Actions Speak Loudest of All
by Leesa Perrie
Author's Notes: This is a crossover of Stargate: Atlantis and the Magnificent Seven TV shows. I am a SGA writer first and foremost, but have tried to bring in the Mag 7 as much as possible. Thank you to Jayne Perry for the beta, and to NotTasha for the links to some very useful Mag 7 sites (unfortunately fanfiction dot net won't let me share them with you). This has not been beta-read by anyone familiar with Mag 7 and I apologise for any errors.
This was written for The Rodney Whump Challenge on the_rmwc community on LiveJournal. My prompt was: "It's not who we are. It's what we do that defines us."
Chapter One: Strangers in Town
The man rode into town, on a day of hot, dust-ridden wind, his black clothes smudged grey, a handkerchief wrapped over half his face and his hat pulled down to protect his eyes. His chestnut horse was solid looking and built for speed, with two white front fetlocks and a white patch down her nose.
Chris watched from the sidewalk, alert for danger. With luck this was just another drifter passing through and causing no trouble, but something about the man's poise suggested danger. He recognised the look of a man used to battles; a gunslinger for certain and a man for hire possibly.
"Trouble?" Vin asked, appearing beside him from out of the dark.
"Maybe."
"Want me to keep an eye on him?"
He didn't answer, watching as the stranger hitched his horse outside the Standish Tavern. Detaching himself from the wall he'd been leaning against, he ambled that way himself, Vin close on his heels.
Entering the saloon, Vin headed over to the table that Buck and JD were occupying, but Chris remained close to the entrance, noting in passing that Ezra was deep in a card game with another stranger, one who had arrived on the stagecoach earlier that day; an odd stick, abrasive and uppity in his ways, wearing clothes that harked of city style, though not as flamboyant as some that passed through Four Corners, or even of their resident gambler.
One would be led to believe by the look of consternation on Ezra's face that the game was not going his way. However, knowing Ezra as he did, he suspected it to be a ploy to lure his opponent into overconfidence and higher stakes. Either way, it was not his concern right now as he watched the stranger remove the handkerchief from his face and order a shot of rye from Inez.
He walked to the bar, ordered a drink for himself and settled down to keep an eye on things.
John had heard about Four Corners and how it was protected by seven gunslingers, and he wanted no trouble. A few drinks in the local saloon, a good meal, a comfy bed and then on the next day. He was supposed to have met up with Teyla and Ronon over at Beckett's newly acquired farm this afternoon, but he was running late. He knew they'd be worried that something had happened to him, but he couldn't help that. There had been a bank robbery in the last town that he had helped to stop, and he'd had to stay there a few days to give witness at the robbers' trial.
He could travel through the night, but travelling at night in a wind that was worsening was not appealing and could be dangerous. He knew they wouldn't want him to take unnecessary risks with his life. In fact, if he did, he'd never hear the end of it from Beckett.
Aware of being watched by another man dressed in black, Larabee most likely from what he'd heard, he made no sign of his knowing and instead concentrated on his drink. He really didn't want any trouble, and if that meant keeping a low profile and putting up with the local equivalent of the law watching him, he'd do it. It was something he was used to anyway, as many people tended to be suspicious of strangers in their town.
A noise from the card table he'd vaguely noted on his way in drew his attention. He'd recognise that outraged cry anywhere, and sure enough, an annoyed looking Rodney McKay was glaring at the man across the table from him. A man who looked very pleased with himself, and rightly so judging by the pot of money he'd clearly just acquired.
"You cheated!"
"I assure you, good sir, I did not," came the silken reply.
"But, but… you did!"
Sighing, wondering what bad thing he'd done to bring him to this town at this time, he sauntered casually over to the table, fully aware of his shadow following him.
"Are you besmirching my reputation?" the Southern gentleman asked, a hint of menace in his cultured voice.
"What? Of course…"
"McKay," John said, drawing the attention of both gamblers. "Well, now, fancy meeting you around here."
"Huh? Oh, um, you… er…" Rodney stuttered, clearly struggling to remember his name.
"Sheppard. John Sheppard."
"Oh, right, yes…"
"Why don't I buy you a drink, for old time's sake?"
"But… he…"
"McKay," he said again, giving him one of his most intimidating looks. It worked, as he knew it would.
"Um, right, okay."
John tipped his hat at the winning gambler and herded McKay over to the bar, ordering another drink.
"He did cheat," Rodney stated, the outrage back in his voice.
"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't, but do you really want to make anything of it? Duals over honour aren't unknown, you know?"
"What? No!" McKay looked alarmed at the thought, before scowling. "Still isn't right…"
"McKay, my advice; don't gamble, and for your own sake, calm down."
Rodney grabbed his drink angrily, slugging it down in one swallow, which resulted in a lot of spluttering and coughing. John shook his head, wondering why he'd interfered while at the same time knowing the answer. For some unknown reason, Beckett counted this McKay character amongst his friends and if he found out that John had let him get hurt… Yeah, that didn't bear thinking about. That doctor could be mean when he wanted to, and he had no desire to try out any of his 'medicinal purgatives' that were 'so good for your health'. Sure, right, he thought, grimacing at the memory of the last time he'd got himself talked into one of those.
"Where are you heading?" he asked, once the spluttering stopped, already guessing the answer.
"Carson's. The stagecoach doesn't go any closer to his place, being stuck out in the wilds that it is." McKay looked thoroughly grieved at the inconvenience.
"Yeah, a good two hour's ride from here," John said dryly. "I'm heading over there in the morning."
"You are?" McKay brightened at that. "You can tell him I'll be along later, after I sort out my financial situation. Can't hire a horse and cart now, after that cheating cheat of a gambler took my money," he said bitterly.
"Gonna wire your sister?"
"No! She threw me out and told me not to darken her door again!"
"Ah, so you're homeless and Beckett found out?"
"He sent me a letter, fortunately Jeannie had the decency to send it on to the hotel I was staying in. I told him not to contact me via her in future, which is probably why she forwarded it onto me in the first place."
"Let me guess, he invited you to his place? Huh, didn't strike me as the type to inflict pain on himself."
"Oh, thank you. Thank you so much." McKay's eyes flashed with anger, and something else; a deep anguish.
Huh? Maybe McKay was capable of feelings other than pride, anger and arrogance after all. But then, he remembered asking Beckett once why he put up with someone like McKay, to be told that he hadn't spent an evening with the 'lad' when half-snookered on a couple of shots of rye – apparently McKay couldn't hold his drink – and that there was 'a lot more to Rodney McKay than immediately met the eye'. Perhaps there was. Certainly one shot of rye had removed any feelings of intimidation he knew he engendered in the man.
"I'll be at Beckett's tomorrow. I'm sure once he knows you're in town he'll send someone with a spare horse for you."
"Right. Thanks."
"Did you pay for a hotel room before entering this den of iniquity?"
"Um…" At least McKay had the sense to look embarrassed.
"Okay," he drawled. "You know you're an idiot, right?"
"I am not!"
"Yeah, whatever." He sighed deeply, knowing he was going to regret this. "Well, it looks like you'll be sleeping on a bedroll on the floor of my room…"
"But I've got a delicate back, I can't sleep on the floor…"
"You could always sleep in one of the alleys…" The look of horror on McKay's face was almost funny. "It's decided then. So, where can I get a decent meal around here?"
The stranger, Sheppard, had managed to diffuse a situation with the potential to turn bad, though Chris was fairly sure Ezra wouldn't have allowed it to. Still, the fact that Sheppard had stepped in was in his favour, though it presumably helped that Sheppard knew the man accusing Ezra of cheating.
He'd heard that the O'Neill's place had been bought by a man named Beckett, and judging by the conversation he had overheard, these two were friends of the new owner. Tomorrow, Buck and he would head over to the farm to offer help, in a gesture of neighbourliness.
They could also scope the place for potential trouble while they were there.
McKay had moaned and complained about sleeping on the floor to such an extent that John had given up the bed in the hopes of getting a good night's sleep. Of course, McKay had then moaned about getting into a bed that had been used – seriously, he'd only lain in it for half an hour at the most – but had soon subsided when John threatened to take the bed back.
Peace and quiet had, mercifully, descended at that point and sleep soon followed.
Waking at first light, a habit he had formed in the army, he rose and made use of the hotel's outhouse before gleefully getting his revenge by waking McKay. He wanted to get an early start, and of course, once he checked out of the room Rodney would also have to leave, so really, he didn't have any choice but to wake him. Judging by the curses sent his way, McKay wasn't buying that as a valid excuse. He shrugged, sending a smirk in his unhappy companion's direction and being rewarded by further curses and a fierce scowl.
He had to admit that baiting McKay was kind of fun.
Breakfast was a quick affair, with him giving into the glum looks of McKay and buying him food as well, on the understanding that McKay paid him back as soon as he was able to. He might be willing to share the room to avoid the wrath of Beckett, but he wasn't about to give his money away to just anyone.
Collecting his horse, he rode up to where he'd left McKay sitting on a bench outside the hotel. He was glad to note that the wind had died down overnight to a gentle breeze.
"Beckett'll send someone to get you, if he doesn't come himself."
"Fine."
"Try to stay out of trouble until then."
"I'm more than capable of looking after myself, thank you very much."
"Yeah, sure you are," he said disbelievingly, turning his horse away only to stop when two riders came up beside him.
"Hear you're heading out to O'Neill's old place?" said one of the riders, a man with a moustache.
"Yeah," he admitted cautiously.
"The place hasn't been lived in for a while, thought you might want a hand fixing it up."
"Well, that's very neighbourly of you, Mr…?"
"Wilmington. Buck Wilmington."
"John Sheppard."
"Chris Larabee," the other man introduced himself, though John had already guessed his name the night before.
"I hear you, along with five others, are the law around here?" he asked casually.
"We do our best," Buck answered with a friendly grin.
"Well, I'm sure Beckett will be happy to have the extra hands." He turned back to McKay. "See ya later."
"He's not coming?" Larabee asked.
"Ah, well, he's without a horse and lacking in funds to fix that, but we'll send a cart to pick him up later."
"Ezra cleaned him out then," Wilmington said, with a shake of his head and a wry smile.
"He cheated," McKay joined in the conversation. "I'm sure of it."
"Maybe, maybe not. Not much we can do without proof," Wilmington replied with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know how it goes, you all stick together."
"McKay, don't upset our new friends now," John said chidingly.
"He can borrow my horse, so long as I get him back in good condition."
John hadn't noticed the other man approach, nor had McKay judging by the way he jumped at the voice behind him.
"Oh, that's…no, that's okay… I can wait…" McKay stuttered out. The man's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"You don't want to ride a horse or my horse in particular?"
"No need to get riled up, Nathan. I'm sure McKay meant nothing by it," Larabee said, a dangerous hint to his voice suggesting that it was in McKay's best interests to agree with him.
"What?" McKay, however, just looked confused and John found it amusing to watch him work out what they meant. "No, no, it's nothing to do with…" McKay squawked in surprise, "I have no problem with colour or race! Seriously, no problem at all."
"You ever ridden a horse, McKay?" John interrupted, having never seen him on one before.
"Yes, of course I've ridden before," McKay replied, his voice rising in outrage before looking a little embarrassed. "It's just been some time since I have had need to."
"Buster is steady, you shouldn't have any problem with him," Nathan assured McKay.
"Um…" Rodney looked unsure for a moment before sighing. "Okay, let me get my bags. I paid for the livery owner to keep them safe overnight."
"We'll be waiting," John said, smirking as McKay followed after Nathan.
None of them noticed the cowboy who passed them, heading out to inform his leader that the target had arrived and was heading to the homestead.
The ride had been… interesting. McKay had nearly fallen off Buster twice along the way when the horse had sensed an opportunity to have some fun at the expense of its rider, and had been complaining bitterly that a genius like him shouldn't have to suffer the indignity of riding such a reprobate of a horse, as well as about how far they were having to ride, how sore he was getting, that he was hot, that the breeze was blowing dust into his eyes, and a myriad others subjects. Chris had never met anyone who could complain as much as this irritating man, and he'd met many a man capable of complaints in his time.
They came over a slight rise and looked down onto the farm below them. It was a decent size, though it had the run down look that came from being unoccupied for over a year. The O'Neills had sold or taken with them the livestock and contents of the house when they had returned back East, but selling the actual farm itself had taken longer than expected, due to unforeseen problems over ownership when some bunko artist had tried to claim the land as his. Eventually his deeds had been proven to be fake and the man was jailed for his attempted fraud.
They were greeted as they rode onto the farm by two men and a woman. He shook his head slightly in amusement as Buck's attention immediately zeroed in on the exotic beauty before them, who from Sheppard's description must be Teyla. Turning his attention to the two men, he presumed that the tall one with long braided hair and tattoos on the neck and left arm was Ronon, and that the other smaller man, with short dark hair and a cheerful smile, was Beckett.
"Ah, John, Rodney, you're here at last," Beckett called to them with a strong Scottish accent. "We were worried about you, John. You were supposed to be here yesterday."
"Yeah, well, got delayed slightly, but I'm here now. Found McKay hanging around Four Corners."
"I was not hanging around," McKay spluttered indignantly.
"Well, you're here now, that's what matters. Who are your friends?"
"This is Chris Larabee and Buck Wilmington, they're part of the law around here."
"What d'you do?" Ronon asked Sheppard, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Nothing!" Sheppard replied, all innocence and wounded dignity, which caused Ronon's amusement to turn into a wide grin.
"We came to offer you a hand with fixing this place up," Chris said. "Been abandoned a good while now."
"Thank you. I have to admit I wasn't expecting quite so much work to be done when I got here. Extra hands would be more than welcome, but we have another problem you might be able to help us with. I was about to send Ronon into town to find the seven men I heard about who look after things around here."
"Somethin' happen?" Sheppard asked, dismounting his horse, a worried look on his face.
"Aye, you could say that. Had a visit from a man called Oberoth and his gang. They wanted to talk with Rodney here, but went away when they realised he hadn't arrived yet."
"Oberoth?" squeaked McKay in fear.
"Yeah. Was all civil like. Said he'd be back this afternoon," Ronon said. "Sounded like a threat."
"I believe he will return in force," agreed Teyla.
"I thought he was dead!"
"Rodney, what does he want with you?" Beckett asked.
"To kill me most likely!" McKay replied, looking completely terrified.
"Maybe we should go inside to discuss things," Chris suggested, before turning to Buck. "Go back to town and get the others."
"You sure, Chris? If the gang comes back early you'll be needing all the help you can get."
"And that help is back in town."
"Okay. Don't get yourself killed while I'm gone," he said seriously, waiting only long enough for McKay to dismount so that he could take Buster back with him before heading back to town.
Dismounting, Chris followed the others inside and introductions were made and his presumptions as to who was who confirmed. Nathan would be interested to hear that Beckett was a doctor when he arrived, but for now, they needed to secure this place against attack.
Oberoth. He'd thought he was dead, killed in a knife fight in Fort Drummond, not alive and free and after him.
Oh hell, hell and damnation.
And Carson… he'd pulled perhaps the only person who seemed to like him into this mess, and damnation, this was really, really not fair.
He should turn around, catch the next stagecoach out of here and maybe, just maybe, Oberoth would leave his… his friend alone. He blinked. Friend? Well, the closest thing he'd had to one for a long, long time, that was.
But who was he kidding? Oberoth would burn this place down and everyone with it out of spite, that was just the way he was. Running wouldn't save them, and wouldn't save him either.
He'd have to stay and fight… or give himself up? No, not that. He knew it would be the noble thing to do, but he couldn't do it. He knew he wasn't brave and the thought of turning himself over to Oberoth, even to save his friends… he just couldn't do it and he hated himself a little for that.
"So, why does this Oberoth want to kill you, McKay? Insulted the wrong person?"
"What?" His attention was pulled back to the room by Sheppard's question.
"Rodney, what's going on?" Carson asked him.
"He used to own a company in Chicago that built steam engines for the railway. One of his engines blew up and derailed the train and a lot of people were hurt or killed, including the son of one of the railway bosses, Mr Patterson, who used to be a friend of my father when he was still alive. He remembered that I knew a lot about science and engineering, and steam engines, and asked me to check out whether the engines were faulty or if there was a design fault; whether it was an accident or if someone was to blame."
"I take it you thought Oberoth was to blame," Larabee stated.
"Yes. The engines were substandard and dangerous. He'd cut corners and used metal that wasn't up to the stresses the steam put on them. I was going to report this, but he sent someone to threaten me, and I…" he trailed off, shifting uncomfortably, not looking anyone in the eye. "I did what he asked. Told Mr Patterson that there was nothing wrong with the engines, that it was just an accident."
"Rodney…" Carson said, shocked.
"I'm sorry, but I… I'm not strong, okay? And I didn't have anyone who'd be willing to protect me. Hardly anyone could stand me and not many people would have mourned if I'd died, let alone have lifted a hand to help me," he said, trying to defend himself even though inside he was sickened at what he'd done.
"So, if you did what he wanted, why's he want you dead?" Ronon asked.
"Because another of his engines blew up and killed the people in the cab. Because I couldn't live with what I'd done and went to the authorities and confessed it all. Because he was sent to Fort Drummond for life, only managing to avoid the death sentence by hiring some fancy lawyer. I was told that he'd died there, I didn't know he was alive, let alone free!"
"McKay…" Sheppard tried to interrupt him, but he couldn't seem to stop.
"As for me, I was sent to a different prison for my part in it. I spent two years thinking about what I'd done, or hadn't done. And I'm sorry, I'm really sorry that I let him intimidate me, and that he came here, threatening all of you. I… I would leave, but he'll still try and kill you all, out of spite. I know how he operates. He sent someone to burn down the family home after my confession. Fortunately a neighbour saw what was happening and the fire was put out quickly. He didn't care that he could have burned the neighbouring houses too, he just wanted revenge. That's what he's like. I…" he looked Carson in the eye, afraid of what he might see there. "I should have told you, but you… you tolerated me, even seemed to like me, a bit. I didn't want to lose that and I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. Tell me what to do and I'll… I'll do it."
"You stay here and let us protect you," Sheppard said.
"Aye." Carson looked stunned by his outburst, but he had no doubt that Carson and the others would judge him and find him severely wanting once the shock wore off.
As soon as this was all over, supposing he survived it that was, he'd head East. He could find work somewhere, he was good with his hands, knew about science and engineering, could make clocks and clockwork toys too. He'd done that in prison. The Governor had discovered his skill and put him to work, mending clocks and watches, and he'd made toys for the Governor's children in return. It was better than being out in the heat digging trenches and the like, and he'd been happy to be segregated from the worst of the prisoners too. He didn't think he'd have survived if not for the Governor Charlesworth's goodwill towards him.
His attention returned to the house again as Larabee started to outline a plan to hold Oberoth and his men off if they arrived before his own people got here. But he paid scant attention, his mind still whirring over his past sins, how they'd managed to catch up with him and how, no doubt, any friendship that he might have had with Carson would be over now.
Maybe it was as well. Friendships never seemed to work out for him. Even his sister couldn't stand him, and she was family and supposed to put up with him.
He turned his attention back to the plans in hand, hoping that Larabee's friends got here first.