Stuck!
A/N: I now know where my sweet Julie awaits. The Corn Palace is within my reach! But I require sustenance and I must pause. Because you have been kind with reviews, I shall post another section of this story born from an uncommon challenge. Strangely enough, I have found another coffee restaurant named after the character from the novel by Herman Melville. Image that! Two such restaurants with the same name and the same motif. I am also struck by the fact there is a hermaphrodite with that same name on a television show that appeared in both the late 1970's as well as the present. What a coincidence. Your comments are the only thing sustaining me on my journey back to my cow. That and the Macchiatos.
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Chapter Seventeen: Facing the Ticking Crocodile
Carson was shouting. His people came running from all directions. Rodney, without waking, scrunched up his hot face, burying it against Sheppard's neck as the colonel was forced away from the bed by the incoming medical staff.
This was all too much, John thought as he came to stand beside Ronon. Damn it, this was TOO MUCH—watching Teyla die of old age, holding onto a gunshot and feverous child that had once been McKay.
Beside him, Ronon fixed him with a discontented stare before returning his gaze to the activity around Teyla's bed.
Coordinated chaos reigned at the Athosian's bedside. Throughout the infirmary, noise dominated—clattering, shouting, monitors blaring their alarms. Teyla, for her part, said nothing.
The colonel and the former runner watched the fierce battle, unconsciously edging closer to one another. Ronon raised a hand to rest it on Rodney's bare back.
Sheppard had let the large blanket drape down, exposing McKay's too hot torso. Whenever he judiciously tried to pull it up again, the boy whined piteously, squirming to get away from the oppressive covering. Sheppard let it hang, hoping his own body heat might be enough for the boy.
Watching as Beckett and his people worked over Teyla, Dex ran his huge, soothing hand along the small back. Rodney gave no reaction – the comforting motion doing more good for Dex than for the insensible boy.
Amidst all the shouting and alarms, Beckett could be heard crooning to Teyla as he filled a syringe and injected it into the IV line. "Come on, lass, keep fightin'. Only a little longer and you'll be comin' back just like normal. Yes, our boys have figured out how to put you right."
Suddenly, Rodney shivered. Ronon pulled back his hand, and helped Sheppard bring up the blanket, careful of the child's injured arm. The boy burrowed himself deeper into the colonel's chest, shuddering, now seeking warmth, snuggling the toy kitty between them. Once the coverlet was settled, Ronon returned his hand to the boy's back.
"That's right. That's right," Beckett kept up his litany. "Come on back, lass. That's right." Carson's gaze tracked along the monitors.
Watching, Sheppard felt a brittleness fill him – as if something in him might break like glass. His arms, so tired from holding onto the child, seemed unable to move anymore. Ronon kept one hand on Rodney, but had stopped the calming movements. He seemed rooted, incapable of moving again unless Teyla moved first. Fight, Teyla, he urged to himself. Fight this!
Standing together, they waited as seconds clicked by, as Beckett kept his gaze on the monitors, keeping up a quiet drone of, "Come on now, Teyla. You can do it." They heard the CMO release a relieved breath, monitors chirped happily, and they watched as Teyla's eyes fluttered. Sheppard felt some of that brittleness ease. Ronon shifted his position, and started rubbing Rodney's back again through the blanket.
Teyla's once warm, fierce eyes stared unfocused before her. "That's right," Carson kept at it. "We have you back now," he sighed.
"Father?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.
"Ach, no," Beckett returned quietly. "It's Carson."
"Carson…" she repeated, a note of confusion in her wisp-thin voice. "Where am I?"
"You're in Atlantis, Teyla," he told her, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. "In my infirmary. You're very ill, but we're going to make you better."
Sheppard tried to smile at her, as she looked beyond the doctor – her eyes tracking around the room where people clattered. Her roving gaze kept moving, not even pausing as it came past him. Starkly, she spoke again, "I cannot see."
Beckett grimaced at this news. He gazed at the monitors again—as if they might hold the key to holding her together. But, he knew that the problem wouldn't be solved here—but it had to be solved NOW.
"She shouldn't be moved," he muttered to himself as he started to detach the equipment from her body. "In her fragile state, I dare not take the risk." And he shouted to some of his assistants, specifying that needed to be packed for the journey. "She can't handle the stress to her body." And he sighed. "She really must be kept still!" He glanced to the boy that Sheppard held, that Ronon stood protectively over. "And Rodney's getting no better. He should be kept quiet in bed." He sighed again. "We'd best go now—while they still have a little time left."
Someone was wheeling a gurney up the aisle, but Ronon stepped forward, cutting them off. Easily, he lifted the frail woman from the bed.
"Who are you?" Teyla asked in a thin voice as Dex held her to his chest. Her cloudy eyes roamed. One arm reached weakly, and grasped onto his shirt.
"I am Ronon," he returned, his voice a low purr. "Don't be afraid," he assured her. "I swear you'll be safe with me. I won't drop you."
Teyla smiled, her lips thin and nearly fleshless. "I know," she said, feeling his strength and his warmth. "I am not afraid."
Ronon turned and, not waiting for instructions from Beckett or Sheppard, strode across the infirmary toward the exit with his fragile and precious burden. Sheppard was directly behind him, clutching the ill child, not giving Carson the chance to check the boy one last time before they moved out. What good would it do anyway?
Beckett followed, muttering, "We shouldn't be movin' them. Not now. We shouldn't."
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Ronon never broke his stride. The stargate had been dialed ahead of them, Zelenka and all of the scientists having already passed through. Thankfully the DHD had been reassembled and the crystals not needed, otherwise they'd be in dire straits. Dex nearly hurtled through the event horizon with Teyla in his arms. Sheppard stayed right behind him.
Stepping through the gate usually messed up the colonel a bit—moving from daylight to night, from warm to cold, from indoors to out. This time, Sheppard only worried about what the journey through the wormhole might do to their fragile burdens.
He paused on the platform when they reached the planet, checking the boy as Ronon continued without hesitation. He adjusted the child, trying to put him in a position that didn't hurt his overtaxed arms, finding there was little he could do to ease them.
Dr. Beckett came to a stop beside him, his face a knot of worries as Sheppard pressed a hand to the boy's rosy warm, soft cheeks. Rodney offered no response. His face was lax, lips parted.
John let his hand remain for a moment, taking in the helpless face, then gave Beckett a nod when he was assured that Rodney was still with them. He turned before the good doctor could speak and started jogging in an attempt to catch up with Ronon.
As he cradled the boy against him—Sheppard recalled a few days earlier when he'd run toward the gate just to annoy McKay. Rodney had complained and bitched about it—demanding to be let down—whining miserably when he bit his tongue—blaming Colonel Clumsy Claws for everything.
McKay hadn't known the right way to carry a child—didn't know how to be properly carried.
God, was that only two days ago? It seemed like eons—back when McKay was McKay—just in a pint-sized version. Back when this child still resembled his friend—his best friend. Sheppard struggled, hardly able to fathom what had happened—what was happening.
And he realized that he missed his friend—he missed the old fractious, arrogant, bewildering McKay. He missed the old brilliant, witty, fiercely loyal man. The child was cute as anything— but Sheppard was never a man who liked 'cute'. He missed the OLD McKay. This was all a nightmare, he decided, one that he desperately wanted to wake up from.
Ronon was running now, carrying Teyla effortlessly as he darted through the little village. The locals gazed at them in wonder, saying nothing and stepping out of their way as the group raced through their town. Nobody needed to say a word to explain the urgency. Nobody needed to tell them to stay out of the way.
Behind him, Sheppard could hear Beckett huffing to stay with him, toting his medical bag. Ronon was pulling away, getting farther ahead.
John listened as Rodney's breaths seemed to be shallower. McKay no longer gripped at his shirt. No longer held tightly to the little spotted kitty toy that was wedged between them. His hands were lax – his body like rubber.
Sheppard increased his speed, feeling the child's life slipping. They should have taken a puddle jumper – but the distance wasn't that far – and it would have taken precious time to get to the jumper hangar, to go through the launch sequence, to clear the gate, to land it in the clearing— then to walk the distance to the Ancestors Hall of Healing. The difference in time would probably minimal—but Teyla would have been transported with a gurney instead of in someone's arms. Yet, honestly, Sheppard couldn't think of a safer mode of transportation than under Ronon's protection. And even if they had taken the jumper, Sheppard knew he wouldn't have set down the fevered boy. His arms might fall off from fatigue, but he wouldn't allow him that sort of rest—not for a moment.
They ran. Sheppard saw Ronon reach the outpost. A couple of Zelenka's team members were waiting at the entrance, making encouraging gestures as their group arrived. Sheppard passed them a minute later, clamoring down the stairs with his bundle. Beckett, who'd kept up the whole way, panted as they made their way through the hallways.
Rodney's breaths were coming in tiny gasps as they reached the hospital. Sheppard remembered how McKay's eyes had gleamed with glee when he'd first seen the place—like a kid at Christmas—like a damn kid.
He clutched the child—feeling too much heat. Nobody needed to tell him that McKay was dying. His light that had burned too brightly was nearly used up. They'd have one attempt at fixing this. Neither of his friends would live much longer. John just hoped that Rodney and Teyla would survive the process.
The two had been strong and well the first time—who knows what would happen to them in their deteriorated states.
"Here! Here!" Zelenka shouted, indicating the two beds beside the arch shaped device, where mummified bodies once slept. "Teyla will go here," the Czech indicated, showing the bed where the Ancient had been found. "Rodney—here," and he pointed to the Wraith's bed.
"Ach, no!" Beckett exclaimed. "You've got it backwards."
Zelenka shoved his glasses back up his nose. "But we need to go backwards, yes?" he exclaimed. "This will be right."
"But isn't one of the beams calibrated for Wraith DNA and the other for the ATA gene?" Beckett asked.
Radek went into a terse response, letting his usually excellent English fall by the wayside, dropping articles and pronouns in his attempt to get his theories out in a hurry. Beckett furrowed his brow, not understanding—asking more questions.
Ronon didn't bother listening to the argument. Trusting Zelenka, he eased the old woman into the indicated bed. Teyla smiled, appearing downright peaceful. "Thank you, Ronon," she wheezed. Her chest heaved with each breath, as if it took every ounce of her once great strength to draw air into her lungs.
Beckett gave up with the discussion when he saw her distress, and crouched beside Teyla. "It's gonna be all right, Teyla," he claimed, pulling a small oxygen tank from his bag. "I trust they know what they're doin'. I do." He fitted the mask over her face and tried to ease her breathing.
Sheppard continued to hold the child, feeling as if his arms were growing numb with the constant weight. He watched as Beckett ministered to Teyla. Zelenka's team had finished their work, and the scientist was shooing them from the room—trying to clear the space for what was to come. John's eyes tracked along the machine's arch—it was blackened, with gaping holes, marred by the violence of Ronon's weaponry. Would it work? Could this broken thing function again?
Dex came to stand beside him and followed Sheppard's gaze. "I won't apologize for firing at the machine," the former runner stated emphatically. Ronon took in the child, wrapped in the big blue blanket, breathing uneasily, fiercely held in Sheppard's arms as if the man were afraid to let him go. If the amount of time spent in that beam had done THIS to McKay—imagine what another second might have done. He glanced to Teyla, watching as Beckett drew back to sit on his heels. Teyla seemed to be better with the oxygen—her breathing eased, her blind eyes closing tiredly. If she'd been in that beam for another second, what would have been left?
"I won't apologize," Ronon repeated.
"I'm not asking you to," Sheppard responded.
The blanket had shifted, revealing Rodney's bandaged arm, and Ronon realized, if he'd been the one to face the Wraith in that nursery, he would have reacted exactly as Sheppard had—perhaps with more violence. Dex couldn't help but think how much worse it could have been.
"Now," Beckett said, suddenly getting to his feet from his position next to Teyla. He crossed the distance between himself and Sheppard. "We don't have much time." Gently, he took the boy from Sheppard's arms, tugging a second as Sheppard hesitated before finally giving him up. Rodney gave no resistance, limp as a rag. The stuffed cat tumbled loose, and Ronon caught it before it hit the floor. Sheppard's arms felt suddenly very empty, and he hugged them around himself to compensate. He felt so cold without the heat of the sick child against him.
Beckett carried the boy, feeling his pulse and grimacing at what he found. He settled the blanketed child in the bed, adjusting the blue material to cover not just the child, but most of the mattress as well, then paused to rest the back of his hand on the too hot forehead. As he withdrew, bright blue eyes shot open and gazed at him in wonder. "Carson?" the boy exhaled.
"Rodney," Beckett said softly, smiling to see his friend awake, but worried at the intensity of his gaze. "We're gonna put everything right, lad." He patted the boy softly on the chest. "Don't you worry."
McKay's pale features scrunched up. "Sorry…" he said softly.
"What do you have to be sorry about, Rodney?" Beckett asked, crouching low to hear the quiet voice.
"Was mean to you," Rodney whispered. "Didn't mean it."
"Naw, you weren't," Beckett declared, remembering how McKay had pushed him away earlier—wanting only the Colonel. He gently touched the boy's head, brushing lightly at his hair. "You just weren't feelin' like yourself," and the doctor paused at the irony of that statement.
"Was scared," Rodney admitted, his voice so weak, it was barely a whisper. "Sorry."
"Aye," Carson responded. "We're all a bit scared. Now, just give us a minute and you'll be right as rain. We'll get both you and Teyla fixed up in a jiffy."
"Teyla?" the boy searched, his fever bright eyes seeking the Athosian.
Beckett turned to the bed beside them, and nodded to Zelenka standing over her to carefully removed Teyla's oxygen mask as the Athosian weakly tried to dislodge it herself. "I am here," she responded, turning her blind eyes in the direction of the child. "I am here, Rodney."
"Don't be scared, Teyla," Rodney whispered, his voice trembling.
"I am not frightened," Teyla responded, her lined face resolute. "I trust them. And you were the one to provide the solution. I trust you. I am ready."
The boy nodded, clutching his blanket close to him and gazing up at the others in the room—his eyes wide and frightened. "Okay," he squeaked. "I'm ready, too."
From his position, Ronon declared, "You are very brave, little man."
Rodney didn't respond, his eyes welling as he curled up on his uninjured side under the blue blanket. His terrified gaze sought Sheppard's one more time—needing something from the colonel, and, apparently getting it when Sheppard gave him one single, encouraging nod—before closing his eyes.
Sheppard looked away, no longer able to see his friend like this. He nodded to Zelenka and ordered, "Let's do this thing."
Beckett stood, and approached the control board. Zelenka eased in beside him, pointing out controls, describing what should be done. Beckett just nodded, saying nothing. Then Zelenka scuttled back, getting out of the way.
With a miserable look, Beckett declared, "It's now or never," unable to hide his discontent, his mistrust of the equipment. He glanced to Teyla, who was trying so hard to hold herself together—to not give up the fight. He tried not to recall the mummified Ancient that had once occupied that bed; he tried not to draw comparisons between the desiccated body and his withered friend. He turned to Rodney, seeing the sick child clutching at his blankets, trembling and silently crying, looking frightened and alone.
Beckett had no idea if they'd survive this. His hand hovered over the controls as he fought with the idea that he might be about to kill them both. But they weren't going to be able to continue living in this manner. This was their only chance.
He nodded resolutely and pressed his hands to the controls, watching as the system came alive. He moved his hands quickly and efficiently, following Radek's instructions.
The machine hummed to life and Beckett stiffened, remembering the last time. One beam shot out and found Teyla's bed, another found Rodney. The twin lights scanned the occupants. Teyla pressed her head back into the pillow, giving herself up to the light. Rodney curled up in a tiny ball, whimpering in fear as he was faced with yet another terror—too many terrors for someone so young—or even for someone as old as Dr. Rodney McKay.
The machine made a satisfied chirp. Sheppard tried to keep his eyes open, to see everything, to be there for his people, but there was a pulse—blinding white light flooded the room. He flinched away, bringing up an arm to cover his eyes.
A child cried out in pain and absolute fright, as an old woman moaned in distress. Sheppard fought to see—but the white light enveloped everything.
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A/N: JULIE! Time is short and I must away to the Winnebago! Wait for me, sweet sweet Julie! Your Kolyaaa is coming!