"Don't make me angry... you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

oOo

Rodney thinks his heart will stop; seriously, though, it's going to stop - please, God, let it stop - 'cos he knows he wants to die before he witnesses this.

The colonel is laughing in the face of the man who has him by the throat. Rodney sees his feet dangling, and he's reminded of a hanged man on the gallows. The colonel is shoved against the wall, breath whooshes out, someone grabs his left wrist... there is a metallic flash from the hand of another, and Rodney sees John's head whip around and down, eyes frantic, smile gone, as he watches the blade advance slowly.

Then, inside Rodney something snaps; horribly cliche, maybe, but he is aware of the exact moment it happens. The exact moment he stops being himself, and becomes the enraged friend of John Sheppard. He realises too, in that moment frozen in time, that another cliche has become flesh... he sees red.

Blood red fills his vision... murderous, malevolent... delicious.

Something's bust inside of him and is leaking messy death everywhere. Suddenly, he is certain, like he has never been before, that he is capable of taking life. Certain, too, that they haven't seen this coming.

They don't know what they've done, these minions of an unknown God, waking the sleeping tiger that is Dr Rodney McKay.

What does it matter, he has no weapon? Who cares if he's seriously outnumbered? Who's going to save them if not him?

Where it's come from, who knows... but Rodney's heard the call and answered with, bring it on.

Behind his eyes, boils pure liquid rage, and it's green now, not red, and he almost grins when he recognises his own personal super-hero moment.

And I always thought I'd be Batman...

The hands that hold him feel loose, hardly there at all; Rodney thinks, David Banner's goin' bye-bye.

He feels muscles bunch and swell... and he thinks he may need a new shirt after this.

Suddenly he is moving... he can't see much, but he thinks two old men are now on the floor. He drops, but pulls back and up at the last second, before he pokes out his eye on a candle stand. Somehow, in between one second and the next, the heavy iron is in his hands... it feels like one of Sheppard's golf clubs.

Okay, his swing needs some work, but he goes at it like a bull elephant would; he doesn't know how he's managing to whirl the thing around his head but connections are being made... heavy, soggy connections.

And all the while he's thinking, Sheppard, knife, save him, and he's so scared because he knows that a knife can move real quick, and that the colonel's helpless.

It's strange, because for the first time ever, he knows who he is; he thought he was a scientist and discovery was everything; he thought he was a genius, perfect logic was his religion; he thought he was an island, pushing back the outside world and the people in it.

His body becomes his own again, when, like a miracle, he is standing over the colonel, and out of the corners of his eyes he sees gowned figures scurrying away. He is breathless, but he feels like a god...

Yeah, pump up the volume, he thinks, and wonders where that crazy thought came from. However, it seems apt and he resists the temptation to beat his chest like Tarzan.

Sheppard is still, and that looks wrong, so wrong that Rodney immediately drops down, his hands flapping at the man, ineffectual but necessary.

"Sheppard? Sheppard? ", John rolls onto his bowed back like a flipped turtle, and then Rodney sees the blood.

It covers his belly, his chest, his hands... but it's springing from his wrist. They'd cut him... he wasn't in time...

Now he's channeling Dr Banner MD, and he likes to imagine his shirt is flapping around his muscular seventies-style chest and before he knows what he's doing, he's got his hand clamped around John's wrist and his fingers press through slippery, jagged edges, to meet bone. Sheppard yelps, but now Rodney's index finger is in place there'll be no moving it.

Rodney's on his knees, and he pushes up their locked hands, tying to lessen the thump, thump against his finger.

They must look like two guys at a concert; their arms raised together, all that's missing is the crumby lighter, and the sound of "Freebird".

Along with the unmistakable clatter of mass exodus, he thinks he hears familiar voices shouting; Teyla, maybe... Lorne.

Still breathless, he wheezes out, "Help! Help.. here..."

Then he coughs, right in Sheppard's face and he thinks, sorry, buddy, say it don't spray it, right? and he hardly notices that there's a red mist on Sheppard's pale eyelids.

A voice off to his left says, impatiently, "Get me a 'stat... come on.. come on...", and looking up Rodney sees a pair of shiny scissors appear, and they're waggling around their joined hands, glinting...

"Let go, Doctor.."

That's Dr Banner to you, dumbass...

"Rodney, let go", and this is so close to his right ear he winces.

He comes back to reality a little and sees that a crowd has gathered.

There's Teyla, and Ronon, and Lorne, and Carson... the gang's all here.

Carson was the one with the loud voice, and now the Scot is right in his face:

"We need to take care of you.. both of you... don't fight us, ma friend."

He is suddenly, hellishly tired so he decides to comply, "Oh... okay", he says, and looks down to see he really has lost his shirt.

Cool...

David Banner always had plenty of shirts... Rodney thinks he may have two others, but one has an acid burn and the other is a size too small.

The suction around his finger is gone, so he thinks Sheppard's been clamped, and whisked away. He brings the digit to his face and squints at it; it looks like he's had his hand in the jam pot.

Absently he wipes it on his shirt... but his shirt has gone, he remembers, torn off in his rage.

It's only then that he notices a pretty, pearl handle, sticking out of his chest; Carson grabs his hand and admonishes him, "No, no, no... that's not to come out yet, lad. Leave it to me, eh? Just for once..."

Then Rodney remembers:

Being captured, and trying to explain themselves... the priests hauling Sheppard off for a kind of ritual blood-letting; Rodney protesting and a sharp pain in his chest stealing his breath and almost stilling his heart; he hadn't thought the old guy would really use the knife, but he had.

He was being supported by two robed priests, as he and Sheppard had let their eyes meet. John had smiled at him, a smile so sad and full of regret.

And because Rodney couldn't let this undignified, corny scene be their last, he'd found some strength... some strength to save his friend.

There is a flurry of limbs, and Carson almost falls on top of him as he allows himself to drop back. Someone's hand flies to the back of his head, and he's glad he hasn't hit the cold, stone step. He looks up, blinking, and sees Teyla, shimmering with warm starlight, dressed as an angel, leaning over him.

Wrong show, dear, wrong show...

He thinks that's funny, but the laughter dies on his lips when searing hot pain just about takes his breath.

He hears Carson yelling in his ear again, and the last thing he sees before the darkness takes him, is the sad face of the angelic Teyla, and he thinks, miserably, I never even liked that show...

oOo

TBC maybe...?