THAT HERO THING

Disclaimer: not mine though I wish they were. No profit being made, this is for fun.

Thanks to Sheppardster for the excellent and quick beta.

Running.

Feet pounding, chest heaving, sweat running down his back. The air between the trees thick, hard to breathe.

Ahead - Ronon and Teyla, faster than him. Hair flying, legs flashing, not looking back

Behind – Sheppard, watching his back, doing the hero thing, matching strides with him, trying to keep him safe.

Safe! Hah!

Up ahead, the Stargate, glinting in the distance, almost there. Safety.Home.

His breath is coming faster, harsher, shallow pants that are doing nothing to get oxygen to his starved tissues. And now a pain in his side, a cramp - adds its own discomfort to his growing list of miseries.

His foot catches in an exposed root, tripping him. He goes down hard, ankle twisting beneath him.

"Ohshitohshitohshit," he pants, trying to get back onto his feet. Then Sheppard is there, pulling him up, not looking at him, gaze flickering everywhere.

"You alright?" he asks, and McKay nods dumbly, not having any spare breath to do more. He notices, hyper-aware in the moment, that the safety is off on the Colonel's P90, and amidst the chaos, that is strangely comforting, they are ready for anything. A flash of light to his left - sunlight glinting off a weapon, distracts him, and his reddened face pales when he sees the gun pointed directly at his chest.

Time slows – a puff of grey smoke, and then something slams into him, knocking him to the ground, hard.

He's on his back, struggling to breathe, air knocked out of him, a weight on his chest pressing down, and suddenly time snaps back but the weight is still on him; Sheppard, protecting him, pressing him down, covering his body, and the noise of a P90 discharging close, so close to his ear is deafening, frightening. He can't draw in a deep enough breath, he feels numb – Oh God! He's been hit! He feels liquid warmth running down his body, a sticky, slick feeling, panic sets in as he realises its blood.

The weight is still on his chest, he claws grimly at the Colonel's vest, trying to move, to shift, needing, but not wanting to see where he's been hit, how bad it is, when suddenly the weight is gone, and he can breathe again.

He looks up to see Ronon bodily dragging Sheppard off him, while Teyla pulls him up, and there's blood; so much blood. His breath hitches when he sees how much, realises how badly he's been injured. Before he has a chance to see where, they are running again, Teyla pulling him along. Ronon half carrying, half dragging the Colonel, which Rodney thinks is strange, because Rodney is the one covered in blood.

They are nearly there now, almost to sanctuary, the ground between them and the gate littered with unmoving bodies; the raw scent of spilled blood, rank on the still air, makes him gag, and he still can't feel anything. His mind refuses to process how badly he's been hurt.

The gate whooshes to life, and they stumble, almost fall through, and the chill of the wormhole is welcome, so good, then they're through and suddenly his legs won't support him and he drops to the ground hitting the solid cool floor of Atlantis; he can't remember ever feeling so glad to be home. Fatigue washes over him and he begins to shake -

- Looks up to see Beckett and a medical team skidding round the corner and he's so relieved that help is at hand that he almost smiles. But something is wrong. Sheppard's on the floor. He isn't moving and Beckett is kneeling over him. A nurse comes to Rodney's side but he waves her away, hardly noticing her presence, his attention fixed on Sheppard. The man looks so pale, so still; eyes half open, seeing nothing, jaw slack. His body jerking loosely as Beckett pushes hard onto his chest. A crimson puddle is forming slowly beneath the Colonel's body; McKay finds himself fascinated, mesmerised by the colour of it.

His hands automatically wander over his upper body, looking for the wound that had left all the blood; he realises it wasn't his. It's not his blood that had slid so sinuously down his skin. With this epiphany, suddenly his concentration is broken and he looks up to Teyla still standing by his side, face pale, eyes bright with unshed tears, white knuckled grip still on her weapon. Ronon stands away, distant from the group focussed on the activity surrounding Sheppard, face impassive.

Then Elizabeth is there, shocked, pushing into his personal space, asking him if he's alright, asking him what happened? As if he could ever be alright when Sheppard looks dead on the floor.

He tears his gaze from the frantic activity, looks into Elizabeth's face, his own barely controlled panic reflected in her eyes. He is unable to answer, his throat tight with fear. Teyla speaks up for him, voice tense as she responds to Elizabeth's questions with terse, clipped sentences.

"We were attacked. They were waiting for us, an ambush. They wore Genii uniforms, but they were not Genii, I have never seen them before. They attacked without warning." Her eyes flashed with anger. "Fortunately their aim is as bad as their weaponry and they missed, giving us time to escape. We were almost to the gate when one who had been hiding in the trees tried to kill Dr. McKay. Colonel Sheppard pushed him out of harm's way, but was hit himself."

She tails off, and Rodney's attention drifts back to the battle for Sheppard's life. Soiled dressings, discarded packaging and other detritus litters the floor. Tubes bristle from the Colonel's body.

The Gateroom is quiet. Shocked; white-faced personnel gaze at the scene playing out before them. Only Beckett's lilting brogue, issuing quiet instructions to his team can be heard. There is no need to shout, each member of the medical team performs their duties like a well oiled machine, secure in their allotted role.

Rodney's shaking increases, spots dance before his eyes and suddenly his head is thrust between his knees, Teyla kneels beside him, firm grip on his back, grounding him. He doesn't look up, not even when the whine and snap of the defibrillator sounds.

Then a quiet "Yes!" and Rodney finally looks. Beckett's face is grim, but tentatively triumphant. He's back, for now. Their eyes meet, locked in a brief second of uncertainty before Beckett moves and Sheppard is hastily lifted onto a gurney.

The monitor falters, stumbles, then Beckett is astride Sheppard's body on the gurney, the team never missing a step as they rattle away to the infirmary. The sudden silence is shocking. Litter sticks to the floor. There are bloody footprints. Rodney's vision greys out, then he is on his feet between Ronon and Teyla, they are hurrying after the gurney. Still he is numb.

And now it is much later. Hours have passed. Outside, darkness presses against the city, but inside time feels suspended. Around him sit Teyla, Ronon and Elizabeth, each lost in their own thoughts.

The surgical suite doors open, Beckett comes out, teetering on exhaustion. His gown darkly stained, fatigue etching lines and shadows on his face. He sits as if his legs are no longer able to support him, pausing, measuring his words. His audience wait, hardly daring to breathe.

"He's alive." Rodney feels as if his bones are jelly. "But," – there's always a but-"it was a difficult procedure. There was extensive damage. If he can survive the next 24 hours, there's a chance."

Rodney feels the world tilt and spin, and as if no time has passed, he's lying down and its warm and comfortable, and oh thank god it was just a dream. But the strained expressions on the faces keeping vigil belie this comfort. Cold pits in his stomach. "Is he-?"

Beckett looms into view. "He's still with us, but you, ya daft bugger-" he leaves the sentence unfinished, and Rodney gratefully drinks the juice pressed into his hand. He's propped up in bed; wearing scrubs so must have been out a while. He looks across to see Sheppard in the bed opposite, a nurse constantly monitoring readouts from the tubes and wires that he steadfastly refuses to look at, instead turning his gaze to Beckett.

"Aye, holding his own," Beckett answers his unasked question. "We thought you'd like to be where you can see him."

"He shouldn't have done it." Anger, hot and hard flares and his chest is once more tight with emotion.

Beckett regards him steadily. "If he hadn't, ya wouldn't have stood a chance."

"I don't want him to – "appalled, he'd almost said 'die instead of me', quickly changed it to, "- save me like that."

Beckett looks away, saddened. "You'll never get him to change. Might as well ask a fire not to burn."

Tears suddenly prickle behind Rodney's eyes. "What do I do if he dies?" he asks, lost, forlorn.

There is a silence. Beckett knows there are no platitudes. They all feel the same.

Ronon speaks up. It is the first thing Rodney has heard the Satedan say since this all began. "Then don't give up on him."

Beckett speaks quietly. "He'll make it. Lad's a fighter if ever there was one. But there will be times ahead when he's going to wish he had died. That's when you can pay him back, can save him." He looks Rodney in the eye. "Be there for him when no-one else will. Let him rant and rave, say the unthinkable. And don't walk away."

Rodney settles back against the pillows, resigned. "How soon until he wakes up?"

END