Touched By An Ancient

By Ann3

Writer's note: I'm on holiday at the moment, so I'm going to try and get another couple of chapters posted this week before Real Life has to intervene. Thanks again for the reviews - all comments, suggestions, even the odd Walnut Whip, gladly accepted to keep me inspired !

Chapter Four

He'd entered the lab with the sole intention of verbally, if not physically, ripping its owner apart. Those intentions died, along with much of his anger, as soon as John Sheppard saw that owner's face.

In the space of just five short hours, McKay seemed to have aged by the same number of decades - the affliction which had struck down one of his precious few friends clearly weighing heavily on his conscience.

There was no way that John Sheppard could chew him out now, however richly he deserved it. As the fate of one friend battered his conscience, he needed another to try and ease its load. So the furious tirade he'd had all planned changed instead into just one soft, carefully neutral word.

"Hey…"

Apparently it had been a little too casual, since McKay showed no sign whatsoever of hearing it. Only several gentle taps on his shoulder finally succeeded in bringing haunted eyes back into hopeful focus.

It didn't take a genius to work out he'd been hoping, and no doubt praying, to see someone else – the prospect of further guilt piling onto his conscience dismissed with another gently casual smile.

There was still nervous wariness in those eyes, though, as they followed John to a nearby chair. The scientist's strangely subdued voice wasresigned to the chewing out which, he'd already accepted, would surely follow.

"You've – You've heard…? I – I mean, what's happened to… to…"

"Carson…? Yeah, I've just been to see him…" John nodded, frowning in renewed, mounting concern. That inability to even say his name, the strain in what he had said. Neither were encouraging signs.

He almost smiled at the irony. If ever he needed Carson Beckett's calming influence, it was now. Until their CMO re-joined the living world, though, if he ever did… well, he'd just have to do instead. How, though…? How best to breach those protective defences…? Okay, what would Carson say…?

"This wasn't your fault, Rodney. No-one's blaming you for what happened…"

"Oh, really…?" McKay's head snapped upwards, blue eyes flashing with anger towards puzzled green. "Well, that's a shame, Colonel, because they damn well should be…!"

Thrown for a complete loop, John needed all his reflexes to catch McKay's arm as he barrelled past – the bullwhip tone he'd put on the back-burner making its presence felt a little sooner than planned.

"Whoa, McKay, calm down, just take it easy… damn it, Rodney, I said calm down…!"

Green eyes met blue once more – the former willing compliance, defying the other to do anything else. After one last, frettish struggle, McKay finally yielded, slumping wearily back onto a nearby stool.

"I - I'm sorry..." he said at last, the complete defeat in his voice, the speed of his subdued apology, speaking volumes for the guilt which had provoked it.

It was several moments before John Sheppard answered him – rather more calmly, certainly more gently, than before.

"Come on, Rodney, he's going to be okay. I mean, you know Carson, he's as tough as they come. I know you wouldn't think it to look at him, or hear him at times, but… yeah, he's a tough little cookie alright, a real natural born fighter, and…"

The interruption was thankfully calmer than last time – but still every bit as fraught with emotion.

"Damn it, that's just the point…! He – He isn't a natural born fighter pilot for you, or – or a labrat for me, he's…"

Struggling to find his next words, McKay then found inspiration from a hauntingly familiar protest.

"He's a doctor, John. A medical doctor. He was sent here to treat the injured, and heal the sick, and… damn it, he's a doctor… not some freaky weapons machine that we can just plug in when we need him…"

"Yeah, I know… I know…" John agreed softly, too lost in thought to catch his friend a second time.

By the time he recovered himself and caught him up, McKay was half way along the corridor – the direction he was taking, the grim determination on his face, setting fresh alarm bells ringing.

By the time they reached the Chair Room, all argument and counter argument had been fought. The unlikely victor was too intent on his mission, though, to even think about congratulating himself.

"I've got to do this, John… I've – I've got to know what I've been doing to him…"

Sensing just a chink of fateful logic in his reasoning, John then sighed in still reluctant agreement – wryly thinking back to his own first 'encounter' as he offered McKay some final words of advice.

"Okay, but just take it slow, Rodney, it… well, it takes some getting used to…"

Eyes already closed, face already creased in growing discomfort, McKay simply nodded in reply – dismissing the voice which now ghosted through it as just a figment of a silently screaming mind.

'Och, Rodney, you daft bugger, you – you don't have to do this…'