needed it now more than ever.

"I know," he said gravely. They were counting on him. It was his fault they were stuck in this cave. If he hadn't broken his leg, they could've backtracked to the Stargate and gotten out of here long ago. Rodney wouldn't be lying next to him, slowly bleeding to death inside his gut, and Ronon wouldn't be sitting next to him with a dislocated shoulder, angry at being helpless. And Teyla wouldn't be comforting him while he died.

Because John felt death. He really did. Stronger now than ever.

It gripped him, hard. He'd always thought he'd go down fighting, but right now, it was all he could do to stay awake. To not let the fever drag him back down to blackness.

Think, John, think!

Ronon and Teyla weren't stupid, by any means, but they were from this galaxy. Their responses to situations were guided by what they knew – they didn't have the same perspectives that John and Rodney often brought to missions and crises. It was a team effort, and with half the team down for the count, they weren't doing so hot.

But it was becoming impossible to concentrate. The fever smouldered in his body, silently eating him from within. Stealing his thoughts and life away. He lifted a hand weakly and pointed toward the small, far-away light… It must be the hole they'd dropped through. "Find a way and get out of here." John had to try. God, he had to. He didn't want his team dying, and maybe they could get help, at least save Rodney.

"We're not leaving you," Ronon said flatly. "We did that once and the fire almost killed you."

"Ronon is right. Help will come when we fail to check in with Atlantis."

Rodney laughed bitterly. "We'll be dead before they find us."

"No, you won't." Ronon was pacing.

"What, you think saying it is going to make it true?" Rodney demanded. "Newsflash, it doesn't work like that."

John felt a wave of queasiness rush through his stomach. My fault. It was his worst nightmare, to be the cause of his team's death. John hadn't asked for anything… Not since Dex and Mitch and Holland. Not since he'd lost too many friends in a God-forsaken land and had been captured, beaten, and tortured by the enemy after watching the man that he'd given up everything to save, died, because he hadn't been good enough. He'd failed, Holland had died, and John became the Air Force's liability. It'd been too much; it'd pushed him over the edge, into a place where he just didn't care. No, that wasn't right. He'd still cared, he'd just buried it deep and kept it hidden under a devil-may-care attitude that hadn't been all that hard to keep up.

But now, for his team's sake, John closed his eyes, he gave up his grudge and begged. Please…don't do this, he pleaded to a God he'd given up on.

He prayed, shivered and sweated. John knew he was losing it. Knew something was really wrong with his body. Sometimes he heard Teyla helping Rodney breathe through the pain, then she'd turn back to him and whisper, "John?" because he'd grown still and silent and she thought he might have died when she'd looked away.

Things grew far-away and distant again, and John drifted, the last of his prayer still in his mind.

He heard Ronon and Teyla talking, then the tone grew angry, and the conversation sharpened and came into focus.

"I'm not gonna sit here and do nothing while they die!"

"If you go, you could get lost. Ronon, underground caverns can go on for distances and distances that you cannot even imagine. We had them on Athos and every few years, young children would forget the danger and try to explore, and they were not seen ever again. The village elders would say it was the Wraith, but I never believed them. The paths all look the same, it is easy to be confused; you could get lost and never find your way out. It is too dangerous!"

Ronon inhaled, frustrated. "Teyla, they're going to die if I don't. Damn it," he ground out. "It might already be too late."

Then their voices faded again.

When John swam up from the depths and found a rare moment of lucidity, Ronon was gone and Teyla was alone, holding him so tightly with one arm that John thought he was already dead. "Teyla?" His voice was scratchy and hoarse, and it hurt to talk.

"John?"

"Rodney?"

She shook her head. "He's unconscious. I cannot get him to wake."

Was this really it? Were they going to die in a cold cavern on an inconsequential world and an equally inconsequential mission? Die because he'd hit the water wrong and cause and effect could be an equally cold bitch?

He tried to lick his dry lips.

"I'm sorry," he rasped.

He'd lost faith in God and people a long time ago. He'd started to gain some of the latter back, but he'd been uninterested in the former. Too much baggage and too little time. He'd accepted dying easily. Hell, he'd ridden a nuke down the belly of a Hive ship with a simple, "So long, Rodney," but his team dying… his team dying with him, because of him… God, it hurt. It hurt more than his leg and the fever stealing his life away did. "You should've left me," he whispered. "Taken Rodney and left me."

The hand holding his shoulder tightened against his skin. She was quiet; all John heard was the soft, even rhythm of her breathing.

He'd accepted that she wasn't going to answer; when she finally did, her words were strained as she whispered fiercely, "I could never leave you, John. And I do not think Rodney would have, either."

He blinked furiously.

Yeah… he knew. He'd known. But he'd have given anything for them to have just been selfish for the time it took them to get the hell out of there and get to the 'gate.

"Ronon has gone for help." She stroked his hair and stared off into the darkness. "My father always said that the time of strongest faith is right before the dawn." Her smile was crooked and wry when she turned back to him. "It seems like we are often waiting for the sun to rise."

John remembered blue skies and a heavy, swollen sun climbing over the horizon – he closed his eyes and felt himself rushing towards it… Nothing but his ship and the wide open primal battle of nature and machine, banking and rising, flying at speeds approaching light…flying flying flying… and he smiled. "It's beautiful…"

"Teyla!"

"Ronon! Here, we are here!"

There was the sound of feet, and equipment banging against strong shoulders and legs, and then someone new and familiar knelt by him and touched his forehead with a calloused but gentle hand and breathed, "Colonel, you're a bloody mess."

"Carson," he sighed. "Save Rodney… He's dying. You can save him…"

"Aye, and you. Rest, John, we've got you…" Carson pulled away to bark orders. "Get fluids into Rodney, with internal bleeding we need to get his pressure up. Mawani, lass, get me the Rocephin, two of the single ampoules."

"How?" Teyla asked.

"Luck," Ronon answered, grinning. "It was just dumb luck; I took the right passage and kept heading right. Every time McKay ropes me into playing those shoot-em-up video games, he always says stay to the right. It led me straight to the Stargate. Weir had just sent a rescue team and they were still gauging the fires and deciding where to go look first."

"Oh, thank the Ancestors!"

Then John heard rapid orders being snapped and Lorne was leaning over him. "Hey, Major," John grinned weakly.

"Hey yourself, Sir," the major affectionately grinned back. "Nice to see you did it again; this is getting to be a bad habit."

John swallowed and nodded, and felt his eyes drifting shut. Hot…God, he was so hot. But even while he was drowning in the fever and pain, he felt himself floating. His team wasn't going to die. They weren't going to die because of him. He was floating… flying… He smiled...

"Colonel! Oh, bloody hell, get the defibrillator, we're losing him!" Someone shook his shoulder roughly. "Don't do this John, stay with us! Damn it! Charging to 300…"