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Running
John Sheppard felt like he'd been running forever. Endlessly, ceaselessly running, barely stopping to catch his breath. Got to keep moving; keep running.
His legs felt heavy, the muscles tired and aching, and his heart pounded in his chest. His breath was coming in short, ragged pants, his lungs straining to suck in enough air to fuel his muscles, to keep him moving, keep him running.
He wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground, to let his body rest. But no time for that, he had to keep going – his team were depending on him.
He nearly stumbled as he glanced quickly at his watch. No, god no. Can't fall. Not now. Gotta keep running. He pushed forward, every heavy footfall jarring his body. They should be through the gate by now. Should be safe. All he had to do was get back there himself. Keep running. Keep moving. Get back to the gate. Back home.
Not far to go now. It couldn't be far to go now. He'd led their attackers in a wide circle away from the gate, drawn them away while his team got to safety. He'd kept running, kept them chasing after him to give his team chance to get away.
Luckily for him, the area around the gate was heavily wooded, tall cedar-type trees that stretched up to the sky, providing plenty of cover without too many low-hanging branches to impede his progress. Their bark, he had learnt to his detriment, was hard and coarse; he had picked up a nice selection of scrapes and grazes in his hasty passage through the woods.
Raised voices behind him and a shot rang out, loud in the pine-scented air. The whine of the bullet passing close by – too damn close for comfort – sent a spike of adrenalin surging through him, pushing an extra burst of speed from failing muscles. His P90 bounced against his chest as he ran. The gun was useless to him right now. Far too many of them, too many to fight. If he stopped to fire back they'd overwhelm him within minutes. The only thing to do was run. Keep running.
His team were safe. That was the main thing. He'd bought them time to get back to the gate.
The ambush had been poorly planned. They'd had that much in their favour. Their attackers had given away their position too soon, shots firing from the woods before his team was in proper range of their primitive pistols. They'd been able to take cover in a defensible position, Ronon and Sheppard returning fire while Teyla covered their six. It had been sheer bad luck that a ricochet had dropped Ronon, the thigh wound effectively disabling their most agile fighter, removing any option of them making a run for the gate.
The Satedan had objected to Sheppard's plan immediately, insisting he was fine to fight and run. McKay had been panicked, predicting doom and disaster should Sheppard leave them. John could always depend on Teyla to assess a situation calmly; she had voiced her concern at his suggested plan of action, but had seen the necessity for it.
He had taken Ronon's gun with him as he slipped deeper into the woods, leaving the disgruntled warrior with his 9mm in exchange. A few blasts from the Satedan's distinctive weapon, combined with some well-placed fire from his P90, had been enough to persuade their attackers that the whole team was escaping their clutches. They'd taken the bait and pursued Sheppard, leaving the way clear for Teyla and McKay to get Ronon to the gate.
Now all he had to do was get to the gate himself. That, and stay far enough ahead of them that he would be able to cross the open ground to the gate before they caught up to him. He stumbled again, thin branches whipping across his face as he staggered, grabbing at a solid trunk for balance. He was running out of time. He'd had the element of surprise on his side, a decent head start and his skill and training in combat situations. He was thankful he'd started joining Ronon on his daily runs around Atlantis. Exhausting as it was trying to keep up with the former runner, it had definitely built up his stamina. Nevertheless, any lead he'd managed to build up was quickly dwindling – his pursuers had the advantage of local knowledge of the terrain. They could afford to stop and rest, using their superior numbers to try and outflank him. No matter how hard and fast he ran, he couldn't shake them, could barely keep out of the range of their weapons.
His breath was burning in his chest, the muscles in his side cramping with fatigue. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back under his t-shirt. His tac vest shifted uncomfortably as he ran. Nearly there. He was nearly there now.
He was tired, so damn tired. Every muscle ached, every breath was an agony. His legs were beginning to tremble under him. Can't stop. Got to keep running.
The trees were beginning to thin out now. He was nearly there. Nearly home.
The DHD was going to be his biggest problem. He'd have to stop running in order to dial the gate. He'd be a stationary target. Not to mention that he wasn't sure he'd be able to get moving again if he ever stopped.
There was no time to waste in caution; it didn't matter if they were waiting for him at the gate, if he stopped they'd catch up to him in moments. He'd be dead either way. Constant motion was his only hope of survival. He burst from the treeline at a dead run, relief flooding through him as saw the gate was clear.
He was half-way across the clearing when shouts from behind him indicated his pursuers had cleared the woods. Dammit. He was too exposed out here. Gunfire sounded, the shots falling short – but not by much.
The muscle spasm in his side stole what little breath he had left. He pressed a hand to it and kept running.
He staggered the final yards to the DHD and clung to it for dear life, struggling to stay upright as his over-taxed muscles gave way beneath him. He punched in the address with a trembling hand, nearly crying with relief as the familiar blue event horizon exploded outwards. He fumbled to type out his IDC, his fingers refusing to obey his commands.
It took every last atom of energy he possessed to push away from the DHD, his legs shaking with every step. He was so close. So close to safety. So close to getting home.
The impact, when it came, was shockingly sudden. Like a solid punch, it knocked him sideways, tumbling him to the ground. For a moment he was disoriented, unsure of what had happened, and then fiery pain ripped through his shoulder. His right arm was numb, heavy, difficult to move. He gritted his teeth as he forced himself to roll, to use his left arm to push himself to his knees. A bullet pinged off the DHD. Another buried itself in the dirt beside him. He had to keep moving. The surface of the gate shimmered invitingly. So close.
He stumbled to his feet, agonisingly slowly it seemed, and staggered more than ran towards the gate. His knees were already giving way as he reached the event horizon and the impact against his lower back threw him forwards, the rippling blue surface rushing up to meet him.
He hit the ground face first, his body crumpling bonelessly, his shoulder screaming with fresh agony as it slammed against the unyielding surface. Through the pounding in his ears, the deep shuddering of his attempts to breathe, he was vaguely aware of the sound of the wormhole shutting down. The floor was cool beneath his heated cheek. Movement was an effort. Everything ached.
"Medical team to the gate room!"
Gentle hands on his back, someone's knees blocked his view as they knelt beside him.
"Colonel Sheppard?"
More hands, pulling at him, gently rolling him onto his back. He focused on breathing, trying to slow his harsh, gasping breaths, as his shoulder loudly protested the movement.
"John?" A face loomed over him. Elizabeth, her eyes dark with concern. He wanted to speak, to tell her he was fine, but the words wouldn't come; he didn't have the breath.
More faces hovered over him. Teyla. McKay. He felt relief flood through him, the last tension seeping from his muscles. They'd made it. They were safe. He was safe.
He let the heavy weariness take him, his eyes drifting closed as he sank into a deep, warm drowsiness. He was only vaguely aware of Carson's voice, calling his name, shouting for a gurney. When they lifted him it felt like he was floating. He let himself drift away.
"How is he?"
Carson's smile was weary.. but confident. "He'll be fine."
The Scot leant over his patient as he spoke, settling the nasal cannula into place, checking on the flowrate of the IV.
"He was lucky. I can only assume that whatever weapon he was shot with was loaded with inferior quality gunpowder. The bullet in his shoulder didn't penetrate too far and all in all there was minimal muscle damage; nothing that shouldn't heal up as good as new with proper care and rest. His tac vest stopped the other bullet. He'll have a nasty bruise from the impact but aside from some soreness..."
Elizabeth nodded. He had been lucky. It could have been a lot worse.
SGA1's sudden, unscheduled return, minus Sheppard, had thrown the gate room into chaos. They had staggered through the gate, Ronon limping painfully, supported as best they could by Teyla on one side and Rodney on the other. The Satedan had been furious, demanding that they return immediately and help Sheppard, refusing to let Carson examine his injury until the gently-spoken doctor had lost his temper and threatened to sedate Ronon if he didn't start behaving. McKay had been breathless and panicked, rambling about an ambush and Sheppard having run off and left them.
It had fallen to Teyla to explain the situation to Elizabeth, her face solemn as she described how Colonel Sheppard had fooled their attackers, leading them away from the gate, putting his own life in danger to give his team mates a chance to escape. The Athosian leader had estimated that at least 20 men had chased the Colonel into the woods. Three men had stayed behind and the team had been forced to wait until the main group were out of earshot before taking action – the last thing they needed was for the sound of gunfire to alert the others to Sheppard's ruse. Once they judged it safe to proceed, Teyla had dispatched two of the remaining men quickly and silently with her knife. The third had turned his gun on her only to crumple as a single shot rang out, Ronon's aim proving as deadly accurate with John's 9mm as with his own weapon.
The Satedan had been almost unable to bear any weight on his injured leg and the journey to the gate had been slow and difficult, the shorter Teyla and McKay struggling to help support the tall warrior. With a glance at her watch, Teyla estimated that Sheppard had been on the run for close to an hour already. Elizabeth had been in the midst of preparing a team to go back and rescue Colonel Sheppard when the gate had suddenly activated.
Elizabeth's heart had been in her mouth as the shield had disengaged and Sheppard had literally fallen through the gate, collapsing to the floor as the wormhole shut down behind him. Calling immediately for medical attention, she'd been shocked at what she saw when Rodney and Teyla had helped her roll the Colonel onto his back. Sheppard's uniform was a mess, his t-shirt dirty and torn, deep scratches visible beneath the ripped fabric, his arms covered in scrapes and bruises. His breathing was labored, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, and bright red blood soaked the shoulder of his t-shirt, the damp fabric sticking to the edges of a small, ragged hole.
He'd gazed up at her wordlessly, his face pinched with pain and exhaustion, and then his eyes had left her face and she'd been surprised to see a smile form on his lips. She'd looked up and realised the reason for his relief; Rodney and Teyla knelt across from her, corresponding smiles lighting up their faces. John was still smiling as eyes had drifted closed and suddenly they were being forced to step back as Carson and his team had arrived and taken over. Sheppard had been unresponsive and Elizabeth had watched helplessly as he had been lifted onto a gurney and rushed to the infirmary. She'd braced herself for the worst.
Knowing now that his injuries were not life-threatening, the sense of relief was overwhelming. She could see it was shared also by the members of Sheppard's team, Rodney and Teyla exchanging huge smiles. Even the usually stoic Ronon had a grin on his face. The former runner sat atop his infirmary bed, his bandaged leg propped up on a couple of extra pillows. Carson's team had successfully removed the bullet and again the muscle damage was minimal. The team had been more lucky than they had realised.
Once Sheppard was out of surgery, Carson had quickly given in to pressure from the Satedan and allowed the nurses to move him to the bed next to John's, explaining to Elizabeth that it was better in the long-run that he have some measure of control over Ronon's transfer than to let him get up and try and walk over to Sheppard's bed under his own steam. Looking at the determination on Ronon's face, she had been inclined to agree. Teyla, McKay and herself had taken up station around the pair of occupied beds, making themselves as comfortable as possible in the infirmary chairs as they waited for Sheppard to awaken.
"Hey there, welcome back son.."
Carson's gentle voice drew everyone's attention back to Sheppard's bed to find the Colonel blinking drowsily. Elizabeth stood quickly, moving involuntarily to stand at John's bedside. He looked exhausted, his skin pale against the white infirmary scrubs, thin scratches livid on his face and arms. Elizabeth found herself smiling widely as she watched Carson carefully slip a couple of ice chips between John's dry lips.
"Nice to have you back, Colonel."
John's voice was dry and scratchy but he seemed more alert by the minute as his eyes met hers. "Nice to be back.." He coughed, his breath rasping in his throat, and Carson quickly offered a couple more ice chips. John sucked on the melting ice gratefully, his eyes closing as the soothing water trickled down his throat.
He jerked suddenly out of his relaxation, worry creasing his face as memory flooded back. "Ronon?" he queried shortly. "Is he...?"
"I'm fine Sheppard," Ronon's deep voice was warm with amusement. "Better than you, in fact."
John rolled his head to the side, instinctively moving to raise a hand to his face as the detested cannula pulled to one side. He froze in his motion as the movement awoke painful responses from sore muscles, setting his shoulder to throbbing and his head to pounding. He let his arm fall helplessly back to the bed, and took a moment to steady his breathing before turning his gaze on the grinning Satedan.
"Is that so?" he whispered tiredly.
Teyla gave Ronon a reproving glare before turning her warm gaze on Sheppard. "It is good to see you awake and whole, Colonel," she stated almost formally. "You had us quite worried."
"Yeah, you really need to break this habit of honourably sacrificing yourself to save others," McKay chimed in with a touch of exasperation, "it's getting pretty old now."
John just smiled, regarding his team mates with a quiet contentment, his eyes starting to drift closed again. Carson moved away from the IV port, disposing carefully of the spent syringe.
"Right then," the Scot's tone brooked no disagreement. "that'll do for now. The Colonel needs his rest."
There were groans and protestations from the visitors, not helped by Ronon's pointed smirk because he got to stay in the infirmary. Carson was firm.
"He's utterly exhausted and with the blood loss and anaesthesia it's amazing he's been awake at all. He'll likely to be out for hours so there's no point you lot hanging around here."
He gave Ronon a pointed glance, "I've enough to do around here with these two on my hands.."
Though reluctant to leave herself, Elizabeth added her authority to Dr Beckett's, promising – with a significant look at Carson – that they would all be notified the moment Sheppard woke up again. Carson acquiesced gracefully and chivvied them from the room.
"Hey Sheppard.."
John stirred sluggishly, the voice rousing him from his half-doze.
"Ronon?"
"You awake?"
"No.." John felt drowsy. Whatever Carson had given him had smothered the growing ache in his muscles and left him feeling relaxed, his limbs heavy.
"Hope you're not planning to stay in this infirmary too long."
"Hmmm. Not any longer than I have to..." It slowly filtered through John's consciousness that the question was something of a non-sequitur. "Why?"
"We got a lot of work to do, Sheppard."
John frowned. Curiosity made him open his eyes enough to regard the grinning Satedan in the bed next to him.
"What kind of work?" His words were beginning to slur.
"Training, Sheppard. Lots and lots of training."
John let his eyes slip closed, his energy fading fast.
"Why do I need training?" he mumbled.
The last thing John was aware of was Ronon's deep laugh.
"Because Sheppard, you really suck at running."
Fin.