Part 6
The sudden slamming against the door had Beckett and McKay jumping. Rodney cried out and rolled to his side, dragging his legs up to his abdomen curling in pain. "You better get out of here, Carson," McKay moaned.
"Knock off, Rodney," Carson mumbled as he tore a section of cloth he held tight in his teeth, "I'm not leaving you."
"Oh—good," McKay stuttered, relief filling his voice. He let his eyes drift close. He wouldn't have to worry about Beckett disappearing on him when he wasn't looking.
"You're a real hero, ya know that, Rodney?" Beckett pointed out as he worked the piece of cloth under McKay's back and up around his midsection.
"Really?" Mckay asked, peeling an eye open.
"Aye," Beckett answered, adjusting the cloth over the makeshift pad he placed over the wound. "Not many people I know, would stand and goad some seven foot monster and throw curveballs at it."
"Fastballs, those were fastballs, best pitcher in my little league," McKay proudly pointed out.
"Fastballs?" Carson questioned, "not much for baseball; rugby player myself and football," Beckett added as he tied off the strip of cloth.
McKay groaned and gripped Beckett's wrists as a sharp pain lanced through his midsection.
"Your dad teach you?" Rodney asked trying desperately not to pass out or vomit on himself; trying anything to get his mind off the twisting agony that gnarled his guts.
"Nay, my mum," Beckett answered with a flash of pride.
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"His mum? Rugby?" Sheppard asked turning to Weir.
Elizabeth just shrugged.
They turned back to the screen and watched as Beckett began pushing lab benches against the shuddering door.
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"Your mother played rugby?" McKay asked lifting his head off the floor. A sheen of sweat slicked his paling features.
His eyes tracked to the door as it was once again slammed from the outside. The door bowed. The work benches Carson had pushed in front of the door skidded a little further away from it. Beckett stood up and pushed them back flush against the door. It was rocked again, the work benches and Carson were pushed a few inches into the dark room.
"Gah, no man, not rugby, football," Beckett pushed the tables back and then wedged a stool under one of the benches. Rodney watched but didn't have the strength to point out to Carson the futility of it all.
"Who taught you to pitch?" Beckett hopped up on the work benches and stood stretching his arms up over his head. He weaved precariously for a moment before he managed to push the ceiling tiles away revealing a similar crawl space they had tried to hide in earlier.
"I read about it in a book," Rodney answered tiredly and let his head rest tiredly against the floor. He watched Beckett stretch precariously on his toes and struggle to lift the ceiling panel up by just his fingertips. His balance was shaky at best. McKay wondered if he should try and slide a little further away from the 'fall zone'. He really wasn't up to breaking Beckett's fall. "You know, it's a mark of insanity to repeatedly try something again and again that failed."
Beckett eased himself down from the bench tops and staggered a step as vertigo nearly overwhelmed him.
"Aye, lad, but it's simple genius that works insanity to one's benefit," Carson was pushed forward when the door bowed inward again, creaking under the onslaught.
"That makes no sense at all, Carson," McKay muttered.
"They say blood loss makes a person slow, Rodney," Beckett stated trying to catch his breath as lightheadedness threatened to knock him off his feet, "you're practically in reverse," Beckett pointed out seriously. "Come on, now, Rodney, time to get on your feet."
"You're not funny, Carson," McKay muttered out. "Where'd you learn the trick with the lighter and aerosol?"
"It weren't aerosol in that canister," Beckett pointed out as he pushed the work benches back against the door. "No matter, my uncle Liam; he showed me how to spray stripes on my cast once and light them on fire." Carson kicked the stool further under the work bench, securely wedging it in place.
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"He used to light his casts on fire?" Sheppard repeated.
Weir merely shrugged her shoulders.
"I would like to meet this uncle," Ronan informed them.
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"Your mother know about this?" McKay asked, watching as Beckett was once again shoved forward with the work benches when the creature rammed the door.
"Aye, she found out when I managed to catch the old hay pile on fire, sent the piggies squealing into the hills and ole Maize the plow horse busted through the barn doors and tore through the fence. Crazy, daft horse." Beckett turned and stared at Rodney, "they're suppose to run into the barn, not out of it." He spoke as if still pleading his case. "Blasted hay pile weren't anywhere near those bloody animals." Beckett shook his head in disgust as if the incident still bothered him. He turned his attention back to the sliding tables and the door as it once again shimmered under the persistent onslaught from the other side, "You'd think I burned down the town," Carson sighed. "It was a blooming catfish that busted my leg."
"You fish?"
"Catfish, but not since moving to Antarctica," Carson answered as he pushed away from the work benches and made his way to Rodney.
Beckett squatted down behind Rodney's head and slowly lifted the scientist from under his shoulders to a seated position. A small distressed cry escaped Rodney.
"I'm sorry, laddie," Carson apologized, "I'd not be much of a friend if I left you to die here." Beckett readjusted his grip under McKay's arms and heaved Rodney to his feet.
Both men staggered backward.
McKay cried out and both men would have tumbled to the ground, if they hadn't fallen backward into the work benches which were once again pushed away from the bowing door.
"Ow, ow, ow, Carson, no, stop, Oww," McKay pleaded in pained whispers, unable to catch his breath.
"I'm sorry, lad. God, I'm sorry," Beckett muttered, angrily shoving the work benches with his hip, back against the slowly bending door.
He climbed on top of the benches, awkwardly keeping his grip on the scientist. "Come on Rodney, I need some help." Beckett squatted down, re-adjusted his grip under Rodney's shoulders, and then heaved with all his strength, dragging McKay up onto the lab bench tops. Beckett fell backward across the tables, landing just next the slowly creasing door.
"Leave me be, Carson; save yourself," Rodney whispered through clenched teeth, biting through his lips as he gasped for breath on the top of the lab bench.
"You'd like that, wouldn't ya," Carson spat out, his breath burning in his lungs, his muscles screaming in protest as he crawled back to his feet. He stared up at the hole in the ceiling that seemed impossibly far away. "You just love to play the hero." Beckett pulled McKay up onto his knees.
"All you have to do is stand on your feet, Rodney, and reach up," Carson coached.
"I don't like to play the hero," Rodney answered peevishly as he struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the Scotsman.
"That's it, now reach up, I'll push you up from here," Beckett cajoled, helping the Canadian to his feet. "And you do to like playing the hero, you and the major both." Carson pointed out.
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"Colonel," Sheppard whispered in frustration, couldn't scientists grasp a simple rank change? "And I don't like playing the hero."
He looked up and ignored the disbelieving stares aimed at him.
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"I do not."
"Do to," Beckett stated. "Grab the edge---that's it---okay here you're okay," Carson lifted McKay as far as he could. "Rodney, pull yourself up."
"I'm trying," McKay answered.
"Try harder," Carson huffed, trying to keep his balance as once again the tables slid away from the door.
"Watch where you put your hands," McKay exclaimed, slightly dismayed.
"So help me God, Rodney, get a move on, or my grabbing your ass will be the least of your worries," Carson bit out as the tables screeched another few inches across the floor.
The doctor snapped his head in the direction of the doorway when it once again screeched and watched in dismay as blistered black claws curled around the edges of the door.
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"Move your ass, McKay," Sheppard whispered as he watched how Rodney struggled to use his elbows to crawl into the duct, kicking with his legs.
The Canadian winced when Dr. McKay's flaring foot connected solidly with Dr. Beckett's jaw, sending the chief medical officer stumbling off the tables.
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"Come on Carson, hurry up!" Rodney urged from the relative safety of the ceiling. He watched in dismay as Beckett lost his balance and fell from the sliding tables.
"Shit," Beckett muttered, pushing the work benches back against the door, slamming the door into the hands of the creature. It roared out its frustration and pain.
"Oh that's it, piss it off some more, Carson," Rodney exclaimed, staring down through the ceiling while lying curled on his side.
Beckett scrambled back onto the table and reached for the edges of the duct. He swayed as his balance once again faltered forcing him to drop his arms.
"Come on, Carson!" McKay breathed out, trying to pry his own bloody hands from his midsection and reach out to the doctor.
Beckett reached up again, stretching, trying desperately to reach the ceiling. He wiggled his fingers, curling them instinctively just as the pads of his finger tips gripped the edges of the duct.
The tables moved out from under Beckett's tip toes. He would have lost his grip except for the weak hands that grabbed his wrists. "Quit, lazing around, Carson, and get your slow ass up here," Rodney ground through gritted teeth.
Beckett hung from the duct with his chin against his chest, "I'll kill the raunchy bugger, I swear I'm going to kill'im."
"Get your sorry highland ass up here and you might have a chance," Rodney scoffed.
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"Dr. McKay is irritating," Dex pointed out.
Teyla, Sheppard and Weir nodded in unison.
No one heard Zelenka's soft utterance, "You have no idea."
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Beckett slid his legs into the duct and leaned heavily against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath.
They listened as the creature banged against the door again and again.
"So, ah, Carson, what'd your mum do when she figured out you lit the hay on fire with your cast?"
Beckett smiled with his eyes still closed, "Aye, I mucked out the pigpen, built them a bigger and stronger one, named it the pig palace." There was a hint of joyful pride in his voice, "fixed the barn wall, repaired the fence." Carson let a smile cross his face. His mum could be stern but she was pushover. She had helped him with most of his chores. He did, after all, have a broken leg, which he got fishing with her.
McKay leaned his head tiredly against the cool metal of the crawl space. He wished his mom would have taken enough interest in him to have forced him to do chores.
Carson felt his heart constrict at the thought of his mother. A confusing mix of anger and anguish rushed to the surface. He ground his teeth and held his breath fighting to gain control of the upheaval of emotions that threatened to swamp him.
"Time to go, Rodney; we can't stay here."
Carson pushed himself off the wall half crouched over, gathered McKay from under the shoulders again, and started dragging him away from the danger below.
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"Zelenka where's that duct system go?" Sheppard turned toward the physicist who worked dutifully at the next console.
"I do not know," Radek answered.
"Peter Grodin would have known," Teyla pointed, out feeling the loss of a friend.
The young Canadian sighed, felt his cheeks burn with inadequacy and moved to another laptop and began typing.