At long last - an update! We're getting down to the nitty gritty of the whumpage in this chapter - don't say you weren't warned! And whooo boy, it's a long one!! One more chapter to go on this fic... with any luck.

All feedback/reviews/thoughts welcome.

Teyla had never been so relieved to see Carson.

After such a long time spent in the shadowed gloom of the ruined building, the sudden influx of bright sunlight was blindingly bright, leaving her blinking, bringing a hand up to shade her eyes as the hole in the wall grew slowly bigger, spilling more and more light into the cramped space. The engineers worked quickly but carefully, setting stout supports into place as they removed part of the remaining external wall stone by stone, essentially creating a doorway where once had been solid wall. As soon as the gap was even marginally big enough to allow entry into the building, the warm sunlight was blocked out as a figure moved into view, squeezing carefully through the narrow gap, bent low at the waist to duck through the small entrance. The bright light from outside cast a halo around his shape, casting his features into darkness, but even without being able to properly see his face, Teyla breathed a sigh of relief.

"Carson."

"Aye, love." Never had there been a more welcome sound than that familiar, lilting voice. As Carson picked his way across the debris-strewn floor towards her, the engineers continued their work, the gap in the wall slowly growing wider and taller, and sunlight once again illuminated the space under the rubble, revealing the mixture of relief and concern on the doctor's expressive face.

He cast her a reassuring smile as he joined her at John's side, stooping to set his medical kit on the ground before dropping carefully to his knees, his every movement smooth and efficient as he quickly began to assess his patient, his hands moving with assurance even as he asked her quietly, "How's my patient?"

The long hours of worry and fear had taken their toll on Teyla, her voice cracking even as she struggled for composure. "I fear he is growing weaker," she admitted. "He has been drifting in and out of consciousness but it becomes harder to rouse him." She swallowed thickly, the taste of her own fear bitter in her mouth.

Carson looked up from his task, his gaze at once sympathetic and all-too knowing. "And how are you holding up?" he questioned shrewdly.

"I am fine," her demurral was instinctive. Truth be told she was tired and aching, weary from hours of tension and concern, her back and elbows scraped and skinned and her shoulder throbbing from the impact of falling debris; all of which paled in comparison to John's desperate situation. Her aches and pains were a small price to pay in exchange for John's life and she would bear them without complaint. There would be time enough later for such minor concerns; right now, John needed Carson's undivided attention.

With a tight smile that told Teyla that he wasn't fooled for a second, Carson turned his focus back to John and Teyla found herself watching with trepidation as he moved to examine the stout shard of wood pinning the injured man in place. Carson's hands were sure and gentle as he delicately peeled the edges of blood-soaked fabric back from around the wound, leaning forward over John's body to closely examine the injury, his gloved fingers lightly palpating the swollen, damaged flesh. Delicate though his touch was, John's reaction was immediate, his body stiffening involuntarily as he jerked to wakefulness with a smothered cry. Carson grimaced at John's pained reaction and, as he rose quickly to his feet, Teyla could see on his expressive face the deep concern for his patient, the depth of empathy that made him such a committed, caring healer.

Whilst Rodney and Carson had planned how to cut John free of the debris pinning him in place, whilst the team of engineers had discussed the best way to extract a critically injured patient from the unstable ruins of the house, Teyla had made use of the time to continue to move as much of the rubble as she could from around and on top of John, beginning to uncover his lower torso and legs and clearing space around his head and shoulders so that it was easier to reach him, to try and capture his attention during his periods of wakefulness. It was in that cleared space that Carson now carefully knelt, peering into John's face as he placed a calming hand on the man's shoulder.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

John's breathing was laboured, rasping harshly in his throat, and his right arm, freed from the rubble, scrabbled convulsively at the dust-covered floor and as he coughed harshly, a weak groan escaping him. John's obvious distress pulled at Teyla, tightening the cold ache of fear in her chest as she leaned forward, the muscles in his back thrumming beneath her touch as she tried to comfort him. His face was turned from her, Beckett crouching low to lean into his line of sight, trying to capture John's attention, much as she had done when he had first awoken, but she could see enough to know that John's eyes were squeezed shut, his face a mask of pain. For a long moment he showed no awareness of their presence, of Carson's touch on his shoulder, her hesitant hand on his trembling torso, and she could hear the same heavy fear that she had carried in her heart for what felt like days weighing in Carson's voice, his tone becoming insistent as he struggled to rouse the suffering man.

"Colonel Sheppard! It's Carson. Can you hear me, son?"

John's face was drawn into a frown as he struggled with the pain, his attention focused inwards. His eyes were still clenched shut.

Teyla's earpiece crackled and Rodney's impatient voice came over the open channel. "Carson? How's he doing?"

"I've only just gotten here, Rodney. I'll tell you as soon as I know anything." Carson's response was deliberately calm but she could see the impatience written on his face and he reached up to switch off his radio before Rodney could respond.

"John. It's Carson, son. I know it hurts but I need you to be strong for me. We're going to get you out of here.." Carson's hands were busy as he spoke, pressing against John's neck to check his pulse, brushing the dust-coated hair from his forehead as he laid the back of his hand against John's skin. When he gently raised an eyelid to test for pupil reactions, John flinched away from the light, grunting his displeasure. He came back to awareness slowly, groggily, and his voice, when he spoke, was cracked, shaky, and disturbingly weak.

"..arson?"

Teyla breathed a sigh of relief and Carson's face creased into a relieved smile as he patted John gently on the shoulder, the physical contact helping to ground John as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. "Aye lad, it's me. Seems you've gotten yourself into a sorry mess this time, eh?"

"Sorr..reee…" John's eyes were glassy, his eyelids already drooping, and Carson snapped his fingers before John's face, trying to keep his attention as he continued his careful assessment of his patient's condition.

"Don't be so silly, son. Nothing to apologise for. In fact, it's we who should be apologising for taking so long to get you out of this less than cosy spot, eh?" Carson's voice was a little strained, the levity sounding forced. "Stay with me, John." He snapped his fingers again, John frowning at the intrusive sound. "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

John's frown deepened, pain making his face drawn and pinched. His skin was pale, so pale, under its coating of dust and for the first time since Teyla had met him, seen him for the strong, capable warrior he was, John seemed to her eyes to be fragile, his injuries seeming to leech away his life and vitality as she watched.

He licked at dry lips as he struggled to focus on Carson's question and Teyla reached for the canteen of water, handing it to Carson before he could ask. It was warm in the cramped confines of the ruined building, the air still and stifling, and she brushed sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead with a weary hand as Carson carefully trickled a little water into John's mouth.

The fluid seemed to revive him a little and Carson quickly set the canteen aside, a firm hand on John's shoulder accompanying his mild admonishment to stay still as John tried to lift his head. "No, no, Colonel. Don't try to move."

"'kay.." John's voice was dry and scratchy, so quiet that Teyla could barely understand him.

"We're going to get you out of here. Okay? Now you've got a bit of a nasty injury to your abdomen but I need to know if you're hurt anywhere else. I need you to tell me if you have any pain, John, any pain at all, no matter how small."

John was silent for a long moment, frowning in confusion as he struggled to concentrate. He swallowed thickly. "Hurts everywhere," he whispered tiredly. "My side…" he sucked in a shaky breath, pain sharpening his features. "

"I know, son. I know." Carson rubbed his hand soothingly on John's shoulder.

Teyla found herself holding her breath, feeling a kind of desperation building in her as she watched John suffer, helpless to ease his pain. It seemed like they'd been trapped in this cramped, dusty space for an eternity, and they seemed to be no further forward; John was still trapped in the rubble, still weak and in pain, and she felt the pressure of passing time keenly, like a heavy weight at the back of her beck, weighing on her, crushing her spirit. She had been clinging on to hope for so long but it seemed to her now that every minute that passed was eroding their chances that John would survive this. She wanted to scream her frustration, to yell at Carson that they were wasting time, that they needed to get John out of here, right now.

She took a deep, deliberate breath, trying to ease the tension from her body. She was tired and dirty and aching and, now that Carson had taken over caring for John, she was left without a focus, able only to look on helplessly, and the all stress and worry of the day's events caught up to her, fuelling her impatience. It was hard to let go of the terrible tension that had been her constant companion in the hours spent in this cramped, dark space, with John's survival depending on her actions alone as she sought to stabilise his condition, to shore up the ruins to allow for the rescue attempt. Deep in her heart she knew that Carson would do whatever was necessary to help John, and she put her faith in that, forcing herself to let go of the responsibility for John's life, handing that burden over to Carson and trusting in him to get John out of here, to get him home.

Nevertheless, her heart was in her throat as she strained to hear John's whispered words.

"Head. S'pounding..." His eyelids drooped tiredly, his words slurring, and Carson leant forward, bending closer to listen. "Left leg… hurts…"

"Stay with me, John!" Carson snapped his fingers, trying to force John to focus. "Is that everything? Does anywhere else hurt?"

John's response was mumbled, "Donthinkso…"

Carson sat back on his heels with a sigh as John's eyes fluttered closed. He met Teyla's eyes across the body of their injured friend and for a moment she could clearly read the desperate worry in his gaze. Then he abruptly turned away, his expression setting into one of concentration as he looked down at John, considering and assessing his condition, and Teyla felt a flush of relief that bordered on physical warmth as she watched him focus entirely on the urgent question of how to rescue John from his crumbling, unstable prison.

Reading the determination on Carson's face fortified her spirit, gave her the strength to refute the dreadful, insistent fear that this ruined shell of a building would prove to be John's tomb. Written on her friend's face was irrefutable proof that he would never, ever give up on John, not while he still had breath in his body. They would get John out of here. They would make him whole again. She held onto that belief with a fervour that was nothing short of desperate.

"Okay," Carson breathed heavily." We need to get him out of here right now."

He rose carefully to his feet, hunched over in the cramped space, and stepped gingerly around John's unconscious form to crouch again at Teyla's side. "We're going to have to cut through the beam that's pinning him in place," he told her, his expression grave. "He's relatively stable for now but the sooner I get him into surgery the better and there may be other injuries we're not aware of…" He cast a quick glance over the shattered rubble that still partially hid John's legs, adding worriedly, "He mentioned pain in his left leg…"

Behind them, the engineers continued to work on widening the crude doorway into the ruins of the broken house. The air was thick with dust, the swirling motes visible in the shaft of warm sunlight that that pierced the gloom, showers of crumbled plaster dust sifting from the wall as more and more stones were carefully worked free of the structure, expandable supports being set into place to countermeasure the weakening of the load-bearing wall. Carson's hair was gritty with dust and he coughed a little, a hand over his mouth, as he moved carefully to the improvised doorway to confer with the engineers. Teyla could hear Rodney's sharp voice in the background, demanding details of John's condition, and Ronon's basso rumble too. She remained crouched beside John, a gentle hand on his torso providing reassurance that life still pulsed within him, his shallow breaths perceptible in the minute rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm. Fatigue nagged at her and she realised that she had lost track of how much time had passed since the tornado hit, how many hours she had passed here in the hot, close confines of the wrecked house.

The sunlight, haloing around Carson as he stood in the growing opening in the wall, had changed, she realised distantly, the bright warmth of afternoon sunshine cooling and fading into early evening. The day's end was approaching. The thought of John remaining trapped in this prison as the sun set and the coolness of night leeched the heat from their cramped enclosure was intolerable. They needed to get him out of here quickly.

Carson moved with quick surety as he picked his way back through the rubble towards her and she found herself reenergised by his strength of purpose. She brushed a strand of gritty, sweat-dampened hair back from her face as the doctor crouched once more beside her.

"The opening is nearly wide enough to get a stretcher through," he informed her briskly. "We need to clear the rest of the debris and get ready to move him."

He was moving even as he spoke, leaning over John with a hand pressed briefly to his throat to check his pulse, taking a moment to check the IV, before turning to the tumbled debris still partly covering John's legs. Teyla followed his lead, buoyed up by Carson's quiet determination, and between them they began to carefully lift and move aside the chunks of cracked and broken stone, the snapped and splintered struts and beams. It was hot, uncomfortable work, the cramped space making it difficult to manoeuvre the unwieldy debris. Teyla's skin felt gritty and dirty, coated with plaster dust, sticky with sweat. Her hair hung limply, clinging wetly to the skin at the nape of her neck, and her muscles trembled with fatigue as she strained to lift heavy pieces of debris. Yet she was uncaring of any discomfort; her only thought, her only goal, to clear the rubble as quickly and safely as possible, to free John.

Twice the building around them shifted and groaned as they pulled debris aside, bringing work to a momentary halt as they cringed instinctively, their eyes drawn irresistibly to the support beams holding back the weight of the rubble above them. For a long moment the only sound was the hiss of plaster dust sifting down from the precarious tangle of the upper floors. The structure held and they breathed a nervous sigh of relief as they returned to their task, working the debris carefully free of the pile one piece at a time.

"Hold it!"

Teyla stilled at Carson's sharp command, her grip tightening reflexively on one end of an unwieldy slab of stone.

"Can you manage for a moment?" Carson asked her quickly, his brow furrowed in concern. She nodded shortly.

"I can hold it," she assured him, settling her grip more firmly. She felt her muscles tighten under the strain as the weight of the slab settled more heavily into her hands as Carson released his hold on it. She set her jaw and leant into the pressure, holding the heavy stone clear of John's body as Carson twisted in the narrow space, bending at an uncomfortable angle to peer into the gap left by the lifted slab.

"I think there's…just a moment…" He bent at an impossible-looking angle to slip a hand into the gap. Teyla's arms began to tremble minutely.

"Dammit." Carson's curse was heartfelt, frustration colouring his voice. "It looks like his leg's broken and there's definitely bleeding from somewhere…" He grunted with effort as he struggled to reach further into the narrow gap.

"Shit." Carson's jerked his hand back quickly as John twitched suddenly with a strangled cry of pain. The movement startled Teyla and she had to catch herself as the heavy stone wobbled briefly.

"John?" A shudder ran through his limp body but he did not respond to Teyla's call.

Carson's expression was unhappy as he reached carefully back under the slab. "I think it's a compound fracture," he muttered, and Teyla wasn't quite sure if he was speaking to her or merely talking to himself. Her muscles were beginning to burn with the strain and her voice was tight as she warned, "Carson…"

"Oh god! I'm sorry, love!" He snapped out of his absorption with a jerk and pulled his hand free to grab hold of his end of the slab and lift. Teyla grimaced as the pressure eased a little.

"Okay. We need to move this very carefully, Teyla." Carson was shifting his stance awkwardly as he spoke, bringing one foot up beside his knee in a half-crouch and leaning forward slightly. "The underside of the slab is uneven and sharp in places and the Colonel has a probable open fracture of his left leg. We need to lift up and away from his legs before we move this piece."

She nodded her understanding and began to mirror Carson's posture, rising a little unsteadily to a half crouch, letting her leg muscles begin to take some of the weight of the slab. Slowly, carefully, watching each other for any sign of difficulty, they straightened, lifting the heavy chunk of stone between them. Carson's face showed the strain of the slab's weight and Teyla was painfully aware of the growing trembling of her arm muscles, the trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades.

Sheppard moaned a little as the slab lifted up from the rubble. It took more strength than Teyla had ever thought she possessed to hold the cracked and broken stone steady as Carson very carefully stepped over John's body, bringing the large chunk of debris clear of John's legs. As they moved to lower the slab to the ground, Teyla's arms began to physically shake and the uneven surface of the chunk of stone slipped from her grip. The slab hit the ground with a resounding crack, narrowly missing her and Carson's feet as they jerked clear.

"I am sorry!" The impact had raised a puff of gritty dust and Teyla coughed, struggling to catch her breath as the muscles in her arms and back ached at the release in tension.

"Carson? Teyla?! What's happening in there?" The opening in the wall was blocked by a silhouetted figure and Teyla recognised Rodney's anxious voice.

"We're fine, Rodney." Carson's tone was deliberately calm and reassuring, soothing Rodney's panic. "Just get me that stretcher in here, as soon as you can."

He turned to Teyla, his eyes full of concern. "Are you alright, love? Do you need a break?"

She lifted her chin stubbornly at that. "No. I am fine." She would not desert John now, not after so long, not when they were so close. Carson gave her a long look but she saw understanding and empathy in those warm blue eyes; she knew he understood that she was determined to see this through, that she would not leave John's side until he was free.

With a wordless pat on her shoulder, Carson moved past her, crouching once more beside John, taking a moment to check his vitals. Teyla hovered nearby, making her own visual check of John's condition, noting his pallor, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the frown of pain pulling at his brow even in unconsciousness. He had barely roused when Carson had touched his injured leg; they were running out of time.

His checks completed, Carson moved back to the task of freeing John's legs and Teyla followed, unavoidably aware of the added urgency to Carson's movements. It took another 10 minutes or more of hard work, Teyla's tired muscles beginning to protest more loudly with every lift and pull, for them to clear enough of John's legs for Carson to be able to get decent enough access to be able to examine the break. There was little enough to see at first; just the dust-covered black fabric of John's BDU's and an odd, unnatural angle to his leg… there was a visible sideways bend to his lower leg, a few inches below the knee.

Carson stepped carefully over John's limp body to crouch at her side, a gloved hand running carefully down John's crooked leg, feeling for damage. Absorbed in his work, he didn't look up as he asked her for his medical kit, murmuring to himself, "I need to get a proper look at this."

She returned to his side in an ungainly crouch, the large carry box held before her, and set it down within Carson's reach, watching with trepidation as Carson opened up the kit and withdrew a pair of scissors. His movements were sure and delicate as he cut a long slit through the dirty fabric of John's pants. As he peeled the edges of the fabric apart Teyla realised that the BDUs were sticking to John's leg, the dark fabric damp with blood. She couldn't see much damage at first but she could tell from the look on Carson's face that the news was not good. As she watched, he enlarged the slit in the pant leg and pulled the fabric apart to reveal ugly bruising and swelling to the back of John's lower leg. The skin looked unbroken though… so where was the blood coming from?

His touch firm yet gentle, Carson carefully slipped his hands under John's lower leg, lifting the limb a tiny amount – as much as he was able with John's foot and ankle still trapped – and rotating it slightly. Teyla swallowed thickly as she caught a brief glimpse of the damage to John's leg. The front of his calf was a mess; a ragged wound at the site of the break was red and ugly, still oozing blood, and sharp-edged bone was visible, protruding through the broken skin. John gave a weak groan as Carson moved his leg but his remained limp and still, his muscles relaxed in unconsciousness.

Teyla remembered from her first aid training that compound fractures were bad news, leaving the body at risk for serious infection unless treated early. And hours had already passed since John's injury, hours in a hot and dusty environment where who knew what dirt and debris could have gotten into the wound. Carson was unwrapping a sterile dressing and, as she watched, he carefully slid the bandage under John's leg, doing his best to cover the wound and protect it from the contaminants of their hot and dirty environment.

"I need to wrap this properly before we move him," he told her shortly. "We need to free his leg from the rubble so that I can lift it enough to wrap the dressing in place.

They returned to their task with renewed vigour, clearing the remaining debris tangled across John's legs. Finally, eventually, Teyla pulled aside a tangle of wood and plaster chunks to reveal John's feet, his familiar half-laced black boots a welcome sight.

The process of dressing the break was not a pleasant one for anyone involved. John stirred restlessly as soon as Carson tried to lift his leg and jerked into a kind of agonised semi-consciousness as a fresh bandage was pressed carefully over the exposed bone and quickly wrapped in place. Teyla, crouched once more at John's head, did her best to comfort him, rubbing a hand gently on his shoulder as she spoke softly to him, uncaring of words or meaning, just letting him know that she was there, that he was not alone. He gasped and moaned helplessly, his eyes open but glassy and unseeing, as Carson worked quickly and efficiently, tying the dressing firmly into place. By the time Carson gently lowered his leg, John was choking on hiccupping sobs, his face screwed in pain and his right hand clenched into a fist around Teyla's fingers. She barely felt the pain of his rigid grip, concentrating wholly on John, on trying to connect to him and talk him through the pain.

She only looked up when a shout came from the widening hole in the wall; Rodney's voice, raised in triumph. "Carson! Stretcher coming through!"

A clattering noise announced the longed-for arrival of two of Carson's trained EMTs, the stretcher carried between them. Close behind them came an engineer carrying a contraption of canisters and tubes that Teyla vaguely recognised. She had seen such equipment used by the expedition members before; from what she understood of the process, gases from the two canisters fed through the tubes into a nozzle and were ignited into a very hot flame. It was a cutting tool, capable of slicing quickly and cleanly through many materials. She found herself watching the engineer begin to set up his equipment, her lips still mouthing reassuring words to a barely-cognisant John, her stomach twisting with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. This was it; they had come to the point that all their effort had been working towards. It was time to take John home.

Carson was directing the operation with a calm assurance, setting the EMTs to work clearing the rubble from the floor around John so that they could lay the stretcher down as close to him as possible whilst the engineer fiddled with the settings on his equipment and listened diligently as Carson explained how he wanted to go about this. Between them, Teyla and Carson had cleared all of the debris that had buried John until they had exposed the full length of his body, lying sprawled and limp on the uneven floor of the ruined building. His broken leg was dressed and immobilised as best they could for the moment, the stretcher was pushed up alongside him, the EMT's ready to lift and move him the short distance across as soon as they were able; the only obstacle remaining now was the stout shard of wood that had pierced through John's torso and pinned him firmly to the floor.

Teyla couldn't help but startle when the engineer fired up his cutting tool, the gases igniting with an audible "whump" that settled into a muted, sustained roar as the nozzle was adjusted, thinning the flame out into a slim, precise tongue of blue fire. Carson gave her a solemn smile as he crouched across from her to check John's vitals one last time.

"Okay, everybody. This is it. You all know your places." Space was limited in the crowded confines of the ruins and Carson took it upon himself to play a vital role; stepping carefully across John's body he took a firm grip upon the spear of wood and held it steady, his legs braced widely. With the EMTs waiting at John's side and Teyla crouched by his head, keeping up her litany of soothing words, keeping him grounded, there was no room for anyone else to be involved. At a nod from Carson, the engineer, his face half obscured by heavy safety glasses, stepped up, cutting tool in hand.

Teyla held her breath as the flame neared the solid spear of wood; John's cries of pain as Carson had moved his broken leg had been hard enough to stomach… she dreaded to think of the pain cutting him free might cause. His hand still wrapped around hers, she brushed the sweat-dampened hair gently back from his forehead and whispered, "Hold tight, John."

It was over surprisingly quickly. The man wielding the torch was skilled at his work and the intense flame cut rapidly through the solid wood and, importantly for John, with minimal vibration or jarring. He tensed, his hand squeezing around Teyla's, and groaned quietly as the flame ate through the shaft but he remained for the most part unresponsive, not asleep but not really fully conscious either. The smell of burnt wood was acrid in the cramped space beneath the rubble as the engineer methodically sliced through the beam.

"Nearly there…"

Teyla was aware of Carson bracing himself at the engineer's warning, gripping the shaft of wood firmly, and then, abruptly, the beam broke neatly in two, the heavy upper piece coming away in Carson's hands so suddenly that he almost stumbled. He lifted the severed length carefully up and away, leaving a short stub of wood, perhaps one foot in total, still protruding from John's back. By the time the engineer had snuffed out the flame of his cutting tool and pulled down his safety goggles, Carson was already kneeling once more beside John, directing the EMTs as, together, they began to carefully pack sterile dressings around the base of the shaft, where it had punched through John's torso. This John did react to, pain creasing his face as he shuddered and gave a small cry.

Teyla talked him through it, her words low and soothing, one hand smoothing over his hair as he grimaced and panted through the pain. She had thought he was still mostly unaware, not really hearing her words, but with a sudden harsh intake of breath his eyes fluttered open and seemed to actually focus on her.

"John?"

His face twisted in pain but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

"Stay with me, John. We're getting you out of here." He seemed to nod slightly and his hand squeezed hers.

"Okay, that'll do." Teyla looked up to see Carson sitting back on his heels. Sterile dressings had been packed around John's injury and wrapped tightly, holding the shard of wood firmly in place. John was still semi-conscious, his eyes still open, and his rapid breathing began to ease a little now that the packing of the wound was done. It seemed something of an anti-climax; the work had gone quickly and smoothly and they were only a step away from getting John free. Then Carson knelt beside John and pressed the side of his face to the ground in an effort to see under John's body and Teyla realised that this had been the easy part; the worst was yet to come.

The shard of wood had pierced right through John's body, entering through the lower right side of his back and exiting somewhere underneath him to lodge into the floor beneath. They had no way of knowing how far it had penetrated into the floor nor how firmly it was lodged. And there was no space for them to simply cut through the beam with the cutting tool.

Carson gave a frustrated sigh and his voice was muffled as he pressed his face to the ground. "I can't see a bloody thing under here," he told them. He sat back up abruptly and the look on his face was grim. "I'd hoped to avoid this but I can't see any way around it. We're going to have to lift him just a wee bit so I can see what we're dealing with."

It took four of them to do it. They tried to be as quick and as careful as they could but there was no way that this was going to be easy for John. As much as it pained her, Teyla had to let go of John's hand, to leave him alone in this; she was needed elsewhere. She tried to explain to him what they were about to do, the necessity for it, and she could only hope he heard her and understood. His eyes were still open and he seemed aware of her presence beside him but there was no real sign of comprehension, no reaction to her words. She left him with a fervent wish, "Be strong, John."

He whimpered as they slipped they hands under his torso, the two EMTs, the engineer and Teyla, position two on either side of him. They held still, for a moment, awaiting Carson's signal, and when he pressed his head once more to the ground and commanded, "Okay, now," they lifted smoothly and firmly, only a little, merely pushing against the dead weight of John's body, just enough to raise him a fraction from the ground.

John's scream was terrible.

Teyla's heart was pounding as Carson snapped, "Okay! Down! Put him down!" and they quickly let his body rest back on the ground. John's agonised scream choked off into hiccupping gasps for breath that made Teyla's chest tighten painfully as Carson hurried over to crouch at John's head, pressing a hand to John's neck even as he spoke soothingly, "I know, son. I know. It's okay now."

The last time Teyla had heard a scream like that was more than two years ago in the back of a damaged jumper. She'd been helpless then too, unable to do anything to alleviate John's awful pain, forced to watch as he grew weaker by the moment. At least then he'd been awake and aware, still a commanding presence, still able to make his own choices about the best course of action and ultimately, to take the difficult decision that would save his own life. This time, his life was entirely in their hands. And this time, it was not an iratus bug causing him to cry out in agony, it was the actions of his friends. Though it was done to help him, to save him, by her own hand she had caused him this pain. Her stomach churned as her radio clicked and both Rodney and Ronon came on the channel, talking over each other in their concern.

"What's happening?" Ronon demanded roughly.

Rodney's voice was high-pitched, panicked. "What the hell was that? What are you doing to him?!"

She forced herself to project a calm she didn't feel. "It could not be helped," she told them firmly. "We had to move him enough for Carson to see underneath."

"For god's sake, can't you give him something?" Rodney begged angrily. Carson was still busy with John and she took it upon herself to respond.

"Rodney." She spoke as a friend, her voice gentle, "You know we can't. He's weak, it's too dangerous…"

She bit her lip as Rodney cursed viciously. She knew his anger was not directed at Carson or even at herself and after a moment it burned itself out, his voice weary as he snapped shortly, "This sucks."

"I know, Rodney."

He cut the connection abruptly and she closed her eyes for a long moment. "Not long now, Colonel," she heard Carson tell John gently. "We're going to get you out of here. Just hold on a wee while longer." She opened her eyes to find him rising from his crouch with a last reassuring pat to John's shoulder.

Teyla met Carson's eyes across John's body and in them she saw a mixture of grim determination and quiet regret. She understood his meaning without the need for words; there was worse to come. She took a deep breath as Carson picked his way carefully back to kneel beside John's torso, seeking to centre herself as her father had taught her, to let go of the fear and the worry and to focus only on remaining calm, on the necessity of what they were to do.

"Okay," Carson said quietly, his voice weary yet firm. "It's not good but it's not terrible either. The spike has penetrated right through into the floor as we suspected. I can't tell how deep it is but I don't think it's going to come out easily…" He gave a short sigh. "Which means we're going to have to cut through it."

Teyla could read the dismay on every face and knew that her own must mirror that regret. The pain John had felt when they had lifted him for mere seconds…

"However, there is one thing that works in our favour. The beam narrows considerably where it exits the Colonel's body. It's only an inch or so thick where it enters the floor and as such we have a lot less to cut through. So, Lt. Grieg, I need suggestions please. What is the sharpest blade we have that can be used in close quarters to cut through an inch of solid wood?"

As Carson discussed their options with the engineer, Teyla rose awkwardly in the cramped confines of the ruined house and, bending low as she walked, moved back to kneel at John's head. They were so close now; just this one more obstacle and they would be able to get John out of here, take him back to Atlantis where Carson and his team would fix him, make him as good as new. She believed that. She had to believe that. The small space under the rubble was growing darker, the light from the improvised doorway fading, growing weaker, and John's skin was waxy and pale in the gloom. His eyes were closed and he seemed frighteningly still, so much so that a fist of cold fear tightened in her chest and she hurried to press her hand to his neck, relieved to find a rhythm, faint though it was, pulsing under her fingers.

Surprisingly, his eyes opened at her touch.

"Teyla?" His voice was so faint that she could barely hear him, her name a mere whisper on her lips, yet she found herself smiling widely, relief washing through her in a wave so encompassing that it left her shaking. Just to know that he was conscious, that he was aware enough to recognise her and speak to her - it had been so long since she had heard his voice in anything other than cries of pain.

"I am here, John."

His face twisted into a grimace. "Not having… the best… day…"

She felt a laugh bubble up from inside her. "You have had better…" she agreed ruefully. Her voice sounded tight and thin, caught between fear and frustration and relief at hearing him sound so… so normal.

He frowned sluggishly, his eyes seeking hers, and asked weakly, "You okay?"

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded quickly, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. "I am fine," she assured him. His frown eased a little and his eyes began to drift closed. "Stay with us, John," she pressed, a hand on his shoulder.

"Teyla?" She looked around to find the others taking up position around John. "We're ready, love," Carson said.

John's eyes were closed again, his face drawn and haggard. She leaned over him to whisper in his ear. "It's nearly over," she told him fiercely. "You are strong; you can do this."

His lips moved almost silently, his voice nothing but an whispered exhalation of air, but she caught the mumbled, "Mmkay.." and allowed herself a painful smile as she rose stiffly and moved back to take her place alongside Carson.

She felt John tense as she slid her hands once more under his body, heard his muffled grunt of pain. Carson knelt beside her, a long, serrated blade in his hands. Everyone was tensed, ready, and she wondered if they shared her conflicted feelings of reluctance and impatience.

Carson clicked his radio. "Rodney, I want the jumper ready right outside the door with the pilot standing by."

"Done."

"We need to do this quickly and smoothly, people; as soon as the beam is cut, he's on the stretcher and into the jumper, okay? Everybody ready?" Carson looked at each of them in turn as they nodded their readiness. Teyla held his gaze for a long moment, and found strength and resolve in his eyes. Then he was moving, laying himself down awkwardly in the confined space, his shoulder to the ground, head on one side, blade held ready.

There was a brief moment in which Teyla could have sworn she felt them all inhale at once.

"Now!"

They lifted as one and John cried out as his body shifted upwards a fraction. His voice was hoarse and raw and Teyla's throat ached as her arms trembled. She grit her teeth against the fatigue in her muscles, against the awful pain in John's cry, fighting to hold him steady as Carson slipped his blade into the narrow space and began to saw. She felt John's body move as the blade bit into the wood, jerking it back and forth with every push and pull of the saw.

John screamed.

The minutes that followed felt like the longest of her life. She couldn't look at John, at the EMTs or the engineer who bore John's weight along with her. She could only close her eyes and listen to the agony of John's screams, feel the welcome burn in her muscles as she held him aloft; she welcomed the pain. She deserved it.

"Come on, dammit." Carson was cursing to himself as he worked, grunting with exertion as he worked his arm back and forth at an awkward angle, cutting John free in painful increments. John's voice cracked and failed before the beam was cut through, leaving him screaming almost soundlessly, a thin whine of sound all that escaped as he gasped for air.

"Come on, come on, come on… yes! Ok, go! Move, move, move!!"

Carson was shouting, and suddenly everything was chaos and motion. They swung John quickly onto the stretcher, where he lay gasping and sobbing, and before she could even scramble to her feet, the EMTs were lifting him between them and bending low to carry John out through the gap in the wall and into the waiting jumper. Carson ran after them without a backward glance, leaving Teyla and Lt Grieg suddenly alone in the ruined building, a short, bloody stump of wood protruding from the floor between them.

Raising herself on shaky legs, Teyla stepped past the Lt as he began to pack up his tools and walked numbly from the remains of the building, feeling oddly disconnected. After hours spent in the gloom of the ruined house, the fading sunlight was glaringly bright and she shaded her eyes and squinted as the jumper lifted from the ground with an audible hum and sped away from her.

"Teyla."

She jumped a little as a hand fell on her shoulder and turned to find Ronon beside her, his normally taciturn face showing the true depth of the bond he shared with his team.

"Come on. Somebody else can finish up here." Rodney was a step behind Ronon, his voice brusque as he brushed past them both, heading purposefully for a second jumper.

Ronon clapped her wordlessly on the back and, feeling more tired and drained than she had ever imagined, she forced her aching muscles into motion, the two of them following in Rodney's wake. They had barely cleared the ramp when it began to close and Rodney set the craft into motion before the rear hatch had even finished closing. As Teyla slumped wearily into the nearest seat, the jumper shot forwards, heading for the stargate… for Atlantis.

TBC...