A/N - I really probably shouldn't be taking this tale quite so lightly, especially since I just literally whumped the snot out of Sheppard, but sometimes angst should be tempered with humor, right? Right? Of, course, right! Or - if you don't laugh, you'll cry… Oh, as for the delay in posting - ego me absolvo. Yeah. :-D
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Meredith Rodney McKay stood proud and fierce. Nobel Prize, be damned - this would be his finest hour. Mother McKay would balk at the state of him, positively turn in her urn. He was covered in filth, and it wasn't even his own! Oh, the irony.
"You. Offworlder. Start with your name."
My name…
Rodney thrust his chin even higher, giving himself a deliberate underbite as his lower jaw extended beyond his upper. He threw in a Clint Eastwood glower for good measure, and a deep, noisy inhalation through his nose.
"Squarepants," he declared on the outbreath. "Spongebob. Squarepants. I hereby swear that I will never give in to your demands even under pain of hideous, agonizing torture. I swear to you that from this day forward, I shall do my utmost to thwart your dastardly attempts to - "
Rodney mentally snapped his fingers and fumbled through his internal thesaurus slash dictionary dot com for the perfect words for his soon-to-be eminently quotable swan song. Goodbye, cruel world, or rather, cruel galaxy didn't quite cut it. As they flexed their muscles, he fought the compulsion to scrunch up his eyes, and cringe. He permitted himself some rapid blinking in time with his heart rate. Maldar mirrored his inane blinking, his face beetroot with fury. Rodney thought the man might just bust a blood vessel, and he managed a wicked smirk. Maldar Aneurisms'R'Us might well have misinterpreted his reaction as one of utter defiance, for he cursed under his breath, clenched his fists before him in exasperation. He looked like a driver with road rage clutching a steering wheel, and the ludicrous image only made Rodney smirk all the more.
"Enough!" screeched Maldar. "I see that you, too, will be hard to break. Take him away. We'll start again at daybreak."
"What about Squidward?" It came out more like Shquidward. "You can't leave him here!"
A sweaty goon kicked Sheppard over onto his back, and waited for a reaction. Sheppard flopped lifelessly, his one splayed hand smacking dully against the concrete floor. "This one's dead."
"Dead? Nonononono, he can't be! He's never dead. Feel for a pulse!"
"Garrek, fetch your mother's looking glass, and be quick about it."
"Feel for a pulse! Looking glass? You want to check if he's still breathing? Oh, my god, are you all frigging nuts? Feel! For! A! Pulse!"
"Get him out of here."
Rodney couldn't believe it. They were too exhausted from beating Sheppard to start whacking him in his stead. That was the only reason they didn't continue with the interrogation. They had clearly worked up a sweat and a thirst, and had to hit the bar.
"Damn you! You vindictive bastards! Let me help him! He's not dead! He's never dead! He's never dead! Noooo!"
Rodney was dragged away kicking and screaming. His lashed out, bare feet aiming for sensitive areas, but he missed every time and accomplished nothing more than raising a guffaw or two at his own expense. He could see two goons hauling a still unresponsive Sheppard, and loading him onto a clapped-out wagon. Where were they taking him? He tried to twist his body around, but then turned his head in his best owl impression.
Rodney was thrown through the door of their prison. No, his prison. He was alone. It had come to the thing he dreaded most. Loneliness. Solitary confinement. After five whole years of actual human company rather than feline, he was not ready to let go. He would rather die. Then it dawned on him; he'd let Sheppard down. He had only bought time for himself. Time-out, time alone, to ponder on the error of his ways.
Despair overwhelmed him. He broke down and sobbed, his arms wrapped around his midriff in a semblance of comfort. After several minutes rocking and wallowing in self pity, Rodney decided to reprimand himself as there was no-one else around to do it for him.
Snap out of it, McKay! You're not helping any! You are not screwed! Repeat - not screwed!
He scrabbled into a kneeling position. He scrubbed his face and rubbed his eyes, then found himself wringing his hands. Since he was already on his knees, he saw fit to pray, but to whom? To what? To his 'insert in-vogue deity of choice here'? Rodney felt like misery personified. Which as always might yet work in his favor…
Please, whoever or whatever you are, I - he began as he wiped away tears.
It was, of course, just then that a bunch of marines chose to burst through the door, followed by Ronon and - oh, happy day! - Carson. And Rodney instantly put it down to serendipity.
"Good Lord, Rodney… the state of you… " Carson cried.
"Never mind me. I'm - good." Damn you, Sheppard. You're rubbing off on me. Sheppard… John...
"Sheppard! Find Sheppard! They took him away! They say he's dead, Carson, but - he can't be! This is Sheppard we're talking about. He doesn't die! He's too stubborn to die!"
"Where is he, then, Rodney? Where did they take him? Our life signs detectors don't bloody work here!"
"I don't know! Look for a rickety wagon with one loose wheel… " Rodney's vision grayed. "Watch out for the bad guys!"
"Major Lorne is taking care of business," Carson stated. As if on cue, gunfire started up in the distance. "Lie down, Rodney, before you fall down. Let me check you for injuries, there's a good lad."
"There's nothing wrong with me. They didn't touch me," Rodney whispered. "Just Sheppard. I only saw him - afterwards. Every day for four days. Then, they made me watch. And I was next!"
Visions of Sheppard's poor condition as he last saw him sent Rodney crashing to the floor, his heart thumping.
"I even got used to it! Made light of it! How sick is that?"
Rodney felt hands easing him down, and realized he was flat on his back, and gazing skywards through the thatched roof. He fought an overwhelming urge to rest, to bow out, to be caressed by the gentle, dry warmth of sunbeams, to squeeze his eyes shut and imagine himself on a beach surrounded by blonde bombshells in skimpy bikinis. He longed to hear the sound of lapping waves, but the only sounds he could hear were of Sheppard whimpering and a small boy sobbing.
''Garrek! There's a boy… "
"Settle, Rodney. I'm sure your mission report can keep a wee while longer."
"This one? I caught him skulking around outside," Ronon growled.
Garrek was grinning broadly at being waved about by the back of his shirt.
"Yes! You can drop him now. No, not literally. Good grief. Garrek, can you help find my friend? The man with dark, messy hair?" Rodney's voice faltered. "He's covered in - " dirt and blood. Rodney couldn't go on.
"Pretty lady," Garrek said simply, and he held out a crumpled piece of paper.
Rodney snatched it from his outstretched hand, and read, his hands shaking.
"Teyla has him! He's still alive!"
"Which way?" Ronon asked. Garrek pointed, and Ronon took off, followed by Carson. Two marines helped Rodney up and he soon caught up with Carson, who had been slowed down by the burden of his medical kit. Garrek kept a few paces ahead, turning to beckon them occasionally, nodding encouragingly as they wheezed and puffed, struggling to reach Sheppard in time. Sounds of gunfire became more sporadic, then ceased entirely. A good sign, Rodney told himself.
Five long minutes later, Rodney spied three figures in the distance. One crouching, one pacing and one prone. There was no mistaking Ronon's silhouette. His hair flicked about his head like an irate octopus as he stormed up and down near the other two figures. As they got nearer, Rodney could see Teyla holding a writhing, bloodied figure. Sheppard. She was rocking him and shooing flies from his body, batting them away furiously to stop them settling on him.
"Oh, dear Lord… How did you find him, love?" Carson cried as he rushed towards them.
"This kind little boy guided me," Teyla answered in an agitated voice. She proffered a weak smile.
Carson knelt down next to Sheppard and began to rummage in his medical kit. "Where was he?"
"Dumped. On a trash heap… down there."
She nodded in the direction of the disused swimming pool they had spotted upon their arrival.
"He must have somehow hauled himself up the ladder. Another thing - instead of trying to get away, he was trying to crawl back."
Teyla's steady voice finally cracked. She nodded again towards a muddy trail and disturbed vegetation.
"I see you're holding him. You didn't move him, did you, love?"
"I would not do so. He was agitated. I had to keep him still. He fights me even now."
Sheppard was feebly gouging his heels into the dirt and clawing at the ground.
"Carson? Can you… come get me?" Sheppard was straining to raise his head and open his eyes, but failed in both. He was almost black with flies, dirt, bruising and old, dried blood.
Rodney winced in either disgust or pity. He couldn't quite decide which.
"I'm right here, John," Carson offered in a soothing tone." Oh, dear Lord," he added under his breath.
"I need you… to find me. I have to find... McKay… " Sheppard flailed his bloodied right hand like a blind man, and finally found purchase on Carson's tac vest. Sheppard shook it weakly.
"John, settle down now. I need to check your injuries. Can you hold still for me?"
"McKay! I - lost him. I'm supposed to… keep him safe, but - they… took me… away from him."
Rodney watched Carson as he palpated a squirming, disoriented John from head to toe. Carson sighed with relief then nodded towards Rodney.
"Nothing broken. Small mercies," he mumbled. Carson then checked methodically for internal injuries, and sighed once more, permitting himself a fleeting smile. Rodney surmised that most of the damage to Sheppard's body was external. Small mercies, indeed.
"How did you ever get this far, son… " Carson whispered as he glanced towards the trash heap. Rodney glanced over too. Some fifty yards, plus the climb. Only Sheppard…
"Crawled… on my front… Not so bad… on my front… Have to find - "
"Rodney? He's right here. Safe. In fact, he's in remarkably good health. Most likely thanks to you, I dare say. He's just tired and stressed out, but he still has a voice. Say something to him, Rodney, for pity's sake."
"I… will… just let me… catch… my breath."
"No," Sheppard rasped.
"What do you mean by 'no', son?"
"He took care of me. I wouldn't be here if - "Sheppard tried to lever himself upright using an elbow, but it slipped from under him in the mud. "McKay! I don't know where - "Sheppard began to flail, and look about him, wild eyed.
"I'm… right here, John. Safe… and sound. They… didn't touch me," he gulped. At that, all tension appeared to leech out of John Sheppard's battered body. A smile ghosted across his face, and he succumbed once more to oblivion.
"It'll take us some considerable time to get back to where we parked the 'jumper," began Carson. "It's pretty obvious that the colonel has lost a great deal of blood. As I am sure you are all aware, there is also a risk of infection. I need to treat him here, stabilize him. Och." Carson flashed Garrek a dimpled smile. "Could you please show us a clean, friendly home, lad?"
"Huh yuh. Come."
Sheppard was loaded onto a stretcher, and Garrek led the way, beckoning them once more as he skipped towards an imposing log cabin, turning occasionally to make sure they were following him. Rodney prayed the boy understood the concept of friendly. He watched Sheppard's head bounce against the handles of the stretcher, and glared at the bearers.
"You! Grunts! Could you try to glide a bit? That's not a trampoline! You're banging him around!" Rodney winced at each jolt.
"R-Rodney… "
"I'm still here. Not going anywhere. In fact, the gang's all here."
Tey… la? 'N' Ro… n'nnh?"
"Yep. Here," growled Ronon, as he grabbed a stretcher handle to help steady it over rough terrain. Teyla ran alongside, holding Sheppard's hand. She glanced down at him frequently, as if to check that he was really there. Rodney found himself doing the same.
"What did they do this for anyway, McKay? What did they want from Sheppard?" Ronon asked with a frown.
"They wanted him to activate something bigger and scarier than the pear thingy, but I never found out what."
I never bothered to find out…
"The clue is in the pear. Thingy. I believe it to be the base ingredient in their - moonshine, is it?"
"Sheppard called it rotgut. That stuff is lethal. But - what would I know... "
"Noooo… r'tg't… "
"Colonel Sheppard? Do not worry. None of us intends to drink it."
"No. Rot. Gut. C4."
"Blow something up?"
"Still..."
"Still what? Still here? Still - " Rodney stopped prattling at a glare from Ronon.
"John? What is it you wish us to do?"
"Blow. Still." Sheppard's voice was barely beyond a wheeze.
"On it." With that, Ronon took off once more.
"What, you understand what he's on about? He's slurring! He's not coherent! Barely even grammatical! Even his syntax is out of kilter. Still blow what?"
Teyla rolled her eyes, and Rodney found his position slipping from bosom buddy to being the odd one out. Again. He let Grunt One, Grunt Two and Teyla run ahead with their precious cargo, and noticed that their pace was steady, synchronized and smooth. It probably had been all along, though he had seen fit to challenge them, voice his superior assessment, flaunt his superior knowledge - bare his inferiority complex. He wasn't in with the in-crowd. Not really. As one, Teyla et al nimbly and purposefully sidestepped potholes and branches and other barely discernible obstacles. Rodney's mind flew to childhood visits to the Chinese quarter of Toronto. Chinese New Year and in-sync Chinese dragons. Rodney stopped to catch his breath, and as he rested his hands on his knees, he felt his shoulders slump in resignation. So be it, he thought, as he watched them vanish like a leaf on a zephyr, abandoning him to the unhealthy recesses of his own rampaging mind.
Meredith Rodney McKay was an interloper.
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