As usual, my estimates of how long it will take to wrap up this fic were waaaaay off base. It's gonna be at least another one to two chapters after this one. sigh But anyway – hope you like this chapter.. and I'd better get cracking on the next one!!

It was the sound of a voice that awoke John. Consciousness was slow to return, filtering through in stages; hearing first, physical sensation a slow second. Memory and comprehension took their sweet time and were fuzzy at best.

Someone was talking nearby but the words didn't make any sense. They stopped and started, as though waiting for a response – from whom? From him? – but none came. And then the words would start up again. He stayed still for a while, letting the words wash over him, listening but not comprehending. Physical sensation crept into his awareness in the form of a kind of dull numbness, a comprehensive sort of not-quite ache. He realised distantly that he felt strangely heavy, lethargic, his body's processes slowed and sluggish. Discomfort was slow to seep through the blanketing numbness but he gradually became aware of a heavy pressure on the lower half of his body and an uncomfortable chill that seemed to seep right to his very bones.

The voice in the background continued to talk as the world slowly slotted back into place. He realised that his head was throbbing, realised that he was lying face down on an uneven surface, his cheek pressed against what felt like cold stone, and realised, eventually, that the voice belonged to Teyla. His head felt thick and heavy, his thoughts foggy, and he struggled to focus on her words, to make some sense of this situation. Meaning came through to him in snatches, words taken out of context; bleeding, wood, Carson, worried, torso, impaled… wait, Carson? Carson was here? He couldn't hear another voice. Only Teyla. Where was Carson?

He tried to speak, to ask, to understand, but he couldn't seem to move, his body an unfamiliar vessel that failed to respond to his controls. His lips parted but no sound came out.

The tone of Teyla's voice changed, becoming a sharp command, and something moved nearby.

"John? Can you hear me, John?" Her voice was closer now, louder, and he felt a whisper of air, a sigh of breath across his cheek. She sounded almost frightened and he had never heard fear in Teyla's voice before. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that he could hear her, but the words wouldn't come. His throat worked soundlessly. "John?" There was an undercurrent now in her voice, a tremor that spoke of concern and of… hope?

The numbness was slipping away from him now, the world around him taking on sharper edges and angles as awareness washed over him. He was becoming vaguely aware that he hurt.. almost everywhere in fact. It was a dull, aching kind of hurt and for a moment he wished he could remain wrapped up in the easy numbness; increasing awareness brought with it increasing pain, becoming less dull by the moment. His thoughts cleared enough for him to begin to wonder why he was lying here like this, why he was so cold, why everything was starting to hurt.

"I think he's waking up. John?"

He breathed in through dry lips, and suddenly he was choking, the air thick with a dust that coated his mouth and throat and irritated his lungs. He coughed harshly and suddenly there was no more numbness, no more dull ache. The involuntarily cough reflex achieved what he could not; his body moved and with that movement came sharp, angry pain, an agony unlike anything he had known, spearing into him somewhere around his midriff and radiating outwards like angry fingers of fire, burning trails of hot, vicious pain up his back to explode in his brain. His body reacted instinctively, tension tightening his limbs, his jaw clenching, muffling the scream that he couldn't hold back.

Teyla couldn't tear her eyes from the spear of broken wood that protruded from John's flesh. Even as she spoke with Carson over the radio, doing her best to stay calm and to describe John's condition as clearly and precisely as possible, her mind kept wandering, her gaze noting every detail of the horrific injury in a kind of detached, horrified fascination. McKay's voice had been sick, his "Oh god.." an exclamation of despair, as she had told he and Carson that John was impaled on a piece of the rubble. Carson had been shocked and for a moment she'd heard his voice waver, the same fear that curdled in her own stomach evident in his breathless response, before his determination and the fierce caring he showed for his patients had leant calm strength to his words. Never more strong-willed and efficient than when lives were are stake, Carson had stayed on the radio, his voice softening a moment as he had asked if she were alright, and immediately begun discussing with her their options for dealing with the Colonel's injury. As they spoke, Teyla found herself focusing on his words, drawing strength from them, and she became aware of the sick feeling in her stomach lessening a little. She realised with surprise that she was shaking ever so slightly and she frowned, breathing out slowly, forcing her muscles to relax. She recognised with a slight smile the symptoms of shock… and that Carson's calm, confident words had been as much a deliberate course of treatment for one patient as a very real discussion of what to do to help another.

She leaned over John's limp body as she spoke with Carson, knowing he needed as much information as possible about John's injuries. Kneeling beside her friend, bracing one arm carefully on the floor on the other side of his body, she leaned in to peer closely at the protruding shaft of wood, describing to Carson the size and location of the wound, the dimensions of the piece of wood, the amount of blood oozing slowly from the ragged hole in John's flesh. She leaned as far over as she dared, pressing her face close to the floor in an attempt to see if the spear of wood had pierced through to the floor below, but without moving him it was impossible to know for sure.

She sat back on her heels and brushed her hair back from her face with a dusty hand, a weary sigh on her lips. The toll of hours of fear and worry was starting to tell on her and an empty ache in her stomach reminded her that it had been many hours since she had last eaten. Carson was talking almost to himself, running through in his mind the process by which they would need to stabilise John's injury, and despite his calm practicality, she knew that John's injury was grave and, under the circumstances, posed a very real concern.

The chatter of Carson's words in her ear was such that she almost missed hearing it; the tiniest of sounds, a mere exhalation of breath. "Hush, Carson!" she commanded, tension tightening her chest as she held herself still, her ears straining to catch the slightest noise. Nothing. She crawled closer to John's head and, as she leant towards him, she saw the faintest tremor run up his back, a mere shivering of muscles but an indication nonetheless of a return to consciousness. Her heart in her mouth, she leaned over him, searching his face for any sign of awareness. "John? Can you hear me, John?"

His face was still and pale and for a moment she thought she was mistaken but then his eyelids fluttered minutely and a faint frown creased his brow. She found herself smiling, hope warring with the terrible fear that still tied her stomach in knots. She watched as his throat worked silently, his lips parting on another quiet exhalation. He was awake it seemed, though not fully aware.

"Teyla, love. What's happening?" Impatience tightened Caron's voice, his words heavy with frustration at being separated from his patient, unable to see, unable to help.

"I think he's waking up," she told him simply, her attention focused on John's pale face, his expression drawn and confused as he struggled towards consciousness. He seemed only minimally aware of his surroundings and she wasn't sure if he was even aware of her presence. "John?"

His throat worked again as though her were trying to speak and his lips parted to draw in a sudden breath. And then his body was jerking as a rasping cough shook him and, in an instant, his entire body tensed, a muffled scream ripped from him as his lungs continued to spasm, the cough reflex shaking his torso, the motion jarring his injury.

"John! You need to stay still!" She leaned over him urgently, her hand on his shoulder, trying to reach him, to ground him, as he continued to cough, a thin keening sound escaping his tightly-clenched teeth. "You must remain calm, John. You are injured and you must stay still!" His features were screwed up in pain, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, leaving glistening tracks through the coating of dust on his face. Her heart ached for him as she watched helplessly as he struggled with the pain. Rarely had she seen him so exposed, so vulnerable. For reasons best known to himself, John routinely hid his pain, always showing a brave face to the world, and only once before had she seen his features so twisted in agony, heard him cry out from pain. She looked on in despair as he continued to shudder agonisingly, coughs shaking his weakened body, pulling and jerking him against the shard of wood lodged in his flesh. Staring at the shattered beam protruding from his torso, she realised with horror that, as John's body shook, the piece of wood did not; it remained immobile, solid, and that could only mean one thing – it had penetrated right through John's vulnerable flesh to lodge in the floor beneath him. He was truly impaled, pinned into place by the wooden spear.

"What's happened? What's wrong?"

"Teyla, what's happening?"

Carson and Rodney's voices were loud in her ear, their words tangling together, panic and fear evident in their voices. "He moved," she cried miserably. "The dust in the air has made him cough and his movements are pulling at his wound. He is in pain!"

She could hear the desperation in her own words as she held onto John's trembling shoulders, Rodney's despairing curses almost drowning out Carson's advice, his voice worried yet firm, "If you can do anything to immobilise him, Teyla…"

She tightened her grip on John's shoulders, leaning across him to speak into his ear, trying to make him understand. She felt close to tears herself as she begged him, "John, you must remain still!" Desperately, she laid her body across his, pinning him with her weight, trying to hold him still until the paroxysm passed. Although he continued to cough weakly, the pressure of her body across his torso prevented him from moving and pulling at his wound and slowly his cries of pain lessened. She stayed where she was until he stopped coughing, lying pressed against him, listening as the coughing faded into a stuttering hiccupping and finally, shallow, rapid breathing. She rose cautiously to her hands and knees, anxious not to in any way jar him or cause him any more pain. He was still now beneath her, his body still tense; the only sound in the small, cramped enclosure was his quiet, shuddering breaths.

"Teyla?"

"Yes, Carson." Her voice sounded breathy, shaken, even to her own ears.

"How is he?"

She regarded John's still form dubiously. "The coughing has stopped and his pain appears to have eased," she reported. "I believe he is awake but he does not appear to be responsive." She leaned gingerly over John's body, trying to see more clearly but his face was hidden from view, turned away from her; all she could see was the side of his head and his shock of messy, dust-coated hair. "I need to get a closer look. Stand by, Carson."

Moving carefully, she rose to a crouch and stepped delicately around John's prone form, squeezing herself into the too-narrow space between his head and the piled and shored-up debris. As she crouched beside him, able now to see his face, she realised that his eyes were open, staring ahead vacantly, his lips parted as he breathed carefully and shallowly, his body held tensely. His face was ashen beneath the layer of dust and his features were drawn with pain.

"John?" She hunkered down as far as she could, tilting her head sideways as she tried to move into his line of sight, to capture his attention. "John, it is Teyla." He reacted sluggishly, his gaze unfocused as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. She reached out a hand to gently brush the plaster dust from his cheek, his fingers smoothing away the damp tracks of his tears. He was still, unmoving, under her touch, his body still held tensely, afraid to move for fear of the pain that would follow. He breathed shallowly through parted lips that looked dry and cracked, coated with dust. Frowning slightly, she looked around the small, gloomy space for the supplies that Carson had sent her; other than the supplies she had used immediately to treat John, she had packed everything else back into the rucksack and placed it securely to one side whilst she had worked to stabilise the ruins. Pushing carefully upright, she once again picked her way gingerly around and across the debris until she could open the bag and pull out some sterile wipes, the pen flashlight and the canteen of water.

"Carson?"

"Yes, love?"

"He is awake but seems confused. He does not answer me when I speak."

"Okay. Okay." Carson's voice was determinedly calm, thoughtful, as he considered their options. "Just give him some time, lass. He's got a probable concussion and he's just woken up to a lot of pain. He's probably feeling a wee bit shell-shocked right now. Talk to him, see if you can get him to come around."

Rodney's voice broke in on the channel, his words clipped and impatient. "Can't you just knock him out or something while we deal with the slightly more important issue of the great big spike stuck through his chest? The plan is supposed to be to get him out of there.."

"No, Rodney, we can't just knock him out! He's suffered a head injury and is in hypovolaemic shock with dangerously low blood pressure. The last thing he needs right now is any kind of sedative! So how about you leave the doctoring to me and you concentrate on the engineering?…" Teyla refrained from commenting, leaving them to their argument, knowing that their sharp words stemmed from stress and tension and concern for their friend, rather than any real animosity.

When she crouched beside John again his condition was unchanged, his eyes open but unfocused, his breathing shallow and tight. With a gentle touch she brushed the gritty dust from his lips and carefully unstoppered the canteen, holding it awkwardly to his lips. "John? Here, drink some water. It will help clear the dust from your throat and stop you from coughing." She tipped the canteen and water trickled over his lips, spilling onto the floor. She frowned. "John, it is Teyla. I need you to drink some water for me." She tilted the canteen further and more water splashed onto the floor, some of it now spilling into his mouth and, after a moment, he swallowed instinctively.

"That's good, John." She let a little more water flow into his mouth, seeing his throat work as he swallowed, and then lifted the canteen away, restoppering it carefully. The water seemed to revive him a little and he sighed softly, his gaze sharpening a little, his eyes wandering somewhat until they slowly focused in on her.

"..yla?" His voice was dry and cracked, the first syllable of her name a soundless movement of his lips, but he was awake and aware and he recognised her. She felt a wash of relief warm her, a smile breaking out on her face.

"Yes, John. I am here."

He frowned, the look of confusion on his pale face making him look younger, almost childlike. "Wha' happened?" His words were a slurred whisper, his eyelids already drooping heavily.

"There was an accident. Do you remember? A roundwind hit the village." She struggled for a moment, searching her memory for the unfamiliar word he and Rodney had used. "A… a tornado," she recalled suddenly. "The building you took shelter in was hit and you are trapped in the rubble."

John seemed to be following her words, his eyes focused on her face, and his frown suddenly cleared, the look of drowsy confusion chased away by an expression of urgency and concern. His voice had more strength as he rasped, "There.. there was a child! She was left behind…" He started to move, his shoulder tensing as he tried to pull his right arm free of the rubble, and his face twisted as pain rippled through him.

"She is fine!" Her hand on his arm stopped his movements and she leaned forward, her gaze capturing his earnestly. "There is no need for concern, John. The child is well. You saved her." She smiled warmly, "She is with her mother even now."

He sagged beneath her touch, tension draining from his muscles. "She is?" His voice was uncertain, pain still drawing sharp lines on his face.

"She is fine. Our concern now is for you," she told him firmly. His eyelids were drooping again, fluttering over his eyes as he seemed to drift for a moment.

"Me?" he mumbled drowsily. "Wha's wrong with me?"

His voice was faint now and she leant forward hurriedly, a hand on his cheek trying to rouse him. His skin felt cool under her touch. "John? Stay with me, John!" she commanded. He started slightly, his breath stuttering in his chest, and a frown creased his face.

"Hurts.." he muttered faintly.

"I know," she agreed quietly, trying to fill her voice with warmth and reassurance. "I know it hurts. But we will get you out of here. I just need you to stay awake for me, John."

"Mmmkay.." He was drifting again, his eyelids heavy, struggling to hold on to consciousness.

"Carson?" She ripped open one of the packets of sterile wipes as she spoke, pulling out the cool, damp cloth and pressing it to John's forehead as Carson's voice crackled in her ear.

"How is he?"

John stirred minutely as she used the wipe to gently clean the thick coating of dust from his face, the cool cloth seeming to revive him a little.

"He is conscious, Carson but he appears drowsy and I am struggling to keep him awake. He has been able to communicate but his memory of what has happened to him seems confused at best."

"Can you check his pupils for me, love?"

Remembering the pen flashlight stashed in her pocket, she scolded herself silently for not thinking to do so earlier. She had seen Carson shining his penlight in people's eyes often enough, and in his triage training with she and Ronon, the doctor had explained the reasons for the simple test and what she should look for. She smoothed the cool wipe one last time across John's brow before setting it aside and digging the flashlight from her pocket. She flicked the switch and the thin beam of light pierced the gloom of the enclosed space, dancing briefly across the rubble of the floor above. Still crouched awkwardly in the cramped space beside John's head, she reached down and gently pulled up one eyelid, flicking the light quickly across the pupil and back again, just as Carson had shown her. John groaned quietly in protest at the intrusion but made no attempt to move or to escape her attentions. His lack of reaction worried her; though he would regularly make light of often serious injuries, John hated being poked and prodded and tested in the infirmary and would grumble and protest every time Carson produced his penlight.

He stirred woozily as she gently slid a hand under his cheek and lifted his head slightly to allow her to check the other eye. His eyelid stayed open when she let go of it and she found him regarding her sleepily. "Hi, Teyla."

She laid his head down carefully and he frowned as his gaze moved beyond her to the shattered pile of rubble that filled this corner of the lower floor of the building. "What happened here?" His voice sounded a little stronger now but his question caused a flutter of fear in her stomach.

"There was a.. a tornado, John. Do you not remember?" His frown deepened and the fear hardened and solidified; her concern was not that he did not recall the roundwind hitting the village but that he seemed not to remember her telling him about it only moments ago.

"Is everybody okay?" With that question, he seemed almost his usual self, always thinking of others, more concerned about his team than himself. It would have been reassuring had she not already had a variant of this conversation with him so very recently.

"We are all fine," she assured him. "Everybody made it to the shelters except you."

His eyelids were already sinking as she spoke and she doubted he had even heard her reponse.

"Carson?"

"Yes, Teyla?"

She couldn't keep the tremor of worry from her voice as she updated Carson on the situation; as if John's injury were not enough, it was becoming clear that the blow to his head sustained in the building collapse was adding further complications to the situation. "His pupils are reactive but unequal and his short-term memory is confused. He does not recall a conversation we had only moments ago," she admitted.

"Bloody hell." Carson's curse was tight with frustration and she knew that, had it been in any way possible, he would have climbed the rubble, regardless of his own safety, and joined her in this dark and stuffy place. She was beginning to be very afraid that John needed more medical care than she, even with the skills Carson had taught her, could possibly provide him. "Well, he's definitely got a concussion. Try your best to keep him awake, Teyla, and to keep him talking. Rodney, we need to find a way to get him out of there, now. He needs medical attention, sooner rather than later."

McKay's voice was impatient, bordering on angry. "We're working on a way to do just that, Carson, but I think the larger problem here is how we're going to be able to move him at all when he's impaled on something!"

"Leave that to me." There was a certain grim certainty in Carson's words that did nothing to quell Teyla's concerns that her abilities, such as they were, were not up to the task ahead of her.

"Carson.."

"Don't worry, lass. You're doing great." As perceptive as ever, Carson's lilting brogue was coloured with warmth as he reassured her. "The Colonel's damn lucky to have you around." Even across the radio, she could hear the gentle smile in his voice and it made an answering smile tug at her lips.

As she looked again at the thick splinter that protruded from John's torso however, her doubts continued to plague her; with his body still half buried in the rubble and the solid piece of wood pinning him firmly in place, she could not envisage how they – she - would possibly be able to free him.

"How are we to move him?" she questioned worriedly. "I believe the piece of wood has penetrated entirely through his body and to the floor below; he is pinned in place, Carson."

"I know, love." She found herself watching John's eyelids flutter as he drifted restlessly on the edge of consciousness, Carson's voice firm yet resigned in her ear as he told her, "We have only one choice. We cannot remove the foreign object, that'd likely kill him, so we'll have to bring it out with him."

"We're going to have to cut through the beam."

TBC…