Written as a present for a friend. Reference to SG1's episode "Message in a Bottle". What if the bottle were empty?

Empty Bottle

The gateroom looked different from up here.

Hanging there, a fresh dose of painkiller wending its magic way through his veins, McKay took a second to admire the perfect design of the place. The way it was now, with so many in it; by the design of the original architect, all the astonished, alarmed, concerned faces were perfectly, randomly spaced. Even the small groups were scattered artfully around. The upturned eyes merged into the overall effect.

Somehow, once the pain was out of the equation, his situation was more an adventure than something that alarmed him. It was a bit of a kick realizing that Jack O'Neill had been in approximately the same situation, if in different surroundings. Maybe it was a side effect of the impending alien possession that had him feeling so unconcerned. By all accounts, once Dr. Frasier had let the refugees that populated the artifact take over O'Neill's body, the creatures had negotiated, released O'Neill unharmed, and gone on their merry way. The unharmed bit was what he was most interested in.

He'd read the SG1 incident report, and had realized what the artifact that Lorne's team had found was, at approximately the same time Zelenka had made the connection. This one had a markedly different shape but the glyphs were identical. Evidently the beings that created them had hedged their bets, spreading their seed far and wide. He grinned slightly. Like the Ancients.

It wasn't their first choice, of course, to have the darn thing seed Atlantis. He and Zelenka had dumped it in a blast proof box, once they'd ID'd it firmly, and headed for the gateroom, calling ahead for it to be dialed to a space-based gate and opened. They'd felt the thing quivering, and just as they'd gotten to the bottom step it had blown.

Zelenka hadn't been hit. Everyone had avoided the twenty or so skewers that had fired out and impacted various places, missing Elisabeth's office but ruining some very nice stain glass doors and going through walls and into the ceiling. They were all pretty much exactly the same length, too, like a child's painting of the sun, and at least three of them were left poking through walls and interrupting the flow of traffic in the halls on the other side.

Everyone had ducked. Except himself, of course. Somehow, his keenly honed sense of self- preservation had deserted him, and he'd spent an extra second yelling "Duck! Now!" that seemed to make the difference between – well – ducking, and not ducking.

There had been a feeling of incredible pressure, a sense of movement blurring his vision, and when his sight cleared he had this wonderful new viewpoint. It had been interesting, for roughly twenty seconds. Then the pain had started.

Beckett had told him he'd been caught through the left shoulder, right through the blade, and the right side of his pelvic bone. Nothing important was hit, but where he was it had been almost fifteen long minutes until someone was able to reach him with anything that would ease it. He had almost immediately realized he'd been pinned to the front of the balcony he'd had Sheppard push him off, so long ago. The gods of Pegasus evidently had an ironic sense of humour.

Being stuck there didn't mean he was without some comfort, though. True to his nature, Sheppard had immediately flown a jumper down, managed a tricky maneuver that brought it in under his dangling feet, and it had been only a few lonely moments before he'd heard reassuring voices in his ear, had a hand to grasp against the agony of impalement, known again what had supplanted his own supreme self confidence as the core of his being – here, people liked him. They knew him better than anyone ever had, all his strengths and weaknesses, and despite them, or maybe because of them, they liked him anyway.

And again, he flinched, bit his lip, and someone he was pretty certain was Sheppard latched onto his good hand and shoulder and didn't let go.

xxxxx

Dex had, long ago, mastered the art of waiting. Teyla, he noticed, not so much.

She wandered the gateroom, up the stairs and down, covering the whole area in a circuit that took some time to complete. The third time around, though, he reached out and caught her arm. She freed herself with a quick motion and spun to face him, angrily. He met her gaze neutrally, and her expression eased.

"Wandering doesn't help," he said quietly. "It tires you, and does nothing for him." He shifted over on the step he'd claimed, creating a spot between him and the baluster, protected from the traffic up and down by his bulk, and looked up.

She hesitated, balanced on the balls of her feet almost as if anticipating an attack.

"Sit down," he clarified.

She sighed and joined him.

"I...am not good at waiting." she admitted.

"Noticed." he said dryly.

She was seated, but not still - turning to look up, craning to peer down, gaze continually returning to McKay - or what she could see of him. Sheppard was up there, back to them, with Beckett.

"Never met anyone like McKay before," he offered, hoping conversation would distract her,

feeling the need of it himself.

"He is a very complex individual," she agreed.

"I'd about dismissed him, first time I met him. As far as I could tell, he never did anything but complain and brag about how smart he is."

He left it hanging, hoping he'd interested her enough to ask the logical question.

"What changed your mind?"

He permitted himself a small smile.

"When I got hit by the arrow on the penal colony, even before Sheppard said anything, McKay was looking out for me. He made the same decisions I would have made in his position, he kept us alive until we could escape."

He leaned back, elbows on the steps above.

"It took a while, but I realized he is as smart as he says he is. And I realized he'd do anything for any of us." He chuckled. "He might complain the whole time, but whenever we need him, he's always there."

She managed a tiny smile. "We must do the same," she agreed. "For me, it was a single, brave act..."

She went on to tell a tale of a shadow monster that threatened the city. He was grateful for her words to concentrate on, though, and for the first time he could recall he wished his hearing wasn't so keen.

Sheppard had danced the jumper in under McKay with finesse, threading the loosely laced spikes and finding gaps Dex never thought it would navigate. He'd spent the important, first minutes with his friend until Beckett and his crew arrived, then organized the platform's construction. Once it had been declared secure, he'd climbed the ladder, and been there since. A more or less constant, reassuring mutter was interspersed with small noises coming from above that made his eyes tighten in sympathy.

He realized Teyla had concluded the story, and nodded. "I heard about that," he said. It had been Sheppard who had told him, actually, the second evening he'd been on Atlantis. He recalled making some snide comment about the scientist, and Sheppard had pulled him aside, calmly told him that McKay was part of the team and therefore due respect. He recalled looking at the Colonel in astonishment. 'He's weak.' he'd said flatly, but then he'd heard the story, and he'd seen McKay offworld. He'd found Sheppard a couple of weeks later and simply commented 'Now I see why you take him with you.' Sheppard had smiled, a genuine grin, and that was the end of it.

He realized the silence had stretched. Teyla was looking at him, and there was concern in her eyes.

"Can you...hear?"

He nodded briefly. "They're scared, but covering. Supposedly this has happened before, but there seems to be something different this time."

"And Rodney?"

"In pain." he said succinctly. "Whatever Beckett is using doesn't seem to last."

She looked up, frowned. "The Colonel seems very shaken."

He followed her gaze. It was an understatement. He could hear, and see, and he knew Sheppard was on the edge.

"Sheppard and McKay, they're close," he said, something else that had surprised him, and she smiled faintly.

"Like brothers." she agreed. "Goodness knows they fight like them."

"Unlikely friends."

"The same could be said of you and I," she reminded. "Or of the four of us."

He raised his chin. "I like them," he said defiantly. "I like you, I like it here and I'll fight for this city."

She understood. He knew she would.

"It has been a long time, has it not, since you have been able to say that?" She smiled at him, and he felt acceptance from her. The others had not grown up with the Wraith threat as she had, and though they were part of a team it was something that bound the two of them.

"A long time," he agreed. He heard a whimper, and a cracking voice trying to give comfort.

Teyla saw his face change.

"Sheppard needs a break," he said. "He's been up there too long."

She blinked at the topic change, but nodded. "I will relieve him."

"I'll bully him into eating something, and make sure he's doing all right, then come back and relieve you."

She nodded and stood, gracefully.

"Teyla."

She glanced down.

"We'll take care of him," he said quietly. "We'll be with him all the way."

She nodded, lips tight, and headed to the jumper.

xxxxx

There had been hammering, and voices, but there had been a constant – he heard Sheppard, responded when he could, and then Beckett had started an IV and the analgesic had begun to flow. It helped, and he'd drifted, rousing slightly when they'd rigged a harness on him to take his weight off the wounds.

Now, feeling for all the world like a child in a Jolly Jumper, he gazed blearily around the room. Dex was with him now, Teyla had been there before, Sheppard had been with him first. He knew they were taking turns only since there wasn't enough room for them all to be there at once.

His eyes had drifted shut of their own accord. He pried them open again. The runner was regarding him with an expression that anyone else, who hadn't learned how to read the man, would call blank. He recognized it as worried.

"How long?" his voice was hoarse, and Dex held a canteen up, allowing the bare sip Beckett had

approved.

"Three hours." he replied. "I was told by Dr. Zelenka that this has happened before, on your planet?"

"Years ago," he said, adding distractedly "Too long."

Dex cocked his head, reminding him of a dog he once had. Maybe it was the dreadlocks, he mused. But there was something that worried him – apart from being spiked to the wall like a dead butterfly, that was. Oh. Right.

"It's been too long. Aliens..." he winced, the painkillers were wearing off more and more rapidly, and Dex grasped his hand, the motion smooth from unfortunate practice. He knew it was a bad idea to move, it wasn't even his own idea but his body's response to the foreign objects. Intellectually, he knew it. But still, he couldn't help twisting against the spikes, and it made the pain blossom like an obscene flower. Dex held steady, though, he could hear the reassuring rumble of the bass voice in his ear and the carefully strong grip never wavered.

xxxxx

He'd learned to be careful; sparring or simply shaking hands, he couldn't use his full strength.

Dex found the humans around him not as physically strong as his own people, but immensely strong in other ways. On his world, there was a decided divide between those the Atlanteans would call scientists, and those who were like him, the warriors. Here, the line was much more obscured.

He'd gone into a research dome one time, on a learning trip, a break from his studies of war and tactics, and the soft people there had almost made his skin crawl. They never saw the sun, it seemed, their hands were manicured and seemed weak, but they controlled forces that could be stunning in their destructive power. They'd been warned against making unpleasant comments, and afterward he was glad the instructors had taken the time to do that. At first glance he'd been unable to understand how anyone could respect these frail excuses for beings. After the tour, he realized that the mind could be as powerful as the body, and it had made him wonder - why had no one ever tried to merge the two? If the thinkers were the mind, and the fighters were the body, wouldn't it make more sense to bring the groups closer together? He'd made the suggestion. It had gone over very badly. He hadn't cried from the thrashing, but it had made his sparring exercises very uncomfortable for a few days.

Here, though, he found his ideas had been justified. The strength of the humans stemmed from using both mind and body in harmony. The team he'd joined was a prime example of it. The simplest way of looking at it - McKay was the mind, he and Sheppard and Teyla were the body. And just as the body would protect an injured limb, favouring it or supporting it, they were here to protect and support McKay.

As strong as Dex was, McKay's grip was noticeable, and he knew it was an outward manifestation of the pain he was in. It wasn't a small thing, this. He knew McKay would whine and complain about a splinter, or a bumped elbow, but when it came to something truly dire he was as contained and disciplined as anyone he'd ever met. This was just another example.

Dex had been shot through bone before, knew how it felt when the shaft shifted, how the nerves of the bone's sheath reacted to the sensations they were never meant to receive. He held on to the man's free hand, letting McKay grip it as tightly as he needed, and glanced down at Sheppard, who was speaking with two of the technicians who had been on Earth when the same thing had happened. Sheppard glanced up, and Dex jerked his head, beckoning.

Sheppard nodded, and tapped Beckett on the shoulder as he passed, making for the ladder to the jumper platform.

"Don' want. Hurt you." McKay gasped, flexing his hand and easing his grip a fraction.

"You can't hurt me, Rodney. You can hang on as hard as you need to."

Blue eyes canted up to meet his. "Called me Rodn'y." he grated, trying to smile. "Can't be good."

"Means 'steel trap mind' in the language of the Syphin." he replied, grinning. "Good name for you."

"Really?" Interest kindled behind the glazed eyes.

"Would I lie to you?" He felt Sheppard climbing. "What was that you were saying about it being too long?"

"Aliens should've come out…" he writhed again, and Dex heard Sheppard calling Beckett, felt the Colonel step up to stand by his friend, taking the hand of the trapped arm lightly. Dex couldn't do it without hurting McKay, nor could Teyla, but Sheppard had the knack, and the deathgrip on his own hand eased a bit. McKay opened his mouth, but words didn't form, only a moan that the runner found hard to hear. From Sheppard's expression, though, his friend's pain had become his own.

"Take it easy." Dex directed, not certain who he was encouraging more. "Sheppard, Rodney is concerned that the aliens haven't shown up yet. How long did it take for O'Neill?" He saw in the Colonel's eyes that the same question had occurred to the others.

"You're right." Sheppard said. He was trying to keep the worry from his voice, with little success. "Rodney, we're analyzing the artifact, but there's a chance there are no aliens left alive. It was heavily irradiated at some point."

There was a look of fear in McKay's eyes, now, and that was new. Dex stared at Sheppard, wordlessly demanding an explanation.

"If the aliens don't possess him, they can't manipulate the lifeboat. They can't retract the skewers, or heal McKay. And we haven't been able to cut through any of these damn things."