Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Stargate franchise, so please don't sue me. Not that it would help. I'm completely broke.
Rating: T (for now)
Summary: It was supposed to be an everyday, run-of-the-mill meet and greet. But as Rodney McKay was beginning to realize, nothing in the Pegasus Galaxy was ever run-of-the-mill. McKay/OC, Sheppard/Weir.
Author's Note: This story popped in to my head the other night, as I was attempting to fall asleep, and it's been nagging ever since. I felt compelled to write it, but I probably won't continue if no one shows interest in reading it. So… READ!
It was supposed to be an everyday, run-of-the-mill meet and greet. A couple hours spent in the midst of the annoyingly primitive locals – though it wasn't really fair to call them primitive when their technology was somewhere around the level of America, circa 1900 – and then a safe journey back to Atlantis for some much deserved down time with nothing but a large pot of coffee and his laptop to keep him company.
If it were up to him, they would have said "Hello" and "Goodbye" before hightailing it home; however, they had quickly discovered that Annwn was a planet untouched by the Wraith, which he had grudgingly agreed was worth looking in to.
According to historians, it had been nearly a millennium since the last culling of their world. It was widely believed that they were protected by The Guardian, a mythical being with god-like powers who first appeared in historical texts as the savior of the last Great Siege – the force that had destroyed the invading Wraith in an extraordinary burst of light that was blinding in its ferocity. She – for it had once appeared before the villagers as a human woman before rising to the heavens as a brilliant ball of light – had promised to protect Annwn until the days of the Final Siege, when the very last culling of their world would set in motion a chain of events that would lead to the final destruction of the Wraith once and for all. It was disturbing to know that these people were willing to be culled if it meant that the destruction of the Wraith.
If not for the fact that The Guardian sounded suspiciously like an Ancient, then Rodney would have dismissed it as rubbish – pure fantasy running rampant in a world that had just gotten lucky. Their story had more holes in it than a brick of Swiss cheese, and it didn't help that his inquiries into the date of the supposed Final Siege were left unanswered, frustrating him to no end. Apparently "The Guardian" had not seen fit to leave them with that bit of information. Typical Ancient.
Not that it mattered anymore, Rodney reflected ruefully as he raced through the ruined city, heading for the Puddle Jumper that Sheppard had landed in a field on the outskirts of town. If the prophecy was to be believed – and as a man of science, Rodney was having a very hard time believing it – they were now witnessing the foretold final culling.
And he really didn't want to be a part of it.
"I'm getting too old for this!" he yelled, jumping over a pile of debris that littered the cobblestone streets of the city's outlying suburbs.
"Suck it up!" Lt. Colonel John Sheppard yelled over his shoulder, spraying forth a slew of bullets in a wide arc, killing one Wraith and neutralizing another, vaulting over their fallen bodies as he sprinted out of the street and into the grassy fields.
Wheezing, Rodney willed his body to go faster. He could hear the deafening sound of a thousand dying people as screams filled the night air, drowning out the sound of the darts flying overhead and the thunder and rattle of weapons both above and below. The ground shook beneath his feet, and if not for the sudden steadying arm at his elbow, he would have fallen flat on his face.
"No falling!" Ronon shouted over the cacophony before darting into the night, helping Sheppard and Teyla clear a path to their waiting ship. Rodney groaned and would have rolled his eyes at himself if sheer terror hadn't kept his embarrassment at bay.
"Help me! Please!" A voice suddenly sounded out of the chaos, loud and clear and full of fright. He stumbled again as he looked over his shoulder, his stormy blue eyes searching the wreckage of the neighborhood he had just come out of. "Please! Don't leave me!" The same voice, weaker this time, caused him to falter in his steps once again, slowing despite the culling beam quickly heading his way. Something flashed in his mind, compelling him to the voice, and in the next second, he was running full force toward a small cottage where a young woman was pinned beneath the collapsed roof. He had no idea what the flash was, or why it made him feel obligated to risk his own life to save a complete stranger's. It was completely against his character. He was a snarky bastard whose own existence trumped that of everyone else's most of the time. And even though his mind knew these things, he soon found himself heaving a section of roof off the floor – inwardly marveling at this display of strength – and watching as the woman scrambled out from beneath. When she was on her feet, he dropped the suddenly heavy burden and grabbed her hand, dragging her in the direction of the Puddle Jumper just as the culling beam swept over her cottage.
"Faster, dammit!" he shouted over his shoulder, pulling her along with one hand while his other reached into his vest and withdrew his gun, closing his eyes as he shot blindly at an oncoming Wraith. When he felt no return fire, he opened his eyes, whooping in triumph at the sight of the fallen enemy. Jumping over the lifeless body, they erupted in to the field, and it seemed to Rodney that they were in safe territory. No Wraith were in sight, and the ship was only a few feet away. The worried visage of John Sheppard peered out of the view port as he powered engines, visibly relaxing when he spotted Rodney, though the curious and somewhat frustrated expression that crossed his face told the scientist that he'd spotted the young woman as well.
They were nearly there when a burst of energy flew past his head, followed by another, both dissolving harmlessly against the jumper's shields. Both he and the young woman staggered, nearly falling to the ground as a Wraith soldier fired at them from behind. With one last burst of adrenaline, he dove for the ship.
The hatch closed with a whoosh behind them, blocking out the sound of death and destruction.
"Let's go!" Rodney shouted at John, who had already piloted the jumper into the air and raised the cloak. Disappearing from the Wraith's sight, they darted into the air and broke through the planet's atmosphere, heading for space and the nearby cover of the small moon. They would have to remain cloaked, hidden from view until the Wraith left and the Stargate was once again accessible. Just as they were entering the moon's orbit, a blinding burst of light lit the night sky.
"The Guardian," the woman whispered softly, earning blank stares from the four strangers.
When they were in the shadows of the moon, Rodney finally allowed himself to sigh in relief.
"Well, that was close," he remarked wryly, climbing to his feet. He turned to address the woman whom he was saved, but was left speechless when she suddenly flung herself at him, grabbing his face and planting her lips on his in a searing kiss. When she pulled away, she was smiling brilliantly, a thousand different emotions flashing through her mahogany eyes.
"Thank you!" she exhaled, her breath ghosting across his kiss-swollen lips. Rodney blinked in shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He was never the hero! That role usually fell on Sheppard, who, more often than not, had to beat off the fawning women with a stick. Gaping, he uttered a few unintelligible sounds, eliciting a bark of laughter from Ronon, which he ignored.
Snapped out of his daze, Rodney gathered his thoughts to reply, trying to fight down the blush that he felt rising up his cheeks. He attributed this rare phenomenon to exhilaration, but when she smiled at him again, he had to look away and clear his throat.
And then her knees buckled and she fell against him. Instinctively, he raised his arms, catching her about the waist. Her smile was gone, he realized as he gazed at her in concern. When she raised one shaking hand to touch the patch on his sleeve, he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
"Canada," she whispered, and then her eyes slid shut.
"What?" he yelped, eyes going wide. He looked at the flag on his arm, the national symbol of the country where he was born, then returned his gaze to her prone form. He shook her, but she did not wake. The gentle rise and fall of her chest told him she was still alive, if barely just. "What did you say?" he demanded, shaking her none too gently. He looked up helplessly, his gaze shifting between his three companions, who all wore similar expressions of shock. "Did you hear that? Did you hear what she said? She said Canada! How the hell does she know about Canada?"
Shifting her weight in his arms, Rodney's fingers brushed against something warm and sticky, and once again his eyes grew large.
"She's bleeding. Oh God, she's bleeding," he muttered, panicking. Slumping to his knees without relinquishing his hold, he raised his hand and stared at the crimson substance now staining his fingers. His gaze fell to his lap, and it was only then that he noticed the large pool of blood soaking in to his pants. "Oh God, that's a lot of blood!"
Teyla rushed over as Ronon grabbed the medical kit from the storage bin.
"Turn her over," Teyla commanded softly. With shaking hands, Rodney complied, gently setting her on the ground of the jumper. He swallowed a lump in his throat when he saw the wound in her side, obviously the result of a Wraith stunner cranked up to 'kill'. The shot would have killed her if it had hit its mark, but it was apparent that it had only grazed her side. The damage was enough, though. If she didn't get medical attention immediately, she would bleed to death. Rodney knew immediately that she had been hit while running to the jumper, which would explain why she had stumbled as the other shots flew past their heads.
As Teyla worked to lessen the blood flow, Rodney sat back and dropped his head in to his hands, uncaring of the blood that stained them. He'd be washing it out of his hair for a week, but that didn't matter.
He was a lousy hero.
"I'm going to try the gate," Sheppard said, angling the ship toward the planet and out of the cover of the moon. They remained cloaked, even though it was apparent that the hive ships were gone, the culling finished either finished or the planet once again protected by their so-called 'Guardian'. As they dipped back in to the atmosphere, he dialed Atlantis and was rewarded with the whoosh of the Stargate as it came in to sight. Ronon slipped in to the seat beside him and entered their IDC.
Gliding through the gate, they arrived back at Atlantis in the blink of an eye.
"Medics to Jumper Bay One!" Sheppard shouted over his comm. The doors slid open above them and he rose into the docking bay with more speed than he should have, settling the ship down with a light thud.
The young woman moaned, her face contorting in pain, though she remained unconscious. The hatch slid open as the ship powered down, but the room was empty, the medical team having yet to arrive.
Before he realized what he was doing, Rodney once again had the woman in his arms and was darting out of the ship, running toward the nearest transporter despite his exhaustion. He encountered Dr. Beckett and his team halfway there, settling her down gently on the gurney, grabbing her lax hand and refusing to let go as they entered the transporter and were moved halfway across the city.
"What happened?" Beckett asked as he took in the hastily bandaged wound that was already soaked in blood.
"Wraith attack," was all Rodney said. Beckett understood at once. Rodney breathed a visible sigh of relief as they exited the transporter directly across from the infirmary.
"Let go, Rodney," Carson murmured, earning a glare from the scientist. "You cannae come in," he added softly, prying Rodney's fingers off the woman's hand. "I might have to operate and I need a sterile environment." Carson frowned, plainly eying the other man's disheveled appearance. He was drenched with sweat and covered head to toe in dirt and blood.
Rodney nodded mutely, stepping out of the way and watching with dark eyes as the woman he had saved was rolled out of his sight. The doors swished closed behind them, blocking out all sight and sound and leaving Rodney to wonder what was happening on the other side. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes, willing this nightmare to end.
Massaging his temples, he wondered why the fate of this strange woman concerned him so much. Sighing heavily, he revisited his feelings, examining his earlier compulsion with a scientific mind. But nothing could explain the sudden urge he'd felt, the blinding need to help her. To save her.
He had no idea how long he sat there, and only the dull throbbing in his head alerted him to the fact that he'd been repeatedly banging his head against the wall.
"Rodney?" Elizabeth Weir's voice brought him out of his thoughts. Blinking against the onslaught of light, he looked up at the expedition leader and forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Are you all right?" she murmured, crouching beside him. He snorted and looked away.
"If by all right you mean covered in blood, sweat and God knows what else, confused and more than a little shaken by both the Wraith attack and the sudden desire to save a complete stranger, and the mind boggling fact that said stranger knew this is a Canadian flag, then yes, I'd say I'm all right!" he snapped, pounding the floor. He winced as pain shot up his wrist. Sulking, he cradled his arm against his chest. "I'm fine," he muttered, slightly ashamed of his outburst.
Elizabeth was silent for a while, examining the man before her. John and Teyla had told her of the attack and the events afterward, including the woman's reference to Canada, so Rodney's words did not come as a complete shock. But his attitude did. She hadn't seen him this… broken… ever. He looked like he was falling apart at the seams, and all over a woman he hardly knew. Sighing softly, Elizabeth stood, looking down at her chief scientific officer.
"After Dr. Vogel clears you, why don't you go shower and get something to eat," she murmured. The rest of his team was already in the adjoining room receiving their post mission check-ups, and all had expressed concern of Rodney's behavior. "This could take a while…"
"Yeah," Rodney muttered, pushing to his feet, moving as if on autopilot. Elizabeth offered him a hesitant smile, walking silently beside him as they entered the isolation room that John, Teyla and Ronon still occupied. He went through the motions of his physical with detached care, following instructions, but not speaking.
Something that completely went against his character.
"McKay?" John raised his eyebrows at the answering silence. "Hey, it's not your fault if that's what you're thinking," he added, furrowing his eyebrows. "If you hadn't saved her, she'd be the main course at dinner for some Wraith by now," he chuckled, stopping abruptly when Teyla and Elizabeth shot him identical glares.
"Sheppard?" Rodney muttered, looking up at the base's military commander.
"Yeah?"
"Shut up," he snapped. Ronon chuckled at this, earning his own glare from the two females in the room. "You too," Rodney added, jumping off the hospital bed he'd been perched on the end of. He looked at Vogel, a pudgy forty-something man that had a scary resemblance to Santa Clause, glowering as the doctor puttered around the room. "Can I go now?"
Vogel started at the harsh tone, nearly dropping the file he was reading.
"Um," he began, stammering slightly and refusing to raise his gaze off the ground. "You appear fine, and your preliminary blood work shows no abnormalities-"
"A simple yes or no, that's all I need to hear!" Rodney snapped, making everyone in the room jump in surprise. While it was true that the scientist could be quite the bastard at times, the insults and quips never quite reached his eyes. People were usually more amused than annoyed.
"Uh… yes?" Rodney didn't need to hear anymore. Uncaring of the concerned voices behind him, he stormed out of the infirmary and hurried through the halls of Atlantis. A few times he bumped in to people, stepping over them if they fell and ignoring their yells of protest. Within minutes he was safely ensconced in his room, shedding his clothes as if they carried the plague and were about to infect him at any second. Crumpling them in to a ball, he shoved them in the trash, unconcerned that he'd have to requisition another uniform as he stomped into the bathroom and turned the shower on full force.
He stood, unmoving, under the spray of water for what seemed like an eternity. It was only when his daily allowance of hot water began to give out and the scalding water slowly turned to lukewarm that he lathered his body and hair, scrubbing the dirt and blood from his pores and leaving his skin raw and pink.
His confused feelings over the day's events had quickly turned to anger, and now he wanted answers.
After hastily pulling on clothes, he hurried for his door.
He stopped in his tracks.
Turning, he hurried over to the trash and snatched up his uniform jacket, ripping the Canadian flag off the sleeve before shoving it back in the bin. Clutching it in his fist, he left his room and hurried back to the infirmary for a long wait.
She slowly registered sounds as the haze gradually lifted from her mind. The gentle whirr-hum of a respirator, the beep – beep – beep of a heart monitor, the gentle dripping of an IV, the shuffle-pause of pacing feet… The sensory overload was enough to keep her eyes closed. If there was that many sounds, who knew how many sights there were, and with a fierce migraine already pulling at her temples, she was loath to overwhelm her senses.
"Is she going to wake up?" an agitated voice barked from above her. She felt a vague sense of recognition, but it wasn't enough to bring a face to mind.
"Her vitals are stable and I'll soon be able to take her off the respirator," another voice answered, this one thick with an accent that differed from the other man.
"That didn't answer my question," the first man barked, eliciting an amused chuckle from the one she assumed to be the doctor. Finally cracking open an eye, she winced at the harsh light and moaned in protest.
"Aye, I think the lass is coming around now."
"You!" The voice was above her now, and she saw the blurry outline of a head hovering in her line of sight. "Wake up!"
"Ach," she muttered, finally registering the tubes in her nose and down her throat. With weak, shaking hands, she probed at them, swatting them. She felt her hands moved away, and with a gentle, reassuring murmur, the man whom she assumed was the doctor deftly removed the offending items. She coughed, her throat raw from the intrusion. Tears stained her eyes as her side wracked with pain at the movement, and it was several minutes before she was able to sit back, as relaxed as possible, sipping cool water through a straw.
"Are you quite finished?"
She looked up, eying the man who was tapping his foot impatiently, arms crossed over his chest and face laced with annoyance. It took her a few moments to realize that this was the man that had saved her from the attack. She looked around, for the first time really seeing things, and realized with a start that she was definitely not on Annwn anymore. Sighing softly, for she sensed that he had a lot of questions, she nodded, handing the doctor her cup, which he set on the cart at her side before moving off to write in her chart.
"Name?" her rescuer barked, glancing over his shoulder when more people entered the room. She watched them silently, recognizing the three that had been on the ship. There was another woman with them who looked to be in her mid thirties, with curly brown hair and a kind, yet serious smile. It was a moment before she shifted her gaze back to her interrogator.
"You first," she replied with a smirk, her voice raw from both screaming and the tube that had been removed only minutes before.
"I asked first!" he whined petulantly, stomping his foot.
"Rodney…" The curly-haired woman in the red shirt spoke warningly, earning a glare from the man above her.
"I have an Uncle named Rodney," she remarked with a grin, poking her rescuer in the arm.
"Yes, that's nice, I don't care," he muttered, frowning. "Name?" he repeated, once again tapping his foot impatiently. She sighed again, turning her head until she was staring at the ceiling.
"On Annwn I went by Taryn," she finally answered.
"You say 'went by'," Rodney probed. "Does that mean that's not your actual name?"
"Doesn't take a genius to figure that out," she muttered, rolling her eyes, an action that only served to worsen her migraine and make her stomach churn. She bit back the bile rising in her throat.
"Well, what's your real name?" he asked, ignoring her snarky remark.
"Tracey," she whispered, turning her head to gaze at him once more. His eyes were still that stormy shade of blue she remembered gazing in to after kissing him. Her own eyes widened at the memory, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. If the triumphant smirk he was wearing was anything to go by, her face was now an unnatural shade of red.
He took something out of his pocket and shoved it in her face.
"In the jumper, you touched this and you said something," he prompted, waving it in her face. She groaned and closed her eyes. "What did you say?"
"If I tell you will you go away?" Tracey asked, willing her stomach to settle down and her head to cease its throbbing.
"Probably not," Rodney replied. She heard a soft whap, and when she cracked open her eyes she was delighted to see that he was rubbing the back of his head and glaring at the good looking younger man standing behind him, whom she remembered as the one who had been flying the ship. She chuckled softly in appreciation. "Just answer the damn question!"
"Fine." Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the intense reactions she was about to receive. They were inevitable, for the answers she had were bound to confuse them. "Canada. I said Canada."
"Right," he suddenly looked uneasy, as did the others in the room. The doctor had stopped writing on her chart and looked up in shock. Rodney turned around and ripped something off the arm of the pilot, shoving it in her face next. "And this?"
"United States of America," she whispered, sighing softly. The looks of shock and amazement grew, and when Rodney ripped yet another flag off the arm of the doctor's lab coat, she muttered "Scotland," before he could shove it in her face. Though she hadn't heard the doctor's thick brogue in years, she'd recognize the accent anywhere. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with shaking hands. "Are you done?"
The room was silent and Tracey could feel all eyes on her. The room was thick with unasked questions just dying to burst forth, and she suddenly felt very, very tired. Wishing she could sleep, she heard the question whispered into the silence, the voice laced with disbelief and wonder.
"Who are you?"
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