.

++++++

“Got a minute?”

Marcus Lorne looked up from his work to see Colonel Caldwell in the doorframe, and he straightened up in his chair, away from the paperwork he was attempting to complete in Colonel Sheppard’s absence. “Of course, Sir,” Lorne replied. “What can I do for you?”

“You wear that desk pretty well for a major,” Caldwell commented as he came further into the small office area, and in spite of himself, Marcus squirmed slightly.

“Just keeping the chair warm for my CO,” he responded at last, and picked up a pen, tapping it idly against the edge of the desk.

“Be that as it may, I understand the responsibility,” Caldwell shrugged loosely and took up a seat across from Lorne, his sharp eyes sweeping over the desk and its myriad contents. “Looks like half of it’ll be figuring out Colonel Sheppard’s...organizational...system.”

“You got that right, Colonel,” Lorne couldn’t help but agree with a slight smile; Sheppard’s lack of affinity for all things paperwork related was well-known among the senior staff and most of the military contingent under his command. He sobered quickly, however and continued, “I’m sure I’ll make out just fine, Sir.”

“Mmm-hmm,” the Daedalus’ commander agreed noncommittally. “I imagine almost a month’s backlog is a little bit to wade through.” He leaned back in the chair a bit and folded his arms casually over his chest. “Maybe I can give you a hand with some of it.”

“Excuse me, Sir?” Lorne hedged a little, growing distinctively uncomfortable at the turn of conversation.

“I would like to ask you for Colonel Sheppard’s initial assessment report on the original mission to M3D-855, if you don’t mind,” Caldwell prompted. M3D-855—Istura, Lorne realized. That was one designation he was not likely to ever forget as long as he lived.

“I’m sure Dr. Weir has a copy of that report, Colonel,” Marcus replied; he didn’t necessarily like the idea of the other man rummaging around in Sheppard’s office, disorganized or not, looking for who knew what. Never mind the fact that Caldwell was a full bird colonel; Marcus’ first instinct was to back up his CO. He couldn’t have said exactly why he was feeling so protective of Colonel Sheppard, but he had long learned to follow his gut instincts. More than often they were right.

“I’m sure she does,” Caldwell agreed. “But Dr. Weir has a full enough plate for today and I’d like you to help me out, Major.” He shifted in the chair, leaning forward and bringing his posture to bear on Sheppard’s 2IC. For his own part, Lorne unconsciously frowned, and the colonel’s eyebrows lifted. “Do I have to make that an order, Lorne?”

“No, Sir,” Lorne answered perfunctorily, and he shifted his attention to a particular stack of printouts; within it was the particular report Caldwell was asking for; Colonel Sheppard’s initial recommendation that they return to Istura to establish relations with the inhabitants. It was the work of several moments to locate it; once done, the major reluctantly handed it over to the waiting colonel.

“Thank you, Major,” Steven received the paper and pushed up to his feet. He started toward the doorway before pausing and looking back around; Marcus wiped the frown from his face and paid attention. “You’ll be around later so we can talk, right?” The question was pointed, and again just shy of an actual order, but the major knew it was to be regarded as one nonetheless.

“Yes, Sir,” he answered simply; there was no need for elaboration and he didn’t feel particularly compelled to speak further anyway.

“Good. I’ll see you later then, say, thirteen-thirty in the mess hall?”

“I’ll be there,” Lorne replied, recognizing Caldwell’s demeanor as that of a senior officer expecting a request to be treated accordingly. The colonel nodded firmly and went on his way, leaving the major to wonder why, when Dr. Weir had requested full cooperation with this investigation, he didn’t want to, at all.

Perhaps it had more to do with lingering concerns about what happened to Colonel Sheppard during those three weeks, and the fact that there was no evidence either for or against him breaking while captive and giving up valuable information. Well, except for the fact that so far there have been no Wraith hives picked up on the long-range scanners. Of course, leave it to the obvious answer.

The only thing Marcus could fall back on was his favorite movie quote of all time: I’ve got a bad feeling about this. “I’m with you, Luke buddy,” he muttered to himself as he returned his attention to the particular mission summary he’d been writing for Colonel Sheppard. “Me, too.”

++++++

Ronon looked up instinctively as motion near the door caught his attention; the ingrained habits from years of fighting and running from the Wraith kept him at a state of heightened awareness, although he was slowly learning to “let his hair down,” as Sheppard had put it when they were off-duty. During the search for Sheppard, however, there had been precious few opportunities to relax, and even now that the colonel was back, the Satedan still felt unsettled.

Noting Teyla’s entrance into the mess hall, Ronon paused long enough to shovel another spoonful of scrambled eggs, his head lowering slightly to take the bite but his gaze still roving around the mess hall. It was another few bites before Teyla approached him, and Ronon simply nodded to the chair on the opposite side of the table, indicating the Athosian should join him.

“Mornin’,” he greeted around another mouthful of eggs, and watched as Teyla settled gracefully into the chair indicated and prepared to begin her own meal. She picked up her tea, wrapping her hands around the mug and inhaling the spicy fragrance before taking a long, slow sip.

“Good morning, Ronon,” Teyla replied as she lowered the mug somewhat. Ronon simply scrunched his nose a little; he didn’t know what was in that Athosian brew, he only knew he didn’t like the smell of it.

“You really like that stuff?” he asked absently as he picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. Some of the Earth food wasn’t too bad. Toast had seemed a pretty pointless thing until McKay had introduced him to the joys of cinnamon and sugar.

“It is an ancient recipe among my people,” Teyla responded, bringing the mug to her lips once again for another savored sip. “It is how we greet the day.”

“Stinks,” Ronon pronounced, blunt and to the point as ever. He ate more of the toast, thinking he might have to get more of the sweet treat. Cinnamon was not a known spice on Sateda; McKay had been amused to say the least with how exotic it seemed to the former Runner. For awhile, everything Ronon ate that the spice would compliment, and even a few things that it didn’t, received a liberal dosing. “Needs cinnamon,” he advised helpfully.

He received a raised eyebrow for his trouble as Teyla calmly regarded him over the rim of her mug. “It needs nothing,” she countered, before drinking more of the brew. That was fine as far as Ronon was concerned; the sooner it was gone, the sooner he didn’t have to smell it anymore. “From the time I was old enough to greet the day with my father, I have had this tea every morning.”

“Still didn’t answer the question,” Ronon pointed at the mug with his spoon. “You like it?”

“You should try it,” Teyla replied simply. “You may find that your initial assessment is incorrect.”

“Yeah...right,” Ronon half-snorted and then reached for his own glass. “’Bout as much chance of that as McKay takin’ me in a fight.” A slight smile twitched at Teyla’s lips briefly before she reached across the table and placed the offending mug of tea squarely in front of the Satedan.

“You do not mean to tell me that you are defeated by something as simple as a cup of tea?” Teyla’s voice was light, but there was an undercurrent of challenge to it, just enough to bait the tall fighter. Ronon simply glared at her as he swallowed juice, draining half the glass. Putting the glass down, the Satedan regarded the tea warily, but having been put to it, he lifted the mug and took a mouthful.

The look of surprise on Ronon’s face was so complete that for a moment Teyla fully expected him to spit it out; she glanced around briefly to be certain no one was about to be showered in Athosian tea. He swallowed and glanced at the mug before proceeding to drink the rest of it, to Teyla’s utter amusement. She merely gazed at him with a knowing expression before saying, “Yes, I like it.”

“Didn’t tell me it was sweet,” Dex protested.

“You did not ask,” was Emmagan’s gentle, but pointed reply, to which she simply received a short grunt in return.

“You been to see Sheppard?” Ronon asked, shifting the topic abruptly. This time it was Teyla’s turn to be uncomfortable, and Ronon picked up on it instantly. “He okay?”

“John is as well as he can be,” Teyla answered, somewhat evasively, her dark eyes downcast. Her fork was in her hand, but she merely picked a bit at her breakfast. When there was no further comment, she glanced up to see Ronon staring at her expectantly, and she sighed. “It is as Elizabeth said; he does not remember us.”

“Been thinkin’ about that,” Ronon replied, and finished off his eggs. “Gotta be tough, wakin’ up in a strange place. People you don’t know. That you’re supposed to know.”

“I am sure it is very...unsettling for John,” Teyla agreed, and she finally started eating, although she wasn’t all that hungry now. “I cannot imagine what he must feel like.” Pushing around a bite of waffle—like Ronon she had grown fond of certain Earth foods—she sighed softly.

“What?” Ronon asked. While he wouldn’t go to great lengths to draw a person out unless it was imperative, he did understand the value of a verbal prompt.

“I believe Dr. Weir has made a mistake in not allowing us to return to Istura,” Teyla answered after a beat, her expression earnest. “I know she believes she is doing what is best for Atlantis, but I am not certain it is what is best for John.”

“Been thinkin’ about that, too,” Ronon admitted, glancing longingly at the now-empty tea cup. The sweetness of the Athosian beverage more than made up for its pungent odor. “Gotta be a way to convince her...we still got that Genii picture around here?”

“What do you have in mind?” Emmagan wanted to know, looking up curiously.

“We link that picture to the village and she’ll have to let us go back,” Dex explained with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “If we can’t trust the Genii, okay then...we use it. Don’t trust ‘em.”
“I promised Dr. Beckett some breakfast,” Teyla remarked with a slight smile. “But then I am certain we can get a copy of that picture. How do you plan to prove a connection to the Isturans?”
“Got an idea...gonna talk to McKay.”
“In that case,” Teyla finally began to eat her waffles in earnest, “you can accompany me back to the Infirmary. Dr. Beckett insisted that Dr. McKay get some sleep.”
“What...drugged ‘im or somethin’?” Ronon’s eyebrows lifted slightly; the very idea was amusing. The scientist could be annoying, no doubt; more than once Ronon had wanted to knock the man out himself. But there was also no denying that when it came down to it, Rodney McKay was part of this team. He would—and had—put his life on the line for the rest of them, no matter how awkwardly or reluctantly it seemed.
It had been a long time since Dex had known people willing to take such risks for others, and for that reason alone the Satedan would not hesitate to do the same for them—even McKay, no matter how irritating the man might get. He gave a lot of credit for that to Sheppard’s trust in him; all the more reason in his mind to go back to Istura and make those who’d hurt Sheppard pay for what they’d done. They’d been lucky that he’d been too busy carrying the badly wounded colonel to take care of business right then and there. He had no doubt Teyla would’ve helped.
“Not quite,” Teyla answered him with a knowing look. “However, we may have to wait for a time to speak with Dr. McKay; I do not think Dr. Beckett would be pleased if we awakened him just now.”
“S’okay,” Ronon shrugged. “McKay’s worried about Sheppard too.” Across from him, Teyla nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes...as we all are.”
++++++

The Gate room was quiet; there were few personnel in and out of the control area as Gate activity remained suspended and to the casual observer, operations were normal; an average day in Atlantis. As average, Elizabeth mused, as we ever get in Atlantis.

From her office, she observed the few comings and goings in the command center, most notably several appearances of Radek Zelenka. Given the fact that Rodney was still asleep in the Infirmary and had he been awake he’d be researching the Ancient database for answers Carson needed regarding John, the Czech had taken on some of Rodney’s daily duties.

After about his fourth appearance in the command center, Elizabeth was about to get up and ask him if there was some sort of problem, when another presence in her doorway captured her attention, and she looked up to see Kate Heightmeyer tapping on the doorframe.

“Kate, come in,” she straightened up in her chair and motioned for the counselor to enter. Kate smiled warmly and did so, taking the chair Elizabeth had indicated with a wave of her hand. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to talk to you about Colonel Sheppard,” Heightmeyer answered politely, and Elizabeth’s expression immediately changed to one of concern.

“Of course,” Weir responded instantly; John hadn’t strayed far from her thoughts all afternoon despite her own duties. “I expected we’d need to talk sooner rather than later. Have you seen him yet? John, I mean?”

“Not yet,” Kate answered, keeping her manner and tone relaxed to encourage the same in her expedition leader. “I realize Dr. Beckett has limited the Colonel’s visitors due to the extent of his injuries and that’s perfectly understandable but I’ve spoken to Carson and wanted to speak with you as well, regarding the next steps in Colonel Sheppard’s recovery.”

“You mean his memory,” Elizabeth stated the obvious, but she laced her fingers together on her desktop, leaning forward anxiously. “How likely do you think it’ll be that John will regain his memory?” The psychologist sitting across the desk canted her head slightly.

“I’d like to be able give you a definitive answer, trust me, but unfortunately I can’t,” Heightmeyer replied. “What we know about the mind and memory is an inexact science, and something like this is very unpredictable.” She paused a moment, allowing Weir a chance to catch up, watching the various emotions play—even if ever so slightly—across the expedition leader’s face. “Widespread, total amnesia is a rare occurrence, although it’s been documented as happening. More often, a victim of amnesia loses anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours’ memory, especially if the memory loss is connected to something like a massive head injury, or as a defense mechanism from severe psychological trauma.”

“Both of which obviously have been in John’s recent past thanks to this,” Elizabeth remarked worriedly, glancing away from Kate, down to her desk and her tightly clasped hands. When she looked up, her eyes were narrowed in concentration. “Do you have any idea what we can expect?”

“Only possibilities, really,” the psychologist admitted with a soft exhalation. “Especially since I haven’t had a chance to evaluate how he’s handling the situation to begin with. Given the fact that Colonel Sheppard’s memory loss involves a specific time frame—the time he’s been here, in Atlantis—I’m inclined to consider the possibility of memory suppression as a way to cope with what he was experiencing.” Kate made a small motion with her hands. “I’m also aware there are other circumstances of Colonel Sheppard’s captivity that may play a factor in this. Carson felt it was important that I know about the substance the colonel was subjected to since it’s such a large variable.”

Elizabeth nodded unconsciously; she trusted Carson’s discretion in the matter, and knew that Kate would keep the information confidential. “What can we do to help him?” she wanted to know. Anything would be better than simply sitting around waiting. “Atlantis needs her military commander.” So do I, she thought to herself briefly. She had come to rely on John Sheppard’s steady presence, good instincts and sharp mind in her position here as expedition leader. “Preferably in one piece mentally as well as physically.”

“I’d like a chance to talk with him first,” Kate prefaced, and frowned slightly when Elizabeth smothered a chuckle. “What?”

“Well, from John’s initial reaction to me when he thought I was a ‘shrink,’ I don’t know how eager he’ll be to talk with you,” Weir explained with a slight smile. To her surprise, Heightmeyer smiled as well.

“Good to know some things don’t change,” Kate answered back. John Sheppard was notorious for being close-mouthed to begin with; if there was one place he avoided more than the Infirmary when possible, it was Kate’s office. “After all, I’d be disappointed if he went easy on me.”

Elizabeth’s smile faded and her expression softened into one of worry. There were so many variables, so many unknowns when it came to John’s situation. “And in the meantime? Until you have that chance to talk with him?” she asked, well aware that she was on Carson’s short-list of visitors allowed to see his patient.

“In the meantime, continue to be honest with him without introducing too many details. If Colonel Sheppard asks direct questions, give him direct answers but keep it as simple as possible. The last thing he needs after this kind of trauma is to become more overwhelmed than he likely is already.”

“There’s nothing simple about any of this. Pegasus...Atlantis. The Wraith,” Elizabeth frowned sharply now. “It’s all pretty overwhelming for me, still. How is it not going to be overwhelming for John?” Across from her, Kate inclined her head slightly, conceding the point.

“It will be, no doubt about it, but we can try to minimize the initial shock for him.”

Elizabeth exhaled slowly and nodded. “Very well, then. I’ll do my best...and I’ll keep you in the loop,” she promised. “I’m sure I could use all the help I can get. Thank you.”

Kate smiled a little now as she pushed up from the chair. “You’re welcome, Dr. Weir,” she affirmed. “We all want the same thing here, and while I can’t promise we’ll get it, I’ll do everything I can to help the process along.”

The psychologist exited the office area and Elizabeth looked out to the control balcony and the quiet activity there, but her attention wasn’t focused on the personnel there. Instead, her thoughts strayed to the Infirmary, and a certain Lieutenant Colonel, and the rather uncomfortable conversation she knew would await her there.

++++++

“Mm...uhh...” Slowly, groggily, blue eyes opened and blinked, before staring straight up. For a brief moment, Rodney frowned, trying to remember where he was, before wincing sharply and moving his left hand to his right arm. “Oww...” he mumbled, irritated at the deep aching in his injured shoulder that he realized was probably the reason he was awake. “Crazy kid,” he grumbled tiredly. “This is his fault.”

“I knew ye’d overdone it,” Carson’s brogue interrupted his waking thoughts as the physician crossed over to the bed onto which Rodney had fairly collapsed earlier. “How bad is it, Rodney, naught ta ten?”

“It hurts, all right?” McKay snapped grumpily. “Where does that fall on your scale?” Awkwardly he started to push himself upright with his left hand and Carson got an arm behind him, helping him in the effort. “How long have I been asleep?” the scientist suddenly demanded in growing horror as he realized it must be at least mid-afternoon if not later from the sunlight slanting across the Infirmary floor.

“Relax, Rodney, ye’ve only been sleepin’ a wee while,” Carson’s hand shifted to Rodney’s good shoulder, slowing his patient down in his sudden rush to get up. “It’s no’ even noon yet...about a quarter ‘til. Ye have no’ been asleep quite six hours, an’ ye ask me, ye could do with more.”

“Well I’m not asking you, am I?” McKay huffed, although the tight wince that crossed his features took the attitude out of his words. “Seven,” he admitted suddenly, paling slightly as the soreness in his shoulder took on an urgent note.

“All right, then. Just lie back a moment an’ we’ll take care o’ that,” Carson coaxed, with just a slight bit of pressure on Rodney’s good shoulder. As his patient was still somewhat groggy and sore, it didn’t take much convincing to get him to lie back against the pillows once more. “Anita, would ye be a love an’ get me some meperidine, 100 milligrams IM?” Carson addressed one of his nearby nurses, and as she moved off to do so, he carefully eased the sling from Rodney’s shoulder as the scientist had not bothered with it earlier. Unbuttoning Rodney’s shirt, the physician found the joint as he expected it to be—swollen, hot and incredibly tender to the touch. Not surprisingly, Rodney flinched and sucked in a sharp breath despite Carson’s gentleness.

“Carson! Are you trying to kill me?” McKay exclaimed, as he cradled his right arm close to his chest.

“No’ really,” Carson answered calmly, although he leveled a serious look at the scientist. “Ye were meant ta go easy on that shoulder, Rodney, no’ tryin’ ta lift a child in ta a wheelchair,” he chided gently.

“I already told you, puppy dog eyes, remember?” Rodney groaned; his face scrunched up in pain. “Big, big puppy dog eyes.”

“An’ while I appreciate what ye tried ta do for the lad, an’ for Colonel Sheppard, ye should no’ done it on ye’r own. We’ll get ye settled, first, an’ then we’ll run another scan; I’m afraid ye might a’ set back ye’r recovery by a bit,” Carson sighed softly. His eyes closed, Rodney missed the concerned look that crossed the physician’s features. It was bad enough that the colonel had been so seriously injured. Rodney’s shoulder had been healing nicely despite the lack of rest and near-constant tension they’d all been under while John was missing. Until now.

“How far back?” Rodney’s eyes snapped open at that; he’d already started physiotherapy to regain strength in the shoulder and had been looking at perhaps another month before full range of motion was completely restored. Carson canted his head, his eyebrows lifting briefly.

“I’ll know more when I’ve done the scan,” Beckett said truthfully. The last thing he needed now was a panicked Rodney McKay on his hands. “For now, I want ye ta stay put.” He was saved the expected protest from the scientist by the return of his nurse, and he set to swabbing down the injection site. “Anita, after we scan Dr. McKay’s shoulder, he needs an icepack on it for the swellin’, if ye’d see ta that? All right, Rodney, here we go...”

Carson deftly administered the injection, and rolled his eyes slightly at the expected complaint from McKay, “Ow! How big is that needle anyway? I think you are trying to kill me.”

“Och, if I wanted ta kill ye off, Rodney, it’s no’ the needle ye need ta worry about,” Carson grumbled lightly, but it was a familiar argument. “That’ll likely make ye a bit drowsy,” he warned, and was instantly treated to a patented Rodney McKay scowl. If he could have, the scientist would have folded his arms across his chest.

“Drowsy? Oh, no...I just woke up!” Rodney exclaimed. “You can’t put me back to sleep; what about Sheppard? I have to get back to work!” The physicist swabbed his face with his good hand and rubbed his eyes briefly before nailing Carson with his best you are so dead look, but Beckett was unmoved. “His life could depend on it! What were you thinking?”

“I’m thinkin’ that ye are in too much pain ta do any good in that condition,” the Scot replied steadily, “An’ ye need the rest. Ye are no’ the only one who can help with the database.”

“No, but I’m the most proficient at it,” Rodney asserted, back to scowling. “There’s a very short list of people here that even come close to my level of knowledge regarding Ancient technology and face it, you—and Sheppard—need all the help you can get.”

“Aye an’ ye can continue helpin’ when ye wake up,” Carson was very matter-of-fact about it all, which irritated Rodney to no end. “Right now, ye can recommend me the person at the top o’ that list.”

Rodney exhaled in a long-suffering sigh, scowl still firmly in place, but it truly was too late to do anything about it now; it wouldn’t be long before the drug began to affect him. At least this way he would be able to put someone on it that he trusted to be thorough about it. He thought for a moment, and then snapped his fingers.

“Little Ricky,” he said, reaching up instinctively for his earpiece, and frowning when he didn’t find it in its usual place.

“Who?” Carson asked; his expression quite puzzled.

“Little...Oh,” Rodney realized the physician had no idea who he was referring to. “Hernandez. Ricardo? Enrique? Something... Some of the guys in the Chem section thought it would be funny because he brought along a DVD of ‘I Love Lucy’ episodes as his personal item when we first came to Atlantis... Anyhow, he’s one of the better people I have when it comes to Ancient equipment and the database in particular. He’s not nearly as good as I am, of course, but he’s generally very detail-oriented and for this kind of thing that’s what you want.”

Carson could have sworn the entire monologue had been carried on in a single breath. Rodney looked up at him expectantly, since he was without his own earpiece.

“Ah, I see,” the physician answered; what else could he say to that? “Ye dunna want Zelenka on it?”

“Zelenka’s got bigger things to think about right now,” Rodney waved his good hand dismissively. “With me in here, he’s got the whole city to run and that’s more than enough to keep his mind occupied.” While it might seem like a not-so-subtle insult to the Czech’s intelligence, Carson knew it better as Rodney’s assertion that he trusted Radek’s ability to oversee the day-to-day operations of Atlantis in his absence.

Nodding once, Carson tapped his own earpiece. “Beckett ta Dr. Hernandez,” he said, glancing aside as he did so.

“Sí, Señor Beckett?” the Puerto Rican scientist responded. “What can I do for you?”

“Could ye come ta the Infirmary, Doctor?” Carson’s request was reasonable enough. “We could use ye’r help with somethin’ here.”

“Sí, I am coming to you,” Hernandez confirmed. “Hernandez, out.”

“His accent’s horr’ble,” Rodney mumbled tiredly; the pain medication taking a firm hold. Blue eyes blinked owlishly, and he abruptly chuckled. “Look who ‘m talkin’ to ‘bout that...” The injured physicist gave a jaw-cracking yawn before he turned a pleased—albeit sleepy—smile to Anita, who had returned with one of the blue gel-packs for his shoulder. Carson just shook his head slightly and chalked it up to the medication; lately it was Katie Brown in Botany who had the physicist’s eye.

“We’ll get a scan,” Carson addressed the nurse. “An’ then we can let ‘im sleep it off.”

“She’s really pretty eyes, y’know?” McKay slurred softly to Beckett with a vague motion toward the nurse.

“Go ta sleep, Rodney,” the Scot prompted with an amused look at Anita, who was smiling a little herself.

“Yes...yes...’course...” Rodney yawned again, and his eyes drifted closed. Moments later, very faint snoring could be heard as the scientist’s mouth fell open in sleep. Carson shook his head again.

“Well, lass,” he addressed Anita. “Let’s get a good look at his shoulder.”

Carson crossed the main part of the Infirmary to prepare the Ancient scanner for the examination of Rodney’s shoulder. On the near side of the room, Ronon sat up from where he’d slouched in a chair, drawing Teyla’s attention as well and she lifted her head from the back of the chair she’d straddled.

“McKay awake yet?” Ronon asked, as he had every time Carson had emerged into the outer area during the past couple of hours, and the physician turned about abruptly.

“Aye, he was,” Beckett said apologetically, and at the former Runner’s frown, held up a hand. “His shoulder injury’s givin’ him a good bit o’ pain an’ I gave him somethin’ for it. I know ye want ta speak with him, lad, but it’ll have ta wait until he wakes again.”

“No good at waiting,” the Satedan ground out unhappily.

“I thought Dr. McKay’s shoulder was healing well?” Teyla inquired now, a slightly more concerned cast to her features than Ronon’s impatient expression.

“Aye, it was,” Carson answered with a frustrated sigh. “He’s aggravated the injury, the bugger; likely it’ll take longer ta heal now than it would’ve.”

“That is unfortunate,” Teyla remarked, and Ronon snorted.

“Unfortunate that we get to listen to him whine about it longer,” he remarked bluntly. “How’s Sheppard?”

“Still holdin’ his own,” Carson answered, with a small nod. “I’ve been vera pleased with the colonel’s progress, although we’re also dealin’ with some pain management there as well.” The Scot’s expression grew serious. “It’s goin’ ta be a fairly lengthy recovery, I’m afraid.”

“What about his mind?” the Satedan pressed, and Carson could see the concern in his bearing, hear it in the gruff tone even if it wasn’t immediately obvious to the casual observer. He was beginning to know the former Runner better and was learning how to ‘read’ Ronon’s reactions, even if the tall fighter could still intimidate him on occasion. “When’ll he start rememberin’ things?”

“That I canna tell ye, laddie,” Carson admitted, a frankly worried expression on his own face. “That sort o’ recovery can be vera tricky indeed an’ we’ll just have ta wait an’ see.”

“More waiting,” Ronon grumbled again, and slouched back down in the chair, although it was clear to see that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay in it or not. He had the look of a coiled snake and Carson realized that a Ronon in this sort of mood was a Ronon better handled by Teyla.

“I’ll let ye know if anythin’ changes with either one o’ them,” the physician promised, and with that returned to his original purpose of bringing the Ancient scanner online for Rodney’s shoulder.

Carson glanced back over his shoulder; Ronon was watching him, a scowl firmly fixed on his face. In spite of the trust the Satedan had earned, somehow Carson was rather grateful that he had things to do in the treatment areas of the Infirmary and he set about doing them. Once the scan on Rodney’s shoulder been seen to and the physicist settled, Carson then turned his attention to his most serious patient.

Only to find that Ronon had abandoned the chair to stand silent vigil nearby the critical care suite, arms crossed, watching the sleeping lieutenant colonel within intently. He knew the Satedan was perfectly aware of his presence, so Carson simply came alongside and glanced at John briefly before turning his gaze to the man next to him.

“Sheppard’s gonna come back,” Ronon said simply, without as much as moving a muscle to acknowledge Beckett’s presence. “He’s gonna remember.” There was no compromise, no taking the possibility that it might not happen; in the Satedan’s world there was only one answer. The Scot had to admit he could appreciate the position, as other options weren’t anything he particularly liked to contemplate either.

“Aye, that’s the plan, anyway,” Carson answered him after a moment, keeping his voice as calm and neutral as possible; the colonel’s first recollections of the unfamiliar galaxy around him didn’t need to include a riled up Satedan warrior. Of course, they didn’t need to include the Wraith either but Carson knew eventually certain unpleasant details would need to be revealed, assuming John’s mind didn’t recover those particular nightmares on its own.

Almost as if his patient was subconsciously responding to Carson’s thoughts, John’s forehead drew into a tight, distressed frown and the dark head turned restlessly, just once, upon the pillows on which he laid. That might have been the end of it, except for the desperate, quiet groaning that followed; the hand that batted defensively into thin air.

Ronon was moving even before Carson, to the physician’s surprise and both men entered, reaching either side of the colonel’s bed at nearly the same moment. Carson noted instantly that pulse and blood pressure were both elevated, and John’s respiration was fast and shallow. Ronon was immediately fixed on the pale, bruised face and the soft, hitched moans. Quickly, but more gently than Carson would ever have believed it, the Satedan caught hold of John’s weakly thrashing hand, and he leaned down to keep his voice low.

“Sheppard,” Ronon intoned, quiet and steady. John’s head tossed on the pillow, seeking escape from a nameless terror that only he could see, and Ronon placed his other hand reassuringly but carefully on the injured pilot’s shoulder. “Sheppard,” he repeated more firmly but still quiet. “You’re okay, now...Can’t hurt you anymore.”

If Carson hadn’t seen it himself, he might never have believed it. The Satedan’s words seemed to register on some level with John; gradually the agitated lieutenant colonel calmed and the plaintive moaning tapered off. Pulse and breathing both slowed, and Carson watched, pleased, as John returned to deeper sleep.

“Nicely done, lad,” Beckett murmured approvingly as after several long moments, the former Runner gently laid Sheppard’s hand back down at his side. “I know it seems like he’s sleepin’ all the time,” he continued in a near-whisper. “But trust me, Ronon; it’s exactly what he needs right now.”

“McKay, too,” Dex finally admitted, despite his impatience. He was just as aware as Beckett, perhaps more so, how little rest the scientist had allowed himself during Sheppard’s absence. As irritated as he could be with the man, he knew it was better for all of them that McKay was finally getting some real sleep. The Satedan hunched his shoulders; the first uneasy motion he’d made in Beckett’s presence. “His shoulder gonna be okay?” he asked, a very slight nod toward the outer area where McKay lay.

“Oh, aye,” Carson did his best to disguise his amusement at Ronon’s ill-concealed concern for his team-mates. “It’s like ye said, laddie, we’ll just be quite aware how much it aches until it’s properly mended.” To his surprise, a grin briefly flashed across Ronon’s face. Apparently the tall fighter understood that a quiet Rodney McKay meant something was very wrong. If Rodney was able to work his mouth, then all was well enough.

“Good,” Ronon conceded. He finally turned dark eyes to Carson. “Can I stay?” he asked directly, and nodded toward the chair Teyla had earlier occupied near the colonel’s bed. If the eyes were indeed the windows to the soul, as the saying went, Carson caught a brief glimpse of the Satedan’s remaining guilt and worry over John’s situation. The Scot smiled reassuringly.’

“O’ course, Ronon, ye can stay awhile,” he consented, and taller man wasted no time in taking up station close by John’s bed. Carson’s next few moments were taken with his patient, checking monitors and IV, but as he did so, occasionally glanced in Ronon’s direction. For a man who was self-admittedly no good at waiting, Ronon was becoming quite proficient at it. “All right, lad,” Carson prefaced. “I’ll be back ta look in on Colonel Sheppard, but if either o’ ye need anythin’, Anita’s on duty, an’ I’ll just be out in the lab.”

“Okay,” Ronon answered, and Carson knew that was as much as he was going to get out of the Satedan. Leaving Ronon to his watchful observation of his team-leader, Carson left the colonel’s bedside. On returning to his workstation, he found Dr. Hernandez waiting for him.

“Señor Beckett?”

“Ah, ye timin’ could no’ be more perfect. Over here, if ye please.” The sooner Carson set the Puerto Rican to the task at hand, the sooner he could return to it, himself. Hopefully, the sooner he could treat his patient and prevent the colonel from further harm. Perhaps, even, ease the waiting for a certain Satedan.

part 3