General S5 spoilers.

Shall We Play a Game?

John studied the monitor with a frown. "It doesn't make sense, McKay. Why would the commander order his men into the canyon? It's an indefensible position and an obvious ambush site."

McKay peered over his shoulder. "What would you do?"

"See this trail?" John traced the path along the ridge. "Have the men follow it and flank the bad guys."

"I told Zelenka it wouldn't work," McKay grumped, attacking his keyboard with a vengeance.

John hid a smile. "The graphics look good," he offered.

"They should. Harrison spent six months tweaking them." Rodney rolled his eyes. "My niece could have done them faster than that."

John grunted noncommittally as he clicked out of the screen and moved to the next level. "Does the SGC really think this is going to work?"

"Sam says they've had some success." McKay leaned back, stretching his arms high over his head. "Apparently they've been using video games as a recruiting tool for a while. She says they've gotten a few promising scientists and a math geek out of it so far."

"Seems farfetched."

Rodney shrugged. "Almost as farfetched as some random pilot wandering into a secret facility in Antarctica and sitting in the one chair that he shouldn't."

"Jealousy is so unbecoming." John laughed when Rodney flipped him off. "So, what is the SGC looking for with your…" He squinted at the screen. "What are you calling this?"

"War Games. It's meant to evaluate strategic thinking and problem solving."

"While blowing up stuff. Cool."

McKay shook his head. "Is that all you think about?"

"No." John waggled his brows.

"Seriously? What are you, thirteen?"

John groaned when his hip popped as he stood. "Unfortunately not. Besides, you're the one who included explosions in the game."

"Ronon insisted." McKay shut the computers down and grabbed his jacket. "He said it wouldn't be a real battle without it."

John sobered. "He's right. Did you include having the commander make sure his men were a safe distance away as a parameter?"

"Yeah. Sam and General O'Neill sent a list of what they wanted to evaluate."

"Why you?" John followed McKay out of the lab. "Don't you have enough to do?"

"Please," Rodney scoffed. "I have more than enough." They stepped into the transporter then out near the main conference room. "They want to use this one to recruit for Pegasus."

John's brows shot up. "Really?"

McKay waved the conference room doors open and slid into his seat. "Well, not solely for Pegasus, but you have to admit that we face some unique situations here and nothing they have now reflects them."

"So, you included space vampires in there somewhere?"

Rodney grinned. "Level twenty-seven."

Ronon, Teyla, and Keller filed in, followed by Woolsey who took a seat and opened a folder. "Good morning. Let's begin." He turned to Rodney. "What do we know about M4K-837?"

"Not much." McKay turned to the room's main monitor as data filled it. "MALP shows breathable atmosphere and moderate temperature. Radiation levels are within normal ranges."

"Do we know anything about the inhabitants?" Teyla asked.

McKay shook his head. "Nothing in the database about this planet except the address. The MALP picked up an indeterminate number of life signs and an energy signature that I don't recognize."

That got John's attention. "How strong?"

"Hard to say," Rodney replied. "I couldn't pinpoint anything with the MALP, not even directionality. All I can tell you is that some kind of unknown power source is there."

Woolsey cocked a brow. "Anything to be concerned about?"

"It's an alien planet in Pegasus. What do you think?" Rodney met Woolsey's level gaze and held it, finally squirming after a minute. "Fine. As far as I can tell, it's no more dangerous than any other place we've been."

"That's not saying much," John muttered.

Rodney lifted a shoulder. "Could be worse. Could be filled with dinosaurs and volcanoes."

"Could be worse," Ronon said. "Could be infested with Iratus bugs."

John glared at them. "I hate both of you."

Once the mission briefing concluded an hour later, the team headed to the ready room to gear up. Ronon leaned against the wall twirling his blaster – the only gear he needed. John checked the pockets of his fully-supplied vest, standard procedure and a good reminder of where everything was. McKay crammed a few extra candy bars in his vest then strapped his computer tablet to his back while Teyla slipped her knife into her ankle sheath and loaded her handgun and P-90. John grabbed a radio, clipped on his P-90 and followed his team to the gateroom.

They stepped through to a planet much like most of the worlds they had visited - a carpet of green in the midst of a densely wooded forest filled with wildlife chatter. Bright rays from the mid-day sun lit the winding path that disappeared behind a knoll of rock and moss. Ronon and Teyla fanned out, scanning the perimeter, while Rodney studied his scanner. John stretched his senses, but other than a whiff of something long dead and a burbling water source nearby, he didn't detect anything out of the ordinary.

"That energy signature is faint but still there," McKay reported. "However, I can't get a lock on it." He glanced around. "It seems to be everywhere."

"Life signs?" John asked.

"Lots of them."

Ronon's fingers twitched over his blaster. "How many is lots?"

"You know, lots. Lots and lots."

"McKay," John growled.

Rodney shrugged. "The range on this thing is limited and less specific the further out I go. I'd guess somewhere upwards of ten thousand in the immediate vicinity."

"Truly?" Teyla's eyes lit. "Perhaps they will be open to trading with…less populated worlds."

John grimaced at the reminder of the havoc wreaked by Michael and the Replicators. Not to mention the lunatic Asgard. So much suffering inflicted on innocent bystanders. Rarely had John desired to murder someone, but watching the Replicator world implode and Michael plummet from the top of the tower had given him great satisfaction. God help the Asgard if they ever got within his reach.

"Sheppard?"

John shook off the reverie and met Rodney's quizzical gaze. "Yeah. Let's go see how these folks feel about trading."

Teyla took point, followed by Rodney. Ronon fell in step with John on their six.

"You okay?" Ronon asked. "'Cause you look pissed."

"I'm…" John heaved a sigh. "I am pissed," he admitted. "Teyla's people shouldn't have to sell their souls to feed their children."

"Their choice," Ronon replied. "You offered them shelter on Atlantis."

"I knew they wouldn't stay. We tried that once before. They need to see the stars and feel the ground beneath their feet." He flushed at Ronon's smirk. "That's what Halling says."

"Yeah." Ronon lifted his face to the sun and inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a moment then releasing it slowly. "Doesn't change that they chose to go their own way." His eyes flicked ahead to settle on Teyla. "They're tough. They'll make it."

"What about all those other worlds out there that won't?"

Ronon's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. No answer was needed. Several cultures had already become extinct and others would follow, either by dying out or being absorbed or merged into other societies. Ways of life, traditions, languages gone forever. Not something that John Sheppard of Earth would have thought much about, but John Sheppard of Atlantis, brother of Ronon and Teyla, was horrified by it. Ronon spent days searching for bits of his culture, grieving for what was lost, slowly letting go of Sateda – a special kind of pain that John didn't wish on anyone else, especially Teyla. He'd do almost anything to spare her that.

Ahead, Rodney jerked to a halt, head bowed over his scanner. John broke into a jog while Ronon whipped out his blaster and backed toward them.

"What's wrong?" John whispered, gripping his P-90 and scanning the trees and the rocky knoll they had passed.

"Huh," Rodney grunted. "Nothing, I guess." He poked at the scanner then turned in a slow circle. "It went dark for a second, but it seems to be working fine now. Must be a glitch or something."

"Has it ever happened before?" Teyla asked.

"No, but it is over ten thousand years old."

John arched a brow. "Did you change the batteries?"

"Funny." McKay checked the other devices he carried including his tablet. "Everything's working."

"Ronon?" John said.

Ronon pulled his blaster and fired. Red beams singed the air and smacked into a tree, blowing off a branch. "Works fine."

John sent Rodney a pointed look. "Make sure it's charged up or whatever before we leave next time." He lowered the muzzle of his P-90. "Let's go."

Teyla led the way up the steep hill and Ronon and McKay trudged after her. John chuckled to himself, wondering how the two men he was closest to could be so opposite. Rodney complained nonstop while he valiantly tried to keep up with the moderate pace his teammates set. Ronon curled a hand in McKay's collar, keeping him on the path and on his feet.

"John?" Teyla called. "You need to see this."

He hustled to where she was waiting at the crest of the hill. "Wow," he murmured. "McKay?"

"Already on it." Rodney was focused on his scanner. "The energy signature is still all around us." He waved at the sprawl below. "Including down there."

The city reminded John a little of Washington DC – no skyscrapers but a morass of concrete and lights that went on for miles. People milled about on sidewalks and the stoops of homes and shops. Vehicles like square open-air wagons rumbled down narrow streets, belching thick black exhaust that left a thin layer of smog hanging in the air, giving the place a grimy feel which wasn't alleviated by the piles of junk that clogged up the alleyways.

"Looks kind of like Sateda before it fell," Ronon said.

"Let's hope these folks are as friendly as you," John replied.

Ronon snorted but couldn't hide a grin as he started forward. John followed, keeping McKay between them and letting Teyla take their six. As they approached the outskirts of the city, people nodded and waved but didn't seem surprised or concerned at their appearance. They walked for a while, taking in their surroundings. Paint was peeling from the cinder blocks. Metal scrollwork had patches of rust. While the inhabitants were polite, they also had a pinched look as they strode past, their clothes a bit baggy and threadbare.

"This world seems to be in…disrepair," Teyla said.

John grinned at a boy as he raced by. "Noticed that. They're in a hurry, too."

"Sheppard." Ronon bobbed his head to the side. "Take a look at this."

John moved to where Ronon was standing. "What… Oh." He frowned at the flat, rectangular screen with flashing symbols. "What does that say?"

Ronon shrugged. "No idea."

"This language is unfamiliar to me as well," Teyla said.

"It's not a language." Rodney had on his complete focus face – eyes narrowed, brows sharply slanted, mouth twisted. "It's some kind of countdown."

John's pulse sped up. "A countdown to what?"

McKay's lips compressed into a thin white line as he shot John a flat look. "How could I possibly know that?"

"Fine," John conceded. "How long?"

Rodney tilted his head to the side as he studied the display. "About three hours, I think."

"Do you require assistance?" a feminine voice asked from behind.

John whirled, tightening his grip on his weapon but not raising it. A woman about his age, maybe a little older, in a dark green uniform stood at parade rest, gazing calmly at them. John cleared his throat. "Hi. I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and this is my team – Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan and Doctor Rodney McKay."

She inclined her head, her gray-streaked auburn hair swinging along her jaw line. "Welcome to you. Are you here to participate in The Game?"

"The game?" John parroted. "Um… Teyla, are we here for that?"

Teyla smiled warmly. "We are explorers and traders. We are here to establish relations between our people and yours for our mutual benefit."

The woman blinked at them with a blank expression. "I…see. Perhaps you should speak with Tavar Ushil."

"Great." John put on his most charming smile. "Lead the way."

After a bone-jarring ride in one of the boxes on wheels, she stopped in front of a building that was still impressive even in its shambled state. The woman hopped down, gestured them out, and trotted up the steps to a massive double door covered in chipped blue paint with flecks of dark crimson. She disappeared inside then returned moments later with an entourage.

A tall man with disheveled steel-gray hair separated from the group, tugging at the hem of his rumpled jacket. "I am Ushil, Tavar of Chelqev. Welcome to you."

Teyla nodded in respect and made introductions then asked, "Chelqev is the name of your world?"

"No, Chelqev is the name of this territory. Our world is called Mosal." His eyes flicked over each team member, lingering on their weapons. "You are not from Fomisse."

"We are from Atlantis," Teyla corrected. "We have come to meet you and your people."

"How big is your territory?" Ronon asked.

Teyla's face twitched but her smile didn't falter. "Ronon," she murmured.

But Ushil's chest and sagging jowls puffed out. "From the outer rim to the exchange district."

"Exchange?" Teyla repeated. "Is that where your people trade?"

Ushil nodded. "They are making last minute purchases before The Game begins."

Rodney held up a hand. "What game?"

Ushil's eyes widened in surprise while the people behind him squawked. "You do not know of The Game?"

John stepped forward. "Like she said, we're not from around here. We're here to get to know you, maybe establish trade."

"Trade," Ushil echoed, his bloodshot eyes fixed on John's P-90. "Few traders have come here armed as you are."

"We use our weapons only to defend ourselves," John replied.

"You said you were from Atlantis. Where is that?"

"On another world. We came here through the stargate." At the man's confused look, John added, "The big stone ring in the forest."

"Of course, the gateway." Ushil's gaze traveled over them again, slower, taking in details. "What is your function on Atlantis?"

"Ah, well, you know, a little of this, a little of that," John hedged.

Ushil pinned him with a look. "Is Lieutenant Colonel your title?"

"Yes."

"What does it signify?"

John fought the urge to squirm. Where was this guy going with this? "It's my rank."

An indefinable expression flickered across Ushil's pasty-white face. "You are a warrior, then? Perhaps the leader?"

John squared his shoulders, fed up with the interrogation. "I try to avoid war if at all possible. I'm in charge of the military contingent, but I'm not the leader of Atlantis."

"Wonderful!" Ushil exclaimed, beaming. "Please, come with me. I have something you will find interesting."

Stunned at the unexpected reaction, John glanced toward his team. Rodney had his face buried in his scanner while Ronon was trying to keep an eye on every person surrounding them. Teyla met John's gaze with an arched brow, her stance shouting caution.

John tipped his head in acknowledgement then turned back to Ushil. "I look forward to seeing it."

They followed Ushil through the doors, and his entourage crowded in behind them, murmuring and shooting unreadable looks toward John. Weak yellow lights ringed the tiny entryway and lined the halls branching off in every direction. Ushil headed down a corridor to the right then took a quick left and trotted down a set of stairs to a door that appeared as out of place as Ronon's blaster on Earth.

McKay tripped over John as he strained to get a look at it. "Not Ancient," he said softly, "but these people certainly didn't build it."

Ushil whispered into a small silver box and the door slid open, revealing a large room filled with flashing panels and dominated by a chair in the center where a squatty little man sat with his eyes closed, breathing evenly. The chair was made of an iridescent substance and glowed a deep purple that lightened then turned red as his breaths sped up.

His eyes flew open and he ripped off a small disc that had been adhered to his temple. "It's still wrong, Morha! We've got less than two hours—"

"Kespre," Ushil interrupted, "we have guests."

Kespre whipped his bald head toward them then hopped out of the chair. "Tavar Ushil, my apologies. I didn't realize. We will be ready in time." He turned to the team. "Welcome to you."

"This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and his team. He is the military commander of his world." Ushil smiled at John.

"Indeed?" Kespre's eyes flicked over John. "Are you here to participate? We could use—"

"Kespre is our head engineer. He keeps The Game in top condition," Ushil said.

"Could you explain what this game is?" Teyla requested.

"Of course." Ushil dismissed Kespre who climbed back into the chair. "Our people prize competition." He moved toward a bank of monitors. "We found this facility many years ago when we came to this world. The Fomisse territory has one as well. At the solstice, The Game begins. Whoever is in the chair controls the forces of the territory. He guides his people through enemy territory through the interface," he tapped his temple, "with the goal of capturing the enemy's headquarters. We follow the action with these." Ushil held up a pair of glasses then extended them to John. "Would you like to see?"

John took the glasses, turning them over in his hands. Lightweight blue lenses in a charcoal gray frame that was neither plastic nor metal. When his hands tingled, he realized with a jolt that the glasses were warm and vibrating slightly. He held them to the light and peered through the lenses but couldn't see anything.

"There is no action currently," Ushil said, "but you can see what the participants are seeing if you put them on." He slid on a pair and offered others to Teyla, Ronon, and Rodney.

John shot a glance at his team. Rodney was scrutinizing his pair, eying the earpieces and joints. Teyla smiled politely and cradled hers in her hands. Ronon jammed his on his face.

"Cool," he pronounced.

John ran his fingertips over the earpieces but didn't feel any sharp edges or indentations. Taking a deep breath, he put them on.

The lenses became opaque and the city sprang to life before him in glorious color. The stench of rotting garbage and noxious vehicle fumes made his eyes water, and he jumped when a horn honked behind him. The view shifted and blurred until an angry man driving an overloaded wagon came into focus.

"Get out of the way, shelreq!" he shouted, waving a fist. "I have deliveries to make before The Game starts!"

The view bounced to the side then to the ground as the vehicle rumbled by. Suddenly the driver yelped and reached for his head as a rock bounced off it and clattered to the ground. He whirled then paled as he gaped, seemingly at the camera.

"My apologies," he stammered. "I didn't know."

"Go." The voice was in stereo, like it was coming from inside John's head. "Do not make such a mistake again."

The man nodded and raced away. The view shifted again, moving forward at a rapid pace, around corners and down streets. As it eventually passed the cracked window of a building, John caught a glimpse of a man – broad, tall, with matted hair and dusty clothes that could have belonged to Ronon.

John pulled the glasses off and stared at them, feeling suddenly bereft. Why was his heart pounding? Why was the euphoria of a runner's high flooding through him?

"What did you think?" Ushil asked.

"Um… I'm a little confused, I guess," John answered. "You said I seeing through the eyes of a participant. Where is he?"

"He could be anywhere in the city," Ushil replied. "Each participant has been assigned a starting position so I'm sure he was making his way there. The glasses allow you to see them as they make their preparations. The Game decides which one you are following. Your friends are most likely viewing through someone else's eyes."

"Wow," Rodney whispered. His fists were clenched at his side and sweat trickled down his face. "That's…" He swallowed thickly. "Aw, come on." He jerked off the glasses. "Spoilsport."

"What the hell were you watching?" John asked.

McKay flushed scarlet. "Never mind." He turned to Ushil. "Are these picking up some kind of transmission?"

"Yes. The participants wear a disc that broadcasts what they are experiencing, like the one Kespre has."

Rodney poked at the lenses again. "How does it transmit the sounds and smells?"

Ushil smiled apologetically. "I don't know. Kespre would be better suited to answer your questions when he finishes his tests." He turned to John. "Perhaps you would like to be a participant?"

John stroked the glasses, fighting the urge to put them back on. "You mean fight?" He shook his head. "We don't get involved in internal disputes."

Ushil laughed. "There is no dispute. We are simply playing a game."

Rodney had slipped the glasses back on and had stuffed himself in a corner, arms crossed. Teyla was seated, spine rigid, lost in whatever she was seeing, while Ronon leaned against a wall, fist tapping to a beat only he could hear.

"Um, well…" John stuffed the glasses in his pants pocket.

Ushil stepped closer. "We value knowledge, John Sheppard, especially tactics and strategy." His gaze flicked to Teyla. "Perhaps we could offer some of our crops in exchange for your participation."

"What would I have to do?"

"The choice is yours – either control The Game from the chair or join our team in the play zone. But be warned, the Controller for Fomisse is a master strategist. We have won a few battles but have conceded defeat every time." Ushil's eyes gleamed. "We hope for a victory this time."

"Thirty minutes," Kespre announced.

Stunned, John checked his watch. How could that much time have passed? He'd only used the glasses for a few minutes. Hadn't he? When had Kespre moved from the chair to a console? John pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache began to throb behind his right eye.

"So, I just have to move some folks around on a grid to capture some territory?"

Ushil's expression bordered on mania. "Exactly."

"How? I mean, how do I move them?"

"Kespre?" Ushil called.

"The Game will show you how the territory is divided and where all of the participants are," Kespre explained. "Our people are blue; Fomisse's players are green. The goal is to capture the other side's headquarters which will glow brighter than the rest of the territory. Simply study the grid and decide which squad you want to move and where they are going. The Game does the rest."

John fingered the glasses in his pocket, soaking in the enticing warm tingle. "What do the participants do? They are real people, right?"

"The participants are given the instructions on what territory to take and how to get there," Kespre said. "How they do it is up to them. They—"

"They provide us with hours of exhilarating entertainment," Ushil cut in.

"So, they are performers, not soldiers?" John asked.

"As I said, this is a game. We don't have an army." Ushil's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Many participants have developed certain skills over the years, but we have no formal training program."

John's brain seemed to be two steps behind his body and moving too slow to ever catch up, but the one thought that kept returning was the offer of trade. The Athosians were struggling to survive. What was an hour or two of playing a game compared to relieving some of the suffering the horror that was Michael had caused? John had spent more time than that on Rodney's video game project.

"Okay," John said finally. "I'll do that controller thing, but I can't stay long."

"Wonderful!" Ushil exclaimed. "We are happy to take what we can get. Kespre?"

Kespre hesitated, locking gazes with Ushil for a moment, and then he nodded. "Be seated, please."

John rubbed his eye again, wishing away the growing ache, and gripped the arm of the chair. He gasped as a warm vibration raced from his fingers to his shoulder, similar to but more powerful than the glasses. He eased himself into the seat and sighed as a tingle burrowed into the small of his back, danced up his spine and nestled in the base of his skull. God, he felt good. His body shook from the rush of endorphins, and he barely noticed the prick at his temple or the pinch in the crook of his arm as images flooded into his mind – the city, its sectors, the players and observers, nooks, crannies, empty buildings and safe zones. His brain began to sort hiding places from ambush sites, noting the pulsing blue of his players and the throbbing green of the other. As The Game took over all his senses, the room, the people, and his team faded away to nothing.

xxx

"Sheppard?"

John's eyes fluttered open at the hesitant whisper. McKay hovered inches from his face, eyes huge in a dirty face that hadn't been shaven in quite a while.

"Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead."

John worked his jaw, but no words would come out.

"Don't try to talk," McKay said. "We're on the Daedalus, about two hours out from Atlantis, and before you ask, I'm fine and so are Ronon and Teyla. A little beat up, but," Rodney's face twisted in anger, "in better condition than you. They're sleeping in the next room." He held up a cup. "Water?"

John tried to nod.

"No, no. Don't move either." He held the cup to John's lips. "Small sips. It's been a while."

John shivered as the cold liquid seeped over his parched tongue and down his throat. His stomach constricted when the water hit it, and when he coughed involuntarily, Rodney yanked the cup away.

"More," John mouthed.

"Give it a chance to settle," McKay replied. "Believe me, you really don't want it to come back up." He pulled his chair close. "The doctor will be back in a minute. What do you remember?"

John's brows drew together at the lack of memory. "Sat in a chair," he finally whispered.

"You've really got to stop doing that." Rodney sighed. "That was over a month ago, John."

"Can't be."

Rodney offered the cup again. "I'm afraid so," he said as John took another sip. "I know it doesn't seem possible, but Caldwell says Atlantis lost contact with us forty-two days ago. They came to the planet, but they couldn't get through the shield that was protecting the city. I guess it's some kind of safeguard for when The Game is in session which is actually rather fascinating and might explain why my equipment blinked out if we crossed the—"

"McKay."

"Oh, right. Sorry. Anyway, I don't know how long I watched The Game – for quite a while because several battles happened before I got taken."

John frowned. "Taken?"

"Yeah. One minute I'm watching a horde of crazy people beat each other to death; the next I'm running for my life down an alleyway with Ronon and Teyla." McKay sagged in his seat. "I thought it was a really cool VR until I was part of it. I was making mental notes on how to improve the game I was making for Sam. Then they yanked my glasses off, slapped some disc on my head, and tossed me into the street in the middle of one of those insane free-for-alls. We didn't have any other choice but to run."

"Where was I?"

Rodney raked his fingers through his hair. "We think you were controlling The Game. The Daedalus located your sub-cu transmitter in a different part of the city from us." He glanced up, emotion shining in his eyes. "You don't remember anything?"

John shook his head.

"You were strapped down and had needles in your arms." Rodney swallowed thickly, looking a little green. "The nurses bandaged the ligature marks on your wrists and ankles, but you can see the track marks from the IVs. The doctor thinks they used some kind of nutrient drip to keep you alive."

John blinked at Rodney, trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. He'd been strapped in a chair for a month? Why couldn't he remember? He struggled to sit up, willed his arms to push him up, but nothing happened. Why wouldn't his body respond to his commands? His breath caught in his throat. Was he paralyzed?

"Easy, Sheppard."

Rodney gripped his shoulders, and he felt it. He felt the bandages on his wrists, the sheet over his body, the catheter, the IVs, the pulse ox clip. He closed his eyes and concentrated, heaving a sigh when he felt the bed rail against the sole of his foot. Not paralyzed then.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Ah, Colonel, good to see you back with us." The CMO of the Daedalus strode in and eyed Rodney with a frown. "Doctor McKay, I thought you were headed to the shower and the Mess."

Rodney drew to his full height and stared down his nose at the doctor. "I told you yesterday I would go when Sheppard woke up."

"Well, he's awake."

Rodney's chin jerked up as he folded his arms over his chest. "Powerful observation skills you have there. Did they teach you that in medical school?"

"McKay," John said.

Rodney glanced down, gnawing on his bottom lip, fear flicking in his eyes. "I'm not sure…"

"I'm not going anywhere, Rodney. Go get cleaned up."

McKay nodded and trudged out the door. A minute later, while the doctor was checking John's vitals, Ronon walked in. His jaw tightened when he saw John then he plastered on a grin and dropped into Rodney's chair.

"Hey."

John offered a wan smile as exhaustion suddenly crushed him. "Hey, big guy. How are you?"

Ronon had a bandage on his forehead and his hand was splinted and wrapped. "Fine. You?"

"Not sure yet." John turned his gaze to the doctor. "What's the verdict?"

The doctor held up a finger while he finished annotating John's chart, and then he looked up. "You're alive and will recover fully which is the most important part. That being said, you are malnourished, your muscles have atrophied from disuse over the last few weeks, and you are suffering from some kind of neurological shock that I've never seen before."

"Is that why I can't remember anything?"

The doctor shrugged. "Maybe. All of your team had symptoms, but yours were much worse. It could be that as your brain reverts to normal your memory will return."

"Why can't I move?"

"That's the muscle atrophy. Doctor Keller will know more, but I'd estimate that you've lost between ten and fifteen percent of your muscle mass, and about thirty pounds altogether. You have a vitamin deficiency, and your bones may be a bit more brittle than usual. We'll need to monitor your blood pressure as your body readjusts to being upright. You have some bed sores that need care, and we'll have to reintroduce your body to food."

John sighed. "Don't hold anything back."

The doctor smiled in sympathy. "I haven't even gotten to the sleep cycle and balance issues or the need for physical therapy." He patted John's arm. "What I'm trying to say, Colonel, is that you're not going to bounce back right away. It's going to take some time for you to fully recover, and you need to recognize that." He glanced at Ronon. "All of you."

Ronon spread his hands. "What?"

"Let's just say that your drive to get back on your feet fast is well known. Do what you're capable of, but recognize your limits. If you push too far, you could really hurt yourself. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," John said.

The doctor stared at Ronon until he nodded in agreement. "Good," the doctor said. "Get some rest, Colonel. You'll be home soon."

John's lids slid closed on their own accord, and he forced them open to look at Ronon. "Give it to me straight."

"You look like hell. That straight enough?"

John huffed a laugh. "I guess so. What really happened?"

Ronon shook his head. "Not sure. I lost track of time, but we were in the fight for several days, maybe even a couple of weeks."

"A couple of weeks? What did you survive on?"

"Whatever we could find." Ronon shrugged. "Running was sort of like this. Eat when you can; sleep when you can. McKay got over digging through the garbage for food after the first two days. One of us slept while the other two stood watch."

"Unbelievable."

"Seems like the whole city was the battleground so sometimes we'd go days without seeing or hearing any of the fighting, but when we did…" Ronon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "It was brutal, Sheppard. I've seen a lot of battles, but those people…" He stared down at his hands. "We avoided as much of the fighting as we could, but sometimes we had to." He clenched his fists and scraped them down his pants legs. "We were trying to get to you."

"You stayed alive. That's all that matters," John whispered as sleep tugged at him. "Good job not dying."

Ronon chuckled. John smiled and let sleep take him.

xxx

He flattened against a pockmarked wall then peeked around the corner. Clear. He slithered along the crumbled remains of a building, ducking behind the burned out hulls of overturned vehicles. His heart hammered so loud he could barely hear himself think and his left knee was practically useless. He dropped heavily as the sound of pounding boots echoed in the deserted street, his eyes seeking refuge. Useless. He had no place left to hide. His men were dead, and he wouldn't make it to the end of the block.

"There!" a voice cried.

He struggled to his feet, but they were on him before he reached the curb. Strong arms slammed him to the ground and dirty faces sneered down at him. Steel flashed as the enemy leader raised the sword high.

"For Fomisse!"

The blade plunged deep into his chest, the pain so great that he could only gasp. He arched up, his mouth open in a wordless scream as his enemy ripped the sword out and drove it in again.

"John! Breathe!"

His eyes flew open as the nightmare fled away, but he couldn't catch his breath. Alarms blared and vague forms fluttered around him. John tried to move, but his limbs were lifeless. His vision grayed; black spots danced before him.

"Colonel Sheppard, look at me." Keller's nose was practically touching his. "I need you to calm down. Can you do that?"

John blinked at her, desperately praying for oxygen.

"I know you can't breathe. Relaxing will help that." She glanced to the side. "Someone turn off those alarms."

The room got quiet.

"Keep your eyes on me, John," Keller said. "Now, blow out. I know it feels like you don't have any air to do that, but you do. Blow out like this." She pursed her lips and cool air brushed over John's face. "Try."

He mimicked her and the heaviness in his chest lifted a little.

"Good. Breathe with me." She inhaled then exhaled loudly. "Come on."

John kept his eyes on hers as he matched her breathing. After a minute, his vision cleared and he slumped, exhausted.

Keller's eyes flicked behind him. "Blood pressure returning to normal. Good." She patted his shoulder and smiled. "Welcome home, Colonel. Don't scare me like that again."

"Sorry," John whispered, his heartbeat slowing to its natural rhythm. "How long have I been here?"

"A few hours." Keller checked his vitals, nodding and hmmming along the way. "I'd like to change the bandages now. You up for that?"

John shrugged. "Guess so."

She unwound the gauze around his wrists and studied the reddened flesh. "Better than I was anticipating. Skin isn't broken, just rubbed a little raw. I don't think we'll replace these." She tossed the bandage on the floor then removed the ones on his other wrist and ankles. "How are your legs feeling?"

"Fine. Why?"

"I'm going to roll you on your side to check the sores on your back, okay?"

"Yeah." The world spun dizzyingly as she shifted him onto his right side. He clenched his eyes shut and concentrated on not throwing up.

"Vertigo?" At his nod, she patted his shoulder. "Hang in there. It will get better once we get you on your feet again." A draft blew down his back then strong fingers were pressing on tender areas on his back, hips, and legs. "From the location of these sores, we think you've been in a seated position the entire time you were gone. You'll probably have some cramping in your legs due to poor circulation. Again, that will improve once we have you walking." After applying cool cream and fresh bandages, Keller eased him onto his back. "Want to try raising the head of the bed?"

"That would be great." John closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness washed over him when the bed inclined. "How am I doing?"

Keller gave him a genuine smile. "Really good, considering." She glanced up when the door opened and Teyla entered carrying a tray. "Are you up for something to eat?"

And just like that, he was famished. "Oh, yeah." He sniffed the air. "Soup?"

"I'm afraid so, Colonel," Keller replied. "For now. Remember, you haven't had food in your stomach for a while. Ease into it."

Teyla set the tray down as Keller left, and then pressed her forehead to his. "It is good to see you." Her voice was husky with emotion.

"Good to be seen." John gave a shaky smile and managed to lean forward enough to peer into the bowl. "Not tuttleroot?"

Teyla blushed and shook her head as she settled on the edge of the bed. "I would not inflict that upon you. Corporal Yasov said it was chicken broth." She pulled the tray table to his chest then dipped the spoon in the soup and offered it to him.

"My favorite," he deadpanned.

He accepted the sip and was surprised when the liquid burst with flavor over his tongue and coated his throat and insides with warmth.

"Good?" Teyla asked.

"Yeah." So good that he almost forgot to be embarrassed that he couldn't hold the spoon himself. Almost.

Teyla lifted the spoon to his mouth again. "Jennifer says you will be fine after you gain weight and build up your muscles again."

John swallowed, relishing the tang of salt. "Looking forward to that." He drank the water she offered then sipped more broth. "What happened on that planet?"

The spoon shook in her hand before she steadied it and held it to his lips. "I don't know that I can tell you more than Rodney and Ronon already have." But she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I had this dream, Teyla, but it felt like more than a dream. It felt real. I was running down a street and a guy attacked me with a sword." He glanced down at his chest. "I'm obviously not dead."

Teyla pushed off the bed, standing with her back to him. "The Chelqev attached something to our temples before they cast us into the city. We could hear the orders being given – where to go and how to attack." She turned to face him. "It was your voice I heard, John. I believe you were coordinating the battle."

"But how could I… Oh." The tightness in his chest was returning. "If you were connected to me, then I was connected to you. I would have to know how the battles were going in order to formulate the next attack."

A city grid flashed in his mind, filled with blue and green life signs that pulsed, merged, faded into nothingness. He tasted blood, smelled death, heard the screams of the injured and dying as he watched each battle through the eyes of a participant. One goal – capture enemy headquarters no matter the cost. No rules.

"John!"

Teyla gripped his face in her hands, her eyes wide with panic.

"Those people, they— I…" He sucked in a painful breath. "God, Teyla. What did I do?"

xxx

"Great job, Colonel." Jay, his physical therapist, took the two pound barbells from his hands. "Want to give standing a try?"

"Oh, hell yeah."

Jay lowered the bedrail, swung John's legs over the side, and wrapped an arm around his back. "Slow and easy. Ready?"

John nodded and leaned forward as Jay pulled him up. His knees buckled and his head swam, but he was upright, damn it. "I'd really like a shower."

"I bet," Jay said. "Not today, though. If you keep up your exercises, you'll be able to get around on your own in a week or so."

"A week?" The protest sounded weak even to John's ears. He was already so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.

Jay laughed softly as he helped John back to bed. "We're moving to the pool in a couple of days. That's almost as good as a shower."

"My swim trunks won't fit," John mumbled. "Too big."

"Don't worry, Colonel. We'll figure it out."

John yawned and leaned back against the pillow, intending to rest his eyes for a quick minute before McKay showed up with lunch.

He crept over the rooftop, keeping his prey in sight. His clothes were blood soaked and his muscles were weary, but the drive for victory, the lust for the fight, still raged through his veins. He slipped to the gutter pipe and slid to the ground, touching down silently a few feet behind the woman. She froze, her head twisting side to side, searching for him, but the shadows hid him from her.

When she turned away from him, he pounced. She had anticipated his move and swiveled to fight, but he had the advantage of size and momentum. She hit the ground hard, her head smacking the concrete with a sickening thud. He landed on top and pinned her down. She struggled weakly under him, snarling curses and promises of vengeance.

He laughed harshly. "For Chelqev."

His fingers tightened around her neck and he felt a smile curve his lips as her eyes bulged. Bloodlust roared through him and he pressed harder.

"Sheppard, stop!" Rodney pleaded.

Fingernails clawed at his hands.

"I don't want to hurt you!"

John blinked rapidly as his vision cleared. The high of the kill hadn't dissipated yet, and his fingers were digging into McKay's neck. Rodney's pulse was thumping wildly against his palm, and he squeezed involuntarily before the horror caught up with him. He let go and McKay jerked away.

"Rodney, I…" His stomach rolled as he fought back the feelings that were boiling inside him, feelings that weren't his.

McKay rubbed his throat gingerly. "Yeah, um, what was that?"

"Nightmare," John whispered, eyes closed and head back.

"Hell of a nightmare. Who did you think I was?"

The woman's face flashed in his mind, her eyes wide with fear, and a thrill shot through him. Bile flooded the back of his throat, and he leaned over the side of the bed and heaved.

"Ewww." McKay patted his back awkwardly. "Please tell me the call button is on this side. Oh, good. Got it."

John clung to the bedrail, shaking, then heaved again.

Footsteps approached, but John couldn't hold his head up enough to see who it was.

"What happened?" Keller demanded as she gently pulled John back.

"He was having a nightmare then he got sick," Rodney explained.

Keller pulled a towel from a drawer, wet it, and wiped John's face and chin. He relaxed against the pillow, breathing through his mouth and imagining himself inside a Blackhawk, mentally reciting what each knob and lever did.

"That's all?" Keller asked.

"What else would there be?" Rodney's chin lifted and his hands fluttered in his I'm-obviously-lying body language, but Keller didn't call him on it.

"How are you doing, Colonel?"

"Been better," John answered.

Keller glanced between them then held John's cup of water to his lips. "Swish a little in your mouth to get rid of the taste while I get someone to clean this up." John sipped obediently while she stepped away to call for an orderly.

Rodney took a hesitant step forward after she left. "I brought you lunch."

John groaned. "Not hungry."

"Yeah, didn't think so." McKay dragged a chair over. "You okay?"

"Fine." John stared at the ceiling, wondering who had done the slightly obscene drawing there and if Keller had ever noticed. "Did I hurt you?"

"What? As weak as… No, you didn't. I'm fine." Rodney shifted in his seat then cleared his throat. "You want to talk about it?"

"Nope."

"Good. I mean, uh…"

John shook his head. "I know what you mean, McKay."

"Oh." Rodney brightened and leaned forward. "You'll never guess who I spotted making out on the balcony last night."

John shivered when the woman's face flashed again. He dug his fingernails into his palms and focused on the pain to keep his mind away from the warm satisfaction her dead eyes gave him.

xxx

"I'm going to the bathroom whether you help me or not," John snapped. "Even if I have to crawl." When Ronon simply stared at him, John forced himself to relax a little. "Helping would be better."

"What did the doc say?"

"To do as much as I was capable of. And I'm capable of going to the bathroom by myself. I just need a little help getting there. My balance is still off. " He refused to beg, but he wasn't above whining. "Come on, Ronon. I've been stuck in this bed for days."

Ronon studied him for a moment then must have decided he was telling the truth. "Okay."

John pushed the sheet back then slowly eased his legs over the side. Ronon pulled him to his feet and caught him around the waist when the room tilted wildly. He clutched Ronon's side until the dizziness died down to a tolerable level then took a tentative step. His legs quivered like jelly but they held. Another step and his heart started to pound. John zeroed in on the bathroom door five more steps away. He could do this. His left foot slid forward again followed by his right. Sweat popped out along his hairline. Another left and right, and he could touch the door. He sucked in a deep breath and took the final step into the bathroom.

"I've got it from here," John said, pretending he wasn't panting for air.

"You sure?" Ronon's expression held neither pity nor concern. "Everybody needs help sometimes."

"I know." John hoped Ronon could tell how grateful he was. "I'll call if I need you."

Ronon nodded and closed the door.

John took care of business before his legs gave out then leaned against the sink and stared at the face in the mirror. While the sheet and blankets had covered most of his body, he'd noticed his arms were slimmer, and he couldn't deny how weak he was or how five sips of broth filled his stomach, but his reflection was the first time he'd really been able to see the harsh reality of what a month of captivity had done. A thick beard covered his mouth and jaw, highlighting his sunken eyes and the skin pulled tight over his cheeks. He was jaundiced, and his gums and inner eyelids were so pale they were almost white. His collarbone had always been prominent, but now the bones rose starkly through the neck of his hospital gown.

A month of his life gone. Vanished without him knowing, taking his health with it. He splashed water on his face, cursing his shaking hand, his feeble body, and the people who had done this to him. The nightmares weren't doing him any favors in the healing department – stealing his sleep and causing him to regurgitate the little food he consumed.

"No more," he vowed to the thin, angry man in the mirror.

He would take the sleeping pills Keller offered, would follow her orders to the letter. He'd eat all his stomach would hold whether he felt like it or not. He'd lift every weight, take every step, swim every lap, do whatever Jay and the other therapists said – he sighed as his legs trembled – starting with asking for help.

"Hey, Ronon," John called, grinning as the door opened. "Quit standing there and help me back to bed." He accepted Ronon's arm and took a careful step. "Do you think you could help me get rid of this beard?"

"I've got the perfect knife for it."

"I knew you would."

They were halfway to the bed when the cramps started. John doubled over as first his right calf then his left knotted painfully. Ronon stumbled and tightened his grip until John thought his ribs would break.

"What's wrong?" Ronon asked.

"Cramps," John gasped, trying to knead the rock-hard mass.

Ronon swept him up and deposited him on the bed before he had time to be insulted. John curled on his side and pushed weakly on the seizing muscles.

"Let me," Ronon said as he swatted John's hands away. "Nurse will be here in a second."

John buried his face in the pillow as Ronon massaged his calves, thumbs pressing deep into the knotted muscles. It hurt as much as it helped, and John didn't get any real relief until the nurse injected something wonderful into his IV. As the relaxant took hold and Ronon continued to smooth the knots out, John melted into the bed and let his lids slide shut.

He stumbled, scraping knees and elbows, his heart slamming against his ribs. Pure panic stole his breath as he darted forward and dove through the hole in the fence, ignoring the slice of rusty metal over his shoulder and down his back. He risked a glance back at the empty street then scuttled under a stack of empty pallets. The screams of his team echoed in the alley and he clapped his hands over his ears to block out the sound. A slit in the wood offered a glimpse of the street, and he cringed as one of his teammates tripped and landed face down near the tear in the fence.

The enemy shouted in triumph as they descended on the fallen man, kicking and punching and beating until he lay unmoving.

One opponent frowned and glanced around in confusion. "The round continues. There must be one left. Find him."

He curled into a tight ball and wrapped his arms over his head as the enemy spread out and searched. One man kicked at the fence then ducked through and stalked around the alley.

"I know you're here, coward. The air is filled with the stench of your fear."

He bit his lip until it bled, trembling as the footsteps grew closer. The rotted wood near his head cracked and splintered when a boot slammed through it, and he yelped and scrambled back.

The man stared down at him, his mouth twisted in disgust. "If killing you wasn't necessary to end the round, I wouldn't waste my energy."

He turned his face away. "Please," he begged. "Let me go."

"Get up," the man growled.

"No! There has to be a way." He clutched at the man's filthy tunic. "Please!"

The man kicked him off and stepped back. "Chelqev has reached its limits if you are the best she has to offer." He picked up a rusty pipe and gripped it like a baseball bat. "For Fomisse."

The first blow smashed into his spine, and he flung himself at the man's feet, wailing.

John jerked awake as the sob caught in his throat. He rolled onto his other side and curled up, hugging his arms to his chest and wiping his tear-slicked face on his pillow. What was wrong with him? He'd been afraid before, but not like this. His mouth was parched from the terror that still made his pulse race, but when he reached for his cup of water, his hand shook so badly that he tucked it back under his arm in embarrassment.

"Colonel, are you okay?" Keller asked from behind him. "I thought I heard shouting."

John flinched when she spoke and instinctively cowered away from her until he realized what he was doing. Disgusted with the alien emotions, he relaxed but kept his face turned away. "I'm fine, Doc. Just a bad dream."

Keller squeezed his arm gently. "I'd like to check a couple of things if you're up to it."

John eased onto his back and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Okay."

She raised the head of the bed and ran through the normal check of his temperature, pulse and blood pressure then she handed him a plastic tube attached to a cylinder with marked measurements.

"This will measure lung function. Take a deep breath and blow slowly into the mouthpiece."

He did as directed, and a small piece of black plastic floated halfway up the cylinder and hung there for a few seconds.

"Good," Keller said. "We don't want pneumonia or any other respiratory illness to set in. I want you to do that every few hours." She took the tube away and held her hands up, palms facing him. "Now, put your hands against mine and push as hard as you can."

John complied, pushing until his arms quivered and sweat beaded on his forehead. Keller barely moved.

"Okay." She moved to the end of the bed and uncovered his feet. "Let's do the same thing."

He curled his fingers around the bed rails and strained to lift his legs high enough to press his feet against her hands. He pushed against her hands as hard as he could, frustrated when his legs fell to the bed after a minute.

Keller typed her findings into his chart, her features schooled to a perfect neutral. "One more thing, Colonel. I'd like to get your weight. Give me a second to grab the scale." She ducked into the next room then hurried back with the rolling scale in tow. "Ready?"

He nodded and let her help him to his feet. The digital readout flashed a couple of times then settled on 142.

Disbelief rocked him. "That can't be right."

Keller helped him back into bed. "You've actually gained a pound. However," she leaned against the nightstand, "you aren't progressing as well as I'd hoped. Your food intake isn't as much as I'd like, and you don't appear rested." She cocked her head to the side. "How bad are those nightmares?"

John plucked at the sheets, suddenly fascinated with the calluses on his palm. "Pretty bad."

"Would you like something to help you sleep?"

He had made himself a promise. "Yeah."

"Oh." She blinked in surprise. "Okay. Do you want it now or wait until the night cycle starts?"

"Um, what time is it?"

"Almost three in the afternoon."

"I'll wait." He looked past her to the empty chair by his bedside.

"Teyla was here, but she got called away a few minutes ago." Keller chuckled. "Apparently Torren is teething, and she forgot to put the soothing gel in his daycare bag. I'm sure she'll be back any moment."

John flushed, chagrined at having been so obvious. Then again, the chair was rarely vacant. Sometimes he forgot how fortunate he was.

xxx

A shower, finally. John gripped the handrails and pulled himself into the stall, basking in the flow of warm water over his skin. He bowed his head and let the water soak through his grimy, too-long hair to his scalp. Leaning against the tile, he squirted shampoo into his hands and scrubbed his head until his hands ached. The soap, a concoction of Ronon's that always made John think of autumn and campfires, rinsed the stench of ointment, antiseptic and stale sweat from his body, and for a minute he was Colonel Sheppard again.

Then the world tilted and he was in a dingy room on that planet.

Dust made him sneeze. Metal clanged in the hall. He darted out and caught the shadow of a man vanishing in the next room. He gave chase. The man, badly beaten and stumbling like a drunk, crashed into the far wall and staggered into the corner.

He approached slowly, pity welling inside as the man struggled to stay on his feet. He clenched his fingers, his knuckles bloodied and swollen then pulled back and slammed a fist into the man's face. The man swung clumsily before collapsing to the floor. He rubbed his aching hand and kicked as hard as he could. He felt the man's ribs give. He braced himself and kicked again.

Wet hands slid on the tile. John flailed as the flashback fled away, but his balance was too far gone. He toppled sideways, out of the stall and onto the hard floor. He tried to catch himself, throwing his hands out. His weight came down on his left arm, and he howled as pain exploded when his wrist snapped.

"Sheppard?" Rodney threw open the door and only hesitated for a second before barging in. "What hap— Never mind." He covered John with a towel, pressed the call button, and turned off the water. "Are you hurt?"

"M-my wrist." John had never realized how cold the floor was. "F-f-freezing."

Rodney wrung his hands and glanced out the door. "Yeah, I bet. Um, I'm probably not supposed to move you."

"B-broke my wrist not my neck, McKay." John tried to push up with his right arm, but his body was done. "Get me up."

"Oh, okay." Rodney knelt on John's right and slid his arm under John's back. "Ready?"

"Y-yeah." John cradled his left arm in his right, grunting as jolts of pain shot down his hand and up to his shoulder when Rodney sat him up. "Give me a second," he panted.

"What are you doing?" Keller demanded as she and a nurse crowded in.

Rodney's shoulders slumped. "Helping?"

"I asked him to," John said. "I fell."

Keller ran a professional eye over him. "Where are you hurt?"

"Just my wrist." John shivered and his teeth chattered. "Can we hurry this up?"

The nurse pushed a wheelchair in and the three of them got John up and settled with some of his dignity still intact.

Keller wheeled him to his bed, shooed Rodney out, and drew the privacy curtain. "We need to get you warm and dry first. Would you prefer me to call Jay?"

John sighed and shook his head. "It's okay, Doc. You've seen me in worse condition." He glanced down at his thin chest and his bony knees sticking out from under the towel draped around his waist. "Though I'm not sure when."

She laughed as she pulled a towel from the bed stand drawer. "Would you like that list alphabetically or chronologically?" She deftly dried his back, arms, and chest and tied a fresh gown on. "How do you feel about standing?"

"I like standing as a general rule. I'm just not very good at it right now." John took the towel from her and rubbed it briskly over his head. "I'm willing to try."

"No, if you don't feel steady, then I want to call someone."

"I can do it," Rodney called.

Keller peeked around the curtain. "I thought I told you to take a break."

"Did you? I must have I missed that."

John rolled his eyes. "You really suck at lying, McKay."

"Do not."

Keller pulled back the curtain. "Yes, you do. Now, get over here and help me."

Rodney slid his arm behind John's back. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

John clutched Rodney's shoulder as McKay pulled him up. Keller rolled the chair away then guided John toward the bed. Rodney eased him down and Keller swung his legs up. John slumped back against the pillow, exhausted and humiliated.

"I'll be back in a minute with a wrist cast and the scanner," Keller said. "I want to make sure you didn't fracture anything else."

John nodded absently, not realizing that McKay had stayed behind until the chair scraped across the floor. He glanced up, suddenly angry at the concern in Rodney's eyes. "Look, I'm fine, okay? I don't need a babysitter."

McKay blinked then sat back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest. "Good, because I hate babysitting."

"Rodney—"

"Caldwell has people on the planet."

John blinked at him. "What?"

"After they got us back here, Daedalus went back to figure out what was going on. Now that they know how to penetrate the shield, of course. That's why it took so long to rescue us. It wouldn't have taken so long if I'd been there." Rodney flapped a hand. "Anyway, I'm not supposed to tell you, but I thought maybe it would, you know, help you to know that they're trying to figure out what happened."

John smiled politely when Keller walked in, nodding and making chitchat while she wrapped his wrist and wheeled the Ancient scanner around him. Satisfied that the rest of his bones were intact, she injected pain meds, patted his knee and left.

"Radek is with them," McKay continued. "He says that ripping you out of there did as much damage to their 'game' as it did to you." Rodney grimaced. "Well, in a strictly technical sense anyway. The control room is hosed, most of the participants are dead, and the viewers seem shell shocked. Apparently that neuroshock we got included a little bit of withdrawal. Damn glasses were addictive."

The memory of the warm tingle down his spine came to mind. "The chair, too, I think," John said. "Why weren't you supposed to tell me?"

Rodney shrugged. "Keller and Go… um, Goshen? Gooseberry? You know, the new shrink."

"Gotleib?"

"Yeah, him. They thought it might upset you or get your hopes up or something. The other territory—"

"Fomisse." A foul taste flooded John's mouth, and the odor of burning rubber filled his nostrils. Gotleib had told him to expect the flashbacks to come and go, but that accepting his role and not blaming himself for it would help them fade faster. John was still working on the last part.

"Sheppard?"

John fought off the memory and took a couple of deep breaths. "Yeah."

McKay observed him for a second then leaned forward. "Fomisse agreed today to let Radek study their controls, and he found some logs from the creators. The Game is actually a battle simulator. The discs the participants wear transmit their physical and emotional state. Originally they used some type of laser gun that shut off the disc to make the participant 'dead' to the system. Once a squad was dead…"

"The round ended." John sighed and closed his eyes. "Now they have to actually die."

"Radek thinks the creators had a slightly different physiology from us, that the equipment wasn't addictive to them." Rodney held John's eyes. "And that the feedback from the discs didn't go to the controller. Zelenka thinks the data pathways got corrupted."

"It's so real," John whispered. "It's like I become them."

Rodney's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah. I can feel what they're feeling, smell the…" John suddenly realized he was talking out loud. He cleared his throat and glanced away.

"Smell the rotting garbage and the blood?" Rodney grimaced in revulsion. "I wake up with that stench all around me." He sat back, his eyes losing focus. "But what really sets me off is the sound of water running." A flush crept up his neck. "I know that's stupid, but we spent most of one day hiding in a drainage pipe. A really, really small one." His breath hitched and he shivered. "Water trickled through it constantly. I hate to even wash my hands now, and you know how I feel about germs."

"What are you going to do?" John asked.

Rodney glanced at his hands. "Keep trying. Goshen—"

"Gotleib."

"Whatever. He says eventually my mind will associate the sound with cleanliness like it used to. I hope it hurries." Rodney grinned. "I miss my bathtub."

"I don't even want to know." John narrowed his eyes. "Wait a second. Weren't you standing outside the door when I was in the shower?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Couldn't you hear the water running?"

"I guess," Rodney said. "What's your point?"

John's brow wrinkled in confusion. "The sound didn't bother you?"

Rodney flushed again but didn't look away. "Some things are more important."

xxx

As the days turned into weeks, the nightmares and flashbacks began to dissipate, but John didn't really begin to improve until he stopped pushing himself so hard. He swam his laps with Ronon and admitted when he got tired. He suffered through bowl after bowl of chicken broth and chocolate pudding, silently cheering when he graduated to toast and scrambled eggs. He was limited to walking for only thirty minutes at a time, but Rodney walked with him, sharing the latest gossip and debating the identity of The Others. Teyla spent hours helping him practice his balance and flexibility exercises.

Keller released him to his room once he was steady enough to get around on his own. He slept a lot, ate as much as he could, finally finished War and Peace, mainlined four seasons of House, plowed through over fifteen hundred emails, and caught up on all the mission reports that had been filed since they'd gone missing. Lorne had done an exceptional job keeping up with the paperwork, the search, and the minutiae of command which John made note of in his official letter of commendation that he filed along with all of the other personnel reviews and requests.

His sleep cycle had mostly reset but occasionally he would wake up in the middle of the night either hungry or wired. His weight was slowly building back to normal, but he got cold easily, especially now that the seasons were changing. New Lantea was colder than their original home which made winter rather bitter, even for a man who'd spent almost a year in Antarctica.

One night after one of his more disturbing dreams, John pulled on his sweatshirt and jacket and headed down to the Mess, hoping to hunt down one of Lieutenant Chevange's renowned lemon-poppy seed muffins. When he emerged from the kitchen, wiping crumbs from his lapels, he noticed a light in the corner of the dining area. McKay was sitting at a table, staring at a chessboard.

"What are you doing, Rodney?"

McKay flinched hard, bumping the board and scattering pieces over the table. "Damn, Sheppard. Was scaring me to death really necessary?"

"Nope." John grinned at him. "That was just a side benefit."

Rodney glared at him. "You're not nearly as funny as you think you are."

"Yes, I am," John replied, unrepentant. "And you didn't answer my question."

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Rodney righted the pieces and reset the board. "Of course, I'll have to start over since you messed everything up."

"Me?" John slid into the chair opposite McKay. "I didn't knock them off. I was halfway across the room."

"Doesn't matter. It's still your fault."

John glanced around. "Who are you playing?"

Rodney kept his eyes on the board. "Myself."

"Don't you know what your next move is going to be?"

"I'm not allowing myself to think ahead."

"But that's the purpose. You're supposed to have a strategy." John picked up the black queen and rolled it between his fingers and thumb. "Why are you playing alone?"

"Because Zelenka cheats and…"

John cocked his head to the side. "And what?"

Rodney sighed and looked up. "I wasn't sure you'd want to. I didn't know how you felt about playing games these days."

"I hadn't really thought about it." The very idea made the bile rise in his throat. "But a friend of mine told me about some good advice he got, and I think I'll give it a try." He returned the queen to her spot. "Maybe if I keep playing I'll associate it with fun like I used to."

McKay held his gaze for a moment then smiled. "Good. You want to be white?"

John shook his head and grinned. "No, that's okay. You can go first. I'll still kick your ass."

"Oh, dream on. I will so own you." Rodney studied the board then pinned John with a stare. "As long as you don't cheat."

"I don't have to cheat, McKay."

"And no distracting me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." John brushed a few crumbs from his shirt onto the table.

McKay gaped at him, appalled. "Is that lemon?"

John blinked innocently. "Is what lemon?"

"Unbelievable. We haven't even started." Rodney blew the crumbs off the table. "Cheater."

"Geek."

McKay moved a pawn. "Zombie."

"Zombie?" John countered the move. "Where did that come from?"

"Isn't that what the Marines call you Air Force types?"

McKay really did suck at lying. His face was red and he was chewing the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. A man like Rodney who'd worked for the Air Force for over a decade certainly knew all the derogatory terms, maybe had invented a few of them.

John couldn't help it – he laughed. And once he started he couldn't stop. He laughed until tears rolled down his face. McKay finally gave up trying to hold a straight face and giggled like a girl which made John laugh harder.

They were still laughing and trading insults when the kitchen staff arrived half an hour later to begin breakfast.

Written for the sga santa fic exchange for kriadydragon. Many thanks to kristen999 for the always fabulous beta. All faults mine.

Happy New Year!