Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

A/N – Hello again! Sorry again for being slightly slow with uploading this chapter. Life has been busy of late – good, but busy. Anyway, it's here now. Thank you so much for all your kind reviews after the last chapter. Hopefully you'll like this chapter as well – enjoy!

~ Alone ~

Part Five

John kept watch in silence as the large, black dog finally fell into a peaceful sleep.

It was a miracle that the animal was still alive at all, really. When John had first carried it back to the jumper - the poor beast still crying and dying and bleeding everywhere - he hadn't really believed, even then, that the dog would make it.

Of course, he hadn't let that stop him, but even he was forced to admit that all his efforts had probably had more to do with his own sheer stubbornness than anything else. So many things had gone against him in the last few days; he'd refused - even as exhausted and hurt as he was - to be beaten by the dog's extensive injuries as well.

Of course, as with everything else that had happened to him lately, that had turned out to be much easier said than done…

John bit back a yawn and rubbed at his neck, drained by the last couple of hard-fought and frantic hours. The world around him was silent, with barely even a rustle of leaves as only the lightest of winds blew through the surrounding trees. He could hear the odd bird, maybe even a few howls far away in the distance, but otherwise it was quiet, and he was alone.

Please don't leave me…

Except, John thought, now there was also the dog.

As he watched the sleeping dog take shaky, yet regular breaths on the hard floor of the jumper, John tiredly wiped his blood-smeared on his already dirty pants, and tried remind himself why the hell he was trying to save an animal that was probably going to maul him to death as soon as it woke up.

Unfortunately it didn't take him long to come up with the answer.

He didn't want to be alone.

John felt pathetic to even admit it, but he couldn't deny the truth. He didn't want to be alone. Thrust into a new, desolate world against his will - a world where he had been forced to fight the elements for his very survival from the moment he'd landed there - was bad enough, but the thing that he found most difficult, the thing he hated far more than any physical pain he'd been forced to endure so far, was that he didn't have anyone to talk to.

Which was...pathetic.

John sighed deeply, and closed his eyes as the soft, midday breeze ran over his face. As pathetic as it made him feel – and it really, really did - he still couldn't help but think that the last couple of hours would've been a hell of a lot easier had there been someone else to help him carry both the metaphorical and the literal burdens.

Once he'd managed to finally get the dog back to the jumper – using any means necessary, including hauling the 100lb beast over his shoulder and even dragging it carefully across the ground at one point when it had all got too much - John had been ready to collapse himself.

However instead of taking an impromptu and not entirely voluntary nap, John had been left with no choice but to shake it off and get to work. He would always be the first to admit that he didn't have the medical talents – or indeed the equipment – that Carson and Jennifer had so often employed on him over the years, but he was no slouch in the medical field either. His trouble-magnet, accident-prone team had seen to that…

Please don't do leave me…

"Dammit," he muttered angrily, wrapping his arms around his chest in an effort to hold off some of the chill in the surrounding air. John shook himself hard – in an effort to literally shake the painful memory away – and instead inched forward so that he could make sure his makeshift stitches, staggered messily across the dog's hind legs, were holding. So far, so good, he decided, although truthfully anything would have been an improvement on the condition the dog had been in when he'd found it.

John had already done a closer examination of the animal's wounds in order to assess the damage, but he checked again now, just in case he'd missed something. The steadily seeping wound on its hind leg had clearly been the result of a large bite mark, and had required extensive stitching to stop the heavy bleeding. It was doing okay now, but John knew that it would be painful when the dog finally woke up.

The animal's other injury – three long, deep scratches stretching across the length of its back – had actually had John a little more worried. Not because it had been at all life-threatening – it really hadn't been, not even close - but because it had to have been caused by a huge claw. Judging by the size of the injury, if the dog had been attacked by a member of its own species – which was always a possibility in nature, John knew – it had to have been one twice its size.

Which was not good…

John rubbed at his face, wincing as he made contact with the fresh bruise and cut by his right eye, a reminder that bringing the dog back to his camp was probably the most stupid and reckless thing he'd done in a long, long, time.

When he'd first got the beast back to the jumper, John had only managed to work on the dog's wounds for about five minutes before it had woken up. Then the animal, no doubt delirious with pain, had started to fight him furiously – even going so far as to try and bite him – and it would have probably killed him had the beast been in a better physical condition. As it was, John had been able to hold it down long enough for its energy reserves to eventually dwindle. The big animal had fallen into an uneasy sleep again then, and John had been more than a little relieved.

And yet even with the animal unconscious, John had still made no attempt to move it back to where he'd found it, and all because he had wanted the company, however hostile that company might turn out to be.

He didn't want to be alone.

Glancing down at the now peacefully slumbering dog, John ran a hand through his messy hair, and sat back, his breathing a little laboured and shaky, and his head pounding. God, he was exhausted, and it was only midday. The days seemed to shorter on this planet than they were on Atlantis, but he estimated that there was still a few more hours to go until nightfall.

John bit back another yawn and tried to shake himself more awake. The new days and nights were hard for John to get used to. It felt like it should still be the middle of the night, early morning at the latest, and yet it was almost halfway through the day. God, his sleeping pattern was going to be really screwed up by the time he team returned for him. That's if they ever did…

Please don't leave me…

John clenched his jaw and shook his head defiantly. They would come back. He had to keep the faith, he had to, or he would go mad in a week.

Idly he wondered what they were doing back on Atlantis. Had Ronan, Rodney and Teyla made it back? Were they okay? Were they looking for him?

Please don't leave me alone…

John shoved that thought away again, and tried his best to focus on the present. On the here and now, and not the past, or what might or might not be in the future. The trouble was that even though he was exhausted, he still felt way too wired to actually sleep. It was only the middle of the day anyway, and he had plenty he needed to do before the light faded later that evening, even if he couldn't actually find the energy to do any of it.

He had plenty to keep his desperate mind occupied.

As if it had heard his thoughts, the dog whimpered in its sleep. John frowned, and lay a hand gently on the dog's soft, black fur, hoping to at least provide a little bit of comfort to the injured animal.

"We'll be okay," John murmured, keeping his hand moving slowly in what he hoped was still a comforting gesture. "Everything's going to be okay."

And if he got a little bit of comfort in return…well, there was no one around to judge him for it.

"Are you done yet?" Rodney asked irritably as Beckett shone the light in his eye.

"I'll be done when I'm done, Rodney," Beckett replied, barely even twitching at Rodney's scowl. Of course, the lack of reaction only served to annoy Rodney even more.

"Be done quicker," Ronan muttered from his own bed.

Even though they had been given the go-ahead to return to the planet, both doctors Beckett and Keller had insisted on final medical checks. They'd called it non-negotiable, and since Rodney, Ronan and Teyla had essentially already won their argument, none of them – even Rodney – saw the sense in pushing it any further.

Of course it didn't mean they had to like it.

"How's your head feeling?" Beckett asked quietly. "Have you remembered anything else?"

Not long after the team had finally received the go-ahead for the return mission to PX6-662, their memories had started to return. It hadn't been all at once though, and certainly not with any sort of clarity. Rodney likened it to a book that had smudged words or pages missing. In contrast, Teyla believed it to be similar to memories of bad dreams, whereby only the worst parts of the nightmare could be recalled the next day.

Ronan, typically, had just grunted, growled, and demanded a quick solution so that they could go and find Sheppard already.

"No," Rodney replied with a hardened scowl. "I remember rain, and Sheppard yelling at us not to leave him behind." He swallowed hard. "Then I remember leaving him behind."

"You don't remember where you were?" Carson pressed. Rodney didn't mind; he knew the doctor wanted Sheppard back as much as they did.

"No," Rodney replied quietly. Both Ronan and Teyla were quiet in their own beds; neither of them could remember any more than he could about where they'd abandoned Sheppard. Only that they had.

"It was not PX6-66V," Teyla added quietly.

"No, it wasn't," Rodney agreed. "Not unless the climate had changed drastically during our time there."

"So why are you so intent on returning there?" Carson asked. "If the Colonel is somewhere else…"

"It's a place to start," Rodney replied with a shrug that was anything by casual. "If you've got a better idea, I'd be happy to hear it."

"Rodney…"

"Didn't think so," Rodney interrupted. "Anyway, we have to go back. This has something to do with that cult we encountered, I can feel it. It's not a coincidence that we can't remember much about what happened once we arrived on the planet. There are answers there, and I for one am not giving up until we've found them."

"Sheppard's counting on us," Ronan added, a tinge of anger in his voice. "We're not giving up until we found him too."

Three hours later, John trudged slowly back to the jumper, idly rubbing at his neck as he tried to keep his exhaustion at bay long enough to make it back safely and in one piece. His backpack was weighing him down, but for once, he didn't mind. This time, it was a good weight. A life-saving weight.

He'd found water.

Well, he found a small trickle of a stream. Not exactly the water source he'd been hoping for, but John didn't care. It had seemed relatively clean, and it would keep him alive for now; that was good enough for him.

John stumbled slightly as he made his way slowly through the trees, but - buoyed somewhat by his discovery - he straightened his back and pushed on. It hadn't been easy, but for the first time since he'd arrived on the planet, he actually felt like there was a chance he might survive the whole ordeal in one piece.

Please don't do this...

John shook his head, and dislodged the unwelcome memory a little more easily this time, pushing his thoughts back to his discovery as he continued his short trek 'home'.

Logic and science had always dictated that where there was water, there was life; and that where there was life, there was water.

It was a simple fact, undeniable, and yet until he'd finally stumbled across the small, trickling stream, he hadn't truly believed it.

Even with his lingering doubts however, John had still used that logic as the focal point of his desperate search. He'd realised that the dog he had rescued – and of course the beast that had attacked it so viciously – had to have been surviving on something. With his rescue dog recovering back at the jumper and showing no signs of waking up any time soon, John had decided to take advantage of the respite and make a return journey to the 'scene of the crime' to see if logic and reason held up.

And even on this alien world, light-years away from home, they had - it was only now that he'd actually found the water - cold, fresh and flowing - that he could appreciate just how much he had been counting on it.

It had been a risk, but it had paid off, and as he continued his journey back to the jumper, John revelled in the fact that he could now take a long drink from his canteen - now that he didn't have to drink sparingly, he couldn't get enough. And the good news was that there was plenty more where that had come from.

Not too far from where he'd rescued his dog either, he thought to himself. John had found that particular spot easily enough - luckily, the knife marks he'd left on the trees had been clear enough for him to backtrack through the forest, and it hadn't taken him long to get back to where the dog had been attacked. From there, he hadn't wasted any time in looking for well-worn animal tracks, banking his life on the theory that the local wildlife would congregate around a water source.

When he'd actually found it, he'd almost sunk to the ground in sheer relief, although he had enough experience to at least keep his senses on high alert.

He knew even now that he had to be cautious, but he figured that if there was an animal out there capable to killing him, there probably wasn't a lot he could do to stop it.

As his boots crunched over the forest floor, instead of dwelling on things that were ultimately out of his control, John's thoughts meandered back to his unconscious 'guest'. Despite his best efforts, he could already feel himself becoming attached to the large animal. Whilst it had been recovering, John had kept up a constant stream of one-way conversation, hoping to keep the animal relaxed and calm. He'd never been much of a talker – by far preferring actions to words – but he knew from his own experience with animals back on Earth that action wasn't always the way to go with a jumpy, threatened, and unpredictable animal. Instead he was calm, gentle, all in an attempt to get the dog to associate his voice and scent with safety rather than pain.

John shook his head. He had no idea if it was working so far, but it made John feel better; or at least, made his feel less alone. The fact that the dog couldn't talk back didn't bother him as much as he'd thought it would, and he'd even gone so far as to name the creature – a male, he'd quickly discovered.

At first he'd considered naming the dog 'Chewie' – he'd always fancied himself as a bit of a Han Solo - but that name had just reminded him of Ronan, which in turn had reminded him of his team and of Atlantis, and that had just made him angry, and bitter, and all manner of things that he wished he wasn't.

Then he'd considered calling the animal 'Wilson', after Tom Hanks' Castaway volleyball, but John didn't think he was quite that far gone just yet, even if it would have been a pretty appropriate name for his new, silent companion, all things considered.

In the end, he'd settled on 'Jett'. It wasn't the most imaginative name, but then, it didn't remind him of Atlantis, and in the end, John was a simple man. The dog's fur was jet black, and John liked flying jets; hence Jett. Simple.

When John had suggested the name to the animal, it hadn't reacted at all, but since the animal had still been unconscious at the time, that wasn't really all that concerning.

Jett had still been sleeping when John had left on his search for water as well. John knew that he'd probably live to regret the decision to leave the animal behind, but it wasn't like he'd had much choice. He couldn't exactly lug the beast along with him, but he'd had no choice but to go.

John stumbled again, and he swore loudly when this time he went down. He hit the ground hard, jarring his leg, and ripping pants at the knee.

"Dammit," he muttered, chest heaving slightly as he tried to work through the new pain, pulling his bag off his shoulders. His right knee hurt, and he'd bloodied it up a little, but it wasn't life-threatening. In fact, he was probably more annoyed by the rip in his pants.

His clothes were already pretty damaged through general wear and tear, but it wasn't like he had a choice of what to wear. He couldn't exactly go walking around naked, not because it would be embarrassing – he was still very much alone on the planet apart from Jett – but because the climate was still a little too cold and wet for him to be that exposed to the elements.

It wasn't like he could make his own clothes out of leaves and bark either – that kind of skill wasn't exactly something that they taught in basic training, and despite his rather eclectic career, it wasn't a skill John had picked up himself yet either.

Eventually he probably wouldn't have much of a choice, but he really hoped that the rescue party arrived long before it got to that point. John didn't think he would ever live it down if his team finally came back, only to find that his clothes had long ago disintegrated, and that he was wearing nothing but a leaf over his –

John shook his head, forcing the image from his mind. It was getting harder to think of his team without becoming angry, so he tried not to think about them at all. Having Jett as company was definitely helping, but there was only so much conversation he could manage with an animal that couldn't talk back.

Pulling himself back up with a heavy sigh, John dragged his heavy pack back onto his shoulders and set off again.

In the end, it was a good job that he hadn't had far left to go. The rest of the journey had only taken ten minutes, but by the time John arrived back at the clearing, his knee was on fire, his headache had returned with a vengeance, and he was walking with a heavy limp. When he finally caught sight of the jumper, and the rest it promised, John, sweat-soaked and exhausted, went almost boneless with relief.

Then he heard a growl, followed by a warning bark, and John felt his stomach drop. He turned slowly to his right, fighting the instincts that were telling him to fight or run for his life; mainly because he knew he wouldn't stand a chance no matter which course of action he took...

"Dammit," John cursed softly.

Jett was awake. And he didn't look happy.

A/N – Cliff-hanger…Sorry, but it had to be done! I hope you liked this chapter – if you did (or didn't) I'd love to hear from you, particularly with your thoughts on John's new friend. Does everyone like Jett's name? I really struggled to come up with a good one, particularly since I had to put myself in the mind of John Sheppard to do it. Thanks for all the people who offered brilliant suggestions for the name after the last chapter. I really did take them on board, but ultimately 'Jett' just seemed to fit better. I hope you agree! Anyway, until next time (when I promise the cliff-hanger will be resolved), thanks for reading!