Author: Espiritu
Rating: T
Category: Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Spoilers: Season One. Set sometime during Season Two after Siege III and before Runner.
Summary: Sometimes dark clouds can have silver linings. Companion story to Happenstance from Shep's POV. Sheppard/McKay friendship.
Author Notes: Sheppard was insistent that he get to tell his side of the story and not rely solely on McKay to keep all the facts straight.
Disclaimer: Still don't own them. Never will. Only borrowing them for fun, not profit.
Serendipity
Chapter 1: Taking Fire
I knew I should have listened to the little voice inside my head. The voice that insisted it was a bad idea. That little voice had never steered me wrong over the years, yet I had chosen to stupidly ignore it this time. Instead I decided to listen more to the insistent voice outside my head. The loud, cranky, generally obnoxious one that belonged to Rodney McKay. Yeah, that had been a bad idea. A real doozy of a mistake that I was now regretting.
Well, live and learn. I had learned--the hard way. It was a toss up though as to whether I would live. The odds didn't look good from where I stood or from actually where I lay, as the case might be. Profusely bleeding gunshot wounds didn't usually lend themselves to favorable survival odds.
It was supposed to have been a routine mission. Fly to an uninhabited planet, peruse some crumbling ruins of an Ancient outpost, take some scanner readings, collect enough Ancient gizmos to keep McKay happy, and head back home. That had been the plan. But you know what they say about the best laid plans. You guessed it; fate stepped in once again and flipped us the bird. M5J-346 was not only unexpectedly populated, some of its residents decided to throw us a little surprise welcoming party. Their form of hospitality made our encounter with the Genii seem warm and fuzzy in comparison. It would be nice for once to come across friendly and sociable natives instead of hostile insurgents. It seemed we never did catch a break in this galaxy. Not even once that I could ever recall. Trust me, I have a long memory, especially where my errors in judgment are concerned.
Our team was down two members with Teyla out on medical leave with a torn Achilles tendon incurred during a strenuous sparring session and a Wraith enzyme-toked Ford off on the run to who knows where. I had been ready to assign two marines temporarily to our team for the mission until McKay convinced me it wasn't necessary. I know I should have ignored his ranting like I usually did, but I had just been too tired this morning to argue with him. Last night had been a sleepless one, plagued by persistent dreams of the recent siege. I figured they would pass in time; thus, I had managed so far to finagle my way out of a couch trip with Heightmeyer. But memories of what almost happened and guilt over those who died still kept me up sometimes at night, leaving me drained and worn out the next day. Needless to say this morning, I was not at my best. It's the reason I took the lazy way out and let McKay talk me out of having a military force join us. Figuring the planet was barren except for some abandoned outpost, I let my guard down and went against my better judgment. But lack of sleep does impair the thought processes I am told. Lame excuse I know, so shoot me. Oh wait, that pissed off local guy already did.
Yeah, the son-of-a-bitch took a pot shot at McKay who just couldn't seem to get out of the way fast enough. So I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances to save Rodney's life. I dove into the line of fire and took the bullet. Believe me, that wasn't my original plan. But as I said earlier, plans have a way of getting fucked up, especially when unexpected situations arise. I was trying to simply push McKay out of harm's way, but fate stepped in and changed the outcome. Not for the best either. Getting shot was not on my list of things to do today. The bullet impact took me by surprise. I didn't realize at first I had been hit until I slammed into the ground and felt a hot, molten pain spread throughout my side and chest.
Shit! This was so not good. Just my rotten luck for the slug to hit me in my exposed side, as I was shoving McKay aside. Whoever the engineers were who designed these tactical vests obviously did not feel the need to protect a soldier's ribcage. Guess they thought bad guys only aimed for the chest or back. Yeah, those designers used a lot of forethought on how we military types are apt to take fire. Damn desk jockeys. Maybe if they were forced to wear their own creations under hostile conditions instead of in a controlled test lab environment, they might devise a better way to protect our hides.
But I digress. Pain can do that to you, make your thoughts either pointlessly wander or zero in on the most miniscule details. Like now. As I lay on the ground, still in shock as the first tendrils of pain made themselves known, bits and pieces of the events leading to this moment stood out foremost in my mind. They say your entire life flashes before you when you're faced with imminent death. Not so. What you see is everything that is happening right now, right here in perfect Technicolor clarity.
As he leaned over my fallen body, McKay's shocked and worried face stood out vividly in sharp contrast to the surrounding backdrop of trees, sky, and stone that blurred into a hazy reality. For a split second, the sound of his voice asking me if I were all right seemed muted and distant, the sounds fading into the background as my mind tried to comprehend what had just happened. It was as if my ears were momentarily filled with white noise that cancelled out all incoming sounds. But the sight of him tearing frantically at my vest was crystal clear, his blue eyes filled with horror and dread as he saw the wound and the blood pooling under my side. It took me a moment to understand what he was saying as I watched his mouth move, because I was unable to hear at first the words he was uttering. I felt him grab my shoulder, gripping it tightly as he continued to speak. The buzzing sound finally receded until I was finally able to hear what he was saying.
"Colonel! Stay with me now! You're going to be fine." McKay tried to reassure me, but his panic-stricken eyes told a different story.
Gasping for breath, I managed to voice a weak reply. "You never could lie worth a damn, McKay."
"How would you know? Are you the self-proclaimed master in the fine art of fibbing? On second thought, yes, I think it's safe to assume it's a talent you must use frequently to talk your way out of all the trouble you seem to get yourself into." He ranted as he dug hurriedly through his vest pockets, pulling out some field dressings.
"Don't...go looking...for trouble. Just seems to find me." I panted as I struggled to get the words out. My voice sounded raspy and thick even to my ears.
"You got that right. Trouble is drawn to you like a moth to the flame, Colonel." McKay shot back as he opened a packet of bandages.
Damn, why was it so hard to breathe? It shouldn't be so hard to get air. Breathing is something I did every day. Had been doing so for years without much difficulty in fact. Yet, now my lungs felt like they were sucking in a fiery liquid instead of life-giving oxygen. Every intake of breath was another torturous attempt to survive just a little longer. The pain, which began as a dull throbbing sensation, now stabbed insistently through my chest, pulsing in time to the blood that seeped out between my fingers as I grasped my side in a futile attempt to stop its flow. Oh crap! This was bad. This was no fucking good.
McKay pried my hand away so he could cut open my shirt. I tried not to flinch as he wiped up some of the blood to get a closer look at the entry hole scored by the bullet before he slapped a pressure bandage over the jagged wound. I gritted my teeth against the pain as I struggled to sit up. Lying here in the dirt was not an option. I needed to get up so we could get moving back to the jumper. Who knew if there were any more hostile natives out there waiting for their chance to finish what their buddies started? I, for one, did not intend to stick around to find out how many of them were out there. There wasn't much cover amid the ruins of the Ancient outpost. To stay here any length of time would simply make us sitting ducks waiting to get picked off by the next available hunter. That was not my idea of good time. Maybe it was for the hunters, but definitely not for the ducks.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" McKay shouted at me as I attempted to get up.
I could tell his outburst was more a result of concern and fear rather than true anger. His voice always raised up an octave or two when he was worried, and right now his tone bordered on shrill. I shrugged off his attempt to restrain me as I rolled to my knees and braced my arm against his shoulder as I fought to regain my feet. Foolish idea, I know. But really, what choice did I have? How else would we get back to the puddle jumper in order to make our escape from this not-so-friendly world? There was no way McKay would be able to carry me all that way. Not a chance.
I had parked the jumper about a mile from the ruins in a nice grassy field that had proved to be an ideal landing site. At the time, a brisk hike through the woods to get to our objective seemed like a great way to explore the planet a little better while getting some exercise in the fresh air. Replaying the route we took earlier to get here in my head though, all I could see were the problems that same distance now would cause. So much for hindsight. No crying over spilt milk or spilt blood, as it so happened to be in my current situation. So despite McKay's loud protests, I decided to get myself moving under my own power. I only made it to a semi-crouching position before my vision suddenly grayed and my equilibrium went into a violent tailspin. As my knees buckled and I began to collapse, McKay caught me from behind and eased me down behind a crumbled stone wall.
"Damn pigheaded fool! Are you trying to meet your maker that much sooner, Colonel? What the hell are you thinking in that stubborn head of yours? You are in no shape to just walk out of here on your own." His blue eyes now blazed with fury along with apprehension.
"McKay, we have to get back to the ship. Right now I see you have two choices. You either leave me here and go retrieve the jumper yourself, or you help me up so we can get out of here before the natives get restless." I barely huffed the words out as a tight band of pain squeezed my chest.
"Right, like I can leave you here bleeding to death with the local welcoming party gunning for your sorry ass. You can be sure that fourth local yokel went running for reinforcements. You think they'll take one look at their fallen comrades and invite you to afternoon tea? More like they'll be out for more blood--ours! So no way in hell am I leaving you to your own devices while I go traipsing over hill and dale to retrieve the ship. We've sticking together." He stated emphatically.
"Okay then. You made your point. Let's go." I grimaced and sucked my breath, trying to ignore the pain that radiated out from my ribcage as I again made an attempt to stand. I suddenly felt lightheaded and knew I probably didn't look too good either since McKay's eyes went wide as he once again made a grab for me.
"John! Maybe you should just sit down for a moment before you collapse. Just lay back until you catch your breath, eh? Yes, I think that would be a wise move on your part." McKay stared at me intently with a face gone white with worry. He looked like I had died already.
"You called me by my first name. That's definitely dead man talk. You only do that if I'm seriously screwed." I told him. I didn't need Dr. Genius here to tell me that my chances of survival were pretty much non-existent.
"Don't be ridiculous. We're going to get out of here, and Beckett will patch you up in no time at all."
Yep. McKay so sucked at lying. His left eye would twitch, and he always stuck his chin out when he was nervous or trying to hide the truth. When McKay was putting his I'm-lying-through-my-teeth face on, he reminded me of a haughty aristocrat with an uncontrollable nervous tic. He tried to come across as condescending, but to me he just appeared comical. Sure enough, right now his chin was jutting out so far his head looked tilted backwards, and his eyelid was flicking a mile a minute. Judging by the facial readings of my trusty McKay-o-meter, things were so not good. I was royally screwed.
I rocked back and forth holding my side in an effort to ease the pain enough so I could concentrate on the best plan of action. It was hard to think as my mind grew fuzzy, and I could feel myself grow weaker from blood loss. Damn. I couldn't give in to the darkness yet. I needed to stay alert if we were to even have the slightest chance of reaching the jumper. A groan escaped my lips as I fought to keep the pain at bay and remain conscious.
"Colonel, you need to be still. If you keep moving, you'll start to bleed again. And quite frankly, I don't handle the sight of blood too well."
He didn't have to remind me of that fact. He looked a little green around the gills every time he had to check the bandage on my side. But I had to give McKay credit; he was holding up well in this latest trial by fire. The man could complain, whine, fuss, and throw hissy fits as a matter of course. But when the chips were down, he always came through. That's why he was on my team, and that's why I counted him among my closest friends.
"We can't stay here, McKay." I protested as I once again gave sitting up the old college try.
McKay was having none of it. He pushed my shoulders back against the rocky outcrop where we had temporarily taken cover. For the moment, I was too weak to argue and just rested a bit to catch my breath.
"I mean it, Colonel! If you start bleeding again, I am not sure I'll be able to stop it this time. Our field packs do not include surgical equipment or a staff to use them. I'm it for medical help for the time being, and I'm not trained to handle serious trauma. Where's Carson and his bag of Highland voodoo tricks when you need him?" He muttered in a pissed off tone as he rechecked the bandage covering the gunshot wound.
"You're doing fine, McKay. Just help me get back to the puddle jumper so I can get us home." I winced as he felt along my side and leaned my head back against the cool rock surface, hoping for a brief respite from the white-hot pain.
"I don't think you're in any condition to fly the jumper, let alone walk the whole way back to it." He shot back as if I were the village idiot.
I hissed back at him. "Fine. Get us back to the jumper, and I'll let you fly it."
"I don't think you really have a choice in the matter, Colonel. Considering the current circumstances, I am your only ticket home." He replied with that patented smug smirk of his.
"Just make sure you fly straight this time, McKay. I don't think I can any handle long, round-about detours right now."
Last time I let him fly the jumper, he meandered all over the place. The man had no concept of straight trajectories. I once had to show him his flight path on the cockpit view screen to convince him how badly he was off course. I'd love to see him try to fly in formation with a squadron. Now, that would be an amusing sight to behold. Yes, indeed.
"If you're referring to your famed Sheppardesque shortcuts, have no fear, Colonel. Have no fear indeed. Unlike you, I know how to plot the quickest route from point A to point B." I swear to God the man elevated snark into an art form.
I just nodded my head mutely. I couldn't muster the energy it took to voice a comeback to his snide remark. I know he was trying to get me to verbally spar with him as we usually did, but right now I didn't have it in me to match him quip for quip. It just fucking hurt too much. McKay was no fool and could tell the reason for my silence. Lucky for me he had paid attention to Beckett's first aid drills. Reaching back into his vest pockets, he extracted a field dose of morphine and injected me in the arm. I sighed in relief and nodded weakly in gratitude as I felt the drug flow through my veins and start to dull the edges of the pain. Thank God for that Scottish wonder and his insistence on stocking our field kits with happy drugs.
Feeling slightly loopy from the effects of the morphine, I didn't offer much help to McKay as he hoisted me up, hooked one arm around my waist, slung my arm around his shoulder, and got us under way. If I had been asked, I would have never, ever described our mode of locomotion as walking. Far from it. I was leaning heavily against McKay, causing us to stumble and lurch like two drunken fools after a weekend of carousing in the red light district. It wasn't an efficient means of travel, and by no stretch of the imagination could it be called graceful. But who was I to complain if our unorthodox method of movement got us that much closer to blowing this popsicle stand? I'd go along with whatever means possible to get us back to the jumper so we could get home.
I lost all sense of time as we staggered through the woods. We could have been on the move for minutes, for hours, or for days. It felt like an eternity. If there were a hell, I was certain I was going to it in a handbasket. I tried only to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as we stumbled along. But suddenly, I could go no farther. I slumped against McKay's shoulder as my strength gave out. My knees buckled, forcing him to ease me onto the ground.
"McKay...gotta stop." I somehow managed to rasp out.
"Colonel? We're almost there. Just hang on, we've not much further to go." McKay replied with a forced, tight-lipped smile.
Who did he think he was fooling? I knew that look. He knew we were in deep shit and didn't want to admit it. The man who made it a habit of pointing out all the things that could go wrong was suddenly trying to remain positive. The incongruity of that fact spoke volumes. If Mr. Chronically Pessimistic was trying to make light of the situation, I knew we were hopelessly screwed.
He put his hand against my shoulder as I painfully sucked in mouthfuls of air, panting like an overactive dog on a hot summer day. I could feel the sweat beading up on my face, leaving it clammy and slick to the touch. My vision grayed at the edges as my eyes glazed over from pain. I didn't think I could go on like this. It just wasn't in the cards. I finally was able to speak in a hoarse whisper.
"McKay. I'm not gonna make it. I can't go any further."
"Oh no you don't, Colonel. You are not, I repeat, not checking out of the party early. Oh, no. No. No. Don't even think it!" If I didn't know any better, I'd swear McKay looked like he was ready to slap me silly.
"And what, miss out on all this fun? Wouldn't dream of it normally, but my body's telling me it has other ideas on the matter." I was getting bone-weary and could barely find the strength to reply.
"Well, don't listen to it. It obviously doesn't know what it is talking about. I'm getting out of here, and you're coming with me. There'll be no further argument about it either. So save your breath, do us both a favor, and shut the hell up."
I decided to do even better than that. I let myself finally surrender to the encroaching darkness as I felt myself slide into oblivion. I sank deep, dark, and fast. My vision faded to black and for the time being, I knew no more.
The sound of a foreign tongue spoken in an irate voice filtered into the netherworld of my subconsciousness and called me back to the land of the living. Before my sluggish mind could comprehend where I was and who the hell was speaking, a sharp and unexpected explosion of pain rudely forced me into full awareness. Unable to fend off the sudden assault, I rolled into a fetal position in a vain attempt to escape the vicious kicks aimed at my midsection. The agony and the surprise of the savage attack made me cry out as I tried to find a way to defend myself. The fog clouding my mind cleared, and I was able to see that my tormentor was none other than the fourth gunman who had escaped into the forest during the firefight. Just our luck he'd turn up again like a bad penny.
As my eyes finally focused fully on my assailant, I heard McKay angrily curse him as he continued to kick at me.
"Get the hell away from him you filthy, homicidal maniac! He's already been shot once today. Enough is enough! Do you hear me? We are no threat to you or your freaking fellow Neanderthals. Just go back to your cave or whatever primordial swamp spawned you, and let us go in peace."
Leave it to McKay to blindly run off at the mouth without a concern to his safety. When he was in full-rant mode, he never stopped to think about how his sharp tongue could get him into trouble. It was the only time his overactive brain ceased to function in a logical manner. The guy had a gun for Christ's sake. What was McKay the Motor Mouth thinking? As usual, I had to protect him from himself and fast.
Distracted by McKay's verbal onslaught, the unhappy native turned away from his attack on my ribcage and raised his arm to point his gun directly at McKay's chest. In the split second he hesitated before firing at my friend, I drew my own weapon out of its holster, aimed it instinctively at his back, and fired. McKay had shut his eyes to block out his impending death when the shooter took aim with his weapon. As both our guns discharged, I noticed McKay involuntarily flinched at the explosive sounds. Opening his eyes, he looked around in shock, surprised to find himself still standing. If not for the seriousness of our current situation, I would have found it funny the way he patted his chest and stomach looking frantically for a mortal wound.
Gritting my teeth, I gripped my side, trying to staunch the fresh flow of blood as I continued to point my still-smoking gun at the fallen gunman. McKay first looked at his would-be killer's bloodstained back before glancing in my direction with his mouth wide-open in astonishment.
"Nobody tries to kill one of my geeks and lives to tell about it." I slurred out a weak growl. My nine millimeter dropped onto the grass as my hand went limp, and I fell back heavily to the ground beside it.
God damn it! The pain was intense. That added attack had done nothing to improve my current physical condition. Not one freaking iota. McKay rushed over to where I lay, choking and writhing in agony on the blood-strewn ground. His terrified eyes met mine as he grabbed my shoulder.
Gulping in a mouthful of air, I struggled to say something, able at last to gasp faintly. "Christ almighty, that hurt."
He called out in a fear-stricken voice. "Colonel! Are you alright? John! Hang on, I'm going to get us home. Stick with me!"
"Like glue, McKay." I choked out before dissolving into a fit of coughing. I'd be damned if he didn't call me John again. That could only mean one thing. I was in serious, serious trouble. To quote what McKay had said on numerous occasions, I was a dead man.
The prolonged bout of coughing abruptly turned into agonized retching as my stomach tried to force its way out my throat. I could taste the metallic tang of blood on my tongue as I curled up on my side, choking as I lay on the ground. McKay gently turned me over onto my back and shook me in order to keep me conscious.
"Don't you dare die on me, Sheppard. Don't. You. Dare. You even think about leaving the here and now, I will track down your sorry ass and haul it back to the land of the living! There is no galaxy in the universe where you can run and hide from the wrath of Rodney McKay. Do you hear me, John?" He gripped my arm painfully as he spoke.
Before I could respond to his pleas and threats, he suddenly stood up and slammed his hand onto the hatch controls, opening the back of the puddle jumper. Slinging his arms under mine, he half dragged, half carried me up the ramp into the rear compartment of the ship. As I fought to stay lucid, I hoped to God he'd get us back to Atlantis before it was too late.
(TBC)