Title: Uneasy Alliance
Author: Milliecake
Rating: K
Spoilers: Spoilers up to mid Season 2, possible heavy spoilers for The Eye, The Storm and The Brotherhood
Summary: Stranded alone and injured while attempting to recover a ZPM, Colonel Sheppard is forced to work with an old enemy in order to survive
Disclaimer: Don't own any of the SG Universe
OoOoO
The pain was unpleasant to say the least, near crippling as if he'd gone ten rounds with an extremely pissed off Wraith, but at that moment it was oh so very good. It meant he was alive and if the feeling in his chilled fingers and toes was anything to go by, he'd survived with his limbs intact. Mostly.
A fit of uncontrollable coughing hit him and Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard heaved and gasped on the mucky bank, his throat parched and sore, the vice-like grip on his chest informing him he'd tried to breathe river water at some point on his little, inadvisable trip out to sea.
Next time, bring boat. He laid his head back down, the grit cool beneath his face and let the sun warm his soaked shirt and pants. Just a few minutes more mom, he solemnly promised in utter exhaustion, listening to the almost soothing sound of the river rushing by several feet below. Just enough time to rest and recuperate, warm up a little...imagine his hands around Kolya's neck, squeezing the bastard's life out of him.
Behind closed eyelids, he recalled McKay's face through the torrent of water, pale and terrified above as he clung to John, the look in his eyes as he realised he was about to lose his friend.
"You didn't lose me McKay," John mumbled into the sand, flopping awkwardly onto his back to let the sun finish its job. Sunny side up, he thought. Tiredly, he reached for his radio, hand falling limp back to his side as it scraped nothing but empty air. "Great."
Groaning in pain, he managed to make it to his elbows, then push all the way upright, resisting the urge to expel half the river's contents and more from his stomach.
"You know, this is all your fault," he told the rushing waters, breathing hard through his mouth, a hand pressed to his sore abdomen. But the river merely skipped lazily on its way to the open sea, nothing like the fierce break for freedom it had earlier displayed.
Sheppard's impassive and relaxed attitude soon faded as he took stock of both his physical state and his supplies and decided both looked pretty grim. All weapons but his sidearm and a spare clip had been lost in the water, along with his radio, backpack and scanning device. His thigh had sustained a heavy gash, but fortunately his meagre supply of field bandages had been kept high and dry in his inner pocket.
Dressing that wound, he decided against cataloguing his many bumps, bruises and scrapes, reasoning it would take too much time. At least a day by his calculation, in which time he hoped to be rescued and returned to Atlantis in time to enjoy the benefits of a strong dose of Beckett's wonderful sedatives, while laid up in his own bed watching the latest sports videos the Daedelus had shipped in.
Gingerly touching his forehead, frowning as his fingers came back a sticky red, he recalled banging his head at least once on his impromptu river swim, which might account for the loss of consciousness and current lack of focus.
All thoughts of yelling through the pre-recorded game where the Redskins bulldozed their way through the Cowboys vanished.
"Ah crap," he said, wearily. "Beckett's not gonna let me out of the Infirmary for a month." Chin in hand, he watched the river and its almost hypnotic splashes of light. "But at least you didn't kill me, so I guess I must be on a lucky roll."
A distant noise in the woods behind him alerted the Colonel and slowly, carefully John reached for his sidearm. Rolling to one side to take cover behind some dense shrubbery he stifled a groan of agony as wounds tore afresh and bruises protested the pressure.
Doubled over in fresh and sudden pain, an arm curled protectively around what he guessed were a couple of broken ribs, he took a firmer grip on the gun as the noises came again, louder now as someone blundered carelessly through the woods. Peering around his cover, John squinted at the dark, staggering figure, willing his blurry eyes to focus, wrenching back behind the bush before they spotted him.
It could be McKay or Teyla or Ronan, he knew, but his pummelled gut was telling him no. If it was a Wraith out on patrol he was already good as dead, injured and practically unarmed as he was, but the figure definitely felt human. Probably one of Kolya's soldiers. But no matter his circumstances, Sheppard knew he couldn't simply open fire, though his nerves were already frayed and jittery.
When the figure stopped a few feet away and bent over, wheezing and gasping, he took his chance. Creeping out from cover, he moved up behind the Genii and brought the butt of his sidearm down over the back of their head.
Just as he'd hoped, they dropped like a stone and Sheppard was quick to move in, keeping his gun trained as he visually checked for weapons. Seeing none, he carefully prodded the dead weight with his boot, before shoving harder and flipping the person over.
What was revealed caused him to suck in another breath, this time in fury, even as his finger tightened to a hair's breath on the trigger.
Laying unconscious at his feet was the man who had killed two of the Atlantian expedition in cold blood, had carved a hole in McKay's arm, had convinced Sheppard that Elizabeth was dead. A man who had survived one of Sheppard's bullets, only to return for a second attempt to disrupt the Colonel's life.
A moment passed, then another, and on the third hitched breath, John slowly eased his finger off the trigger. Kolya looked like he felt, bloodied and bedraggled, the man must have somehow been caught in the waters, caught in his own scheme to bring his enemies down.
"So you managed to survive the river too huh," Sheppard told the unconscious man, crouching down to strip his enemy of any useful items, any concealed weapons, before binding his hands. "Guess my lucky streak just ran out."
OoOoO
"Colonel Sheppard, do you read?"
Shivering in his wet field jacket, Rodney McKay stared at the back of his hands, still unable to comprehend how he'd lost Sheppard. For a man used to thinking his way in and out of dire situations, the only thought trapped inside his head at that moment was the memory of his best friend being swept away. Over and over, tormented by the possibilities of what he could have done, should have done to save the man.
"John if you can hear me, please answer."
Teyla's efforts over the radio had yielded nothing but hissed static and no sign their leader was still alive, but Rodney knew the water could easily have destroyed Sheppard's radio, or he could be unconscious and unable to reply. Or out of radio range. There were too many scenarios to go over them all, he told himself, dismissive.
Or he could just be dead, an insidious voice inside whispered.
Resisting the urge to tell it to shut up, McKay wrapped his arms around himself. "How could I have let him go?" He didn't realise he'd spoken the words aloud until he heard his own voice, sounding lost and uncharacteristically bewildered.
The constant, angry pacing that had failed to distract him suddenly halted and Ronan strode over to where he sat. "Because you're weak," the warrior practically snarled, then stepped back as Teyla inserted herself between the two men.
"It was not his fault, Ronan," she told the other, sternly, reaching to clasp one of Rodney's arms in support.
Her hand was warm, comforting, and McKay squeezed back, suddenly not wanting her to let go.
"I believe he is in shock," Teyla continued, appeasing the warrior. "As are we. But we must focus on finding John before nightfall. It will be more difficult to track him during the darkness."
"You think he's alive?" Ronan mocked, shaking his head as he walked away to resume his pacing.
Feeling as if he'd been slapped, a sudden rage caught fire in Rodney's chest and he jumped to his feet. "If there's the slightest chance a person could survive that then John Sheppard would," he snapped at the warrior. "That man has cheated death more times than I can count and I have a degree in mathematics so believe me when I say I can count!"
He finished his brief yet succinct tirade with a glower at the other man, who didn't seem impressed at all. But McKay could tell he'd had an affect, he was certain of it. People rarely ignored him when he spoke and if they did, more fool them.
"We should start by searching along the river if John is..." Teyla began, then hesitated, choosing her words, "to be found."
"One of us should return to the jumper," Rodney added, glad they were planning, thinking.
Strategies he could deal with, could work with, gave him something useful to focus on other than the incessant recollection of a friend's unaccusing features as he was swept away because Rodney couldn't hold on tight enough...
"We...we should alert Atlantis," the scientist stuttered, slightly, attempting to recover his focus as he lost his train of thought. "They can send more people to look, more jumpers, more ground to cover etcetera..." He trailed off, glancing at Teyla for support.
"That will take time," she replied. "In the meanwhile, it would be better if Ronan and I searched on foot. We might see something on the ground the jumpers may miss in the air."
"Ok, that...that sounds good," Rodney agreed. "So, you want me to head back to the jumper then, alone?"
"That might be for the best," she said, smoothly. "We are far better trackers and can move more swiftly..."
"Without me," he finished for her, feeling a little crestfallen. He knew he wasn't a hunter or warrior of any kind, hell he hated the outdoors. But he wanted to help look for John, to make up for letting go.
"Rodney," Teyla said, more quietly. "This was not your fault. Do not take the guilt of others for this tragedy upon yourself."
He nodded. "They should be the ones to pay huh," he said, with a small smile and a shrug, wondering who he was trying to convince.
"And they will." It was Ronan who replied, his body tense, his eyes narrowed on something behind Rodney and Teyla.
Slowly, he unsheathed his big knife and McKay's eyes widened as the warrior strode purposefully forward, only halting when Teyla quickly placed a hand on his arm.
"Dr Weir believes we have a truce with these people," she said to the other, in a hushed voice, sparing Rodney a brief and uneasy glance. "We do not need anymore bloodshed."
Ronan didn't spare her a look but continued to stare hard at something hidden in the trees, something Rodney couldn't see. "Maybe not, but as McKay said, someone needs to pay," came his growling reply.
And then Ronan Dex was gone, loping through the trees after whatever it was he'd caught wind of.
"What...where's he going?" McKay asked, confused, as Teyla hurriedly grabbed his hand and ushered him deeper into the woods, away from Ronan.
"He...must see to your security if you are to return to the jumper," Teyla replied, hesitatingly.
Rodney planted his feet, pulling her to a halt and raised his eyebrow. "I may be in shock and soaking wet and developing a potentially lethal case of pneumonia even as we speak by the way, but I'm not stupid. There were Genii out there, the ones who ambushed us."
It wasn't a question and yet he knew before she spoke that she would try to evade it nonetheless. He folded his arms and stared at her in silent challenge.
For a moment, she appeared to search for words, then gathered herself and unflinchingly met his stare, reminding McKay why this woman was not only a warrior but a leader of her people. A woman made of stronger stuff than he could ever hope for.
"Please Rodney," she said at last. "Do not tell Dr Weir or the others. They would not understand. It is not...their way."
"No, it isn't," Rodney replied, shortly. "We don't go hunting down other humans to slaughter, especially ones that would no doubt surrender to us given the proper persuasion. I saw Kolya go down and without him they're like cattle."
And then his mind, his brilliant, speed of light brain alighted on that one memory, that one promise he had made after the Dorandan debacle which had resulted in two thirds of a solar system being wiped out. The promise to regain John Sheppard's trust.
And if his best friend were truly dead, then that debt would never be repaid. "And you know what?"
Teyla slowly shook her head.
"I don't care," he finished. "Kill them."
END OF CHAPTER THREE