Elizabeth Christensen: Casualties of war

A knot of tension in his stomach seemed to ease at her words. He looked up at her with a faint smile, hoping she'd see the gratitude there. "I'm working on it."

"Work on it between meals," put in a deep voice. "You missed beef stew at lunch."

John started, whipping his head around to find Ronon leaning against the wall by the door. "God! Warn a guy, would you?" The big man only smirked. "Have you been there the whole time?"

Pushing himself off the wall, Ronon nodded at Teyla. "She's better at this stuff than me."

Yet he'd come along for the ride anyway. The knot loosened a little further. "I don't know," John commented truthfully, climbing to his feet. "You weren't half bad."

When the door snicked open again, it revealed an impatient scientist. "Are we done dealing with the identity crisis or whatever now? I need the Colonel in the lab."

John folded his arms, choosing to let Rodney's brash question roll off. "For what?"

"What do I ever need out of you in the lab? Your gene." Rodney heaved a put-upon sigh. "As much as it pains me to say this aloud yet again, you have significantly better control with ATA-enabled equipment than I do, especially when I'm trying to operate it and take readings simultaneously. So come be a good little guinea pig for an hour. You'll still have plenty of the day left to be philosophical."

Although John had a suspicion that this was Rodney's unique way of trying to help, he played along. "Yeah? What's in it for me?"

"Funny you should ask." With a waggle of eyebrows-Rodney could not pull off a devious look to save his life-he produced a plastic baggie containing one of Mrs. Beckett's prized scones. "All yours for a single measly hour of your time."

"How the hell did you pry that away from Carson?"

Rodney waved dismissively. "It's for the furtherance of science. If he knew, he'd be honored to contribute."

That only confirmed Rodney's motives. In deference to the man's hard-earned reputation as a self-absorbed pain in the ass, John thanked him the best way he could: by not thanking him. "Don't expect me to share this," he informed Rodney, plucking the bag out of his hand.

"Please. Like I didn't steal one for myself while I was at it?"

With the help of caring friends, Lara had said.

Maybe it could be that simple after all. At the least, it was enough to see him through to tomorrow.

John tucked the letter into his jacket and let his teammates lead him back inside.