Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate and I'm not making any money off of this. Similarities to Tim O'Brien's "The Things They Carried" are purely coincidental. ;) Oh yeah, I don't own that either. He does. :)

A great amount of planning went into the Atlantis Expedition, months of planning in fact, so when departure day finally arrived, each person was prepared and whatever equipment and possessions that were accompanying he or she through the stargate had been triple-checked and then checked again by a few of the expedition members who were more prone to obsessive-compulsive tendencies. But when the time came to actually step through into the Pegasus Galaxy, the mood was rushed. Prepared though they were, the sheer magnitude of equipment was a force to be reckoned with and everyone was required to carry at least twice as much as they were capable of, just to make it through in the time allotted.

They carried backpacks and duffels filled with clothing and personal effects, equipment cases and power tools, laptops and radios. Teams of scientists moved out with pallets of shrink-wrapped servers and monitors, carefully packed boxes of test-tubes and beakers, scanners of every type imaginable and some that were still in various stages of development. Medical personnel wheeled gurneys and more pallets, laden with first-aid supplies and surgical equipment, X-ray machines and CT scanners, medicines and band-aids, blood-pressure cuffs and stethoscopes, linens and scrubs. Members of the kitchen staff brought pots and pans, ovens and waffle irons, packaged food and canned food, powdered food and condensed food, food that was fresh and food that should not have ever been considered food in the first place, but would nevertheless serve as breakfast for some poor, unsuspecting soul who woke up late one morning down the line. The military personnel, of course, toted weapons. P-90's and 9mm's, rifles and bazookas, grenades and C-4 explosives, ammunition by the truckload (minus the truck), and two pallets that had been so closely guarded that most of the military didn't even know what was contained beneath the hulking mounds of opaque black plastic wrap.

In short, it was chaos. The shield failure happened, and everything that had been so carefully organized and accounted for in-triplicate-plus-one was dumped in the nearest open space and left to be sorted only after the crisis was over. All this being the case, it was no surprise that certain things were misplaced or had been forgotten outright when leaving Earth. Several days after Atlantis had settled peacefully on the surface of the ocean and things had quieted down after retrieving their people from the Wraith, Major Sheppard was the first to recognize that something had been left behind.

"You know you're not required to wear your uniform while you're off-duty, right Ford?" he commented, pulling himself back up onto the pier, and running a hand through his wet hair to disperse the briny water. It was warm outside and a few of the men had gotten the okay to come out and go swimming. Lieutenant Ford had actually been the one to arrange the outing, but had shown up half an hour late, still in uniform, and had been attempting to look nonchalant as he stood around on dry land while the rest of the men at the very least dangled their feet in the water.

"Yes, sir. I just…didn't have the time to change," he finished lamely.

John looked at Ford out of the corner of his eye while reaching for his towel. "Along with never being allowed to name things, you're also never allowed to lie on my behalf, Lieutenant." He pulled on his t-shirt and gave a quick glance to the rest of the men, most of whom were in the water horsing around and not paying a bit of attention to him or Ford. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

"I thought you said you liked swimming, sir," Ford said with a frown, but followed his new CO back indoors.

"I said I like surfing. And you're one to talk." John raised an eyebrow and the lieutenant looked at the floor sheepishly. "I need to go change before my meeting with Dr. Weir. Walk with me. I've got a shirt and jeans you can borrow."

Ford looked up in surprise. "How did you know, sir?"

"I gave you the day off, you arranged this, and you showed up late. Then, when you did show up, you didn't make a splash. Either you developed a sudden fear of water or you had nothing to wear, and since you're never late for anything and you showed up in uniform, I can only conclude that your civilian clothes have gone AWOL."

"Actually, sir, they were never here. I got a little preoccupied and well…forgot," Ford confessed.

John gave him another sidelong glance before clapping the young man on the back and starting to laugh. "Only you, Lieutenant. Only you."

"And maybe Sergeant Bates," Ford said. "Sir," he appended at the major's mock stern look. They both burst out laughing again.

The meeting with Weir lasted two and a half hours, and when they had finally discussed every topic on her agenda, Sheppard was glad to escape. The meeting had been necessary, and the topics of city security and military duty assignments weren't outside his realm of interest, but he found it difficult to focus when he could hear the water left over from his swim sloshing around in his ears every time he so much as tilted his head. Although he had promised Ford that he'd try to coerce the science department into donating some clothing (to save the kid from wisecracks should the military contingent find out about his forgetfulness), Sheppard decided he needed to remedy his waterlogged ears first. He was coming around the corner near the room he'd claimed as his quarters when he encountered Teyla.

"Major Sheppard, it is good to see you," she greeted with a smile.

"Hey, you too. How's everyone settling in?"

"Atlantis is quite…different…from what my people are accustomed to, but I believe they will adjust. They are honored to be allowed to remain in the city of the Ancestors, but…" she hesitated.

"But what?" the major prompted a little warily.

"Some of the children, Jinto especially due to his unending curiosity, have been having unpleasant encounters with one of the scientists from Earth. This person has gone so far as to threaten them with terrible attacks from creatures called…boogeymen...which he claims he controls. I doubt the existence of such creatures, so have tried to reassure the children, and Halling has warned them not to speak to him, but the scientist…Kavanagh, I think is his name…will not leave them alone."

"From what Rodney's told me, that sounds like Kavanagh," Sheppard commented wryly, absently tugging at his ear. "I've got to go talk to McKay anyway, so I'll stop by and see if I can get Kavanagh to quit terrorizing the kids."

Teyla gave a graceful nod, "That would be most appreciated…are you all right, Major Sheppard?"

John dropped the hand that was still stretching his ear, and abruptly closed his mouth which he only then realized he'd been opening and shutting like a fish. No wonder she was looking at him oddly. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine." He crooked a thumb over his shoulder, "But I've got to grab something from my quarters quick before I go find McKay. I'll, uh, see you later."

"Very well."

Flashing her a grin, Sheppard made a beeline for his door and disappeared into his room. He emerged glumly five minutes later, with alien seawater still sloshing in his ears and the realization of what he'd forgotten to pack: swimmer's ear drops. For John, it was as silly of an oversight as Ford having left his civilian clothing behind. He never went swimming without the stuff. As a kid, he'd been prone to ear infections if even the slightest bit of liquid remained after a trip to the pool. He hadn't had any issues in recent years, but then again he was always extra careful. The Air Force didn't like pilots with ear problems, and they didn't like him much in general, so he didn't want any more strikes against him in the form of his medical file. It was possible he could sneak into the infirmary later and beg some drops from one of the nurses though. They weren't medication, per se, and probably wouldn't require much in the way of an explanation. But first, he had some scientists to bother.

As expected, he found McKay in the main lab, doing about five things at once and badgering three other people for updates on their projects. Even so, the scientist noticed Sheppard almost immediately and didn't skip a beat. "Ah, Major. Here to make yourself useful for a change. You can start with those Ancient devices over there. If they don't do anything when you touch them set them aside, if they—"

John frowned. "I'm not your personal assistant, McKay. Can't a guy just come down to say hi?"

Rodney scowled back. "Maybe, but you're you, so no. If you're not here to make things light up with your ATA gene then what do you want? I'll warn you ahead of time that I'm far too busy to play GI Joe, or whatever it is that you military goon types do in your spare time."

"I've always been more for chess, and I'm not a goon, but I did need to ask you a favor."

McKay's eyes rolled skyward. "I knew it. No one ever just stops by. Well, what is your unreasonable request so that I can deny it and let us both get on with our work?"

"Now why do you automatically assume that it's an unreasonable request?" John asked, crossing his arms.

"You're you, I thought we'd already established this," Rodney said, waving his hand in the air impatiently.

"Fine. I'm me, you're you, and Ford is forgetful, which is why I'm here."

"Well, if he misplaced the bullets to his gun, you're looking in the wrong place, and he's probably better off without them."

"Funny, but no." John glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "He forgot to bring civilian clothing with him. All he has are his uniforms."

A grin spread across Rodney's face. "Seriously? Just wait until I tell—"

"No. You can't tell anyone. I told Ford that I'd find him some clothes and no one in the military would find out. That means the clothes have to be donated from the science department, and we can't give away any more information than necessary in the process."

Rodney made a face. "That's a bit high-security for a garage sale, don't you think?" Suddenly a thought occurred to him, though, and he grinned again. "All right, I won't tell anyone who doesn't need to know, on one condition."

John groaned inwardly. Anything that had Rodney this happy was likely to make him very much the opposite. "What?"

"You have to interrogate my staff and find out what happened to my laptop power supplies. Two of my computers are specially modified and need different adapters. I brought five custom-made power supplies, but they're all missing. Find them, and Ford will have a brand new wardrobe by tomorrow."

John relaxed a little. Surely he could find some missing power cords without too much trouble. "Deal," John agreed. "I'll start with Kavanagh since I have to go scare him into leaving the Athosian kids alone anyway."

"Just threaten to write to his mother. He'll do whatever you ask."

"I don't even want to know, do I?"

"Not unless you're very, very drunk," Rodney said gleefully.

"Uh-huh. That's what I thought. I'll catch you later, McKay."

Dr. Kavanagh was slightly harder to locate than Rodney. McKay had purposely assigned him a lab as far away from his own and everyone else's as possible. When John did find the lab, his first thought was that it looked more like a broom closet. Equipment was everywhere, most of it still in boxes, and what wasn't in boxes was strewn about haphazardly. In the middle of it all seated at a small lab bench was the man in question. As usual, he looked completely displeased with the universe.

"What's up, Doc?" John couldn't resist, but Kavanagh didn't take the bait.

"Are you lost, Major? This isn't the armory."

"I'm not looking for the armory. I'm looking for you."

"Oh." Kavanagh turned his attention away from whatever piece of technology had died an untimely death on his lab bench and narrowed his eyes at Sheppard. "Why are you looking for me? Did McKay say something to you? I swear, if he's been spreading rumors again, that's slander and I will go to Dr. Weir and--"

"Take it easy, Kavanagh. Rodney hasn't been spreading any rumors that I'm aware of. He just wanted me to see if you knew the whereabouts of the power supplies for his laptops. They got misplaced during the move."

The scientist sat up a little straighter, looking suddenly smug. "That depends. The question you should be asking is what would motivate me to share such information if I did possess it?"

Because I'll tell your mother if you don't. Sheppard was sorely tempted to play the trump card Rodney had given him, but it sounded ridiculous, he wasn't drunk, and he trusted McKay's judgment that he ought to be before opening that can of worms. He sighed inwardly. How had a promise to find Ford some clothes turned into him having to do a favor for Kavanagh? "Would an encounter with a squad of Marines in a dark corridor do the trick?" John asked seriously.

"You know as well as I do that you can't do that." Despite his statement, Kavanagh looked distinctly nervous. "Well, are you going to take me up on my offer or not?"

"I wasn't aware you'd made one yet."

Kavanagh rolled his eyes. "It's a simple concept, Major. I'll give you the information you want if you'll do something for me in return. Fly me down to the southwest pier. The schematic of the city suggests there are labs near there, and I want to see what's in them before Dr. McKay does."

Sheppard shook his head. "There's still some flooding in that region of the city. No one's allowed down there for safety reasons."

"The flooding in that section is minimal, and the water's been receding every day. By tomorrow the levels should be negligible."

"It's still not a smart idea, and Dr. Weir won't agree to it."

"She'll let you fly down and take a look at the area though. If it's not safe to land, we can come back."

It was John's turn to narrow his eyes. He didn't believe for a second that Kavanagh would be okay with turning around and coming back, but if he could find out where Rodney's power supplies were before then, it wouldn't matter what the man thought. "Fine, I'll run it by her, but I can't make any promises." Please, Elizabeth, say no!

"Let me know what she says," Kavanagh said lightly, dismissal in his voice as he turned back to the technological graveyard before him. The tone irked Sheppard.

"One more thing, Doc."

"What's that?"

"If I agree to do this, you have to agree to stop scaring the Athosian kids with tales of…boogeymen, is it?"

"Oh, come on, Major. Those brats weren't scared. They were just mad that I wouldn't let them play games on my laptop so they whined to their parents."

"That's not what Teyla said."

"Well of course she wouldn't. Who are you going to believe? Your colleague or some nomad from another galaxy?"

John raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't really matter who I believe, Dr. Kavanagh. You want to get to those labs before Rodney does, you'll stop scaring the kids. Quite frankly I have better things to do with my time than play chauffer, so take it or leave it."

Sheppard rubbed at tired eyes as he walked away from Elizabeth's office. She had agreed to let him take a jumper down to check the pier and surrounding area for 'water damage'. He may have failed to mention Kavanagh's reason for wanting to come along, but as much as he didn't want to be stuck with the man in an enclosed space for an hour, he wanted the information on the location of Rodney's power supplies more and so couldn't risk having his request denied. At least it was late enough in the day that they wouldn't leave until morning. The only thing John wanted to do at the moment was steal some drops from the infirmary to get rid of the literal sound of the ocean in his ears, then maybe grab some food before going to sleep.

All hopes of that first and most important thing happening came crashing down when he strolled through the door of the infirmary though. Beckett and two nurses were conversing nearby. He knew from experience in Antarctica that the doc asked far too many questions before giving out medication, and John was too tired to deal with an interrogation right now. He probably looked it too, which wouldn't help matters. The last thing he needed was to get taken off duty, not be able to play limo-driver for Kavanagh in the morning, get Rodney pissed at him for letting his laptop batteries run dry, Teyla annoyed with him for not calling off Kavanagh, and end with Ford getting made fun of by the rest of the military contingent. What a mess. He absently rubbed at his eyes again and turned back the way he'd come.

"Major, is there somethin' I can do for ya?" Beckett called to him.

Shit. Sheppard dropped his hand to his side and schooled his expression to easy-going as he turned around. "Not unless you know where the power supplies for Rodney's laptops are. That would be very helpful information." John attempted a grin. It made his jaw ache.

"I haven't a clue, lad. I'm sure they'll turn up. I'm missing half of my research notes right now, but everything's in disarray," he shrugged.

You're telling me, John thought, and fought the urge to squirm when he noticed Beckett eyeing him suspiciously.

"Are ya feelin' all right, Major? You're a wee bit pale."

"I'm fine, just tired. Making deals with the devil will do that to you."

"Come again?" Beckett looked confused.

Sheppard waved a hand dismissively and yawned, his ears crackling all the way. "Never mind, Doc. I think I'm going to call it a night."

"Aye, get some rest, Major. Ya look like ya need it."

"Will do. 'Night, Doc."

In stark contrast to the previous day, morning dawned cool and overcast, and it came way, way too early. John felt like he'd barely fallen asleep when his alarm clock began beeping. He didn't recognize the sound at first. It was oddly muffled and seemed to be coming from a distance. Rolling over, his hand smacked the 'off' button, and he realized that the congestion in his ears was the reason for the reduced volume. John repeated his fish impression from the day before, since no one was around to think he was weird, but it did little to relieve the pressure. Showering only succeeded in making his nerve endings hypersensitive, so the skin on his arms and legs ached by the time he had pulled on his BDUs, long-sleeved black shirt, and uniform jacket, and the effort of it all left him wishing he could just crawl back into bed.

Luckily, the folks in the mess hall hadn't forgotten the coffee, and in typical military fashion the freshest pot was already lukewarm. Today, that suited John just fine. He gulped the first cup in three swallows, grabbed two more, and stuffed an orange and a granola bar in his pocket before leaving to find Kavanagh. The sooner this excursion was over, the better. Sheppard made his way to the end of Kavanagh's hallway, and was about to round the corner when an irate man with glasses and a hairdo powered by a finger in a light socket stormed out of the office, swearing in Czech and nearly plowing into him.

Reflexively, the major flattened himself against the wall and the little man—Dr. Zelenka, if Sheppard remembered right—apologized quickly over his shoulder, but kept right on going. He kept right on swearing too. John took a deep breath, both in preparation for whatever foul mood Kavanagh was bound to be in and to ease the slight dizziness that had stemmed from his quick evasion of the enraged Czech.

To his surprise, the Dr. Kavanagh that greeted him when he entered the lab actually greeted him when he entered the lab. No cracks about him being lost, no accusations, just a 'Good morning, Major' and a smile. Yes, a happy Kavanagh was a scary Kavanagh, but John decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and smiled back.

Sheppard's gift horse lived for seven short minutes. That was the time it took them to reach the jumper bay and be waylaid by McKay, who reported smugly to Kavanagh that there were thunderstorms moving in from the south and the afternoon would be a wash-out. So much for Kavanagh's plan of making a lot of discoveries near the southwest pier, as there would be just enough time to fly down, maybe search for an hour, and fly back before the bad weather rolled in and flooding again became a risk.

John could see the impending spat coming from a mile away, even before Kavanagh opened his mouth to retort. Fortunately, the major had just the thing to diffuse the situation. He stepped to Rodney's side, pulled the orange from his pocket, and made a show of peeling it. McKay couldn't have jumped away any quicker if his pants had been on fire. "MAJOR! Have I or have I not mentioned how deathly allergic to citrus I am?! The expedition only brought so many epi-pens, you know!"

Sheppard shrugged. "Relax, Rodney. You're not allergic to the smell, are you?"

"No, but I happen to have a very strong aversion to it since it smells like DEATH!" McKay was still edging toward the door. "Have fun exploring in the rain. Feel free to drown." John chose to believe the last bit was directed at Kavanagh.

"You heard the man. Time to go."

Kavanagh muttered something as he gathered his equipment, though John only caught about half of it through the congestion. He mused that not being able to hear well would possibly be a good thing today and he started out for the jumper bay, not bothering to see if the other man was following.

As he flew his new craft out of the bay and began a wide arc out over the ocean and around the city, Sheppard could see the darker clouds topping the haze that lined the horizon. A full-fledged weather report was before his eyes before he realized he'd wanted one, and Rodney hadn't been exaggerating. Though still many miles out, the heavy weather was moving in quickly. John hoped he'd be able to get the information he wanted from Kavanagh without actually leaving the jumper, but if the pier proved safe and he did have to set down, they wouldn't have much over an hour before needing to take off again.

Nearing the pier, Sheppard brought the jumper in low and visually inspected the section in question while taking in what the HUD was telling him. Kavanagh was paying attention too, and John knew he probably wouldn't be able to fool the scientist into believing it was unsafe to land. But if he could get the info he wanted before opening the hatch…

"All right, Kavanagh, I brought you out here. Where are McKay's power supplies?"

"Aren't you going to land first?"

"Don't you trust me?" John shot back with an innocent look.

Kavanagh's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he didn't answer directly. "You're so impatient. No wonder you get along with McKay."

"I won't be getting along with him in the near future if I don't find his power supplies."

The scientist's suspicion evaporated quickly to smugness. "Ah, I see. He has you working for him just like everyone else around here. I mean, it's to be expected, but I just figured with your rank and everything you'd have something to say about being ordered around by someone as—"

"Kavanagh!" John interrupted at a higher volume than was necessary, but he couldn't exactly help that he was unable to hear how loud he was speaking, could he? "We've landed. Now it's time you hold up your end of the bargain. What information do you have for me?"

John busied himself with the futile action of trying to make his ears pop while Kavanagh gathered his equipment from the seat behind him. The man was muttering again about impatience, but Sheppard decided it was safer to play deaf, since he was already halfway there, than to start an argument. McKay was the only one he enjoyed arguing with anyway. Kavanagh's face would just turn predictably red right before he started threatening to tattle.

So the major stood and casually wandered to the rear of the puddlejumper, doing his best to ignore the crackle in his ears that accompanied the shift in position, and flipped the lever to open the hatch. The sudden pressure drop accomplished what all his fish faces of the past day hadn't been able to, and John's ears popped. The expected relief didn't come, though, and the pressure intensified into a dull throbbing that was punctuated by Kavanagh's boots clomping toward the hatch. Sheppard stepped in front of him before he could be on his merry way. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Where are the power cords?"

"You have a one-track mind, Major." Kavanagh went to take another step and glared when Sheppard stepped into his personal space. Retreating a stiff two steps, the scientist slung his backpack off his shoulder, dropped it onto one of the bench seats, and unzipped a compartment. Retrieving what he was after, Kavanagh thrust it at Sheppard, then tilted his head to the side in curiosity at the oddly-sickened look he received from the major. "What? The marine biologists hate McKay almost as much as I do. They needed a good hiding place, and they found one. Not just good, but ingenious if you ask me."

"I didn't," Sheppard said, snatching the mask and snorkel from Kavanagh's hand and gesturing for him to lead the way from the jumper.

The scientist preceded John to the left edge of the pier, where there was a low balcony that overlooked the water. Kavanagh pointed toward the railing. "They're all in a watertight case, bungeed to the pipes just below the waterline. One of the biologists, who will remain nameless, accompanied the engineers out here when they were checking the safety of this area two days ago. The engineers weren't part of the plan though, only a means to an end."

John looked warily at Kavanagh's pleased expression. "Are you sure you didn't have anything to do with this? You seem to know a lot more than anyone else about what happened."

"I most certainly did not have anything to do with this! There are a lot of people here, Major. People talk."

"So you mean to tell me that I flew you out here for information that was already common knowledge?" Sheppard said, his tone turning dangerous.

"I can't help that you didn't fully research the situation beforehand, Major. Happy swimming, I've got some labs to explore."

"One hour, Kavanagh!" Sheppard yelled after the rapidly fleeing scientist. "If you're not back I'm leaving without you!" John sighed as he watched the annoying man retreat without so much as a wave of acknowledgment, then turned back to look forlornly at the water below. He shivered at the very thought of swimming and by the time he'd stripped out of his clothes, his teeth were chattering. Hadn't it been several degrees warmer ten minutes ago? A flash of white far out on the ocean and a barely-audible rumbling on the horizon made John force aside his woes. If he was going to do this safely, without the risk of being charred by lightning, it had to be now. Grabbing the mask and snorkel off the pile of clothing, he stepped onto the railing and dropped easily into the water.

Being in the water, now that wasn't quite so easy. For several seconds, all Sheppard could do was shiver so hard he felt like his bones were going to shake apart. He clung to the side of the pier with one arm, and knew he was going to have bruises later due to his bumping the railing again and again. Finally, though, the tremors began to ease, and he put on the mask and snorkel.

It didn't take him long to locate the promised case, but getting it out of its hiding place was another matter. He found himself having to repeatedly dive beneath the surface, since there were about six bungees total, and each was wrapped too tightly. The first drew blood when his fingers slipped, the metal hook lashing the side of his wrist. After that, it was just a matter of making sure his grip was steady before he unhooked cord from pipe. By the time he reached bungee number three, John's biggest issue was dizziness. It seemed his ears weren't agreeable with the diving, and he could feel more pressure building. When he surfaced, he wrapped his arm back around the railing, deciding to rest for a minute and try to regain his equilibrium. Watching the waves rolling in didn't really help matters, so he focused on the sky instead.

Several deep breaths and a few distant flashes of lightning later, John decided the world was as steady as it was going to get. Being beneath the water was also preferable to the constant up-and-down sloshing he was receiving from the waves on the surface, so he took a deep breath and dove. The short break had settled his ears enough that he was able to release all but the last cord holding the case before he needed to surface for air. A quick breath and he was back down again, almost sighing with relief when the last bungee floated free. Gripping the case, he kicked for the surface.

Sheppard barely noticed the passage of time as he waited for Kavanagh to return. He'd dressed quickly on exiting the water and hurried back to the puddlejumper with the case. Taking a moment to tape gauze over his bleeding wrist, John bent to stow the first aid kit and the power supplies beneath a seat, which had brought the dizziness rushing back and he all but collapsed into the pilot's seat, thinking up the heat a couple of notches. When the timer on his watch beeped, alerting him that it was time to go, he blinked in surprise at how dark the sky had gotten. The lightning was much closer now and, big surprise, Kavanagh wasn't back yet.

Sighing, John tapped his radio. "Sheppard to Kavanagh." He waited. "Major Sheppard to Dr. Kavanagh. If you're not here in two minutes, I'm leaving without you." Silence answered him, and the major swiveled his seat—much to the detriment of his balance—just in time to see, and hear, Kavanagh's return. The man stumbled up the open hatch carrying the ridiculous amount of equipment he'd taken with him, plus some sort of specimen case and several Ancient gadgets John hadn't seen before. "You're late, and your radio's not working," he said with a frown, swiveling very slowly back to face the controls.

"I couldn't very well answer you while holding all of my discoveries, and I would've been even later if I'd stopped to talk."

"Whatever."

"You're grumpy, Major. Did you not get McKay's precious power-cords?"

John resisted the urge to smack his head against the console. A gleeful Kavanagh was even worse than a happy Kavanagh, and the scientist was effervescing with excitement as he plopped into the seat next to John's.

Kavanagh continued without even complaining that he hadn't received an answer. "What I found is even more exciting than power supplies, but I won't try to explain it to you. You probably wouldn't understand anyway, not being a scientist."

It occurred to Sheppard that he should be offended by the remark but truth be told he didn't really want to hear about whatever the man had found and so he replied with a sincere, "Thank you." That put a slight dent in Kavanagh's joviality. He pursed his lips and stopped talking, but it was still a cheerful silence. John was just happy that he'd shut up.

There was some turbulence on the flight back, which the inertial dampeners compensated for, but Sheppard swore he could feel the altitude messing with his ears. They made a smooth landing in the jumper bay, safely ahead of the storm, and John had nearly zoned out again while powering down the jumper. That was until a heavy case was plopped into his lap. "What are you doing?" he asked, shooting the scientist a displeased look.

"Come on, help me carry these to the infirmary. I found a few very interesting things in the database, but I need Dr. Beckett to help me decipher them."

"I'm not your errand boy, Kavanagh."

The scientist made a show of looking at his watch. "Well in that case I'd better hurry. It's almost Athosian story-time."

Sheppard sighed wearily and picked up the case, along with the one containing Rodney's power supplies, and followed Kavanagh toward the hatch. Everything sounded muffled, both of his ears were aching slightly from the pressure, and he had the horrible realization that he had become Kavanagh's errand boy. He wouldn't be for much longer though, of that he was certain, because he had one thing the scientist didn't: a gun.

John trudged into the infirmary behind Kavanagh, looking for someplace to ditch the scientist's equipment so he could ditch the scientist himself, but as bad luck would have it every table, chair, and shelf were already occupied. Sighing, he followed Kavanagh further, and finally located a relatively out-of-the-way spot on the floor. Setting down the equipment case, Sheppard stood and quickly grabbed for the wall when the room started spinning.

"Major?"

Sheppard looked up slowly, and tried not to cringe. Beckett was headed his way looking concerned, obviously having entered at the exact wrong moment and seen him wobble. John put on his most nonchalant expression and smiled. "Hey, Doc." He held up the case that was still in his hand. "I found Rodney's power supplies."

"No thanks to me." Kavanagh piped in, but he still sounded overly pleased with himself despite the complaint.

"Yeah, about that. Your equipment's over there," Sheppard said, gesturing to the corner he'd stashed it in, "and I've got to take these to McKay now, so I'll be going. It was a pleasure doing business with you." He turned to go before Kavanagh could object.

Unfortunately, Beckett beat him to it. "Hold on a moment, Major."

John stopped and carefully turned to face Beckett, feigning a questioning look.

"What happened?" Carson asked, pointing to Sheppard's wrist. Red-spotted gauze was just visible where his jacket sleeve had crawled up. Crap.

"It's just a scratch, Doc. A damned bungee bit me when I was getting the case."

"That's quite a bit of blood for a scratch, Major." Stepping closer, Carson carefully pushed John's sleeve up a little further and unwrapped the gauze, revealing a ragged cut that was still bleeding a little. "Why don't ya have a seat? At the very least that needs ta be cleaned properly."

To John's right, Kavanagh cleared his throat and glared when the major looked over. For the first time that day, Sheppard found the scientist's self-importance tolerable. "Actually, Doc, you might want to give Kavanagh your attention first. He's on the verge of dying from excitement over there."

"Well aren't you just a laugh riot, Major." Kavanagh rolled his eyes at the pun, but his attention immediately fixed on Beckett. "I did make some rather exciting discoveries in those labs I found down on the southwest pier though."

"No thanks to me." Sheppard couldn't resist.

"What kind of discoveries? And isn't that pier off-limits because of the flooding?" Beckett asked, towing John with him across the room to a gurney. If he noticed that John sat down just a little too hard, he didn't say so.

"Dr. Weir gave us permission to take a jumper out there. I just found a few odds and ends that will keep me busy in the lab for the rest of the week, but there was a data storage device that had all kinds of information. Most of it has to do with genetics, though, and I need you to take a look at it."

"What area of genetics?" Beckett asked as he swabbed the major's wrist with disinfectant.

"That's what you're here for." Kavanagh shoved a tablet in Beckett's face.

Taking a deep breath, Carson released it with a sigh. It wasn't nearly as calming as he'd hoped. He placed a piece of gauze over Sheppard's wrist. "Keep pressure on that, lad. I'll be back in a minute."

John did as he was told, and watched as Beckett steered Kavanagh a few paces away. The doc was obviously not happy about being interrupted, and appeared to be telling the scientist just that even as he looked at whatever was on the tablet. Beckett's face grew curious, and Kavanagh's eager, but just as suddenly the scientist glared and yanked the tablet out of Carson's hands.

"This is my discovery! You're not taking credit for it!" Kavanagh shouted on his way to the door. It was loud enough that John was sure everyone up in the control room had heard him.

"Do I even want to know what that was about?" Sheppard asked when Beckett returned.

"Anyone who says that Rodney is inconsiderate and self-centered has never met that man. His data happened ta be some genetic profiles that are very close ta matching the baseline comparisons for the research I'm missing. All I did was mention that I'd appreciate a copy."

Sheppard shook his head, and instantly regretted the action. Digging his fingers into the gurney, he hoped that he didn't list along with everything else. Even Beckett seemed to be drifting from side to side as he covered the cut with butterfly bandages and a new dressing, so John wasn't really surprised when his stomach began to churn. He swallowed, trying to calm the acid, and noticed that Beckett had finished with his wrist, but was giving him a visual once-over. Uh oh.

John slid off the gurney, intending to make a break for it, but the fact that he continued to squeeze the stuffing out of the mattress once his feet were on the floor wasn't fooling anyone, especially not Carson. Still, not being one to give in so easily, Sheppard forced himself to straighten his posture. The world had settled—mostly—even if his stomach hadn't. "Well, I've got to get these power supplies to Rodney." John put on a reassuring smile, "I'm—"

"Don't even try ta tell me you're fine, Major. You're white as a sheet and you've been on the verge of falling over since ya came in here. What's going on?"

"All right, I'm not fine," John admitted, "but if you'll ignore that for the time being, I'll get you a copy of those genetic profiles."

Carson had to admit that it was a tempting offer, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge exactly how 'not fine' the major was. John was standing straighter and seemed a little less likely to keel over than he had a few moments before, but he still looked weary and ill. Beckett sighed. "All right, I'll let ya go, for now. As soon as ya have those profiles, I want ya ta come back so I can check ya over, though. Is that clear?"

"Sure thing, Doc." John smiled and picked up the hard-won case of power supplies, then made a quick exit before Beckett could change his mind.

Rounding the corner outside the infirmary, Sheppard slowed his pace considerably. Vertigo was still his companion and it didn't like him to walk fast. Neither did the balloon inflating between his ears. He'd definitely be returning to see the good doc at his earliest convenience, but not until he delivered on a couple of promises.

A short—and nauseating—transporter ride later, and John was standing in McKay's lab. When he'd called the scientist's name three times without receiving a response, he resorted to plunking the case down on a lab bench. Certain that the sound had been louder than the dull thud he was currently capable of hearing, he waited. Sure enough, Rodney glanced up, annoyance clear on his face until he noticed the identity of his visitor, then annoyance turned to something almost resembling concern.

"What the hell happened to you, Major? You look like crap."

"Nice to see you too, Rodney."

"Hey, I'm only stating the truth."

"I'd just think you'd show a little more gratitude to the person who has put up with Dr. Kavanagh all morning to get you your power supplies."

"Really?" McKay's face lit up. "I didn't think you'd actually find them. And I knew it was Kavanagh! Just wait until I have the time to redecorate his office…"

"It wasn't him, McKay. He said one of the marine biologists did it. Supposedly that much is common knowledge."

Rodney snorted. "Likely story…did he say which of the biologists?"

"No."

"Hmm." McKay reached beneath the table he was sitting at and offered the major a black trash bag. "Well, a deal's a deal, so here you go. Lieutenant Ford's spring wardrobe."

"And none of my men found out? I have it on bad authority that you scientists are a chatty bunch."

"I took every possible precaution." McKay scooted his chair away a bit as soon as John took the bag. "Speaking of which, have you seen Carson about whatever it is that's making you look like an extra from Shaun of the Dead? Because we really don't need you starting some sort of epidemic before we've even been here a month."

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Trust me, it's not contagious and I'm going back to see him soon, but before I do, is there any way you can hack into Kavanagh's tablet?"

McKay's eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment, but then intrigue won out. "Go on."

"When we were down at the pier, he copied some data. He didn't know what any of it meant though, so he showed it to Beckett and then freaked out when Beckett asked him for a copy."

Rodney was grinning deviously now, his fingers already flying over his keyboard. "I'll get you better than a copy, Major. I think that data needs to be confiscated and reviewed by the head of the science department for potential viruses."

"Whatever, McKay. Just e-mail me the files when you have them, okay?"

"Yes, yes."

"What? No demands in return?" John was surprised. It seemed that no one was granting favors for free these days.

"The conniption Kavanagh has when he realizes that I have all his data will be thanks enough. Why don't you go to the infirmary before you have a seizure or something?"

"I'm not having a seizure!" John objected, even as he noticed he was shivering again.

"Not yet, but you should still go. It's very difficult for me to hack with you incubating bacterial colonies in my doorway, Major."

John knew when he wasn't wanted, and he didn't feel well enough to hang around and chat anyway. His ears and jaw ached, and with every shiver it seemed more and more likely that he was developing a fever. Yep, one more delivery and he was definitely going to call it a day. Deciding to brave the transporter one more time rather than risk breaking his neck on the stairs, Sheppard set out for Ford's quarters.

A loud crash startled him as he exited the transporter, and John wheeled around, staggering against the wall when the resulting wave of dizziness threatened to bring him down. Another bang sounded, followed by low rumbling, and he winced as the throbbing in his head inched upward. When his vision finally settled, he could see the source of the noise through the windows. McKay's predicted thunderstorm was raging full-tilt, darkening the sky to shades of green and purple. Wind swept rain against the glass in sheets. Then the lightning would flash and illuminate the choppy surf. Waves were breaking over the east pier, but they didn't appear to be cresting high enough to be hazardous to the city.

John turned away. Even if the weather wasn't particularly dangerous, seeing the expanse of water roiling and churning like that was too accurate a personification of the flips his stomach was doing. He moved very slowly onward down the deserted corridor—maybe everyone else was finding the storm as disconcerting as he was—and eventually made it to Ford's room. He knocked, but didn't receive an answer. That wasn't too surprising since it was the middle of the day, but with the effort he and Rodney had made to ensure that Ford's new clothes remained beneath the radar, Sheppard wasn't about to go hunt the lieutenant down in public to make the handoff. Nor was he going to come back later, since he knew that once he crashed, he wasn't going to move for a good long while. Trying the door, John was amazed to find it unlocked. "At least something went right today," he muttered. Stepping inside, he set the bag on Ford's bunk and grabbed a sheet of paper off the desk. 'Next time you're begging for donations yourself, Lieutenant.' he scribbled, and set the paper on top of the bag before slipping back out of the room.

Although he eyed the transporter as he passed, John didn't stop. He had told Beckett that he'd come back when he had Kavanagh's information. Technically he didn't have it yet, since he hadn't checked his e-mail. Also, his quarters were much closer than the infirmary, just at the end of the corridor, and all he really wanted to do was sleep. Sheppard almost sighed in relief as the door closed behind him, and he made a beeline for his bed. It was dark enough with the storm that he didn't bother pulling the curtains, but he did stop briefly to exchange his uniform for a pair of sweats and a hoodie before cocooning himself in blankets.

He awoke in pain, unsure of how much time had passed, but the increased throbbing in his head seemed to indicate that it had been awhile. Rolling onto his other side in an attempt to shift the pressure and ease the fiery spike driving through his right temple and into his eardrum, John groaned. All moving did was make him feel like he was inside a malfunctioning aircraft caught in an out-of-control dive. His stomach agreed with that assessment and sent him staggering toward the bathroom against his will.

The world was a sound-dampened, freezing, and wildly-spinning place, and John found himself wishing he would've gone to the infirmary as he emptied his stomach. He might've fallen asleep or passed out after, because the next thing he knew he was lying on the cool tile floor, feeling too spent to move. He would have been content to remain there, too, had his body not suddenly decided that the floor was too cold. The thought of getting up made him want to pass out again, but the promise of his warm bed allowed him to coax his shivering body upright.

John focused on other things as he tried to walk without falling over. He could tell that the storm was still going, since an occasional flash of lightning would wash his quarters with white. Muted rumbling, thudding, and spattering sounds further supported that speculation. Another step or two, and he'd be able to see for himself. Sheppard gripped the towel rack, then the door frame, moving cautiously forward. He stared out the window at the storm-blackened sky for several seconds before gauging how many steps it would take to reach the bed. Too many, his mind taunted, even as the thought of crawling back under the covers and sleeping enticed him onward. He let go of the doorframe, but the dizziness remained and he didn't make it three feet before he was falling forward.

It was getting close to evening before Carson realized that Major Sheppard hadn't returned to the infirmary as promised, and when John didn't answer his radio, Beckett's first thought was that he was just being stubborn. It wasn't until searches of the mess hall, the armory, and even Rodney's lab left him with no trace of the major that Beckett began to worry. It seemed that Rodney had been the last to see Sheppard, and that had been when he'd delivered the power supplies several hours earlier.

Beckett stepped into the transporter and soon was standing at Sheppard's quarters. He knocked several times before he tried the door. Either the major was there or he wasn't. If he was, he would undoubtedly be annoyed at Beckett's presence. Then again, Carson was a little annoyed at having to track the man down, so he figured they'd be even.

John's quarters were dark and at first Beckett didn't think the major was there after all, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, he noticed the rumpled blankets on the empty bed and someone leaning against the doorframe that led to the bathroom. "Major?" Carson questioned, stepping closer. He didn't get a response, and for a moment he wondered if he'd imagined the shadowy figure. The lightning flashed, though, and clearly illuminated the ghostly pallor of Sheppard's face as the man took a faltering step away from the doorway.

"Major?" Beckett called again. Still receiving no acknowledgement, he moved so that he was directly in Sheppard's path, and suddenly found himself supporting the pilot, whose last step had sent him stumbling forward. Beckett staggered back a bit before he was able to compensate for his unexpected burden, but it seemed that John was just disoriented and with Carson's help he managed to straighten, though not before the doctor felt the heat radiating off of him. "Bloody hell, lad, you're burning up."

"Beckett?" John asked, blinking in confusion. "What're you doing here?"

"Ya didn't answer your door, so I let myself in."

"Sorry, couldn't hear you…need to sit down." John subconsciously tightened his grip on Beckett's sleeve when the room kept spinning.

"Aye, that ya do," Carson agreed. He was beginning to put two and two together as he guided Sheppard over to his bed. Dizziness, fever, impaired hearing… "How long have your ears been botherin' ya, Major?"

"Dunno…sometime y-yesterday I guess? After F-Ford's pool party." He looked a little sheepish as he shivered again and burrowed deeper into his sweatshirt, only to find Beckett unzipping it. "H-hey—"

Carson gave him apologetic look. "You're runnin' a pretty high temp, son. Ya need ta get cooled down."

John sighed in resignation as he peeled the shirt off. His t-shirt was sticking to his back and chest, and with the hoodie gone, the air made the moisture feel like ice against his hot skin. He shivered harder and was in the process of falling over when Beckett caught him once again and helped him lie down.

"Why didn't ya say somethin' last night?" Carson asked, eyeing him with concern.

"It wasn't l-like this last night, n-n-not until Kavanagh made me go in the w-water again. All I needed w-were some of those swimmer's ear d-d-drops."

"Well we have those also, Major."

"Y-yeah, I figured, but you ask t-too many questions, Doc," John said with a tired smirk.

"And ya wonder why I do." Beckett rolled his eyes as he drew the covers over the shivering man. "Rest, Major. I'll be back shortly. Heaven knows why I didn't bring my bag ta start with."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes in preamble for an annoyed response, but decided he was probably in enough trouble already, so he went for pathetic instead. Curling deeper beneath the blankets, he let out a sigh that was bordering on a groan. A few minutes later, the intrusion of a thermometer in his throbbing ear produced a real groan and served to alert him to Beckett's return. Either he'd fallen asleep, or he just hadn't heard his door open. Both were equally likely, but he went with the first since he could hear the beeping of the thermometer clearly enough, as well as Beckett tsk-ing over the reading.

"Am I gonna live?" John mumbled after the doc had taken his blood pressure and listened to his heart and lungs.

"I've yet ta see a person die of an ear infection, Major, but if ya make a habit of not tellin' me when you're sick, especially here in another galaxy…"

"Technically, I did tell you," John pointed out, then grunted as another instrument invaded his ear.

"Tellin' me that you're not fine is hardly more useful than tellin' me ya are, lad," Carson replied dryly, peering in Sheppard's other ear before putting the scope back in his bag with a sigh. "And make that ear infections, plural. Are ya havin' a lot of pain?"

"More on the right side."

Beckett nodded. "That one's the worst from the look of it. The good news is that neither eardrum has perforated yet. If we get some antibiotics and ibuprofen into ya overnight, ya should be feelin' better in a day or so."

John heard muffled rummaging and opened one eye to see Carson preparing an IV. "Aw, come on, Doc, is that really n-necessary? C-can't you just give me s-some pills or something?"

"Normally I would say yes, Major, but your temp's over 102 and I have no idea what kind of bacteria ya may have come into contact with during your swims. IV antibiotics will get the infection under control more quickly, and it won't hurt ta keep ya hydrated."

"Well, if I've picked up anything deadly I'm g-going to make s-s-sure to infect K-Kavanagh."

Beckett chuckled as he expertly inserted the IV into John's arm. "The daft bugger'd probably report ya ta Elizabeth."

Sheppard grinned, then winced when it made the throbbing worse. "Speaking of reports, Doc, is there any w-way you can skip the part about me having an ear infection in yours?" Receiving an odd look from Beckett, John continued, "The military kind of frowns on pilots with ear problems."

"I hardly think anyone's going ta hold one infection against ya, Major, but if it'll make ya feel better I'll note my opinion that it's an isolated incident caused by extenuating circumstances."

John relaxed a little. "Thanks, Doc. I don't need to give them more ammo after what happened with Colonel Sumner."

"Again, extenuating circumstances, Major. Ya did the best ya could in an impossible situation. In any case, I wouldn't worry much. It isn't as if we're in imminent danger of makin' contact with Earth, and if Elizabeth had a problem with the way ya handled things, you'd already know about it."

"Y-yeah, you're right about th-that," John conceded with a faint smile, his eyes slipping closed, but he forced them open with an effort when something else occurred to him. "Hand me m-my laptop, will you?"

Carson frowned at him. "Ya need ta get some rest, son."

"I will in a minute, but there should b-be an e-mail from McKay f-f-for you, Doc."

"And it'll still be there when you're not too dizzy ta sit up on your own. Go ta sleep."

John did sleep, the fever and medication saw to that, but rest was an unattainable prize that night. Visions of sallow-skinned aliens with gaping maws for hands plagued him, and Colonel Sumner was among them, begging him to save his life and begging him to end it too. Sheppard almost felt like begging himself when he woke, hot and tangled in sheets, the room spinning, and a spike driving clean through his head. A kind-looking woman with a few years on him—one of Beckett's nurses, he realized—answered his pathetic moan with a cool washcloth on his forehead and a warm one over his right ear. He almost pushed the latter away, feeling overheated as it was, but the spike receded minutely and it took effort to move so he let it be.

He was hot, then cold, then hot again, and he dreaded each return of the heat that was so reminiscent of the desert. His failures from Afghanistan dredged themselves up out of the sand, and when night finally fell on the dunes and he was racked with chills he fought to stay awake, but found that he couldn't, not really. The nightmares were like quicksand tearing at him, not allowing escape.

After a time Beckett was there, checking him over and looking more worried than John thought he should have been over an ear infection. Then again, he felt pretty horrible, so maybe the doc was within his rights.

Time was a hazy thing at best, so John didn't notice when Carson left, or when the storm stopped, only that the pounding in his temples hurt less without the outside rumbling. The dreams and memories didn't leave quite so quietly, and he came awake again just as he was taking a swing at a Wraith posing as an Afghan soldier. He nearly knocked Beckett flat with that one, but the doc seemed unfazed, ducking the blow and then steadying him through another wave of vertigo.

Minutes or hours later, John noticed that the sky outside his window was edged with shades of pink and red as Carson helped him into a dry t-shirt and settled the covers back over him. He thought maybe the worst was finally over. They'd all forgotten things in coming here, but the past days had shown him that everyone still remembered how to help out—even if they often wanted something in return—and helping one another had been and would continue to be key to their survival. John would help by leading the men that were, however reluctantly, now under his command. And they'd probably reciprocate by teaching him a thing or ten along the way, but he could live with that. The colors streaking the morning sky grew more brilliant and John was finally able to rest.

~el fin~