Sacrifice

Chapter 11

John wandered aimlessly down the corridors of Atlantis. His stride was stiff and slow, his whip-scarred back causing him to move like an old man. Dr. Beckett had given him a small reprieve from his bed rest, allowing him to walk around for an hour or so. Grateful beyond belief, John had practically fallen out of the bed, slipped on a pair of floppy slippers and shuffled out of the infirmary.

He was alone. Relatively speaking, that is. He was in Atlantis, which meant that every few seconds he was passed by a scientist or a soldier, but Carson had allowed him to leave the medical wing without an escort. Once more, John was grateful to the physician. He needed to move, to think, to come to terms with Rodney's loss and try and deal with his grief.

Only a day had passed since he was rescued and brought home to the floating city. He had a couple of deep lashes on his back that required some stitches, and he was slightly malnourished and dehydrated, but other than that, he was recovering nicely. Teyla and Ronon had barely left his side, filling him in on their side of the story, and introducing him to Lisel. The old woman had expressed her sympathy at the loss of Rodney –a man she had never met – but John heard the sincerity in her voice.

Rodney. John couldn't get the image of the scientist's vacant blue eyes out of his memory. His cold hand. The grey of his skin. The sour gasp of his breath. Beaten and battered, cut and bleeding. And dying on the hard stone floor of a cell.

John paused before the open door to the lab, his eyes falling on the hunched form of Radek Zelenka. Teyla, Ronon and Elizabeth had been regular visitors, hardly leaving him alone to sleep. Radek, on the other hand, had not shown his face since John had related the facts of Rodney's death.

Sheppard stared at Zelenka's back, wanting to go in and talk with the scientist, but fear kept him in the hallway. He was afraid Radek blamed him for Rodney's death, afraid that the physicist would never forgive him for not protecting McKay when Rodney need protecting the most. He swayed a bit, one hand braced against the doorway, then turned and shuffled away. There would be time to talk to Zelenka later, when the hurt wasn't so fresh.

Minutes later, John found himself at Rodney's quarters. He stared at the closed doors for along moment, then sighed. With a thought, the doors opened and he staggered inside.

The room reeked of McKay. Papers, Ancient artifacts, candy wrappers and empty water bottles littered the three tables. A rumpled bed took up the center of the room, pillows jammed into the headboard. A half-eaten bag of chips was propped next to McKay's laptop. One wall – Rodney's wall of fame, John had joked – was covered with awards, certificates, plaques and degrees. The center was noticeably bare; Rodney had informed him that that was where his Nobel prize was going. When he won it.

John wearily sat down on one of the chairs. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of sweaty socks and stale food, listening to the silence, doing his best to accept that this man was gone forever. No more angry retorts, no more accusations of being a moron, no more complaints, criticisms or colorful conversations. Gone was McKay's egotism, arrogance and pettiness. So too his genius, his wicked, spot-on sense of humor, and his infrequent moments of actual kindness.

Emptiness engulfed Sheppard. He had lost friends before, in Afghanistan as well as here on Atlantis, but this was different. One moment he was furious, his rage directed at Worner, at himself, even at McKay. The next moment he felt like sobbing himself to sleep, wanting the release of tears, but refusing to break down in front of Carson and his staff. But most of the time, there was this bleakness, this disconnectedness, and it was swallowing him whole.

John had failed Rodney. Failed him as a teammate and failed him as friend. How many times had the ornery scientist put his own life on the line for Sheppard? It wasn't Rodney's job to protect John; his job was to think, to suggest, to cob together a broken jumper long enough for the team to escape. And, obnoxious or not, Rodney had always come through, had never let the team down. It was up to John, and Ronon and Teyla, to keep the scientist safe, to get him back to Atlantis so he could discover the next wonder, or the next threat.

They had become close. As a unit, the four teammates were unnaturally close, their bond reinforced by their many narrow escapes. Trust had been given, friendships made. And while the four could often be seen together, sharing a meal or just talking, Teyla and Ronon had naturally drifted together, both being off-worlders, both coming from similar backgrounds, dealing with the Wraith and the stargate all their lives. John was fully aware of the relationship developing between the Athosian and runner, and had decided to not interfere. There were bigger problems to worry about.

He snorted as he thought about something General O'Neill had said when John had returned to Earth last year. The General had related the story of how Dr. Jackson, a self-professed geek who detested violence, the complete opposite of the gung-ho, action-oriented soldier, had become O'Neill's best friend.

"Teal'c and I have more in common, but Daniel…I guess you could say he gave me balance." John had nodded at O'Neill's words. He completely understood. While he sometimes wished Rodney was more like the soft-spoken, polite Dr. Jackson, he often felt that McKay saw people and situations much differently than he did. His insight was often right on target, and John had learned to ignore the bluster and blather, and listen to the scientist.

From there it was only a matter of time until Rodney was grudgingly watching football videos with John, and Sheppard was being regaled about the wonders of ice hockey. Both men had shared bits and pieces from their pasts, gotten together to whump each other at chess and wondered about the growing relationship between Teyla and Ronon. Rodney teased John about being Captain Kirk, and John blasted Rodney about his failures in the dating department. Opposites. Teammates. Friends.

And, contrary to Carson's words, John knew it was his fault. He could have offered something to Worner – it would have taken time for the interrogator to realize that John had made something up. And Rodney might have lived, may have been given the medical treatment that he so desperately needed. But John had refused; Rodney had died. Action begets reaction.

The strange thing was that Rodney didn't feel dead. John knew this to be ridiculous; he had held the scientist's cold hand, seen him breathe his last breath, saw his eyes glaze over and lose their spark of life. But, still…..A tiny part of him believed that somewhere, somehow, Rodney McKay lived and breathed and complained.

It was utter nonsense. And he dared not tell anyone that he felt McKay was alive. They'd send him home for sure.

John got to his feet. In one hand he still carried the torn patch, his fingers rubbing the fabric, tracing the outline of the maple leaf. Carson was sure to be looking for him by now, and everyone would be worried. He half expected Ronon to come charging into the room, swoop him up and carry him back to the infirmary.

He opened the door, turning back one last time to look around the room. The heavy weight of sorrow and loss overwhelmed him once more, and he wondered if maybe he should return to Earth for a little while. Putting that thought on the back burner, he shuffled down the hallway.

oOo

He was warm. That was nice. The sheets could have been a little softer – they scratched something terrible – but Rodney McKay wasn't going to be choosy. For once. Instead, he nestled into the comfort of the bed, wondering when Carson was going to come by and start hassling him about nearly getting killed again.

But – didn't he die? The physicist frowned in his sleep, only a small segment of his conscious mind working. He remembered John, leaning down and holding his hand, and John looked so….lost. Yes, that was it. Defeated, almost. The Colonel was pleading with him to just hang on, that help was coming soon, but Rodney knew it was too late. He may have been a hypochondriac, but even he knew when he was dying. The pain he had felt for the last four days was gone, replaced by complete numbness. He could barely feel John's warm hand in his, could barely crack open his eyes to look one more time on his friend.

They had spoken. Rodney had made sure that he told Sheppard the truth. After all, John was his best friend, and he deserved the truth. And the truth was that Rodney was grateful for their friendship, that he was glad it was Sheppard who was with him as he died.

Rodney hadn't wanted to die. But it was so hard to breath. He could taste the blood in his mouth, feel his broken ribs as they pierced his lung, hear the ringing in his ears. Everything had seemed so distant, so detached. Everything but Sheppard.

So, he had given up. It almost felt good, in a way. Dying was frightening, true, but with Sheppard there to hold his hand, his strong presence reassuring – in the end, apparently, it hadn't been that bad after all. The sheets could be a little softer, but, all in all, being dead was far better than being dragged down that stone hallway to be whipped and taunted. Rodney shuddered inwardly as he thought of Worner, and the glee on the man's face every time his rotten henchman cracked the whip.

"He's coming around," a strange voice said. Rodney ignored it, still wanting to rest, still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was dead (was he?). Obviously, he hadn't made it to heaven, but since he was a non-believer in all things religious, then that was par for the course. But, still, he thought death would at least feel at little different, be a little more mystical or enlightening or something. Bummer.

"How long until he's awake?" a familiar voice asked, and Rodney felt his body clench. Was that Worner? No no no. He was dead! He had managed to escape from that sadist (hadn't he?). Yanked from his reverie, McKay felt a sharp pinprick, and realized that he had been injected with something. The first tendrils of panic took hold, and he started to become more aware, more alert.

"A couple of hours maybe. He's still in rough shape. I don't recommend that you question him right away." The first voice moved away from McKay, his voice growing distant. Rodney remained still and silent, fighting the fog in his mind, trying to surface, to awaken, so he could see, so he could know…..did he die? Or was it all just a horrible nightmare?

Worner stared down at the semi-conscious figure lying on the bed, taking in the small twitches and tics of Rodney's muscles as the sedatives wore off. The chief interrogator had lost Sheppard, the Colonel's people finally arriving in time to rescue him. He had watched as his interrogation center had been destroyed. But, they had left McKay behind, unaware that the physicist still lived.

The Wraith were on their way, and Worner had no choice but to turn McKay over to them. If he didn't, the Wraith would capture and kill all of the people on the planet, annihilating an entire race. At least if he surrendered McKay, only the cullings would continue, allowing a few of Worner's people to survive.

Worner leaned down close to McKay's ear, his eyes searching the battered form for any movement.

"Dr. McKay, your friends have abandoned you. The Wraith will be here shortly, and I will turn you over to them. Perhaps they can get the information they want from you. Nevertheless, your brief respite from agony will soon be over. Enjoy it while you can." Worner paused for a long moment, then slowly turned and walked away.

Rodney McKay lay on the bed, his hands and feet bound, his body still badly beaten. His eyes were closed, and his breathing calm, but inside he was quaking with fear. The Wraith! He wasn't dead? And where was Sheppard? They had left him here – alone? Deep down inside, McKay felt a horrific scream building, one that he knew he couldn't release out loud. With every fiber of his being, he focused his thoughts, focused his fear and pain, focused it into one silent plea that he bellowed with his mind:

HELP ME!

TBC