Angela, you are the best!

Notes: Thank you so much for reading and commenting. You guys are fantastic!

Chapter 5: The birds upon the steeple, fry high above the people.

They reached the centre ground. The fire had been fed; it was climbing high, sparks rising in the air. The guards let go of McKay and he fell to the ground, boneless. Sand mixed with the water on his skin, covering him with a film of mud. The wounds that had been rinsed in the pond filled with dirt once more. One guard grabbed him by the arm and his legs unfolded from beneath him as he was pulled to his feet. His whole body listed to the right, his arms hung limply at his side, his eyes partly hidden beneath heavy lashes. He swayed in the gentle breeze; cold, muddy and disoriented.

John took hold of the knife that was handed to him without breaking his gaze; as if the sheer power of his will would make Rodney move, force him to take a step and engage him in fight.

"Fight!" Kenoti's voice broke through both men's thoughts. He had retreated from the circle of light, joining his people. They were no longer completely hidden by the darkness but stood in a circle around Sheppard and McKay. The light illuminated their impassive faces. They simply watched, blinking slowly and evenly.

Rodney's eyelids lifted. He saw a blurry shape, identified it as Sheppard and watched it intently. He realised something was being forced in his hand. He raised it to his chest, bending his head to get a closer look. It glinted into the firelight, hard edges and sharp lines. Knife…the big knife Ronon would have loved. The knife he was supposed to use to kill John, because rescue had been delayed. "No…"

As the guard retreated, John saw Rodney's mouth move and his head shake in refusal. This would not do. Rodney had to realise that this was the only way; that he was the one needed in Atlantis. The one who brought the city to life, who could make her sing. He had the magic hands, the magic touch. He had to be rescued. Sheppard spoke, loudly. "Do it, Rodney."

The eyes lifted from the knife. Rodney shook his head as vehemently as he could manage. "I can't…don't make me." His voice was high and pleading. "Please, John." He couldn't. He didn't want to! Sheppard had the best chance of getting out of here. Rodney was cold, scared and useless and he would never be able to save himself. John Sheppard could get out of any situations; he had proven it more than once. Racist natives were no match for his iron will.

The pleas cut through John as surely as the knife would. Before him stood a McKay he so rarely encountered. Lost, crushed, hopeless. He hated it! Where was the McKay who whined for show before pulling through! That was the man John needed! "Do it!"

Rodney's face collapsed before a trace of spirited conviction crossed it. "I can't," he said, more forcefully.

"You can and you will!"

"I can't kill you. I'm not…strong…it'll be easy for you." Rodney opened his hand and let the knife fall.

It planted straight into the sand before falling back, the blade digging into the ground. Rodney moved his palms upward, extended his arms at his side in a gesture of defeat. He lost his balance along with the weight of the knife and took a step in an effort to stay upright. This was not about giving up, about taking the easy way out. It was about Sheppard; giving him a chance, allowing him to live. Death would be mercifully painless when compared to a lifetime spent with the memory of the man. McKay loved life, knew he didn't deserve to die, but he would not be able to shoulder the weight of guilt, of disgust. Many had died from his actions but no one would ever die from his hands.

"Pick it up, McKay! Pick it up!"

"John. Just do it."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Sheppard saw Kenoti cross the threshold of light and approach them, his face set in a hard line.

"Pick up the damn knife!" he said, moving closer to Rodney.

Kenoti stopped in his stride and watched Sheppard pick the knife from the ground and place it in Rodney's hand. John's eyes locked onto Rodney's, his knife-less hand descended on a wet shoulder and his voice was pitched menacingly low. "Take your goddamn knife and do what you're told! This is my show, McKay. You're not going to take it from me. I run this mission, just like every mission before, and what I say goes. What I say. Goes!"

He released Rodney and stood before him in a defensive stance, knife raised, one foot slightly in front of the other to anchor his weight.

"Don't…"

"Swing it. You do what you're told or we'll both go."

Pleading blue eyes shone out of a frightened face. "I can't. I'm...just, end it. Make it stop." Rodney took in a deep breath. "I can't, I won't fight you."

John sighed his frustration away. How did you tell your best friend that you couldn't care about him and his pain? Did you tell him that it was for his own good and hope he believed it? Sheppard was saved the difficulty of finding suitable words by Kenoti, who seemed to have had enough of their feud.

"If you will not fight, you will meet the Fiery Ones!"

Sheppard turned to Kenoti with barely restrained fury. "Give us a minute!"

"I will not give you anything! You are to provide! FIGHT!"

Turning back to Rodney, John grabbed his shoulder and dug his fingers in the skin hard enough to bruise. "Do you hear this? Do you hear that man? You know what's going to happen."

Rodney's hands clasped down on John's arm and he looked in his eyes, his gaze intense and pleading. "Do you hear me? Listen to me. I can't! It's not one of those times when the task seems impossible but I'm willing to try. John. I can't!"

"You are compromising our offering! Take them! Prepare for the Fiery Ones!"

"NO!" Sheppard fought off the guards that attempted to take McKay away. He swung the knife with control and strength, cutting one guard's throat open in a slick and quick movement. He managed to injure another before he and Rodney were taken down. Villagers that had stayed on the edge of the circle of light surrounded them.

Arms and legs forced to spread wide by the beautiful people, Sheppard felt his wrists and ankles being tied with strips of leather. He was arranged over a wooden frame, held together in a square with a cross in the middle by the same leather they used on him. His hands were attached to the upper corners, ankles to the lower ones, and his waist was secured to the wooden plank behind him.

Sheppard could not believe this was happening! Travel to a different galaxy to find the same narrow-minded behaviour he thought he would leave behind! Human beings were stupid! Idiots! Afraid of difference, afraid it would undermine them and their convictions! MORONS! People were the same everywhere! Bigots were like the cockroaches of the universe; ugly, useless and enduring!

"The fire! They're going to burn us! I've done this before, once was enough! JOHN!"

It seemed McKay had realised what was happening, what the villagers were doing. Sheppard, restrained by the villagers a few feet behind, could only see Rodney's body trashing as he attempted to free himself. It was too easy to picture the look of fear that had befallen him; wide eyes searching the environment for a solution, mouth drooping to the side in permanent dissatisfaction.

Sheppard knew how to work the anxiety he could imagine in those eyes; replace it with determination. "Rodney! Stop screaming! Calm down!"

The fire burned on the left of Sheppard, but he could see a few villagers building another mountain of wood. For them. For him and Rodney. Sheppard felt nothing, the numbness he had been trained to find fell over him like an old jacket.

Rodney's mind had cleared and he regretted it. He wanted the earlier confusion. He had been terrified for long hours, ever since the tip of a spear was pressed against his neck. Made to fight with Sheppard, thrown in the water, left to drown, made to fight Sheppard again, with knives, big and lethal knives and now…fire. Burned alive. Screaming, writhing in agony, overwhelmed by pain.

"JOHN!" Rodney yelled and hoped for an answer, for anything. He hoped Sheppard would think of something, do something, say the words that would make this all right. Be the hero. That's what he was, that's what he needed to be. Rodney knew Sheppard was simply a man with a passion for the sky, no more and no less than himself, but he always found a way to make things better. Rodney trusted him and needed his strength. When the voice came, it was closer and Rodney turned his head in the direction of the blessed sound.

"Rodney. Calm down. Breathe."

Rodney's eyes wandered over Sheppard's body, tied to a wooden frame that was carried forward into his line of sight. "John." He had no words, nothing to say. Just a name, the only thing he had to hold onto.

"It's okay. Breathe. Concentrate on your breathing. Don't think about anything else."

The villagers were done with their tying and their building. Rodney and John were placed atop the pile of wood, back to back, the wooden frames resting against a central spike. The numbing, unfeeling jacket that was his only defence in a situation like this was ripped away from Sheppard and he stretched his hand to touch McKay. He bumped Rodney's fingers with his. Rodney curled his index finger around John's and held tightly.

"Why is it always the hot ones that are crazy?" Rodney said, over the joyous cacophony of the villagers.

"Because the universe is fair?"

Rodney snorted. It sounded too wet and weak to reassure Sheppard. "This is…if I'd just done. Something. Maybe we could've bought time and –"

"You know I hate it when you do that."

Rodney's speech was mired by anxiety. "I couldn't…take it. Do it. With my hand…cu-u-ut you."

Kenoti approached them with a torch, speaking words neither of them wanted to hear. The villagers quieted, standing still, glowing beautifully in the firelight. The torch drew closer to the base of the pyre upon which Sheppard and McKay were.

Sheppard tightened his hold on Rodney's sweaty fingers when the flame licked the wood below them. He fought to forget, concentrated on Rodney's gasping apology.

"I should've…John. I'm so…"

"You do this every time. You can't control everything. Stop it, okay?"

"I'm sorr –"

John spoke softly, his voice tender and caressing. "Don't…we can't go out like this. Not with apologies and…Rodney. Don't."

The flames rose higher and fingers clutched with more desperation.

Sheppard smiled regretfully as a thought came to him. "I win."

"What?"

"I win. My comeback account's fuller than yours. I win. The next team day, we do the beach thing."

"No team. No more team day." Rescue would come, but it would be too late. Rodney could be comforted by one thing; he would not be the one left behind to mourn, forced to go on with life as if the Golden Boy of Atlantis had not disappeared…in a puff of smoke. Teyla, Ronon, Elizabeth, Carson and Radek. They would suffer for a much longer time than he and Sheppard would. Granted, they would suffer most violent, indescribable pain, but theirs would not be enduring.

Ignoring McKay's response, John continued. "You'll come in the water this time. Whatever the winner wants, the winner gets; that was the deal."

"You didn't win. You cheated, all the time! You counted wrong and decked points for absurd reasons!"

"I don't cheat! You insult my honour!"

"You have no honour. I thought we'd established that it had become an unattainable dream they day you were born an American."

"I win. That was weak! I absolutely win! Your pasty uncoordinated ass is going on that surfboard you're going to make us."

The fire rose higher, reaching for them.

"I'm not…" Rodney drew in a sharp breath as a tall flame brushed against his toes. "I'm not building you…a surfboard. I have better things to do with my time." Rodney's voice was high-pitched and breathy, but he still played the game.

Sheppard held on to his control with both hands, keeping his voice teasingly affectionate. "That was the deal. You're the loser, you do what I want."

"For a day! Not forever!"

"Well, a surfboard is part of it. If you can manage to build one on that day, the more power to you, but otherwise, you get to work!"

"AH! FUCK!"

Fire had reached them, licking at their feet. At the best of times, Sheppard did not enjoy having his toes licked. He now had to admit that, that one time with the kinky woman he'd picked up, was becoming a fond memory.

McKay tried to move away from the heat but was unsuccessful. The bonds were tight. Pain surged through his entire being from the bottom up. He had never thought burning would be this atrocious. "Oh God. Oh God. John!" The smoke would soon take his consciousness away. Yes. He breathed in deeply.

"That's it, Rodney. Breathe." Oh yeah, the scientist had the best ideas!

The two men inhaled smoke, together, their fingers still linked. It was not enough, the fresh air entering their lungs with a minimal amount of smoke. McKay screamed and Sheppard yelped. They coughed, choked and cursed, clinging to one another.

"John. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad…I'm glad you're here. I wish you weren't, but you…I wanted to…"

"Yeah. I'm glad I'm going…with you. I could do with a genius on the other side…"

"I don't. I've never believed, but, yeah. I…hope I get to go with you…"

"Teyla prays for your soul all the time, you'll be alright."

"Ok. Right. I'll…all that stuff, John…I…oh, that hurts! That hurts!"

"Like a bitch."

Fire ate at the wood directly below them, reaching up for a taste of skin every few seconds.

"All that stuff…John? With the…and the…" Without his hands, McKay found the gaps in his speech went unexplained.

"Rodney."

"…fighting, and that time, in the jumper when –"

"Rodney!"

"­­ – I just…I didn't mean to hit you. I was. You made me…"

"RODNEY!"

"What?"

"I don't care about that crap. No matter what, we're family. Good and bad, we do it together.

"Ah…yes, family…I…I-I-I-I…uh..."

John saved Rodney since sentimentality was not his strongest suit. "I know…"

Those were the last words spoken. The fire chose this moment to latch onto the wooden frames that supported the two men and there was nothing but screams and pain.