FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: JAMES DEAN

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Connam poured the last jug of water into the truck, looking around despondently at their forest surroundings. The bells rang across the whole valley, echoing through the trees, and he knew exactly what they meant.

Rodney was wrapped tightly in a large blue blanket from the back, which he'd purchased by trading Connam his pen. Every so often, a sharp shiver would wrack his frame, but he rode it out. He seemed barely aware of anything at this point, staring out miserably from above the top of the blanket's edge.

The trader glanced at him, sighed, and finished pouring in the water. Setting the empty jug in the back, he then walked into the woods and looked around. After a moment, he saw what appeared to be a fairly stout stick and grabbed it, testing its strength and height.

Carrying it back to the wagon, he held it up.

The scientist's blue eyes shifted to the right, to see the stick.

"You can use it as a cane," Connam explained.

The slightest furrowing of the brow, then, slowly, the eyes closed.

"End of the road," Rodney whispered through the thick material.

"Yes, Doctor McKay," Connam shrugged. "I'm sorry. But by now, all the guardsmen in the valley will be looking for you and your friends in force. Those bells," he pointed vaguely upwards, "are telling them that there has been an escape. Your Colonel Sheppard was apparently successful. However, it also means I can't afford to have you with me any longer."

The eyes opened again, resigned. Without another word, Rodney slid sideways and, with Connam's help, somehow climbed down off the driver's bench. Taking the "cane" Connam offered, he leaned heavily on it and staggered back from the road and the wagon a few steps. He moved like an old man, hunched and barely on his feet.

Connam watched him for a moment, then turned and walked around the front of the wagon, climbing up onto the driver's bench. Grabbing the black pack McKay had left up there, he tossed it and the radio off the bench at McKay's feet.

"Thanks," McKay whispered, staring down at them. When he looked up again, he saw Connam watching him. The trader offered him his most self-assured smile.

"I'll deliver the messages, Doctor," he promised. "I don't go back on my deals."

McKay nodded. "I think I know that now," he whispered through the blanket's folds. "Thank you."

Connam smiled kindly, then turned on the engine, pumping the levers and the choke for a moment. The wagon suddenly lurched into motion, and Connam could no longer spare a hand or a glance for Rodney as the wagon rattled away at a brisk clip down the road, Dodge once more whinnying a bit in the back. The large dram really wasn't enjoying the ride.

McKay watched the wagon get smaller and smaller, then lowered his eyes to the forest floor. After a moment, he turned and looked behind him at the woods.

With a soft sigh, he bent down with a wince and gathered up the pack, throwing it over his shoulder and adjusting his blanket over it. Then he grabbed the radio and straightened, holding it close to his waist.

He stared at it a moment, thumb hovering over the talk button.

Then his shoulders slumped. With a resigned air, he drew the radio up closer to his body and limped into the woods, looking for a place to lie down.

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"This is ridiculous, John," Elizabeth said, pacing inside the barn as Travis adjusted the stirrups for Teyla, who was sitting astride her meener. Elizabeth looked pissed. The Athosian, however, was looking oddly pleased, as if something that had been bothering her for a long time had been repaired. Elizabeth tried not to be bothered by Teyla's expression as she repeated, "I don't understand."

"I know." Sheppard was pulling at the cinch on his saddle, tightening it, getting some of his frustration out on the buckle.

"But you just got through explaining to all of us why we need to hit the Gate together," she stressed. "And why we need to come back for Rodney, why we can't split up and—"

"I said," John snapped, turning to stare at her, "I know."

"Then why!" she demanded. "Explain it to me. I need to understand!"

He just stared at her for a moment, before turning to stare at the horse's flank again.

"Because," he said, his voice softening, "I'm not like you, Elizabeth. You see the bigger picture, watch out for the welfare of all, think on a grander scale...It's what makes you a great leader." He shook his head, "I don't. I think about people, individual people. I live in the moment, I always have. I don't believe in acceptable losses, or pyrrhic victories, or that one must die to save a thousand..."

"Unless it's you," Elizabeth whispered softly.

He didn't seem to hear her as he took in a deep breath, "I tried, though. I really did."

Elizabeth tilted her head, "Tried? Tried what exactly?"

"To be more like you. To think like the generals at war. To weigh the odds and work to minimize the risks. To treat everyone the same, to care for everyone the same. Hell," he gave a small smile, "even to delegate more authority." He was brushing at the meener's coat absently, obviously not really seeing the animal, "But I'm just not that kind of soldier."

Elizabeth set her jaw, then lowered her eyes, "No..." she looked up at him again, "I know you're not."

"I know leaving Rodney behind right now makes the most sense," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "but it's not me. I can't do it, Elizabeth. I can't leave him behind." He looked at her, "Because he wouldn't leave me behind. Crazy at it sounds, Rodney and I are the ones who think the same way, Elizabeth. We're the ones on the same wavelength. You said it yourself--most of the time, you're the one trying to talk the two of us out of some crazy idea..." he turned back to his horse, "And I can't leave him behind, even knowing we'll come back for him. I just can't do it."

Weir stared at him, her eyes clear. Slowly, she nodded. "You're right," she said, anger coloring her voice. "You do think the same. You're both God damned kamikaze pilots. You always have to solve everything by yourselves, whether it's Rodney trying to fix everything that goes wrong with his own hands, nearly working himself to death, or you, flying off in a jumper to crash into a Wraith hive ship, or chasing after Ford by yourself when the Wraith are practically on top of us!" She sighed suddenly, taking in a deep breath, then shook her head. "It can drive me crazy," she whispered.

"I know," Sheppard said. It wasn't an apology. He was just stating fact.

Elizabeth glanced up at him, then down again. Suddenly, she gave a strange sort of laugh, shaking her head. "But I also know...that it's what makes both of you who you are," she admitted finally. With another deep sigh, she looked at him and shrugged. "And it's why you are both so good at what you do. And why I wouldn't trust what either of you do to anyone else."

He was watching her, brow furrowed. "So...does that mean...," he offered her a crooked smile, "that you're okay with this?"

She rolled her eyes, then smiled dryly back. "No," she said, "I'm not okay with it, but I accept you know what you're doing. You do what you have to do," she opened her hands, "Colonel."

Sheppard gave her a true grin, "In that case," he looked up at Teyla still astride her meener, "it means you're in charge of getting Travis and Elizabeth through the gate. You up for it?"

Teyla just gave him a confident nod.

"Wait," Elizabeth pressed an arm on John's sleeve, "Wouldn't it be easier for Ronon and Teyla if they only had Orrin to protect?"

John's brow furrowed, looking down at her hand, "What?"

"You said it yourself," she said, purposefully imitating him, "All three of you are needed to get both me and Orrin through the gate. However, if you're not there, it makes their job harder."

He quirked a smile at her, following her train of thought, then shook his head. "I need to get you home, Elizabeth."

"And you will," she said. "When we get Rodney home. Besides," she looked over at the meeners, "I'm not going to be able to ride that thing for hours on end. It'll kill me." She looked at John, "And didn't you say something on our way here about a...motorcycle?"

"A speedwheel," John corrected, smiling.

"Perfect," she said. "That I can ride."

"But..."

"My Great Aunt Mattie had a motorcycle," Elizabeth mused, interrupting him. "She used to claim she rode with James Dean before he moved to L.A.." She shook her head as she walked away, to look out the door with Ronon, who was now kneeling on the threshold, watching the woods. "I never believed her though."

"Who is James Dean?" Teyla asked, curious as she jumped down from her meener.

"Next?" Travis called, looking towards Ronon.

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TBC...

(Tidia and Mog, hope you don't mind my borrowing Great Aunt Mattie from Spirits of Another Sort! Loved that story!)