Title:
Icarus
Author:
Kodiak bear
Rating:
T
Category:
Gen
Word
Count: 9,381
Warnings:
takes place after Progeny, but before Return part I
Spoilers:
Progeny, Common Ground, Phantoms
Summary:
An Asuran trap snares Sheppard. An SGA/Farscape fusion (give it a
chance!)
AN:
Written for the Sheppard H/C Secret Santa 2006; Merry Christmas Stealth Dragon!
Prompt: I do enjoy a story with an injured, ill, alone and frightened Sheppard with occasional moments of insanity and/or delirium on his part. Then with lots of comfort after. It might not be letter for letter, but I wanted to try and do something a little more than the straight forward injured/alone/hallucinating story. The Laufians first appeared in my story Disorientation; it's not necessary to read that story to understand this one.
Icarus
Flying.
John was flying, soaring, climbing into the clouds, cutting through atmo like a dolphin in the great big blue; the ship as much a part of him as his skin. He could feel the air rushing past.
Rodney had said, "You've got to see this!"
He'd been wrong – John needed to feel this.
It was incredible, like nothing he'd ever experienced; not even the throne chair melded so fluidly; he lost the line where John Sheppard ended and technology began.
"Sheppard – sensors show you're approaching thermosphere; level off."
"Are you kidding me? Rodney, this ship is incredible!"
"It's also a previously unknown version of Ancient technology. We agreed, one short test flight. Now, quit playing Top Gun and bring that ship down before it kills you!"
It took Rodney shouting at him for John to realize he wasn't turning back…
OoO
Rodney stormed from the parked Jumper.
"You think it's safe?"
"Colonel, nothing in this galaxy is safe."
Despite his scathing pseudo-warning, they'd both checked the ship as thoroughly as equipment allowed before it was decided Sheppard would try it out; a touch and go, Sheppard had said, whatever the hell those were.
The alien cockpit was only designed for one, so Rodney had stayed on the ground, brought up the Jumper's HUD to track Sheppard.
Track him losing his mind.
"Is something wrong?" Nau left the gaggle of Laufian scientists gathered off to the side of the landing pad where the ship had been parked moments before. "Is Colonel Sheppard returning soon?"
Rodney paused; Nau had stepped in his beeline path. "What's wrong?" he spluttered. "Your ship has…has done something to Colonel Sheppard! Deluded him, took over his mind, he's … oh, just get out of the way!" The Laufian scientist paled and Rodney took the opportunity to shove the man to the side.
Nau was Mandau's younger cousin of a cousin, or some stupid family tree relation. A red flush crept over his skin. He'd been there the first time their scavenged technology had exploded in Sheppard's face. It didn't take much of a brain to read the wrath Rodney was projecting loud and clear.
Like a proper Laufian, Nau's goal quickly became one of damage control.
"Doctor McKay, we apologize profusely. This was a grievous error and our sorrow is--"
"Just shut up." Rodney was now past the human road block and angled towards the building where Elizabeth was elbow-deep in negotiations for the alien ship, and other rights to scavenged technology, in exchange, they'd said, for protection. "I must be brain damaged – to have even considered giving you guys another try. You almost killed Sheppard last time, and now -- "
--and now John was up there, and Rodney hadn't been able to convince him to come back.
The Laufians had called Atlantis and said (paraphrased), "Give us another chance, we found something new, much better than the weapon we offered before."
Rodney's urge to shut the connection and lock the address from the dialing computer had been overwritten by curiosity. They always said, "Curiosity killed the cat."
Rodney only hoped it wouldn't be Sheppard that paid the price this time.
OoO
It took feeling the stars for John to wonder, "How high can I go?"
He knew Rodney was gone. His persistent radio calls had stopped somewhere between the thin layer of sanity and a technology-induced euphoria. John's mind screamed at him to keep flying, but his body begged for him to land. The integration wasn't effortless – not like it was with the Jumper.
How long had he been in the air?
There was some part of him that still recognized the question as important.
When he tried to turn back, another thought overwrote the other; it said, 'Just a little more.' Because this was the ultimate flying experience. This was one layer away from being able to fly, without any ship or metal parts to make it happen.
This was the candy-coated center. The prize in the middle of the Cracker Jack box. This was winning the lottery.
This was taking them all and boxing them into one big package of awesome and indefinable.
The ship knew his thoughts, and with every passing second, John knew the alien flyer like he knew his own body. Wings and arms, feet and rudder, head and computer – the Ancients had built this?
It was nothing like the Jumper.
It wasn't anything like the chair, or the doors, or anything else he'd used in Atlantis, or Ancient tech they'd found on other worlds. This felt…different. This felt like it had been made just for him.
And that began to really concern him.
OoO
"Rodney, where's John?"
Ronon and Teyla tensed, waiting for him to answer Elizabeth's question. They sat on the couch, loose limbed and happy – until Rodney walked in, the black cloud of doom trailing behind him.
"That's why I'm here," he snapped. "We checked the ship over; it looked like some kind of prototype, completely different from a Jumper." His hands formed a small length. "Think stealth fighter to a cargo ship." His hands expanded before dropping. "Sheppard climbed in and the ship responded to him in typical gushing gene meets long lost computer. Everything looked fine, so he took it for a test flight, and that's when something went wrong."
"Wrong how?" Ronon pulled his arm from the back of the couch and looked ready to pounce…if Rodney only asked.
He was close to asking.
When Rodney was nervous, he moved. A lot. His body, his hands, his head – he was everywhere now. Off the map. The wall. "That's just it, I don't…don't know. One minute he was relaying everything, then he…he just sort of…drifted."
Worry chased Elizabeth from her soft seat. "Rodney, sit down. Start from the beginning."
"No!" Rodney shook his head, frustrated. Didn't they get it? Sheppard's life hung on the cusp of Rodney's abilities; maybe it was already too late. Okay, okay – maybe he was panicking too soon, but that's what Rodney did. "We need to get in the Jumper and go after him, I only came back because I had to tell you what's happened and get someone to help. I need at least one more person with the gene who can fly; once we locate the ship…I can't rescue him and stay in the air. We need --"
Think, Rodney – what would get Sheppard out of the sky without shooting him down? Sheppard was obviously being affected by something in the ship, influenced, possibly an altered state of mind. Why else would he ignore Rodney?
Rodney's mouth went slack, and his motion stopped, because dire implications had that effect on him. There was only one way to get a ship out of the sky when the pilot wasn't going to listen to polite requests (and frustrated, worried demands.)
"Oh, God. We might have to shoot him down."
OoO
It took John an eternity to realize he was falling.
Free fall.
Took his breath away.
Would take his life away.
Pull up!
His wings were sluggish, his arms…his mind.
Sleep, Pilot.
Sleep.
OoO
Four hours.
Sheppard had been missing for four hours.
"McKay!" Lorne gripped the console. "If you insist on flying while we search, I'd prefer to keep my lunch down."
Rodney was a moment from barking, "What?" when he realized he was flying at a 60 degree angle. The ship's internal gravity kept everyone in their seats, but the canted horizon through the window had a sea sickness-inducing edge to it. Damn. Again with the straight line – "Fine, sorry, I'm just…I'm a little preoccupied right now, okay?" The only reason he hadn't given control to Lorne from the get-go was the need to keep his hands busy.
When nothing else was cooperating, this he could control.
"I get that, Doc." Lorne shrugged his shoulders, trying to loosen up the tension. "Don't worry, we'll find him."
Teyla looked unusually pale as she leaned forward and asked, "Anything on the sensors?"
"Nothing." Rodney stared at the HUD forlornly. Nothing…why was there nothing? The planet wasn't that big. He couldn't have just disappeared.
Could he?
OoO
John stared up at a night sky so dark, and full of stars, he thought it'd swallow him up if he didn't move. It pressed down on him. What the hell?
Groaning was all he got when he tried to move. His muscles ached and shook and refused to listen to his orders. Go figure, John, not even your legs are gonna listen today…tonight. Christ. What'd happened?
Flying – he'd been flying.
Was flying.
Adrenaline thrummed into his wings…arms.
He was flying.
The stars weren't pressing down, they were pressing in.
The planet? Where the hell was the planet?
"Rodney?"
OoO
"Sheppard?"
Rodney's hands stilled.
"Where the hell am I?"
"Oh, great." Rodney scowled at the others in the Jumper, needing to show someone his disgust. They, like him, were waiting on the edge of their seats, if only figuratively. "That's what I was going to ask you." Even while he talked, he motioned to Lorne to search for the source of the transmission, anything to pinpoint where Sheppard was. Rodney brought up the sensors and thought, find him.
Please.
OoO
Rodney.
The ship…it was changing…him. John only felt his body in terms of yaw and pitch. Altitude and multi-dimensional reference points. Integrating biology with technology. He had thoughts in his mind that weren't his, images of things he'd never seen before.
And jumbled in with all of that, he felt a wrongness in what should've been right.
Access to the ship had been through a small hatch on the bottom. If there was another way, Rodney hadn't been able to find it. John remembered how it'd felt, crawling inside, sliding until he lay flat. He'd stretched his arms to fix his fingers around the dual yokes on each side, pressed his feet against the rear controls that made the ship accelerate and rise.
At least, John had thought they did – he began to consider he wasn't controlling anything.
Pain.
There'd been pain, for an instant, then gone. He'd passed it off as a muscle cramp – it'd been muted and vague. Idiot, John swore, because now with his mind focused from fear, he could clearly feel the tubes running into his thighs and shoulders.
Maybe the damn thing had injected an anesthetic, something that numbed his skin, and now it was wearing off, letting him feel how screwed he was.
Crap.
"You've gotten out of worse before," he muttered.
But his eyes reflected stars he wasn't really seeing and he had a hard time imagining anything that was worse than this, because even as his mind screamed trouble, his limbs reacted like he was the ship.
He was the ship.
Sleep,
Pilot.
Sleep.
OoO
A blip on the sensors.
There was a glorious blip, and Rodney yanked the Jumper into a climb so steep the inertial dampeners groaned. "Elizabeth! I've found him; he's heading away from PX9-992, on heading delta gamma zero zero three."
"Why is he heading --"
Ronon finished Elizabeth's question, his paranoia two steps ahead. "What's out there?" The demand was thick and gruff with worry.
Teyla and Lorne shared uneasy looks.
They all knew, without Rodney being their brain, that anything doing this wasn't likely to be friendly. Alien ships didn't just snatch people with good intentions in mind. Rodney began the search on the HUD – current course, along with possible destinations –
"Oh, no."
It couldn't be.
"Rodney?"
Bitterly, he released the information on the screen, and stared at the empty space ahead.
"Asura," he announced flatly. "He's heading straight for Asura."
OoO
"Sheppard, if you can hear me, you need to turn around. Do you understand? Your current heading is taking you to Asura; turn around!"
Turn around?
He wasn't heading towards Asura – he was heading towards a sun.
John felt like he was roasting alive; sweat soaked his hair and made his clothes damp, uncomfortable. For a moment, his eyes drifted slowly shut – he saw himself, staked to the ground in a desert… Afghanistan…left to die by the heat of the day, or the cold at night.
Fighting against the hallucination, John shook his head, forcing his eyes open. That'd never happened. It never happened.
He'd been shot down, had found Holland. They'd gone the wrong way, straight into enemy hands instead of safety, and Holland had died in a Taliban camp, while Sheppard had been tied up and tortured for intel – but they'd never left him to die like that.
Not like that.
Sweating – he was sweating, because…the ship?
Sleep,
Pilot.
Pilot? How could he be the pilot when John wasn't even sure he was flying anymore.
More tendrils of cold snaked into his skin from the tubes. Tubes…there were tubes, from the ship into his body – "Pull them out, Sheppard, before it's too late!" urged Holland.
"What are you doing here?"
Because that worried him more than alien influence, fevers and tubes.
OoO
"What do you mean 'what am I doing here?'" Rodney glared at the map. Sheppard's blip was red, the Jumper, blue. The distance was narrowing, but the other ship was still out of sight. "I'm trying to rescue you, and you aren't making it exceptionally easy, Colonel."
"There's tubes stuck in me."
Teyla made an aborted sound.
Sheppard sounded weak, tired. Sick. That damn ship was doing something to him – to their friend, and all they could do was follow the leader. How far would they go? What if they couldn't catch --
"Pull 'em out, Sir." Lorne shrugged at Rodney's glare. "It's what I'd do."
"General rule in this galaxy," Rodney muttered. "Tubes from alien technology equals something bad, but just yanking them out without…without any idea of what they're doing…it might kill him."
If Sheppard pulled the tubes out, what'd happen? It was Rodney's job to know these things, but he'd only studied the ship for less than a day; in that time, he'd never seen anything remotely tubular. Probably triggered when Sheppard had activated the ship's systems.
"Maybe…okay, try to take one out, if it starts to hurt, stop."
Ronon rolled his eyes at Rodney's suggestion. Glaring, Rodney flung at the man, "You have a better idea?" Was it hot in here? God, he was sweating – nerves, he was a nervous wreck.
It was just a ship, a thing – what harm could it do?
The ship wasn't supposed to do this. Any of this. It had appeared somewhat Ancient in design, definitely some aspects were familiar, and like an idiot, he'd let the familiarity lull him into a false sense of safety.
"Never again," he promised, gripping the controls harder than necessary. His lost, angry eyes stared forward, and he repeated the promise with savage depth. "Never again."
OoO
"…try to take one out…"
Sleep, Pilot.
Sleep.
"Sheppard, damn it, answer me! We didn't follow you all this way for you to take a nap on us; wake up!"
Nap?
John tried to shake off the creeping ivy of lethargy stealing over his limbs and thoughts. His fingers weren't gripping the yokes; his feet rested against the pedal controls, not pushing.
He wasn't in control.
He wasn't flying anymore.
The tubes…pull the tubes.
How?
The cockpit fit him like a glove; there wasn't exactly room to move around. It only struck him now how coffin-like the design was. Still – "Son of a bitch!" He'd pulled his hand towards his body, not even realizing he was doing it, until it tugged against the tube. A blinding flash of pain hit him, so intense there was no mistaking it for a cramp, and he felt the tube retract wetly.
His arm was now pushed against his thigh, his body tilted up at an angle in the small, confining space.
"Got…one…out," he grunted.
"Try another, then."
Another? God.
John let his head rest against the cool metal. Just getting one arm free had taken enough out of him. He wasn't sure he had anything left.
Pilot…
Sleep.
Must sleep!
OoO
The red blip slowed, drifted.
Lorne looked sideways at Rodney. "Now what?"
"Why is everyone always asking me that?" Rodney was already two thoughts ahead and when Lorne began to open his mouth, Rodney's index finger snapped up. "Don't answer that."
"How are we going to get John from that ship?"
"Good question." Rodney swiveled in his seat and looked bleakly at Teyla. "I'm open to suggestions."
"Rodney…it's ah…it's getting a…a little cold…in here."
There weren't any answers in Ronon's pissed face, or Teyla's helpless one. Rodney turned back to the front, and focused on what he did best: solve the unsolvable. Because if he didn't… God, was it hot in here?
OoO
Two tubes free, both shoulders, but now his hands were flat against his thighs instead of on the controls, and he felt sicker than before.
John almost wanted the tubes back; without them, the temperature in the ship was falling.
Falling fast.
He was sweating and shivering, and beginning to consider somewhere in the haze that comes and goes, that he wasn't getting out of this alive. There were worse ways to go. The only downside was that he was alone; that part sucked.
Nobody wanted to die alone.
A radio was a poor substitute for being surrounded by the ones you love.
"I always told you that reckless streak was going to get you killed."
"Holland? What're you doing back here?" John could think of a hundred different hallucinations he'd rather have.
It's funny.
John wasn't stretched prone in an alien ship anymore. He was sitting next to a broken and beaten friend, his back against a Russian helicopter, in the harsh and merciless Afghani desert.
Where were the clear blue waters and pure white sand? Soft, comforting shore breezes, a lounge chair, and a coconut drink with a straw? If he was going to hallucinate, Sheppard wanted something relaxing and peaceful.
Not this beige crap that stretched on for miles, only broken by shrubs and bad guys.
"You tell me; personally, if you're gonna hallucinate me, you could at least have the decency to heal my leg."
John snorted. "You think I'm controlling this?"
"Yes, Sheppard, I do, now concentrate, damn it! There's a planet off your starboard side, heading delta beta zero four, I repeat, you need to change your course for delta beta zero four."
Holland watched him, enigmatic. Finally, he said, "You should probably listen to him."
"I should fix you first." If he couldn't save Holland the first time, why not now? It wasn't like John was going anywhere.
Holland's hand wrenched John's wrist, pulling John closer. "No, Sheppard, you listen to me, and you actually do it this time – I'm dead, and we both know it. Listen to your friend; he's trying to save your life. Don't be stupid this time. Save yourself."
John stared at Holland, torn. "I don't leave people behind."
In the span between them, they breathed, and their eyes talked about their torment. In the distance, the whine of a Jeep engine signaled the ending they both knew was coming. The battered face trembled, furious. "You didn't. God damn it, John, you didn't – now get your ass out of here before you die this time!"
"Sheppard – you son of a bitch, listen to me! I am not going to lose you like this, change your heading, now!"
He tried to make sense of it all. He really tried. Damn it, why was his head hurting so much?
Pilot.
Ill.
Connect.
With.
Me.
Help.
John scrunched his eyes shut; God, he was tired.
Holland and Rodney's voices merged in a single plea, "Listen to me!"
When his eyes snapped open, he was staring again at the bleak inside view of his situation.
Fly.
John had to fly.
In order to save himself, he had to do what he did best.
He was afraid of the tubes, but before, he'd had some control for a while. Euphoric, lost in the sensations, but he'd had momentary control. John grunted through the effort of bringing one arm at a time back into position, grabbing the yokes. Two numb spots returned in his shoulders, and the voice in head was stronger, along with a flood of warmth.
A feeling of relief spread through his mind and he knew it came from the ship. The alien flyer that was connecting fully again with him.
Sleep, Pilot.
Sleep.
Better.
This way.
"Not this time," John vowed. He concentrated, forced his way past the pain, and directed the new heading.
Course change;
Heading delta beta zero four.
Conflict.
Override.
Heading.
Delta gamma zero zero three.
Must.
Go.
Pilot, sleep.
Awaiting .
Further.
Command, Pilot.
The alien flyer had awareness. It touched John's mind, his thoughts. Tried to caress him into sleeping, even while projecting confusion, conflict.
"What are you?"
Pain exploded in his head. Images of space. Then panic and fear flooded through John's limbic system. It wasn't him – it was the ship! Pain. John groaned from it. The pain rocked him, blasted his thoughts. Then, an image took shape, stronger than any other.
Nanites.
Thousands of thousands; the ship was riddled with them.
More pain. His body was racked in waves of it.
Nanites.
The ship wanted him to sleep. To spare him the pain the nanites were causing, but if he slept, they'd continue to compel the ship to Asura. They would keep the ship doing what they wanted – mindlessly obeying, because the pain if it didn't was too much.
The ship was taking John to his…death?
Likely. Probably.
The Asurans weren't looking for a dinner date.
Son of a bitch!
Pilot.
Pain.
Sleep, Pilot.
Must sleep.
The Asurans had underestimated them before – underestimated Rodney's stubborn persistence, and they'd done it again. John wasn't going to give up, and his team, hot on his six, hadn't either. He knew they were back there, knew they'd kept up with him. Rodney was talking to him, getting him to fight back, to stay awake.
This ship wasn't Asuran; hell, he knew now it wasn't even Ancient. They'd altered it, but it was still an independent machine, a being, capable of thought, and the Asurans hadn't counted on John being coherent enough to assert any control.
That's what John was banking on, at least.
He'd done something once before. Saved Elizabeth, and while he wasn't sure how, he had to try again. He touched his head to the metal, felt the hum of her. He'd sensed something when they'd been connected. A recognition of him being a part of her. She'd never flown with someone before he'd taken her up, but she was designed to have a pilot.
She wanted to have a pilot.
She needed him.
John let himself fall into her thoughts. Felt her panic, her need.
If the nanites flooded his system, she'd be free. She could turn around, get him back to his team, and let Carson deal with the aftermath. The tubes – "Let them come," John projected, mentally shouting for the ship's attention. She'd been fighting for him, trying to keep him as nanite-free as she could, but she needed to do the opposite to save them both.
They wouldn't all leave the ship's systems, but maybe John could entice enough of them into his body.
Enough to let the sentient ship regain control.
"I'm your pilot. You follow my orders."
The pause in his head was deafening.
Follow.
Pilot.
Only way,
To.
Save.
Pilot?
"Yes, it's the only way,"projected John
Hurt.
Pilot.
Sorry.
Save.
You.
You.
Save me?
"Yes, I'll save you. I promise."
He felt her reluctant capitulation.
The moment she let the nanites flood the tubes, John's back arched with the influx. He'd felt pain like this once before – when the wraith had fed on him. He'd hoped to never feel it again.
Time slowed into increments of degrees dictated by the intensity of the pain.
You.
Are.
My.
Pilot.
"Damn straight," John gritted through clenched teeth.
Through the sweat and agony, all he could coherently focus on was that it'd worked. He'd felt her realize she was free to act; free of the nanite control.
It'd worked.
Heading delta beta zero four.
OoO
Lorne leaned forward, watching as the rear of the sleek flyer thrummed blue and banked to the right. "He did it!"
Rodney maneuvered the Jumper to follow. "Yeah, well, let's just hope he can land in one piece." God knows, Rodney had his doubts about that. It wasn't like Sheppard's faculties were exactly intact. He'd called Rodney Holland.
The only reason Rodney knew anything about what that meant was because of past events he'd really rather not dwell on.
There'd been curt explanations after the disaster with the wraith device, and the only reason Rodney had gotten that much was because Sheppard had guilt.
He'd shot Rodney.
After Teyla had convinced Sheppard to pull the plug on the freaky I see dead people machine, he'd helped Carson stick bandages on Rodney's wound. Tight-lipped, he'd explained, "I thought you were someone else."
To Rodney's exasperated, "How many people do you want to shoot?" Sheppard had frowned, looked away, trouble in his eyes. Anyone else might have let it go, but this was Rodney…and Sheppard had shot him!
He'd waited, bleeding and hurting, because an explanation was the least Sheppard could do.
"I was in Afghanistan, before Antarctica; a buddy of mine went down, and I tried to rescue him." When Sheppard looked back at Rodney, the frown was gone, replaced by the typical guarded my life isn't for you expression. "Holland didn't make it."
Rodney would've asked more, pressed harder, because despite Sheppard's outward insistence of being a man with no past, Rodney knew well enough, no one got that luxury. But Carson had shaken his head at Rodney, and Teyla had called Sheppard away.
Rodney had never gotten around to asking again; probably the lack of pain kept him from fumbling blindly into dangerous ground, unlike before.
So, while Rodney was as relieved as any of them that Sheppard had managed somehow to get the ship to respond, he wasn't prepared to give in to that relief yet. This was the Pegasus Galaxy, after all – this was the origin of 'if anything can go wrong, it will' and with Sheppard's life on the balance, Rodney wasn't going to forget that.
He'd already forgotten once.
Teyla touched his shoulder, squeezed affectionately. "He will be fine, Rodney."
"Of course he will," Rodney agreed, as if he'd never had any doubt at all.
"Doc, maybe I should fly now – you can talk the colonel through his landing."
Rodney nodded irritably, standing up and letting the major slide into the pilot's seat. "I never could fly in a straight line anyway," he mumbled. They all pretended Lorne hadn't relieved him because of how badly Rodney was shaking.
OoO
John's body felt disconnected.
It wasn't him; it was her. She couldn't let him connect again, not the way she'd done before. The nanites would jump at the chance; still, something remained -- telepathic? Was the ship able to read his thoughts?
He asked to see the planet.
She flashed a brilliant blue-green image in his mind, and John knew his answer.
He tried to guide their descent, but she wouldn't let him.
She couldn't.
I.
Will.
Care.
For.
Pilot.
Rest,
Pilot.
Rest.
"What are you?" John needed to know what this ship was, what kind of being. He knew the Asurans hadn't created it; they'd altered her, he knew that, had felt it from her; infected the ship with nanites to keep her controlled, docile, her growth stunted. The Asurans knew from the time spent in his mind that flying was the one sure thing he did. They'd known how to set the perfect trap, and he'd crawled into it without a second thought.
Jumbled images of bright suns and ships like her, both large and small…baby, she was a baby, vulnerable and lost. Pain – they'd altered the ship's structure and it'd hurt. Oh, crap…pain that she didn't block from his mind. The baby was different now, changed, not like her parents anymore. Her fear and anger at what they'd done screamed into John's mind.
"They suck, I know."
Infected.
Me.
Helpless.
Pilot…saved me.
Save Pilot.
Infected.
Pilot, infected.
"I know," John panted. "Infected. It's okay – Carson and Rodney will fix me."
OoO
"Infected?" Rodney echoed. "Sheppard – what do you mean, infected?"
Of course Sheppard was infected, hence, the hallucinations…but infected implied a lot of things. Cuts could get infected.
There was infected and then there was infected… lethal contagions, airborne bacteria that dissolved your insides, and considering Rodney had stuck his head into the same place Sheppard was …
See – this is the crap that pissed Rodney off. This galaxy had to be the source of Murphy's law, and the Ancients had simply brought it along with them when they escaped to Earth.
There it was, the grand secret.
Murphy was an Ancient. With bad luck.
"I mean infected, Rodney."
Teyla's eyebrows arched. "Nanites," she spat.
It didn't take Rodney's genius to add Asura and trap to get nanites.
"Woah, there…" Lorne kept his descent in time with Sheppard's, but his face had blanched underneath the tan no one ever truly lost because of the wide-open spaces and nearly constant sunshine on Atlantis. "Didn't those almost kill Doctor Weir?"
"They didn't." Ronon gazed daringly at Lorne.
"Don't worry. The ship's got a plan."
Rodney threw his hands in the air. "Of course. The ship has a plan."
OoO
He hurtled towards the ground, falling.
Free fall.
John burned along with her.
Pilot.
Saved me.
Woke me.
They.
Corrupted.
Me.
Radiant energy.
Heat.
Pulse,
Electromagnetic forces.
Cure, Pilot.
Sleep, Pilot.
He was flying, soaring; a thousand images of a thousand flights fluttered by.
Hot.
God, he was burning up…
Thank you,
John Sheppard.
White light enveloped his senses and the last thing John heard was an image; the baby ship in a corona.
Name.
Me.
You.
Are.
My pilot;
It.
Is.
For you.
To name me.
The blinding pain made it impossible to think; the brilliant glare and the images of a sun brought the ill-fated name to his thoughts. Icarus.
I am.
Icarus.
"That's not…" Crap, the pain made him nauseous.
I.
Promise.
Not.
To fly.
Into.
Any.
Suns,
Pilot.
Sleep,
Then the light dimmed and he was falling.
Falling.
OoO
Rodney watched through the Jumper's window as the ship with Sheppard burned through the atmosphere, leading the way to the surface. The intensity flamed along the edges of the black-copper hull, blinding him from the glare. When he opened his eyes again, it was to see Lorne guiding the Jumper to the ground next to the spaceship, and watching in fascinated horror as the underside opened.
The horror part came from not knowing what to expect from an infected, hallucinating, alien-influenced Sheppard.
He heard Ronon and Teyla run for the rear of the ship, opening the hatch. Torn between the need to run with them, and waiting to see what was going to happen, he paused long enough to watch as Sheppard was gently ejected, the ship moving slightly forward even as the rest of Sheppard slumped down, and out, feet first, then his torso.
The limp body fueled the pessimistic worst-case scenarios running through Rodney's mind.
No longer able to sit and watch, Rodney swallowed back the awful taste in his mouth, and stumbled out of the ship, jogging over to where Teyla knelt, checking Sheppard's vitals.
"If he's…if it's nanites, you just…"
Screw this. "Forget it." He dropped by Teyla's side, stared at Sheppard's pallid face. Rodney probably didn't look that much better. He'd been feeling progressively worse, and had long ago given up the thought that it was just worry for Sheppard making him feel sick.
He'd had his hands in the guts of the ship before Sheppard had crawled in for his test flight. Rodney's way of thinking – they were all probably infected by now.
"You better be alive after I just spent the better part of my day chasing you through space." The rough demand would've sounded more authentic if Rodney's voice hadn't cracked halfway through.
"He is breathing," Teyla said, nodding towards the soft rise and fall of Sheppard's chest.
Rodney didn't realize his eyes had closed till he opened them again. Didn't realize he'd slumped back, until his ass hit his heels. Relief stole his breath away. An insane urge to just fall against Sheppard, to lay his head against Sheppard's chest, and feel that life… It'd been so close.
It still might be too close…for all of them.
"Move, McKay." Ronon pulled Rodney to the side and bent just enough to gather Sheppard in his arms, lifting the colonel with only a small grunt escaping from the effort.
Rodney stayed back, hesitating, as Ronon and Teyla headed back with Sheppard.
Lorne waited at the hatch, his gun aimed at the alien ship. When Ronon brushed by with Sheppard, Lorne stared irritably at Rodney. "Doc, let's go! We'll come back for the ship!"
Rodney got to his feet, fighting against the whitest sand he'd ever seen. He could still see the impression on the ground where Sheppard had lain. Water so blue it took his breath away crashed into the shore behind him, and still – it all faded to background noise.
Rodney stepped to the ship, just sitting there.
His hand stretched to touch the outside; he expected cold metal, and he touched what felt like warm, burnished seashells. It'd felt cold before.
What the hell?
Save.
You.
Him.
Images of a human body, red, then blue, blinded Rodney
Young.
Baby.
Was.
Lost.
Strong.
Now.
Pilot. Saved me.
Can save.
You.
Thanks to Pilot.
"McKay! Get in here!"
He came back to himself, time rushing in with an audible snap; Rodney felt the sticky grains of sand clinging to his palm, pressed against the hull of the ship.
Feeling burned, Rodney yanked his hand back, and stepped away.
Sheppard.
They had to get back to Atlantis, or they were all dead.
Strange, telepathic ships were probably just figments of his fevered mind.
Really.
Crap.
OoO
Holland wore a bittersweet grin. "So, guess you don't need me anymore."
John found a reason to study the sand under his desert issue boots.
"Look, you did everything you could. Just be thankful you made it out of there alive – for both of us."
The gun on his knees felt a lot heavier then he remembered. He looked away from the sand, focused on the fat sun drifting behind the horizon. "I'd do it again, you know. Even knowing how it turned out."
"I know." Holland stood. His face was untouched; his leg, healed. "Thanks," he said. "For everything."
John met his look this time. "You're welcome."
The cold of the approaching desert night began to fade, along with Holland's wry grin.
Blackness…then light.
OoO
Lorne had control of the Jumper.
Rodney gathered in the back with Teyla and Ronon; Sheppard's head pillowed on Teyla's lap. Rodney sat next to Ronon on the opposite bench, all of them quiet, unspoken worry weighting their thoughts.
Nanites. Why'd it have to be nanites again?
Why not something new, like bacteria – that was good, antibiotics could cure bacterial infections. Much better than brain-exploding nanites.
"Uh, Doc? You might want to come look at this."
"No, I don't."
He wanted to stay here, keep seeing for himself that Sheppard was still alive. But Lorne was frowning at him, then shrugging. "Okay, whatever you say, but when Doctor Weir asks why you let the alien ship follow us home, I hope you've got a good --"
Follow us home?
Rodney rolled his head; what was it with this galaxy? Oh, hell, what was it with Sheppard?
He stood, groaning against the stiff feeling in his legs. Somehow he staggered to the cockpit and hung onto the chair, peering out the window, until Lorne brought up the HUD and reminded him, "Following us, Doc. Implies a rear view."
"I knew that."
"You're not looking so good there, McKay."
Rodney's fingers dug into the chair. "I know that, too." He watched as the ship tagged close to the back of the Jumper. "Why is it --"
The HUD dropped and Lorne tensed. "Energy levels are rising in the ship. Doc --"
His fingers were already dancing on the controls before Lorne finished his sentence. Rodney studied the information, tried to think through the growing fog in his brain. The initial scans on the ship had displayed conflicting information regarding the power source. Underlying the Ancient tech, Rodney had gotten a second, muted reading that he'd passed off as a secondary, redundant system. The Ancients loved redundancy.
Now…after what he'd heard on the planet… Wonder chased away the grim hold on his face. "It's…it's alive. It's got to be! Look at the readings!" Rodney brought up a different display, the biosensors, and the blip behind them thrummed brightly on the screen.
"Doc – power's still rising…" Lorne never got nervous; he got uneasy. Rodney didn't like it when Lorne got uneasy. It was like Sheppard, and it almost always meant something bad.
"Just…wait a minute." Rodney studied the information rapidly scrolling by, reporting on power readouts that were fast becoming alarming. "Wait…this is --"
Blinding white light.
Then nothing.
OoO
"Ma'am, it was some kind of EMP blast…the Jumper's dead, McKay and Sheppard both unconscious. Dex, Teyla and myself appear…mostly unaffected."
"Tell Doctor Weir that John mentioned he was infected with nanites; perhaps the other ship's actions were an attempt at healing both the colonel and Rodney? Rodney may have been infected earlier."
"Did you get that, Ma'am? Yeah, Teyla's probably right. Look, if Doctor McKay comes to, he can get the ship running again, but it might not be a bad idea to see if Doctor Z has any ideas to pass along."
John wanted to wake up. He heard their voices, worried about Rodney, but when he swam against the warm, fuzzy blackness, all he got for the effort was increasing sparks of pain.
He tried, though.
It just wasn't good enough.
Teyla's gentle, soothing murmurs eased him back into the pain-free void.
OoO
Rodney came awake flailing; beeping rapidly increasing in tune with his heart.
"Easy, Rodney." Carson dropped into view and pulled the confining oxygen mask from his mouth. "You're safe. It's okay."
"Sheppard!"
Carson stepped to the side. "Right here. He's going to be fine."
The bed was almost near enough for Rodney to reach and touch, but his arm was swathed in a gauze bandage, keeping it tied to a board. "Carson, why is my arm tied to this…thing?" He coughed more than he demanded, but he got out what he wanted to say in the end.
Elizabeth was there, on his other side, and offered a glass of water with a straw. "Just a little," she cautioned, nodding at Carson.
There were days where this scenario would've been appreciated. Friends hovering, concern radiating from them. Bedside service, but he was foggy about how he'd gotten here, why he was even here, and Sheppard!
Rodney stole another look, dragging the straw with his face (not so subtle in his check). Pale was a compliment if you used it for Sheppard right now. The green sheets made Sheppard look sicker than Rodney's comfort zone appreciated, hence, it was the color of the sheets at fault, and not that Sheppard was really that sick.
His hair pressed against the pillows, and an oxygen mask covered half his face, the intermittent fogging giving Rodney visual proof that, at least, Sheppard was breathing steadily.
Sheppard had the same IV line and gauze-confined hand and arm.
"You were both restless, Rodney. The breaking down process, it's been uncomfortable. Your bodies are trying to excrete what they can --"
"I don't need to know that," Rodney interrupted, disgusted. He could feel the catheter, and see Sheppard's tube snaking out from under his blanket. "I must've gotten infected earlier—Teyla? Ronon?" Rodney didn't see Lorne, or the other two, so that was good, right?
"They're sleeping it off in their quarters. They had only trace levels, nothing of the sort you had, not even close to Colonel Sheppard's. His levels were extremely high, there for a while…"
Rodney saw the earlier stress lined in Carson's face. He looked like hell; haggard, five o'clock shadow, and drooping, shadowed eyes. "You look like crap, Carson."
"For the record, you need a mirror, Rodney. Considering what the colonel has put me through in the past 24 hours, it's a bloody miracle I'm on my feet at all." Waving at a passing nurse, Carson handed her a tablet Rodney just now realized was tucked against Carson's side. "Love, if Rodney holds down solids for the next hour, go ahead and start a liquid diet. If Colonel Sheppard wakes, call me." He smiled tiredly at Elizabeth. "I'm going to grab a power nap. Rodney, get some more rest. It was a close call, but Colonel Sheppard's going to be fine, and so are you."
With that, he walked away, and Rodney turned back to Elizabeth. "What'd he mean, 'what Colonel Sheppard's put me through'?"
The debate on what to say flashed across Elizabeth's face. She could be unreadable when she wanted; the fact that she wasn't right now gave Rodney hope she'd fess up without him having to pester and pick and fuss to get his way.
Still, "I'll find out eventually. Carson wants me to sleep, well, I won't. Not until you tell me what he meant."
The bed was soft, pulling promises of blissful sleep, and Rodney made the threat already knowing it was most likely empty, which made him irritated; he despised being cornered into empty threats.
She was a graceful loser. Her rueful smile twinkled across her face. "All right, Rodney. But then you sleep, promise?"
He practically snored the promise.
"Whatever that…ship…did, near as Radek can tell, it was a type of an EMP blast, or some kind of energy field that killed the nanites. In the case of the others, Carson believes the infection was in the early stages, they'd only been exposed from being in close quarters with you; their bodies handled the clean-up better than you and John. In your case, there was enough of a…" She frowned. "I'm afraid this isn't my specialty."
"Yes, yes," he snapped, impatiently. "Tired here, remember?"
"I know, I know. I'm trying, Rodney." Elizabeth manhandled the PC tablet in her lap, the one that never seemed to be far from her. "Basically, Carson said it was the volume that did you both in, the sheer amount of dead nanites was overwhelming; your bodies weren't prepared to handle the load; filtering the waste was too great of a demand. John's system had almost triple the amount, he was very sick, Rodney. Radek has been studying the ship --"
Rodney tried to sit up, but all he managed was a jerk of his head. "The ship's here?"
Her lips quirked, amused. "It followed John home."
That's it. Unbelievable!
And if Rodney's eyes hadn't already been slipping shut, he would've ranted about Sheppard's stray puppy syndrome.
OoO
He woke to Rodney sitting by his side.
Rodney, drowsing in a plastic chair, wrapped like a burrito in a pea green infirmary blanket. John wasn't sure what had the healthier shade of green – the blanket, or Rodney.
"You have stubble." It came out in a surprised accusation, soft and thick, because John was still groggy.
He would've asked how Rodney was, but John reserved outright signs of affection for only those moments preceding (or following) imminent death.
Rodney's head whipped up. "You stupid son of a bitch!"
John chuckled dryly, painfully. "Missed you, too, Rodney." Least, he was pretty sure he had. His mind was still catching up.
"I'm serious!" Rodney got up from his chair, unwrapping himself, groaning and stiff; it completely ruined the effect Rodney had hoped for. "I let you try out a ship, and you get yourself kidnapped by some…some…infected Ancient…hybrid…being…thing."
The memories trickled in, as slow and languorous as a gentle breeze on an ocean shore.
Flying.
Soaring.
He'd touched the universe.
John's body still burned from the inside.
Icarus.
"Did you know Icarus was a girl?"
Least, she was now.
Rodney snorted. "Icarus was a male figure in Greek mythology, Colonel – just because you think 'her' doesn't make it so."
He smiled at the ceiling. "You're wrong, Rodney. I felt her. I became part of her. She asked me to name her… It was…incredible."
"Just…stop that." Rodney couldn't fight off the shiver at the familiar usage.
John got why; it'd been incredible, and it'd also been dangerous. Memories continued to roll in, battering him. Memories of indescribable sensations, horrible pain, hallucinations that had seemed so vivid – he could've stepped from one world into the next and never known which one was real.
"Rodney! I told you to come and get me if Colonel Sheppard woke." Carson sidled into John's view, and he saw Ronon towering over Doc, and Teyla, gamely squeezing into his line of sight. "How d'you feel Colonel?"
"Like I've flown too close to the sun again, Doc." His skin felt dry, rough. Like his insides.
They all looked tired, worn, and the only one that didn't look like they'd slept in their clothes was Teyla. "What's --" John had a flash of worry.
Was he dying? Was he gonna burn up even though he wasn't in the ship anymore? He was still hot, tired…
"You were infected with nanites – but the…" Carson looked uneasily at Rodney. "The ship, whatever it is…it enveloped the Jumper in an energy blast of some sort. I don't completely understand how, but it killed the little buggers, just as good as when you set off the bomb over our heads before; at this point they're inert, dead – your body's had a bit of a struggle processing all of them from your blood, but it's almost over. A few more days, Colonel, and you'll feel good as new."
"Rodney?" He was the only other one in the room wearing scrubs.
"Infected, too, of course." Rodney answered before Carson. "And in any other circumstances, I'd blame you, loudly, for this fiasco…but seeing how --" Rodney waved at John, encompassing the nasal canula drying out Sheppard's nose, the clip pinching his finger, the tubes running from his arm and other areas…
John lifted his hand, tried to wave. "Thanks for the reprieve," he rasped.
Ronon snorted. "So if I want McKay off my back, I've gotta almost die?"
"I'd prefer none of you come close to dying again. If that's not too much trouble?" Carson's levity didn't make it to his eyes, and John thought his mouth was pressed a little too tightly into a thin line.
"We will do our best," Teyla promised. She dipped her head warmly towards Carson. "Won't we, Ronon?"
"Sure, whatever."
Rodney drooped, rewrapped himself, and forgoing the chair, stumbled back to the bed next to John's. "I'll note it in my agenda," he said, falling tiredly on the mattress.
John stared for a moment more.
He was exhausted.
Hot.
A part of him felt like he could sleep forever.
"We'll let you get some more rest, son." Carson patted his shoulder in his affectionate, doctor-way before leaving.
"John." Teyla leaned in and touched her forehead to his. "Please, do not do that again."
Flying.
He grinned, because what he'd felt – it'd been worth it. A hundred times over.
She pulled away, only to be replaced with Ronon. "I'd pick you up, and throw you around, but --"
John nodded knowingly. "Carson'd be pissed."
"Yeah, so --"
"See you later."
"Right." Ronon knocked a fist against his palm, and stepped away. "Hey, I'll eat your pudding for you tonight."
"Great. Wouldn't want to think it'd go to waste." 'Course, they could have brought it to him. He tried not to look too resentful.
Then it was just him and Rodney again, staring at each other across the short span between beds.
Rodney thought John looked like a warmed up corpse.
John guessed Rodney had been up for three days straight.
"Look, it wasn't my fault."
"I can't believe you can even find love in a spaceship."
They spoke in unison and stared owlishly at each other.
"Rodney, listen – it was a trap, but that ship…she was just as much a victim as I was. We've got to help her."
"I'm sorry, do I look like Scotty?"
John stared sadly at Rodney.
He only lasted about .8 seconds…
"Oh, fine, fine! I don't know what you expect me to do, but I'll try."
"Thanks, Rodney. I'm not asking for a miracle --"
Rodney burrowed his head inside his blanket. "Yes, you are."
John chuckled, fatigue swamping him. Yeah. He was.
But that was only because it was Rodney.
Together, they made miracles every other day.
OoO
Elizabeth frowned across the briefing room. "Let me get this straight. This ship is sentient --"
"Telepathic, even, though we're not sure if that's normal or due to the Asurans' alterations," Rodney supplied, tapping the table in time to his explanation. "The ship, from what we can tell, was kidnapped from another galaxy, brought here where the Asurans --"
"Butchered her," John interjected, angrily.
She nodded tightly. "And have you made any progress in reversing the damage --" Rodney wilted, "–I take it you haven't?"
"Elizabeth, I barely know how the ship even exists as it is – it's organic, but completely different than wraith technology. Think of one as bioelectronics while the other, it's a complete lifeform, like you or I, but instead of skin and bones, it has a hull, and instead of blood, it's got this liquid it calls amnexus fluid." Rodney's glance slid to John. "If anything, it needs a vet, not a physicist."
Her eyebrow rose. "We seem to be in short supply of those. What about Carson, has he tried to examine --"
"It's a little big for the diagnostic bed, don't you think?"
"Rodney, I'm trying to help." Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and regarded John. "Have you talked with…Icarus…yet?"
John had been released that morning; he'd gone to see Icarus before going anywhere else. Rodney had kept him updated while he'd been stuck in bed…updated with nothing, because Icarus wouldn't let anyone inside, and like Rodney pointed out, it wasn't like they could pick up the ship and carry it to the infirmary.
He tapped the table with his fingers. "She wants to be left alone." Saying it out loud didn't change how it made him feel. John was angry for Icarus. He wanted to help her, but the ship was proving just as stubborn as someone else he knew. "She wants to go home, Elizabeth." He didn't say that she wanted John to go with her.
"I see."
"Then maybe you should let her." Rodney pushed the tablet with the information gathered on Icarus to the side. It was useless, anyway. "The Asurans kidnapped, infected, and altered her genetic code and structure…then planted her for the Laufians to find; all they left off was the pretty bow and nametag, To Sheppard, From Bad Guys. Maybe she just wants you to help her leave. This isn't a pet, Sheppard, it's a sentient ship, and it belongs --"
"I know where it belongs, Rodney."
John drummed harder.
"Right. Of course you do." Rodney looked away, swallowed.
John felt like an ass. Rodney was just as frustrated as he was – he'd wanted to help Icarus, but there wasn't anything they could do.
Except let her go, if she would, but right now, Icarus was waiting for John.
Her pilot.
"Talk to her, John. Tell her…" Elizabeth drew in a deep breath; her eyes lingered on him. She smiled, and it was reminiscent of all the times she'd visited him in the infirmary; times where he'd stayed alive by a miracle, and the skin of his teeth, and sometimes, even a lot less. "Tell her thank you."
OoO
John leaned his head against her hull, pressed his hands against the smooth warmth of her skin.
Pilot.
Stay.
With.
Me.
Fly.
With me.
"I can't." A part of him…the part that remembered what it'd felt like…it wanted to say yes, but that wasn't his life. He had a job, responsibilities. He wasn't free to shove it to the side, to give Icarus what she needed. "You've got to find another pilot. Look, I'll help, we can figure something out."
Have.
Pilot.
"No, you don't," he argued. "Come on, don't make this harder than it has to be." John closed his eyes and felt his body change; images of flight, and time, speeding through space, and something…something he didn't understand…something she'd kept away from the nanites, and John. "What is that?"
Starburst.
Used it.
To.
Heal you.
Incomplete.
Field.
Would.
You.
Like.
To.
Feel?
Energy tingled in his fingers.
"No, he wouldn't."
John straightened and looked to his right, surprised to see Rodney, his hand splayed flat against the ship. Grim-faced, sober and angry.
"I wasn't --"
"Yes, you were."
You.
Are.
His.
Pilot.
Rodney's gaze held John's. "He is."
Before John could think of something to say, a thrum started deep in his gut. "Icarus?"
Rodney
McKay,
Not
Alone.
Gave me
Pilot, for time.
John
Sheppard
Always
With
Me.
"Get back!" Rodney shouted over the rising din of the ship's engines.
John shook his head, stared dumbly at what was happening.
He hadn't even gotten time to try and convince her there were options, things. But even while John's mind spun ideas, his clothes were flattened and buffeted by the backwash of Icarus' engines.
She was gonna leave. Just like that, and all John could think about was loss; his and hers. This wasn't the fairytale, happy ending he'd hoped to give the ship. This wasn't finding her a new pilot, and waving them on their merry way, even while John knew he would've been green with jealousy. This wasn't, 'Come back and visit, soon.'
This was permanent.
And it sucked.
Remember
Me;
You.
Are.
Home.
We.
Belong.
Other.
Places.
Images of suns, and other ships like Icarus, but bigger…hundreds of times bigger, flashed through his mind. Icarus, as a baby, swooping around her mother, playing with other ships; free. Overwhelming feelings and memories that weren't his.
John staggered back when Rodney yanked him away from Icarus.
Wind whipped water up around them, sending salt water into their faces. By the time John opened his eyes again, the ship was rising above, fading fast into the sky above.
She was going.
Damn.
All the options he'd thought might work, they'd slipped through his fingers, grains of brilliant white sand that just didn't belong.
Maybe another pilot wouldn't have worked, maybe if she'd gone back to Earth, she would've been confined, held captive for study…
But maybe, if she'd stayed, John could've flown with her again. Found a reason and a way; maybe he could've shared Atlantis with her, and the Pegasus Galaxy. Maybe, "It didn't have to end like this."
Rodney's fists released John's jacket. He stepped backwards, regretful. "You're wrong. It's the only way it could've ended."
Maybe Rodney was right.
Moments later, it didn't even matter, because Icarus was gone; not even a speck left to see. Rodney hadn't left, though. He stayed, standing next to John, not saying anything else, just waiting.
The ship had given John something; memories of flying; rushing through the vacuum of space, darting around sun's without getting burnt. He had memories of places he'd never see, of flying free and wild, memories that no other ship could give him, and all he'd given her in return was a refusal.
He couldn't be her pilot, and that was all she'd wanted.
That thing about miracles every other day?
The off days could be a real bitch.
The End.