Set after Enemy at the Gate so spoilers for everything.

Defending Pegasus

Rodney hunched over his console, hoping Sheppard would take the hint.

He didn't.

"Quit hovering. Busy man here." When Sheppard still didn't move, Rodney snapped, "This is called work in case you weren't familiar with the concept."

"I told you to call me when they dialed in," Sheppard said in his slow, quiet, I'm-pissed-at-you voice. "What was unclear about that?"

Rodney frowned at the monitor. Who the hell had shut down the desalination plant? Diagnostics confirmed it was operating within acceptable parameters, and the next scheduled maintenance wasn't for another six weeks.

"Are you listening to me, McKay?"

"Yes." Rodney fired off an email to Zelenka, stating in no uncertain terms what would happen if the plant wasn't back online in five minutes. "I didn't call you because Teyla said she was late for the next round of talks. She said the meetings were running long and they'd be back soon."

"How did she sound?"

"She sounded like Teyla."

"Rodney!"

"Well, what did you think…" The acerbic retort died on Rodney's lips when he got a look at Sheppard's face. He recognized the expression – wrinkles between the brows, mouth pressed in a thin white line, eyes pinched tight – but it wasn't one he normally associated with Sheppard.

It was the one Elizabeth had always been wearing when they came home late: worried, stressed, helpless to do anything but wait.

Rodney pushed back from the console and looked Sheppard in the eye. "She sounded fine, John. She didn't use any of the code words. She didn't call me by the wrong name." Sheppard's expression hadn't changed. What else could he say? "She sounded…irritated."

Sheppard's brows drew closer together. "Irritated?"

"Well, wouldn't you be after four days of Coalition meetings with only Woolsey to talk to?"

Sheppard covered a lopsided grin with his hand. "I'm sure she knows a few of the other leaders there." Then the frown was back. "She really sounded okay?"

"You are such a mother hen when you're in charge." Rodney folded his arms over his chest. "You're still pissed Woolsey wouldn't let you go with them."

"I'm pissed because he would only let me send two Marines with them instead of a squad."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Having Teyla is like having a squad of Marines."

Sheppard chuckled, his shoulders relaxing to almost normal. "That's true. Still…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "The Coalition isn't known for its safety."

Rodney sat up straight. "You think the Genii might try something again?"

Sheppard shook his head. "You've seen what the Wraith did while Atlantis was on Earth. The Genii are too busy trying to survive that last culling to care about being the Coalition police." He huffed and kicked at the console. "If the IOA hadn't dragged their feet for so long, we would've been here before things got so bad. Instead, we're cleaning up the mess and trying to avoid—"

An alarm shrieked and the gate began to turn.

Rodney leaped to his feet and rushed to the DHD as the shield coalesced over the shimmering wormhole. He blinked in surprise at the IDC. "Captain Randolph's team is returning."

"Already?" Sheppard strode to the overhang railing to gaze at the gate. "I thought they just left."

"They did, half an hour ago."

"Lower the shield."

Rodney pressed the pad. Captain Randolph and her team stepped through followed by Ronon, who had asked to go somewhere, anywhere, tired of sitting in Atlantis while his team was standing down for "talking."

"What happened?" Sheppard asked.

Randolph glanced up and shook her head sadly. "We were too late, sir. They're gone. It's a total loss."

Sheppard bowed his head, his hands tightening on the rail until his knuckles were white. "Understood. Send me your report after the post-mission exam."

"Yes, sir," she acknowledged and led her team toward the infirmary.

"Ronon?" Sheppard called.

Ronon bounded up the main staircase, three steps at a time, carrying a P-90 and looking like he needed to pound on someone. Rodney moved quickly to his seat and buried himself in his work. Not because he was scared, of course, but really, who else was going to run gate diagnostics?

"A culling?" Sheppard asked.

"Worse," Ronon growled. "Marauders. They killed anybody who resisted, and then destroyed the village. Burned it to the ground. Burned the fields, too, after they stole what they wanted. Carted their haul off through the gate in some kind of wagons. The survivors relocated to another world, but a couple were there digging through the rubble." Technicians scurried in every direction as he stalked around the control room like a caged tiger with attitude. "We can't let them keep doing this."

"I'm open to ideas." Sheppard slumped against a pillar, hands stuffed in his pockets. "This is the fifth time this month we've come across a world destroyed by raiders." He pushed off and paced in front of Rodney's console. "I don't understand why they burn it down. Why wipe out the entire village? What purpose does that serve?"

Rodney snorted. "Do they need a reason?"

"I guess not." Sheppard paused to lean against the workstation. "But from a purely technical perspective, it seems like a waste. Why get rid of a good thing?" He spread his hands wide. "Why not leave the village standing so they can raid it again in the future?"

"Your mind is a scary place," Rodney stated.

"I'm serious. They know these worlds can be easily taken advantage of. Why force themselves to continually find new targets?"

"Boredom?" Rodney mused.

"Maybe they like the challenge," Ronon suggested.

Sheppard scratched his head. "Maybe. But one day they're going to attack a world that fights back."

Horror shot through Rodney as a thought struck. "What if they are testing us?"

"Testing us?" Sheppard's eyes narrowed and Rodney could practically see the wheels turning in his head. "You mean gauging our reaction?"

"And our response time." Rodney rubbed at the headache throbbing between his eyes. "We're supposed to be the military might of the Coalition – the police, like you said." He sagged in his seat and sighed. "What if they are working their way up to something big? Really big."

"Like what?" Sheppard asked.

"Nothing good," Ronon answered, laying the P-90 on the console. "Take a look."

Sheppard picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Then he did a double take. "Oh, no."

"What?" Rodney asked. Even he could see the jammed guide rod. "Did we get a defective shipment?"

"These aren't ours," Sheppard said, staring wide-eyed at the gun.

"Then whose…" Rodney gaped at him. "Someone is reverse engineering our weapons?"

"And doing a piss-poor job of it." Sheppard ripped the gun apart in three seconds flat. "The balance is off. The muzzle is warped from the inferior metal overheating when it's fired." He shook the cartridge and a bullet that looked like it was from World War One tumbled out. "And their ammo is worthless."

"Not worthless enough," Ronon growled, the tendons in his neck cording as he clenched his jaw. "I counted over a hundred bodies myself, most of them with bullet holes in them."

"We've lost enough weapons over the past few years to arm half of Pegasus," Rodney said as he poked at the pieces of the gun. "I'm surprised it's taken this long for someone to try. I wonder where their manufacturing plant is. Too bad we can't ask one of them…" He trailed off as Sheppard and Ronon both whipped around to stare at him. "Stupid idea. Forget I said anything."

"It wouldn't be the first time we captured someone for information." Sheppard gnawed on his bottom lip, lost in thought.

Rodney raised a finger. "And probably not the last, but how would you know who to capture? It's not like they advertise."

"Someone has to know something," Ronon insisted.

Rodney flinched when the gate activation alarm screeched again. He hurried to the DHD console and grinned when the IDC popped up on the screen.

"It's Teyla," Rodney announced.

"About damn time," Sheppard muttered. "Let 'em through."

Rodney complied and sent along the tone that her IDC would register as "all clear." Seconds later, Teyla and Woolsey, along with the two Marines, trudged through, shoulders bowed and new lines etched on their faces. Sheppard and Ronon clomped down the stairs to greet them with Rodney following at a more dignified pace.

"That bad?" Sheppard asked.

Woolsey heaved a sigh. "To think I used to relish day-long political debates," he said.

"It was most taxing," Teyla admitted with a weary shake of her head. "The Coalition representatives agree that everyone has needs, but no one is willing to help anyone else. They all claim to barely have enough food, water, and shelter to provide for their own people."

"A few asked to be allowed to live on Atlantis." Woolsey held up a hand when a manly squeak of protest bubbled out of Rodney. "I have no intention of allowing this city to become a refugee camp, but I do think we can…" He heaved another sigh. "You know what? I haven't had a hot shower in days. Let's schedule a debrief for some time tomorrow."

"I agree. However," Teyla paused and looked at Woolsey who nodded, "I have something I wish for you to consider, John."

Sheppard planted his hands on his hips and nodded. "Okay."

"The most voiced request was for defense. They wish to fight back when they are attacked."

Sheppard groaned in dismay. "Teyla, we're doing the best we can, but I can't have a team on every world all the time. I don't have that kind of manpower."

"I know," Teyla replied. "I'm not suggesting we provide soldiers. I think we should train these people to protect their homes and families."

"Like a militia?" Ronon asked.

Teyla nodded. "John, you said that in the other timeline, the one Rodney told you about, Ronon trained people to fight Michael. Can we not do the same? Teach them to fight for themselves?"

And that's when Rodney tuned out. More power to his teammates if they wanted to try to teach a bunch of farmers and ranchers how to shoot guns, but he had better things to do like keeping Atlantis running. He had seven critical experiments that desperately needed his attention, starting with making a hyperdrive conversion on the jumper that wouldn't blow up after a couple of flights. And he really had to finish—

"…McKay can teach them some science."

Rodney wheeled around to stare at Sheppard. "Wait, what? What did you say?"

Sheppard smirked at him, that irritating flash of a grin that was so insincere it made Rodney want to throw up. "I said you could teach science."

"Where?" Rodney's jaw dropped. "Oh, no no no. I am not teaching a bunch of prim…i…tive…" Very little intimidated Rodney McKay, PhD PhD like Teyla's death glare. He had forgotten not to say the 'p' word in her presence. "I mean ignorant…um, less educated? Less educated… What was I saying? Oh, yeah. What could I possibly teach those nice people?"

"I thought you were a genius, McKay." Sheppard rocked back on his heels, suddenly the laid-back nemesis Rodney was used to verbally sparring with. "I mean, MacGyver used to defeat the bad guys with a paper clip and a stick of gum. Are you telling me you can't come up with anything to help these folks defend themselves?"

"MacGyver was a TV show with questionable— You can't possibly expect—" Rodney spluttered to a stop. "Fine. I'll come up with something." He glowered as Sheppard laughed that donkey bray of his. "MacGyver? Really?"

"Aw, I loved that show," Sheppard said. "First guy I remember seeing prove that you could be cool and smart." He slapped Rodney on the back. "You should watch it, take notes."

"As if I would waste a single brain cell on that drivel."

"Snob."

"Slob."

"Gentlemen," Woolsey interrupted. "I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to continuing this. Tomorrow."

Rodney nodded and headed back to the control room to finish his work, pondering and discarding a hundred ideas about what to teach. MacGyver. Ha! He'd show Sheppard. By the time he was finished, the natives of Pegasus would be building rockets out of stone knives and bearskins.

xxx

John trudged into the conference room, coffee cup in one hand and data pad in the other. The first to arrive, he had his choice of seats, but took his standard – second seat on the right. Even after a year, he was occasionally startled by the table Woolsey had brought from Earth. John had liked the one they had. He could still picture Elizabeth leaning forward with her elbows propped on it. He shook the memories away. Maybe a new one wasn't such a bad idea.

"Didn't sleep much?" Ronon strolled in and plopped in the chair across from him.

John scratched the stubble on his chin and stifled a yawn. "Shows, huh?"

"Yep."

"Lorne and I went over the idea of a militia for hours last night."

Ronon slung an arm over the back of the chair. "Thought you were excited about it."

"I was until we got into the details."

"Good morning," Teyla greeted as she took the seat next to John. "It is a beautiful day."

John chuckled and sipped his coffee. "You're just glad to be home."

Teyla sighed happily. "You are correct. I have not been away from Torren for so long before."

"Bet you missed your bed, too." McKay strode in and sat across from her, next to Ronon. Keller followed, sitting on the other side of Ronon.

"Yes, I did." Teyla gave him a mischievous smile. "And my bantos rods. Perhaps you would like to spar today?"

McKay's eyes bulged. "Me? Um… I have so much to do. Projects and such. Plus Sheppard wants me to come up with some rudimentary…science…" He trailed off when Teyla started giggling. "Very funny."

"You might want to take her up on it, Rodney," John said. "If we're going to do this militia thing, you're going to participate with everyone else."

"But I thought—"

"Ah, good, you're all here." Woolsey sat down at the head of the table. "I trust you received the report I sent about the Coalition talks. Any questions?"

John leaned back in his chair. "You think using the alpha site to process refugees is the best use of our people and facilities?"

"I think it's better than setting up a secondary site." Woolsey adjusted his glasses. "Allowing refugees to come here is too big a security risk."

"Agreed," John replied.

"My intention is for the refugees to have a place to retreat to in the immediate aftermath of a culling or raid, not for them to stay there forever. We would need to work with other Coalition member worlds to determine who has room to take in refugees. The alpha site would simply be a way station, if you will. We'll treat any injuries, reunite families, and then help them relocate to a world that will take them."

"We're going to need more manpower," John warned.

"And more than one medic stationed there permanently," Keller added. "We'll need a doctor, a couple of nurses, preferably people with disaster training."

"We will also need someone there who can administrate. Someone they trust," Teyla said.

"Are you volunteering?" Woolsey asked.

Teyla smiled. "No. I have too many other duties that would prevent me from performing effectively in that role. Perhaps Shilee from Jenof or Kala from Cantos. Either would be an excellent administrator, and choosing someone not from Atlantis would be a way to foster goodwill among the other member worlds."

Woolsey nodded slowly. "Duly noted." He glanced up at Teyla. "I would like for you to head this up. Work with Colonel Sheppard and Doctor Keller to determine personnel needs. I'll inform the Council of our plans, and I'd like to meet with your nominees for administrator. We'll need to get together to discuss guidelines and such."

Teyla jotted a few notes on her data pad. "I will schedule a time to meet later."

"Thank you," Woolsey said. "Colonel, your thoughts on establishing a militia?"

John set his coffee cup on the table, keeping his fingers wrapped around it. "I like the overall concept, but I have a few concerns."

"I anticipated as much." Woolsey turned his chair to face John directly. "What are they?"

"It's been our policy to this point to not consciously arm our allies, with a few exceptions." John nodded at Teyla who inclined her head in return. "Are we abandoning that policy? Are we going to give automatic weapons to all the member worlds? What do we do when they are used to attack a neighboring village or another member world? What happens when they use the science McKay is going to teach them to build bombs?" He pushed out of his chair and paced to the back of the room. "We've done this before, on Earth. How many times have we chosen what we thought was the lesser of two evils and had it come back to bite us in the ass?"

"He's got a point," McKay said. "Once we train these folks and hand over weapons, we won't be able to control how they use them."

Woolsey rubbed his forehead. "I know. Many of our allies in the Milky Way made the same argument. They were unwilling to give advanced technology – which is what our weapons are – to a world that hadn't worked to achieve the knowledge itself. Were they right?" He sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe we would have used them for nefarious purposes, and maybe we wouldn't have. What I do know is that our fight against the Goa'uld would have been a lot shorter, and we would have lost fewer people if we'd had them."

"Isn't Atlantis considered advanced technology by Earth standards?" Ronon asked. "You didn't do anything to get it except walk through the gate and have the Ancestor gene."

"We did a little more than that," McKay protested.

"What I believe Ronon is trying to say," Teyla interjected, "is that you have been mostly responsible with the technology at your disposal, even that which you did not work for yourselves. Should other worlds not have the same opportunity?"

John gripped the back of the chair at the far end of the table. "I get that. I do. And I would love to give them that opportunity if I knew that I wouldn't be staring down the muzzle of one of our own guns one day."

McKay snorted. "That could happen here. Hell, it has happened here."

"True," John said, moving back to his seat. "Don't get me wrong. I want these people to be able to defend themselves against the Wraith and whoever else is out there. I take that 'life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness' mantra very seriously. But I'm not willing to hand out guns indiscriminately."

Teyla steepled her fingers and gazed at John over the top of them. "Why did you agree to give weapons to my people?"

John shot her a quizzical look. "Because I trust you."

"And you trust me because you know me."

"Yeah. Where is this going?"

"Perhaps what we need to do is train in stages," Teyla suggested. "Teach them how to defend with what they have, and in the process, get to know them. Only after you are comfortable with them would we give them advanced weaponry and teach them how to use it."

"Hmmm..." John leaned back, pondering her words. "I can live with training folks on their own weapons. However, I'm still not sold on arming them later. It would be a constant drain on our supply of guns and ammunition." He arched a brow at Woolsey. "I can't imagine how we could cover that in our budget."

"We can't," Woolsey said. "I have no idea where Colonel Carter found the funds to arm the Athosians."

"You know that old proverb 'Give a man a fish and you feed him for today; teach him to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.'?" Keller asked. "Ronon reported that someone is already reverse engineering the P-90s. Why not teach them how to do it right?"

"Because they'd still be running around Pegasus with automatic weapons," McKay replied. "Which is a bad thing if they decide to shoot at us."

"Then teach them to manufacture something else," Keller shot back.

McKay rolled his eyes. "Do you know how long that will take? Most of these worlds aren't advanced enough to make their own weapons much less be able to match our level of precision and quality."

"The Genii are," Ronon said.

"Most of their manufacturing facilities are underground, undisturbed by the culling," Teyla added. "But their population has been decimated so they would require help from other societies." She shook her head. "The Genii are a proud people, not easily given to accepting charity."

"It isn't charity if it's a joint operation." John turned to Woolsey. "Like a barter system – trade what you have for weapons. The Genii provide the facilities while the Coalition worlds provide the labor and materials. Can you sell that?"

Woolsey gave a slight smile. "By the time I'm done, they will think it was their idea."

"Are we sure we want the Genii involved?" McKay asked. "We don't have the best track record with them."

"I'll worry about keeping the Genii honest," John answered. "You worry about figuring out how to manufacture a gun we can all live with." He glanced at Ronon. "What kind of weaponry do our trainees have now?"

"Most have Genii shotguns." Ronon shrugged. "The Genii will sell to anyone."

"I think we still have one or two of those around here somewhere," John said. "I'll get in a little practice with it."

Rodney held up a finger. "Not to be negative, because, you know, that would be so unlike me, but where are we planning on holding this lovefest?"

xxx

They located a training site – a planet that had been abandoned by the survivors of a devastating culling. Atlantis teams repaired the village's structures and stocked them with items found on most of the Coalition member worlds. The first training session wasn't quite a complete disaster, but close. John was grazed when a rifle that hadn't been cleaned since the Ancients ascended misfired. Two participants fainted when Ronon leaped out at them during a tracking exercise. Teyla accidently broke one man's arm trying to dodge an errant bantos rod. But McKay took top honors when a lesson in combustibles went horribly awry. Fortunately everyone got out of the building before it exploded.

"Well, that was fun." McKay swiped at the soot on his face, managing to smear it over his nose. "Let's do that again real soon."

"Suck it up, Rodney," John replied with a dark glance. "I told you to be careful."

"How did I know Farmer Bob—"

"Buv."

"Whatever. I told him not to mix the liquids without my say so."

"You were supposed to be watching him." John grimaced as Keller swiped his arm with antiseptic and wrapped it with a bandage. "Thanks, Doc."

"No more stopping bullets with your arm." Keller arched a brow. "Or any other part of you."

"What about me?" McKay whined.

She sniffed delicately. "Take a shower."

"I could have smoke inhalation."

"You were too busy running to breathe any smoke." John hopped off the gurney and pulled McKay with him.

"I have a healthy sense of self-preservation."

"I noticed." They stepped inside the transporter and exited out at crew quarters. "Don't let them blow anything up next time," John said.

"Then don't give me so many people." McKay stopped in the middle of the hall. "I'm serious, John. We decided to limit the class to twelve, but I can't watch all of them at the same time. And Farmer Bob—"

"Buv."

"Yeah, yeah, him. He wasn't interested in learning anything except how to make the biggest bang." McKay stepped inside and looked back. "Someone like that is going to kill himself or someone else."

John wandered the corridors, letting McKay's statements bounce around in his head for a while. Buv wasn't the only one who hadn't paid much attention to what Rodney was teaching, and most of the ones who did had flinched away from the gunfire and had cowered in front of Ronon.

Before John realized it, his feet had led him to Teyla's suite. She answered the door with her head wrapped in a towel and water glistening on her neck.

"Sorry," John said. "Didn't mean to disturb you."

"You did not." Teyla gestured him in. "I have finished my shower and meditation. I was planning on a late dinner."

"Sounds good."

Teyla ran a comb through her hair and tied it back. "I am ready."

Once they were settled in the Mess, John said, "What did you think of today?"

"It was…a good start." Teyla took a bite of her sandwich. "And you?"

"Good wasn't really the word that came to mind."

"This is a process, John."

"I know that." He twirled spaghetti around his fork. "I'm thinking we may need to assess aptitude and interests first. Train people in what they're good at instead of teaching everybody everything."

"It would make the training easier," Teyla replied. "I was concerned for the safety of several students."

John huffed a laugh. "I was concerned for my safety."

"We should add weapons care to the list of subjects as well."

"Agreed. Let's get together with Ronon, Rodney, and Lorne tomorrow."

xxx

After a month of late-night planning sessions and constant revising, they finally devised a three-day course that taught the basics of individual and group defense, including Wraith tracking and trapping skills, hand-to-hand combat, target practice with Genii weaponry, and several different homemade bomb recipes.

"We've already had this conversation, McKay," John snapped as they hiked toward the village. "Everybody's doing drills, including you."

"I am a scientist, not a toy soldier. I don't need lessons in how to stand."

John closed his eyes and sighed. "It's not about learning how to stand. It's about doing uncomfortable things until they become comfortable – second nature – so when the bad guy is hunting you down, you know how to stand perfectly still, or how to assemble a gun by touch, or how to do a thousand other things. It's about discipline. They need to learn how to perform under stressful conditions."

McKay folded his arms over his chest. "I get plenty of practice at that with my day job, thank you."

John wheeled and leaned into Rodney's face. "You'll do what I tell you," he stated, glaring with his best hard-ass soldier expression.

McKay blinked and took a step back. "Okay."

John hid a smile as he spun around and marched toward the village. His Air Force drill sergeant had been a pansy compared to his mom's dad. Grandpa Miller had been a career Marine who'd served as a sniper in World War Two and Korea before being unleashed on newly commissioned officers as an instructor at Quantico. Other kids spent their summers goofing off at camp. John had spent his learning combat tactics, how to shoot, and how to evade capture behind enemy lines. Grandpa has stressed thinking outside the box over everything else, something he'd picked up from Grandma who'd ignored convention and her family's wishes to marry the man she loved even if he was below her station. Patrick Sheppard had blamed John's teen rebelliousness on too much exposure to an old man's eccentricities and had forbidden John from spending time with him, a command John blithely disobeyed. Good thing he did. More than one soldier and scientist owed their lives to the training John had received at Grandpa's knee.

"Stow your gear," John ordered when they reached the outskirts of the village. "Our folks should be here soon."

The town reminded John of a studio backlot for a western – wooden buildings attached to each other with a matching set across a dirt street. About five structures in, it made a ninety-degree left turn then a right turn a few shops later. The overall effect was a Jenga game gone wrong, but his men had done a good job making the buildings structurally sound and stocking them with Pegasus-only supplies.

John dropped his duffle in the building that would be his home for the next three days. It was cozy – small living area and kitchen downstairs and two sleeping rooms upstairs. Ronon would take the other bedroom, but since he never had bags, he had gone to map out his tracking course and set his traps.

While the town didn't have a square to speak of, it did have a large gathering area near what John assumed had been the town hall, based on the few discarded items the previous inhabitants had left behind. It was near the buildings Teyla and Rodney had selected for their classes and the shooting range John had asked to be constructed so it worked well as a parade ground for drills and calisthenics.

John stripped off his tac vest and overshirt, keeping his t-shirt and thigh holster. He debated about what to do with his P-90, but he couldn't work out with it on, and he didn't want to risk letting someone walk off with it. The weapons cache was secure, but not readily accessible, and didn't it suck that he felt naked without it.

He took a deep breath and stashed the gun in the oven, making a mental note to take it out before Ronon got ready to make dinner. Ronon was a terrible cook; the only people worse than him were John, Rodney and Teyla. John was secretly hoping one of their trainees would offer to make dinner tonight. He could use a good meal.

John stepped outside at five minutes until start time. Ronon and Teyla were chatting with a couple of students while Rodney rocked from one foot to the other as a short, stout woman bombarded him with questions. John did a quick headcount – eleven students of the twelve they had invited after extensive testing and two interviews.

"Good morning," John said. "I hope you came prepared to work hard because that's what we're going to do over the next three days. Today, we're starting with drills to get used to working as a unit, and I want to get something straight from the beginning. I'm not here to be your friend. I'm here to teach you how to defend your people and your homes. When I give an order—"

A gangly kid with acne dashed in. "Sorry."

John gave him a cold stare. "You're late."

The boy swallowed thickly. "Had trouble with the herd. We—"

"I'm not interested in excuses." Grandpa Miller's words came tumbling out of John's mouth. "If you can't be on time, then be early." John held the boy's gaze another moment, impressed when the boy flushed but didn't look away. "As I was saying, when I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed immediately. No questions. No arguing. It doesn't matter if you don't see the use of it. When I say do it, you do it. Understood?"

Heads bobbed in unison.

John straightened until his spine popped. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Ronon barked.

"Yes, sir!" the others shouted.

"Good," John said. "Now, fall in. Two lines. Spread out. Hold your arms out to the side. Your fingertips should brush your neighbors'."

The students scrambled into place, excited smiles creasing their faces. John stood at parade rest, keeping his face neutral, as they bumped and giggled and finally formed two wavy lines, six in front and six in back with Ronon and Teyla bookending the front line and McKay doing his best to hide behind Ronon in the back line.

John scanned the group, his gaze landing on a stocky older man. "Greesa, do you call that a straight line?"

Greesa's eyes widened then darted side to side. "Not really."

"You may address me as Colonel, and answer either yes sir or no sir," John corrected.

Greesa cleared his throat. "No, sir, Colonel."

"I wouldn't either, Greesa. I would call it sloppy, and I don't want sloppy. I want excellence in everything, including lines." John swept his gaze over them. "Straighten that line."

They shuffled until the lines were straight.

"Arms out!" John moved to the side and stared down the lines. "Holet, move up! Nanyo, back!" He circled around to the front. "Eyes forward! Chin up! Chest out! Don't look at me, Korev. I said eyes forward!"

John waited until every man and woman was standing at attention.

"When I tell you to fall in, this is the formation I want. No relaxing until I say." He paced slowly before them. "You have been chosen by your worlds and the Coalition Council to participate because you have shown aptitude in specific areas. Others will follow after you, and once we have trained a sufficient number, we will help you organize a militia on your planet which means you will need to practice what you learn here on a regular basis back home."

John stopped, waiting to see who would be the first to move. Minutes ticked by. He knew McKay had to be dying; the man had never been this still, including the times he was unconscious. Ronon and Teyla, on the other hand, did great tree impersonations. Finally, John caught a flicker of movement.

"Eyes front, Siwo!"

The woman's eyes locked on something in the distance.

"The next three days are going to be tough," John said. "We're here to train you, not coddle you. We don't care how you've done it in the past. You're going to do it our way. If that sounds too hard for you, leave now."

No one moved.

"Ronon, front and center." When Ronon was in place, John said, "Drop and give me twenty."

Ronon immediately flattened to the ground and started doing push-ups with ridiculous ease.

"These are called push-ups. Watch his form – elbows to the side, arms fully extended, back straight. Keeping your body in shape is a vital part of being able to effectively defend yourself. Some of you are already there, but some of you have a ways to go." John nodded. "Thank you, Ronon. Back in place. Now, I want all of you to drop and give me twenty. Ronon and Teyla will help you with your form."

They spent the next few hours on push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, and running. John made sure they were all well-hydrated and kept the pace slow enough to challenge the flabby but not kill them. By lunchtime, they were all wringing with sweat and everyone slumped to the ground in relief when John called a half-hour meal break.

"My back is never going to recover from this," McKay mumbled as he gingerly stretched out on the floor of the town hall, the building the team had chosen as their dining area.

"Exercise is good for you," John said around a mouthful of sandwich.

"That is a myth perpetuated by money-grubbing fitness instructors." McKay moaned as he rolled on his side to grab another bag of chips. "Please tell me we are moving on to something else."

John exchanged amused glances with Teyla who nudged a piece of fruit in Rodney's direction. "We're moving on to something else," John said. "Weapons care."

"Oh, dear God. How many times are we going to have to take a gun apart?" McKay eyed the fruit, a purple not-apple from Belsa. "No citrus, right?"

"It still has no citrus," Teyla assured him. "You've had nireesks many times."

McKay picked it up and sniffed it. "Can't be too careful." He took a bite. "Mmmm… I forgot. I like these."

Teyla smiled indulgently. "That is why I brought them."

"What did you bring me?" Ronon asked.

Teyla arched a brow at him. "What makes you think I brought something for you?"

Ronon grinned. "'Cause you always do."

"An error I will endeavor to correct," Teyla replied.

"Aw, come on." Ronon could rival McKay on whining when he really wanted to. "Don't be like that."

"Why did you not bring something for me?"

"I'll make you dinner tonight," Ronon promised.

John snorted. "You're making everyone dinner." He blinked innocently when Ronon shot him a dirty look. "What?"

Teyla laughed, a warm, full-throated laugh that had slowly returned after Michael's death. "I might have something in my bag for you," she told Ronon. "For breakfast."

Ronon bounced like a kid. "Cherry Pop-Tarts?"

"Cherry?" McKay sat up with a grimace. "I thought we were out of cherry."

Teyla smiled and went back to eating her sandwich.

"You've been hoarding them?" McKay looked at John. "That's not fair."

"Oh, and that mound of chocolate bars you have stashed in your dresser is?" John said.

McKay's jaw dropped. "Who told?"

"I know all, Rodney." John tucked the chocolate chip-oatmeal cookie that Teyla smuggled him into his pocket. "Now, finish your lunch. We've got guns to play with. And," he held a hand up, "before you ask again, you're going to do it until you can take that gun apart in your sleep."

John headed to the weapons cache and removed a selection of Pegasus guns – a Genii handgun and shotgun, a Satedan rifle, and a pistol of unknown origin that seemed to very popular on the seedier worlds. He snagged a cleaning kit and gauge rods of varying lengths, and went back outside where Ronon had everyone seated.

John ran an eye over the weapons the class had. Most were Genii, but a couple were unfamiliar to him. He sat down and spread the guns he'd brought on the ground.

"Some of you may already know how to care for your weapons, but follow along anyway. You may learn something new." John picked up the rifle. "Let's be clear – these are not toys. They are deadly weapons used to kill. On a good day, you'll hunt down something nice for dinner. On a bad day, you'll kill another human being."

"On a really good day, you'll kill a Wraith," Ronon added. Several heads nodded in agreement.

"You need to be intimately familiar with your weapon – how it works, why it works, what it looks like in good condition and how to keep it that way. A gun with rust or contaminants can misfire which in certain circumstances means you end up dead." John nodded at Teyla and Ronon who stood. "First, make sure the weapon is unloaded."

Ronon and Teyla circled the group, making sure each student obeyed John's instructions to the letter. McKay looked bored, but he followed along without comment.

"Next, wipe down the gun with the cloth provided, and then clean the barrel with the gauge rod and cleaner Teyla is handing out." He waited as the students shared the rods, pleased at the care each one took in examining and cleaning the weapon. "Once you're done with that, rub a bit of gun oil on it and then inspect it again for anything that didn't get clean."

John talked gun safety for a few minutes while they finished, and then they moved on to assembling and disassembling the weapons. Four hours later, he was satisfied enough with their progress that he called it a day.

Ronon and two others hunted down and roasted a makleb, a deer-like animal that was as tough as it was tasty. A nice selection of vegetables brought by another student rounded out a fine meal. When night fell, John took first watch, and the entire group was snoring peacefully before he'd completed his first circuit of the village.

The next morning, Teyla doled out cherry Pop-Tarts to everyone, causing Ronon to pout and McKay to gloat until he had to share his coffee.

"Seriously, Sheppard, how can you even ask? Do you realize that the suns aren't even up yet?"

John ignored him, slurping the coffee on his way to the makeshift parade ground where the students were attempting to imitate the stretches Teyla was showing them. He would find it comical if he hadn't spent hours trying to do the same thing and failing just as miserably as they were. Teyla was a cat in a world of elephants.

"Fall in," John ordered, not bothering to raise his voice. Experience had taught him that all shouting accomplished was straining his vocal cords. Either his people would pay attention when he approached or they would do push-ups until their arms gave out.

Fortunately, most of the students heard him and the rest hurried to place when they saw the first group move. They exercised for about an hour, including holding steady in a crouch until they collapsed – except for Ronon who could outlast John.

"Work on that when you get home," John instructed. "As you can imagine, making noise while hiding from the enemy can be a fatal mistake. You should be able to hold that position for at least half an hour." He checked his watch. "Break time. Get plenty of water and grab your weapons."

While everyone obeyed his orders, John did a last check on the shooting range. After three hours of target practice in which nobody shot anyone else and almost everyone hit the paper target at least six times, they broke up into groups. Rodney practically sprinted away to his work area, his three students scuttling after him. Ronon looked entirely too eager as he led his three to the forest to run the gauntlet of Wraith traps he'd set while Teyla merely inclined her head at John and walked serenely to her gym. Her students looked relieved. John almost felt sorry for them.

He turned to face the three left: Redrec – a quiet man with a narrow, serious face and eyes that missed nothing, Modad – a bundle of energy who kept her head shaved except for the red topknot that reached to her collar, and Gartax, a bear of a man who didn't speak much and smiled even less.

"You are here," John began, "because you are considered leaders on your worlds. Your people listen to you, follow your advice, look to you when trouble arises. We chose your worlds – Karika, Lodeb, and Jephtha – for this training session because of the abilities you and your fellow students showed during testing. Four people from each world are here to learn as much as we can teach in three days. McKay will teach his students some chemical combinations guaranteed to make kill anyone in a hundred foot radius. Ronon is teaching your folks how to track and trap the Wraith and anyone else who bothers you. Teyla's students are learning hand-to-hand combat. You are going to learn how to take those people and their unique knowledge and work together to protect your homes and families. We will spend the rest of today talking tactics, and tomorrow you'll get with your people and work on combining what you've learned to come up with a defensive strategy for your villages. Any questions?"

Redrec lifted a hand. "I know that the Council chose those who scored highest, but two of my people have a longstanding feud. They aren't going to want to work together."

"It's not a matter of want to. They have to, and it's your job to make sure they do." John stood. "Walk with me." He led them to the street and began to stroll down it. "You have a common goal, and you have to get them to see that. This world," he waved an arm at the empty buildings, "used to be a thriving community according to Teyla. Several thousand people lived here." He stopped and turned to them. "And several thousand died here or were culled. I know I don't have to tell you about the threat the Wraith pose, and in theory you shouldn't have to point it out to your people, but do it if you have to. We will train others from your world eventually, but for now, you are it. If you don't work together, you could lose everything."

"You make it sound easy," Gartax remarked.

John chuckled. "Trust me, I know exactly how hard it is."

xxx

After three months of weekly training session, Rodney was done. The participants were happy; the last two raider attacks had been foiled by fancy shooting and a couple of McKay's special-potion bombs. The Coalition was pleased; Woolsey was ecstatic. Rodney was exhausted and cranky. The cots hurt his back. His coffee was instant. He missed his bathtub, his highly modified laptop, and automatic doors.

Sheppard agreed to hand off the training to lesser teams, and life returned to normal until Lorne reported back that a few of the participants were requesting advanced instruction. After a few lengthy discussions in which Rodney repeatedly voiced his strong opposition, Sheppard agreed to a trial run. They limited the advanced class to only those recommended by Lorne or one of the other trainers.

To Rodney's total amazement, he enjoyed the class. His three students had less knowledge about chemistry and physics than most high school kids, but they had an innate grasp of the concepts and they actually wanted to listen. To him. He was disappointed when the session ended.

The team fell into a rhythm and after a few months, they had regulars returning for more and more advanced training. While Rodney would rather have his fingernails ripped off than admit it, he liked teaching. Always had. His problem had been patience. He was a TA while he was working on his PhDs, and very few students survived his classes. Most of them had learned poor science or poor habits in their high school and undergraduate programs, and he simply didn't have the capacity to wait as they unlearned.

But these folks, these farmers and shopkeepers and blacksmiths, came to him as blank slates, ready to soak in what he had to offer. No preconceptions, no "Doctor Tully taught me to do it this way," no illusions of grandeur. They wanted to learn in order to protect their homes and families. When one of them finally understood a particularly complex idea, Rodney puffed up with a pride he'd never experienced before – a pride in someone else.

It was an amazing feeling.

So, every six weeks, Rodney packed an overnight bag, replete with coffee pot and his favorite roast, and headed to The Compound, and seriously, Sheppard should be banned from naming anything again. Ever.

Of course, Rodney put up a token protest just to keep Sheppard on his toes. Couldn't let the man get too comfortable or he might forget how valuable Rodney was.

"How long does it take to tie your shoes, McKay?" Sheppard, fully kitted out, lounged in the doorway of the ready room. "We're waiting."

Rodney, who'd had to tie and retie his boots eight times before Sheppard came looking for him, merely shrugged and bit his lip, putting on his 'I'm completely focused' face as he precisely double-knotted the laces. "Can't be too careful. I wouldn't want to trip and fall." He drew out the last word and glanced meaningfully at Sheppard who flushed.

"One time in the middle of the night five years ago." Sheppard arched a brow. "And I believe I was trying to help someone who'd gotten lost after leaving his lab."

Rodney had forgotten that part, but still, he never got tired of winding Sheppard up. "It's not my fault you can't read a map."

Sheppard gave him a flat look. "It took me and Zelenka an hour to find you because you couldn't remember which building you were in, and all I got for my trouble was a sprained ankle." He pushed off the wall. "Now, let's go."

Rodney swallowed a grin and squawked indignantly when Sheppard jerked him to his feet. "Hey! I bruise easy."

Sheppard muttered something dire under his breath that Rodney decided to ignore as they walked into the gateroom where Ronon and Teyla were waiting. At Sheppard's signal, Chuck dialed the gate and minutes later the team was stepping into the early morning sunlight of a brisk spring day.

Teyla breathed deeply, a warm smile spreading across her face as she took in the blanket of pink wildflowers that stretched from the gate to the nearby copse of trees covered in white blossoms. "It is beautiful here."

"Are you kidding? My sinuses are already clogging," Rodney replied while he dug through his vest for his antihistamines. "I still think we should've brought the jumper."

Ronon slapped him on the back and pushed him forward onto the path that led through the pollen-laden meadow and forest to the village ahead. "Walking won't kill you."

"Says you." Rodney checked for life signs while his teammates surrounded him and scanned the perimeter. "We're clear."

The trip wasn't really so bad nor was the walk very long – about ten minutes. It was the principal of the matter.

"What if it had been raining?" Rodney demanded. "What if I step in a hole and twist my ankle? Any number of things could happen between here and the village. We should always use the jumpers if we can. That's why the Ancients made them."

"The Ancients made them for space travel, not so you could get out of walking a half-mile," Sheppard shot back.

"What do you think you will catch for dinner tonight, Ronon?" Teyla asked loudly. Really loudly.

"Depends on if we find anything," Ronon answered. "Last time all the game got scared away by the explosions."

"Don't blame me." Sheppard tucked his sunglasses in a pocket when they reached the edge of the forest. "I told you we were practicing with the grenade launchers the Genii provided."

"But not this time, right?" Ronon asked.

"This time we're working on tactical assaults."

"My group is practicing our knife work," Teyla said.

"We're doing a refresher on Molotov cocktails first, and then we're covering smoke screens, and don't you look at me like that," Rodney snapped when Ronon glared at him. "I detailed it in the itinerary. Besides, it's not until tomorrow. Today, Sheppard's making us combine with his group to do firearms training and calisthenics."

Rodney grimaced, the idea of calisthenics leaving a sour taste in his mouth. His body hurt for days after. He'd offered to drill his people the way Ronon and Teyla did, but even Teyla had laughed at that.

"Suck it up, McKay," Sheppard said as they entered the village. "Okay, kids. You've got an hour before everyone is scheduled to arrive. Make sure you have what you need. We'll meet back here in forty-five minutes."

Ronon dashed toward the hills on the far side of the village while Teyla moved to the building they had remodeled into a gym. Sheppard checked their cache of weapons, and Rodney headed to his work area – the town saloon. His teammates had snickered when he called dibs on it, but where else would you find large amounts of flammable liquid? Getting to sample liquors from various worlds was just a fringe benefit.

So far, the fire ale from Renos was his favorite.

Rodney shrugged off his vest and pack, did a quick tally on the bottles – nothing new from any of the recent basic trainees, nothing left anyway – and set up his supplies. They would have to be frugal with the sugar, but they had plenty of cloth and enough paraffin to soak it in. Rodney reset the room to the junked-out state of most pubs in Pegasus, at least the ones he'd been to, and then he headed outside for last minute details before the trainees arrived.

"Status?" Sheppard asked.

"No sign of anyone being here since the last team left," Ronon reported. "All the markers are still in place."

"I have not seen anything amiss, either," Teyla said. "My room is set for the instruction period after which we will move outside to simulate real combat."

"It seems your Marines left a few bottles behind so as soon as you're done torturing us, we'll be ready to do something useful," Rodney said.

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "I hardly think that learning a bit of discipline counts as torture."

"As long as your people aren't too tired, Sheppard," Ronon said. "My guys will be ready for you."

Sheppard gave a slight smile – the scary, deceptive one the bad guys always mistook for compliance but which really meant he was plotting something heinous. Rodney was thankful to be working inside for the next couple of days. Ronon's team would spend today setting traps which Sheppard's team would try to avoid as they hunted each other over the following two days. Sheppard and Ronon called it training. Rodney called it an accident waiting to happen – a testosterone fest that usually ended in broken bones.

The trainees filtered in, men and women from several different worlds, but all of whom had shown great promise in previous sessions. This would be the most advanced course yet. Rodney spotted his protégés – two women from Sarlor and a man from some unpronounceable world with lots of consonants and no vowels. Ronon's three greeted Sheppard, Rodney and Teyla then bounded away with their fearless leader, grinning maniacally. Teyla's class bowed respectfully and followed her to the gym. The remaining six chattered brightly until Sheppard wheeled with his drill sergeant face on.

Rodney hadn't known Drill Sergeant Sheppard even existed until the first time they'd held a training session. Casual, goofy John Sheppard disappeared completely when the drill sergeant emerged. Sheppard had explained about how drills formed good habits which would help them perform under stressful conditions, blah blah blah. Rodney didn't give a flying flip about any of that. He only cared about not getting dead.

He had heard, from Marines of course, that the Air Force was the softest, cushiest of the military branches. Rodney was fairly certain none of those Marines had met Drill Sergeant Sheppard because, damn. Sheppard didn't shout, didn't have to. He had a cold, quiet voice combined with flat eyes and a rock-hard face that put the fear of God in anybody who saw him.

Those eyes guest-starred in Rodney's worst nightmares. He fervently hoped to never see them turned on him in real life. He forgot sometimes how lethal Sheppard could be. Ronon's every move proclaimed his skills, and Teyla carried herself in a way that left no doubt about her ability to do severe harm, but Sheppard masked his dangerous side under a slouch and a cocky smile.

"Form up," Sheppard ordered.

The group silenced instantly and fell in. Rodney lined up with them because it was the leaderly thing to do. And because Sheppard had threatened to hold his coffee hostage. After a gazillion push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks, Rodney was sucking air and dripping with sweat. Sheppard, the bastard, looked like he'd been for a stroll in the park. Their students ranged somewhere in between.

"Now that we're warmed up, time for a run," Sheppard announced.

Rodney bit his lip to keep from groaning out loud. Coffee, he reminded himself as he took the six and damn Sheppard for getting him to think in military terms. Sheppard led them toward the abandoned fields on the east side of the village, away from the gate to the south and the forest to the north where Ronon was. By the time the run ended, Teyla would have her people in the hills to the west of the village.

Sheppard called a soft cadence, setting a challenging but not overwhelming pace. Rodney detested running with every ounce of his being, but years of being chased by the Wraith had shown him the wisdom of it. He'd finally broken down and asked Ronon how he'd learned to run for so long without dying. Ronon had stared at him like he'd grown another head and then told him to think about something other than his body.

Which was insane because his body was screaming in agony as they pounded down an animal trail then through rows of corn-like stalks. But Rodney tried anyway, conjuring up the equations for his jumper hyperdrive as Sheppard's cadence droned on the edge of his consciousness like a metronome from his piano lesson days. Before he knew it, they were back in the middle of the village, and Sheppard was grinning at him. Suddenly Rodney's legs turned to noodles and he sank gratefully to the ground and chugged half his canteen in one gulp.

"Ten minute break," Sheppard announced. "Get hydrated and stretch while I get the weapons. McKay, with me."

Rodney glared as he climbed to his feet, but remembered not to whimper in front of the class. He hobbled along first to Sheppard's house to get his vest and P-90 and then to the general store where they kept the weapons stored in the back basement.

Sheppard froze, his right hand settling on his sidearm as he slowly scanned the room.

"What's wrong?" Rodney whispered.

"Someone's been messing with the lock." Sheppard knelt by the Ancient device and trailed his fingers over the obvious tool marks. "Life signs?"

Rodney reached for it, patting his chest in panic. "I left it in my vest."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes then gave a sharp nod, curling his hands around his P-90. "Let's go get it."

"Shouldn't we, uh…" Rodney jerked his head toward the cache of weapons.

"Don't know what they did, but it won't open." Sheppard toggled his radio. "Ronon, Teyla, report back to The Compound immediately." He paused. "Ronon, Teyla, do you copy?"

Rodney cupped a hand over his earpiece, but all he heard was static. Then he listened closer, frowning as a weird harmonic hummed. "We're being jammed."

Sheppard's brows shot up. "That's new. Okay," he blew out a breath, "Ronon and Teyla know what to do if they can't reach us at check in which is in…thirty minutes." He lifted his P-90 to his shoulder and turned toward the front of the store. "Life signs detector first. I need to know if there is a threat."

Rodney nodded and followed him to the door. The saloon was down the street and around the corner, over a hundred meters away. Sheppard slipped out in a half-crouch, head swiveling as his eyes scoured the hard-packed dirt road and the wooden sidewalk that separated it from the empty shops and homes. Rodney reminded himself to breathe and to not crowd Sheppard as they crept to the edge of the store and scampered across the alley to the next series of buildings.

Sheppard slid along the wall, peeked in the door, and continued on. Rodney tiptoed after him, heart in his throat and sweat dripping in his eyes, clutching his handgun until his knuckles turned white. He could defuse a bomb without blinking and had faced more life-or-death decisions than he could count, but playing soldier was still way out of his comfort zone. He never could figure out how Sheppard handled it so effortlessly, though he suspected that Sheppard actually just hid it better, at least while awake. Overnight missions and infirmary stays had a way of evening things out.

When they reached the end of the block, Sheppard held up a fist. Rodney stopped, hugging the wall. Sheppard inched forward and poked his head around the corner. After a second, he waved Rodney forward. They needed to go halfway down then cross the street.

Rodney dashed to Sheppard's side and peered around him. "Anything?"

Sheppard's eyes were in constant motion. "Haven't spotted them yet, but I can feel them." He repositioned his P-90 and glanced back at Rodney. "Stay here."

Rodney gulped and nodded. Sheppard moved forward with ninja stealth, rolling silently heel-to-toe and showcasing a side of himself that Rodney knew little about. After that original meeting in Antarctica, Rodney had helped himself to Sheppard's official record, the one with large gaps that screamed Special Ops. He would have dug deeper, but Sam had "suggested" that he stop, mentioning that worse things than Siberia existed. Rodney's voracious curiosity wasn't satisfied, but his sense of self-preservation overrode it, and in the intervening years, Sheppard's actions had proved Rodney's suspicions. None of the ordinary Air Force personnel Rodney had met could touch Sheppard's abilities as a sniper or pilot, not to mention his crazy-assed out-of-the-box ideas that shouldn't work but usually did, managing to save their lives and Atlantis on countless occasions.

Sheppard halted mid-stride and slowly scanned the street. Rodney did the same, stretching his senses and briefly wondering how soldiers functioned without life signs detectors because he couldn't find anything out of the ordinary, yet the coiled tension in Sheppard's body meant his spidey sense was going nuts.

The first gunshot echoed so loudly in the barren streets that Rodney had no idea where it came from. Sheppard's right leg folded and his body jerked as another bullet slammed into him. He hit the ground, rolled into the street, and came up firing into the saloon. Dirt flew as bullets peppered the road around him.

"Get down!" Sheppard screamed.

Rodney blinked at him then flinched as wood splintered near his head. He dropped to his stomach and crabbed forward like Sheppard had taught him. "John!"

"Take cover right now, McKay!" Sheppard ripped the magazine from his weapon and shoved in another.

"What about you?"

"Now, Rodney!"

Sheppard pushed up on his good knee and sprayed ammo into the saloon and surrounding buildings. Movement caught Rodney's eye as a figure emerged from a shop three doors down on Sheppard's blind side. Training and muscle memory took over; seconds later Rodney's gun ejected the last shell and the bad guy was lying in a heap on the sidewalk. Sheppard cut down two others who had darted into the street from somewhere behind Rodney, fake P-90s still clutched in their hands.

Rodney jammed his gun back in the holster, wishing again for his vest. A muffled cry sounded from the saloon and a man stumbled out, a warped P-90 sliding from his hands. Sheppard tossed his spent P-90 to the ground and reached for his sidearm. The man launched himself at Sheppard who ducked and rolled, smashing his elbow into the guy's nose. The man staggered back then roared and slammed his fist into Sheppard's upper left arm. Sheppard blanched and grunted. Rodney swore he saw tears but it could have been sweat streaming down his face. Sheppard threw himself against the man, and they grappled, a flurry of fists and knees and elbows.

The man planted a boot in Sheppard's mid-section. Sheppard doubled over, clutching at his ribs. The man stepped forward with a grin which must have been what Sheppard wanted because he twisted on his side and lashed out with his good leg, sweeping the man off his feet. The man landed hard on his back, and Sheppard paused to suck in a breath so painful and loud Rodney heard it from his spot on the sidewalk.

Then Sheppard's knife flashed. Rodney thought it was over until the man countered with a blade of his own. Sheppard was up on one knee, his bad leg splayed to his right. The other man had size and mobility on his side. Where the hell was Ronon?

The man swiveled, knife arcing toward Sheppard's chest. Rodney wanted to scream a warning, but the words caught in his throat. They weren't necessary anyway. Sheppard dropped to his stomach and rolled, burying his knife in the man's thigh then ripping it out.

Blood squirted. Sheppard scrambled away as the guy staggered forward, dropped his knife and sagged to his knees with his hands pressed to the wound. A minute ticked by, then another. The blood pool grew. Finally, the guy slumped to the ground face down and stopped moving.

Sheppard sat back, chest heaving as he gasped for air. A gunshot popped. Sheppard arched, reaching for his neck, and then his entire body convulsed. He crumpled to the ground, arms and legs rigid. Rodney stared in horror as dirt kicked up around Sheppard. He had no way to return fire, nothing to use to protect Sheppard or himself.

Rodney's eyes locked on Sheppard's still-holstered handgun. Even as his body coiled and he leaped into the street, his mind taunted him with all the horrible ways he was going to die. Rodney covered Sheppard's body with his own, sure that he could locate the gun easier if he had his eyes open but his eyes wouldn't cooperate. A bullet whizzed past his ear and another spit dirt in his face. All Rodney could do was curl tighter around Sheppard.

Something whined and crackled.

The shooting stopped.

Rodney held his breath.

"McKay!" Ronon shouted.

Rodney opened one eye to the most beautiful sight in the world – Ronon running full out for him with that fantastic blaster in hand. He was really going to have to figure out how to reverse engineer a few.

Ronon slid to a stop beside him. "You all right?"

Rodney blinked at him then jerked up. "Oh, my God. Sheppard!"

Sheppard lay limp on the ground, blood pooling beneath his head and right shoulder from the gash in his neck, a stark contrast to his translucent skin. His left arm and right leg were also soaked in blood. Footsteps pounded around them, and Rodney flinched as someone else dropped next to them.

"The area is clear, Doctor," one of his trainees said. "Teyla has contacted Atlantis."

Rodney stared, trying to process the words.

"We got all the bad guys, McKay," Ronon interpreted. "Help's coming. How's Sheppard?"

Rodney reached for Sheppard's neck then pulled his hand back. "I… I don't…"

Ronon laid one hand on Rodney's shoulder and the other on Sheppard's chest. "He's breathing," Ronon said. "You did good."

Rodney nodded, keeping his eyes glued to the slight rise and fall of Sheppard's chest. Fast, too fast, he thought. "Where is the med team?" he shouted.

"Here!" Two medics skidded to a stop next to them. "You need to move, sir."

Rodney started to argue until Ronon grabbed his collar and pulled him away.

"Let 'em work, McKay."

Rodney jerked out of his grasp, clenching and unclenching his fists as he paced. His mouth was filled with the bitter taste of adrenaline, and he was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn't do something. As he wheeled to reverse direction, he glimpsed the bullet-riddled doors of the saloon. Almost without thinking, he dashed inside, kicking aside shattered tables and chairs as he frantically searched for his vest and pack.

"What are you doing, Rodney?" Teyla asked from the doorway.

"I left it behind," Rodney answered, digging through a mound of shattered glass. "If I'd had it, we would have known where to look, and Sheppard wouldn't be hurt."

Teyla knelt next to him. "What are you looking for?"

"My vest. The life signs detector is in it. If I'd had it, everything would be okay."

"Rodney, stop." Teyla held his wrists in an iron grip. "Your hands."

She twisted his hands until his palms were face up. Bits of glass protruded from his fingertips.

Rodney stared at his hands, feeling numb.

"Listen to me," Teyla said. "What happened was not your fault. Having a life signs detector is not a guarantee that no one will be hurt." She surveyed the room then stood and moved to the corner to pick up his vest and pack. "The medics have stabilized John. It is time to return home."

Rodney nodded mutely and followed her out.

xxx

The infirmary was a beehive of activity by the time Rodney got there. Jennifer was shouting orders. Nurses rushed in with bags of saline and plasma, and one day Rodney would take the time to ponder how sad it was that he actually knew what they were doing. Gauze and swabs flew, and then the whole group dashed away, leaving the triage area looking like a bomb had gone off. Orderlies swooped in to clean up.

One of the med techs, Marie Something, was slowly plucking the glass from Rodney's hands, but he couldn't summon enough energy to bark at her when she swiped stinging antiseptic over the cuts. After she put band-aids on his fingers, he slid off the gurney and slumped on the sofa between Ronon and Teyla.

Rodney had lost count of the hours they'd spent like this, waiting for word on whether a teammate would live. It had been all of them at one point, but he was pretty sure that if he did some number crunching, Sheppard would lead them in life-threatening injuries.

After a couple of hours, Jennifer emerged from the operating suite. "He's going to be fine," she announced.

Rodney pushed upright, blinking blearily. "Are you sure? He was bleeding a lot, and there were seizures and everything."

"Seizures are a typical response to getting shot in the neck. It was a flesh wound that will heal a lot quicker than the broken leg. Don't ask me how, but that bullet missed the artery yet managed to snap his femur in half. He will need extensive physical therapy. The wound to his arm was a through-and-through that didn't hit anything major. He should have full use of it in a couple of weeks."

"May we see him?" Teyla asked.

"He's in recovery." Jennifer smiled tiredly. "But you can peek in for a second. Then I want all of you to grab a bite to eat and get some rest. Colonel Sheppard isn't going anywhere."

She led them to recovery and pulled back the curtain. Sheppard was hooked up to a host of machines and had bandages wrapped around his neck, leg and arm. Tubes ran from under the sheet to a variety of suspended bags. A nasal cannula was taped to Sheppard's face and oxygen hissed lightly through it. Rodney ran a practiced eye over the monitors, grimacing at the low blood pressure but happy to see a normal temperature and pulse-ox.

"Okay," Jennifer said. "Time for you guys to take care of yourselves for a while." She herded them out to the waiting room. "Eat and rest. I mean it."

After she disappeared into recovery, Ronon took a seat and folded his arms over his chest. "Didn't say we had to all do it at the same time."

"No, she did not," Teyla replied with a smile. "I will relieve you in two hours."

Rodney followed her out, thinking of heading to the Mess until he glanced down at his blood-stained clothing. He did a quick about-face, went straight to his quarters, and ripped off his uniform. The first time he'd come home covered in a teammate's blood, he'd tossed his clothes in the incinerator. He'd quickly run out of uniforms. Thankfully, the laundry had an amazing ability to remove even the worst blood stains. Rodney dropped his uniform in the specially marked bag then hopped in the shower and scrubbed until his skin was raw.

After donning fresh clothes, Rodney dropped the bag off at laundry on his way to get some food. He grabbed two sandwiches, a bag of chips, an apple, and a cup of coffee, and then went back to snag a third sandwich. He carried his carefully balanced haul to the transporter, selected his destination with an elbow, and arrived in the infirmary as Sheppard was being wheeled into the stable patient unit. Rodney waited until the medical staff had Sheppard ensconced in the far bay, and then he spread his meal on the tray table and pulled up a chair.

"What'd you bring me?" Ronon asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Rodney passed him a sandwich. "The rest is mine."

Ronon snorted and gave Rodney's head a light shove then dragged another chair over and plopped down. "Thanks."

A minute later, Teyla arrived with a sandwich and a couple bottles of water, handing one of them to Ronon. "Once you are finished, you should follow Doctor Keller's advice," she said.

"I'm good."

Teyla arched a brow. "A shower would be a wise choice."

"Oh." Ronon crammed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and inhaled the water. "Let me know when he wakes up."

"Do not worry." Teyla patted his arm. "I will call you at the slightest change."

Rodney downed his food while keeping an ear on the monitors and an eye on Sheppard. His color had improved from waxy skeleton white to barely alive pink, and his blood pressure had risen to the almost normal range. The adrenaline that had been fueling Rodney had dissipated, and not even the coffee could prevent the crash he knew was coming.

"You should rest," Teyla murmured.

"I will when he wakes up," Rodney replied.

Rodney sipped the coffee slowly while Teyla nibbled on her sandwich. He should probably ask about the condition of his students and about who was following up on the bad guys, but he decided that was someone else's problem. One of the odd things about working with other control freaks was that he'd become comfortable with the idea of letting other people handle certain situations, and he knew without asking that Lorne or Woolsey or someone was taking care of all those details.

The heart monitor sped up a bit, pulling Rodney from his haze. He leaned forward and squeezed Sheppard's good arm. "Wake up, Sheppard."

Sheppard moaned, his eyes rolling underneath his lids.

Teyla moved to the other side of the bed to press the call button, and then she cupped Sheppard's face in her hands. "John, open your eyes."

Sheppard's breath hitched and he shivered.

Rodney tapped Sheppard's forehead. "You in there?"

Sheppard's face twitched, and his lids parted slightly. "McKay?"

"Who were you expecting?"

Sheppard blinked, trying to focus on Rodney. "You okay?"

"No. I was almost hit by bullets today. Bullets." Rodney waved his fingers at Sheppard. "And I got cut by glass."

Sheppard huffed lightly. "You're fine." He turned his head to the left. "Hey, Teyla."

"Hello, John. How are you feeling?"

"Mmmm… Like I'm on drugs."

Rodney sagged back in his chair as relief replaced the last of his adrenaline. When Sheppard's slurred voice mumbled to a stop and Teyla whispered a wish for pleasant dreams, Rodney let himself drift off to sleep.

xxx

"I am not your personal taxi service, Sheppard." McKay wheeled the chair to the balcony and put on the brake. "I have work to do, you know."

John tilted his face toward the sun, eyes closed and smiling contentedly. "You always have work to do. Live a little."

"Live a… I've been hauling you around for over a week. How does that constitute 'living?'"

"Well, you're alive, aren't you?"

"Oh, ha. You slay me with your superior wit." McKay leaned against the railing and crossed his arms. "Did Lorne talk to you?"

"Yeah. The intel the prisoners gave is solid. We're hitting their base tomorrow."

"Think it will stop them?"

John shrugged. "It will slow them down, at least. According to the intel, this is a massive operation. We may not get them all."

"Any idea why they're destroying the villages?"

"They were trying to get us to spread ourselves too thin, hoping we'd send teams to all the member worlds. Thought Atlantis would be easy to take with most of our military gone."

"Unbelievable." Rodney shook his head. "No respect for scientists at all."

John grinned at him. "I'm sure they came up with that plan just to piss you off."

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," McKay groused, and then flicked a glance over John. "What's the word from medical?"

"Keller says I'm healing fine even if I'm still stopping bullets with my body, but," John waved at his heavily casted leg with the arm not in a sling, "I'll be stuck in this chair for another month."

"You're awfully damn cheerful about that." McKay narrowed his eyes. "What're you hiding? Are you dying? Am I? What—"

"Nobody's dying, McKay. But due to my injured condition, I will be unable to attend the Coalition meeting with Teyla next week." John's grin widened. "Isn't that too bad?"

"How awful for you," Rodney said. "Though I'm not sure being confined to a wheelchair for six weeks is worth missing that meeting."

"I'm happy to hear that because you're going instead."

"Oh, oh no." McKay held up his hands and backed away. "I suck at half-hour staff meetings. No way I'll survive three days of political bullshit." He frowned when John's shoulders started to shake. "You're messing with me?"

John gave up trying to stifle the laughter, roaring at McKay's outraged expression. "You can be so gullible."

"A man dependent on someone to help him get around really shouldn't mistreat that someone."

"Ronon will help me."

"Ronon isn't here. He's off taming the wilds with his newest class of trainees. And Teyla is on New Athos." McKay gave John a smug smile. "I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"Your apology."

"Keep waiting." John smirked and rolled the chair straight to the door using the Ancient doodad Radek had found.

"How'd you do that?"

The door slid open and John continued inside.

Rodney chased after him. "Seriously, how'd you do that?"

"The Ancients invented jumpers and stargates. You think they couldn't figure out wheelchairs?"

"These are from Earth." McKay gaped at him. "Zelenka hooked you up, didn't he? That disloyal, ungrateful, sorry excuse for a scientist. He's going to be running diagnostics for a month. I can't believe… Wait a minute. You've had me carting you all over creation while you've been able to get around on your own?"

John spun gracefully and backed into the transporter, waggling his brows as the map lit without being touched.

"I'm going to remember this the next time you need a minor miracle to save the universe!"

John gave McKay a mock salute as the doors shut in his face. Radek had definitely earned that bottle of vodka. Now, if John could just convince him to finish that light saber…

Written for the sheppard hc secret santa exchange for t'pring who wanted soldier!Shep. As always, thanks to my beta, kristen999, for all her help. Virtual chocolates to anyone who spots my nod at my favorite ep of ST:TOS.