Ficlet for Tipper's poem challenge. Sheppard/McKay friendship/angst (slash if you squint really hard). The poem is 'so much depends" by William Carlos Williams
Standard boilerplate disclaimer. I don't own Stargate Atlantis. One glance at my bank balance will tell you that.
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens
From a distance the two figures could have been young boys, one pulling a wagon-enthroned friend in search of neighborhood's biggest hill; upon closer inspection the tableau was anything but Norman Rockwell.
"You know, your bony ass is a lot heavier than it looks, Colonel. I'd forgotten the operative word in luggage is 'lug'," McKay groaned at the unconscious form behind him. "When Carson sees us, he's going to have kittens, No, maybe that's not fair. I think Carson's going to have a couple lambs," he laughed hollowly, painfully aware of his unresponsive audience. He desperately wanted to stop, give his protesting muscles a break, but the echo of explosions too close for comfort dashed any hope for a reprieve, no matter how brief. Sighing, he again took up the remaining handle of the battered wheelbarrow, correcting for the wobbly balance, knowing it was the only way both of them could get back to the gate.
McKay barely realized he was sweating despite the cold drizzle that had begun falling again. He'd surrendered his vest and coat to protect Sheppard when they'd come across a wheelbarrow of sorts among the squawking chicken-things. One of the handles appeared to be missing, but its red paint was still obscenely bright, like the radio flyer from his childhood he'd bundled Jeannie into when their parents fought, trudging around the neighborhood for hours. When he'd seen the wheelbarrow, McKay would have traded a ZPM for it, he'd been trying to shoulder the colonel and failing miserably, losing precious time. Despite the drizzle, the ground was still frozen hard as he tugged the wheelbarrow along, until a sudden rock jolted the wheel, sending both men and the wagon off at precarious angles.
"Sheppard," he cried this time, not bothering to hide his concern. He tried to shift the unresponsive man as gently as he could, one handed; the other arm hanging useless, bones shattered from an explosion that had knocked both of them to the ground, separated them from Ronon and Teyla. Sheppard hadn't gotten up, and for a brief moment McKay couldn't breathe, then loudly exhaled upon finding the thready pulse. He didn't know how long he had been dragging the colonel, seemingly endless miles, the wheelbarrow occasionally creaking under its load. McKay didn't know what he'd do if the axle snapped, just knew they couldn't stay, couldn't get caught, had to make it back to Atlantis. Fear pushed down the sickly sour bile for now, overruled the lactic acid cramping his muscles, flogged him anew as another shell landed nearby. Breath hitching, he pressed on, trying to become numb to everything but the mission at hand. Another rock sent him flying, only this time he couldn't get up, strong hands wouldn't let him up.
"Relax, Rodney, we've got you and the Colonel. I still can't believe how thick-skulled the both of you are, in more ways than one," soothed a familiar brogue. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sheppard carefully being loaded onto a litter, someone else's burden for now, although burden wasn't quite the right word.
"Luggage. Kittens. Lambs," he murmured, leaving Carson to puzzle over his words as the morphine kicked in and he willingly surrendered to its siren call.
FIN