Here's another chapter to the story I'd thought would have no more chapters. I decided, however, that I didn't like what was shown in "The Last Man". So here's another "missing scene"

Again, it's angsty, but I think the material calls for it.

Please read and review. Any and all comments and criticisms are appreciated.

"How is she?"

The nurse finished adjusting the IV line before turning towards the sound of the voice. Gentle fingers, nimble from years of practice and repetition, firmly applied a piece of medical tape to the patient's forearm, securing the IV in place. Raising tired eyes to meet apprehensive ones, she shook her head sadly. She didn't say anything – didn't need to. Her resigned and defeated expression only confirmed what Rodney had already suspected.

Finished with that particular patient, the nurse spared Rodney a small smile of support before moving on to the next bed, the next patient, and the next crisis. It went unnoticed. Rodney's blue-eyed gaze was fixed on the figure lying prone and motionless on the bed, an oxygen mask obscuring her delicate features. After countless hours spent gasping for breath that would not come, she had finally drifted off into a restless slumber.

Moving as quietly as possible, Rodney approached the bed from the opposite side, his right hand involuntarily clenching around the rectangular object he held in his grasp. His free hand came to rest on the bed inches away from her smaller, paler one. Finding himself unable to bring his gaze up to her face, he focused intently on that hand.

She'd lost weight. She'd lost too much weight since the illness had struck, and she had been small and slim to begin with. The veins in her hand now stood in startling contrast to the pallor of her skin. They were all too prominent – bulging against the paper-thin skin.

Rodney's gaze shifted to her chest, labouriously moving up and down as she struggled to fill damaged lungs with precious oxygen. Even in sleep she found no peace. Each breath hard fought, hard won. Every ounce of air sucked down was a small victory in its own right, granting her a few more precious minutes of life in which to hope for a cure. Maybe even a miracle.

Rodney didn't believe in miracles. A miracle would have come in handy months ago. A miracle would have been nice in keeping Sheppard around. A miracle would have been appreciated when they'd gone in search of Teyla. A miracle would have been damn useful in catching Michael, in stopping this entire nightmare before it had even begun. No, Rodney didn't believe in miracles. Certainly, not anymore than he believed in a mystical, omnipotent being responsible for all existence yet incapable of grasping the simple concept of timing.

"Rodney?"

Startled, Rodney's head snapped up. He turned, almost embarrassed to have been caught standing there, to face the figure standing at the foot of the bed.

"I just wanted to-" he trailed off. Why, Rodney thought to himself. Why was he even there?

Jennifer placed the clipboard back on the bed at her patient's feet. Inwardly, she winced and her stomach sank at the notations the nurse had made on the chart. Outwardly, she didn't think she had enough energy left to form any facial expressions.

They'd been on M7G-677 for three days now. Five days ago, Michael had devised a way to disrupt the EM field the Ancients had generated to protect the inhabitants of the planet, most of them children. Five days ago, Michael had stolen their ZPM and released the Hoffan drug on the unsuspecting population. When she, Rodney, and teams of doctors and Marines had arrived, it had been to find hundreds of people already dead or dieing. The predicted thirty percent mortality rate had been grossly underestimated. They had soon come to discover that a genetic anomaly passed down from generation to generation within the isolated population had made the majority of them more susceptible to the negative effects of Michael's drug.

And there was nothing she or any of her doctors could do. The elders refused to allow any of their people to be taken back to Atlantis for treatment and, truth be told, Jennifer wasn't even sure if it would have made a difference. Infected individuals either lived to kill the Wraith or they died slow, painful deaths. There was no middle ground. No room for treatment. Life or death.

"She's strong, Rodney. A fighter."

Rodney shifted his gaze away from Jennifer towards the girl lying motionless on the bed except for the stilted rise and fall of her chest. Her wisp thin, blonde hair lay matted against her head, dark with sweat and grease. Her face, once luminous with excitement, was now bright with fever. Eyes moved restlessly behind closed lids, tormented by dreams brought on by fever and pain.

"She's just a kid."

Kids were supposed to play, do stupid things, and break rules. Not lie in makeshift hospital beds hooked up to useless IV drips while their organs failed one by one and their bodies wasted away to nothing. She should have been out there, fraying his last nerve with her incessant questions and ramblings, while he'd attempted to jury-rig another EM field.

"I should be yelling at her to stop asking for chocolate, not holding vigil by her deathbed."

"Rodney-"

Rodney's head snapped towards her, blue eyes blazing. "That's what it is, Jennifer," he interrupted forcefully. "No amount of sugarcoating or false hope can change that reality. Michael made sure of that."

Jennifer's eyes widened slightly, surprised at his fervor. A soft groan interrupted her before she could formulate a response.

Another groan, louder than the one before it, drew their attention to the girl before them. Swollen eyes, bleary from sleep and dim with pain, stared unseeing back at them. Struggling to pull herself out of a medicated haze, her brow furrowed in confusion at unfamiliar surroundings, her breath growing increasingly laboured as panic overtook her and she weakly struggled to sit up.

"Shhhh," Jennifer whispered, moving to the side of the bed opposite Rodney and placing a gently restraining hand on the girl's shoulder. "It's alright. You're safe, but you need to stay calm." Jennifer's calm voice soothed the girl back to stillness. "Breathe slowly."

Eyes wide and fearful, they moved wildly from Jennifer to the other beds and patients, until they finally found purchase on Rodney, the one familiar figure in this nightmare she'd awoken to. She focused on his face, his sharp blue-eyes now wide with a panic of his own as she latched onto his hand with a grip far stronger than Rodney had expected.

The rattling in her chest, her gasping breaths grew more pronounced as she continued to stare at Rodney with pleading eyes.

He didn't know what to do. The part of him that usually took over in situations involving people – the part that usually told him to run – was oddly silent. He found himself unwilling to pull his hand out of her grasp, unwilling to turn his eyes away. Her death was as much his fault, all of their faults, as it was Michael's. He could at least do the honourable and right thing now.

Rodney scoffed inwardly at the thought. Much like that unseen deity with timing issues, it seemed he was much too late in doing the right thing.

A soft rustle pulled his attention towards the foot of the bed as Jennifer reached down for the med kit. She removed a small bottle and hypodermic needle, deftly filling the needle in several seconds. Moving swiftly to the IV hanging by the bed, she slowly injected the needle's contents into the line.

"What are you doing?"

"She's in pain. I'm upping her morphine," Jennifer replied, eyes never leaving the needle as she pushed the plunger down.

"She's-"

"I know, Rodney." Jennifer slowly lifted her eyes to meet Rodney's. She watched as realization dawned in his, to be slowly replaced by what she knew was already evident in hers – acceptance and revulsion.

They watched in silence as her eyes grew hazy once more and her eyelids fluttered closed again. They stood by, Rodney holding her hand, Jennifer smoothing sweat-soaked hair back from her face, as her chest rose and fell more slowly with each passing minute. Her muscles eased, lost the tension brought on by panic and fear. The creases on her brow smoothed out, restoring a look of peacefulness to her pale face.

"Cleya," Rodney whispered suddenly, another realization dawning on him. Jennifer shot him a quizzical look.

"Her name." Rodney looked down at the little girl he'd once made cry with his harsh words and grumpy demeanor. "I couldn't remember it before."

Her small hand became lax in his, but he didn't let go. He heard more rustling then felt another hand gently rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, but he didn't look up. He watched in stony silence as Cleya drew her last breath, exhaled for the last time on a sigh, her chest falling once more – never rising.

Rodney lifted his other hand from his side, the small object still clutched in his grasp. It was slightly malformed now, but it didn't matter. He set the gold foil-wrapped bar down on her lap. A gift he'd hoped to give her under different circumstances.

Chocolate for a little girl who'd never tasted anything so wonderful. Chocolate for the dead.