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WARM AND SAFE AND DRY - PART 3
By NotTasha
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CHAPTER 10: HOPING

The ruins looked unexciting. Sheppard called out for McKay as he approached, hoping that the twitchy scientist wasn't going to shoot before he verified who was approaching him. McKay had to be here… the other option was unthinkable. But no one responded to John's shouts, and the ruins appeared to be empty.

"Damn it," Sheppard murmured, leaning against one wall of the structure, not caring that he may be smudging centuries-old markings with his damp shoulder. "Damn it, McKay, where the hell are you?" The ruins consisted of only one building with a large misshapen room -- hardly anything to be excited about. Odd symbols marked one wall and weird little pictograms covered another.

He frowned at the images, wondering if whoever drew them meant the pictures to be fearsome, or if they were just having some fun. There was a crudeness to them, and their main aim seemed to be to tell people to 'stay away'.

Outside, the rain continued to fall in its relentless pattern. McKay wasn't here. "Damn it," Sheppard said again, because he couldn't find any other words to express himself.

"Thought he'd be here," Ford said glumly. "Ozette told him to stay put. I figured he would have listened."

"McKay listening?" Sheppard replied, "It would have been a first." He sighed, hating this.

Ford conjectured, "The captain just wants to shoot down that dart because he couldn't get it the first time. Doesn't care that Dr. McKay is on it, that the Wraith probably have him onboard."

"We'll track it down," Sheppard stated. "We'll get those trees down and track down those sons of bitches. We'll get him back."

The young soldier looked around the room with a somber expression, and repeated his previous thought, "I really thought we'd find him here."

Teyla moved about the room, saying, "Captain Ozette stated that Dr. McKay had found a corridor. We have not yet found this corridor. I suggest we search for it. I believe Dr. McKay may have sought shelter within it."

The new hope moved the team to action. They fanned out, searching out the odd little corners of the room. Ford found the hidden opening in a matter of minutes, tucked up and around a corner, a narrow entrance shrouded in vines.

Ford shone a light down the downward path. "Dr. McKay!" he called out. "Hey, Doc!" He paused, hoping to hear a relieved and annoyed response, but only his own echo was returned. Disheartened, he turned and asked, "Think he's down there?"

Behind him, neither Sheppard nor Teyla looked sure. There'd been no response, what were the chances?

Sheppard snapped on his radio, demanding an update from Bates and the others. They'd found no trace of McKay. Stackhouse and Fairholm still waited at the gate – spotting nothing in the skies. After giving a quick report, Sheppard informed them that his team would be checking out the corridor.

This had to be it... he had to be here! With a nod to Sheppard, Ford pressed the vines that blocked the path and started downward. The others followed.

The hallway was constricted and steep, and they moved single-file, dropping into the depths of the structure. The walls were featureless and crude.

Even Sheppard could tell that this handiwork was different from what was done above – this tunnel was built by different hands. What the hell was going on here?

Sheppard looked up when Ford pressed against a board that barred the way. Something seemed to click, and then clatter. Ford looked up suddenly, stepping backward into his superior as the corridor creaked, cracked and groaned -- and the roof came down on them.

CHAPTER 11: WAKING

Darkness. McKay opened his eyes and stared out into blackness. He must have fallen asleep at some point. His body was numb, and what wasn't numb, ached. He was cold, but not noticeably colder than before. PX1-H0H was a mild place, after all. The temperature hardly changed, day or night, winter, spring, summer or fall.

Slowly, he pressed himself into a half-sitting position, thumping his head into the low branch above him. More needles came down, and he sputtered.

"Great," he muttered, brushing at his moist hair to dislodge what he could, finding a glob of sap that he only managed to further mesh into his hair and smear onto his palm as well. "Wonderful. Marvelous." He gave up on his hair and rubbed the hand against his pants, temporarily adhering himself to his clothing. "Nice."

Frustrated, getting nowhere, he gave up and lay down again. He blinked, trying to see something in the blackness. The rain had apparently slacked, for he no longer heard the steady hiss. It was replaced with a slow and gloomy drip-drop as the day's rainfall made its way through the canopy. Luckily, the fir-wanna-be he'd chosen was too dense to allow anything to reach him. He considered moving out from beneath the branches. Shouldn't he get moving again? It wasn't raining any more. He had to get back… but why?

Ozette and the others were safe – there was no hurry. Well, it would be nice to be out of this weather, wouldn't it? True… true. God, it would be nice to be back in Atlantis right now – warm and dry and well-fed -- but he had no energy. What good would it do to get up right now? In the middle of dense forest, under cloud cover, there'd be no light to see by. He'd just get helplessly lost and dripped on.

Instead, he lay on the soft carpet of needles, closing his hand to feel the tackiness of the sap on his palm. He lifted his other arm to check the time. He felt at the watch, pressing the button that would illuminate the dial. He'd been missing for eight hours.

That's a whole workday, he told himself. Well, a workday for normal people. When was the last time I worked an eight-hour shift? Can't remember. No wonder you're tired – you work too much.

He remembered how Sheppard had chided him the day before – about working on their day off. Well, it just goes to show, he decided. It doesn't pay to do a good job. Sloth is an admirable sin. If you'd only stayed away from Ozette and his team, you would have had a relaxing day at Atlantis – or maybe have been able to spend the day at that lake with the team.

At the thought of swimming, he shivered. No swimming for me – no – not for a while, he thought. But still, it would have been nice. I wonder if Teyla decided to use a bathing suit.

He smiled and laughed to himself, but the laugh turned into a shudder. Cold, he dug further into the needles, letting them act as his blanket. His still-damp clothing chilled him, but what could he do? What chance would he have for drying out in this moist world?

He sighed, and closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would return – but between his aches and his chill, he realized he'd probably not find any further rest tonight.

CHAPTER 12: RECOVERING

"We're going back," Sheppard demanded, as he stood over Weir's desk. He leaned, pressing his hands against the surface, careful to keep most of his weight off the bandaged one.

Ford and Teyla stood behind him – each battered and scraped in their own way. A few seconds of terror had given way to annoyance once they'd found out that they'd all survived the collapse. Most of the damage occurred deeper in the corridor – leaving them dealing with only minor contusions for the most part. Coughing on the dust, they'd free themselves quickly with the help of Bates' team, and had returned to Atlantis for some first aid – but that was half-a-day ago.

Weir looked morose. "I'm not about to send you back injured. We have able-bodied personnel continuing the search, Major Sheppard."

"I should be out there!" the major responded, then gestured to the two standing behind him. "We all should be out there!"

"I'm fine, Dr. Weir," Ford said stoically, grasping the sling over his arm. "Just whacked my elbow good. This is nothing."

"I am able to continue with the search," Teyla insisted, though she squinted and hung her head against a headache. She held an icepack in one hand – and really should have been resting it over the lump on her head at that moment.

Weir nodded to Sheppard's bandaged hand. "And just how well can you handle a weapon? Are you able to pull the trigger reasonably?"

Sheppard winced, and tried to move his bandaged fingers. He'd had the skin scraped off the backs of his fingers when a falling brick scalped him. Hurt like hell, but it was hardly something to keep him in bed.

Weir continued, "The three of you should not be out there."

Sheppard looked to his people. "We know where we need to be."

"I can manage, ma'am," Ford responded quickly. "I want to return to the search."

"And I as well," Teyla put in, as she tossed her head – as if shaking off any headache. "I am unaffected and wish to find Dr. McKay as quickly as possible."

Weir glanced down at the report that Beckett had given her, listing the ailments of the three – minor injuries, enough to keep them from work for a day-or-two. He'd treated them, handily medicated them, and released them to return to their rooms. He'd tried to hold them for as long as possible, but as soon as they were free, they'd trooped right to her office.

Weir blew out a breath and rested her arms on her desk. "The teams searched until nightfall on the planet," she said softly. "They found his pack, his sidearm and the earpiece from his radio. Tracks led to the clearing and then disappeared." She stared at her hands, not wanting to continue. "From what I understand, the rain has washed away his trail once he reached that point. The most likely scenario is that he crossed the clearing to reach the Gate, and the Wraith captured him."

"Then why aren't those trees down?" Sheppard barked. "Clear those goddamn trees out of there and I'll get a jumper out there!"

"The trees have been spiked," Weir told them.

"Spiked?" Ford repeated, blinking and feeling a bit strange. "Like with vodka?" he asked, wavering a bit. "Had a watermelon once that had been spiked," he said offhand. "That was tasty." And then shook his head, wondering if he'd used his out-loud voice.

Sheppard spotted Ford leaning forward, and shoved one hand against his chest and pressing him to the wall. He winced at the movement, feeling a bit woozy himself.

Weir watched, aware that this group should be in their rooms – should be in bed. Teyla closed her eyes and furrowed her brow as Ford remained propped where Sheppard had pushed him. The major returned to leaning against the desk, looking pale and about ready to drop.

It took Weir a moment to remember what Ford had just asked. "There are metal rods driven into the trunks of the trees at regular intervals -- spikes."

"Then cut around the spikes," Sheppard insisted. "Come on, this doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out!"

Weir returned the major's level glance, seeing the man wasn't going to be on his feet much longer. She spoke again, keeping her voice level, wondering if she shouldn't summon the good doctor before any one of them managed to hurt themselves even further, "According to Sanchez, there's a science to taking down a tree. Cut it the wrong way and it'll fall into the Gate, the DHD or hang up in the other trees, and we'll get nowhere."

"Then we dig them out by the roots!" Sheppard insisted.

"Controlling the trees as they fall will require cranes and heavy lift equipment," Weir patiently explained. "Equipment that we don't have."

"Then we blow up those sons of bitches!" Sheppard went on. "We have the C4. Let's do it."

"We're working on it," Weir told him. "As I said before, if the tree falls in the wrong direction, the StarGate could be compromised."

"A couple of trees falling on the Gate won't hurt it," Sheppard shot back.

"The StarGates are formidable," Teyla insisted. "They have stood for millennia." Yet, she didn't open her eyes and she leaned beside Ford. Her head dipped and suddenly she was resting it on his shoulder.

"You're giving up on him," Sheppard stated bluntly, closing his eyes as well.

Weir watched the three of them – drugged and ready to drop – congregated here only through their determination – fighting whatever sedative Beckett had foisted on them. How much longer did they have?

She didn't fault them. She was proud of them. Not one of them had given up yet, and all were determined to keep fighting, in spite of their injuries and the medication. It pained her to deny them. It hurt to say what needed to be said... about Rodney. "I can't risk it. People will be hurt if we try to remove those trees, and if any of them damage DHD, then everyone on that mission would be trapped, at the mercy of the Wraith." And lowering her voice, she continued, "And chances are that he's long gone by now."

"I won't believe that," Sheppard stated.

"Me neither," Ford added.

"I agree with the others," Teyla said softly, not lifting her head from Ford's shoulder. She snuggled closer, and absently settled her icepack on the hurt side of her head.

"I'd rather not believe it," Weir conceded softly. "But I have to think realistically. I have to think for all of Atlantis." She continued, "Unless another means can be discovered for removing the trees, they shall remain. I've had a team at the ruins, and they've nearly cleared out that collapsed passageway – tomorrow, I'm sending out another party to finish the job. You're welcome to accompany them. There's a possibility that Rodney's at the bottom of the passage. It's a good chance."

"Dr. McKay's pack was found in the woods," Ford stated, shifting slightly under the added weight, but doing nothing to dislodge the Athosian. "He was coming back to the Gate. He wouldn't be in the ruins."

"It's possible that he returned, seeking shelter," Weir tried. "That's what we're going on now."

"And that's it?" Sheppard cried.

"Major, you and I both know that if Rodney was anywhere in the area, we would have found him today. If he's at the bottom of that corridor, we'll find out tomorrow."

"Fine," Sheppard stated, turning sharply, and faltered, having to catch himself at the doorway as the room spun. He nodded to Ford, who gave Teyla a gentle shake and, with some effort, they followed the major out of the room.

"What do we do now?" Ford asked earnestly, clutching his arm as he staggered with his remaining teammates. Teyla blinked dully.

Dolefully, Sheppard rubbed his bandaged hand and stared at the Gate. Outside, night had fallen. God, he felt like crap. Beckett had slipped him a mickey – no doubt about it. He wondered if he looked as spaced-out as Ford and Teyla. It must've been amusing for Weir to witness.

"Get some sleep," he told the others. "We go back out tomorrow. I'm not giving up on him yet." Sheppard turned and resolutely started toward his quarters. "Not yet."

CHAPTER 13: PAUSING

Morning. Rodney awoke, slowly, blearily. He groaned as the first gray light filtered through the trees. Time to get up, he decided. Time to get moving. But I'd really rather be still. I'd really rather not move at all. Yes but… do you really want to stay HERE? That thought put him in motion, he rolled to his stomach, then pressed himself to crouch on hands-and-knees. He crawled, his sore muscles protesting, and moved out from beneath the tree's boughs.

When he grabbed a branch for support, a bird exploded out of the bush – zooming right over his head, nearly clipping him, before darting up into the sky. Startled, McKay ducked, clasping hands over his head as the bird nearly clipped him. "Damn it!" he swore as the sparrow-like bird swerved away, and he drew back one hand to find it gooed into the pitch again. "Great."

He pulled the hand away, looking in disgust at the residue on his palm. "Love it," he muttered.

He stooped and pulled his belongings out from beneath the tree. The coat was drier – possibly the needles had sucked out some of the moisture during the night. He brushed at it, trying to dislodge some of the stuff that clung to it, but it did little good. He was covered in the stuff already, so what difference did it make? Quickly, he pulled it over his shivering shoulders. God, he was cold. He rubbed his hands together, trying to drive some warmth into them, trying to ignore the sticky part of his palm.

A mist lay over the ground, moving like a living thing – cold and dank. He had to get moving, but for now, for this moment, he just wanted to pause and collect himself.

Cold… cold… so damn cold. Feeling woozy and a little sick, he picked up one of the Powerbars, trying to get his hands to work. His hands were more malleable than the night before – having spent the evening firmly tucked in his armpits, and he was met with better success in opening the packet.

Moisture still dripped down from above, in unbelievably huge drops. One would splat onto his damp coat, and McKay moved accordingly, trying to find a perfect place to finish his meal. There was no telling how long it would take to get back to the Gate, and he knew he'd better ration what little food he had. When he finished, he found that the wrapper had stuck to his hand.

"Perfect," he muttered, but at least he was able to remove most of the sap by scrubbing the packet against his skin.

He sighed, not believing that he was thirsty – after all the water he'd imbibed during his frantic trip downstream, one would think he'd be satisfied for days. Now where would I find some fresh water? With a small grin, he discovered that the projector's casing, dropped when he hunkered into the shelter, had fallen in an accommodating position. The half-shell was nestled peacefully near the tree and filled with water. He picked it up carefully and drank down what it contained.

The water was cold, and tasted woody, but it sated his thirst. Once finished, he shook the case, to rid it of whatever water remained, then tried to snap it back into place around the broken projector, but the thing was hopeless. No point in trying to fix the thing, he pocketed it, along with his other his belongings. McKay braced himself for the day. He had to keep moving – get to the Gate. And for that… he had to get up. Had to… at least… get moving.

Not yet… just a moment now…

He remained still for several moments, not quite able to convince his body to move, when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, to find three deer-like creatures moving through the wood. They were stocky, and dappled in browns, with shortish legs and little periscope ears that twisted and turned as they moved through the mist. They moved timidly, gracefully, carefully.

Suddenly the trio stopped, and they all looked at him. McKay gazed back, his hands at his sides, watching the creatures. Everyone was still. Only their ears and the mist moved. Their big black eyes blinked and Rodney blinked back. Finally, after a moment, one creature took a step. The others followed, slowly at first, then, deciding that McKay was harmless, they grew bolder, and continued on their way.

McKay watched them go, hardly breathing, and once he'd lost sight of them, he let out a breath. Quieting his groan so that he wouldn't scare the wildlife, McKay tested his sore foot – finding it sore. Well, that was nothing new.

With a sigh, he checked to see that the projector had been secured in his pocket, and then started up the hill, vaguely following the same path as the creatures.
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TBC - It's wet and icky ... and poor Rodney's still lost out there. The poor lad...