Ask

The great thing about the doors at the SGC was that they could be slammed. Hard.

"Feel better now?" McKay asked.

"No." John yanked the office door open and slammed it again. "Stupid goddamn bureaucrats!"

McKay folded his arms and arched a brow. "What were you expecting?"

John sighed as he flopped in his chair and stared at the ceiling in disgust. "I don't know… Maybe that they'd listen to reason for once."

"Reason and bureaucrat should never go in the same sentence."

"True, but…" John sat up and braced his forearms on the desk. "There has to be a way to make them listen. Atlantis belongs in Pegasus."

McKay pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against and dropped in a chair across from John. "I know that. You know that. Carter and O'Neill and Woolsey know that. Hell, everybody here knows that except those IOA pricks."

Rage bubbled up in John again. "'Take it under advisement' my ass. They are going to sit in there and piss around to pass time for appearances sake, and then they'll announce that Atlantis is needed to defend Earth and leave her parked out there in the middle of the damn Doldrums."

"You said that was the best place for her."

"Temporarily, McKay. Not forever!"

"Well, we have to give the IOA a reason to make it temporary."

"Don't you think I've been trying!" John scrubbed his hands over his face and glared at McKay. "Why does this conversation feel backward?"

Rodney snorted. "Because you're usually the one trying to talk sense into me."

John closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, but the calm he needed to think clearly wasn't coming. "I need to get out of here," he muttered.

"And go where?"

"Anywhere."

"And just how do you plan on doing that? It's not like you've got a spare jumper parked out back."

John looked up at him, a smile blossoming. "Got something almost as good. Want to go for a ride?"

"Are you kidding? Do you know how many diagnostics I have to run? Half the systems were still on the fritz from Carson's sorry excuse for a landing when you lifted her up and plunked her down again. Zelenka hasn't finished repairing all the…" McKay trailed off then threw his hands in the air. "Aw, hell, why not?"

"Meet me topside in half an hour." John stood, allowing the anticipation of the open road to lighten his mood. "Bring some snacks."

McKay rolled his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, no uniforms."

McKay nodded and left. John blew out a final agitated breath and followed him out, heading to the command center. He didn't have many personal belongings, hadn't needed many since he had lived on military bases for several years before going to Atlantis. However, when the Ancients kicked them out a couple of years ago and he found himself living in Colorado Springs, he'd rented an apartment and had his car shipped down. Once he'd returned to Atlantis, he arranged to have his apartment sublet, his few sticks of furniture sold, and his belongings shipped to him. His car, on the other hand, he'd left with the one person he knew would give it the care it deserved.

John tapped on the door and waited until he heard a barked, "Enter!"

"Sir."

O'Neill heaved a sigh. "I've used up all my words for the day, Sheppard. I'm going to O'Malley's for a steak and a beer, and I'm not thinking about anything other than whether the Blackhawks are going to have a decent team this year."

"Didn't come to talk, sir. Thought I might go for a drive."

"Oh." O'Neill's eyes widened. "Oh! Guess you'll be needing these then." He fished a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them at John. "It's in the parking lot. I had Walter fill the tank this morning."

John caught the keys then leaned against the door jamb. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Since the day you almost killed me in that helicopter."

"Thought my exceptional flying saved your life."

"Same difference." O'Neill walked around the desk as he shrugged on his uniform jacket. "I know how strange this is going to sound coming from me, but antagonizing the IOA is not the way you want to play this. As painful as this is to say, you need to let Woolsey take the lead. He knows how to play the game." He quirked a smile. "And never let 'em see they're getting to you. They can smell the blood in the water." He patted John's shoulder and walked out.

"I know," John mumbled under his breath as he banged his head on the door jamb before turning to go to his quarters, berating himself along the way. He had a whole new appreciation for how much Elizabeth, Carter and Woolsey had protected him and the rest of the expedition from the idiocy of the IOA. The past three days of mind-numbing meetings with the entire board, with their self-serving demands and backstabbing ways, had made him seriously consider Ronon's offer to make the problem go away.

John tossed his uniform on the bed, slid on his favorite jeans and hoodie, and tied his sneakers. He stuffed his wallet in his pocket and headed out only to turn around to get the cell phone he'd left on his nightstand. By the time he reached the first floor, Rodney was waiting for him.

"Seriously, McKay? A Transformers t-shirt?"

McKay's lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes narrowed. "A man wearing a Batman sweatshirt should not be casting aspersions. Besides," he said, shifting the bag of snacks from his left arm to his right, "it was either this or the Hannah Montana shirt my niece bought me."

John grimaced. "Ouch."

McKay just shook his head. "So, where are we going?"

"First things first, Rodney. Come with me."

They signed out and exited the facility, making their way to employee parking. John grinned as shiny red sparkled in the sunlight. He'd known O'Neill would take good care of it.

"That's your car?"

John ran a hand over the hood. "Yep. Bought it when I was in high school and spent every spare minute and dollar I had restoring it. Took me six years, but it was worth it."

"A '67 Camaro?"

"I'm impressed, McKay. Didn't know you were a car aficionado."

"Are you kidding?" Rodney opened the driver's door and popped the hood. "My neighbor had a black one when I was in grade school. It was the closest thing to the Batmobile I'd ever seen."

John nodded. "I can understand that."

"V8 engine?"

"Yeah. Six point five liter big block."

"How fast does she go?"

John grinned. "Fast." He closed the hood, trailing his fingers over the wide white racing stripes. "You ready?"

In answer, McKay hopped in and buckled his seat belt. John slid behind the wheel, unable to hide a grin as he fired up the engine and let it race, revving it a couple of time. Then he slammed it into gear and peeled out of the lot, fishtailing slightly on the gravel as he turned onto the main road.

"So, your dad wouldn't buy you a car, either?"

John took a quick right onto a two lane road. "What?"

"You said you bought it and restored it. I figured that since your family was, you know, loaded, that your dad must have refused to buy you a car for some reason." McKay leaned over and studied the dials on the dash. "It was just one more thing for my parents to argue about. My mom thought having a car would make me more popular. My dad said it would isolate me further, that not having one would force me to make friends so I could get places."

When McKay didn't continue, John snuck a sideways glance at him. Rodney was staring out the passenger window, the familiar stress lines around his eyes and mouth deepening. John focused on the road, torn between wanting to know how it turned out and fear of the conversation becoming too personal. An unhappy childhood was something they shared without having to actually share.

"Like that was going to happen," McKay mumbled. "I was a sixteen year-old university junior with bad acne and a double major in physics and mechanical engineering. You can imagine how many friends I made having to ask for a ride everywhere."

John winced in sympathy. That age was a bitch for anybody, but for brainiacs with no social skills and no car, it had to have been torture. "So, what did you do?"

"The research papers for everyone in Intro Physics."

"How many rides did that get you?"

"Rides?" McKay scoffed. "I charged for them. Made enough to buy my own car."

John huffed a laugh. "I should have known."

"Yeah, well…" McKay shrugged. "I did what I had to."

John's hands tightened reflexively on the steering wheel, as that familiar backed-into-a-corner feeling surfaced again. "My father bought me a Porsche for my sixteenth birthday."

McKay twisted to stare at him, wide-eyed. "Really?"

"He sent me and Dave to this elite prep school, and all the kids drove something like that. It was a status thing for him." John swallowed the rising bitterness. "I didn't even know how to drive. I had to ask our chauffer to show me."

"Did he teach you how to work on cars, too?"

Remembrance brought a soft smile to John's face. "Yeah. Brady knew everything about cars. I told him what kind I wanted, and he helped me find this baby." He rubbed the dash lovingly. "He made me do every bit of the work myself."

His father had never known.

John's smile faded. His father had never stepped foot in the eight car garage that was Brady's domain, and where the Camaro had sat in pieces for years, waiting for after school and weekends and the spending money John scrounged from lunchtime poker games because asking his old man for anything always came at a price. A price that was usually higher than he wanted to pay.

Memories of heated arguments and painful silences of the past blended with the frustrations of the last three days, bringing the rage back to full boil. John gunned the engine and grinned in satisfaction when the Camaro leaped forward in response. McKay's yelp was barely audible over the wind roaring through the open window. John inhaled and released it slowly, losing himself in the grip of the tires on the road, the thrum of the engine that vibrated from his fingertips to his spine, the fresh air whipping through his hair. For a few minutes, the cares of the world faded away.

McKay broke the silence when he rummaged through his goodie bag. "I've got Coke, Orange Crush, and water."

"Coke." John peeked in the bag. "What else do you have?"

"Oreos—"

"Double stuffed?"

"Of course." Rodney set the cookies on the dash. "Plus barbeque Lays, beef jerky, half a jar of cashews, and gummy bears."

"Gummy bears! Whose locker did you raid?" When Rodney's shoulders hunched to his ears, John's stomach sank. "McKay?"

"Teal'c's."

"Are you nuts?" John handed him the unopened soda. "Put it all back."

"Why?" Rodney shoved the can into his hand.

John pushed it back. "Because Teal'c might break you in half then Ronon would have to fight Teal'c out of team loyalty and we just got him put back together."

"So I'm going to starve because you're worried about Ronon." Rodney held out the soda. "The drinks came from the Mess Hall."

John popped the top and took a swig. "Teal'c? What were you thinking?"

"You said get snacks." Rodney stuffed the food in the bag. "Where did you think I was going to get them?"

"The Mess Hall?"

"Have you seen what they serve in there these days? Apparently Lam made them start serving healthy food."

John rolled his eyes. "God forbid."

McKay arched a brow. "The snacks they had available were rice cakes, carrot sticks, and sugar free jello. Sugar free! What's the point?"

"But Teal'c?"

"It was the only locker not locked."

"Wow. I can't imagine why." John checked the rearview mirror and prepared to turn around. "Let's hope he doesn't notice before we get back."

"It's going to take at least two hours to get back."

"And?"

"And I'm starving now."

John opened his mouth then snapped it shut. "Fine."

At the next intersection, John took a left and followed a winding road for several miles until he spotted a small diner painted denim blue with beige trim and a sign that read, "Rosa's." He pulled in and got out, breathing the crisp mountain air and salivating at the hickory-laced scent of grilled steak.

"I really hope that's as good as it smells," Rodney said.

"Me, too. I'm tired of mystery meat."

The bell jingled as they entered and a dark-haired woman glanced up from the register. "Take a seat. I'll be right with you."

They found an empty booth in the back, walking past a table of giggling teens, a harried mom trying to convince her youngest to not throw her food on the floor, and several blue collar workers, based on their dusty jeans and scuffed work boots.

"Where are we?" McKay asked.

John slid in with a shrug and handed Rodney a menu from the stack pinned between the napkin holder and the wall. "Someplace nice. Now, find something to eat."

The dark-haired woman came over, pad and pencil in hand. "I'm Monica. What can I get you?"

John flashed a smile. "What do you suggest?"

"Everything here is good, hon. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?"

McKay didn't bother to look up from the menu. "Beer. No lime."

"Budweiser okay?"

"Yeah. Did I say no lime?"

"No lime, got it." Monica scribbled on her pad. "And you?"

"Do you have lemonade?" John ignored Rodney's horrified gasp. "With lots of lemon?"

Monica chuckled. "You bet. Be right back."

"Lemonade? You?"

"I like lemonade. Besides, I'm driving."

McKay snorted in derision. "Like that's stopped you before."

"When have you ever seen me drink and drive?" John challenged.

"Maybe not drive, but fly a couple of times."

"The next day. Never directly afterward."

"I hardly think one beer—"

"I don't want to be the one responsible for some six year-old losing his mom." John snapped his mouth shut, irritated with himself for revealing too much.

McKay was quiet for a full minute. "John, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" John bluffed. But McKay, damn him, had learned to read John over the years, and simply stared at him, wide eyes filled with compassion. "It was a long time ago, Rodney."

McKay turned silent again, no better at knowing how to handle awkward moments than John.

"I'm starving," John finally said, flipping the menu over to scan through the specials. "Enchiladas," he moaned. "I haven't had decent enchiladas in forever."

"You think they make decent enchiladas in Colorado?"

"No idea, but I'm willing to find out."

Monica returned with their drinks, utensils, and a straw for John. "Have you decided?"

"Does your beef come from grain-fed or grass-fed animals?" Rodney asked.

"Grass-fed. And we buy our food from local growers and ranchers whenever possible."

"I'll have the rib-eye and baked potato, loaded."

"And I'll have the chicken enchiladas with sour cream sauce." John glanced up. "Are your jalapeños grown locally, too?"

Monica laughed as she wrote down the order. "I'm afraid not. We have those shipped in from Mexico."

John grinned. "I'd like extra jalapeños, please."

"You got it."

John scanned the room again, doing a mental count of patrons and checking for exits.

McKay heaved a sigh. "Would you stop that?"

"What?"

"Scoping the place out. There are no bad guys here."

"How do you know?"

"Look at this place." McKay waved an arm wide. "I expect Andy and Opie any minute."

John raised a brow. "Haven't you learned not to judge by appearances yet?"

"Of course I have, but this is Colorado not the Genii home—"

"McKay," John warned. "Remember where you are."

"Like I could forget." Rodney sipped his beer. "You really think they're causing trouble back… you know where?"

"Oh, hell yes. We left a power vacuum there. As soon as they figured out we were gone, they made their move."

"And all those hours in Coalition meetings wasted."

"Exactly." John grabbed a napkin and tore off a strip. "Just imagine what Todd's buddies are doing."

McKay closed his eyes. "Were we wrong to come back here?"

"No." John was emphatic. "We were not only defending our…home, but Teal'c's and everyone else's. Todd and his people have one stronghold. We can't give them another. But we also can't surrender the advances we've made in the past five years." He stopped talking when Monica set their plates before them.

"Do you need anything else right now?" she asked.

"We're good, thanks," John said, mouth watering as the spicy foods teased his nose. He scooped up a bite and his taste buds danced with joy. "Oh, my God, that's good."

McKay grunted in reply, intent on cutting his steak into little pieces. Sweat trickled down John's face as he bit into a jalapeño seed and chased it down with a gulp of lemonade. They ate in silence, their forks scraping in time with the soft jazz playing in the background. Monica stopped by to refill John's lemonade and to bring Rodney another beer. A steady stream of customers came through – truckers and families, college kids and farmers. And not a single one checked the skies for Wraith.

"We've got to find a way to convince the IOA to let us go back." John's fork clattered on the plate. "We can't leave those people defenseless."

"What other arguments are there?" Rodney asked. "I talked for hours about the potential technological advances, not just in the city but in searching out the people Elizabeth gave us information on. You covered the dangers of letting Todd's people grow strong again."

"Not to mention the possibility that they could still find their way here. Some of our people are out there." John used to have the names of all the MIA memorized, but the list had grown too long. But he kept a copy of the list in his tac vest and read over it before every mission.

"Isn't that an argument to keep us here?"

"Not really. Better to catch it at the beginning than to have them show up at our doorstep unannounced. Next time, it could be a whole fleet."

Rodney wadded up his napkin and tossed it on his plate. "Well, that's depressing."

"Yes, it is," John said evenly as he checked his watch. "I guess we'd better start heading back. It'll be dark soon."

They turned down the dessert Monica offered, paid the bill, and got in the car. John buckled his seatbelt and headed back the way they'd come, rolling up the window against the cool early evening air. By the fourth hairpin turn, the tension in his neck and shoulders began to ease. Nothing relaxed him like driving or flying.

He pushed away the lingering frustrations and focused on the road, enjoying the majesty of the trees and the splashes of color from the sunset peeking through them. When he made the next turn, the headlights flashed off a mass of brown and gray on the left shoulder.

The mass leaped forward, directly in their path.

"Sheppard!"

"Shit!"

Brakes squealed. Metal crunched. Pain. Then nothing.

xxx

John didn't realize his eyes were open until a fuzzy face hovered over his. He could feel hands checking him for injuries, the prick of a needle in his arms, the rough gravel of the road through his shirt and jeans, a steady throb in his right ankle and left knee which told him he wasn't paralyzed, but neither could he move, not even his eyes. His head pounded mercilessly and a warm trickle was running down the left side of his face. Sound was distorted, coming in waves. A piercing wail jumbled with someone shouting. Something heavy pressed on his wrist and the shouting got louder. Then his lids closed on their own and everything faded away.

xxx

Sounds and smells flitted on the edge of his consciousness, but no amount of willpower could force his body to respond to his commands. His eyes remained firmly shut, and his fingers refused to curl around the hand in his. Voices were garbled beyond recognition, prompting childhood memories of Charlie Brown specials to pop in his mind. Muted pain thrummed along his left side. Hands probed his temple and ankle. He wanted to pull away, but the darkness reached up and dragged him back down.

xxx

The voices were clearer this time. A soft feminine hum at his right ear wasn't enough to drown out the strident argument from somewhere nearby. He knew the owners of the voices, could almost see their faces, but they danced out of reach when he grabbed for them.

The argument grew louder.

"…telling you he can't be moved."

"I don't give a shit what you're telling me. Go practice your voodoo somewhere else."

"With a brain injury like his, the best course of action is to wait. The risk of brain damage is too great."

"We can fix him on Atlantis."

The feminine hum stopped. "Rodney, perhaps you and Doctor Lam should take this discussion someplace more…private."

"He needs help, Teyla."

"I know, but if the doctors think waiting is best for John, then we must trust them."

"His coma is most likely not permanent, Doctor McKay."

"Most likely. Meaning you have no idea if he'll ever wake up."

"No, I don't. And since I have no way to ask Colonel Sheppard what he wants, we have to do what I think is best."

Ask…what he wants. Something flickered in the back of John's mind, something so ephemeral it vanished almost before he knew it was there. The voices droned on as John chased the mysterious idea fluttering just out of his grasp.

xxx

Time had no meaning. Awareness came, bringing sounds – a voice encouraging him to awaken, rumbling snores, a never-ending clatter, arguments, singing, a child's giggle. Touches were ever-present; hands squeezed his arms, patted his leg, gripped his fingers. He never realized when awareness left him until it came back. He floated on a sea of cotton, cocooned by pressure on his face, arms, and legs.

Occasionally his senses heightened until he was sure the cocoon was about to tear away. The sharp scent of antiseptic irritated his nose and the throb in his knee became a spike of pain.

"Sheppard?" Fingers tightened on his hand. "You in there?"

He knew that low growl and iron grip.

"You need to wake up now."

Long dreadlocks draped over muscular shoulders. Eyes that flashed with hatred or crinkled in laughter.

"You've been lazy long enough."

A warrior. A friend. A brother.

John curled his fingers.

"That's it." Cloth whispered and the bed jostled. "Nurse is coming."

Ronon. A man who'd lost his entire world, his home, and was in danger of losing another one.

"McKay said you had brain damage. Told him you'd always been like this."

Rodney. Enchiladas and beer. Driving.

Car crash?

Oh, God. Rodney.

A beep to his left increased in speed.

"Open your eyes, John."

McKay. He had to know if McKay was all right.

John tightened his hold on the fingers.

"Open your eyes."

John turned his head toward the voice and, with every ounce of strength he had, forced his eyes open.

"Hey." Ronon's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Knew you could do it."

John squeezed his hand again.

Ronon's brows drew together. "What is it?"

John glanced around the room then squeezed as hard as he could.

Ronon followed his gaze. "Who… Oh, McKay? Are you looking for McKay?"

John blinked once.

"McKay's fine. You slam your foot through the floor, bust up your knee, and bang your head. He gets a scratch on his forehead and a bruise from that belt thing." Ronon shook his head. "Figures."

An unfamiliar face in scrubs appeared over Ronon's shoulder. "Welcome back, Colonel. Everyone's going to be thrilled to see you awake. I'll get the doctor."

Ronon glanced after her then leaned forward. "You're in a local hospital. Someone heard the crash and called for help before McKay woke up. Lam's been monitoring your progress since they couldn't move you."

John let his lids slide shut, content knowing his friends were okay and there with him.

xxx

When he woke up next, the tube down his throat was gone and McKay was sprawled in a chair, a pristine white bandage taped to his right temple.

Ask…what he wants.

John frowned at the thought, knowing it was important but not knowing why. Then the dry tickle in his throat made itself known. When he coughed, McKay shot upright with a gasp, eyes wild.

"Sheppard?" Rodney sagged back then reached for a cup. "Ice chip?"

John nodded as he tried to stifle the cough. Seconds later, cool relief coated his mouth and throat. "Thanks," he whispered.

"Are you," Rodney waved a hand, "all there?"

"Are you?"

McKay rubbed at the bandage. "I'm fine." A smile flashed then vanished immediately as he stared.

"What?" John asked.

"Hmmm?"

"Why are you staring?"

"I'm not…" Rodney's ears turned pink and his gaze dropped to the floor. "I thought you were dead."

"When?" John lifted the cup of ice from his rolling tray and tipped another piece in his mouth. "Just now?"

"Of course not. Are you sure you don't have brain damage?"

"Pretty sure."

"Like you'd know." McKay settled in his chair and tipped his head back. "On the road. The paramedics were working on you. Your eyes were open. One of them stepped on your wrist and you didn't even flinch."

"I'm not dead, Rodney."

McKay sat up and looked at him. "Try to keep it that way for a while."

"I'll see what I can do." A horrid thought struck. "How's my car?"

"Um." McKay winced in sympathy. "Let's just say that if the IOA doesn't send us back, you'll have plenty here to keep you busy."

John's heart sank. "That bad?"

"You slid sideways into a big-ass deer. The entire left side of the car is caved in and the driver's side window is cracked where your hard head hit it."

"How's the frame?"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Like I checked to see."

"But it can be repaired, right?"

"I'm sure you can find someone to fix it. For a small fortune."

"It'll be worth it. Love that car." Sleep began to tug at John, but he had one more question. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days."

John blinked in surprise. "Days?"

"Coma."

"Days," John whispered. He was supposed to be doing something. "Something important."

"What?"

His head began to pound as he fought with the memories. "We were driving. We crashed into a deer."

"Yes. Well, technically you were driving. I was riding. We've covered this already." McKay glanced over his shoulder. "Lam says you can be moved now. As soon as she makes the red tape fairies happy, we'll put on a show of loading you in an ambulance then have the Hammond beam you to Atlantis."

"Atlantis."

Rodney's eyes bulged. "You do remember Atlantis, right?"

"Yeah." John closed his eyes as the headache throbbed harder. "The IOA meetings."

Ask…what he wants.

"Still going on," McKay sighed. "Sam texts me with updates."

Ask.

"Ask."

McKay tilted his head. "Ask who what?"

John clutched his head, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Ask what he… what they want." He shook his head. "No, what they wanted." He glanced up. "The Ancients, McKay. Atlantis is theirs, and we know they wanted her in Pegasus. You have to make the IOA see that."

"What are you talking about?"

"When the Ancients left Pegasus, they could have taken Atlantis with them, brought her to Earth then, but they didn't."

McKay nodded, his eyes losing focus. "They could have easily outrun the Wraith since the Wraith don't have intergalactic hyperdrives. But they left Atlantis in Pegasus for us to find." His mouth twisted. "Why is the IOA going to care?"

"Make them care. The Ancients were way smarter than us—"

"I wouldn't say—"

"Built any stargates lately?" John asked, arching a brow until McKay huffed and looked away. "Didn't think so. If the IOA wants a control chair, we'll get one for them. That planet with Atlantis's twin has one they aren't using. Earth can defend herself. Convince the IOA that the Ancients knew that. The Ancients could have built another Atlantis here, but they didn't. Atlantis belongs in Pegasus. Talk to Carter and Woolsey. Find a way to sell it."

McKay pushed to his feet and began to pace. "We can thread all the arguments together. Present all the benefits of sending Atlantis back to Pegasus, starting with that's where the Ancients wanted her. We can always fly her back to Earth if we need to, but we stand a better chance of protecting Earth from the Wraith by fighting them in Pegasus instead of waiting until they get here, or somewhere else in this galaxy."

"Wouldn't want to start an intergalactic incident by letting the Wraith loose in Jaffa territory."

"Definitely not." McKay whirled to face John. "The Ancients knew we were coming to Atlantis. Elizabeth told them in that first timeline. They knew we would come one day, and they left Atlantis for us."

John nodded, relaxing as the headache began to ease. "Exactly. They purposefully left her. We can keep tabs on the Wraith from Pegasus."

"Plus follow up on those advanced civilizations. After all, the SGC's mission has always been to locate advanced technology to defend Earth. Who knows what kinds of advanced weaponry could still be waiting for us to discover?" McKay rubbed his hands gleefully. "We could be one mission away from finding a ZPM lab."

"Or a jumper factory."

"Or those scary aliens that shot me when the Daedalus was shifting through universes."

"You might not want to bring them up. But how about that cool portable teleportation device that runner had?"

McKay sighed as he dropped into his chair. "I really want one of those."

John grinned. "Then convince the IOA to send us back."

xxx

"Would you like some help, John?"

"Please." John grinned wryly as Teyla backed his wheelchair into the transporter. "I can fly an entire city through space, but I can't get myself inside a door in this thing." He shook his head. "I'm headed to the Mess."

"Then we shall go together."

The doors shut, light flashed, and they exited on the Mess Hall level. John did his best to look tough as Teyla pushed him past several tables filled with Marines and wheeled him onto the balcony.

"What would you like to eat?" Teyla asked.

"Cheeseburger, extra onions."

Teyla laughed and rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I continue to ask."

Minutes later she returned with a tray, placing a cheeseburger and a bottle of water in front of him, and keeping a tuna salad sandwich for herself.

"No fries?"

Teyla tossed him a bag of chips. "How much longer will you have to use the wheelchair?"

"Another couple of days. Keller says my knee is almost back to normal. I'll have to keep the cast on my ankle for a while, but at least I'll graduate up to crutches." John squirted ketchup and mustard on his burger then took a bite. "Any news from McKay?"

"Not today." Teyla sipped her apple juice. "But I understand that the meeting went long into the night."

"It's been a week. How much longer is this going to take?" John heaved a sigh. "I should be there."

"You should be here, resting." Teyla arched a brow. "And do not pretend that you have been."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"I have seen you try to walk. Your balance is still off."

"Is not," John retorted. Teyla stared at him until the heat rose in his cheeks. "Well, maybe a little. Keller said I'd have balance problems for a while because of my head injury."

"She also said it was a miracle that your other injuries were minor."

"A broken ankle isn't minor," John protested.

"It is compared to what might have been," Teyla replied. "Rodney showed me the pictures of your vehicle. Even your head injury could have been much worse."

"Yeah." John shuddered to think of how bad it could have been. Once his brain had recovered from the trauma and he'd woken up, his recuperation had been rapid. Now, he was back on Atlantis and working hard to get healthy. "This cast isn't helping my balance any, you know. I could walk much better without it."

"You stagger about in the same way you did when you had too much Ruus wine at the last harvest festival." The humor fled Teyla's face and she dropped her gaze.

"We'll get you home, Teyla. I promise."

"I know. Colonel Carter offered to take us on her ship." She grasped his hand. "It would not be the same." She squeezed his fingers and offered a small smile. "But we do not have to worry about that because I have full confidence that Samantha, Rodney and Mr. Woolsey will convince the IOA to let us all go."

John glanced up when Ronon's bark of laughter filled the room as he entered with Rodney. McKay's grin told John all he needed to know.

"You're right, Teyla. We're going home."

A/N: Written for the Critias zine for MediaWest 2010.