Chapter 10

"I can make it work," McKay promised, ignoring the hollow feeling that had settled at the base of his stomach as he spoke words that he was sure would condemn his friend to death. He paused for a moment as if steeling himself, muttered a few quiet, distinctly uncomplimentary things about Ancient engineers and safety protocols, then mouth set in a grim line he returned to working on the Chair. But this time it was notably less easy to lose himself in the intricacies of the engineering as his mind kept going back to Sheppard. The better he had got to know the Major over their months on Atlantis, the more he had become alarmed by the man's frequently cavalier attitude towards his own wellbeing. Considering the problem intellectually, he could rationalise the Major's decision, but he knew all the rationalisation in the world would not stop his hands shaking as he worked through assessing and sorting out the damage.

This time it was only too easy to trace where the circuitry had failed. After their earlier abortive attempt to make the Chair work, the damage that had caused made the locations of decayed wiring easy to spot: they had been the ones to have been fried. From intact, apparently redundant areas McKay ruthlessly tore out lengths of the silvery cables and spliced them across the damaged sections. The few remaining undamaged crystals were moved around to replace their damaged counterparts, while a couple more crystals scavenged from one of the room's inactive door controls were linked together in a rough approximation of the regulator, and wired into the Chair.

The worst of the damage repaired or bypassed, he stopped to look at his work. It was not the most aesthetically pleasing bit of engineering he had ever put together, but as he traced every circuit in his mind, he knew it was the best he could manage. His gaze tracked to where Sheppard lay unmoving on the reclined Chair. "Major?" he said softly. Sheppard did not move. Alarmed McKay stepped closer, reaching out a hand to check for the pulse on his neck. Beneath his fingers the skin felt warm and paper dry, the pulse shallow and fast, but even at the touch Sheppard remained worryingly unresponsive. McKay recalled one of their earlier offworld missions together when he had accidentally bumped into the snoozing Major at night and barely a second later had found himself thrown to the ground, looking down the barrel of a P-90. "Major?" McKay repeated, shaking the shoulder carefully.

Sheppard awoke with a stifled groan, turned towards him and opened his eyes blearily. "Wha-- Rodney?"

The confusion he saw in the Major's eyes made McKay's heart sink. It looked to have been as he ahd feared: the damage done by the Chair's malfunction on top of the earlier injury looked to have taken more out of the Major than, as usual, he had been willing to admit. McKay could not see that there was any way Sheppard would be strong enough to able to control the Chair in his present condition.

In McKay's mind that left them with only one option; an option, if he was being honest with himself, he would really much rather not consider. If Sheppard was no longer strong enough to handle the stress of controlling the Chair, then he, McKay, would have to step in and do it. They were both exhausted, but of the two of them, he figured he was in better health than Sheppard, though probably not by much, he decided, wincing from the leaden pain that was settling in his chest.

"Rodney? How are we doing?"

McKay looked up to find Sheppard awake and thankfully more lucid than a few minutes earlier, his voice hoarse but still stronger than before. He even saw a glimmer of the man's trademark lopsided grin. But just as Sheppard had grown accustomed to McKay's obfuscations, McKay too saw beyond the surface, beyond the sense of confidence and wellbeing the grin was meant to communicate. He saw the tension in the jaw line, the touches of colour on the too pale cheeks, the fever bright glint in the eyes, and knew Sheppard was nowhere near as well as he was trying to pretend.

"Change of plans, Major," McKay announced, speaking the words that committed him to the course of action before he realised he had consciously decided on it. "I'm going to operate the Chair; you're going to take the gun and watch out for whatever is lurking in those corridors."

With a grunt of effort, Sheppard hauled himself upright in the Chair to look McKay in the eyes. "Not going to happen, Rodney," he said with quiet, implacable determination.

"Look, Major, do you really think I want to do this?" Indignation crept into McKay's voice. "Don't be so boneheaded! Just a few minutes ago you were all but unconscious. Think of what might happen if you pass out when I've got the Chair powered up. On the chance you've forgotten what I was trying to explain earlier, it's going to be a lot harder work to use this Chair than the others. If you're not able to control it…" His voice tailed off, unable to speak the words.

"I know that Rodney," Sheppard answered quietly, "and that's why I'm the one who's got to do it. It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture; I do." He smiled for a moment, then as quickly as it came the smile faded and he went on, his tone uncompromising. "But when it comes down to it, as far as this expedition goes, you've got to realise that I'm a lot more expendable than you are," he finished with a faint if wry grin and carefully manoeuvred himself back down in the Chair.

McKay watched him, a worried frown on his face as any relief he might have felt was swept away by the rising fear that he could not push aside. "Major, I…" He stumbled at an unaccustomed loss for words.

"Yeah, Rodney, me too," Sheppard answered, holding his gaze for a few moments. He offered one last smile, trying to fit into that single expression all the reassurance he meant to offer but no longer had time to, then closed his eyes and reached out to place his hands on the arms of the Chair.

McKay took a breath, gathering his courage, then reached over to the switch on the Naquada generator and flicked it on.

For a moment he thought nothing had happened. There was no sudden noise; no flare of blue white energy as before; no smell or crackle of burning; and mercifully no repeat of what he had most dreaded: the sight of Sheppard convulsing under the assault of the energy that powered the Chair, an image that still returned with terrible clarity whenever he closed his eyes.

"Is it…?" he started to say, then looked more closely at the Major and the words tailed off. He saw the hand nearest to him gripping the arm of the Chair with bone-crushing urgency, the knuckles white even under the pallor. Every muscle trembled almost imperceptibly, as if fighting to hold in position under too great a strain. Drops of perspiration beaded on his taut features, but it was the eyes that caught McKay's attention: they were half open, the pupils fully dilated, fixed and staring, but at what McKay could no more than guess.

o0o

It was different this time.

A sensation he distantly recognised as pain nibbled at the edges of his consciousness and then slipped free, swept away by…

Ocean?

The word for it did not exist, but he decided he had to call it something so ocean would suffice. On the edges of his mind he sensed something huge and protean obligingly shift to more closely match the concept.

Then it rushed towards him and for a vertiginous instant he felt lifted and carried as if in an Atlantic swell, then the moment was gone.

The darkness returned along with a remote but nagging sensation of discomfort, then that too was leeched away by the enveloping dark, warm and comfortable and safe like an old, familiar quilt.

Half remembered thoughts of something he knew he ought to be doing slid into his mind with soporific languor.

Focus!

Focus on what? He was not sure where the voice – if it had been a voice – came from, but he was certain he did not recognise it.

Remember!

Remember what? Oh, wait. That was it! There was a mission, wasn't there? The memory drifted back, nudging away the cloying dark. An oddly disconnected sensation of pain teased at the edge of his mind, rising and falling as if swept along by the wash of ocean.

Yes, there was a mission. He had to… There was something he had to do… The City! That was it: he was supposed to save the City!

As the thought crystallised in his mind, he felt something heavy sweeping into him, dragging him down. The darkness split and fragmented, falling away to reveal something else, unforgiving and relentless, surging towards him.

He looked up as cold and vast ocean slammed into him.

o0o

Seconds crawled by without apparent change, then the body on the Chair shuddered violently as if trying to pull back from something. On Sheppard's face McKay could see a tense frown creasing the Major's forehead and even as he watched, a thin dribble of blood slowly trickled from one nostril.

o0o