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Back to Pt. 8
Rodney wouldn't call the sporadic images in his head dreams or his brief moments of dozing actual sleep. The moment his heavy eyes closed, the images piled in, one after the other – the bad guys on their tail, the bad guys tracking them through the woods, the bad guys breaking into Rodney's house – and they always ended with Sheppard either being shot or dragged away and Rodney starting awake with a gasp. He finally gave up so much as the pretense of sleep at the first hint of morning twilight: deep blue darkness that revealed general shapes but not yet details.
Dark blue slowly faded to blue-gray and a thin carpet of mist hiding the shorter grasses. Rodney could smell the moisture and cool air, even with the doors closed, and there was light enough for Rodney to look back and see the rapid rise and fall of Sheppard's chest.
Maybe it was the crappy light, but Sheppard looked worse, his face gray, his eyes and cheeks more sunken, and his skin shiny with sweat. Most of the moans, groans, and whimpers Rodney had been hearing throughout the night hadn't come only from his dreams.
“Couldn't sleep?”
Rodney turned his head around to Daniel who looked groggy but otherwise awake.
“Not really,” Rodney admitted. “And, now that I think about it, that might not be a bad thing. We should have set up a watch, maybe three-four hour intervals.”
Daniel pushed himself up straighter, tugging the handle that flipped the seat upright. “True.” He furrowed his brow in consternation at McKay. “I'm surprised we didn't. You'd think that would be something we'd remember to do.”
Rodney nodded numbly, equally baffled by what should have been so obvious. Either Earth made him too complacent, shoving aside basic survival skills to replace it with Jeopardy trivia questions, or he had been that exhausted.
Daniel exhaled through pressed lips. “But, I suppose that had anyone come, we would have been too strung-out not to notice.”
Rodney nodded again, content enough with the smidgen of truth in the excuse. “And we have been rather caught up in figuring everything out as we go. That kind of frantic thinking is bound to produce a few flaws from time to time.” But who was he kidding? He was a genius. Setting up a watch to prevent the bad guys from getting the drop on them had been the first real survival concept he'd learned on joining Sheppard's team – right after duck and cover and to always ensure plenty of sunscreen and Power Bars in his tac vest.
It was a rather frightening testament to just how screwed up this all was.
Rodney stared out the windshield in alarm. “Wow. It's a miracle I ever survived the Pegasus Galaxy,” he said out loud without realizing. “I'm on Earth and still can't save Sheppard the correct way.”
“That's because there's no such thing as the correct way, believe me,” said Daniel. “There's the military handbook way, yes. But as Jack used to always say, all that thing is good for is lighting a fire when you're trapped in a cave and... when there's no toilet paper.”
Rodney shook his head. “But, still....” Then he twisted his lips in disgust. “Toilet paper? Never mind. But still - setting up a watch, one measly little watch between the two of us....”
Daniel lowered his head, almost as if shamed. “I know. But we're still here, no one's come, morning's on its way, and the traffic should be really picking up in about a half hour.” He glanced back at Sheppard and frowned. “And we need to get moving. He's looking worse.”
Rodney nodded vigorously, so anxious to get the hell out of here it was knotting his chest. However.... “Uh, speaking of toilet paper... personal matters first?”
Daniel raised both eyebrows. “Oh, yeah, right. Good idea.”
“Okay, um,” Rodney clapped his hands together. “I'll handle Sheppard, you... um... you know.”
“Right,” Daniel said with a sharp nod then they both got out of the car.
Daniel wandered out of sight around the bend, hopefully out of hearing range as well. Rodney moved to the back, giving the door a good yank that made it squeal in protest. Sheppard winced, grunted, but didn't stir.
Rodney patted the colonel's cheek that was warm and clammy. “Sheppard, come on, wake up. Potty break then we're hitting the yellow brick road to safety. Well, not yellow, of course, more like black.... Wake up.”
Sheppard finally showed signs of life after a few more taps to the cheek by rolling his head back and forth. His eyes fluttered open, squinting, then the blood-shot hazel rolling up to look at Rodney.
Rodney frowned. “You look like crap, Colonel.”
“Not so hot y'rself,” Sheppard slurred. “Never have been though.” When he took a deep breath, it stuttered, catching on a cough that tore wetly through his throat. Rodney swallowed, recalling Carson once saying something about painful injuries being a massive foot in the door for illness if illness was present. He couldn't imagine how fast withdrawal must be speeding the process up. Carson had been quite worried about potential illness after Rodney's coming down off the enzyme.
“Come on, Sheppard,” Rodney urged, taking him beneath the armpits and tugging. “Up and at 'em. No pit stops until we arrive and no whining about it or Daniel will turn the car around.”
Sheppard's legs kicked weakly as he struggled to sit up. “He said that?”
“No, but that's not to say he wasn't thinking it. It was my dad's favorite threat if we announced we had to go ten minutes after having already gone. It's also why he wouldn't by us sodas. Water all the way for us, not like it made a difference.”
Sheppard was a limp, warm weight against Rodney's side when he was finally on his feet, trembling a little with the effort of staying upright on legs that didn't want to hold him. Rodney tried not to think about how quickly the man was deteriorating as he took most of his weight with one arm around his waist. The sweater was moist with sweat, and that made Rodney nervous. He hadn't really thought about the amount of water being pushed through Sheppard's pores, and he highly doubted Sheppard had been lucid enough to replenish himself the entire night. After helping Sheppard take care of business behind a bush (all while Rodney kept his face turned away, up at the trees) he got Sheppard back into the car where he shoved a water bottle into Sheppard's hands as soon as he was sitting. Rodney then took care of his own bladder issues, returning to Sheppard who was lying back down with his head at the other end. Rodney tossed the blanket over him.
Then wondered where the hell Daniel was. No way should it be taking him this long.
“Daniel!” Rodney called, making his way around the turn where the archaeologist had vanished. “Hey, Daniel, no way does anyone have a bladder that big, I --” He jerked to a stop.
Daniel lay ten feet away, sprawled face down in the grass, the dog guy crouched at his head feeling his pulse. At Rodney's noisy arrival, Dog-guy looked up and stood.
In his hand was a gun, another M9 that he slowly lifted with that super-nova smile of his.
“Dr. McKay,” he said. “Bet you regret not helping me find that dog.”
Rodney's bulging eyeballs darted up and down from the weapon to Daniel's unmoving form. “You – you killed him.” His heart pounded so loud he could hear it. “You... you... y --” No, no he couldn't have killed Daniel. They would have heard it. Unless he had one of those silencer muzzles, which he didn't.
“Relax, he's alive” Dog-guy said. “Just a knock on the head to keep him quiet. That's all. Now, whether that remains the case is all up to you, Dr. McKay. Take me to Sheppard, and you can both be on your way, scott-free and unharmed if you don't count the nasty headache your friend's going to wake up with.”
Dog-guy's smile was insufferably, and a little frighteningly, friendly. The kind of smile a complete stranger gives you after an accident: no harm, no foul – it was all a misunderstanding, and I'll hold nothing against you. The kind of smile that said in the most cordial way possible that it really was all your fault but they were still willing to look the other way and call it a day so long as you didn't stir up further trouble.
Rodney had no idea what to do or even what he was doing when he asked, “How – how – how did you find us? How? We were... we lost you, we... how did you....”
“Wasn't easy,” Dog-guy said. “We had the feeling you'd given us the slip by making an early turn – you weren't that far ahead of us. We must have passed this road five times after trying four others before we realized it was here.” He chuckled, as affable as his smile. “We weren't even sure if it went anywhere. So I said, 'just leave me behind to check it out.' Certainly fortunate I did, or I never would have run into your friend here. Now, if you wouldn't mind, where's Sheppard?”
“Actually,” Rodney said, gulping to keep his heart in his chest, “I would mind. And – and you know, you're certainly going through a lot of trouble for one man.”
Dog-guy shrugged. “You'd be surprised the trouble we go through for a lot of things. Sheppard?”
Rodney lifted his chin in a show of defiant pride that he didn't feel. “And who, exactly, are we anyways?”
“Now that I'm afraid we can't tell you. Shep-pard?”
“I don't know where he is. He jumped out of the car thinking it would save our asses – mine and Daniel's. We pulled off here to look for him and haven't found him. And why do you want him? No, wait. Let me guess – you can't tell me.”
The man's incessant smile, never so much as twitching out of place, was gradually creeping Rodney out more than the gun. “And you'd be right.”
“Fine, because Sheppard already gave me a little insight into what you were doing to him. Mutation research, right? With iratus DNA? You bastards were trying to turn him into an iratus bug.”
The man said nothing, neither smiling any more broadly nor frowning deeply, unfortunately – the smug smile of a man with complete dominion over the situation.
Rodney's fingers curled into his palms, pressing his nails into the flesh until it stung. “You pumped him full of hallucinogens, experimental crap, and who knows what else. And you beat him? Okay, I can understand thinking yourselves so above the law and man and even whatever deity you believe in enough to look at another human being and think ‘lab rat’ because you're obviously that much of a group of self-righteous bastards. But why beat him? Huh? Why, when he was already at your stupid, inconsiderate, sadistic mercy? You had him where you wanted: weak and helpless and...” His fists tightened, shaking, warm blood welling up from beneath his nails. “…and still felt the need to break him down and humiliate him. Why?”
Dog-guy stayed quiet.
Rodney advanced, just a step with a finger pointed rigidly at Dog-guy until Dog-guy lowered the gun to Daniel. Rodney stopped but kept his finger raised, jabbing it toward the jerk. “Even if I knew where Sheppard was, like hell I would tell you. Like hell I'm going to be the one to hand him over just so you can start your stupid... twisted... stupid experiment all over again only to finally realize that the only place you're going is nowhere, and in an effort to clean up your mess and leave no trace of your idiocy behind, you kill him. No.” He shook his head vehemently. “Uh-uh, no way. So if I were you, I'd just turn around right now and walk away because Sheppard isn't here and there's no way I'm going to help you look for him.”
With that said, Rodney crossed his arms in front of his chest, lifting his chin in iron-hard defiance that, this time, he did feel.
Dog-guy tilted his head to one side. “A man has to admire your loyalty, Dr. McKay, though it seems a little divided. I also don't believe you. I think you know where Sheppard is, and I think you're going to take me to him by the count of ten, or I kill your friend, here. One....”
Rodney's chin trembled, his eyes dropping to Daniel splayed helpless on the ground. Why hadn't he woken up yet?
“Two....”
Rodney dropped his hands, glaring, though the power behind it was no longer at its strongest. “I told you....”
“Three….”
“Four….”
“I don't know where he is....”
“Five....”
“Come on! Stop it! Just stop it! I can't help you even if I wanted to!”
“Six....”
“Look, I can help you search if you want, but it won't make a difference. Sheppard is long gone by now....”
“Seven....”
Rodney's heart stuck in his throat making it impossible to breathe. “You don't need to do this. Please, don't do this!”
“Eight....”
His breathing came faster, labored, the world sparking around him. He knew what Sheppard would do – would want Rodney to do: betray him to save Daniel. But... but Rodney couldn't. He'd promised. He'd promised to help Sheppard, to keep him safe, to save him. He'd promised.
“Nine....”
Tears bit sharp into Rodney's eyes. “Oh, hell, no, please...”
“T--”
“Finish that number, and it's your brain all over the trees.”
Rodney's heart about slammed straight out of his ribcage when Sheppard unfolded himself from the undergrowth, gun in hand pointed directly at Dog-guy's temple. He staggered out of the grass, grabbing the shoulder of Dog-guy's jacket to stay upright while the weapon remained fixed on his target, his gun-hand as steady as it was going to get despite the mild tremors running through it.
Rodney's jaw slowly unhinged, and his eyes slowly bulged. “Sheppard!” he gasped. “What the... where'd you... the gun?”
“Slipped it out of Dr. Jackson's jacket,” he said, flashing a twitchy smile. “Guess it does pay to be paranoid.”
Silent, manic laughter chuffed from Rodney's chest, convulsive as though he were hyperventilating. Which it kind of felt like he was. “Actually, I always had a theory that you couldn't sleep unless you had a gun under your pillow.”
“That, too,” Sheppard agreed. “Now, mister, what say you toss your weapon before we have a real mess on our hands. Nice and slow.”
Dog-guy (frowning at last) obliged, tossing the gun to the side that thumped on the soft earth.
“Now,” John said. “We're just going to wait here until Dr. Jackson wakes up then we're all going to take a little walk back to the car. So, in the meantime, try not to move a muscle. I'm liable to take it wrong, and right now my finger is feeling kind of trigger-happy. All it needs is an excuse.”
“So were you hiding there this whole time?” Rodney asked.
Sheppard shook his head, just once, and winced. “That undergrowth is thick. I'm pretty sure a couple of ticks latched onto me.”
“So your timing really was perfect and not on purpose?”
Sheppard scowled. “Rodney, I know you like to think I have some kind of hero complex, but I think that's kind of pushing it.”
“Right, sorry.”
Dog-guy chuckled, forcing Sheppard to press the barrel into the side of his skull. “Something amusing you, buddy?”
“No, no. Not at all.”
Rodney looked at Sheppard, Sheppard at Rodney over Dog-guy's shoulder. It hit them both at the same time.
Basic survival: who the hell goes looking for someone in the company of two other men... alone?
“Crap,” Sheppard breathed and shoved the gun hard enough to leave a bruise. “Where's --”
The world seemed to explode, a body bursting from the woods and plowing Sheppard into the ground. Dog-guy dove for the gun on the ground at the same time as Rodney. They both reached it, both clawing at it as they tried to shove the other back. Dog-guy swung; Rodney ducked and silently thanked Ronon for those sparring lessons Rodney had always thought a waste of time. He elbowed Dog-guy in the jaw, hoping to hear the crunch of bone, except Dog-guy had moved his head with the blow, cutting recovery time.
Both their hands landed on the gun. Both men scrambled to their knees, shoving against the other creating a stalemate that kept the gun's barrel in the air. The adrenaline surging through Rodney's body made him hyperaware: the heat of the other man's hands bleeding into the handle, the cold moisture of the ground, the chilled air, Sheppard struggling with the second bad guy behind Dog-guy. Second bad guy was shorter but heavier – his body the broad-shouldered and square-jawed build of a man all about being the muscle. Sheppard was sick, thin, yet still put up a hell of a fight using a never-ending plethora of moves courtesy of Teyla, Ronon, and the military. He was holding his own for now.
Which was good because Rodney could feel himself flagging. Fear shot another massive surge of adrenaline, enough to push the gun toward Dog-guy. But Dog-guy must have had his own surge when he pushed back, and his surge was a hell of a lot thicker, the man a hell of a lot stronger. The gun inched agonizingly closer and closer to Rodney's face. Only another centimeter was needed, that was all, then Dog-guy would be able to pull the trigger.
That centimeter was a hundred miles long and closing fast when, suddenly, a brown blur slammed itself into Dog-guy and pinned him to the ground. Rodney stared, amazed, at the gun now in his hands. The sound of bone hitting bone pulled his gaze around to Daniel kneeling beside an unconscious Dog-guy while shaking the pain from his fist.
“About damn time!” Rodney squeaked.
Then Sheppard screamed.
Rodney scrambled to his feet, gun pointed at Second Bad-guy who had his knee pressed directly on Sheppard's injured side and a knife at his throat. Bad-guy looked up and smiled a bloody smile that added to the gruesome image of his blood-smeared face. He closed the distance between the knife and Sheppard's neck until it was touching skin.
“Drop the gun, or I slit his throat,” Bad-guy rasped, blood bubbling out of his bent nose. He leaned in further to increase the weight, and Sheppard gasped, clawing at the man's knee, eyes squeezed shut so tight in agony that moisture was shoved out, trickling down his face.
Rodney shook his head, his body numb, his heart fluttering so fast his breathing could barely keep up. Spots danced before his eyes, but he ignored them. “No. You drop the knife, or I decorate this forest with your brain.” He almost smiled. Ronon would have been proud of that one. Teyla too.
The blade pressed deeper. Sheppard shuddered and a bead of blood rolled down his neck. “I don't think so.”
“Do you honestly think you can kill him before he shoots you?” Daniel asked.
“Want to find out?”
Both Daniel and Rodney shouted, “No!”
Bad-guy chuckled, bloody spittle flecking his lips. “All right, then, drop the gun.”
“Not until you get off of Sheppard,” Rodney panted.
“No,” Bad-guy said, bending lower, his knee pressing harder until Sheppard used what little air he had to cry out. Rodney felt like he was going to be sick as thoughts of punctured lungs and blood filling a pleural sack danced in his head.
“He can't breathe! Get the hell off him, now! If you don't, I'll shoot; I swear I'll shoot you right in your brainless head!”
Bad-guy just smiled, more infuriating and far creepier than Dog-guy because he was in the position to make demands, make bargains, not McKay. It had always been said that McKay couldn't hit the broad side of the barn. He had the very bad, gut-sinking feeling that this man was well aware of that.
Bad-guy snorted. “I don't think so.”
“Damn you stupid people!” Rodney roared. “What the hell do you want with him! Why can't you just leave him the hell alone!”
No answer from Bad-guy, just more smiling, more silent gloating over having already won because Bad-guy wasn't going to move and Rodney was going to miss – if he shot at all. Beneath Bad-guy, Sheppard's flailing, struggling hands grew so weak they settled for tearing up the grass. Sheppard's chest bucked, fighting against the pressure and pain to fill his lungs, just a little, enough to keep working and keep the body alive. A small sound - a high-pitched keen of pain like what a dying animal would make - escaped Sheppard's throat.
That was it. Red filled Rodney's vision, heating his face, enlarging the veins of his neck that he could feel vibrate with blood that roared in his ears, blocking out all sound but that one small, pathetic, helpless noise echoing in his head. A noise he had never, ever heard Sheppard make until now.
“You son of a bitch!” Rodney shrilled.
And fired.
The explosion was deafening, full-body jarring, but not as jarring as the sight of the man jerking backward off of Sheppard onto the ground where he lay unmoving. Even from where Rodney stood, he saw blood blossoming black against the man's dark leather jacket.
Rodney blinked, once, twice.
He'd killed a man.
He'd never killed a man. Stunned them, killed wraith, replicators. Never killed a man. He saw Daniel rush forward, kneel beside Sheppard and search his neck for a pulse. A part of Rodney's mind whispered he should be doing the same or something similar but... he'd killed a man.
The world seemed to shrink, all feeling lost in Rodney's body except for his hands where the gun sat, hot and heavy and deadly. After a moment, nothing more than seconds, numbness slid into Rodney's fingers, and the gun slid free, dropping with a hollow thud on the ground.
He'd killed a man.
“Sheppard's still alive,” Daniel announced with a sigh. He turned his head. “So's this guy. Looks like you winged him.”
Rodney sucked in a breath.
Strike that, he'd injured a man. Not dead, just injured. Suddenly the world expanded, sensation flooded his body, and Rodney doubled over retching just as a bright white light filled his vision. It cleared in time for his vomit to splatter all over a dark silver floor. He looked up and furrowed his brow.
Colonel Caldwell, looking longsuffering in his patience, sighed. “Welcome aboard, Dr. McKay. Should I send for a bucket?”
Not knowing what to do, say, or even think, Rodney's mouth turned up in a trembling smile. Then he promptly blacked out.
TBC...
On to Pt. 9
Rodney wouldn't call the sporadic images in his head dreams or his brief moments of dozing actual sleep. The moment his heavy eyes closed, the images piled in, one after the other – the bad guys on their tail, the bad guys tracking them through the woods, the bad guys breaking into Rodney's house – and they always ended with Sheppard either being shot or dragged away and Rodney starting awake with a gasp. He finally gave up so much as the pretense of sleep at the first hint of morning twilight: deep blue darkness that revealed general shapes but not yet details.
Dark blue slowly faded to blue-gray and a thin carpet of mist hiding the shorter grasses. Rodney could smell the moisture and cool air, even with the doors closed, and there was light enough for Rodney to look back and see the rapid rise and fall of Sheppard's chest.
Maybe it was the crappy light, but Sheppard looked worse, his face gray, his eyes and cheeks more sunken, and his skin shiny with sweat. Most of the moans, groans, and whimpers Rodney had been hearing throughout the night hadn't come only from his dreams.
“Couldn't sleep?”
Rodney turned his head around to Daniel who looked groggy but otherwise awake.
“Not really,” Rodney admitted. “And, now that I think about it, that might not be a bad thing. We should have set up a watch, maybe three-four hour intervals.”
Daniel pushed himself up straighter, tugging the handle that flipped the seat upright. “True.” He furrowed his brow in consternation at McKay. “I'm surprised we didn't. You'd think that would be something we'd remember to do.”
Rodney nodded numbly, equally baffled by what should have been so obvious. Either Earth made him too complacent, shoving aside basic survival skills to replace it with Jeopardy trivia questions, or he had been that exhausted.
Daniel exhaled through pressed lips. “But, I suppose that had anyone come, we would have been too strung-out not to notice.”
Rodney nodded again, content enough with the smidgen of truth in the excuse. “And we have been rather caught up in figuring everything out as we go. That kind of frantic thinking is bound to produce a few flaws from time to time.” But who was he kidding? He was a genius. Setting up a watch to prevent the bad guys from getting the drop on them had been the first real survival concept he'd learned on joining Sheppard's team – right after duck and cover and to always ensure plenty of sunscreen and Power Bars in his tac vest.
It was a rather frightening testament to just how screwed up this all was.
Rodney stared out the windshield in alarm. “Wow. It's a miracle I ever survived the Pegasus Galaxy,” he said out loud without realizing. “I'm on Earth and still can't save Sheppard the correct way.”
“That's because there's no such thing as the correct way, believe me,” said Daniel. “There's the military handbook way, yes. But as Jack used to always say, all that thing is good for is lighting a fire when you're trapped in a cave and... when there's no toilet paper.”
Rodney shook his head. “But, still....” Then he twisted his lips in disgust. “Toilet paper? Never mind. But still - setting up a watch, one measly little watch between the two of us....”
Daniel lowered his head, almost as if shamed. “I know. But we're still here, no one's come, morning's on its way, and the traffic should be really picking up in about a half hour.” He glanced back at Sheppard and frowned. “And we need to get moving. He's looking worse.”
Rodney nodded vigorously, so anxious to get the hell out of here it was knotting his chest. However.... “Uh, speaking of toilet paper... personal matters first?”
Daniel raised both eyebrows. “Oh, yeah, right. Good idea.”
“Okay, um,” Rodney clapped his hands together. “I'll handle Sheppard, you... um... you know.”
“Right,” Daniel said with a sharp nod then they both got out of the car.
Daniel wandered out of sight around the bend, hopefully out of hearing range as well. Rodney moved to the back, giving the door a good yank that made it squeal in protest. Sheppard winced, grunted, but didn't stir.
Rodney patted the colonel's cheek that was warm and clammy. “Sheppard, come on, wake up. Potty break then we're hitting the yellow brick road to safety. Well, not yellow, of course, more like black.... Wake up.”
Sheppard finally showed signs of life after a few more taps to the cheek by rolling his head back and forth. His eyes fluttered open, squinting, then the blood-shot hazel rolling up to look at Rodney.
Rodney frowned. “You look like crap, Colonel.”
“Not so hot y'rself,” Sheppard slurred. “Never have been though.” When he took a deep breath, it stuttered, catching on a cough that tore wetly through his throat. Rodney swallowed, recalling Carson once saying something about painful injuries being a massive foot in the door for illness if illness was present. He couldn't imagine how fast withdrawal must be speeding the process up. Carson had been quite worried about potential illness after Rodney's coming down off the enzyme.
“Come on, Sheppard,” Rodney urged, taking him beneath the armpits and tugging. “Up and at 'em. No pit stops until we arrive and no whining about it or Daniel will turn the car around.”
Sheppard's legs kicked weakly as he struggled to sit up. “He said that?”
“No, but that's not to say he wasn't thinking it. It was my dad's favorite threat if we announced we had to go ten minutes after having already gone. It's also why he wouldn't by us sodas. Water all the way for us, not like it made a difference.”
Sheppard was a limp, warm weight against Rodney's side when he was finally on his feet, trembling a little with the effort of staying upright on legs that didn't want to hold him. Rodney tried not to think about how quickly the man was deteriorating as he took most of his weight with one arm around his waist. The sweater was moist with sweat, and that made Rodney nervous. He hadn't really thought about the amount of water being pushed through Sheppard's pores, and he highly doubted Sheppard had been lucid enough to replenish himself the entire night. After helping Sheppard take care of business behind a bush (all while Rodney kept his face turned away, up at the trees) he got Sheppard back into the car where he shoved a water bottle into Sheppard's hands as soon as he was sitting. Rodney then took care of his own bladder issues, returning to Sheppard who was lying back down with his head at the other end. Rodney tossed the blanket over him.
Then wondered where the hell Daniel was. No way should it be taking him this long.
“Daniel!” Rodney called, making his way around the turn where the archaeologist had vanished. “Hey, Daniel, no way does anyone have a bladder that big, I --” He jerked to a stop.
Daniel lay ten feet away, sprawled face down in the grass, the dog guy crouched at his head feeling his pulse. At Rodney's noisy arrival, Dog-guy looked up and stood.
In his hand was a gun, another M9 that he slowly lifted with that super-nova smile of his.
“Dr. McKay,” he said. “Bet you regret not helping me find that dog.”
Rodney's bulging eyeballs darted up and down from the weapon to Daniel's unmoving form. “You – you killed him.” His heart pounded so loud he could hear it. “You... you... y --” No, no he couldn't have killed Daniel. They would have heard it. Unless he had one of those silencer muzzles, which he didn't.
“Relax, he's alive” Dog-guy said. “Just a knock on the head to keep him quiet. That's all. Now, whether that remains the case is all up to you, Dr. McKay. Take me to Sheppard, and you can both be on your way, scott-free and unharmed if you don't count the nasty headache your friend's going to wake up with.”
Dog-guy's smile was insufferably, and a little frighteningly, friendly. The kind of smile a complete stranger gives you after an accident: no harm, no foul – it was all a misunderstanding, and I'll hold nothing against you. The kind of smile that said in the most cordial way possible that it really was all your fault but they were still willing to look the other way and call it a day so long as you didn't stir up further trouble.
Rodney had no idea what to do or even what he was doing when he asked, “How – how – how did you find us? How? We were... we lost you, we... how did you....”
“Wasn't easy,” Dog-guy said. “We had the feeling you'd given us the slip by making an early turn – you weren't that far ahead of us. We must have passed this road five times after trying four others before we realized it was here.” He chuckled, as affable as his smile. “We weren't even sure if it went anywhere. So I said, 'just leave me behind to check it out.' Certainly fortunate I did, or I never would have run into your friend here. Now, if you wouldn't mind, where's Sheppard?”
“Actually,” Rodney said, gulping to keep his heart in his chest, “I would mind. And – and you know, you're certainly going through a lot of trouble for one man.”
Dog-guy shrugged. “You'd be surprised the trouble we go through for a lot of things. Sheppard?”
Rodney lifted his chin in a show of defiant pride that he didn't feel. “And who, exactly, are we anyways?”
“Now that I'm afraid we can't tell you. Shep-pard?”
“I don't know where he is. He jumped out of the car thinking it would save our asses – mine and Daniel's. We pulled off here to look for him and haven't found him. And why do you want him? No, wait. Let me guess – you can't tell me.”
The man's incessant smile, never so much as twitching out of place, was gradually creeping Rodney out more than the gun. “And you'd be right.”
“Fine, because Sheppard already gave me a little insight into what you were doing to him. Mutation research, right? With iratus DNA? You bastards were trying to turn him into an iratus bug.”
The man said nothing, neither smiling any more broadly nor frowning deeply, unfortunately – the smug smile of a man with complete dominion over the situation.
Rodney's fingers curled into his palms, pressing his nails into the flesh until it stung. “You pumped him full of hallucinogens, experimental crap, and who knows what else. And you beat him? Okay, I can understand thinking yourselves so above the law and man and even whatever deity you believe in enough to look at another human being and think ‘lab rat’ because you're obviously that much of a group of self-righteous bastards. But why beat him? Huh? Why, when he was already at your stupid, inconsiderate, sadistic mercy? You had him where you wanted: weak and helpless and...” His fists tightened, shaking, warm blood welling up from beneath his nails. “…and still felt the need to break him down and humiliate him. Why?”
Dog-guy stayed quiet.
Rodney advanced, just a step with a finger pointed rigidly at Dog-guy until Dog-guy lowered the gun to Daniel. Rodney stopped but kept his finger raised, jabbing it toward the jerk. “Even if I knew where Sheppard was, like hell I would tell you. Like hell I'm going to be the one to hand him over just so you can start your stupid... twisted... stupid experiment all over again only to finally realize that the only place you're going is nowhere, and in an effort to clean up your mess and leave no trace of your idiocy behind, you kill him. No.” He shook his head vehemently. “Uh-uh, no way. So if I were you, I'd just turn around right now and walk away because Sheppard isn't here and there's no way I'm going to help you look for him.”
With that said, Rodney crossed his arms in front of his chest, lifting his chin in iron-hard defiance that, this time, he did feel.
Dog-guy tilted his head to one side. “A man has to admire your loyalty, Dr. McKay, though it seems a little divided. I also don't believe you. I think you know where Sheppard is, and I think you're going to take me to him by the count of ten, or I kill your friend, here. One....”
Rodney's chin trembled, his eyes dropping to Daniel splayed helpless on the ground. Why hadn't he woken up yet?
“Two....”
Rodney dropped his hands, glaring, though the power behind it was no longer at its strongest. “I told you....”
“Three….”
“Four….”
“I don't know where he is....”
“Five....”
“Come on! Stop it! Just stop it! I can't help you even if I wanted to!”
“Six....”
“Look, I can help you search if you want, but it won't make a difference. Sheppard is long gone by now....”
“Seven....”
Rodney's heart stuck in his throat making it impossible to breathe. “You don't need to do this. Please, don't do this!”
“Eight....”
His breathing came faster, labored, the world sparking around him. He knew what Sheppard would do – would want Rodney to do: betray him to save Daniel. But... but Rodney couldn't. He'd promised. He'd promised to help Sheppard, to keep him safe, to save him. He'd promised.
“Nine....”
Tears bit sharp into Rodney's eyes. “Oh, hell, no, please...”
“T--”
“Finish that number, and it's your brain all over the trees.”
Rodney's heart about slammed straight out of his ribcage when Sheppard unfolded himself from the undergrowth, gun in hand pointed directly at Dog-guy's temple. He staggered out of the grass, grabbing the shoulder of Dog-guy's jacket to stay upright while the weapon remained fixed on his target, his gun-hand as steady as it was going to get despite the mild tremors running through it.
Rodney's jaw slowly unhinged, and his eyes slowly bulged. “Sheppard!” he gasped. “What the... where'd you... the gun?”
“Slipped it out of Dr. Jackson's jacket,” he said, flashing a twitchy smile. “Guess it does pay to be paranoid.”
Silent, manic laughter chuffed from Rodney's chest, convulsive as though he were hyperventilating. Which it kind of felt like he was. “Actually, I always had a theory that you couldn't sleep unless you had a gun under your pillow.”
“That, too,” Sheppard agreed. “Now, mister, what say you toss your weapon before we have a real mess on our hands. Nice and slow.”
Dog-guy (frowning at last) obliged, tossing the gun to the side that thumped on the soft earth.
“Now,” John said. “We're just going to wait here until Dr. Jackson wakes up then we're all going to take a little walk back to the car. So, in the meantime, try not to move a muscle. I'm liable to take it wrong, and right now my finger is feeling kind of trigger-happy. All it needs is an excuse.”
“So were you hiding there this whole time?” Rodney asked.
Sheppard shook his head, just once, and winced. “That undergrowth is thick. I'm pretty sure a couple of ticks latched onto me.”
“So your timing really was perfect and not on purpose?”
Sheppard scowled. “Rodney, I know you like to think I have some kind of hero complex, but I think that's kind of pushing it.”
“Right, sorry.”
Dog-guy chuckled, forcing Sheppard to press the barrel into the side of his skull. “Something amusing you, buddy?”
“No, no. Not at all.”
Rodney looked at Sheppard, Sheppard at Rodney over Dog-guy's shoulder. It hit them both at the same time.
Basic survival: who the hell goes looking for someone in the company of two other men... alone?
“Crap,” Sheppard breathed and shoved the gun hard enough to leave a bruise. “Where's --”
The world seemed to explode, a body bursting from the woods and plowing Sheppard into the ground. Dog-guy dove for the gun on the ground at the same time as Rodney. They both reached it, both clawing at it as they tried to shove the other back. Dog-guy swung; Rodney ducked and silently thanked Ronon for those sparring lessons Rodney had always thought a waste of time. He elbowed Dog-guy in the jaw, hoping to hear the crunch of bone, except Dog-guy had moved his head with the blow, cutting recovery time.
Both their hands landed on the gun. Both men scrambled to their knees, shoving against the other creating a stalemate that kept the gun's barrel in the air. The adrenaline surging through Rodney's body made him hyperaware: the heat of the other man's hands bleeding into the handle, the cold moisture of the ground, the chilled air, Sheppard struggling with the second bad guy behind Dog-guy. Second bad guy was shorter but heavier – his body the broad-shouldered and square-jawed build of a man all about being the muscle. Sheppard was sick, thin, yet still put up a hell of a fight using a never-ending plethora of moves courtesy of Teyla, Ronon, and the military. He was holding his own for now.
Which was good because Rodney could feel himself flagging. Fear shot another massive surge of adrenaline, enough to push the gun toward Dog-guy. But Dog-guy must have had his own surge when he pushed back, and his surge was a hell of a lot thicker, the man a hell of a lot stronger. The gun inched agonizingly closer and closer to Rodney's face. Only another centimeter was needed, that was all, then Dog-guy would be able to pull the trigger.
That centimeter was a hundred miles long and closing fast when, suddenly, a brown blur slammed itself into Dog-guy and pinned him to the ground. Rodney stared, amazed, at the gun now in his hands. The sound of bone hitting bone pulled his gaze around to Daniel kneeling beside an unconscious Dog-guy while shaking the pain from his fist.
“About damn time!” Rodney squeaked.
Then Sheppard screamed.
Rodney scrambled to his feet, gun pointed at Second Bad-guy who had his knee pressed directly on Sheppard's injured side and a knife at his throat. Bad-guy looked up and smiled a bloody smile that added to the gruesome image of his blood-smeared face. He closed the distance between the knife and Sheppard's neck until it was touching skin.
“Drop the gun, or I slit his throat,” Bad-guy rasped, blood bubbling out of his bent nose. He leaned in further to increase the weight, and Sheppard gasped, clawing at the man's knee, eyes squeezed shut so tight in agony that moisture was shoved out, trickling down his face.
Rodney shook his head, his body numb, his heart fluttering so fast his breathing could barely keep up. Spots danced before his eyes, but he ignored them. “No. You drop the knife, or I decorate this forest with your brain.” He almost smiled. Ronon would have been proud of that one. Teyla too.
The blade pressed deeper. Sheppard shuddered and a bead of blood rolled down his neck. “I don't think so.”
“Do you honestly think you can kill him before he shoots you?” Daniel asked.
“Want to find out?”
Both Daniel and Rodney shouted, “No!”
Bad-guy chuckled, bloody spittle flecking his lips. “All right, then, drop the gun.”
“Not until you get off of Sheppard,” Rodney panted.
“No,” Bad-guy said, bending lower, his knee pressing harder until Sheppard used what little air he had to cry out. Rodney felt like he was going to be sick as thoughts of punctured lungs and blood filling a pleural sack danced in his head.
“He can't breathe! Get the hell off him, now! If you don't, I'll shoot; I swear I'll shoot you right in your brainless head!”
Bad-guy just smiled, more infuriating and far creepier than Dog-guy because he was in the position to make demands, make bargains, not McKay. It had always been said that McKay couldn't hit the broad side of the barn. He had the very bad, gut-sinking feeling that this man was well aware of that.
Bad-guy snorted. “I don't think so.”
“Damn you stupid people!” Rodney roared. “What the hell do you want with him! Why can't you just leave him the hell alone!”
No answer from Bad-guy, just more smiling, more silent gloating over having already won because Bad-guy wasn't going to move and Rodney was going to miss – if he shot at all. Beneath Bad-guy, Sheppard's flailing, struggling hands grew so weak they settled for tearing up the grass. Sheppard's chest bucked, fighting against the pressure and pain to fill his lungs, just a little, enough to keep working and keep the body alive. A small sound - a high-pitched keen of pain like what a dying animal would make - escaped Sheppard's throat.
That was it. Red filled Rodney's vision, heating his face, enlarging the veins of his neck that he could feel vibrate with blood that roared in his ears, blocking out all sound but that one small, pathetic, helpless noise echoing in his head. A noise he had never, ever heard Sheppard make until now.
“You son of a bitch!” Rodney shrilled.
And fired.
The explosion was deafening, full-body jarring, but not as jarring as the sight of the man jerking backward off of Sheppard onto the ground where he lay unmoving. Even from where Rodney stood, he saw blood blossoming black against the man's dark leather jacket.
Rodney blinked, once, twice.
He'd killed a man.
He'd never killed a man. Stunned them, killed wraith, replicators. Never killed a man. He saw Daniel rush forward, kneel beside Sheppard and search his neck for a pulse. A part of Rodney's mind whispered he should be doing the same or something similar but... he'd killed a man.
The world seemed to shrink, all feeling lost in Rodney's body except for his hands where the gun sat, hot and heavy and deadly. After a moment, nothing more than seconds, numbness slid into Rodney's fingers, and the gun slid free, dropping with a hollow thud on the ground.
He'd killed a man.
“Sheppard's still alive,” Daniel announced with a sigh. He turned his head. “So's this guy. Looks like you winged him.”
Rodney sucked in a breath.
Strike that, he'd injured a man. Not dead, just injured. Suddenly the world expanded, sensation flooded his body, and Rodney doubled over retching just as a bright white light filled his vision. It cleared in time for his vomit to splatter all over a dark silver floor. He looked up and furrowed his brow.
Colonel Caldwell, looking longsuffering in his patience, sighed. “Welcome aboard, Dr. McKay. Should I send for a bucket?”
Not knowing what to do, say, or even think, Rodney's mouth turned up in a trembling smile. Then he promptly blacked out.
TBC...
On to Pt. 9
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-06-17 05:28 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-06-17 12:34 pm (UTC)From:V. tense stand off. and, yay! Skinner ! now we get some more answers!
no subject
Date: 2008-06-17 03:11 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-06-18 08:33 pm (UTC)From:LOVED how John was still able to sneak up on Dog Face, but it was hat final stand off with the another bad guy and Rodney's anger at how these two treated John was really the big home run.
Awesome job!
no subject
Date: 2008-06-23 02:14 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-07-08 05:19 am (UTC)From: