PARADISE
By NotTasha
A/N: There are some similarities between this story and one that Leah wrote, 'Acts of Enormity'. No infringement was meant, but there are some things that strike rather close to her story, and I am sorry for that. It truly wasn't intended. I asked her about it and she's okay with it, but you might want to check out her lovely story when you get a chance /coffeeslash/leah/atlantis/01/acts.html It is a slash story, by the way.
PART 14: PATTERNS IN THE SAND
Before darkness was complete, Teyla and Sheppard made another journey to the water hole. The mood was tense as they walked.
"I realize that I am responsible for what happened to Doctor McKay," Teyla said tightly as she carried the pot of water. Sheppard watched the woods. "I should have remained with him. My choice was flawed. I wish there was something I could do to help."
"You're carrying water. That's a good start," Sheppard responded.
"I made an error in judgment."
"Yes, you did."
"You no longer trust me," Teyla continued, remembering a time when none of the Atlantis crew seemed to trust her – no one except for Major Sheppard and Dr. McKay.
"I trust you, Teyla," Sheppard said tiredly.
"You do not wish me to stay alone with Doctor McKay," she stated bluntly.
"Well, we all saw what happened last time you did that."
"It will not happen again," Teyla insisted, struggling with the water-filled pot.
Sheppard nodded, and tried to sound contrite, "I know. I know that Teyla. I'm just not very happy about this whole situation, okay? You saw what those things did to him. It was preventable."
And they said little more.
They left the pot at the campfire, and returned for the body of the big animal that had attacked McKay. All three of the creatures had been ripped to shreds. The sight had disgusted John, but Teyla came to the conclusion that it was a good thing – the remaining animals had consumed their pack-mates and wouldn't be so hungry.
"They must not have been able to capture many birds. They were starving to death," she commented, pointing to what remained of one of the pups. The ribs and hipbones were clearly defined. "Starvation can make a creature do unnatural things."
John had no response for her. He saw the other side – after a good meal, the remaining members of the pack would be stronger.
She touched the animal's short, course, white fur that exposed sunburnt skin. "They are not of this world. They are ill-equipped for the intensity of the sun."
Well, that hardly mattered. John picked up what was left of the largest animal, little more than the head, a bit of its spine and the front legs – but it was still an impressive size. He'd carried the remains to the camp, then buried it near the StarGate to keep the predators away until they were ready to retrieve the carcass. It was a rather loathsome task, but perhaps McKay had a point, and Beckett might need to examine the thing – when they got back.
Rodney had said that the DHD was almost fixed – that he'd figured out what was wrong and only needed to reassemble it. It couldn't happen soon enough to suit Sheppard.
McKay was getting sicker. The fever had increased. The scratches were more inflamed, puffy, hot, seeping a pussy ooze. McKay was muttering and moaning softly. He'd swat out, and twist his head, trapped in a nightmare, until someone soothed him back to a more peaceful sleep.
They kept a watch over him, anxious, not knowing what else they could do. Maybe the creature did carry some sort of awful illness. McKay certainly had gotten sick quickly. A good night's sleep wasn't going to make McKay any better, Sheppard realized. He needed help – he needed to be back in Atlantis with all of the medical supplies available. He needed to be home.
But home was so far away.
And the night continued. Sheppard sat beside Ford, beside McKay, keeping their backs to the fire and their eyes on the forest. It was a dreadfully long night.
"Major," Ford started. Somewhere in the darkness, the animals still yipped. The Life Sign Detectors showed something moving about – at a distance from them. "Major?"
"That's me," Sheppard responded.
Aiden didn't continue speaking immediately. He kicked one foot at the sand beneath them, twisted his P-90 in his hands, and sighed.
A silence lapsed between the two men. The major didn't really notice it at first, but as the quiet continued, Sheppard stated, "I don't think I like snails. Is that they way they're supposed to taste? Are they like that on Earth? I'd thought they'd have some flavor, but they're really rather like eating snot, consistency-wise, aren't they? I mean, I'm not a connoisseur of snot or anything, but…"
"Major," Aiden began again.
"I'm still here," Sheppard answered, glad that Ford had stopped him from going any further.
"What if he gets worse?" Ford asked, watching McKay, who tossed in his sleep. "Those cuts are infected. Those bites are really bad. He's got a fever."
"He'll pull through this," Sheppard insisted.
Ford considered whether to continue. Finally, he stated, "He's getting worse. He's really sick. And we're not going to get out of here with the DHD in pieces."
"He'll fix it," John committed. "When he's feeling better."
"I'm thinking," Ford started, "I'm thinking it would probably be best if he got back to work on it – the sooner the better."
"He needs to rest," Sheppard said firmly, knowing where Ford was leading. "He's not going to be worth anything if we get him up."
"He's getting worse," Ford said again. "And he'll just keep getting sicker unless we can get him back to Atlantis." He worried his P-90, twisted it back and forth, making a pattern in the sand with the butt of it. "If you asked me… I would think… that he should finish his work as soon as possible… before he gets sicker." Ford didn't look at Sheppard, watching the aimless marks in the sand. "Maybe he's rested enough and should get back to work."
Sheppard let loose a breath. "I doubt I'd be able to wake him up. It would take more than just a little coaxing. Then, he'll say we have enough snails to last us and go back to sleep."
"He's the only one who can fix it," Ford went on. "And if something happens… and he…you know…"
"Don't say it," Sheppard snapped.
"He's the only one…" Ford repeated. "He'll die if we don't get back to Atlantis… soon. And if he dies… we'll all be stuck here." Ford lowered his voice, ducking his head as he said, "I don't want to be stuck here."
There it was. John knew that Ford was right – had been thinking the same things himself. There was no improvement in McKay's condition. His breathing was getting worse. He looked like hell.
The three chevrons still illuminated on the gate – casting a glow in the area – still stuck. Somewhere, far from here, Weir was probably beside herself with worry. She would have all of the available scientists working on this issue – trying to fix it – trying to get them home. They'd be tearing their hair out – losing sleep. Doing everything they could.
Sheppard wondered what would have happened if their team was home – and Rodney was in Atlantis, trying to solve this for another team. Would he have been able to figure out how to reset the DHD remotely? Somehow, Sheppard believed that he would.
John Sheppard wasn't going to let Rodney die like this, but only a real bastard would make a man work when he was so sick.
With a groan, Sheppard leaned over McKay who muttered and trembled. "McKay," Sheppard said, touching Rodney's good arm. "McKay, come on… wake up."
McKay responded with a garbled sound.
"McKay, wake up," Sheppard continued, trying to keep his voice soft, but needing to cut through the cottonballs that had to be filling the genius' head. "McKay!"
With a gasp, Rodney's eyes flew open and he gazed up at the major. "What?" he cried. "Are they back?"
"No," Sheppard assured. "They're not here. It's okay. We just need you to fix the DHD."
"Yes… of course," McKay said dreamily. "Tomorrow."
"Not tomorrow. Now," Sheppard insisted.
"Now?" McKay repeated. He glanced around wearily, then licked his lips and stated, "You've got to be kidding."
"No kidding. Listen, McKay, it has to be done, now."
"No… I think I'd rather sleep." And he drifted again.
"McKay!" Sheppard tried to keep his temper in check, pissed off at this situation. Pissed off at himself for doing this. "I know this sucks, but we have to do this now. We can't wait any longer."
Rodney opened his eyes and looked around pathetically. "But it's night," he said softly.
"I know, but you stay up to all hours in your lab. No big deal, right?" Sheppard tried to sound cheerful.
"You're a mad man!" McKay declared and shut his eyes again. "I'm sick. I'm going to sleep."
"I know you're sick… I know…" Sheppard groaned. "We got to get this done."
McKay made a childish face and shuddered.
What would it hurt to let him sleep? He needs to rest! But, if we don't do this… he'll die. Sighing, Sheppard knew what had to happen. He wasn't going to let McKay die here – he'd do anything to stop that from happening.
--
TBC
A/N: So... things are going to start looking up, right?