Sheppard was an idiot. He was a cocksure, pigheaded, too-cool-for-school, troublemaker grunt, with an anomalous ratio of intelligence to self-preservation instinct. It was one thing to be stupid and get yourself killed (you didn’t see Rodney feeling sorry for -or, more likely, berating- suicidal lemmings or chickens or the like) but it was completely another thing to be smart enough to truly comprehend how royally screwed you’d be if you did something and then do it anyway. And, Sheppard getting killed ... what a waste. So the man was a pain in the ass, and his requisite amount of hairgel probably represented a major strain on resources, but he was intelligent enough, and funny upon occasion, and he was definitely the man Rodney wanted protecting his incredibly valuable six. So why in the name of life, the universe, and Tim Hortons was John Sheppard so determined to get himself killed?

And Parker ... that bitch. It wasn’t enough to be cute and blond and boinking Lieutenant Brightsmile Boyscout, who was way too dumb for her, but she had the nerve ... what the hell kind of soldier didn’t go fight something when you said jump? Or when you said, ‘go fight something’ or whatever the lingo was these days ... . So now he was stuck with a half-baked puppy dog who had to unwrap bandages to get to his trigger finger and a mousy anthropologist from North Korea or wherever, whom Rodney was afraid he’d sit on and break. They didn’t even have Teyla because she and Stackhouse were taking the hippie and his munchkin back to the mainland and this could not wait. This was so not the crew to take to go up against a Wraith army. It was so pathetic it would have made him laugh except for the whole ‘they were probably going to die’ thing.

But he would not ... could not, leave Sheppard to that alone. Rodney remembered people killed by the Wraith. He remembered the dried husks and the eyes with fear etched into them for an eternity. He remembered screams. He remembered pleas. And he knew that, even if Sheppard were his worst enemy instead of his best friend, he would never, ever, wish that on him. And he hated every other person that would. Because Rodney was supposed to be the callous whining jerk with no care for human life or suffering -they sure gave him enough shit for it- but when push came to shove they’d just sit back and let Sheppard ... kill himself.

Ford and Leung (or whatever his name was), slipped down the corridor silently, making Rodney feel like a great giant elephant lumbering along. Ford’s caution was ridiculous of course. Yes, they were doing something they weren’t supposed to do, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to stop to question the lead scientist and the number two military officer for going about their business.

“Relax, Ford, before you have an aneurism.”

“I am ...”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, we’re not doing anything wrong. I know what Elizabeth said, but it’s not like she’s had us confined to quarters. She’s obviously been brainwashed by the choker of doom ... and just because Sheppard’s gone that does not mean you can name it.”

Ford’s head fell like a disappointed child. Rodney was not going to feel bad about that. Absolutely not. He hated children, after all - especially ones with fewer brain cells than his cat, though Copernicus was an exceptionally bright feline.

Upon entering the Jumper Bay they found one squinting Czech and that Asian labtech that was always underfoot, like a needy puppy.

“Out!” Rodney bellowed, using the voice that said ‘I’m going to start yelling in five ... four ... three ... two ...’

“McKay. Why you dress up in the monkey suit? Dr. Weir said ...”

“Out, Zinky!”

“Yes, Dr. McKay,” the Asian chick with the bug glasses said, tugging at Zorbo’s sleeve.

“McKay, if you get gigantic brains blown out on rescue mission Dr. Weir did not authorize ...”

“She authorized it,” Ford lied, completely conspicuously. No wonder Sheppard always won at poker and -according to Rodney’s latest theory- acquired enough hairgel to feed an army.

Zanzibar scratched at his messy forest of curly hair for a second, squinting. “We radio her and ask, yes?”

Rodney stepped forward, almost grabbing that grubby communist hand that was reaching for a radio before Dr. Leung interrupted, saying something long and complicated in Czech. Zahara paled, features going slack and jaw dropping, before he turned and walked away, nearly toppling the little terrier-tech over because he had stopped struggling.

Ford and Rodney both turned to Leung. “What ... how ...” Rodney stammered.

The quiet little anthropologist just shrugged and stepped into the nearest jumper without a word.

Rodney looked to Ford.

“Don’t ask me,” the lieutenant shrugged, “you’re the genius.”

Rodney gritted his teeth and followed Ford into the jumper. The kid was heading for the pilot’s seat.

“Un-uh, Ford. Maybe when you’re old enough for your mother to let you get your driver’s license.”

“You can’t fly in a straight line!” So what? Rodney flew straight enough ... it was a precautionary measure - evasive maneuvers ... yeah, that was it. It wasn’t like he was going to run out of gas.

“And look what happened last time you tried to,” he snapped back.

That was obviously another one of those ridiculous social no-no’s that Rodney couldn’t be bothered to understand, because the cabin fell silent.

“I’m flying,” he said, sliding into the chair with Ford still standing, gaping.

But then the second he put his hands on the controls, a message flashed up on the screen in Ancient, not unlike the one that had popped up when the city was under quarantine. Rodney squinted ... couldn’t the Ancients write things for people without perfect genes and perfect faces and 20/10 vision?

“Did Zelenka ...” Ford began.

“No ... no ... why that good-for-nothing suicidal cocky Kirk-wannabe.” Sheppard really knew how to get in the way of people trying to bail him out.

“What!” Ford said, nudging Rodney as he kept reading. This was not good ... very not good. Whoever Sheppard was carting around in those vast amounts of vacant space in his brain had obviously been a very high ranking member of Atlantis’ last governing council, or wherever Ancients manufactured their red tape, because he had initiated a security alert forbidding all gate travel by persons ‘seeking offense.’ Whatever that was supposed to mean.

“What?” Ford asked again, pleading now. Go pick up a book and learn to read Ancient yourself, meathead.

Of course Leung, or whatever his name was, was the touchy-feely type to dumb things down for lower forms of life who still somehow managed to bed the hot blondes anyhow. “It states that we must achieve a state of non-intention before we attempt to go through the gate. If we act with the intent to save Major Sheppard, we will not be allowed to pass.”

“But that is our intent!” Rodney whined. “How are we supposed to save him if he makes the condition of us saving him, trying not to save him? The idiot. If he was here right now I’d kick his ... no, better idea, I’d have Teyla kick his ass. It’s a wonder he survived up till now with instincts like this. Darwin obviously screwed up somewhere. What’s wrong with him that he can’t ...”

“Can you fix it, Doc?”

“Huh?”

“I said ‘can you fix it?’”

“Yes, I can fix it, Ford. But it’s a very complex problem that we could have avoided if Sheppard just ...” Rodney grumbled, lowering himself to the ground and pulling off an access panel. His knees creaked - oh great, Sheppard was going to kill him, send him to his grave with terminal joint problems. He could feel the arthritis setting in already ...

He snapped his fingers. “Laptop.”

Ford rolled his eyes but handed it over. It was only a minute or so before he heard a “Doc?”

“What is it now, Ford?” he growled from the floor. What did the kid need, a babysitter?

“Dr. Weir’s here. She’s standing outside and waving her hands at us. She looks pretty mad.”

“Of course she’s mad. She’s delusional.”

Rodney went back to his work. Now, he just had to isolate the subroutine ... oh, god, they were screwed. He dropped his hands heavily in his lap, laptop falling down along with them. “Well, so much for plan A.”

“What?”

“Whoever hijacked Sheppard’s body isn’t just some lovey-dovey diplomat; he was the guy in charge of City Security. That explains the lockdowns and the lovely hole in my arm ... he must’ve turned that on while sleepwalking or something ... but my point is, I’m not going to be able to get around this thing.” He couldn’t believe it. He’d failed. Sheppard was going to turn into this galaxy’s version of a 16oz sirloin and he was sitting here on the floor of the jumper outwitted by a goddamn subroutine.

“You can do it, Doc. Look, try something else. There has to be ...”

Elizabeth had started pounding on the jumper door. “All right, all right, I’m thinking. Now, would you please shut her up?”

“I don’t know what you expect me to do ...”

“Gag her ... put her in a bag. I don’t care, just do something! Whatever you military types normally do to shut people up.”

“I’m not going to shoot Dr. Weir!”

“Jesus, Ford, I thought we’d progressed past the ‘here’s a problem, let’s all hit it with a rock’ phase. I don’t want you to shoot her. Create a diversion - you know, the thing you do when you’re not using five men to take that hill full of five thousand rabid communists.”

“Fine,” Ford clenched his jaw and hit a button on the jumper controls.

Elizabeth’s voice echoed through the compartment loud and clear. “... and I know that you want to help your friend, Rodney. But when we sent a MALP the place was crawling with Wraith. And I will not allow good men like yourselves to throw your lives away on a wild goose chase.” John was a good man too. What about him? Rodney fumed, but Elizabeth continued. “John wanted to do this. He needed to do this. Let him go.”

Rodney looked up and saw the doubts coalescing in Ford’s eyes. Of course, you wouldn’t expect a man who was trained to impale himself on an untenable target on command to be able to resist someone as persuasive as Elizabeth, especially if she was in charge.

“Bad idea, Ford. Turn that off.”

Elizabeth was still talking when Ford shut the speaker off, sighing. “So what are we going to do? Dr. Weir is yelling at us and we have no way to get through to the major.”

“I believe there is another way.” So the Zen Master speaks. Rodney and Ford both turned to Leung. “In many meditation practices the goal is a state of zero intentionality in which we allow thought and sometimes action to arise, but do not get caught up in the web of meaning and attachment and ego.”

“You want us to meditate? How the hell is sitting silently on a cushion while Sheppard’s out there getting jammed and buttered and served as a mid-afternoon snack going to do anything?”

“Perhaps sometimes there is a gift in stillness.”

“Did you hear that? That’s the sound of the bullshit alarm going off in my ear.”

“Stillness is the solution to getting us through the gate so that you can save your friend,” Leung reminded him softly, smug Shoalin shithead.

“Fine,” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Then we must sit on the floor.” Asian-guy grabbed a few sleeping bags from the back of the jumper as makeshift cushions. “Your knees should be below your hips and your spine should be straight, hands resting comfortably on your thighs.” He was too old for this. He didn’t think his spine could go straight.

He sighed, moving into position.

“Now, we will simply try to clear our minds of thoughts, being mindful of those that do arise. We are essentially trying to stop thinking.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Leung, but that’s just plain impossible.” Rodney hadn’t stopped thinking since the moment he was born. “How am I supposed to think about nothing with Sheppard out there? Every minute we waste ...”

“Every minute, Doc,” Ford said pointedly. Okay so maybe he should stop talking. Rodney reached for the access panel, but then felt Leung’s small hand close around his wrist.

“Please allow yourself to try this, Dr. McKay,” the anthropologist’s voice was soft and oddly enticing, like a nice fluffy white pillow, waiting for you after 48 hours on your feet. There was this odd confidence about him, like he knew this was right - like he didn’t care about the future at all. It was like Sheppard’s voice in the conference room.

“Fine, but if this doesn’t work ...”

“It will.” Leung smiled, patting Rodney on the shoulder. “Now, just focus on your breathing. Let your breath guide you.”

“Shouldn’t we have like a mantra or something?” Ford asked, sheepishly.

“You might try ‘Om Ma Ni Pe Me Hum.’ It is a chant for compassion. But I find it is more useful to focus on the breath. In Zen it is said that we practice the art of ‘just sitting.’”

Just sitting, that was underachievement if he ever heard it. But if it would save Sheppard ...

“Now, find a place about four to six feet in front of you, relax your gaze, and follow your breathing.”

Rodney took a deep breath in. He could do this. He’d focus on breathing. That chant thing sounded too much like Oma Desala and he wasn’t very happy with her right now. He let his gaze unfocus and ...

In. Out. In. See, this isn’t so hard. I can breathe. I mean, I do it every day. I do it all the time and it’s even more effortless than single variable calculus. I breathe about, oh, twenty times a minute ... have I gotten to twenty yet? Oh, shit. In. Out. In. Out. In. I’m wheezing a little. It’s probably the asthma. I wonder if something in Atlantis triggered it. It must be my room - the mold in my room. Atlantis is on an ocean, after all. All that mold. My lungs are constricting. Breathing is getting harder. See what I have to struggle against constantly? It’s a wonder I’m here at all. A miracle: Rodney McKay, genius, survives against all odds. I think maybe they should put that on my gravestone when I die from asthma. Oh ... asthma. Deeper breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Inoutinoutinout ... in in in in in in in in inininininininininin ...

“Dr. McKay, please try to relax your breathing. You should be conscious of the breath, not trying to control it.”

“If I was controlling it, I wouldn’t be hyperventilating,” he gasped.

“Calm yourself and let us try again.”

In. Out. In. Out. My knees hurt. Maybe if I shift just a little they won’t notice. Okay my boot made a bit of a clunk. I think my foot’s asleep. Can you die if you get a blood clot in your foot and it travels to your brain and gives you a stroke? Or a heart attack. I wonder which is worse? I think stroke, because you might survive and be stupid, like Grampy, the old fart. He didn’t even leave me anything in his will. Left it to charity instead of his only grandson. What kind of grandfather does that? Obviously lost to many brain cells in the stroke. Stroke. I better shake my foot again just in case ...

“Do you think you could stop fidgeting, Doc? It’s breaking my concentration.”

“I’m not fidgeting. I’m preventing a horrible death by stroke and stupidity.”

“Yeah, right.”

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Hey I’m pretty good at this. I’m an expert. I wonder how Ford’s doing. He rarely shows signs of conscious thought, so he’s probably really good at this. Say ‘breathe’ and he’ll breathe, because that’s why you make marines: to follow orders. I bet you his mind’s completely empty, nothing but the spare parts I’m sure you could hear clanging around up there if you shook him. That means he’s better at this than me. Ford’s better at something mental than me! I’m surprised the space-time continuum hasn’t begun to unravel yet. That’s impossible! I’m good at breathing. I’ve been doing well. Er ... In. Out. In. Out. In. Was that my stomach growling? I hope I packed enough powerbars. Who knows how long this journey is going to take. I hope Elizabeth lets us back through ... what am I talking about? She’s got a bit of the crazies, but she’s not a dictator. Unless that’s what the collar actually does. I wonder if it helps you to breathe ... oops ... In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Take that Ford.

Rodney raised his eyes to try to look at Ford, see how he was doing.

“You have a monkey mind, Dr. McKay.”

“Matches his monkey suit,” Ford snickered.

“Ford ... not funny. So what if you have the neural activity of a piece of toast? It’s not my fault my brain is so used to thinking at such supercharged speeds that it takes it a while to ... cool down.”

“Dr. Lin, I think I had it for a while there.” Yeah, a piece of toast ...

“That is good, Lieutenant. Perhaps you should try the Jumper.”

Ford nodded, sitting down, breathing steadily as he reached for the controls. The jumper lit up. Figures. Rodney moved to sit down in the copilot’s seat. The second he even touched the dialing controls, the jumper shut down.

Ford turned to him and glared.

“What? It’s not my fault that I want to save Sheppard. It’s not my fault.” But he knew that wasn’t the case. All he had to do was think ... or not think. And he couldn’t do it. “Look, this isn’t going to work. Let me try to bypass the security system. Worse-case scenario, we blow the main power ...”

He didn’t even see Ford’s fist connect with his face.

Rodney woke to gentle shaking. Shaking? He was on a boat. He hated boats. They made him seasick and he hadn’t even taken any Dramamine ... he was going to throw up. Wait. How’d he get on a boat? Rodney groaned, opening his eyes.

He was lying on his back, looking up at the jumper ceiling and ... “Ford!” he scrambled back into a protective crouch. “You hit me! I am not something you can pound with your rock. Do you have any idea how much damage you could’ve done? I have a very delicate bone structure ...” “Sorry. Truce?” Ford looked hopeful, as though Rodney was ever going to forget this one. We had to get past the security system, Doc. You were thinking too much.”

“That should never be a crime,” Rodney grumbled, rubbing at his jaw, secretly glad that Ford had gotten them through the gate. And he eventually accepted the lieutenant’s hand up with a groan. That was the least the trigger-happy Neanderthal could do.

As he stood, looking out the window, he gasped. They were hovering far above the ground. He doubted they could’ve landed if they had wanted to. This might’ve been hell itself, the landscape coated in a blaze of fire, twisted across the dusty grey of the ground in a latticework of burning thicket like a quilt, some parts smoldering black embers, others still nothing but a deep orange blaze. And Sheppard was here somewhere - on foot. It would be a miracle if they found him alive.

A Wraith dart shot past them, and Rodney could’ve sworn that he felt the ship shake, even though he knew the thing had inertial dampeners. He flinched and so did Ford. Leung stayed still, looking serenely out at the burning wasteland and the blood red sky. What was the deal with this guy anyhow?

Rodney sighed. “Have you located Sheppard?”

“That’s the thing, Doc. Maybe the fire’s interfering with the controls or maybe it’s just not as easy as Major Sheppard makes it look.”

“Move aside, Ford. Move aside.” Rodney slid into the pilot’s seat, concentrating on any lifesigns he could find. There looked to be about twelve darts in the area - more than on even the worst culling they had seen. And there were at least thirty on the ground, grouped in a circle. They must have Sheppard surrounded. Or they had already killed him. Rodney gulped. No morbid thoughts. No morbid thoughts. He wasn’t ready to admit that Sheppard was dead.

They flew towards the lifesigns, squinting against the brightness of the landscape. Ford pulled out a pair of sunglasses and that ridiculous anthropologist did the same. Was Rodney the only one that didn’t bring shades to this galaxy? He’d never needed them back on Earth, of course - the grey walls of a secret military bunker weren’t that bright.

Rodney’s eyes were barely slits when he finally spotted Sheppard. The bright red of the hospital scrubs was hard to make out against the flames, but he was surrounded by a sea of black coats and singed white hair, blue skin glowing a disgusting shade of green in the firelight. The Wraith had Sheppard surrounded, but they weren’t attacking, rather letting him walk undisturbed. The flames themselves were parting as Sheppard stepped through, the Wraith following. Their skin seemed to ripple as it blistered then healed itself easily.

Rodney flew lower. He knew where Sheppard was headed. There was only one place on this hellacious rock - the ruins. Then it suddenly occurred to him. He’d never thought to ask. “Hey, Leung ...”

“Lin,” Ford corrected.

“Whatever ... what do the ruins say?”

“They are a place of promises. Actually, covenants would be a more appropriate word. Recorded in the stone are various vows; many of them seem to be the equivalent of marriage vows. But towards the end, there is a decrease in those type and an increase in what would amount to ascetic vows in an Earth religion. They are promises for universal compassion.”

“And why, in the name of all things rational, would Sheppard want to go there?”

“Perhaps he wants to make a vow.” Perhaps all anthropologists in this jumper should be shot. “But Dr. Simpson believed that there was more to it than that - that the low level energy readings we were receiving came from a depleted ZPM. Dr. Kavanagh said something about the decay ratio not following the expected pattern or something he did not expect I would understand. He disagreed.”

“Of course he did.” Kavanagh was the kind of asshole that would. He should also be shot. Except the cute blonde already did ... he supposed he could bring himself to like her, if she stopped her ridiculous Lieutenant-fixation and showed some form of conscious thought. “But, by virtue of him being Kavanagh, we’re going to ignore him in favor of the most logical argument, which is that ...”

“The ruins actually do help to make the covenants binding.”

“Actually, I was going to say that Sheppard wants the ZPM, but ... no, you’re still wrong.” Because anthropologists were so qualified to make those kinds of determinations.

“We do not know how the Ancients achieved their higher state of consciousness, Dr. McKay. We only know that they did it in stages. Perhaps they already had some way to shape our reality in the unascended form and that was the purpose of the ruins.”

“Well ...” Actually, that made a weird sort of sense. It felt right, as irrational as that seemed. Rodney had been learning more and more to rely on his instincts when there wasn’t time to run simulations and test probabilities, but that didn’t mean he was ready to take the full step into Voodoo just yet. Except it felt ...

“We need to land,” Ford said.

“What? Are you crazy? Do you want to make yourself nice and rotisserie crisp so the Wraith will overcharge for you at a fancy restaurant? We can’t land in this. Besides, I burn easily.”

“Well, what else to you suggest we do? We can’t do anything for the major from up here!”

“We can blow up some of the Wraith.” Okay, so that was a very military thought. Where did that come from?

“You mean hit them with our big rock?”

“Yes, hit them with our big rock. They’ve got him surrounded!”

“And they’re not attacking him as he is. It only takes one, Doc, and the major’s unarmed. We need to get him back in the jumper, not piss off the Wraith.”

“Fine,” Rodney huffed. It seemed as though Ford was actually using that walnut he had for a brain this time. Maybe it was the meditation. “Then where do you suggest we land?” It was sea of burning fire as far as the eye could see.

“How about there?” Ford pointed to what seemed to be a twenty-meter clearing around the ruins. They couldn’t land right in the center with the abandoned scientific equipment and bushes blocking the way, but there was a clearing on the perimeter.

Rodney was nervous so the landing was a bit rougher than usual - he was surrounded by a wall of fire, so sue him.

Ford handed Rodney a weapon and a few extra rounds. He turned to Leung, looking reluctant. “Dr. Lin, you stay here and watch the jumper. I’m giving you a P90. Remember how to fire one from training?”

Leung nodded.

“Good. Shoot anything that’s not us and call if you need help. Channel two.”

Ford clapped Leung on the shoulder and then he and Rodney headed out. Despite the fact that this area seemed protected from the flames, the heat was still dazzling. Rodney hadn’t sweated this much since they sent him to that conference in Malaysia. His skin really did feel as though it was cooking on slow roast and he was turning red after no more than five minutes following behind Ford as they encroached on the ruins. He couldn’t breath. The air was too dry. He was suffocating. He was having an asthma attack. The smoke was cloying. He couldn’t ... Ford made a motion for him to stop wheezing. Oddly, he complied.

They took up a defensive line behind the largest of the pillars, text now glowing faintly but getting stronger. Maybe it was sensing Sheppard’s approach. I promise I’ll save Sheppard’s life, Rodney thought. Hey, it was worth a try. He looked around and then added, just in case. And that Ford and Leung and I won’t die in the process.

Rodney looked down at the life signs detector. Something was approaching. He motioned to Ford, who moved out to a few ruins away, so they could get in a good crossfire. Rodney prayed that it would be Sheppard.

Of course, it was a Wraith.

They opened fire immediately, but this one must have just fed -God, Rodney hoped that it hadn’t been on Sheppard- because it kept coming even as he and Ford emptied their magazines. Another two burst through the flames and immediately charged. There were no stunner blasts however. Maybe that had something to do with the reason they weren’t attacking Sheppard.

Rodney panicked, but remembered what Sheppard always said. If a Wraith comes at you and you’re scared shitless, just keep firing. I always find the sound of gunfire soothing. Rodney smiled just a bit at the memory and kept at it.

The first Wraith went down, finally, and they focused on the other two only to have a third arrive. They were going to die. Their only hope was that Sheppard would show up soon and they could grab him and run for it. Another Wraith went down.

Rodney heaved a small sigh of relief, only to be interrupted by a loud crack, different than the sound of the fire popping. He whirled around just in time to see a Wraith burst through the brush behind them. Ford turned too, but it was too late. The Wraith backhanded the lieutenant across the face and he went flying back into another stone pillar.

Ford crumpled into a heap, unconscious. The ruins continued to glow, ominously stronger. The Wraith turned to Rodney and smiled.