Status: Completed 3/24/2009

Word Count: 2,129

Author's Notes: Sorry it has been so long between this chapter and the last, but my muse was NOT being cooperative, at all, for a while. Many thanks to Annie and Cheryl for the beta.

It took all of his strength, what little he had left, to keep himself from stumbling as his foot struck yet another rock. It seemed like they'd been walking for days, but he knew it had only been about two hours. He really didn't like the fact that Teyla was supporting much more of his weight now than she'd had to do earlier in the day, or even the night before, but there wasn't much he could do about it. The shoulder wound still throbbed, but it was bearable, and when he concentrated strictly on walking, he could forget it for a while.

Like now. It almost felt numb and he prayed it was only from the position it was in over Teyla's shoulder. He hoped it wasn't a sign that the injury was more serious than it appeared. Even just the thought of losing his arm, or having it injured seriously enough to lose partial control of it was a frightening thought. After all, they weren't many, if any, one armed pilots around.

Especially in the military.

He wasn't ready to give it up, any of it. Not yet. Not ever. At least not until he was too old and gray to know what a plane, or a Jumper, was even if it jumped up and bit him on the ass.

If, no, when they made contact with Earth again, he would not only lose his flight status, it was highly likely he'd also be returned to Earth and given a medical discharge from the Air Force.

The wound to the side was another matter entirely. Every step sent agonizing stabs of pain through his abdomen. John had barely been able to keep from gasping or groaning a few times, other times he couldn't stop it. He hated the concerned looks Teyla threw at him or exchanged with Ford with each noise that escaped him. It irked him although he knew it shouldn't. They had good reason to be concerned and he knew it. Hell, he was concerned, although for different reasons.

He was more worried about them than his own welfare.

John couldn't catch himself this time and stumbled as his feet came into contact with a large root. This time he went down. His left knee collided painfully with the hard ground and he grunted loudly. At the sound of his groan, even McKay turned and looked at him with a mixture of concern and fear.

"I'm fine," he growled, preempting another request from Teyla -she'd already tried three times in the past forty minutes- that they take a break. For a moment he though she might argue with him, but she merely nodded and helped him back to his feet.

After another fifteen minutes of stumbling along, and three more falls, John finally admitted to himself that he really, really needed a break. He was tired and the pain in his side had just kicked up another notch, something he hadn't thought possible just a few short minutes ago. Besides, his head was beginning to throb unmercifully.

Finally, John relented. He glanced at his watch and noted the time; it was nearly five o'clock. Stopping, he announced, "Dinner time folks."

Teyla's relief was evident as she guided John towards a nearby large tree and helped ease him down to the ground. "You are a stubborn man, Major Sheppard," she admonished as he leaned back against the tree, panting in pain.

John really wanted to say something snappy and witty, anything at all for that matter, but right at that moment it was all he could do to not groan out loud at another stabbing pain in his side.

"I will check your wounds now," she told him, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Not that he intended to argue anyway. He was too damn tired and it hurt too damn much. Instead, he merely nodded and leaned his head back against the tree. He watched as she wordlessly went about gathering the supplies she'd need to clean and redress his wounds. What he really wanted to do was to lie down, curl his body into a tight ball against the pain and sleep for the next week or three. Instead, he kept his eyes open, moved forward to make it easier for Teyla to get his vest and t-shirt off and tried not to scream when she began removing the blood and pus soaked bandages.

"The wound has become infected," Teyla informed him as she examined his side.

"Yeah," he gritted out as he glanced down at the inflamed tissue surrounding the cuts. "I see that." And feel it. He kept that thought to himself.

When Teyla poured the antiseptic onto the wounds, it was all he could do to keep himself from lashing out at her physically. His hands curled into tight balls around fist-fulls of his pants legs. She finished cleaning up the abdominal wounds then moved to his shoulder.

Teyla checked the wound to the front first then eased John forward again. "It does not appear to be infected," she informed him as she examined the puncture wounds on the back of his shoulder. She cleaned them quickly and John grimaced against the burn of the antiseptic. He opened his eyes after a few seconds and did a visual scan of the area, not just to get his bearings, but also to have something to concentrate on other then the intense pain.

McKay sat a few feet away, eyeing him with concern, but saying nothing. Ford, who had already established a perimeter, also threw him worried glances. Looking back at McKay, he ordered, "Eat."

McKay said nothing. For what seemed like an eternity, he made no attempt to move, just kept staring at John. For a moment, John thought McKay would argue or make some kind of wisecrack. Instead, he finally reached into his pack and removed an MRE. John watched him for several minutes. Apparently finding something fascinating in the package, he didn't look up again.

"Take these."

John started at Teyla's voice. He'd been so focused on McKay, he hadn't realized that Teyla had finished cleaning and redressing his wounds. Reflexively, he put out his hand and took the offered pills and water.

At his skeptical look, Teyla told him, "It is only Tylenol."

John hadn't realized just how badly his head was beginning to pound. Knowing they would help with that if nothing else, he nodded and popped the pills into his mouth, washing them down with two long swallows of water. He handed the canteen back to Teyla and said, "Thanks."

Wordlessly, she stood and walked towards Ford. They kept their voices low, much to his irritation, so he couldn't hear what they were saying. He didn't really need to. He knew what they were talking about; his condition and their rapidly dwindling medical supplies. He'd watched Teyla intently as she'd cleaned up and packed the remaining supplies. The antiseptic was nearly gone, there was only enough bandages left to change them once, maybe twice more if she stretched them. The only thing they seemed to have plenty of was morphine and he wasn't far enough gone to allow her to administer that just yet.

Several minutes later, after making a quick stop by her pack and removing something, Teyla approached him again and handed him two more pills and an MRE.

"I know you may not feel very hungry at this time, but you must eat. You need to keep your strength up and it is required that you take the antibiotics with food.

Just the word food made John's stomach rebel, but he knew she was right. He had barely eaten anything for breakfast and had skipped lunch. He couldn't afford to miss dinner as well. He accepted her offerings and examined them. Noticing she'd given him chicken soup -or at least what the Air Force tried to convince them was chicken- with crackers and smiled gratefully. Hopefully, he'd be able to keep that down. Knowing that the candy would only come back up the way it went down, he removed the package of M&M's.

"McKay," he called out to the scientist, who was still quietly eating his MRE. McKay looked up and John tossed him the bag of candy.

McKay looked at it in surprise for a few seconds before giving John a small smile and a muttered, "Thanks." Then he turned his attention back to his half eaten dinner.

"Don't get used to it," John said then opened the packages of soup and crackers and began to eat. He ate his food slowly, making sure to chew it up into very, very tiny pieces hoping it would help to keep it down. Halfway through the soup, he stopped. He simply couldn't eat anymore and feared it would all come back up if he tried. Putting the empty package of crackers and half-eaten soup aside, he pulled out his canteen and took a long drink from it to wash the antibiotics down. Silently, he prayed his dinner, and the pills with it, would stay were they belonged.

Looking up, John saw Teyla clean up the remains of her own MRE. He watched as she put the garbage into a bag then into her back. That done, she relieved Ford. The young Lieutenant made his way over to John.

Interrupting before he had a chance to say anything, John said, "Before you ask, I'm fine." Inhaling sharply and closing his eyes against a sudden sharp pain in his side, he breathed out slowly. Once the pain had passed, he opened his eyes again and ordered, "Eat."

For a split second, he thought his junior officer was going to argue, but the younger man simply nodded and moved off to where he'd left his pack. John watched him for a few minutes to make sure he'd do as he was told. Then he picked up his Berretta, which he'd set by his leg when they'd stopped and checked his clip. Satisfied with the number of rounds he had left, John crossed his arms over his chest, the Berretta held loosely in his grip ready to be used if the need arose.

A soft rustling sound to his left sent John sitting up like a shot, gun ready to shoot any adversary. He glanced around quickly and forced himself to settle down as he realized there were no enemies around. None that had made their presence known anyway. He realized he must have nodded off for a minute.

John looked at his teammates to see three sets of worried eyes looking back at him. It was really starting to grate on his nerves. He appreciated their concern, he honestly did, but it was bordering on obsessive now. Christ! It wasn't like he was just going to keel over and die any second now. He was willing to concede that his condition was deteriorating rapidly, much too quickly for any of their liking, but damn it, he wasn't dead yet!

Not even close.

John looked to his left again, attempting to identify what he'd heard just a moment ago. Looking back to his team again, he realized that none of them had heard the sound. Was it because they were so focused on him, or had he dreamed it?

Glancing at his watch, he groaned. He hadn't just nodded off for a minute or two; he'd been sleeping for nearly twenty minutes! For a moment, he considered bawling his team out for allowing it then reconsidered. Probably wouldn't do any good anyway, he figured. They were looking at him with expressions that seemed to be almost daring him to say something about it. Instead, he sighed, realized that, short as it was, the nap had actually helped quite a bit, and schooled his expression. His arm and face still ached and his gut still felt like it was on fire, but the pain in his shoulder and head had gone down a notch or two to a dull throb. For that, at least, he was grateful, especially about his head. Walking was just sooo much easier when your head didn't feel like it wanted to fall off.

Or explode.

"Let's go," he ordered.

"You should rest, sir," Ford said just as Teyla said, "You need to rest."

"We have, maybe, three or four hours of daylight left, people. Move out."

The look on John's face and the hard edge his voice had taken on must have convinced them that arguing was not in their best interest. Without further comment, his team went about collecting their packs and making sure they would leave nothing behind. Teyla then moved to his side and, once again, helped him to his feet.

TBC