Let's All Go…Somewhere New
They stepped through the gate with restrained confidence, the kind provided that the MALP had indicated a viable atmosphere, along with something habitable so far as living conditions were concerned.
The excited anticipation quickly gave way to panic and a sort of frenetic confusion over whether they would survive the next 12 hours or not. Throughout the resulting days, chaos handed itself down to organization in order to conserve resources, and beget itself again to panic as the Wraith awoke.
Sheppard sat in the mess, pouring water into the pouch of a beef stew MRE that reminded him too much of the academy and basic training. He focused on the watered down taste because it was easier than knowing what kind of threat they had brought back to this galaxy.
McKay sat down in front of him, dropping his own MRE at the table. Exhaustion was a heavy tension, and neither man seemed able to vocalize the sheer realism of their situation—or they didn't care to; the distinction was blurry and grey.
Instead, McKay ripped his MRE open and stared at Sheppard heavily enough that the Major looked up, his green eyes weighted down and his posture tight and prepared to strike. "What, McKay?" Sheppard finally snapped.
McKay shrugged, seemingly oblivious to not only the quality of food, but whatever internal battle that was going on inside of Sheppard. "Just a thought, really." He started picking through the freeze-dried packets of food in a near absent fashion.
Sheppard rolled his eyes, slowly stirring water and something a third-world country would be grateful to call beef stew. "It's never "just" a thought, McKay; spit it the fuck out."
There was a long silence, as if McKay was actually taking the time to measure the weight of his words, the impact they might have, and the causality of their effects.
Sheppard was almost done with his meal when McKay looked up, his eyes bright and voice excited. It was emotion, something Sheppard hadn't seen in a while. It had been nothing but grief, tension, and survival—Sheppard could do that.
But the open curiosity and desire for knowledge and adventure was clear on McKay's face when the scientist spoke again, and it made Sheppard's belly clench in an unfamiliar way.
The words, when McKay spoke again, were weighted and fired as carefully as a sniper rifle.
"We went somewhere new," McKay says, his eyes manic with anxiety, his mouth (for once) not full of food, his teeth gliding around the words and his lips curling in anticipation.
Sheppard nodded laconically, unable to dismiss the sharp feel of expectation and the unknown from his frame. "Yeah," he said, unable to deny and shove away what he had felt like to put Sumner down like a diseased animal, "We did, didn't we, buddy?" He wasn't able to hide the way his fingers twisted around his silverware before he could shove them into his pockets.
McKay followed his movements a little, still distracted with equations and statistics about how they could possibly survive here. He gave Sheppard a toothy, too-knowing smile. "Yeah, we did."
The impact would have been no less to Sheppard than if someone had fired a non-lethal, bean bag shot to his chest, and he could say nothing as McKay—no, Rodney—spoke of everything they could find in their city.
Sheppard gave him the MRE-version of chocolate pudding, just so Rodney would keep talking.
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