Loss of faith
The crowd cheered as the first flame licked the wood.
"They will burn! We will be protected! The Sorcery will be destroyed!" The Celebrant smiled brilliantly as the crowd erupted in gleeful cries. Fire would cleanse their world, would remove the inconvenience that had appeared in the being that is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard.
Raising her arms towards the platform, she encouraged the crowd. "We shall be free of all nefarious forces! They will not threaten our world! They will not bring the wrath of the Powers upon us!" He words conveyed a confidence she did not feel.
It had shocked her to the deepest recesses of her being to see him, to see herself in him. The same eyes, cheeks, lips, jaw, ears. Even the hair was appallingly similar, black strands sticking up at odd angles. It always shocked her.
The moment she had laid eyes on him, her world had been turned upside down both literally and figuratively. She had been waiting, knowing he would come. This was her mission, what needed to be done. At last, he had arrived and she would be released from her position of servitude.
She had spun quite a tale to the High House so they would allow her to…dispose of the threat. In a matter of hours, this would be behind her; she would forget there had ever been a need for it. She would go back to her life.
Shaking her head to dislodge this unwelcome contemplation she joined the crowd in their cries of sorcery. All eyes went to the four heads that had appeared at the edge of the platform, barely discernable through the smoke. Only shouts could be carried over such a distance. Consequently, McKay's words went unheard by everyone save for the members of his team.
"We're going to die and it's going to be painful and this is so barbaric! What kind of primitive society would burn people alive!"
On and on he went, trying to get a grip on his wayward thoughts. Thoughts that involved agonizing, skin scorching, drawn out death. If he talked enough, he would eventually branch out and think of something else. That's how his brain worked. Constantly jumping from one thought to the next until it found a satisfyingly logical solution to the pertaining problem. This time there was no solution, no great plan, nothing to distract him. He kept being drawn to death, fiery death. So he talked, and talked, and talked.
The smoke rose along with the heat. It was so hot. The fire was coming closer and closer. Soon, they would be nothing but roasting carcasses. The team slowly moved back to their original position, lying on their backs, one beside the other, staring up at the blue sky covered with a grey haze from the fire beneath them.
"McKay! We're not going to die! Stop talking about smoke and burning, it's not helping!"
"Is your brain affected by that cornfield you call hair! Of course we're going to die! This is it! After all that's happened and all the times we haven't died, this is it! We're going to die! There's nothing I can do! Nothing! No doors to force open, no jumper pods to retract, no bombs to make! I'm useless and we're going to die!"
Rodney felt the arm joined with his move and a hand came to rest lightly upon his clammy fist. He uncurled his fingers, turning his hand so palms would meet. No shame in needing comfort, he'd take what he could get. It was pointless to try the stoically manly attitude, it was all over for them and he'd never pull it off. No one would comment on his weakness. Ever.
"Rodney. We are not going to die. We'll find a way. Stop thinking about death and start thinking about getting us out of here!" Unwilling to admit his fear, John concentrated on easing McKay's distress. He moved his hand to still the fidgeting fingers beneath his in an effort to ground his team-mate. This was not normal McKay ranting. He was genuinely afraid. John wasn't sure when he had started to see the difference but was glad he could. It gave him an immediate purpose, something upon which to concentrate.
"We're going to be fine. We'll get out of this just like we've done before."
Rodney was slowly quieting. Going from panicked to anxious to merely annoyed.
How could Sheppard, after everything he'd seen, stay positive all the time! Didn't he realise there was nothing up here, nothing they could do, nothing they could use! Given a piece of technology, he could do wonders, sure, but nothing…come on!
"It's not going to happen this time. I can't do anything!"
A gruff voice called to him. "McKay! Shut up and figure it out." Positive influence, thy name is Ronon.
Comforted by John and challenged by Ronon, Rodney's brain left the world of doom to concentrate on the problem. "Do we have anything to work with?"
"I have a knife."
A snort and a roll of eyes was all this observation warranted but it got more nonetheless. "Of course you have knife! You always have a knife! Do we have anything that isn't completely primitive?"
They had nothing. No vests, no packs, just the clothes on their backs. He tried to find something, they all did. Some ideas they developed as feasible plans of actions, but they would most likely yield no results. Other devised plans were just words of desperation; hopeless ideas from helpless minds.
It took an hour for them to admit defeat, to realise this time, there was no way out. An hour of rising smoke and heat. An hour of brain wracking thinking, searching for a solution. Rodney had been right in his assessment; death was the only possible outcome. Even Sheppard had to give up, let go of his eternal optimism and face the truth. He couldn't push, he couldn't force this. There would be no last minute solutions. So he listened to Rodney, trying to cope with the inevitable.
"I like being right, but this is taking things too far. This is a dream, I'll wake up in my lab, find a way to build a ZedPM, and finally get the recognition I deserve." He spoke with a certainty he did not feel. "Yes, yes yes. That's it, I'm dreaming, this isn't happening. It's so vile. I can't die like this, it's so beneath me! Destiny can't possibly be that cruel…to just…burn me!"
He turned to John who seemed to be resting but was probably ignoring him, as he often did. "I did drown in an alternate timeline. How ironic! Death by water and now by fire! It has some kind of…" he tried to move his hand but was unable to, due to the force field. "…poetic justice…"
The smoke still rose, the heat was intensifying. They let him talk. It soothed them just as it did him. The normalcy of a McKay monologue.
The flames were visible at times, bright flashes of red and orange that licked the edge of the platform. A time for last words, for confessions. None were forthcoming. Only the sound of Rodney's voice could be heard.
No cheers from below, no birds from above, only Rodney.
Until he realised the fingers locked with his were no longer pressing back, the hand was slack. That is when the ongoing one-way conversation stopped.
He turned his head and experienced a similar shock to that of the Celebrant earlier. Upon seeing Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Rodney stopped responding to the world, his weakened system unable to allow for the lack of food and water, the warmth, and the heart stopping horror that assaulted it. He gave up; closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, choosing to ignore the situation in which he found himself. There was nothing he could contribute, aside from a continuous panicked babble
Teyla felt his body slacken against hers .The loss of tension and sudden silence worried her. She reached out a hand and shook him lightly.
"Rodney! Rodney!"
Ronon was pressed against her back, assessing the situation.
"What's wrong?"
"I do not know. Rodney?" Teyla pressed her fingers against his cheek. His eyes were shut, his breathing even.
"Food, or water? He needs –?"
"I do not carry sustenance in my vest."
"Sheppard," Ronon called out, "you got food?"
No answer came from John. He did not move, did not utter a sound.
"Sheppard!"
Teyla stretched herself across Rodney's still form to get to John. He laid unmoving, his chest never rising from breath filling his lungs. She reached for his neck and felt nothing. She moved her hand aimlessly, distressfully.
"There is no pulse! Ronon! No pulse!"
"What?"
He attempted to see but was roughly pulled back against Teyla, the force field holding them together. She moved over Rodney, lying on him entirely to allow space for Ronon to get closer.
He needed to be made aware of what had happened. She could not carry this on her own. He needed to know so she could be strong again, because somebody was there with her. Rodney had dealt as best he could and for an instant she wanted to give up too. If Ronon knew, if they shared this moment of utter dismay, then, she could go on. She no longer would be frozen in time, unable to breathe, unable to move, unable to think. The world would resume its axial spin and John Sheppard would cease to be the centre of…everything.
This time, there was no pertinence, no reassuring banter…only cold hard fact.
"Colonel Sheppard is dead!"