Then let us be rid of it, once and for all. Come on, Mr. Frodo – I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you!
The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King
He heard voices. Annoying voices. Annoying because they echoed too loud in his head, making words hard to understand. So he ignored them as he plodded on, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other. He wasn't sure where he was going, nor did it seem to matter. He just kept walking because he knew he couldn't stop. Step after step after step...
"JOHN!"
That startled him enough that he froze. He recognized the voice. McKay's voice. But McKay never called him John. Never. He tried to turn around but something caught at him and John realized it was the straps on his shoulders. He shrugged them off then turned around to find Rodney glaring at him.
In that moment everything snapped back into place, hard. Making John almost reel from it and he fell to his knees. His legs felt like rubber and every muscle in his body ached and burned. "What's wrong?" John asked, and his voice came out broken and hoarse. His mouth felt so dry, but they had to save water.
Rodney eyed Sheppard with concern. "We have to stop for the night, Major," he stated. "You passed by what looked like some kind of shelter about ten minutes ago. I tried to get you to stop."
"Didn't hear you," John whispered, as he pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead. It felt as if someone were stabbing him there with a long, white-hot blade. The pain was so intense it made him feel nauseous and just the thought of it was enough to send John scrabbling off to the side so he could retch. But there was nothing in his stomach to bring up but a bit of bile. His body convulsed with dry heaves and the shudders that racked him made his head hurt all the more.
"Major?" Rodney watched Sheppard's bent over form. Watched the slim body rock with wave after wave of retching and it made him feel sick and sympathetic. "You okay?" Rodney called out, when Sheppard didn't respond.
John fought the dizziness that threatened to lay him out flat. He crawled over to McKay and whispered, "Water."
Rodney handed him the canteen and watched as Sheppard rinsed his mouth, spit, then took a tiny sip. "Better?"
"Where...where's the shelter?" It sapped his energy, just asking the question. Because John knew he would have to haul Rodney back the way they came and he didn't want to move again. Not ever.
"Back over there." Rodney twisted and pointed.
John turned to look and realized something. He had been veering away from the canyon and moving deeper into the wooded area. He didn't remember doing that. He had to be more careful, more focused, or they would be worse off than they already were.
Rodney seemed to read his mind. "We can still see the canyon and I think it's safer in the woods. The canopy is thick and it looks like rain."
"Yeah." John didn't look up, it would only make his head hurt worse, not that he figured it could hurt any worse than it already did. But he had been proven wrong in the past. Besides which, Rodney was a genius and if he said it was safer in here, then John was going to believe him. At least for now. Until he could think straight again.
For the moment his head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton, and that his thoughts were slim threads all tangled up inside it. Pushing up to his feet, John shrugged the harness back on and turned the travois around. "Tell me when to stop," he ordered, then he trudged on.
"Here!" Rodney called out, a short time later. "See? It looks like a little hut. Without a door or, actually, without a front wall either but --"
"A lean to," John interjected. He slipped the harness off then moved to help Rodney to his feet. "Time to pee."
Rodney nodded. "Good idea." Neither of them had gone yet today. Not a good sign. He leaned heavily on the major as they moved to a tree a bit of a ways from the shelter. They remained together as they took care of nature this time. Rodney was relieved. He was rather afraid to let Sheppard out of his sight. The man looked like death warmed over. They headed back to the shelter and got settled in. Rodney pulled the wipes from the backpack and offered one to Sheppard.
John accepted it and wiped his face then his hands. He felt gritty in a way that he was pretty sure the dirt and sweat was ground in to the bone. It would take a dozen showers under scalding hot water to ever feel clean again. Clean and warm. John realized he was shivering.
"Supper time," Rodney announced, after scrounging around in the backpack again. That was one thing they had enough of. Power bars. And right now Sheppard needed about a dozen of them. Rodney was sure the major had already dropped a couple of pounds. He couldn't afford to lose any.
"Later," John replied, as he pulled out their blanket. He spread one over Rodney then thought about starting a fire, but just then it started to pour. Which meant wet wood. Which meant...no fire.
Rodney tossed a power bar in Sheppard's lap. "You have to eat, Major."
John thought about arguing but he didn't have the energy, and he knew Rodney was right. But he tossed the power bar back and dug into his vest pocket for the half eaten one from this morning. John took a small bite and swallowed cautiously. So far so good. It was staying down.
After wolfing down his own supper, Rodney watched Sheppard. He could see the man was shivering. The major's teeth were just about chattering. His skin was pale beneath the dirt and grime, his dark hair was plastered down by sweat, and his bloodshot eyes were dark with pain. Rodney wished he could give Sheppard a shot of morphine. He felt so damn helpless. Sheppard was in a bad way and yet he was doing everything in his power to get them back home. Rodney knew he was a dead weight. Without him along, Sheppard probably would have made it to the gate by now. He'd be home and clean and safe in Atlantis.
"Do you need morphine?" John asked, as he shuffled closer to Rodney. It was getting dark and soon they wouldn't be able to see each other. But right now McKay looked gray and in pain.
"Just Tylenol," Rodney countered. His knee hurt like a bastard, but he was almost getting used to it. And tonight he had every intention of watching over the major. Sheppard had to be okay or they lost whatever chance they had, however slim, of making it back to Atlantis.
John got the Tylenol and crawled over to Rodney's side. He held out his hand.
Rodney had to grip Sheppard's wrist to keep him from dumping the pills. He was shaking that hard. "I'm cold," Rodney said, suddenly.
"Cold?" John felt so tired and his head was so fuzzy that he was slow to follow the change of subject.
"Yes...cold," Rodney repeated. He paused to take the pills with a sip of water, then he made a show of hugging his arms around himself. He couldn't do much to help overall, but he could try and warm Sheppard up. He would just have to be sneaky about it.
Without hesitation, John offered Rodney his blanket. "Here." He started to spread it over McKay only to have it tossed back at him."
Rodney shook his head. "That's not good enough. We need to share body heat."
"What?" John stared at two Rodneys for a moment. Then he blinked hard and they melded into one again.
"Come here." Rodney realized it would be easier to give Sheppard orders to follow. Not that the major was one to follow orders from Rodney, but they had both learned to listen to each other when it mattered. He figured it mattered now that Sheppard listen to him. "Come here," Rodney repeated, impatiently.
John blinked again then moved closer. He let Rodney position him, sitting up, with his back against the wall. Then Rodney was shifting and John moved to help him. "What are you doing?"
Rodney bit back a cry of pain as his knee was jolted by his movement, then he gritted out, "Trying...to get...between...your legs." And the moment it was out he realized what he'd said and was horrified.
The look on McKay's face, more than the words he'd said, struck John as funny. But his laughter died out quick because it made his head hurt, which made him nauseous. Breathlessly he replied, "All you had to do was ask." And he teased Rodney because they both needed the distraction.
"It's good to know I'm stranded in the middle of hell with a twelve year old, major," Rodney shot back, with aggrieved dignity.
"Anytime." John understood what Rodney was trying to do now so he shifted his legs and helped McKay get settled. After a moment Rodney's back was against John's chest and he felt warmer.
Rodney shifted to get as comfortable as he could then ordered, "Give me the blanket." He took it from Sheppard and used it to cover himself and the major's legs. "You okay?" Rodney asked.
John shifted carefully, settling McKay a bit, then he replied, "Yeah...it's good." And he did feel warmer, which eased the ache in his joints and muscles a bit. Enough so that he could distract himself from that pain as well as the stabbing in his head and John felt himself drifting off.
"Major!"
"What?" He could hear how slurred his voice was.
Rodney smacked Sheppard's thigh. He knew he had to keep him awake, at least for a little while. The major was drifting off to easily and it was dangerous. "Tell me how you ended up playing shuttle pilot in the Antarctica."
John didn't want to talk about it, but he knew what Rodney was doing. He wanted to sleep but it was best if he could stay awake for a while. So he played along. "Disobeyed orders. Big surprise, huh?"
"Definitely," Rodney drawled. "What did you do?" He prompted.
"Three men were down in enemy territory and I was ordered to leave them behind. I refused." John let his head loll back against the wall but he kept his eyes open, staring at the shadowy darkness that was creeping in on them.
Rodney wasn't really surprised to hear that. "So...you saved them and everything, right?" Sheppard had a savior complex that was hard to ignore.
John sighed softly. "Yeah...I got them out and brought them home."
"Shouldn't you be happy about that?" Rodney was surprised by how sad Sheppard sounded. Then it hit him. "Oh...never mind. You got punished for saving them. Which is stupid. Which doesn't surprise me because the military is so narrow-minded. It's all about following orders. Even when they're stupid. Which, of course, is something you don't do half the time anyway, so how the hell did you ever make it up the ranks to Major anyway?" Rodney realized he was rambling but he couldn't stop. The Tylenol hadn't kicked in yet and he needed to distract himself.
"I didn't care about the punishment," John said softly. He had actually rather liked it in the Antarctic. It was peaceful there and he liked being left alone. "It's funny...the families of the guys I brought back...they went to bat for me. I think that's why I didn't get discharged or worse."
Rodney was thoughtful. "What if you had been kicked out? What would you have done?"
John let his eyes close but there was no relief from the stabbing ache in his head. "I would have found someway to fly," he whispered.
"Crop duster?" Rodney guessed, and he was mostly teasing.
"Don't know." John felt the darkness that surrounded them seeping it's way inside him. And he welcomed it. He wanted relief from the cold and the pain. So he let himself drift away.
Rodney felt, as well as heard, Sheppard's breathing change. The cold tremors had ceased and the major went still. Too still. Lifting a hand over his head, Rodney fumbled around until he felt Sheppard's throat. It took him a few frantic minutes to find a pulse point but there it was, beating against his fingertips. Only then did he let himself relax. As long as Sheppard was alive, there was hope. Not that Rodney expected they would actually survive this and make it home. But as he slid into slumber, he figured he could at least dream about it.
oOo
They had reached a crossover point. Finally. John felt like weeping with relief as he shrugged off the harness. He was so damn tired. The morning hadn't started out well. Rodney was in a pissed off mood because he couldn't wake him up this morning. John felt a bit guilty about that, but it wasn't as if he had stayed unconscious on purpose. Not that the rest had helped any. There was no shift in the level of exhaustion that dogged him. It was a part of him now.
The crossover point stretched about two hundred feet across and it wasn't exactly a wide strip. In fact it narrowed considerably as it neared the other side. But John figured they could make it. Hell, they would make it. It wasn't as if they had a choice.
He moved to kneel beside McKay and checked the knee. It was hot and puffy looking, and black and purple in color, and it made John a little nauseous to look at it. So he covered it, carefully, not wanting to wake Rodney. It had taken a shot of morphine to get him to shut up. John hated using it on the one hand, since they only had three shots left. But he could see that Rodney was in agony, and his endless chatter had become distracting. So John had knocked him out and he didn't feel all that guilty about it. Besides which, it would be easier for him to get them across the chasm this way. He would need to be able to focus.
Reaching for the canteen, John took a tiny sip of water, then he recapped it, rose to his feet and shouldered the harness once more. Leaning forward, John made the travois slide across the hard ground and then they were in motion again. Twenty minutes later they were halfway across when a sharp stab of pain in his left temple made John stagger. He fell to one knee and didn't move. It hurt to breathe. After a moment he was able to lift his head and what he saw made him gasp. Slowly moving his right hand, John unclipped his holster and pulled out his Beretta. Then he took aim at his target and fired.
The Wraith stood there and smiled.