AN: Set early during the first season. The original idea for this story mutated into 'Lifeline', in which Ford replaced Sheppard as the main character. However, caught up in the spirit of equal opportunity whumping, I couldn't leave it at that. So, Shep got his tale after all, and poor Rodney got whumped twice… Hope it's not getting too repetitive :-)
AN2: Sorry for any (unintentional, honestly!) butchering of the English language. To me, it 'sounded' okay but feel free to point out my mistakes...
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Trust McKay
or: Semper Fidelis
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'Semper Fidelis' is the motto of the United States Marine Corps. It means 'Always Faithful', an everlasting loyalty to corps and country but also to your brothers (and sisters) in arms.
Though, by default, the Airforce doesn't care much for the Marine section of the military, I personally find their creed inspiring. And very applicable to our current situation. And, make no mistake, many members of the non-military part of this expedition also honour the Marines' motto. Some in more unique ways than others….
Maj. John Sheppard
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1
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Trust McKay to make my day go to hell…
But let me start at the beginning.
I had reassured Elizabeth that this would be an easy mission.
Famous last words. Words that had come back to bite me in the ass.
And you can interpret that quite literally. Take it from me: it hurts like a sonofabitch to get shot in the bum!
My left leg gave in immediately and half a second later I found myself dumbly staring at an alien ant family with a mouth full of dirt.
That unplanned fall probably saved my life, though. Instead of hitting me dead on -pun intended - the next bullet struck the Kevlar at a small angle, causing it to partially glance off before burying itself deeply into my back.
At the time, I wasn't particularly grateful. It felt like a nuclear explosion of pain going of in my back, with white-hot tendrils fanning out over my entire body. And the fall-out fried my brain, distorting reality and reducing mental processes to a bare minimum.
While the shot itself was not immediately lethal, internal damage, blood loss and shock would eventually get the job done just as efficiently.
Especially since I seemed unable to move while a horde of mad ex-trading partners with impressive firepower was about to descend upon me. Like a swarm of angry bees buzzing in on the hapless honey thief…
Mmmmm. Buzzing… I definitely heard buzzing. Or was that just the rushing of blood speeding through my veins? Or should I say rushing out of my veins…
Honey thief would technically also be incorrect. We didn't really steal anything. We took back what was ours, honest finders and all. And it wasn't even edible.
It was damn uncomfortable to lie on, too. With all those nooks, nicks, crannies, bumps and fancy whatnots you'd expect on an alien gizmo.
Mmmmm. Sure hope I didn't break anything in my less than graceful fall. One tiny dent or chipped off corner and McKay would kill me.
Angry shouting was definitely drawing nearer now.
Seems like McKay would have to get in line…
"Major!"
Then again, patience has never been the man's forte.
Trust stubborn Canadian scientists to unrepentantly disobey a direct order…
"Major!" McKay's voice now sounded ridiculously loud, like he was yelling straight into my ear.
Hadn't I told him in no uncertain terms to get through the gate? Hadn't I expected him to reach the safe haven of Atlantis? Hadn't I intended to die alone on this godforsaken backwater planet?
But all the fight seemed to leave me, as my mind was getting increasingly fuzzy. Even the pain had faded somewhat to a more bearable level.
I would have pried open heavy eyelids, eyelids I didn't remember closing earlier, at my own initiative eventually, but a rough slap on my cheek sped up the process significantly. The world spun nauseatingly for a moment, but two spots of bright blue proved to be an excellent anchor to focus on.
A pair of eyes.
McKay's eyes. Wide-open, panic and hysteria plainly screaming within them.
Less than four inches away from my face.
"Wahd!" I had meant to say 'What the fuck do you think you're doing', but for some reason my vocal cords refused to cooperate and for a second, the world greyed out.
Must be going into shock.
Scratch that. Descending into the pits of hell seemed a far more appropriate description.
Especially since I suddenly found myself dangling upside down, swaying alarmingly and banging into something firm periodically. It took me an unordinary long while to realise I had been slung unceremoniously over someone's shoulder in a parody of a fireman's carry.
Trust our resident self-proclaimed genius not to know the proper execution of the technique is to keep the victims head resting against your back while holding his legs in front of you…
Really, the other way around is much more uncomfortable, never mind impractical. At that time, however, I didn't think for more than a second about how he actually managed to hold on to me in this weird position, ascribing it to dumb luck (the emphasis being on 'dumb'). The unconventional way of dangling provided me with an excellent close-up view of McKay's thighs pumping madly up and down as he ran full-speed on his mad dash through the forest.
The ever-present angry shouting of our pursuers punctuated by several loud gun shots still seemed to draw unerringly closer, finally spurring McKay to switch to a higher gear. Which was still pathetically slow.
Suddenly he staggered, nearly tripping himself up before awkwardly regaining his balance and picking up speed again.
Trust our geeky out-of-shape couch potato to stumble over his own feet at the most inopportune of times…
Perhaps I should add some cross-country runs to McKay's schedule.
Sometimes, it frightened me that we allowed someone so clumsy that he's liable to break his neck tripping over his own feet, to tinker with utterly sensitive nuclear devices. More often than not, that thought was followed by a nagging little voice in the back of my head yelling: "Why the f did you put such a liability on your team?'.
Because of those aforementioned nuclear devices. Awkward and uncoordinated as he might seem during physical exercise, the second he touched one of his numerous doodads his usually twitching and flailing hands became as nimble and deft as a master pianist performing Mozart. And although he may be sweating and panting and bitching and generally nearing a heart-attack from getting worked up about the possibility of imminent death, those hands won't tremble.
Hell, he could fabricate a bomb out of an MRE, or put a crashed puddle jumper back together using nothing more than a role of duct tape, the inventiveness of his brilliant mind and sheer stubbornness.
Yes, McKay was a man of many virtues… which were extremely well hidden beneath layers and layers, and even more layers, of snarkiness and acridity, self-centeredness and social ineptness.
But he made an exceptionally lousy long-distance runner.
He stumbled, yet again. This time, the god that watches over unbalanced geeks was obviously looking the other way, because we went down. Hard.
You know that bullshit they say about stars dancing in front of your eyes? Well, I saw them. Whole frickin' galaxies of them…
Too preoccupied looking for the Milky Way, I didn't even notice McKay scramble upright again. The next thing I was fully aware of was a set of familiar thighs winking in and out of my clearing field of view.
Back on the run, then.
Though considerably slower than before. And as his speed decreased, the panting increased, exponentially. His laboured breathing was a dead give-away to our position for anyone with ears inside a one mile radius.
Yep, I definitely needed to add some endurance running to McKay's schedule.
Suddenly, he changed directions very abruptly several times, leading me to wonder if he even still knew where he was heading.
Trust McKay to get lost on his way from the control room to his very own lab.
Oooookay, to be completely fair, maybe that malfunctioning transporter ought to take part of the blame for that as well.
Then, the world dropped from under us and dissolved into darkness.
I only knew I hadn't fallen unconscious again by virtue of the harsh wheezing emanating from the frantically heaving chest pillowing my face.
The pain no longer bothered me that much and I felt perfectly happy lying there, lazily floating nearer to unconsciousness with every passing second.
Trust McKay to disturb my bliss by blinding me with his flash light and pushing me off him, effectively awakening slumbering aches again.
But did he have to be so damn sadistic as to put his hand exactly on the wound in my back?
I tried to curse him and every one of his ancestors going back all the way to prehistoric times, but managed nothing more than a pathetic little moan.
Evidently, it didn't impress him in the least, and the pain only intensified as he pushed down harder, all the while muttering quietly.
"'Fall back, I'll be right behind you…' Rrrright. You simply had to get shot again, didn't you? Bet the hair works like a giant bullseye. Shoot the yeti. You are such a complete idiot, Sheppard. Hmpfff…"
He paused mid-rant, using his teeth to pull the cap of… hold on a second, was that a needle?
Hey, just because you are a doctor doesn't automatically mean you can at random stick a … Ouch!
Of all the places you could have hit my arm, you just had to pick the nerve, didn't you!
The warm tingling feeling that had started in my arm soon wrapped me in the fuzzy cocoon of happy carelessness known to the medical profession as morphine.
What happened next was all just a hazy mist interspersed with brief moments of clarity.
It definitely involved lots of being dragged around by McKay, the scientist's erratic breathing the only sound breaking the silence of the forest.
Until a giant explosion blew my eardrums, racketed the ground and caused a brief but significant surge of adrenalin granting me a moment of increased lucidity.
Trust McKay to screw up tinkering with one of his doodads and thereby drawing the inhospitable natives' unwanted attention again.
I found myself languidly focussing on my top geek team member doing his worst impersonation of Rambo. Like his fireman's carry, it still needed a lot of work. While he was actually not a bad shot on the Atlantis shooting range, his aim in the field drastically needed improving.
Trust McKay to shoot himself in the foot, with that disturbing way his arm kept shaking.
But consciousness was swiftly floating away, and the last traces of concern were following at its heels.
The last thing I remembered, was getting slung over a shoulder, once again, and a thigh coming up to meet me.
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