Sacrifice

Chapter 12

HELP ME!

John burst awake, his back screaming in protest as he sat straight up in bed. Disoriented, he glanced around, taking in the many beds, the medical equipment, the smell of antiseptic. He was in the medical wing.

Sheppard ran a shaking hand over his face, feeling the rough stubble. He had refused Carson's offer of a sleep aid, tossing and turning for what seemed like hours before exhaustion had finally taken its toll, and he had fallen into a deep sleep. He didn't remember dreaming, only sinking into oblivion, all his worries and heartache finally fading away.

Rodney. Rodney's cry for help had awakened him. But, McKay was gone, his body in parts unknown, the man just a memory now. Tomorrow there would be a memorial service for the physicist, then his personal effects would be boxed up, his quarters cleaned out, and life would carry on. Still – John had heard him, heard the desperation in his voice, the fear. Could the call have come from McKay? But that was insane.

John dropped his legs over the side of the bed, his body still trembling. Blindly feeling for his slippers with his feet, he managed to stand and shrug into a robe. Breathing a sigh, he carefully shuffled to the sink and silently turned on the cold water. Splashing his face, he groped for a towel, hearing soft footsteps behind him. Thinking it was the night-duty nurse, he didn't turn around, just leaned against the sink with his eyes closed.

"Sheppard." John turned, taking in Ronon's stern façade. The runner was dressed as if for battle, completely geared up in his off-world uniform. In the dim light of the infirmary, he could see the lines of tension around the runner's mouth. John wondered if Ronon had slept at all.

"Ronon. What's up?" John pushed himself away from the sink, the memory of Rodney's call still vivid in his ears. He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was three a.m.

"I heard….something," Ronon said hesitantly. John's head snapped up, his eyes searching the runner's face more closely. His perusal was interrupted by the arrival of Elizabeth and Teyla, both women agitated.

"Colonel, shouldn't you be in bed?" Elizabeth chided half-heartedly. Like Ronon, both she and Teyla had donned their daily uniforms, and suddenly John felt underdressed.

"What did you hear Ronon?" John asked, ignoring his boss and his teammate, needing to know the answer.

Ronon shifted from one foot to the other, then crossed his arms over his chest.

Finally, with three sets of eyes staring expectantly at him, he gave a snort.

"I heard McKay. He was calling for help." John swayed, barely hearing both Elizabeth and Teyla gasp in shock. One look at their faces revealed that they, too, had been awakened by McKay's words. John hadn't been dreaming; he really had heard Rodney's voice. But – that was impossible!

The scientist had died. John had seen it. And even if the interrogators had somehow revived McKay, he was light-years away from Atlantis. How could they hear him call for help?

John decided he didn't care. Nor was he surprised when Dr. Beckett came flying into the infirmary, his blue eyes wild and distraught. He stopped short at seeing the others, his gaze taking in their confused faces.

"It can't be….." Carson whispered.

Elizabeth interrupted him. "Colonel Sheppard, do you have any idea what's going on here?" She began to pace, her face set, her eyes troubled. John started walking to his bed, then stopped. Making up his mind, he turned to Teyla and Ronon.

"Fire up the jumper. And get Lorne out of bed. We can use the backup." Ronon nodded once, and with Teyla on his heels, trotted out the door, a look of supreme satisfaction on his face.

"John! You're in no shape to go anywhere! Dr. Beckett, tell him …." Elizabeth trailed away, seeing the determination on Sheppard's face. She stood her ground as he leaned in close, his eyes boring into hers.

"We heard Rodney. All of us! I don't care if you think it's a shared hallucination or wishful thinking or just indigestion. I heard him, Teyla and Ronon heard him – hell, even Carson heard him. And I'm guessing you were yanked awake by his cry for help as well. Am I right?" John watched as she froze, then gave a barely perceptible nod. He grimaced, then limped out the door, heading to his quarters. He needed to change.

"John." Elizabeth grabbed him by the arm. "You don't even know where he is. We destroyed the interrogation center, remember? We searched for the four of you for days, and never found anything. What makes you think you'll find him now?"

John resisted the urge to yank his arm free from her grasp. Instead, he stepped up his pace, making the expedition leader lengthen her stride to keep up. All his pain and soreness disappeared, replaced with a renewed sense of hope. They had heard McKay. It was a call that John couldn't ignore.

"Carson, go and wake up Lisel. Explain that we need some information. Better yet, ask her if she would mind coming with us." Carson, who had tagged along behind John and Elizabeth silently, his face screwed up in thought, turned without a word, disappearing down a side corridor.

They reached John's quarters, and he slowly spun to face Dr. Weir. "I need to do this, Elizabeth. Rodney was a member of my team and I left him behind." When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised one hand, effectively cutting off her words. "Yeah, I thought he was dead. I swore he was dead. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe Worner's people managed to bring him back – I don't know. All I know is that I heard him tonight – and he was calling for help. So, I'm going. I would appreciate your support." He stopped, silently waiting as she mulled his words over in her head.

Finally, she sighed. "I hope to God you're right John. Just do me a favor and don't get dead yourself, okay?" He managed a tight grin, and gently rubbed her arm.

"Understood, Dr. Weir. Now, if you would excuse me, I need to get dressed."

oOo

Rodney McKay refused to open his eyes. Oh, he knew it was childish and immature, but it prevented him from taking in the nightmare surrounding him.

He thought he had died. And it had been such a noble death, too. He finally – finally – got to out-hero Sheppard, got to say some truly touching words to his bereaved friend, and then gently fade into eternity. Maybe his death had come a little earlier than he expected – by say, oh, forty years or more – but, still, he thought, for all intents and purposes, it was a good death. Or so he thought.

Hah! The joke was on him. Not only was he not dead, but he was still a prisoner of that slime-ball Worner. He had heard the man's insidious voice at his ear, whispering the words that Rodney feared the most: Wraith. In a matter of hours, he would be turned over to the Wraith, to be questioned, to be eaten. Either option had it's downside, although being eaten alive definitely had the edge on the gross factor.

Rodney had been terrified at Worner's words, so terrified that his mind had issued an unholy scream for help. Fat lot of good that was going to do. He was trussed up on this bed like a turkey, waiting for the vampires of the Pegasus galaxy to come and suck his life away. Who was going to help him now?

After his initial panic, Rodney had gradually overcome his terror and confusion, his mind examining the problem more clearly as the tranquilizers wore off. The pain of his wounds returned as well, and he found that it was necessary to remain completely still in order to prevent any searing agony from ricocheting throughout his body.

Where was Sheppard? For a brief moment, he feared that John had been killed, tortured to death as well. His emotions at the thought took him by surprise: rage and a deep, bottomless sorrow. Momentarily paralyzed, he shoved that thought away. Instead, he focused on the interrogator's words. Worner had said McKay had been left behind, which meant that help had finally come – just like John said it would. Only they had probably thought he was dead – hell, he thought he had died, so he really couldn't blame them for their mistake. But, the truth was, he did.

After all, they had sensors on board the jumpers, right? Couldn't they pick up his signal, his DNA signature? Rodney simmered and stewed for a while on this issue, swearing that if he managed to get out of this one, he would be sure to let everyone know how unhappy he was at their complete inability to locate one gravely injured physicist who just happened to save their butts time and again. This was the thanks he got.

"Dr. McKay. We know you're awake." Worner's cold voice pried into Rodney's thoughts, and the physicist stifled a sigh. Here we go again.

Worner's dark eyes stared into the defiant blue gaze of the scientist. McKay had been in hospital for more than twenty-four hours now, but his face was still badly swollen. No treatment for his wounds had been offered, only painkillers and tranquilizers to keep him asleep. Now, beyond the challenge in McKay's eyes there was pain and fever.

"Get up. The Wraith will be here within minutes," Worner ordered. Rodney kept his eyes on the interrogator as his hands and feet were released, the small movements causing bursts of agony in his chest and back.

Worner's eyes remained emotionless as Rodney was yanked to his feet. The scientist cried out in pain, sagging immediately as his legs buckled. Two guards struggled to carry the scientist between them.

"Take him to the landing strip." Worner watched as they dragged McKay away, his failure at breaking the physicist gnawing at his insides. Still, he had to admire the man. He was tenacious, impossible to crack, someone Worner wished he had on his own staff. Oh well. He would probably have killed McKay anyway; the man was really quite rude, and Worner's patience was limited. With another long glare at the scientist's retreating figure suspended between the two guards, he shook his head, then strode from the room. He needed to greet the Wraith, not stand here and ponder the fortitude of the enemy.

TBC