The infirmary door opened again and Carson turned that way to direct the newly arrived to the makeshift waiting area, only to be confronted by a bleeding Genii soldier. The man had Dr. Salas by the neck, using her as a shield. A knife was pressed into her skin, a trickle of blood sliding down her chest.

"Get your leader here, or she dies," The Genii hissed, his eyes wide and shaking with fear. "Now!"

Carson cued his radio. "Elizabeth?" Silence was the only reply and Carson worried briefly about Dr. Weir--he'd already heard that she'd been shot. What if they found her, in such a state? She might already be dead. Shaking off such thoughts, Carson looked helplessly at the Genii, knowing that the expression made him look unusually hapless. "She's not responding. Look, this is an emergency room; there's no reason to hurt anyone here."

"Find her," The Genii growled. Carson edged toward the waiting room, still trying to look harmless. The Genii turned with him, keeping Dr. Salas in front of his body. Carson felt behind him for the rifle one of the wounded soldiers had left when he'd passed out.

Carson cued his radio again and began to speak, knowing that Elizabeth wasn't going to answer. "Dr. Weir, we have a situation in the infirmary. Your presence would be greatly appreciated." Carson knew the calm, almost conversational tone of his voice would be a dead giveaway to any of their crew that something very serious was going on. "I believe someone here wants to speak to you."

"Stop playing!" The Genii shouted, pushing the knife deeper into Dr. Salas' throat. The infirmary doors opened and the Genii automatically swung towards them, giving Carson a clear view of his back. Carson brought the P90 around and fired twice, hitting the Genii solidly in the back. Both he and Dr. Salas slumped to the ground, the Genii's knife clattering loudly as they fell.

The soldiers who had come into the infirmary rushed towards the fallen doctor and only then did Carson realize that at close range, the bullets probably went through the Genii and struck her as well. He ran over and pushed the now-dead Genii out of the way, cringing at the sight of twin bloodstains spreading on her back. "Get her on the table," He barked at the soldiers, who were apparently uninjured. Someone had heard, and understood, him on the radio. Too bad the cavalry hadn't been able to prevent this, Carson thought bitterly.

Carson and two nurses made quick work of Dr. Salas' uniform, quickly evaluating the wounds on her back. She was conscious but silent and bleeding from a shallow cut across her neck. Carson probed the wounds, infinitely relieved to find the bullets just below the surface. The force required to pass all the way through the Genii's body had slowed the bullets enough that they'd only managed to go about half an inch into Dr. Salas' back.

"Irrigate the wounds, extract the bullets and suture her," He told one of the other doctors before turning to the soldiers who'd helped him. "You, get rid of that," He said, pointing at the dead Genii. "And if you're not injured, start helping out."

Ten minutes later, Dr. Weir showed up at the still shell-shocked infirmary, walking but with a noticeable limp. Carson walked quickly, taking her up by the waist to relieve the burden on her injured leg. "It's not serious," She said, breathless from exertion. "The bullet missed all the major arteries."

"I'll be the judge of that," Carson said gruffly, not quite able to hide his relief at seeing their fearless leader alive, if somewhat battered. "Although if you're right, you may be here a while; now that the shield is up we're only going to get busier around here."

Dr. Weir nodded and let herself be pushed down onto an exam table. Once Carson decided she was in no immediate danger, he handed her off to another doctor and went back to work overseeing the treatment of more serious injuries. His surgeons were up to their eyeballs in work and even though it wasn't his specialty, Carson found himself scrubbing his hands and trying to remember the finer points of thoracic surgery.

Three healthy or mostly healthy Marines stood guard in front of the infirmary doors, alternately fending off Genii and Wraith and carrying in the wounded. Carson ignored them for a time and turned to more critical matters--trying to dredge life out of the chaotic gore surrounding him.

•••

Rodney paused before rounding the corner, keeping his stunner at the ready. Between it, his P90 and the bag of maintenance equipment he had slung over his shoulders, Rodney felt like he was plunging into battle masquerading as a pack mule. Rodney did not want to suffer the posthumous irony of being killed because he was overloaded with stuff meant to save his fucking life.

The two initial waves of invasion--Genii and then Wraith--were over now that he and Zelenka had gotten the shield up and the 'gate locked. Now the city was in the midst of guerrilla warfare as the remaining Wraith tried to bring the shield back down and the Genii attempted to get home. Rodney couldn't help but see the humor in the abrupt reversal of their plans. Then again, his tendency was also to run home whenever the Wraith appeared.

A shuffling murmur caught Rodney's attention and he slid behind a support buttress, leaning back as far as he could to conceal his bulk. The hallway was eerily silent, made more so by the distant clatter of gunfire echoing from the center of the city. Rodney listened intently, wondering if he'd be able to tell just what was down the hall--a human or a Wraith?

Finally Rodney stepped back from the wall and continued down the hallway, switching to his P90. It would hold a Wraith back long enough for him to get the stunner back out, and it was much easier to maneuver. He'd only gotten a few meters before his question was answered, however.

Rodney saw human hands holding a gun just seconds before a bullet spun past his ear. He ducked and stepped to the right, firing at the still-concealed attacker. He shot the Genii soldier three times in the chest and then watched in detached fascination as the man, thrown back against the wall by the force of the close-range gunfire, slid wetly to the floor. His descent left a bloody smear on dull grey metal. Rodney stepped forward and collected the now-dead man's pistol and spare ammunition, tucking the weapon away for future use.

He did not look at the man's face, nor the one of the man he shot a moment later. That one he hit in both the chest and head, sending a spray of gore in directions Rodney didn't want to think about.

Rodney fully expected to encounter another Genii as he made his way back to the damaged generator, but all he saw were corpses. The first couple were obviously those killed by Atlantis's forces during the initial attack. He'd seen them during the trek to the control room. The ones that were bothering Rodney were the bodies that had fallen to the Wraith. It didn't make sense for the Wraith to be feeding during a battle, unless they were starving.

He wasn't sure which was worse, facing a starving Wraith or one strengthened by recent feeding. Rodney reached the doorway to the generator room and paused again. The lack of noise from his own movement allowed Rodney to listen to the sounds coming from inside the generator room. He could hear the sounds of struggle near the door, which meant that the troops he'd left near the generator were busy fighting either the Genii or the Wraith.

Rodney keyed open the door, hoping the only people on the other side were human. When the door opened, Rodney jumped back as a body--human--fell into the hallway. He didn't look down at it, though, as his gaze was caught on the scene before him.

Two Wraith were standing about eight feet from the door. One had a Genii soldier by the neck, toying with him, while the other Wraith used a stunner to hold two of the human's compatriots at bay. A glimpse farther back showed two other Wraith closer to the generator but it looked to Rodney like they weren't getting any nearer. He hoped that meant his own men were still alive and succeeding at keeping the Wraith from doing any more damage.

Still, Rodney had to find a way to get to the generator. Four Wraith were too much for two soldiers to hold off, especially when the Wraith had ready-made food in the form of Genii. Rodney slid into the room and behind a square column, concealing himself from the Wraith.

It wasn’t hard to do; the two Wraith nearest to him were thoroughly distracted by the Genii. He couldn't shoot the armed Wraith without drawing the attention of the other Wraith and the free Genii. Rodney considered his options, but before deciding whether to take on these two Wraith and the Genii or going around to the generator and assisting his men, the Wraith made the decision for him.

The two Genii trying to play rescuers got hit with one blast from a stunner. The Wraith who hit them turned and looked right at Rodney and he didn't think, he just fired right at the creature's head, before realizing he was still using his P90. The thing screamed in pain and rushed Rodney, but he managed to get his stunner out and fired it, sending the Wraith sprawling. He stepped out from behind the column and faced the remaining Wraith, who was holding the Genii in front of him like a shield.

Rodney looked at the Genii, whose uniform was open enough for the Wraith to have a hand on his chest, and knew there was nothing he could do to save the human. The Wraith caught Rodney's gaze as he began to feed, its eyes malignant and sparkling with glee. Rodney didn't flinch as life flowed out of the Genii and into the Wraith. He didn't wait for the Genii to fall to the ground before firing high, right at the Wraith's face. Since it had just fed, the Wraith was strong, but Rodney managed to knock it down. He tried to run past it, but the Wraith reached out and tangled an arm in Rodney's leg. He fell heavily across its body, thrashing to avoid those deadly hands.

Cool, dry skin rasped against his face as Rodney struggled to find a weapon. He was too close to the Wraith to use either his rifle or the stunner, so Rodney grabbed his knife. The Wraith was still moving slowly--for a Wraith, anyway--and Rodney was able to bring his knife up and thrust it into the Wraith's chest, marveling briefly at how difficult it was to do. The injury wouldn't kill the monster, but it might leave the Wraith immobile long enough for them to do something more permanent.

Rodney pulled himself to his feet and aimed his stunner at the Wraith. He then checked the other, unconscious Wraith and fired an extra couple of stunner blasts at it before heading towards the generator.

Rodney arrived in time to help finish off the last Wraith; its companion was already down although not dead yet. "Secure the room," He barked at one of the soldiers. "You," Rodney barked at the second man, "Kill them."

"How?" The Marine asked. "They've all fed. Hell, I'm surprised we got them down at all."

Rodney was already inspecting the generator, deciding in which order to repair the damage. "I really don't care how you do it; just get it done before they wake up. You might try cutting off their heads, though," He rambled, mostly distracted by the generator. "There aren't many humanoid species that can survive decapitation." Since he'd left, a Wraith blast had destroyed at least one more of the crystal panels. Fortunately he'd brought along an extra spare. Rodney began changing out panels, glancing back once to make sure the soldiers were doing what he asked. The last thing he wanted was for the Wraith to wake up while he was up to his eyeballs in gel matrix.

"Get over here!" One of the Marines shouted. "This one's waking up!"

"McKay!" The other Marine barked, "They're not staying down. Get over here before they're all up!"

Rodney put down his tools and picked up his P90, realizing for the first time that these Marines hadn't actually faced Wraith before. They could say whatever they wanted about pasty-faced scientists, but at least he knew what he was doing when it came to Wraith.

The first Wraith he came to was starting to twitch itself awake, so Rodney pointed his rifle at its head and opened fire. A half-dozen rounds later, its brain was spattered on the floor so he deemed it irreparable. "Stop aiming for the heart; they heal too quickly for that. Go for the head," He suggested, pointing at the remaining three Wraith. "And quickly. They're going to cause trouble."

The sharp report of gunfire was hard to ignore, but Rodney managed to tune it out as he resumed his repairs. The generator wasn't catastrophically damaged, but it would take at least twenty minutes for him to get it operational.

•••

"Three humans in far maintenance room, southwest corridor," Zelenka murmured, pointing to three blinking dots on the city's scan display. "And two Wraith in room across from them. All stationary."

"Did you get that, Ford?" John murmured into his radio. "Bates, report."

"He got them," Kavanagh said, pointing to four Wraith-colored blobs that flashed briefly and then disappeared. "Make him go see who those humans are," He continued, indicating a cluster of a half-dozen humans in the same section of the city. "They're either Genii or Athosian."

"We will go," Teyla said, gesturing to a group of Athosians.

"You stay here," John said firmly. "Bates, six humans, two doors down and across the hall. Shoot later."

"Major Sheppard, we are more than capable of assessing who is a threat and who is not," Teyla said shortly to John, who was already leaving the control desks and gathering his men. He paused and turned back to her, disbelief warring with frustration for dominance on his face.

"I must be hallucinating. You did not just say that you can tell good guys from bad ones," He snapped. "Since it was you who determined that the assholes you invited to this city without our permission were harmless."

"Major," Teyla began, obviously frustrated. John waved her off.

"If you want to help, get all of your people to this room," John interjected. "Kavanagh, let Zelenka finish the scan. You, pull up the rosters of all Stargate personnel and add to it all the Athosians. Call down to the infirmary and get IDs on the casualties and then start checking off everyone. Start with the Athosians."

"Excuse me?" Teyla said, reaching out to grab John's arm. "What are you doing?"

John barely restrained his temper. "We're taking roll, Teyla. Every person in this city, living and dead, gets counted. We're starting with your people because it's pretty fucking obvious if a person belongs to us or not. The Genii can always hide out with you."

"You think we would harbor our enemies?" She shot, reaching for one of her ever-present sticks.

"I think it's not impossible that someone in your little trading mission had an inkling of what was going to go down," John accused. "Although I hope for your sake I'm wrong. Once the headcount is finished, we'll be interviewing everyone who went on that mission. Everyone."

Both John and Teyla were so caught up in their argument that they didn't see Dr. Weir limp into the 'gate room on crutches. "Major, I believe that Lieutenant Ford would like your assistance. He's found a group of Genii holed up in some unused quarters."

"Dr. Weir, my people will not tolerate this treatment," Teyla said, still glaring at John. "We are not criminals."

"No," John said, matching her glare for glare, "But you brought this on yourselves. We had reasons--extremely good reasons--for not wanting to go on unnecessary missions right now, but you played every sympathy card you had to get a vacation off-world. Now we've lost people, you've lost people and there are dead Wraith and Genii all over the city. We have human prisoners we don't have the time or desire to deal with, a power situation that is, if possible, even more precarious than it was before, and the Wraith are never going to leave us alone now that they've actually breached the city once. So I don't want to hear any of this whining that you're being mistreated."

"We fought alongside you!" Teyla shouted, advancing on John. "We died alongside your people."

"The few that didn't get offered amnesty by the Genii," John corrected. "Most of your people holed up in their quarters, happy to let our people die fighting for this city. Your people only joined in once the Wraith showed up and threw a monkey wrench into whatever the Genii had planned. All of which is pointless, because we'd be doing this count even if every able-bodied Athosian in the city had picked up a gun and stood by us. We're checking everyone, Teyla."

Teyla refused to budge. "You are accusing us of treachery, Major--a very serious insult."

"I don't have time for this," John said, once again walking away. "Dr. Weir, perhaps you could explain the concept of martial law to Teyla, because I don't think she grasps it at all."

John left the room with his words still stinging Teyla's ears. She turned to Dr. Weir, but Elizabeth's expression was stony. "Surely you do not expect us to agree to what he demands!" Teyla said, walking up to Dr. Weir.

Elizabeth paused in her review of the initial personnel report Kavanagh had given her. She was already marking down those she knew to be dead. "I expect to see every Athosian man, woman and child in this room within the hour," Weir replied. "Stay armed; Dr. Zelenka will forewarn you if he sees any Wraith. If you find any Genii, restrain them and call us. We'll send soldiers to take care of them."

Teyla obviously wanted to argue, but a rather long, pointed stare by Dr. Weir changed her mind. It was obvious that there was no budging the city's commander on this issue. Teyla eventually turned and left, calling to those Athosians fighting alongside her. They slowly made their way to the quarters the Athosians inhabited, knowing that the required check-in would result in chaos.

•••

"Is that everyone, then?" Carson asked, glancing warily around the infirmary.

"I think so," One of the other doctors replied, handing over the patient list as he practically ran out the door. Carson couldn't blame him; they'd been working nonstop for so many hours he couldn't remember when they'd started.

It had begun as a trickle of those personnel shot by the Genii. One of those was dead on arrival and another bled out before they could do anything but get him through the door.

Then the Wraith arrived and his staff alternated between saving lives and killing Wraith--and one Genii soldier who thought the infirmary was as good a place as any to do battle. Carson had known that one day he might be asked to kill someone, but he never thought he'd have to do it in a place set aside for saving lives.

Before long his infirmary was crowded with Atlantis personnel suffering everything from massive head wounds to sprained ankles. A few Athosians were in that mix, although far fewer than he'd have thought. Carson was suspicious, but he knew if it had caught his attention, Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard definitely knew something was going on. The lowest priority for Carson was the surviving Genii. He'd had his assistants patch them up before letting Sergeant Bates drag them away to the city's holding cells. It should've appalled Carson that he didn't care if they lived or died, but he didn't. They'd shown a marked lack of humanity, mercy and simple common sense and at the moment he didn't care if the lot of them expired on the spot.

Carson stifled a yawn and read over the preliminary report he'd been given, cursing when he saw that Major Sheppard hadn't gotten checked out. He'd seen the Major earlier and knew he'd been wounded, although probably superficially. Getting John to come to the infirmary now would be slightly easier than climbing Mount Everest in a swimsuit, so Carson picked up an emergency first-aid kit and went off in search of him. He knew he wouldn't sleep until he'd made sure the Major wasn't ignoring a serious injury.

Finding the Major wasn't difficult; the man was rushing through the halls, making absolutely sure that every Genii and Wraith had been rounded up. Ford and Bates were following behind him, barking orders into their radios as soon as Sheppard issued them. "Major," Carson said, stepping into the center of the hallway. "I need to speak to you for a moment."

"Not now," Sheppard muttered, pushing past him. Carson reached out, catching John's arm with his hand. The Major spun around, his own free hand on Carson's throat even before he stopped moving.

Carson held his breath as John's fingers clenched around his neck. He swallowed slowly, staying very still. "You haveta let me see to you, Major. You're bleeding."

John blinked and released Carson's neck, taking a step back and the doctor could see exhaustion etched into the man's face. Ford and Bates looked a little worried that their CO was still on edge, but they said nothing. "It's a flesh wound," He murmured, frowning. "I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that," Carson insisted, reaching for the Major again. "It won't take long, and you could most assuredly use the rest. It's past time you laid down for a bit."

Carson could tell John was going to argue with him, his mouth pursed into a grim line. "Major? We've swept the city and McKay's got the shield back up. Ford and I can handle this until morning," Sergeant Bates said, nodding to the Lieutenant. "Both of us have had more rest than you anyway."

"I can have Dr. Weir order it," Carson threatened the still-frowning Major. "You know you need to stop for a few hours. You can't run like this forever."

John stood there for a moment before nodding slowly. "Fine. Four hours," He replied tiredly. "You find me before anything happens, Bates. And Ford? We’re still having that chat tomorrow about risk assessment."

Bates and cringing Ford nodded their understanding and continued down the hall, still issuing orders through their radios. Carson turned John around and led him down the hall. The residential area was closer than the infirmary, so Carson angled them towards that area. He had intended to go to John's room, but they were in front of Carson's own quarters when the Major began to list to one side. Carson quickly opened the door and led John inside, laying him down on his bed.

John stared dazedly at the ceiling as Carson did a cursory exam. "When did you eat and drink last?" Carson asked, checking John's eyes.

It took John longer to answer than Carson would've liked. "Breakfast before the world went on a bender," John replied quietly. "Power bars and something brown--tea?"

"Right," Carson murmured. He rummaged through a side table until he found some power bars. "Can you open this?" He asked, proffering one to John. The Major fumbled with the wrapper briefly before getting it open and taking a bite. Once Carson was sure John wasn't going to fall asleep and choke on the food, he went into his bathroom and got John a glass of water. At the moment, it looked as though the worst of John's problems were exhaustion and dehydration. The small laceration to John's shoulder had already closed, but it needed to be cleaned and bandaged anyway.

John was uncharacteristically pliant as Carson removed his shirt and worked on his shoulder. Normally the Major would've made some sort of comment, or at least protested any need for treatment. The only times John didn't complain about being in the infirmary were when he'd gotten there under someone else's power. Tonight, though, John simply ate the power bars Carson handed him, drank the water he'd been given, and watched Carson bustle about the room.

"They lost more people than we did."

Carson turned from his medical kit. "Who? The Wraith or the Genii?"

"Both," John said, staring up at the ceiling again. "All of them--the Athosians, too. Ten of us, fifteen Athosians, forty-three Genii and thirty-one Wraith."

"I didn't know how many Wraith there were," Carson said, as he'd seen each and every of the human casualties in his own workplace. He finally found the bandage he'd been looking for and returned to John's side to place it over the newly-clean wound.

Carson applied the bandage and leaned back, but John caught his arm as he moved. "You--the Genii came to the infirmary..."

Carson closed his eyes briefly and sighed, trying to beat back the sudden rush of cold nausea that flooded him. He was still trying to do so when he felt John tug on his arm, pulling him down onto the bed. A second hand rested on his shoulders as he folded down onto himself, turning him so that when he found the bed, he landed softly next to John. Carson tried to rein in the residue of terror and revulsion he felt, but when those careful hands pressed him flat on the bed and held him steady, a broken cry clawed its way out of his throat.

"It's ok," John whispered, his breath warm and close against Carson's ear. "You had to do it."

Carson shook his head and finally opened his eyes. It took a moment to focus on John's face; he was mere inches from Carson's own. John's eyes were tired but still sharp and the look of honest concern on his face was heartbreaking. "It wasn't him," Carson said, "The Genii. He had Dr. Salas...by the neck..."

John's hands smoothed over his chest again as the man made nonsensical, soothing sounds. Carson waited for John to say something else, some sort of cliché that was supposed to make him feel better for having shot a man--and then for not caring that he'd taken a life. John didn't say anything, though, and Carson thought that maybe his silence was what John was saying. If anyone in Atlantis knew just how little could be said about this kind of death, it was John Sheppard.

Carson was still thinking about the sudden, but comfortable, silence when John caught his gaze again. He stared at John while the man continued to calm him and didn't break their visual connection when John's hands moved further up to caress his neck. Gentle fingers ghosted the still-tender area where John had grabbed him earlier in a tactile apology for such unwarranted violence. Carson didn't look away when John leaned in and brushed their cheeks together, rough stubble catching and dragging on their skin. John was warm and marvelously heavy, draped as he was partly on top of Carson. John filled his senses; pale, shadowed skin and dark hair, gunpowder and blood, sweat and survival all seethed and swirled around Carson until all he knew was that he was grounded and John was the one keeping him in place. Time stretched, soft and slick like warm taffy around Carson's mind. He felt melted, pliable and boneless yet secure and welcomed.

John's mouth was cool and slick from the water he'd drank, an intoxicating counterpoint to warm hands and a warmer body. Carson grasped John's shoulders, pressing him closer as he opened himself and drew John in, tongues pushing tentatively against blunt teeth. A shift and an arm moving above his head and Carson felt John's growing erection settle next to his own, grinding into his hip. He groaned into their continuing kiss, undone by John's vivid, breathing presence. Alive and here.

Then time made up for its earlier laziness and between Carson blinking and releasing John's mouth to draw a breath, suddenly purposive hands were tugging on his clothes. He watched, fascinated, as his own hands yanked on zippers and deftly undid buttons until, in a surprisingly fluid tangle of limbs, he and John were equally naked.

Carson gasped at John's masculine beauty; he'd never seen John naked with a human's eyes before, only the calculated perception of a doctor. He was muscle and skin, scars and hair, utterly male and crawling back over top of Carson to push him back into the mattress. John's cock rubbed against his as Carson let the man settle between his legs, John resting most of his weight on his forearms. Then Carson leaned up and kissed him again, wrapping his arms around John's chest to bring him back down. John moaned brokenly and thrust down against Carson who rose to meet him, sliding one leg up and around John's hip. Carson planted his foot on the bed between John's knees and used the leverage to thrust up again, harder this time.

John sucked on Carson's tongue and let his hips fall into rhythm with Carson's, thrusting hard but slow. Thrust, pause, slide thrust. Carson tasted John's lips and pressed scattered kisses along his neck, sucking lightly. John's arms slid forward, curling around Carson's shoulders and pulling them even closer together. Carson couldn't tell if it was his heart pounding, or John's, but they were moving harder and faster, pleasure tumbling in the space that wasn't between their bodies. Carson let one hand dance its way down John's spine until he could press a finger down between the man's cheeks, teasing the opening there. John's mouth latched onto his neck and he felt the faint nip of teeth as John bucked into him and then back against his hand, hands contracting on his shoulders.

Carson held onto John tightly as he trembled and shook through his climax. John stilled, a heavy weight on Carson's chest, and then reached between them to take hold of Carson's erection. The very touch of John's hand on him was enough and Carson cried out in pleasure as he let go and came, pouring over John's hand and onto his own stomach.

John eased off Carson and collapsed next to him on the bed, allowing cool air to chill Carson's sweating body. Carson would've cared, except he was too tired to do so; exhaustion and sex combined to form a powerful tranquilizer and Carson let himself drift off to sleep, lulled there by the warmly thrumming body lying next to his.

Daylight hadn't yet ripped apart the darkness of Carson's quarters when he awoke, dragged out of sleep by the unfamiliar sound of another person waking up alongside him in his bed. He listened quietly as John rubbed his face and yawned himself into consciousness. Carson felt surprisingly good considering the events of the previous day, and he wasn't sure he wanted to ponder exactly why that was so. Instead of thinking he lay very still, his eyes closed, as John sat up suddenly, swinging his legs off the bed.

"Oh fuck," He heard John whisper, and Carson felt some of his contentment slip away. John quickly and silently gathered his clothing and dressed himself, slipping out the door without a single glance at the person he'd left behind.

Carson let his eyes stare up at the blackness above him. His body ached and his stomach itched from dried semen, but neither complaint mattered to him. Now that he was both awake and alone, the previous day came crashing down on him again like he was Sisyphus and had just gotten his boulder to the top of the hill. People were dead, one by his own hand. The fragile security of Atlantis had been shattered and even though the shield was back up, Carson knew that the psychological ramifications of the Genii and the Wraith invading would last for months, if not years.

He'd spent a few hours escaping those harsh realities with John, never thinking that what they'd done was anything more than mutual comfort. Still, Carson couldn't help but be deeply hurt by John's first reaction to him, upon waking. He'd recoiled and darted away, as though repulsed by what he'd found--by Carson himself.

Carson levered himself out of bed and walked to the bathroom. However long he'd slept would have to suffice; there were patients to be treated and meetings to attend and the aftermath of a war to find horrifying and scarring. Thinking about John Sheppard would have to wait.