FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE DARKEST HOURS
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Connam stood quietly, watching as Colonel Sheppard rode off on the speedwheel, skidding a little and kicking up gravel under the thick wheels before he got the hang of it. Soon, he was gone around the bend, headed back towards the city. As the sound of the engine faded, Connam sighed and turned around, looking at the man on the wagon. He saw the doctor's blue eyes shift to focus unblinkingly on him.
"You do not believe he will come back for you," Connam stated matter-of-factly.
McKay appeared undaunted. "That obvious?"
Connam frowned slightly, walking back towards him, shrugging his shoulders a little to get rid of some soreness. "I do not understand. You do not trust your friend's word?"
McKay did not answer immediately, shifting backwards to lie back down on the pillows. Connam waited, watching him settle back down.
"I trust...that they need me where I come from," McKay said finally, closing his eyes, "so someone will come. But I doubt it will be Colonel Sheppard."
A slight pinch of Connam's forehead showed he did not quite understand that response. "He seemed earnest to me. He said he would come back. Why wouldn't he?"
McKay sighed, not opening his eyes, "Colonel Sheppard's priorities...run to his friends first."
"His friends? Then what are you?"
McKay said nothing for a few moments, then sighed again, closing his eyes. "Look, I am very tired. I've been bleeding to death for most of the day and that takes a lot out of a person. Would you mind if we got going now?"
Connam's eyebrows lifted, "I just...Not to belabor this point, but if you don't think he will come back for you in the morning, Doctor McKay, I'll have to make other arrangements. Fact is, I can't afford to take care of you for very long—it will cut into my profits. I'm not fond of this planet, and I wasn't planning on spending that much time here."
Blue eyes opened reluctantly, red rimmed and shadowed by exhaustion. Slowly, they turned to regard the man at the foot of the wagon. Connam met his eyes curiously.
"Well?" Connam asked.
McKay's eyes narrowed, "Well, what? What do you expect me to say?"
"Will he come back for you in the morning?"
McKay stared at him, then, slowly, he lifted himself up on his elbows, turning a little to face the trader, lowering his head to better glare at the man.
"Listen," he ground out harshly, "I don't know what the Colonel is planning. We...haven't been on the same page for a while. But, no matter what he thinks of me personally, he knows that losing me would be very inconvenient for the people where we come from. Someone will come...eventually." And he fell back onto the makeshift bed, grimacing a little as tendrils of pain rippled up his side and down his hurt leg. He closed his eyes again, his voice softening. "Now, I'm very tired. We paid you to let me stay at your shack for one night--at least honor that. We'll worry about what happens when he doesn't return, later, okay? Now, would you please leave me alone? I've had enough misery for one day."
Connam's eyebrows arched, and he shrugged. "Fine. For now. But if he doesn't return..."
"Okay!" McKay snapped, "I get it! You can't let me stay in your little hovel forever. For Christ's sake, will you just shut up?"
Connam pursed his lips, his frustration growing. "I was going to say," he growled, "that if he doesn't return when I told him to, you will probably die, and I can't have a dead body to worry about."
A coldness ran down McKay's chest at the statement, causing him to shudder, but he wouldn't give Connam the satisfaction of just how close to the bone he'd just hit. Instead, he turned burning eyes to the trader, refusing to show anything but his usual trademark anger.
"Connam," he hissed, "if you want to abandon me in the woods in the morning, fine. For now, I just want to get some sleep, so why don't you just hurry up and drive us to whatever hell hole you call home, and leave me alone!"
Connam snorted, shaking his head. "Well, you certainly know how to endear yourself. I've half a mind to leave you out here. Save me a lot of grief."
"Why don't you?" McKay snapped back, anger flaring even brighter inside the black pupils. "That way, we can avoid any mess later. Wouldn't want my dead body stinking up your precious palace now, would we?"
Connam glared at him, his hands gripping into fists. "What is wrong with you? You act as if you want me to throw you out!" He shook his head, "No wonder you don't think the Colonel would come back for you. It's a wonder anyone would!"
McKay stared at him, "I told you, they'll come because they need me, not because they like me! The Colonel's job is to protect me. He'll do so, to the best of his ability. He doesn't need to be my friend to do that."
Connam snorted, "I see. So you don't need friends, is that it?"
McKay rolled his eyes, then turned his head away, "Are you enjoying this conversation, Connam? Because I'm really not."
"I'm just—"
"Go AWAY!"
Connam grimaced, then shook his head, noting quietly, "A warning, Doctor. If you continue to treat everyone you meet like this, you won't make any friends on the trading planets at all." And with that, the trader turned and disappeared around the side of the wagon.
McKay stared up at the canvas overhead, seeing beyond it to all the faces of the "friends" he'd lost this year. Finally, he closed his eyes.
"Exactly," he whispered.
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Sheppard flew down the mountain road, skidding around corners and paying almost no attention to what was around him. He was so angry at McKay, he was fit to bursting. How dare he question him like that? Where did he get off?
Slowly, as he curled around one particularly sharp curve, he realized the "road" he was on had started to get smoother, and his anger began to subside. Slowing, he quieted the motor, looking around at his surroundings. The ground was more level than angled, suggesting he'd reached the valley floor, or close to it, which meant he was getting close again to civilization. Taking more careful stock, he recognized that he and McKay had slogged through woods a lot like these on their flight, before meeting up with Connam.
Connam.
Sheppard trusted the trader about as far as he could throw him. But he didn't think Connam would sell them out, not unless pressed.
But he probably would make McKay leave before he...before he...
Oh God.
He slowed the motorcycle...speedwheel...whatever...even more, until it was moving barely as fast as a normal bicycle, then hit the brakes completely, putting his foot down.
For a moment, he just sat there, listening to the engine's soft "put-put" and trying to leech the emotions from his psyche. He didn't have time to be angry at McKay, or to worry about him, or to think about what would happen to him. McKay was as safe as he could be right now. Teyla, Weir, Travis and Ronon were not. He had to get them home. Once done...he could think about McKay again.
It had been the logical course. The only course.
But something inside was rebelling. Nausea assaulted his senses, and he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from emitting a roar of frustration. He scrunched his eyes against the liquid he felt there, then turned his face to the sky above, opening them wide.
"Son of a bitch," he hissed through clenched teeth, "Stop it!" He closed his eyes tightly again.
Damn it, why couldn't he just stop caring about McKay? He didn't want to care about anyone anymore! He'd become too close friends with the man, just as he'd become too close to Ford, and too close to his men in Afghanistan. Why hadn't he learned his lesson then? He couldn't allow himself to become to close to anyone. Teyla could do it. She seemed to have no problem distancing herself from all of them. Probably because she'd done so for years—you had to in order to be an effective leader. Weir seemed capable of caring for everyone equally as well. Why could they do it, and not him? He didn't want to care about McKay more than anyone else. Just as he wished he hadn't cared more about Ford...or Mitch...or Dex...
Why couldn't he just...
"Damn it!" he yelled out loud to himself, "you don't have time for this!" He had to rescue the others. McKay knew that...McKay understood. Didn't he? He hadn't wanted Sheppard to leave, but deep down McKay must have realized that there wasn't a choice there. Sheppard had to prioritize. That was just the way life went. Out here, decisions had to be made. McKay knew that.
He'd called McKay selfish. Why had he done that? McKay wasn't selfish. Well, he was, but not about things like this. The man had never once put his life before those of others...so why was he now? No, he must have read the man wrong. That was it. McKay understood. He had seemed like he hadn't, but he must have understood.
Looking forward, Sheppard blinked a few more times, working the last kinks out of his body.
"Okay," he said quietly to himself, "you need a plan, Sheppard."
Revving up the motor again, he got the speedwheel moving again, and focused on watching for patrols and other dangers now that he was back in their range. At the same time, he started working out a plan in his head.
It had been about eight hours since he had left Garillion with McKay. If the soldiers who had taken the city and arrested his team needed to wait for word from this King Stewart then, with any luck, they'll still be there.
So, first, hide the bike outside the city and buy the horses. Then, reconnaissance. Third, rescue the team. Fourth, get everyone home.
Sheppard shuddered involuntarily, then gritted his teeth.
Focus. And Get It Done.
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TBC...