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WARM AND SAFE AND DRY - PART 4
By NotTasha
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CHAPTER 14: DISCOVERING

Sheppard sat at the opening to the ruins, the grenade launcher resting against one leg as he watched the sky, and listened to the radio communications.

He'd helped as much as he could with the removal of the debris, but with his hand that wouldn't close properly, he only got in the way. So he waited here, guarding the entrance with Ford and Teyla. A bucket-brigade was removing the debris. The men at the top said nothing, going about their work, avoiding the probing gaze of Sheppard's team.

Other teams were still searching the surrounding area, but the reports returned no news. No sign of McKay. No sign of the dart. As the groups scouted, they discovered that they were on a plateau, with a sharp cliff on one end, and a slope on the other. No trail led to the slope – the mud would have revealed if McKay had gone in that direction. And the cliff? There was nowhere for him to go if he'd gotten trapped there – nowhere but down.

It was apparent now – McKay could only be in one of two places – either at the bottom of that corridor or on that dart.

They'd almost cleared the passageway – and the dart was long gone.

Sheppard sighed. Yesterday, McKay had come to him on the balcony, telling him about the ruins– excited about them – asking if he'd like to come along. Sheppard rubbed his sore hand wished he'd just said, 'okay' and joined the expedition – because maybe McKay would've had a chance then.

What does McKay know about Wraiths? Okay, probably more than most. But what does he know about taking care of himself? Nothing. The man needs a shadow to keep him out of trouble. The man needs someone to watch out for him – to be another set of eyes, because he gets so focused on things he can't see anything beyond what's in front of him. He'd been alone here – none of Ozette's team bothered to watch over him. He'd faced that Wraith alone.

Already, Sheppard knew that clearing the corridor was a practice in futility. He knew McKay wouldn't be there. He knew that the self-centered physicist would have been trying to rejoin that team – doing everything he could to get back, so that all of them could go through the Gate.

Sheppard imagined McKay running through that wood – losing his radio earpiece, his pack, his sidearm, just trying to get back to the team and Atlantis – then being snatched up by that dart as he ran across that clearing.

Did McKay know that Ozette's team had left him? Was he aware that they'd gone? Sheppard kicked at the dirt under his feet. There was a reprimand to be placed on record – what happened 'off record' would be another story entirely.

Meanwhile, as McKay was being taken to his death, the rest of his own team was having a vacation at a lake – having a good time. Why didn't I let McKay come along with me on our swimming trip? God, I'm a son of a bitch, Sheppard thought. Here was McKay, ASKING to come along – and I told him to go play with his new friends. Great! What is this? Junior High? God, I was acting like a damn kid. Wonderful friends – all of us.

Wish I would have taken him with us – then he would've been safe – and I wouldn't be here right now at this damn ruin – wouldn't be waiting around like this for nothing – he'd be okay.

I hate this nothingness… this not knowing.

A voice sounded over the radio, Zelenka, "We've broken through!"

Sheppard was on his feet and down the corridor in seconds, nearly knocking down one of the soldiers coming out with a bucket. He had to squeeze by the men that lined the corridor. The hallway was still partially blocked with the fallen rocks, but the ceiling had risen so it was a wash. New bracings had been put up to stabilize the structure, to ensure the safely of those who worked there. He zigged and zagged around the obstacles.

Zelenka, wearing a white hardhat, turned to meet them, as a couple of soldiers scooped up a bit more debris. "We've found a room," the Czech stated, pointing toward the opening they'd cleared. "We have been unable to enter the space yet, but it is possible that more will be discovered once we are have completely cleared the entrance."

Teyla forced her way past Sheppard, and nimbly crawled through the small opening already created. She'd recovered mostly from the previous day's headache, leaving her with only a mild throbbing at the point of impact, and had been eager to do anything to help in the search.

Sheppard regarded Zelenka for a moment. The dust from excavation coated his glasses so that the man could hardly see. The glow from the flashlights turned his lenses opaque. The major reached out and took Zelenka's flashlight before the scientist knew what was happening, and then handed him the Grenade Launcher in exchange. The scientist, perhaps unable to see what was foisted on him, took the weapon with a note of alarm.

Better armed, Sheppard followed Teyla through – a little less gracefully. First one foot, then the other. Hopping to catch his balance as one foot caught along the debris, Sheppard called out, "McKay!" But as before, there was no response. The room was empty --- empty except for Teyla and the bits of disturbed rocks. "McKay?" Sheppard tried again, as he swung the light toward the back of the room, finding yet another corridor leading away.

Ford was battering at the entrance, digging the hole bigger with one arm. "He in here?" Aiden asked, as cleared sufficient space and pulled himself forward on his belly. He flopped into the room after them, careful of his bruised elbow. He'd given up on using the sling and was managing by keeping the arm as still as possible. He turned on a flashlight of his own and manipulated it around.

Zelenka peeked in through the hole, holding the big weapon gingerly.

"We have some rooms to check. Zelenka, you coming?" Sheppard called to the scientist.

With a hurried nod, the Czech turned, gratefully handing off the weapon to one of the working marines. He came through the opening, following Ford's lead. The lieutenant gave him a hand as the scientist belly- flopped his way through. Dusting at his jumpsuit and adjusting his hardhat, Zelenka caught up with Sheppard as he moved further into the ruins.

"I believe," Zelenka said breathlessly, "That this structure has been … what's the word …booby trapped."

Sheppard stopped dead. "Now you tell me," he growled, swinging the light around with new voracity.

"The cave-in was not an accident," Zelenka continued, finally snatching off his glasses. He made a movement to wipe them on his shirttails, but the jumpsuit offered him no available cloth. He used his collar. "I believe we found the trigger that released the … debris. We found another triggering device near the entrance to the corridor. It is apparently inactive as it triggered no 'booby'." Zelenka frowned, realizing he'd probably said the wrong thing. Teyla gave him a strange look. Zelenka continued, "Somebody didn't want for intruders to reach this room. We should be cautious."

Sheppard nodded to Zelenka's helmet. "Where do I get one of those?"

Zelenka gave him a smile as he pressed the spectacles back onto his nose. "You should have come better prepared." Sheppard directed the light about in the new room, and Zelenka suddenly shouted, "Wait, shine the light over there again. Yes. Look! See?"

Something glittered. Sheppard stepped closer with Zelenka stuck to him like glue. Teyla and Ford followed.

"I don't believe it," Sheppard muttered as the light revealed the sight. Along one wall, a chest was revealed – a heavy wooden chest, brimming with jewels, gold and all-things-shiny.

"Tell me that's not what I think it is," Ford stated, centering his light on the container.

"I'm thinkin'… pirate chest," Sheppard proclaimed with a nod.

"Last time I saw something like that was on a ride in Disney," Ford told him.

Zelenka shook his head and muttered in disbelief, "Pirates? It is difficult to believe, yet here…" and he held his hand out toward the chest. "… is their cache."

"Pirates?" Teyla tried the word.

Sheppard frowned, trying to think of the right definition. "Raiders – they attack villages and steal all their best stuff."

"They wear puffy shirts," Ford tried. "They like rum and wenches and keel-hauling. Usually, they're not too nice."

Teyla pursed her lips, and decided to ignore the lieutenant. "I have heard stories of raiders. I believed them to be merely tales, meant to entertain."

"What do you know about them?" Sheppard asked, moving the light over the chest and watching the glitter.

"They were called the Bogachiel. It is as you say; they were known for attacking communities, and removing whatever was of the most value to them. They were often vicious."

Sheppard turned to Teyla and said, "But so far, we haven't encountered any planet that uses gold or any kind of money. It's all bartering."

Teyla nodded. "And the Bogachiel are the reason why this is so. There was a time when gold was counted as a commodity, and precious gems were considered of great worth. The Bogachiel would kill to obtain them. There is a story that a wise man came to the conclusion that if there was no gold, the Bogachiel would not come."

She glanced about at the others, who stood rooted, still looking at the overfilled chest. "Since that time, our communities have bartered. We have used gold sparingly, only as ornaments. The Bogachiel, finding their riches reduced in worth, have become but a legend."

Ford started, "Major, do you honestly think this is a pirates' cave? That those Bogachiels stored their booty here?"

"Booty…" Teyla repeated the word, wondering, because she thought she understood that word, but it didn't seem to fit the situation.

Zelenka nodded. "Yes. It would explain the booby traps."

Teyla made a face at the unfamiliar use of words she recently learned. This didn't seem to be the right conversation to be having at this time. She continued on resolutely, "It would appear that this was one of their locations for secreting their riches."

Ford, tired of waiting, stepped forward to run his hands through the piles of gold --- it was a temptation too good to resist.

Both Teyla and Zelenka reached out to stop him. "That may be unwise," Zelenka quickly stated. "There may be further traps."

"The Bogachiel were known for guarding their riches possessively," Teyla added.

Ford stepped back as if burned.

"We will scan it thoroughly before anyone moves closer to it," Zelenka decided. "I would suggest we leave immediately and with care not to trip any further devices."

Sheppard stepped away from the group, not interested in the chest full of gold doubloons nor the tales of pirates. He didn't give crap about any of it. He hadn't come here looking for buccaneers or their spoils.

He moved away from the others, shining his light elsewhere, looking for another corridor, another room, finding nothing. "McKay's not here," he said softly. "Never was." He didn't wait for their response. He made his way back to the partially blocked entrance to the room. He needed to get out – he needed to be doing something.

CHAPTER 15: CLIMBING

The day dragged as McKay attempted to climb the slope. Somewhere up there was the StarGate – but to get there was proving mighty difficult. The steep grade was muddy and slick, offering no traction. For every step he gained, McKay seemed to slip down two. He'd tried to follow the path created by the deer-like creatures, but their trail had eventually veered off in the wrong direction, leaving him in the middle of nowhere. His choices were – climb the hillside to reach the Gate… or just keep following the deer path that meandered into nowhere. He climbed.

He dug in, clawing his way up the muddy, mossy surface, grasping onto exposed roots, to branches, to shrubs. Frantically, he'd reach out one hand, sometimes successful in grabbing hold of a bit of greenery, sometimes pulling it right out of the ground, sometimes missing it completely.

"Come on," Rodney growled, struggling to reach another handhold. "Just a bit more… just a bit… almost there." But the slope seemed to stretch on forever. "See, you just have to reach that next tree there, then you'll have a place to stand, and maybe you can get up to that tree beyond it and go one more further."

Tired, his abused muscles rebelled. He could feel his arms quivering as the held on. His left foot was in so much pain, he could hardly use it. His right, taking up most of the weight, was aching from the mistreatment. God, he was so tired, but this was not a place to rest. He just had to make it to that next tree, then he could wedge himself at the trunk and take a little break – yes – just make it to that next tree and you can rest.

"Okay then, let's go!" He strained, shoving himself upward, but his left foot suddenly decided that it was done. The leg went out from under him. He thrust out his arms, trying to grab hold, but he slid on his thigh, thumping over those roots he'd used as stair-steps, adding to his bruises, gliding over the mud and moss, until one of his desperate grabs finally proved successful and he stalled his downward flight with the help of a sapling.

"Shit," he growled. "Damn it!" Holding tightly to the limber little tree, he managed to find a root with his other hand, and move his left leg from beneath him. God, his foot hurt! He twisted, managing to dig his butt into the dirt, finding a root that would act as seat and keep him from sliding any further.

He fumbled with the mud-caked laces for a moment, trying to loosen them, but his fingers were too numb, dirt-covered and sore to make any headway. He stopped, exhausted, and stared at his muddy hands. Crap, why couldn't this be easy? Just a simple stroll back to the Gate? Why does everything have to be so damned hard?

Frustrated, he clenched his hand and closed his eyes, wishing himself back to Atlantis. What he wouldn't do for a hot shower and a sandwich! He brushed a hand across his pocket, where his remaining Powerbars were secured. He'd have to wait, he knew. He hadn't reached the point where he 'needed' to eat yet, and by the looks of things, it would be some time before he made it home.

At the moment, the pain in his foot over-road any signals his body cared to toss off. Dolefully, he rubbed the hurt member, wishing he could just put his feet up somewhere, relax. Ah, to be on a lounge chair on a balcony right now! He smiled, imagining it – safely back at Atlantis – fresh from the shower – a plate of food at one elbow, maybe a hot cup of tea at the other, a warm, soft blanket around him – warm and safe and dry. It sounded like heaven.

His butt squelched further into the mud and the rain started again – just a light pattering falling all around. Thanks, I needed that. He glared up at the unfriendly sky, wishing he could wage war with the gray dreary cloud-cover.

Okay, enough of this. Time to figure out your next move. Do something! Try to loosen the laces. But my hands are so caked with mud, I can hardly move them. Fix that. He grasped hold of nearby leaves, using the moisture collected there to remove some of the mess. It worked rather well, getting off much of the filth, but his nails were hopeless. God, I hope that isn't poison oak, he thought, Just what I need… give myself a good case of the hives. Knowing my luck, I'll be hopelessly allergic and have a full-blown reaction! Should have brought more epi-pens. You never know

He twitched his cheek, feeling the pull of mud on his face, but didn't dare use the leaves to attempt any cleaning on his head. He'd suffer a rash on his hands, but prefer not to put up with one on his face. To clean his cheek, he rubbed his face against one coat sleeve. The material was wet enough to act as a washcloth, but he probably ended up adhering as much dirt as he removed.

Feeling a bit better, he went back to the shoe, needing to loosen the laces, even a little. He frowned, as he dug out clumps of mud and leaves. "Aw, come on," he muttered, trying to be patient. There seemed no end to the amount of dirt packed into that small space. Once he was satisfied that he'd removed enough, he attempted to unknot the laces, but found them unworkable. Frustrated, he yanked on aglets, when he should have eased them through the knot in the opposite direction, and ended up thoroughly knotting the whole thing into an unfixable mess.

With a shout of irritation and disgust, he threw himself on his back. Losing his perch, he slid again. Ah… shit. He let himself go, slowing soon enough, but managing to pack leaves and mud inside his pant legs. Great… just great.

Too disheartened to care much, he gazed up at the green canopy above him. "I'm screwed," he stated. "I'm so thoroughly screwed." In response, a big drop of water struck him between the eyes. He blinked, not wanting to cry about his situation, knowing that grown men don't cry, but he didn't feel so very manly at that moment.

Here I am, lost like some imbecile in the woods! Anyone would be able to climb up that slope. Anyone with a little fortitude and strength could manage it! What's my problem? There were plenty of roots to grab onto, all the vegetation in the world to grasp, but I, Dr. Rodney McKay – genius -- can't manage it.

Two year olds can untie shoes!

Don't feel so damn smart, now do you? Don't feel so freaking smug. It doesn't take a mastermind to figure out how stupid you are. God, what I wouldn't do for a cup of hot cocoa and a footbath right now.

He grimaced, letting his hands clench at the soft earth as he stared upward to the too-green world above him. I'm utterly useless, he told himself.

If I could only warm up a bit, I'd feel better. Well, my attempts at making a fire were useless. I really should have practiced a bit before I even left for Atlantis. You never know when that skill would come in handy.

Should have packed more Powerbars. Should have kept some waterproof matches in my pocket. Should have done a lot of things.

He frowned, realizing that this was getting him nowhere. He had to get moving again if he wanted to save himself.

The pause had calmed him somewhat. He sat up and looked about, trying to get his bearing. Exhaling, he realized that he'd descended halfway to the deer-trail. It struck him that maybe those creatures had the right idea, taking a longer, less difficult path to get up that hill.

I suppose I should follow their wisdom.

But that would mean giving up on all this hard-won distance. Every inch he'd gained had been a small victory. He didn't even know if that trail led toward the Gate in the long run. He looked uphill, and realized that he'd never manage that climb – not with all the mud – not with his flakey foot.

With a groan of surrender, he struggled to get to his feet. He shook his legs, trying to dislodge the latest accumulation of mud and debris – not managing much. Then, he commenced his decent, half-sliding, half-hopping until he reached the trail below.

CHAPTER 16: SURRENDERING

"I want to know why the hell you left him," Sheppard declared, staring down at Capt. Ozette.

The marine stood his ground. "I was following proper procedure to protect the members of my team. I'd ordered Dr. McKay to stay in the ruins. He confirmed that he'd remain. If he'd only stayed put, this wouldn't be an issue, sir."

"If you'd only followed procedure throughout your mission, then we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?" Sheppard shot back.

Ozette stood stiffly by Dr. Weir's desk, his face firmly set as he defended himself. "There was no reason to expect an attack. I take full responsibility."

"Yeah, you will," Sheppard responded.

"Pardon my speaking out, sir," Ozette stated, "but I'm not the only one who doesn't follow procedure all the time."

Sheppard was surprised at the allegation, but continued, "You'd better hope we can find that dart when we get a jumper up, otherwise you'll be taking on kitchen duty from now until we find a way back to Earth."

Ozette shifted and gave him an insolent look. "I performed my duty to the best of my ability, sir."

"Major," Weir cut in, "I think that's enough." She nodded to Ozette, trying to give the captain some reassurance.

"Dismissed," Sheppard ordered, and waited for Ozette to go. The captain left quickly, seeming glad to be out of that room.

"Major," Weir started, her voice tired. "You're going to have to cool off a bit. I think you'd better rethink how you're handling Captain Ozette."

Sheppard returned, "Don't tell me how to do my job."

She gave him a sharp look. "You need to do your job. Don't let your emotions get in the way of it."

Sheppard stepped back and glanced to the doorway where Ozette had disappeared. He turned to face Weir again, knowing she was right. As much as he wanted to beat the snot out of Ozette for leaving McKay behind, he had to think about the bigger scheme.

How could Ozette have known that a Wraith dart would suddenly appear? Sheppard realized. Would this have turned out any differently if I'd been there, too? Would I have risked my whole team, waiting for one left-over scientist to trot his way home? Sheppard sighed, recounting the times he'd broken policy – how many times had his actions proved successful? – how many times had he screwed the pooch? But, he reminded, I wouldn't have left him.

"The trees aren't coming down," Weir said suddenly, breaking the quiet that had fallen. "You're not getting a jumper over there."

"What happened with the idea to blow them up?" Sheppard tried, as he paced about her office.

"We've analyzed the situation. We'd have to remove ten of them to clear enough space to bring a jumper through the gate," Weir explained.

"Then we blow up ten trees!" Sheppard responded. "It's a no-brainer!"

Weir replied, "The trees are centuries old. It's not like taking down a Christmas tree. With the iron rods inside of them, they'll go off like bombs. The damage caused could be extensive. People could be hurt, killed… I can't allow that, major."

"I'll take it on," Sheppard stated. "We'll find a team willing to take that chance."

"I'm responsible for everyone on this base. I can't allow that risk."

"If it means we can find McKay, then it's worth doing."

Weir said nothing immediately, meeting his gaze with her own steely eyes. "John," she said softly. "I want to believe, I really do. I wish I could tell you he was safe somewhere, but you know as well as I, the odds of finding him are minimal."

Sheppard wasn't moved. "If there's even the slightest chance of finding him, then it's worth doing!"

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I can't allow you to risk further lives. We've run simulations, major. People will get hurt."

"But McKay…" He stopped, and his fierce expression changed to something softer as John stated, "They've had him for two days!"

"I know," Weir responded, letting the sorrow reach her eyes. "But it'll take days to remove the trees, even if we were to use the C4, even if we were able to find a way to do it safely. The dart hasn't returned. We've had teams on the planet. If it came from a Hive Ship in orbit, certainly they would have returned by now to … harvest more people. We're conjecturing that it was a lone scout that happened upon the planet while McKay and Ozette's team were on the surface. We don't believe that the dart ships are set up to… store… human cargo." She paused, hoping to get her message through.

"So they grabbed McKay as a takeout meal, had a snack and kept going?" Sheppard responded, incredulous. "You're saying he's dead already so just forget about it?" This all felt too much like surrendering to him, like giving up.

Stiffly, Weir nodded. "The dart will be long gone before you ever have a chance to launch the puddle jumper after it."

"And Rodney?" John tried. He was never the type to surrender.

Weir's mouth tightened for a moment before she said, "He's gone, John."

CHAPTER 17: MEANDERING

The rain continued, softly, insidiously. The deer trail kept meandering along the hillside, taking him on a long trek, but Rodney had been able to convince himself that it was climbing slowly upward. He'd make it to the top of that hill eventually. If he'd end up anywhere near the StarGate – that was another matter altogether.

Walking along the path, he had to admit, was much easier than scaling the slope. He'd make it back to the Gate, eventually. It just might take a hell of a lot of time. The problem was, he didn't feel as if he had much 'time' left in him.

His progress was slowing and evening was falling again. Tired, hurt, Rodney sought shelter. There was no sense in going any further tonight – he knew he was exhausted. He was in no shape to push himself. God, he just wanted to rest!

He found a little hole beneath a tree where a nurse log had long ago nurtured it, and discovered a remarkably dry bedroom. Grateful for the rest, he crawled in, and for a moment he just sat, breathing, letting himself 'zone out'.

It felt good to sit, to be still. Should have stopped hours ago, he decided. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was still afternoon in Atlantis. People were probably milling about, finishing up their work for the day, discussing dinner plans. His stomach rumbled at that thought.

Reluctantly, he pulled another of his Powerbars from his stash. He considered waiting a little longer to consume it, but his hunger got the better of him and he opened the packet with his teeth. Huddled in his damp jacket, he gnawed on the bar. He had one left after this one, and hoped that was enough to get him back.

He had set the projector's casing just outside the trees, letting it fill with rainwater. The guts of the mechanism had been slid inside his jacket for safekeeping. He didn't know exactly why he was still hanging onto the thing – but he'd kept it for this long and he wasn't about to give up.

So he sat, listening to the quiet 'plunk' of water falling into the casing, the patter of rain dripping everywhere else and the hiss that surrounded all of it. He let his mind wander, meander. What was everyone doing back in Atlantis?

Grodin was probably at the Gate -- the man spends most of his waking hours there. He really should find something to do with his spare time. Zelenka? Oh, he was nose deep in some project, no doubt. The man is like a bulldog when it comes to thinks like that... bulldog? No, that's rather British. Is there a Czech dog? Don't know. I've never really been a dog-person. Dogs... well, you can't depend on them.

Beckett was probably messing about in the infirmary. No doubt, someone was sick or hurt. Someone was always sick or hurt.

He paced himself as he ate, letting his meal last as long as possible – but too soon, his hand clenched an empty wrapper.

Considerate, he balled up the waste and shoved it into a pocket with the others, and went to work on his shoe. It felt painfully tight over his left foot. The muddy laces wouldn't give. He studied it for a while, then pulled his jackknife from a pocket and fumbled with the blades, pulling out first a screwdriver, a pair of tiny scissors, and a file before he found a knife.

He held it over the laces, ready to cut the thing off, but paused. Should he cut through the laces entirely? If the boot wasn't tightly secured to his foot, he knew it would be sucked off the moment he tried to negotiate through the mud. If he removed the boot, would he even be able to get his foot back inside it come morning?

He sighed, rubbing his foot through the shoe, thinking. What if he'd broken something? Wasn't the boot acting as a quasi-cast? But if the foot were merely strained and swollen, would the constraint eventually keep the blood from getting to his foot?

He continued to knead at the boot, his fingers squelching through the mud that covered it. He wanted answers, wanting to know what to do. Medicine was all voodoo and happenstance anyway – all guess and conjecture. God, he wanted to get that boot off! His foot hurt… it ached… it throbbed mercilessly.

Then, as he pressed, a pain shot through the foot – like a shock of electricity. With a gasp, he let go. "Ow! Oh, okay… it's broken," he decided in a flash, releasing his hold. "Not going to touch that again. No." He leaned back, stretching out his leg, as if to get as far from it as possible in the little hole, and closed his eyes. "Yeah, that'd be just my luck. Walking for days on a broken foot."

When he was able to deal with the pain, he sat forward again and rubbed his hands on a sufficiently clean spot on his pants. He found the jackknife and closed the blade. He was satisfied that was doing the right thing – leaving the boot alone. It was better left bound up, wasn't it? Ah, who the hell knew! He hated the squishy sciences.

He leaned back until he was supine and stared up at the braches above his head. He'd have to walk again tomorrow. Have to walk again. Crap….

Well, what else could he do? He had to get back. He had to do this alone. Staring up at the branches, he noted how they branched off in threes, creating a symmetry in their chaos. It was almost pretty. It was almost like a piece of artwork. It reminded him, almost, of some of the geometric designs in Atlantis.

What were they doing right now? he wondered. What was everyone doing in Atlantis? Some are probably heading for an early dinner. What's on the menu tonight? Are their any activities planned for the evening? Maybe someone's playing a movie. I like movie night. Sure, we've all seen the shows a dozen times already – but it's always nice. Wish I would've brought something from home. I have a whole stack of DVDs that I've never watched.

Elizabeth is probably in her office, working on the latest issue that has cropped up. She does the best she can and has a hell of a responsibility. I hope no one is giving her a hard time about all this. The major… now the major can be trouble when his ire is up.

Bet he's rather annoyed with all this. Rather obnoxious situation for him, I'd think. Wondering what he's doing right now. Training with Teyla, perhaps. Maybe he's still trying to read "War and Peace". Wish he wouldn't treat that book like a trial. It's not that bad. Hope he's found something to do.

Teyla, maybe she's visiting with her people right now. It must be hard for her at times, staying with us when everyone she cares about is on the mainland. I hope she's doing okay. At least she has Ford and the major to look out for her.

Ford's a good kid. No, that's not really right. He's a good man – there you go. He's got more guts than I'll ever have.

I hope they're doing something together at least – movie night maybe – could be 'Smokey and the Bandit' again. Oh! Maybe it's 'The Blues Brothers'… great movie… great music. Wish I was there. Hope they're there together, having a good time.

Are they worried about me?

Night was falling. All around him the sky grew dark.

I've been gone for two days now. Are they looking for me? Or have they already given up.

CHAPTER 18: LINGERING

Ford, Sheppard and Teyla lingered at the balcony overlooking the endless ocean. Today, Dr. Rodney McKay's name had been added to the list of the dead and the missing. Atlantis had given up on him.

"I don't understand why nobody's cutting down those trees," Aiden said softly. "I mean, what would it hurt? We knock down those trees and then send up a jumper – go look for him. Try to find that dart." He leaned against the railing and looking out at the dark ocean, absently rubbing his elbow. A faded moon hung in the daylight sky, looking like a leftover ornament from a past celebration.

"It's not that easy," Sheppard responded, from beside him. The water looked dark and unfriendly. "Everyone's pretty sure he's dead. They seem pretty convinced that the darts aren't set up for storing people." He said the words dully, not wanting to think too much about it. "And if he's still alive – that dart is probably too far gone."

Teyla, next to Ford, stated, "Perhaps it would be best if he has 'passed on'." She used a euphemism she'd recently learned. "I do not want him to be held by them for a long period. I do not want to think he is suffering." Her face was drawn in a long expression. "Too many have suffered at the hands of the Wraith. I do not want him to suffer."

Sheppard said nothing, remembering Sumner. There was no 'passing on' involved when a Wraith sucked the life from a man. Suffering... yes there was suffering.

"It's weird. I just can't get my mind around it," Ford went on. "He can't be dead. I can't believe he's stuck on a Wraith ship. None of that seems right. I keep thinking he's just in his lab, or about to step out that door to find us. I just got this feeling that he's still around and we just haven't been looking in the right place." The young man kept his eyes on the rolling surf. "I don't like thinking that he's gone. It just seems wrong. "

"It IS wrong," Sheppard stated. And the three of them said nothing for a time – just watching as the sun came lower in the sky, as it dipped to the horizon. The waves rolled, looking dark and cold and ominous. The sun balanced for a moment on the sea, and then slowly disappeared. They watched it go.

The sky in the east darkened, becoming a rich, deep blue, but the brilliant colors of sunset never appeared in the west. It was an entirely unspectacular end to the day.

Sheppard leaned against the railing, watching the sun go, feeling gypped by the display. The sky remained illuminated, the rays of the hidden sun still casting their glow, but the eastern sky was blackening. The moon began to take on a luster, and another started to rise.

Nobody spoke. And the quiet was welcome. The three team- members remained at the railing, each of them leaning against it, letting it hold them up as the watched night cross the sea.

Sheppard quietly blew out a breath, unable to fathom the fact that McKay would never again burst through a doorway, just brimming with excitement about his newest discovery. He'd never again hear the Canadian gripe about their latest predicament. Never put up with his worst-case scenarios. Never witness those flashes of lightning as the genius made those incredible bounds in logic. Never hear those snarky comebacks. Never again see how brave the man could be. They'd never again share some stupid joke, snipe at one another, or just laugh together.

Sheppard rested his head on his arms as he draped over the railing. The darkness reached further, taking in even the western sky, forgetting the sun and its light. The stars came out, creating constellations with forgotten names.

God, I'm going to miss him, he thought. Just haven't figured out how to do it yet. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I'll start missing him, because for right now I just don't want to believe he's gone.
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TBC - Yes... I know.. pirates. How the hell did that happen? Pirates, raging rivers, wet wet worlds... seems to be a rash of stories with these things in them. Sigh... anyway, it's still wet.. it's still damp and they still don't know where Rodney is. Don't worry... all will be resolved in the next section...