Chapter Seven

Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. Even the very wise cannot see all ends.

The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring

McKay woke with a start. Shots! He'd heard gunshots!

He struggled to rise from the drug-induced haze of sleep, but it was like paddling against the undertow of a strong ocean. The firing continued erratically, and he began to remember where he was, and why.

He twisted, and saw that Sheppard was standing on a thin narrow band of rock that stretched across the canyon, and he was staring ahead as if there were something there, firing like a crazy man.

"Why won't you die, damn it!"

McKay tried to lean on one elbow without destabilizing the precarious balance. "Because you're firing at thin air, Major," he answered reasonably, forcing the fear and worry from his voice. Instead, it came out with just the right amount of sardonic undercurrent.

Sheppard spun about, and twisted so fast that McKay thought for sure they were going over the edge, but he wavered, and regained his balance.

"What?" he snapped, looking about like a blind dog.

"There's nothing there," said McKay. He pointed the finger on his right hand towards the area in front of Sheppard. "What do you think you're shooting at?"

Sheppard looked confusedly at McKay, but turned back, slower, and seemed to scan the scenery. "A wraith." Slowly, he holstered his firearm, as if not trusting that it was a hallucination.

"Just…pull us across," cajoled McKay, his voice soothing as he tried to steady the major's nerves.

Sheppard took a hesitant step forward, but then another, and another, until he was hefting the travois onto solid ground…on the other side. They'd made it!

McKay slumped boneless against the canvas material. "Good," he sighed. "Very good."

Before McKay could tell Sheppard he needed to take a break, he felt the travois jerk with movement. The man was determined to walk himself to his grave, if that's what it took.

The scary thing was, it just might be…

oOo

Sheppard didn't know when was the last time he'd had something to drink, or when he'd gone to the bathroom, or even when he'd last said a word out loud. His world had narrowed to the plodding movement of placing one foot in front of the other, over and over, and over again.

He knew McKay was suffering in silence behind him. Knew also that McKay was becoming convinced they weren't going to make it. There wouldn't be any return trip through the gate – they were doing to die out here, and maybe their friends would never even know why.

"You know what this reminds me of?"

Sheppard jerked from the noise. He'd tuned out the scraping sound caused by dragging the travois, slipping into a hyper-focused state where you only know how to do one thing, only aware of the one thing, because all your worth depends on it.

So coming out of that hyper-focused condition caused almost physical pain.

"What does it remind you of?" Sheppard echoed tiredly.

"Frodo and Sam – of course, I'm Frodo because he was the Master – Sam always called him, 'Master Frodo'," McKay grinned. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Master McKay!" he said with flair.

Sheppard couldn't hold back the snicker, which was probably McKay's intent to begin with. "I suppose there's a passing resemblance to you and a Hobbit," he stopped pulling the travois forward, and shrugged out of the straps. As good of a time as any for a break. "And you sure eat as much."

He dropped painfully down beside McKay, surprised that his body still knew how to bend. He hadn't stopped because by stopping he allowed himself to feel every minute hurt he was suffering. He knew he was in bad shape. He felt dizzy, floaty in a sort of way, and sicker than a dog.

McKay held out the canteen, and all he could do was push it away. He'd never keep it down, and why waste the water when McKay could at least drink it and benefit.

"You take it," he said.

"Major, you can't keep going without water."

Sheppard shook his head and croaked, "You've got it all wrong."

McKay had moved himself into a sitting position, though Sheppard could tell it was taking a lot out of him to maintain it. But, the pain drew off for a puzzled moment. "Got what wrong? That you need water? It's a basic biological fact."

"No," explained Sheppard. "You're role."

He hung his head between his knees, seeking relief, but all it did was make his head pound harder. "Sam cared for Frodo, not the other way around."

McKay pulled a couple of power bars from his bag, and tossed one to Sheppard. "I'm surprised you watched it," he admitted, ripping his package.

Sheppard looked at the power bar. If he couldn't hold down water, why did McKay think he could eat this? "I didn't," he said, tossing it back behind McKay, when he was busy taking another bite.

McKay looked up, a mouthful of food puffing out his cheeks, and mumbled, "You didn't?"

"I read it," he clarified. He'd read Tolkien in college. There were many great authors, and never enough time to read, but Tolkien was a master, in his own way, and Sheppard had made time to tackle the monstrous trilogy. He'd been afraid to see the movie; afraid it wouldn't live up to the book.

McKay chewed his mouthful rapidly. "You've got to see the movie. When we get back -"

His words died in the air; the elephant in the room that neither man wanted to acknowledge to the other.

"It's a date," said Sheppard abruptly. He stood up, and lifted the straps with a mixture of reluctance and dread. The material slid into the ruts worn into the skin on his shoulders.

He started trudging forward.

He wasn't Sam, and McKay wasn't Frodo, but he'd gotten one thing right. They were going to make it to the end, and unlike the story, neither one of them was going to sail to the Havens…

oOo

"I can't do it," muttered Sheppard. "I can't do -" his voice broke, and so did he. He fell to his knees, and retched painfully into the dry dirt between his legs.

They'd left the canyon, and the trees, and the grass long behind. The gate was supposed to be ahead, but all he saw was dust, dirt, and endless paths of the dead –

Sheppard didn't move from his bent place. He wiped a filthy hand across his mouth. He didn't think he'd even know the gate if it rose up before him. He could be seeing things, not noticing – they could walk right by it.

"You're right," said a small voice behind him. "We're not going to make it."

Sheppard's head reared up in anger. "God damn you, McKay! We're going to make it!"

He stumbled to one foot, then the other, and hefted the travois roughly, clumsily.

"I didn't drag you for six days to die out here!"

Dimly, Sheppard saw the darkening sky, and the same ethereal lights that had lured them to this planet began to dance, enticing him to stop, and lie down if only to watch the evocative show. But there would be no stopping tonight. This was it – the end of all things. If they didn't press on, and make it soon, nothing would matter anymore.

He started forward, fumbled, and got to his feet again.

Behind him, McKay fought against the pain, the helplessness, the weight of Sheppard's burden – himself. If it weren't for him, Sheppard wouldn't be dying on this desolate plain.

Sheppard continued to lose track of reality. He thought he'd hear a gate dialing, only to stare out into the inky blackness that now covered the land in an imitation of death; the beautiful light show above cast the only light to walk by.

He talked to McKay, but he knew McKay had passed out at some point from the pain. At least he hoped it was only that. He admitted that McKay had been right about Chaya – but wrong to not trust him. It was then that he knew McKay was really unconscious, because if he'd been awake, he would've argued that point till the sun rose.

The sky had just begun to lighten with the first tantalizing promises of the coming day when Sheppard fell again, and this time he didn't get up.

oOo

Sheppard came to with his face in the dirt. He felt awful. He tried to push himself up, and fell back to his side, rolling as he did, spitting and retching equally.

He heard someone stirring behind him, or to his side. He couldn't tell. His vision was blurred, and gray. Or was that the sky?

McKay -

He might condemn himself to death by inaction, but he wouldn't do it to his friend – to the one person who counted on him, and trusted him to see him home.

He shoved harder with his hands, and this time managed to get his feet under him, but he was shaky. A stiff breeze, and he'd be down. He walked an erratic path to the travois where McKay was laying. He was awake, but seemed disoriented as well.

"Wa'e up," slurred Sheppard, nudging the man with his boot.

McKay stirred more, and blinked. "We're there?"

Sheppard shook his head, and instantly started gagging. When it'd subsided he answered, "No. We've got to go."

"Why?"

"B'caus' we're gonna die." Sheppard fought his mouth to get the words out.

McKay seemed to consider it, and then offered a hand upwards. Sheppard took it, and pulled as hard as he could. Between the two, they were upright, but it'd almost knocked them both down.

Sheppard hooked McKay's arm around his neck, and they started off. McKay was delirious to the point where he didn't feel the pain for his shattered and torn knee, and Sheppard was so far gone he didn't realize McKay was even walking on it.

"You've been a good friend, Major John Sheppard," said a giddy McKay, in between deep breaths of effort.

Sheppard grunted.

"That's what I like about you; you never hold back."

A misstep, and Sheppard's foot twisted. They fell into the dirt, tangled limbs. Sheppard tried to get back into a sitting position, but he stared at the sky instead, stunned from the fall, from the lack of water, and food, and everything else.

He was going to fail. Somewhere in the slow churnings of his mind, he realized he wasn't going to get them to the gate, and if he didn't get them to the gate, they'd die. Dying was failure, and that wasn't acceptable.

With an angry roar, he dived deep for a reserve of strength that only the dying have, and tugged McKay up with him.

"W're n't dead!" he shouted, as best as he could, to the angry sky, for the gray he'd seen earlier was the clouds gathering overhead.

McKay looked upward, and scrunched his eyes against the glare. "Who're talking to?"

Sheppard didn't answer. Instead, he moved purposefully forward, one foot in front of the other, and a hop and a tug, moving McKay forward as well. Moments later, the heavens opened up, and cried for them.

He didn't stop. But something stopped him. He slipped into it, because the rain had turned the dustbowl into a mud pit, and they'd begun to slide as much as step.

The knock sent him, and McKay, back hard onto the ground. He looked up, dumbfounded, because it was the gate they'd walked right into. He started laughing.

McKay joined him, and soon the air was filled with laughter competing with the sounds of pouring rain.

"Dial -"

It was all Sheppard had the energy to say, but McKay got it. They'd left the travois a way back, but strapped to McKay's arm was the device to send their IDC. They were going home.

Sheppard helped McKay to the DHD, and together they watched the symbols light up the way home. He looked over at McKay, and he whispered, "We made it, Master McKay. We made it."