oOo

Ch 7 Rain

Rodney

There was a thumping... a pulse that filled his mind; his heart was beating loudly, blood rushing, pounding in his ears. He stuggled upwards through thick layers of fluff, and opened his eyes to a strange sight.

The clear view of the darkening and star filled sky, was gone. Now, it was starless, lit only by the beam of a flashlight reflecting off a myriad of raindrops that were falling steadily. Cutting into his view, was the outline of an unfurled navy blue umbrella, and the neck, chin and nose, of John Sheppard.

It took a second or two, but he put the pieces together; night had fallen, it had started raining, Rodney's head was lying in Sheppard's lap and he was holding the umbrella over both their heads. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his flashlight in John's other hand, resting on his knee, casting a diagonal beam across Rodney's field of vision.

He was warm... at least, his head and shoulders were. The rest of him, stretching out into the rain, was cold and senseless for the most part, a fact that had him a little worried.

There was a pressure, too, down in his belly. The crazy part was, it was making it hard to breathe; the pressure reached as far as his ribs and was creeping up. He felt as if he had the worst case of gas ever - and he'd had some doozies, the remembrance of which made him want to giggle.

So, he had been skewered, as Sheppard very nicely put it. Didn't hurt much... just aching a little... and tight. My God, was he about to explode? Now that would be messy...

He suddenly realised that John was speaking, and had been for a while probably, his chin moving as his lips formed words that Rodney strained to hear. The rain drops rattled loudly on the umbrella, and all around there was the hiss of the rain hitting leaf and tree.

Was he talking to Atlantis? Maybe he was telling them not to hurry...that it was too late. Rodney's mind was woolly and his head vibrated sickeningly, but he realised only too well that he was in trouble. He felt weak, sick and dizzy; blood loss, he supposed. Had John managed to staunch the bleeding from his recent skewering? Of course he had, he assured himself. He tried to relax, knowing that however black things looked, Sheppard would get him home.

Words split off from the rain drops and pattered into his head...

"... and that was when I saw the jacket. You had me worried right then, McKay. Thought it was you, and I didn't...

Then they died away again, and all he could hear was the hard pelt of water all around, and he saw John's lips moving soundlessly above him.

The pattern of the sparkly drops dancing in the light was mesmerising.

Some fast... some slow; the heavy, fat drops that collected and fell from the points of the umbrella, fell slowly, but glittered even more brightly...

"McKay..?"

A large, long face hung above his, upside down, startling him.

"You awake?"

"How long... asleep?"

He heard a low chuckle,

"About five minutes, Rodney - just a power nap, I guess."

Only five minutes? It felt so much longer, and he felt so much worse.

"So, do you always carry an umbrella on missions? Or is it only when you've just washed your hair?", said John, and Rodney could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Oh... hardie ha-h..." but he couldn't get it out, because a tickle lodged itself at the back of his throat... he gasped and twitched his head up, about to cough.

"No, McKay..."

The beam of light disappeared. Suddenly there was a bottle at his lips and a hand under his head. The tickle was chased off by the coolness of the water, and Sheppard's steady, comforting voice:

"That's it... easy now... still, keep still."

His head was laid gently down, and Rodney blinked away the mist that had gathered in his eyes.

John had the umbrella caught between his shoulder and neck, his head almost held horizontal. He'd dropped the flash light a minute ago, but now McKay watched as he scooped it back up and directed it beneath the blankets. Was he checking the dressing? It was odd though... he couldn't really feel the bulkiness of a dressing. But then, of course, he couldn't feel much of anything down there.

Nevertheless, he was puzzled... something didn't feel right.

"What... is this? No c-coughing... no puking... what c-can I do?", he croaked, indignantly.

John let the blanket rustle back in place, dropped the flash light and turned away as if unable to meet his eyes.

Was it worse than just a skewering?

What could be worse than being skewered?, he thought.

"What else...? What else is wrong?", he asked, suddenly sure that something important was being kept from him.

"Look", and John let out a huge sigh, "You mustn't move... you got stuck by a piece of metal, and the thing is... it's still in there, Rodney"

So that was it... no wonder he lay where he had dropped, no wonder sharp movements were out, no wonder he couldn't feel a dressing - 'cos they hadn't been able to use one.

"Oh, God...", horror gripped him... horror that something murderous was still inside him, and that the safety he'd felt minutes earlier, had been snatched away.

He felt cool hands frame his face... cool, steady hands.

"Rodney look at me... it's going to be okay... Beckett's coming. You just have to be still is all, understand?", Sheppard's voice was soothing, but firm.

He felt paralysed by fear - no chance he'd be moving any time soon.

"Come on, McKay... focus. Tell me about the first guy. The old guy... remember?", he coaxed, softly. He was again clutching the umbrella with one hand, the other was still laid lightly against Rodney's cheek.

Rodney looked up blankly. The words had gone in, they'd even been understood, but all he could think about, was how good that hand felt, how much better he felt with it there, and that he didn't want it to move.

He felt suddenly - horribly - emotional... after everything that had happened, the people he'd encountered, his injury, John finding him... he was spent, he had no more stoicism to employ. He wanted to cling to Sheppard's hand and bawl like a child. He was admitting to himself that he could very well die here, and he felt his throat choke him and his lip wobble.

Sheppard's face loomed very near...

"Rodney... it's alright...", and as McKay's eyes squeezed shut, he was aware of the hand sweep up his cheek and come around, to lie solidly against his forehead, where the thump of pain was now incessant.

It was strange, but John seemed to know exactly what he was thinking:

"This isn't how it ends. Trust me... okay? Now, tell me... who was he...?"

Somehow, the even tone of Sheppard's voice and the absolute confidence it inspired, the closeness of another human being, and most of all, the presence of that hand, calmed him and he found himself thinking back to the events of the day... to the stone built office... to the wizened but happy face of Volio.

"H-he was my guide..."

"You bandaged him up pretty good. Carson would be proud..."

As he spoke, John's hand moved slightly, back and forth, back and forth...

"You know, you left a trail - a child could have followed it."

... his fingers rubbed at the pressure in McKay's temples...

"Huh?"

Rodney was finding it hard to think, something that should have terrified him but, oddly, he didn't really care.

Sheppard was balancing the umbrella again and withdrew his hand. The water bottle was brought to Rodney's lips. He had little strength left, and even drinking was exhausting.

John went on...

"Well... bandages, a water bottle, your lucky ruler, an epi-pen and your uniform jacket."

For a second or two, Rodney felt cool, searching fingers curl beneath his jaw.

I wonder what that tells him? he thought.

That I'm slowly bleeding to death and there's nothing anyone can do about it, he answered himself.

Once again the voice led him on...

"Okay, so... the ruler?"

"A doctor... s-surgeon" , and in his head he was back there, kneeling on dirty ground, feeling the bones shift and finally lock.

Sheppard's hand was resting now on his neck, and Rodney imagined his pulse beating doggedly against those fingers.

"I talked to him. He said you fixed his arm... nice going, McKay. How about the epi-pen?"

"A woman... asthma... suff-suff- suffocating...", and Rodney, at that moment, felt like he was, leaving him gasping and struggling for breath.

"Take it easy... you're okay"

The hand was back, smoothing across his forehead, focussing him, keeping him afloat.

"My turn to talk, now, McKay... you just listen..."

Rodney felt his breathing slow and he blinked his eyes open. The hand was whisked away again. There was a click, whoosh and the umbrella was gone. He looked up to a clear, dark sky filled with stars.

The rain had stopped.

oOo

"I saw your jacket... thought it was you at first."

The umbrella lay on the ground, it's job done. Rodney was holding the flash light now - well, not really holding; John had wrapped the senseless fingers of his left hand around it - as Sheppard poked at the fire with a blackened branch.

"You did?", he asked breathlessly. His breathing had worsened and he knew he probably shouldn't be talking.

"Yeah..."

"I was... too late"

"You did what you could." said Sheppard, his voice carefully neutral.

The despondency of that moment when the man had breathed his last breath, came back to McKay, and it stung.

"I just wanted... to save him... I wish I could have saved him..."

John gave him a strange look, but said nothing.

Rodney watched him lean over, pick up another bundle of sticks and toss them onto the fire. Sparks erupted and flew upwards, illuminating his face and showing it to be thoughtful and sombre.

"It's my job to protect people. I'm usually pretty good at it, actually. But once you start it's hard to stop. It's the best feeling... to save a life. It's a high, no doubt about it. Maybe it gets to be an addiction... once you start making a difference, you feel invincible - like you can save everyone. But you and I both know you really can't do that, and so every life you lose or see lost, is more bitter, more intolerable."

He dropped his head and looked at Rodney now, and a smile twisted his mouth.

"You did good today, Rodney, you should be proud. You helped save three lives... and you made sure that a stranger didn't have to die alone..."

"...you're a hero."

Indignation sparked in Rodney.

"Don't make f-fun of me...", he said quickly, and it sounded pathetically weak to his ears: he would have snapped the words at Sheppard, if a bloodless husk could have snapped.

But when he saw John's serious face, he realised that the man had been in earnest.

"I'm not. Believe me... I'm not.", Sheppard said quietly, leaning over and wiping at the cold sweat on Rodney's brow with a scrap of bandage.

As the colonel checked his watch for the umpteenth time, Rodney saw Sheppard's head suddenly snap up. He raised the index finger of his right hand and a slow smile crept across his face.

"Listen...", he said, ".. they're here..."

oOo

TBC and sorry for my apparent personal fixation with hands...! All my fics seem to feature them in a big way. Maybe one day I should write a 'Hand' series...!