The Dart closed in with an angry whine, scarring the sky as it banked towards them. Rodney tried to scramble away, even his genius overshadowed by the primitive instinct to run from something so terrible, but Lieutenant Carmichael caught his arm and yanked him back down behind the boulder.
"Don't make it easy for them," the Texan snapped, his fingers vice like around Rodney's bicep.
McKay gave a futile yank against the grip. "And sitting here isn't? They'll scoop us up!"
The lieutenant kept one hand on Rodney, while he used the other to gesture to the three marines under cover further down the hill. Rodney didn't know what he was signalling, but suddenly a burst of fire erupted from their position, the staccato reveille of their ordnance forcing him to cover his ears.
The Dart staggered drunkenly to one side, away from their hiding place; it almost capsized but righted at the last moment, and managed to keep aloft as it did a slow burl and started back to the gate.
The marines gave a cheer as the Wraith attack ship vanished from sight.
Relief at their escape was quickly smothered by anger, as Rodney came to his feet. "That was the stupidest thing I have ever seen," he accused Carmichael, stabbing at the marine team leader's chest with his finger. "We didn't have to stay here!"
"Oh? And with that thing on our heels, doctor, where would you say we should have gone? Go on, I'm anxious for the benefit of your tactical knowledge."
Oh, sarcasm. "Well, since you clearly have none of your own!" Rodney flourished the energy scanner at Carmichael, wishing again that Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla had been well enough to take this mission, instead of him having to entrust his safety to this Texan moron. "Do you remember anything about the briefing? Or were you too busy polishing your gun? We would have been safe up there!"
The sanctuary, as Rodney had deemed it, was only a little further up the hill and when Sergeant Muertez's team had returned after a brief foray, the readings they'd taken had proven interesting indeed. If they were accurate, and Rodney's feelings were correct, the pagoda like structure was an Ancient bolthole, a shelter that prevented the Wraith from beaming up the native populace with their Darts.
"There was too far to reach before it closed in: it's up hill and mostly open ground, McKay. That scavenger would have been on us before we reached the door."
Rodney turned his back on Carmichael: he wasn't about to waste time arguing with the man when there could be a ZPM just waiting on him to come and get it. Something had to be powering that facility, and maybe there was sufficient charge left for it still to be of use to them. And for once, there would be no trading or begging for it. Other than them – and the Wraith, if they hadn't hotfooted it back through the gate by now – this planet was uninhabited.
That, of course, was the major hole in Rodney's 'sanctuary' theory. If the people here were protected from the Wraith, then why were there no longer any people? Readings from the building told them the ZPM was still in operation so what had happened to them all? Teyla had reminded them that there were other threats and difficulties to endure in Pegasus. Disease; a bad harvest; war with neighbouring villages or settlements – sometimes warriors from other worlds came through the gate and took slaves, or stole crops and livestock. Or sometimes, it was simply time to move on.
Rodney had sensed Elizabeth's reluctance to dispatch another team without a full understanding of the situation but he'd pushed and she'd relented: the galaxy wasn't exactly littered with functioning ZPMs or still functioning Ancient facilities.
Now, although he wasn't regretting persuading her, he found himself wishing that he'd brought Major Lorne instead of Carmichael and they'd brought a jumper instead of coming on foot. He dug his fingers into the soil as he climbed, straining against the gradient. Carmichael might – might – have had a point but it still seemed nothing less than crazy to him to just sit and let trouble catch up to you, when you could be heading away from it.
"And besides," he panted back to the lieutenant. "You don't think giving that Dart a bloody nose will be the end of it, do you?"
Stunner fire sparked against a nearby rock, prompting Carmichael to shove Rodney flat in the dirt, almost making him lose his tenuous hold on the hill side.
"You had to say that," the Texan muttered.
-----
Elizabeth was on her feet the instant the klaxon sounded and a voice rang out through the gate room: "Unscheduled off world activation!"
By the time she was standing behind the on duty technician, the marines had already taken up flanking positions around the gate, weapons raised. The last of the chevrons clanked home and the instant the blue horizon of the wormhole appeared a panicked voice echoed around them.
"Atlantis…Atlantis…this is…McKay! Drop the shield, hurry up!"
Elizabeth looked down at the technician who nodded. "We have his IDC."
"Let him in," Elizabeth instructed. And just because there was something uncurling in her gut, she switched on her radio. "Dr Beckett to the gate room."
A moment later, Rodney came bursting out of the worm hole. He barely made it three strides before he was on his knees, hands braced on the floor as though he thought it might fall away beneath him.
"The shield! Close the shield!"
At Weir's nod, the barrier shimmered into place; she sped down the steps as Carson arrived from the infirmary. "Rodney, where are the rest of your team?" Taking in his clothes, all ragged and torn, she had a feeling she knew the answer.
"Alright, Rodney, just try to breathe normally for me," Carson said, as he ran the medical scanner over Rodney's heaving form.
"Rodney," Elizabeth persisted.
He turned wide blue eyes on her. "Wraith. There wasn't anything I could do."
-----
Carson pulled the curtain closed around Rodney's bed, leaving the scientist snoring softly. Elizabeth was waiting in his office and she stood as he entered.
"How is he?"
Beckett waved for her to sit then slid up onto the edge of his desk. "Physically – fine. Just exhausted and very shaken. From the sounds of it, no wonder."
Elizabeth patted his arm. Rodney had insisted on telling them what had happened while Carson conducted a more in depth examination. It was a stuttering, broken narrative but at the end of it, she had no doubt that they were very lucky to have him back home, safe and alive. It would take some effort to convince Rodney he was not blame for the fate of Carmichael and his men. When they had reached the sanctuary, they'd found that while the device blocking the Wraith's teleporters was intact, the fortifications themselves had taken some damage. The Wraith troopers had only to walk in through the door, and Rodney had barely managed to escape.
When she looked at Carson, she could see the echo of what she was sure was on her own face: they'd almost lost him today.
"After this, John will never let him off world without him again. Speaking of?"
Carson motioned to a bed not far from his office. Sheppard was as sound as Rodney, his arm strapped to his chest while he slept off the pain meds Carson had given him a few hours before. "When he comes to I'll be releasing him. Teyla can get out tonight, Ronon in a few days. Although, they'll be angry we didn't tell them of this straight away."
Angry of more than that, Elizabeth wanted to say. Rodney had been pacing here in the infirmary, waiting to see how his injured friends were, when Zelenka radioed him to advise on the report from Muertez's team. Sheppard – admittedly half goofy by then due to his meds while Carson tried to relocate his shoulder – had told him they'd be fine: go get the Ancient Duracell, Rodney. Beckett had assured Rodney they'd be okay. But she suspected when John came to and found out what had happened, he'd have a few choice things to say to her and to Rodney.
But by then she might have a complete report from Lorne, and the full facts might assuage him.
-----
He chose a team twelve strong and they took two cloaked jumpers to the nearest level ground to the sanctuary. Lorne kept the jumpers invisible for almost twenty minutes while they scoured the surface with the ships' sensors. There was absolutely nothing above animal life moving on the surface and none of those blips were anywhere near them; it was safe to set down.
So the Wraith had come and gone, it seemed, and Lorne felt by turns pissed and depressed and frustrated that they had lost more men. He'd never liked Carmichael – the guy was a little too gung for his tastes, and he and Sheppard had planned to send him back to Earth when the Daedalus made its next supply run – but it was still a loss keenly felt, as well as the marines also taken by their enemy. This should not have been a dangerous mission. This planet was uninhabited so why had the Wraith returned? Didn't they keep a record of races they culled into extinction?
They leapfrogged their way inside the building, each team covering the other's advance. It wasn't that big a structure, which made Lorne wonder how the Ancients thought it would house everyone around in the event of a full scale Wraith attack. Or maybe the Ancients had other measures in place to limit population growth. He knew Sheppard's team had encountered a planet with some kind of ritual in place to keep the numbers down. Whatever the Ancients had tried to do for these people, it hadn't worked.
His radio crackled, and Sergeant Thomason's voice sounded urgently in his ear. "Major Lorne – we've found something we think you should see. Follow the corridor you're in and you'll find a busted pillar. Take the next right."
Lorne left two men by the entrance and headed to rendezvous with the other team. He cast his torch over the walls as he went; there was some decidedly un-Ancient mosaics reaching from ceiling to floor, depicting things he didn't understand. He guessed the natives thought the place needed a little something. The cultural anthropologists, the archaeologists, the historians – they'd love this. But this wasn't a science mission; it wasn't even a search and rescue, he was pretty sure of that.
Thomason was standing with two of his men over something in a corner of a fair sized room. They moved aside as Lorne approached and knelt down to look.
"What the fuck?" He picked up the torn tactical vest and what looked like the shredded remains of a pair of BDUs. One piece still had a tag stitched into the waist: E CARMICHAEL.
"That's not all: take a look at this." Thomason led him over to where one of the marines was hefting something in his hands. Lorne paused as something chinked at his feet; he aimed his torch down and brass glinted under the light. Shell casings.
"It looks like Wraith body armour, sir," the marine said, passing over the ridged carapace to the major.
Lorne took it, ignoring the way his skin started to crawl as he ran his fingers over its surface. "I don't get it – if Carmichael was shooting at the Wraith from that distance, he had to have hit it. We know he was shooting. There's not a single impact mark." And since when did Wraith ditch their body armour? Since when did they strip the clothes off their victims before feeding?
Thomason bent to retrieve something from the ground near where the marine had found the armoured chest plate. "Carmichael's P90 I'm guessing." He checked magazine and seemed unsurprised to find it empty. "Why it's over here, I don't know. I think, maybe…whatever he was shooting at, when the bullets didn't work, he threw the gun at it. And maybe?" He pointed at the chest plate in Lorne's hand. "Maybe the Wraith had as much luck."
Lorne dropped the armour, wincing at the horrible echo that resounded; for some reason, it felt like ringing the dinner bell. It was clear the others felt the same: because if Carmichael wasn't shooting at the Wraith and whatever he had been shooting at had shrugged off the rapid fire onslaught of a P90, maybe this place wasn't such a sanctuary after all.
---
As soon as he left the infirmary, John ditched the sling. He didn't need it; sure it hurt to just have his arm dangling there, but if he kept it pressed into his side and didn't try to walk too fast, he could almost forget the blue painted sun worshipper who'd tried to see how flexible it was.
Carson had been there when he came to, and John had known straight away something was off. As soon as the doctor had told him what happened, John had started for the door. Beckett had refused to release him without the sling and the pain meds he'd foisted on him. They were now in his pocket, where they'd stay until John could return them to the dispensary. Being high on medication was what had caused this shit in the first place.
He paused at the end of Rodney's corridor, to catch his breath and sort himself out. If he showed up there looking ready to collapse, Rodney would fuss over him and they'd get nowhere. After a moment he felt stronger and made the last few metres to activate the chime on the door.
When it opened, he got his first good look at the physicist. He didn't seem too bad: a little pale, fidgety but he didn't look hurt.
"You okay?" Sheppard asked as he followed Rodney inside.
McKay gave a shrug. "Define okay."
John took a slow look around the room. The lights were off; so was Rodney's laptop. With a thought, John raised them enough to see by. "Were you sleeping?"
"No. Just…hungry."
John glanced at the mound of power bars on the desk. One of each flavour was open but abandoned, with only a bite taken from each. Frowning, he tugged on Rodney's sleeve. "Do you want me to get you something from the mess hall? I could be wrong but I think they're serving macaroni cheese tonight." Rodney liked mac 'n' cheese.
"No." Rodney ran both hands through his hair, down his neck, then held them out to stare at as if they were new. Sheppard broke a little at that. He knew where Rodney was right now; he'd been there before more than once himself and each time he swore to avoid a return trip.
"Look, Rodney, Carson told me what happened. I'm sorry, okay? I should never have let you go but you need to know – it wasn't your fault."
McKay turned, a little unsteadily, his eyes glinting in the low lighting. "Oh, Rodney."
McKay pounced without warning, driving Sheppard back into the wall so fast that his head connected roughly and the impact stirred the pain in his shoulder.
"McKay," he hissed. "What are you doing?"
Rodney leaned in and dragged his tongue up Sheppard's neck; it was rough and left a tingling slick trail in its wake. John tried to get his hands up to push Rodney away, but the scientist's body was almost welded to his own and the bulk was unpleasantly warm against him.
Then McKay grabbed for the hem of his T-shirt, separating enough to tug it upwards and out of the waist of Sheppard's BDUs.
No, no, no, Sheppard thought. "Okay, Rodney," he breathed. "Just…hold off a minute, okay, and tell me what's going on."
"Can't." Rodney slid a hand up across Sheppard's belly. John flinched; Rodney was hot and not in a good way. His skin tingled against Sheppard's, almost painfully, forcing the colonel to try and shove his hand away.
"Rodney," he gasped as McKay pressed in against him, nearly shoving him through the wall. "Look – you're shook up, I get that! But, uh…you're not gay?" Because what else was this, except some kind of fumbling seduction from a guy who lusted after blondes and brains, and okay, Rodney was clearly suffering from PTSD or something.
"Need you," Rodney pleaded. His voice was thick, desperate.
Sheppard nodded. This wasn't about a sudden change in sexuality for the scientist. This was a freak out, pure and simple. It was just…a surprise, really, because Rodney had regular freak outs, sometimes over the most minor things. He didn't do internalising or suffering in silence. But clearly they had been tremors, and this was the main event; John realised then maybe he didn't know Rodney as well as he thought he did.
But maybe having Rodney rut against him was better than him going postal in the lab with some deadly piece of Ancient tech. Maybe.
When Rodney manoeuvred him towards the bed Sheppard tried to get a little space but Rodney was a big guy and he was determined. "You know, Rodney, I appreciate the sentiment – but like I said, you're not gay, remember? What happened to your life long crush on Carter?" The hand still gliding over his abdomen was just as hot, almost burning up. Maybe Beckett had missed something. Maybe he had a cold?
"She's not here."
"Please, don't try to flatter me." Rodney had them horizontal, Sheppard pinned beneath him, with far too little effort on his part. His hands were back to the project of getting John's T-shirt off; the colonel grabbed determinedly at the hem, tugging it back down. Somehow, fewer clothes didn't seem the best way to handle this. He knew Rodney needed something, contact, confirmation he'd made it.
"Wouldn't you rather talk about it, Rodney? Or…I mean if you want a hug, I can do that. Just – not this."
McKay gave a low, frustrated growl at Sheppard as he tried to wriggle out from under and pushed him back down. He caught a handful of Sheppard's t-shirt again and pulled, this time tearing the black fabric almost all the way from the neck to the hem, before tearing off his own top.
"Hey!" Sheppard protested. The pain in his shoulder flared back into life and he found himself blinking away tears. "Okay, Rodney, that's it. Cut this shit out. You're scared, you're angry, I know that. And it's my fault and I'm sorry, okay? I should never have let you go."
He pressed his hand against Rodney's chest and felt a little give but at the same time it also felt…wrong. Not so much like he was pushing Rodney away, but like he was pushing into him, into that searing uncomfortable heat. He tried to pull his hand away but Rodney grabbed for it, holding it there, moaning slightly as Sheppard felt something tacky spread beneath his palm, like he'd pushed his hand into a pot of hot glue.
"Rodney?"
Rodney just smiled.
-----
As Teyla left Elizabeth's office, nodding absently to a marine who called a greeting to her, she shivered at the content of Major Lorne's report.
Dr Weir had summoned her to the gate room as soon as she was released from the infirmary, and detailed what Lorne had found when he and his marines returned to PX7-008 to check that there were definitely no survivors from Lieutenant Carmichael's team. There had been none, but it was what they had found that plagued Teyla with worry and had Dr Weir in confusion as well.
As expected, Lorne had found evidence of recent Wraith activity on the planet: it wasn't difficult to track the marines' running battle with the Wraith infantry that had driven them up into the building they'd come to explore. But that was when things stopped making sense.
In one of the corridors they had found Lieutenant Carmichael's clothing. It was torn as though forcibly stripped from his body. Of the lieutenant himself there was no sign. Nearby they had found a tactical vest and a P90, the gun empty, the ground littered with bullet casings. There was no other trace of the team but they had found some Wraith armour.
When Dr Weir has asked Teyla if she had ever heard of the Wraith behaving in such a way, stripping their victims and taking the bodies, her answer had been no. Why would they? Clothing was only removed if it acted as a barrier to the feeding and the light fatigues worn by the Lantians did not. And as for removing the bodies of their fallen prey? Once the life force was gone, the corpses were of no use to the Wraith. They left their victims where they fell.
So why had the marines vanished? And the wraith body armour, abandoned by its owner? The senselessness of it dizzied her.
Stepping into the transporter, Teyla touched the illuminated map and selected the nearest unit to Dr McKay's quarters. Elizabeth had wanted the colonel present at the meeting, but he had not responded to his radio. That was unusual for John; he was rarely off comms, but Teyla knew from Dr Weir that Rodney had been very upset when he returned to Atlantis. John would not abandon his friend when he was so affected by what had happened.
Reaching Rodney's door, she chimed for entrance. It took a few moments for Dr McKay to appear; his hair was ruffled, his clothes unkempt. "Have I woken you?" she asked, puzzled. Dr Weir said Colonel Sheppard had been here. He would have answered the door if Rodney had been asleep.
"No, no…I was just…what can I do for you, Teyla?"
"Firstly, I wished to see you were well," she said. Rodney shrugged and moved back to let her in.
The room was in near darkness and Teyla wrinkled her nose at an unusual smell that lingered heavily in the air. It would be rude to question it but it was potent and unpleasant – almost like…. She had always known Rodney to be fastidious about his cleanliness. Yet the smell was definitely that of bodily functions. Doing her best to ignore it, she continued, "Dr Weir has told me of what happened. But also she sent me to find the colonel. He is not responding to her hails and she thought he was in your room."
Rodney skirted around her and spread his arms wide. "He did come down here – to see I was okay. But he's not here now, as you can see."
Teyla let her eyes wander over Rodney, and the room. She had never known him to be a deceiver; any attempts at guile on his part were painfully transparent which was why she or Colonel Sheppard tended to do the talking off world in situations where they had to be less than open. Looking at Rodney now, Teyla was torn: Rodney was lying to her, but she could not tell why or what about. It was so very unlike him that her uncertainty swayed her.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of something lying discarded on Rodney's desk. It was a garment of some sort, black and heaped next to his laptop. Even in the low light, she could see it was rent open from collar to hem. She reached out, curious, but Rodney caught her hand and his touch was like the sudden heat of the sun when you broke from shade.
"Like I said," he told her, smiling. "He's not here now. But I can show you where he went."