All For One

**Title:** All For One

**Author:**LinziDay

**Rating:** PG13 (language)/ Gen

**Words:** 4,100

**Spoilers:** Set between The Kindred and Search and Rescue.

**Disclaimer:**I own SGA the same way I own a million dollars-- which is to say not at all, but I'd like to.

**Summary:** To John the air felt even heavier than it had earlier. Hotter. More oppressive. Too thick to draw a good breath.

**AN:**First, huge thanks to tridget and everyone who answered my plea over at the whumpers_guide on LJ. I couldn't have written this without them! (Or, I could have, but it would have included such detailed descriptions as, "Sheppard was hot. Um. Very hot. Yeah. Hot.")

Second, additional huge thanks to wildcat88 for the fabulous beta-ing. Thank you!

Third, this secret santa fic was written for titan5 (Her prompt is at the end of the fic.) Hope you like it!

* * *

From the catwalk, John watched them come through the gate fighting.

"You idiot!" Kyle Saunders shouted, throwing his pack to the ground. "Do you know what you —"

"I'm the idiot? You're the PhD who can't follow simple directions!" Lieutenant Kelly Alvarez shouted over him.

Apparently sticking them with Lorne's team hadn't helped. Dammit.

Saunders' face was red — in anger over the fight or in embarrassment over his lack of ability to take direction, John didn't know. "Your so-called directions were asinine!"

Alvarez barked out a laugh. "Well, if you value your life — "

"Is that a threat?" Saunders stalked toward her. "Did you just threaten me?"

Alvarez stalked forward to meet Saunders. "It wasn't a threat, but it sure can be — "

John watched Lorne break it up, stepping between them, palms up, so they both had to take a step back.

On the catwalk, Rodney took a place beside John.

"Again?" Rodney asked incredulously.

"Yeah."

Rodney swore. "They fight with everyone else. I thought for sure if we put them together they'd cancel each other out."

A grin twitched at John's lips. "They aren't variables in an equation."

Rodney looked down. "If only."

Saunders and Alvarez were still yelling. Every once in a while one of them darted forward as if to lunge at the other one, but Lorne kept them at bay.

Inwardly, John sighed. The Daedalus departed in three days. At their request Woolsey would make sure Rodney's scientist and John's marine were on it. They'd sent people packing before. Hell, Rodney sent three scientists back last month.

But.

"We can't," Rodney said.

"I know."

"She's the only marine who can read Ancient and Wraith."

"I know."

"And he's no me, but Saunders doesn't suck."

"Aw, McKay, that's sweet."

"Believe me, 'doesn't suck' is the new 'brilliant.'" Out of the corner of his eye John saw Rodney's face turn grimly serious and he knew Rodney was thinking the same thing he was: Teyla. Rodney reached out and gripped the railing. "We need them."

John looked down. Alvarez was pointing an accusing finger at Saunders, who was shaking his head and pointing his own finger at her. "Yeah," John said. "I know."

"They don't get along with any of the other teams." Rodney gestured to the ongoing argument. "Obviously, they don't get along with each other. We can't live with them, can't live without them. So?"

"That," John said, "I don't know."

Suddenly, Lorne snapped at Alvarez, "Stand the hell down already!" Calm, composed, unflappable Lorne.

John abandoned the catwalk and trotted down the stairs. Rodney went with him.

"Major," John greeted.

Lorne nodded his own greeting and said, "Sir," but he didn't drop his hands, didn't move from between Saunders and Alvarez. Lorne looked tired, frustrated. John bet this wasn't the first time his second-in-command had tried — and failed — to stop their fighting since they'd left four hours ago. John opened his mouth to ask Saunders and Alvarez to explain themselves, but Rodney beat him to it.

"What the hell is wrong with you people?" he demanded.

At once, they started shouting.

"She was being unreasonable!"

"He wandered off! Even my 2-year-old nephew knows you don't —"

"The world's unpopulated! And this military jerk had the nerve to tell me —"

"He wanted to go off and play explorer! What was I supposed to do? Risk both our lives for a reading?"

"That energy signature exactly matched that of a fully-charged ZPM!"

Rodney's whole body jerked. "ZPM?"

--

The planet was tropical, densely forested. And eerily silent.

"Evil monkeys?" John asked, shifting his P-90. "Poisonous frogs? Snakes that can eat a scientist whole?"

"No animals that we saw, sir," Alvarez answered. "None from the first MALP readings, either."

"Yes, but thank you for that image, Colonel," Rodney said, shouldering past John, Alvarez, and Saunders to meet up with Ronon at point. He paused just long enough to take an energy reading and flap his hand vaguely west before plowing through the brush.

"Yep, yep, yep, I was definitely getting the best readings over there," Saunders said excitedly. With a quick hop-skip-jump he caught up to Rodney and they disappeared through the trees with Ronon following after.

Alvarez looked scandalized. "Sir? They aren't supposed to —"

John wanted to offer her some sage advice about soldiers and scientists and give and take, but the only thing he could think was _Teyla_and all the ways a fully charged ZPM could help them bring her home. So he boiled his inspirational speech down to "It happens," and gestured for her to move ahead.

The forest floor was covered in spongy purple moss and bushy green plants. The trees were tall and wide, with broad, multi-colored leaves that ran thickest from the base before growing sparse about fifty feet up. Navigation quickly became impossible. Rodney gave up the lead to Ronon — despite Saunders' indignant "Hey!"— and Ronon began hacking away at the dense curtain of plants, the _snick-snack _of his blade loud in the silent forest.

It wasn't long before John was dripping with sweat. The air was heavy, oppressive, and he found he had to focus on walking without tripping. He drank as he walked, but after an hour the forest spun lazily around him. Mild dizziness meant early dehydration. John had to imagine the others were worse off.

"Water break," he called.

The others stopped and began shrugging out of their packs. Most of them.

"I don't need to stop," Saunders protested. "Look, the reading is very strong. It's gotta be —"

Ronon pushed on Saunders' shoulder, forcing him to sit down on a fallen log. He shoved a canteen in his hands. "Drink."

"I don't —"

Ronon loomed. "Drink."

Saunders uncapped the canteen and took a swig, glaring at Ronon. He muttered something, but Ronon either didn't hear or didn't care because he dropped down beside Saunders, his own canteen in hand.

John appraised the team while he drank. Ronon and Alvarez were both flushed but still sweating, which was good. Saunders didn't appear weak or dizzy, which was also good. Rodney —

Crap.

Rodney was slumped on a log, head bowed, empty hands loose between his knees. His pack was still on and he was all but panting. John got up and wandered over nonchalantly.

"Hey, buddy," he said quietly, taking a seat beside Rodney. He put a hand on the back of Rodney's neck. The skin was hot and dry. He slid his fingers around. Rodney's pulse was fast.

"I'm good," Rodney said. "Just gimme a minute."

Which by itself made John want to hustle him back to the gate double time because something was seriously wrong when Rodney didn't complain in this kind of heat.

Instead John said, "No rush," and "We've got plenty of time," and "Hey, so you've got some water in your pack, right?"

Rodney nodded and John pulled the pack off his shoulders to rummage through it. The main canteen was empty. His spare was only a quarter full. Had Rodney been drinking all along? Or had he been in such a rush to get out here that he hadn't filled his canteens? Shit. Either way, he hadn't gotten enough water.

"I'm fine, Sheppard," Rodney said, as if he could not only read John's mind but also argue with what he found there. Rodney's head was still bowed, eyes glued to a spot on the ground, and he swallowed convulsively, obviously fighting against nausea. "ZPM," he reminded John through clenched teeth. "Teyla."

"Yeah," John said.

Then he put his own canteen in Rodney's hands and told him to drink.

--

They walked for another half hour. John stayed on their six, carrying both his own pack and Rodney's to give the other man a lighter load in the heat. And it was a good thing he did. Rodney looked better, said he felt better, but to John the air felt even heavier than it had earlier. Hotter. More oppressive. Too thick to draw a good breath.

When John stumbled once — twice — three times — dammit — he started timing his steps to the steady _snick-snack_ of Ronon's blade. _Snick_ step. _Snack _step. _Snick_ step. _Snack_—

"Oh, my God!" Rodney shouted.

John's head snapped up and he jerked his P-90 into position. But there were no bad guys. Just —

"Ruins," Saunders groaned.

Crumbled buildings, broken stone and charred metal, so old the forest was well on its way to reclaiming the land for its own.

John swallowed hard against a dry throat. "The ZPM?"

"Twenty meters under that," Rodney said, pointing to the largest pile of stone and rubble. Then, sarcastic but tinged with the hope that there could still be a way, "Anyone bring a shovel?"

--

No one had brought a shovel. Or a laser-guided drill. Or Asgard beaming technology. They could return with any number of tools/ pieces of heavy equipment/ technological wonders. But first they would have to go back.

John called a five-minute water break, made sure he saw everyone drink. Sitting on a hunk of moss-covered rock, he took the opportunity to dry swallow a couple of aspirin to get rid of the headache that had been pounding away for the last fifteen minutes. He absently rubbed at a cramp in his calf.

"Hey, Sheppard!" Rodney called from his left.

John turned too fast, felt the world spin. He tried to stand but his legs shook and he wobbled and fell. Everything telescoped to a single point of light.

Then black.

--

The voices floated around him.

". . . hot. He won't make it."

"I'll go."

"Take more water."

"I got some. Don't need more."

"Don't be stupid! Look where playing the hero got Sheppard. Take it."

"Be back."

_Backbackbackback— _

--

Someone was tugging at his pants. Tugging _off_ his pants. But he needed them. Clothes. Pants. Good things to keep. Keep on. Keep his pants. Keep —

"Sheppard! Knock it off. Be modest sometime when you aren't dying from heatstroke."

Keep. Keep —

"Stop fighting me, Sheppard!" Snapping fingers. "You two. Get over here."

Pressure. Hands. Hands on his arms and ankles, pressing him to the spongy ground, pressing and tugging, pressing and tugging, tugging, tugging.

He yelled.

Then nothing.

--

John came to under a canopy of trees, Lieutenant Ford standing over him.

He blinked.

Alvarez. Lieutenant Alvarez standing over him.

"Dr. McKay!" she called, looking to the left. "He's awake."

Then she moved, unblocking a ray of sun slanting through the leaves, and suddenly John was hit full force with light and heat. He slammed his eyes shut, but it was too late. Sparks exploded behind his eyes and his brain felt like it was submerged in acid. He retched, the burn deep in his chest even as he heaved nothing but a dribble of water.

From somewhere he heard yelling and a string of curses, then the world tilted as he was rolled onto his side and held there. He heaved, which made him dizzy, which made him more nauseous, which made him heave harder.

He willed himself to go back under, fall back into the cool darkness, but he stayed awake, conscious of every nerve ending that felt like it was on fire.

"Sheppard. John. Breathe. Dammit, John. _Breathe_."

He gasped a breath. The air was muggy and thick, but it dampened the worst of the sparks behind his eyes. He sucked in a breath and another, and his stomach settled and the dizziness slid away.

No one tried to roll him over or move him again, so John spent the next several minutes breathing. Just breathing.

When something brushed his forehead he cautiously opened his eyes a slit. Rodney was kneeling beside him, blocking out the sun with both his body and a hand shading John's eyes.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Rodney said without preamble. The words were slow and tired rather than snappy and angry, as if it took effort to push them through the humid air. "You gave me all your water and made sure everyone else drank so they wouldn't end up, oh, say, right where you are now."

"S'rry?" John slurred. He didn't feel sorry at all, just sick, but it seemed like the thing to say. Then something teased at the back of his brain. Something important. Someone important. John rolled his head slowly. Alvarez, there, looking stiff and unsure. Saunders, there, looking contrite and uncomfortable. Ronon — not there at all. "Where's —"

Rodney huffed and gently rolled John over onto his back, carefully staying between him and the sun. "He went back to the gate to get help. You're not only dehydrated, Colonel, but you're in heatstroke. We needed to cool you down. Fast."

Which was when John remembered a vague dream about his pants. Too exhausted to move, he let his head loll to the right so he could look down the length of his body. Except for his boxers, he was naked.

"Fast," Rodney repeated.

John shivered. He was cold now, not hot. Wasn't even sweating. He wanted to tell Rodney to get his clothes so they could all go home, but he rolled his head back and the dizziness kicked up again. Above him the canopy of trees spun. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sheppard. Hey."

John opened his eyes. Rodney had a canteen in his hands.

"Here." Rodney slid a hand behind John's head, ready to help him sit up. "Water."

John's stomach roiled. Just the thought of drinking something repulsed him. "No. Nnnn — " He struggled, flailing out of Rodney's hand and a few inches away. He tried to move farther but just that little bit of fight left him wrung out. His arms and legs felt boneless, his head spun.

Rodney easily covered the few inches John had gained. He looked pissed. Pissed and scared and — _oh, crap _— determined.

"Sheppard, so help me, I will not sit here and watch you die of dehydration when you have water _right here_." He shook the canteen for emphasis and the sound of the sloshing water made John wince. "If I have to, I'll —"

"Dr. McKay," Saunders interrupted. He knelt down beside Rodney. "I think I can help."

From somewhere nearby, Alvarez scoffed. "Right. What do you know about field medicine, Mr. PhD?"

Saunders looked up sharply. "I know what it's like to be so sick you can't think straight," he snapped. Then, to Rodney, "I _can_ help."

Rodney sighed and wiped at his face with the neck of his t-shirt. "How?" he asked tiredly.

Saunders reached over and took the canteen.

Certain he was about to get a cupful of water forced down his throat, John used every ounce of energy he had to lock his jaws closed and grit his teeth. But when Saunders turned to him, it was with a look of understanding, not determination.

"This is the last thing you want, right?" Saunders said, his voice so soft that it was almost a whisper. "Food, water. . . anything in your stomach. Ugh."

"Helpful," Alvarez commented.

"But your throat has got to be dry, Colonel," Saunders went on, ignoring her. "Scratchy. Uncomfortable."

It was, actually. John coughed a little.

"And your mouth," Saunders said. "Dry. Scorched. Like you've been running through the desert, breathing more dust than air."

John licked his lips. His tongue caught as it dragged across, too dry.

Saunders let the canteen dangle from his fingers. "You could have a sip of water, Colonel. Just a sip. Just something to wet your mouth. Maybe enough to trickle down the back of your throat. If you wanted."

John coughed again. Wet. Something wet would be good.

Saunders slid a hand behind John's head and this time John didn't fight. He let the other man raise his head a few inches, let him put the canteen to his lips. John managed one sip, then two, rolling the liquid around his tongue for a moment before letting it slide down his throat.

"Good job," Rodney said. To him or to Saunders, John didn't know.

Rodney opened his mouth to say something else, but he cut himself off. His hand flew to his earpiece and he shot to his feet. "Ronon. What's your — " He walked away, out of John's range of hearing.

Saunders pulled the canteen away and lowered John back down. "That's great, Colonel. Maybe more in a little while."

John let his eyes close.

"Where'd you learn that?" Alvarez asked.

"They teach it to you in PhD school," Saunders said dryly.

Alvarez snorted.

There was period of silence. Eventually, John heard Saunders put the canteen down, heard shifting, rustling. Someone sitting. Someone digging through a pack. He drifted, then returned at the sound of voices.

". . . ear infections when he was a kid," Saunders said. "For days he'd be dizzy and nauseous. Refused to even look at a glass of water. He got so dehydrated once that our parents brought him to the hospital. It took both of them to hold him down for an IV. He was six. I was ten."

"So that water trick — " Alvarez started.

"I came up with it."

"Huh," Alvarez said. It was the first time John had ever heard her sound impressed. "Good solution."

"Yep," Saunders said, adding, "And it's amazing how few good solutions come from following directions."

Footsteps muffled by the moss, then Rodney's voice. "The forest is too thick. They can't land a jumper, so Ronon's bringing the medical team here."

Even John heard the unspoken "but" in Rodney's voice.

"But?" Alvarez asked.

"But Keller wants us to meet them half-way. She's concerned that he's still not — " John opened his eyes. Rodney was looking down at him, worry naked on his face. Rodney swallowed whatever his next words were going to be. He pulled his eyes away from John, looked at Saunders and Alvarez, and gestured at the ruins. "Scavenge what you can for a stretcher. We're going to get him out of here."

--

Time skipped. One moment John was watching Saunders and Alvarez set off toward the ruins, the next Alvarez was beside him, asking if he wanted another sip of water, the next he was listening to the three of them trying to secure their makeshift stretcher.

"No, no, no," Rodney shouted. "Do that there. There. Right _there_."

"It has to be more like this," Alvarez said.

"No!" Rodney and Saunders shouted in unison. Pause. Then, "Well, yes, okay," Rodney said. "Like that."

Then the next moment John was watching the trees glide by, Saunders at his head, Alvarez at his feet. From the sound of his voice, Rodney was ahead, leading them back through the path Ronon had cleared.

John shut his eyes. He had a tenuous grip on his nausea and the swiftly passing trees weren't helping.

"So where'd you learn that?" Saunders asked. "Two physicists with backgrounds in engineering and we didn't see it."

"They teach it to you in military jerk school," Alvarez said dryly.

This time it was Saunders' turn to snort.

"Two tours in Iraq," Alvarez said after a moment. "I rigged something similar a few times."

"It always worked?"

"The stretcher always worked as a stretcher. But no, sometimes we still couldn't save them, if that's what you mean," Alvarez said, and John could hear the bristle in her voice.

"I'm sorry," Saunders said sincerely.

"Yeah," Alvarez said, also sincere, but still bristled. "Me too."

Ahead, Rodney shouted something. John couldn't make out the words, but they sounded less like alarm and more like they were informational— his suspicions confirmed when Alvarez called, "Yes, sir!" and they kept moving.

"It's supposed to be the other way around, you know," Alvarez said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Saunders asked.

"McKay. He's a scientist. He shouldn't be responsible for getting us out of here."

"The colonel saved Dr. McKay by giving him his water," Saunders said. He grunted and the stretcher rocked a little. "Ronon saved them both by running ahead to the gate."

"What's your point?"

Saunders grunted again and the stretcher steadied. "Maybe it doesn't matter who saves who as long as everyone gets out alive."

--

John woke up in the infirmary.

Though there was no actual "up" involved. John lay there for several minutes wondering first when his bones had been replaced with Jell-O and second whether they could install a skylight in the infirmary because he was obviously never going to move again and it would be nice to see the sky.

"Well. You look like crap."

John tore his eyes away from the skylight-less ceiling to find Rodney approaching his bed. Wearing scrubs and pulling an IV pole, he looked drawn, weary.

"You, too," John ground out against a dry throat and, hell, that hurt.

Rodney fetched a cup with a straw from John's bedside table and moved to help him drink. At the last second Rodney stopped and pulled back.

"You sure you want this? It's water. I don't want to interfere with your God-given right to heroically sacrifice yourself for absolutely no reason whatsoever."

"McKay," John growled menacingly. Or tried to. To John's ears it came out a lot more like a weak croak.

But Rodney was either sufficiently cowed or, more likely, filled with pity. He helped John sit up and take a sip of water. The coolness that trickled down John's throat felt a little bit like heaven.

"Ronon?" John asked when Rodney pulled the cup and straw away.

"His quarters. Mild dehydration," Rodney said. He pointed to himself and his IV pole. "Moderate dehydration." He waved at John and his IV stand and myriad monitors. "Severe dehydration _and_ heatstroke, thank you very much."

"You're welcome," John said smugly.

"I wasn't — that wasn't —" Rodney spluttered. "I refuse to thank you for being stupid. We could have gone back early. We should have gone back early. You —"

"ZPM," John reminded him. "Teyla."

"And what a reunion that would have been. 'Welcome home, Teyla! Sheppard? No, I'm sorry, he died. But, hey, on the bright side we kept your room just like you left it.'" Rodney glared at him.

"Point taken," John admitted.

"Good."

Rodney pulled up a plastic chair and eased down into it. He looked almost as wrung-out as John felt.

"Alvarez and Saunders?" John asked.

"Fine," Rodney said. "Not even mild dehydration. Unlike some people, they drank an adequate amount of water like good boys and girls _and_ they didn't carry a second pack in ninety-percent humidity _and_ they didn't run to the gate, failing to take a backup canteen with them. So A-plus for them."

John sighed. "We should talk to Woolsey about getting them on the Daedalus."

"Actually." Rodney brightened. "We shouldn't."

John raised an eyebrow. And felt ridiculously pleased that he could manage at least that small movement.

"They've asked to be on team four," Rodney said. "Together."

"They won't kill each other?"

"Apparently our shining example of team-hood revealed to them the grand and noble —"

"They snapped out of it," John surmised.

"They did." Rodney slouched back in the chair, rested his head against the IV pole. "I'm not saying there won't be bumps. Saunders likes to do everything his own way."

"Alvarez is a know-it-all," John agreed, shifting to a more comfortable position.

"He can't take an order." Rodney stretched.

"She doesn't know how to deal with scientists." John yawned.

"They'll get on each other's nerves." Rodney closed his eyes.

John closed his eyes. "Sure they will," he said. "But."

"Yeah," Rodney said sleepily.

"Team," John said.

"Team," Rodney agreed.

And together they fell asleep.

* * *

_For titan5, who asked for: a story where some newbies to Atlantis go offworld with Sheppard and his team. Sheppard is hurt doing his "save/protect" thing and the newbies have to help his team take care of him until they can get him back to Atlantis. In the process, they develop a lot of respect for John and his team, as well as an appreciation for how a real team works. _

_Hope you liked it!_


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