Apologies for the delay in posting – hospital visits and overtime at work aren't exactly inspirational. But enough of that! No more moping, woman! You've a story to write and plot holes to fill in!
Thank you for all the well wishes; I'm still one-handed, but what the hell.
Also, I think that there's some kind of cosmic karma thing going on, seeing as how it's my left wrist that's busted – just like a certain physicist. Hmm… maybe someone's trying to tell me something…
(Rodney chuckles with evil glee as he discovers that his nefarious revenge plot on one of the many authors who enjoys inflicting ridiculous amounts of pain on him has worked perfectly. Little does he know that things will get much, much worse for him in this chapter…)
*cue malevolent laughter*
Anyways, you outrageously clever people you, you've all seen through my tricks (or you read the spoiler at the start of the last chapter), so here's what happened back on the planet.
(PS: JessaLucas – I'm sorry you weren't happy with the last instalment, but please stick with me! *pouts and does puppy dog eyes, complete with little sniffles* The Atlantis gang aren't intentionally being stupid or idiotically naïve – there's a reason why they've been duped. [And as for a password – that's been explained too.] All will be revealed soon and I promise that it's not just a dodgy plot device! Just to make it up to you, here's some more John whump…)
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Chapter 14: Abandonment Issues
Three days earlier, on M8S-393…
John awoke with a start, bolting upright and instantly regretting it as the world tilted alarmingly. With a groan, he eased himself back down, breathing heavily through his nose to avoid spilling his stomach contents. As the nausea passed, he tried opening his eyes again and was relieved to find that the room had stopped its physics-defying acrobatics.
Time for a situation assessment, John…
Although he was stiff and sore, nothing felt broken and he managed the finger and toe wriggling experiment with minimal pain. His head, however, was another matter entirely; it thumped abysmally, in time with both his heart beat and the throbbing he felt in his right shoulder. He briefly wondered why the joint in question felt damp, but a memory soon surfaced that left him feeling queasy again.
Got myself shish-kabobbed, he thought, a slightly hysterical chuckle spilling from his lips. Carson'll do his nut when he sees me… He raised his left arm, intending to rub away some of the pain – and find out how bad the damage was – but frowned when his fingers brushed past something next to him. The Air Force man blinked away the residual fuzziness in front of his eyes, only to be met with a sight that made his blood run cold.
Rodney was lying in a crumpled heap next to him, unmoving. With a shaking hand, John held the appendage just in front of his friend's face… and gave a sigh of relief when he felt a small puff of air. He took a moment to assess the Canadian's injuries, but couldn't see well enough with the awkward angle. Knowing that he needed to manoeuvre Rodney into a better position, he scooted around to the side of his friend and braced himself.
John gingerly turned the physicist onto his back – which was not an easy task considering his own wounds – and let out a gasp.
"What the hell did they do to you, buddy?" he asked in a choked whisper. The man in front of him was a mess – a bleeding, bruised bundle that was only just recognisable. His vision began to tunnel, the burst of anger filling his ears with a deafening roar that drowned everything else out. And then a feeling of disgust settled in – disgust that it had been his twin who had inflicted such harm and suffering…
Taking a moment to regain his equilibrium, John carefully wiped the blood from Rodney's nose and mouth with a handkerchief.
The physicist jerked awake at the gentle ministrations, giving a weak cry of alarm as he saw his team-mate. He tried to push the pilot away, forgetting the broken bones in his wrist as all-out panic took over. Not again! he thought desperately, fear and adrenaline coursing through him, lending him a strength he never thought he had. He writhed under John's grip, lashing out as best he could. Nothing else mattered other than the burning need to get away, to shield himself from more hurt…
It only took John a second to realise what the problem was. ""Easy, Rodney," he said in a quiet, reassuring voice as he managed to gently pin his team-mate in place. The last thing he wanted was for Rodney to hurt himself further – or him for that matter. "I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? It's me, John." Over and over he repeated the words, accompanying them with soothing rubs to the frightened man's shoulder in an attempt to reassure and calm him.
Recognition slowly sparked in the scientist's eyes and he let out a small sob. He managed to reach up and grab hold of his friend's arm, clutching the appendage desperately like a frightened child clinging on to a security blanket. Ignoring the pain that lanced through his shoulder, the Air Force man wrapped his fingers around the ones on his bicep and squeezed them gently.
Seeing Rodney in such a state broke the pilot's heart. He hoped to God that the abrasive, sarcastic man he had come to consider his best friend was still in there somewhere, that their copies hadn't completely broken him. Maintaining his grip, John made a silent vow. Once he caught up with their doubles, he was going to make them pay.
And once he'd done that, he was going to rip them to pieces…
As if he could read his team-mate's mind, Rodney's eyes darted around wildly as if seeking out an invisible threat. "Where…? They… they here?" he whispered brokenly.
"No," John replied. "No, Answer Man, it's just us." Before he could say anything more, the Canadian gave an agonised moan and tried to roll onto his side. "What's wrong?" the soldier asked, not knowing what to do and hating the feeling. "What hurts?"
"B-back," Rodney gasped, still rocking desperately.
The Air Force man quickly rolled his team-mate onto his side, hissing as he caught sight of the root of Rodney's distress. There were three ugly looking burns near the base of his spine; no doubt caused by the pain stick that the Colonel's double had used. "God, Rodney, I'm sorry," John muttered, wincing in sympathy. "I didn't know…"
"'S okay," the physicist replied, panting hard as the pain began to recede. "Better… now…"
John crawled around in front of his friend and rolled up the leg of his pants to reveal a small kit bag secured to his leg. He sent up a silent prayer to the Gods of the Pegasus galaxy that his twin hadn't been too thorough in searching him – if they'd found his kit, the Colonel was sure that he and Rodney would be dead by now.
The Canadian watched his friend, curiosity and confusion battling it out on his face. Eventually, curiosity won. "Whassat?" he asked groggily.
John gave him a beaming gin before leaning in close to share his secret. "The John Sheppard emergency survival kit," he replied. "Never leave home without it." He unzipped the small bag and began rooting through its meagre contents, pulling out a couple of bandages and a small tub of antiseptic spray. Even as he held the tube, he knew that it wouldn't be enough to fix his friend's many ailments, meaning that he'd have to prioritise. He gingerly examined the stab wounds, forcing down a snarl of anger when he saw that they had been cauterised.
"I'm gonna patch these burns up," he told Rodney, knowing that the man would panic if he didn't explain his actions. "Do you know if there's any water around here?"
Rodney nodded weakly. "Over there," he replied, managing to raise a hand to point to the far corner of the cavern. "C-comes from… waterfall."
John unsteadily rose to his feet, grateful that they were next to the wall. He leant against it for a moment, willing his legs to case their imitation of jelly. That achieved, he weaved his way over to the small pool on the far side of the enclosure, stopping twice more. The first was to quash the dizziness that had returned full force, while the second time he grabbed a discarded bucket. Filling the container with the cool liquid, he returned to his companion.
"You don't… look so hot," Rodney said accusingly. "What's wrong with… your shoulder?"
Busted…
"It's just a scratch, buddy," the pilot replied in what he hoped was a light tone of voice. "And speaking of appearances, you're not exactly gonna win any beauty awards at the moment." He tore off a strip from the hem of his t-shirt as he spoke, soaking it in the water. "This may sting a little," he warned before gently cleaning the burns.
At the first touch of the damp cloth to his blistered skin, Rodney yelped. Managing to rein it in, he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep breathing. "John?" he grunted after a few moments.
"Yeah?" the soldier replied, not stopping in his task.
"T-talk to m-me."
"What about?"
"D-don't care. Jus' talk. Please."
Knowing it was Rodney's way of taking his mind off things, John did as he was asked, telling his friend about the plan he and Zelenka had come up with. That earned him a small chuckle and he continued – omitting his own fears of course. There'd be a time and place for that level of honesty: and personally, John envisioned it involving plenty of alcohol and a sunset on one of the piers back in Atlantis.
"Anyways, the tracker idea wasn't enough for Elizabeth," he continued. "She made me give her a password too."
"W-why?"
"So she could check it was us coming back," John explained patiently. "Evil twins, remember?" He paused to tug the cap from the spray.
"T-think they… got back to… the city?" The question was punctuated by hisses and choked gasps as the Air Force man applied the antiseptic.
"Probably," John admitted after a moment, grumbling under his breath as the spray tin coughed out the last of its contents. "Hence the password." He quickly wrapped the larger bandage around Rodney's back, securing it with a tight knot.
"What d-did you… choose?"
"Huh?" John asked, preoccupied with sticking the other dressing on his shoulder.
"P-password, idiot," Rodney huffed, sounding more like his old self.
"Oh," John replied, grinning sheepishly. "Wraith."
The Canadian groaned. "Not g-gonna be… hard to crack," he said. "Crap."
"Maybe, but the others are smart," his friend insisted. "They'll spot 'em a mile off… What?" he asked, seeing a frown crease Rodney's forehead.
"T-trust…"
John was baffled. "Trust?" he echoed, feeling like a parrot.
"T-they work… f-for the Trust," Rodney clarified.
Well, shit.
"We're gonna have to get back to the Gate," John said urgently, looking in his kit again. God only knew what gizmos their doubles had… He held out a couple of glucose tablets. "I'm sorry it's not steak, but it's better than nothing," he stated, helping Rodney to sit up.
The scientist accepted the tablets, screwing up his face at the bitter flavour. How the manufacturers had managed to make sugar taste so bad, he would probably never understand. John knew he hated the wretched things, but compared to a hypoglycaemic coma, they were better than nothing. He chased away the aftertaste with a swig of water.
"Think you can stand?" the pilot asked gently.
"Probably not… but I'll try," Rodney replied. "Jus' gimme a minute."
"Good man."
As he braced himself against the agony he knew movement would cause, he asked, "Did you rig the… Jumper?"
Again, the pilot looked sheepish. "Uh, no," he replied in a small voice.
Rodney let out a sigh. "Great," he moaned unhappily. "That means… we've got no… supplies… and we'll… have to walk. Z-Zelenka's on archiving… duties for the… next m-month."
John could have smacked himself for not thinking about it, but there wasn't time to dwell on that now. They had to get back to Atlantis before their copies cold cause any more trouble. "Ready?" he asked, slipping his good arm around Rodney's waist.
"N-not really…"
"That's the spirit. On three. One… two… three…"
The boys swayed and lurched, both of them whimpering and cursing as they clawed their way upwards. After one horrible moment when John thought they were going to crash back down again, they were eventually upright, albeit swaying precariously.
The Air Force man stole a glance at his team-mate, noting the sudden paleness and sheen of sweat. There was no doubt in his mind that Rodney was in a bad way, and the need to get him to Carson weighed heavily on his thoughts.
"We'll head to the entrance and see whether it's dark yet," he said. "There's no way we can travel during the day. Ready?"
Rodney nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth for fear of puking. After all, he reasoned, it wasn't exactly good manners to throw up on your rescuer.
They began to make their way towards the exit.
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Two days later, and John was beginning to have serious doubts about his plan.
At first, Rodney had been coherent enough to sustain a conversation, but after the first day they spent in the heat, his energy waned. John had had to force him to drink from the small pond they had rested by and nearly resorted to violence to get the man to accept a glucose tablet. Even worse than the man's uncharacteristic silence was the shocking heat coming from his body.
To begin with, the soldier hoped that it was from the humidity of the rainforest, but when night fell and the temperature plummeted, he knew what was wrong. A quick inspection of the physicist's back confirmed his fears – Rodney was running a fever from an infection. All the Air Force man could do was wash out the burns and get the Canadian upright again.
As they trudged through the foliage, John kept up a steady stream of quiet, nonsensical chatter about everything and anything. It was as much for his benefit as Rodney's.
By the second day, John's voice was hoarse and Rodney was barely conscious, moaning fitfully in his sleep as he battled with the delirium that wracked his body. The pilot had tried unsuccessfully to mend his shattered radio as a quick search had revealed that neither he nor his team-mate had their GDOs. Again the anger surfaced, helping him to forget his own aches and pains.
John shivered, feeling his pulse flutter wildly. He knew he was in the early stages of shock, but until he got them back to the Gate, there was nothing he could do. He managed to trap and kill a small rabbit-like animal, however, and after the grisly process of cleaning and gutting it, cooked it on the small fire he had started. There was no way to know if the creature was poisonous or not, so he scooped the mess into the small plastic bag in his kit for Carson.
After an hour, the meat was done and John's stomach rumbled loudly at the appealing smell. He sliced it up, trying a bit, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted much the same as the Earth version. John managed to wake Rodney enough to get him to swallow a few bites – not nearly enough, but better than the soldier had anticipated. He left the remainder to dry out before stowing it away; after all, he had no idea whether he'd be as lucky catching something again.
By the time the Gate came into sight, John was on the verge of losing it completely. Adrenaline helped him to manoeuvre them to the DHD, where he rested Rodney. The man was so limp and completely unresponsive that for a second, John thought it was too late. Resting a hand on his friend's chest, he let out a shaky sigh as he felt a slight rise and fall.
Rolling flat on his back, the Colonel tried to fight the lump in his throat, blinking furiously against the tears that were threatening to spill from his gritty eyes. He scolded himself, knowing that there wasn't time, and forced his uncooperative body to move back to the DHD.
Gripping the top of the device, he pulled himself upright, grunting at the pain in his shoulder. He dialled Atlantis' address, smiling a little as the wormhole exploded into existence. Knowing that he had no way of contacting the others, he bent down and grabbed a handful of stones, throwing them at the rippling blue event horizon in what he hoped would come across as the Morse code for 'SOS'.
As the Gate shut down, John sank to his knees, tugging Rodney to his chest tightly.
"Hold on, buddy," he whispered hoarsely. "Help's coming."
Time lost all meaning as he waited, seconds and minutes melting together. All he was focused on was the shallow breathing from Rodney and his own heart beat. He didn't register the Gate activating, or the sounds of military issue boots crunching in the gravel.
It wasn't until he heard a P-90 being cocked that he looked up from his fragile charge… and wished that he hadn't.
Major Lorne stood over him, looking down the sight of his gun. "Don't move," he hissed, his finger tightening on the trigger.
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*Cue dramatic chords* Eeek! What's going to happen now?! Review to find out! ;p