Any medical mistakes in this chapter are all mine.
Chapter Seven
Sometimes life on Atlantis was just like life in any other city on Earth. People got up, they showered, got dressed, ate a piece of toast for breakfast, cleaned their teeth, combed their hair, downed a cup of coffee and struggled to the office. At the end of their day they went home, slumped into a chair, and sometimes - just to break the monotony - tried to do whatever they could to provide some modicum of excitement. On Earth people went to a movie, or the theater, or a night club, or a bar, or out for dinner.
In Atlantis the occasionally exciting event usually turned out to be hordes of life sucking aliens trying to take over the city. Or in this case, the arrival of a ship that everyone thought they were never going to see again.
It was an early Christmas. They could restock. Enjoy their trinkets. The delay in the Daedalus' arrival had reminded them of just how isolated they'd been in that first year and how easily it could happen again.
"Don't worry Dr. Weir, I'll be personally overseeing the rescue mission."
Steven Caldwell sat opposite Elizabeth Weir having been briefed on the latest crisis to hit the city. Caldwell overseeing the mission was a given, and it was a given that if Caldwell found the body of John Sheppard, he'd automatically assume command of Atlantis. He could barely admit to himself that when he'd been learned of the MIA situation, he'd actually felt a small trill of joy at the possibility that he'd be getting the job that he felt he deserved.
For once in her life, Weir actually looked grateful that he'd turned up.
"I look forward to your input, Colonel Caldwell. I've put together a list of essential members for the mission."
She handed over her list in a way that suggested they actually enjoyed working together.
He scanned the list.
"Are you sure you want to send your Chief MO?"
"Carson insisted."
"If there's a medical emergency on Atlantis, he'd be better here. My medical team is more than capable."
"He tells me he has more than enough staff to take over and cope in his absence."
"I'm not sure about Ronon, or Teyla."
"They can both provide you with valuable strategic planning."
"That's what my marines are for."
"You have a problem with them?"
"I don't have a problem with them per se, I just have a problem with their background."
"You mean, that they're not from Earth."
"I mean that they're not Earth military."
"So you have a problem with their allegiances? We've gone through that. Several times."
The conversation summed up why Caldwell wanted command of Atlantis. He did not want to have continual arguments with a civilian and baring any howls of protest from SGC, the first item on his agenda would be ensuring that when he gave a command, the civilian leader of Atlantis would be forced to shut up.
He watched as Weir paused, her game face on, presumably considering if she had any tricks she could use to force him to take Ronon and Teyla. Caldwell was pleased to see a slight twitch in the corner of her mouth. It indicated that she knew she had nothing.
Still, it was not the time for a direct confrontation and his dreams of commanding Atlantis would need to be put on hold until there were definite answers.
"Agreed, I'll take Ronon and Teyla and I apologize Dr. Weir. I'm just concerned that you don't lose any more people."
"I'm sure they'll be fine, just as long as you're not planning on anything else going wrong with the Daedalus."
Caldwell gave her a quizzical look, wasn't sure if he was on the receiving end of a slur on his abilities or not.
"Hermiod assures me that the ship is more than capable. We'll get your men back Dr. Weir."
"I'm counting on it, Colonel."
((--))
Carson had been faced with something of a dilemma in boarding the Daedalus. Just how much did he need to take with him to cover whatever medical emergency he might encounter during the search and rescue mission for Sheppard and McKay? The question had resulted in spending a day perched on his laptop, perusing his CD collection of medical encyclopedias and the SGC medical database that someone had thoughtfully remembered to take with them.
Antibiotics were a given, and the safest bet was an amoxicillin/cluvalanic acid combo because that mix would hit both gram negative and gram positive bacteria. Blood products were a given. He'd gone for plasma, packed red cells, and blood clotting factors. Enough saline IVs to keep pushing drugs and liquids into whatever body happened to need it. He'd also been contemplating the effects of being stranded on the planet for over two months. He'd been informed that the jumper's emergency food supplies had been minimal. He presumed they'd found an alternate source, but if not he'd stocked up on banana bags, nasal gastric tubes and cans of formula. He didn't particularly like using NG tubes because there was always a chance of placing the tube into the trachea accidentally and having to withdraw and replace the tubing, not to mention nosebleeds and aspiration of the stomach contents. Then again if he was faced with two critically starved patients, presumably unconscious, there weren't going to be a lot of other options for providing nutritional support. He'd have to account for electrolyte problems, and try to correct them before even attempting to get calories into them. The last thing he needed was to rescue them alive and send them into cardiac arrest due to refeeding syndrome.
That only left all the other things he worried about because he knew that minor problems frequently turned into life threatening problems given enough time.
The Daedalus' own medical staff had given him a few cutting looks when he'd boarded because his presence implied that he didn't think they were up to coping with whatever they found. Unlike McKay, he knew the only way to remedy the situation was to explain his motivation immediately to the Daedalus' senior physician. One Dr. Theodore Jacobson, a man with an extensive background in treating traumatic injuries inflicted in war zones.
Their start had been rocky. Jacobson had appreciated Carson's honesty but he was miffed at being shunted aside by a civilian. Carson remedied the situation by explaining that Jacobson was still in charge for the duration, but Carson wanted to supervise the medical aspects of the SAR mission because he knew the two men best. Jacobson could understand it even if he thought Carson was a fool for investing so much emotionally in what might be a non-viable outcome.
Carson tried not to take offence at the term 'non-viable outcome'.
Slowly they had somehow managed to form a working relationship. It translated into Carson staying out the way, and Carson offering to take the night shifts even though his skills were never needed.
The only relief in the monotony was hanging out with Lorne. Carson had tried conversations with Ronon, but he was never much of a conversationalist and the two men were polar opposites. Carson didn't think 'down time' involved hitting other people for fun. Ronon didn't think 'down time' involved reading the latest copy of the British Medical Journal.
Teyla tried to play intermediary but she too was a person of action. She was not adverse to sitting around and talking but she preferred physical activity. In desperation Carson had even taken her up on stick practice and instantly regretted his decision when she'd rapped him across the knuckles.
"Lass, I need these for surgery!"
She'd apologized profusely but after that their relationship was back to what it always was. Polite.
That just left hanging out with Lorne. Beckett had never been keen on the USMC expeditionary force that occupied Atlantis because even though the jarheads had it regularly drilled into them that their attitudes reflects on the USMC and the entire armed services, a large number of them had a Semper Fi attitude that could just as easily translate into the arrogance they accused the science teams of having. Lorne managed to differentiate himself from his fellow marines. Not quite as relaxed as Sheppard and not as uptight as other commanding officers Beckett had found himself forced to meet while back on Earth. He could get along with Lorne and Lorne didn't mind the doctor hanging around with him. Occasionally Lorne would ask what it was like to live in Scotland and Beckett would ask what it was like to never have a home and just go from place to place on missions. Lorne would find Beckett's revulsion at military life funny and Beckett would feign being insulted when Lorne thought Scotland consisted of sheep, lochs, moors, haggis and people in kilts. Mind you, he did have a kilt given as a gag gift by his colleagues when he'd left for some unknown research position with the US Air Force. He'd taken the kilt with him because it reminded him of all those people. He just preferred that no one knew he had it.
On day fourteen, Caldwell informed them that they were approaching the planet. Everyone had tensed up. Lorne had gone to ready his team, Carson had checked his supplies again. Jacobson had told him to calm down. It would get interesting soon enough.
That's the point, Carson had thought. I don't want it to get interesting because interesting is bad.
((--))
Rodney dipped a spoon into the liquid sitting in an empty case that had contained their MREs and power bars. He carefully measured it into the ever handy tin cup. Fortunately the casing had turned out to be water proof. Luckily it was big enough to hold all the soap.
The soap wasn't exactly what they were used to. It was brown for a start, compliments of the lye. Also it was liquid but unlike the liquid soap of the 21st century it was liquid in the way that semi-set jelly was liquid. It also kept the aroma of its constituent parts. It wasn't strong but there was no getting away from the fact that it was made of tallow.
It wasn't actually that much of a problem when the handy concoction had let them scrub off the dirt, wash their hair, shave off their beards, clean their clothes and their sleeping bags.
Screw laptops, thought Rodney, soap was just about the best thing mankind had ever invented, apart from the wheel.
He'd even taken on the daily duty of washing the eating utensils and it struck him as bizarre that he was suddenly thrilled to be washing dishes.
Having put the precious commodity into the cup he left the jumper to go down to the water's edge and start the housework.
He spied Sheppard, as usual, standing in the sea with his makeshift spear, waiting for some unfortunately curious fish to swim close. Ever since the rain, food sources had increased exponentially. There were more fish swimming around and they were bigger. There were the herbivores. There were also, unfortunately, the scavenger cats and that meant a trip to the river took two people, one holding a gun and one carting the water. McKay had to hand it to Sheppard. The man had taken another two days to get over his illness, whatever it had been, but then bounced back rapidly. In fact the man had been running around like the Energizer Bunny ever since. He'd even had an attempt at curing the pelt he'd sliced off the bison creature. It hadn't worked but Sheppard seem untroubled by the failure. His attitude had changed like the weather, from surly to sunny and instead of delaying trips to the river he seemed eager to get down there as often as he could. Rodney's only remaining worry had been Sheppard's total lack of interest in eating. He said he wasn't hungry and if he did eat, he felt full after a few bites.
As he crouched down to wash the cup, plate and spoon he noticed Sheppard plunge the sharpened stake into the water, pull out a large fish pierced right through the middle. It wiggled briefly on the end of the lance before deciding that it might as well die.
Sheppard turned, and grinning madly, started wading back towards the shore. He stopped by McKay, lifted an arm in triumph.
"I rock."
"Yes, triumphant hunter, you rock at catching fish."
Sheppard nodded, admired the fish on the end of the stake. He seemed a little too pleased in many ways and Rodney wasn't sure if the guy wasn't busily cycling up towards something worse than being in a shitty mood. Not that he minded, because he hadn't exactly enjoyed the surliness but now Sheppard had moved past normal and into a very perky version of Sheppard.
Sheppard walked over to the fire, pulled the fish off the spear and wandered over to Rodney, who was finishing up.
"I'm beginning to think I don't want to leave."
Rodney looked at Sheppard, and for a moment forgot to blink or exhale. Where had that statement come from?
"Well, the camping's been a terrific experience Colonel, very character building, can't wait to do it again, but personally I miss decent food and playing Solitaire on my laptop."
Sheppard laughed at his reply, put a disconcertingly friendly arm around Rodney's shoulders.
"Naw, Atlantis doesn't have anything on this place. We've got the whole planet to ourselves, a pretty comfortable lifestyle, lots of food, no stress. Definitely a keeper."
Yeah, okay, this was a new one. McKay wondered if he should remove the arm and the hand that had a hard grip on his shoulder.
"Right. If you so say. Uh… Why don't I go and gut the fish?"
Sheppard seemed to find this statement just as amusing as all the others. He threw his head back to laugh in the way that maniacs laugh. Rodney decided it might be a good idea to run away and just as he was about to put that plan into action, Sheppard dropped his spear and used his free right hand to punch Rodney in the side of the head. Hard.
Rodney staggered backwards and tried to return the compliment but got punched again in the same spot.
That's when he felt himself going down and the lights going out.
((--))
Sheppard wasn't sure what he was doing. A small voice reminded him that he was acting crazy. Knocking Rodney out was wrong. Just plain wrong. The stronger voice in him said that he needed to get back to the river because it was important. The water was there and it was flowing and it would make everything okay. After that he would understand why he had to stay on the planet and why all other considerations of his life were null and void. It was really important to bring along a friend. Whether the friend was conscious or not was entirely optional.
Perversely he'd been feeling strange ever since he'd pronounced himself better. At first he'd been delighted that he'd began to feel normal again. No more headaches, nausea gone, aches vanished, temperature down, lymph nodes back to normal. It felt like an honest to God miracle. He could move around, he could help out. He went back to fishing. He was happy. Rodney was happy that he was happy. They patched up their shaky friendship. Then Sheppard got happier. Too happy and off kilter to understand that something was amiss.
An odd tug in his brain and his body told him that he was in the wrong place. If he was happy at the moment, he'd be ecstatic standing in the river. Flowing fresh water was a better place to be. He'd have dreams about how good it would be to stand there again. It had turned from strange to instinct. An instinct to move, get down there, do this thing that needed to be done, even though he had no idea what it was.
He wanted to stay on the planet until he died. He wanted Rodney to stay until both of them died. He liked their new home, liked that he didn't have to cope with any human's bleeding or dying or getting hurt. Rodney was his only responsibility and it felt good just to have one thing to concentrate on.
Rodney's reluctance had been disappointing. He couldn't understand the polite refusal because he couldn't understand that Rodney wouldn't see the situation in the same way.
There was a lot of peace and quiet to be had on this planet. A lot of years to be able to hide.
He shifted the weight across his shoulders. He was carrying Rodney in a fireman's lift. He'd tried dragging him but the progress had been terrible. He cared more about the progress than about McKay getting cut up by the rough terrain. He kept laboring his way through the landscape, making his soggy way to the water's edge, Rodney's weight driving his boots down into the mud and the grass and not caring. Somehow, it occurred to him dimly he should have had the P90 with him but he had his sidearm and that would have to be enough.
He hefted the weight again, tried to adjust enough that his shoulder wasn't killing him, kept going. Was pleased when he heard the rush of flowing water. He staggered the last 50-feet, not so much depositing Rodney on the ground, but tipping himself forward and dropping McKay like a sack of potatoes.
He grabbed Rodney's arms and pulled him towards the river. It was important that McKay was in the water, that much he knew, and it was important that he was in there as well and the deeper the better.
He dragged, and the dragging got easier, and they slid in, Rodney floating on his back, and Sheppard up to his knees, heading for the drop off point.
((--))
Lorne and his marines were in full rattle, ready to rock and roll. Teyla had dressed in BDUs and the vest. Ronon was wearing what Ronon always wore. Consequently he looked like he was going for a stroll.
The fact that the marine's were fully decked out struck Beckett as odd because although the Daedalus' sensors showed the planet was teaming with life signs, by the way they moved around it was more than likely they were wild life. That had been one reason to take a team down. Getting any sort of lock that would let them beam supposed survivors on board was next to impossible.
There was also the small matter of the jumper. No signs of a power signature at all, so they'd set up a scan for wreckage. With no real lock on anything but some possible debris they were going to land, scout the area, determine the situation, and beam any survivors back to the Daedalus' sick bay. That was the theory anyway.
Beckett didn't like the fact that on top of going down to an alien planet they'd made him wear a vest, and a helmet. They hadn't made Teyla wear a helmet and he felt insulted and knew he looked stupid. The helmet was too big for starters because he couldn't figure out how to get the chin straps to work and he'd only taken a weapons theory course that Sheppard had put together, so the holster strapped to his right thigh was making him jumpy.
Beckett asked nervously, "Is there going to be shooting?"
"Probably not doctor," replied Lorne.
"Then why am I in this kit? And why isn't Ronon or Teyla?"
"Because I think having Atlantis' CMO running around in a possibly hostile situation without adequate protection is like having sex without a condom and not expecting to get pregnant."
"If that was an analogy I don't get it."
Lorne raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay, let me put it this way, this is my mission, so I don't need Colonel Caldwell or Dr. Weir on my ass if you get injured."
"Fair enough. I was only asking."
Lorne nodded. "If you're ready, let's load and get this show on the road."
They were down in the hanger bay of the Daedalus, two jumpers ready to go.
The marines lined up in formation. Lorne surveyed them. Beckett lined up with them, clutching his med kit for something to clutch and wondered again why he'd been so keen to volunteer for the trip. Ronon managed to adopt a casual stance and Teyla seemed to be trying not to laugh.
"Do not disappoint me marines! This is going to be a smooth mission. We're going down, we find our MIAs and we bring them home!"
The marines shouted back, "Sir! Yes, sir!"
There was a collective "Oorah!" that made Beckett startle and then he flashed back to the scene in Aliens where everyone was super confident right before they got their arses kicked.
Lorne stepped back and pointed towards the jumpers. "Load up and let's move!"
Beckett ran after them, his vest chaffing, wishing to God he could just stay here. Then he reminded himself that Sheppard and McKay were going to be relying on him so he'd better just get a backbone.
He just wished that getting a backbone didn't involve accompanying a bunch of gung ho soldiers, a Satedan warrior and a woman that could snap his arm like a twig. Theoretically he should have felt safer but he knew how these things worked. They attracted trouble like rotting meat attracted flies.
It was that damn curse.
((--))
Rodney woke up because he was floating on his back in ice cold water and when he opened his eyes, bright sunlight streamed down from a blue sky and hit his retinas hard enough to make him close his eyes again. Nothing like a bracing dip and bright light to bring a person back to full consciousness.
He vaguely recalled being punched in the head, then recalled that Sheppard had been the puncher. Not a good thing to recall because that meant Sheppard was crazy and he was stuck on a planet with a guy who'd had military training in how to incapacitate and kill people using his bare hands.
He was so fucked and he told himself he'd better just start dealing with it because he was still alive and that meant he had a chance.
Tentatively he opened his eyes again, tried to figure out what was happening. He risked a glance to his right, saw Sheppard standing beside him, staring down at the water. A quick check confirmed that he wasn't tied up. His arms had drifted out to the sides, his legs were free. For some reason Sheppard had stopped before venturing into deeper water, and for that, Rodney was extremely grateful.
Okay, he was going to have to do something amazingly physical and smart, which would be a stretch since he was good on the smart, not so good on the physical thing. He came up with a strategy of kicking the legs out from Sheppard and then running away and that was the only tactic that his brain could figure out.
The running away bit hadn't worked well back at the jumper, so he wasn't sure if his chances would be any good this time around either.
The plan was going to rely on taking Sheppard unawares because by the time he flipped himself over, somehow kicked Sheppard and then managed to get to his feet to run, Sheppard would probably karate chopped him in the larynx and killed him.
Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained he told himself.
He slowly bought his arms back to his sides, praying it wasn't enough to draw Sheppard's attention from his fixation on the water.
Just as he was about to perform his combination wrestling rabbit kick and leg sweep, Sheppard dropped to his knees in the cold water. Then he started throwing up. Puking was never good in anyone's book, especially not McKay's, but this was beyond nasty and into the realm of science fiction horror.
Rodney got a glimpse of a stream of liquid that was brown and putrid and seemingly populated by black marble pellets. All thoughts of staying still left him and he flipped over, climbed to his feet, ready to fend off Sheppard.
Not that it mattered. Sheppard was too busy barfing into the river to make a move on him.
McKay's instincts took over and despite it all, he looked down into the water in disgusted fascination. The brown pellets, the size of broad beans, hit the water and instantly transformed. Wriggling black larvae, twisting like centipedes, twitching with the need to escape their sacs, kicked their way free and headed towards the nearest warm source of fresh meat.
Rodney McKay.
All manliness vanished. He screamed out a heartfelt, "Shit!" Then he took off.
Blind instinct sent him running towards the jumper because the jumper was home, and home was safe. At least it was at the moment since Sheppard was still playing his part in completing some parasitic organism's life cycle and seemed disinclined to follow.
Somehow, some way he was going to have to protect himself. He did not want to be a host to anything. Not Goa'uld, not iratus bugs and certainly not the whatever-the-fuck-they-were in the river.
Normally Rodney wasn't a runner. He could walk briskly and he wasn't exactly out of shape, but he was in the league of people who didn't look cool when they ran. They didn't get great stride lengths, or their arms at just the right distance. When Rodney ran he was pretty sure he looked like a circus chimp that had been trained to mimic people walking up right. They could do it, but the act just looked awkward and silly.
Still, fear and adrenaline were both great motivators. He covered the distance to the jumper in record time, and could still almost breathe when he got there. He ignored the headache that came compliments of being punched. If he wasn't so worried about actually dying, he might have found the time to fret about a possible concussion.
Once at the jumper, he headed straight into the weapons cache, trying to figure out what he was going to do that wouldn't get them both killed. He grabbed the P90, stuck it on the bench next to him, and grabbed the case of C4 and the grenades. Too much fire power for Rodney and he sure as hell didn't want Sheppard getting it either. That left the remaining case containing the Glock and the Lugers. He could try using them, maybe get off a flesh wound.
Right. Flesh wound. That was a fantasy made by the movies. Usually the bullet went in, created an effect like a shock wave, destroyed the flesh behind it and in front of it, and fractured any bone in the way. Even a knick resulted in a sizeable furrow. Besides, with Rodney's aiming abilities he'd aim for Sheppard's foot and wind up blowing the man's head off.
Weapons that featured ammunition were right off the agenda.
That just left one thing.
The Taser.
Rodney picked it up, kissed it. "Thank God."
Holstering the Taser, he picked up the cases, and the field shovel, poked his head outside. No sign of Sheppard, which was good, or maybe not, he couldn't decide. He had a thought of Sheppard lying face down and dead in the water, or being mauled by the cats, but dismissed it, mainly because parasitic organisms liked to keep their victims around for as many tries at completing a life cycle as possible.
No, he was just taking his sweet time to get here.
That gave Rodney a slight advantage and also a chance to utilize his newly acquired ability to dig holes. He ran from the jumper, around to the front where sand had backed up against the nose, and frantically began excavating.
When he had a hole deep enough, he threw the P90 and all the cases into the hole, covered them over again, came back to the hatch opening and threw the field shovel inside.
If Sheppard looked hard enough, he'd find the obvious place of their burial but he'd have to dig them up first. That just left Sheppard's ever present knife and his Glock. McKay just hoped he could somehow reason with the man long enough to get a chance to fire the Taser if it came to that.
It struck Rodney that he could have just as easily head into the forest, and try to keep in front of Sheppard but he always came back to the same problem. Sheppard would find him because that's what Sheppard did. Find Rodney and get him out of trouble. Or in this case, find Rodney and get him into trouble.
That just left hanging around the jumper, waiting for a face-off between scientist and pilot. It was like being in a bad Sly Stallone movie.
((--))
The jumpers landed about a twenty minute walk from what they presumed was wreckage. They'd done a fly over, sighted the jumper nose first into the side of a sand dune, seen some signs of someone living there – a still fire for one – and they were hopeful of a successful rescue.
The Daedalus' sensors had been right about the life signs. There was wildlife. Lots of it. Seemingly attracted by the lush grazing that surrounded them.
Of course, Beckett had watched enough wildlife documentaries on Discovery to know that where there was lots of animals, some of them would be predators.
He continued clutching his med kit, partially comforted by the fact that he was surrounded by marines and he was sure those same marines wouldn't hesitate to protect him. They were also the same marines he'd bossed around in the jumper and he currently had four of them toting litters and another one carrying a box of supplies. He hadn't come this far to fail and if, for some reason, the Daedalus couldn't beam them out, they'd just have to haul McKay and Sheppard back to the jumpers themselves.
Lorne seemed to find Beckett's unexpected command ability funny.
"And they say you're a wuss doctor."
Beckett had been checking his med kit for the tenth time before leaving the jumper and had yelled at a marine for almost dropping the same box of supplies.
"I am a wuss. I'm just less wussy when it comes to my patients and medicine."
Lorne slapped him on the back and said to the no one in particular, "I want everyone to do what the good doctor says. In medical matters you defer to him. If I catch anyone not following his orders, I will bust their ass so hard, they will lose the power to sit down or take a shit ever again. Do I make myself clear?"
"Sir! Yes, sir!"
Beckett winced at the shouting. Why was it that they had to shout so much?
Speaking of shouting - he could hear voices floating on the wind. Definitely human shouting and screaming. Sounded like words. Lorne heard it too.
"Double time it people!"
And they ran.
((--))
Sheppard had come out of the clearing at full speed, seemingly oblivious to anything but his objective; getting to Rodney and taking Rodney back to the river.
McKay was sure of one thing as he watched the figure of Sheppard cross the sand. If he didn't time this right, he was going to either have to kill Sheppard or Sheppard was going to kill him in his eagerness to haul him back to his watery fate.
"Stop right there!"
Sheppard didn't bother with the stopping, only slowed himself down to a walk. As he got closer, McKay could see he looked dreadful. Hardly unexpected considering he'd been puking up larvae.
Rodney unholstered the Taser, pointed it in Sheppard's direction.
"If you don't stop, I'm going to shoot."
This amused Sheppard. "With that fucking thing? Right. How about you drop it and I won't shoot you with this."
Sheppard unholstered his Glock, pointed it in McKay's direction. Then he grinned at McKay's shocked reaction.
"I guess this is what they call a stand off. 'Cept you gotta get close enough to hit me Rodney and I don't plan on getting in range."
Fantastic, thought Rodney. Why did he always have to blow any element of surprise? He could have just hid the Taser behind his back, but no, he wanted to play fair, or maybe he was squeamish at the concept of hitting his formerly sane friend with 50 thousand volts.
He'd have to use the only thing he had going for him – his complete lack of rational action after he'd been pushed too far. He'd put up with Sheppard's misplaced babysitting attempts, his surliness, nursed him through his sickness, and for his efforts he'd been knocked unconscious, and dumped in a river so Sheppard could vomit up larvae intent on infecting McKay.
He'd had enough.
"I read the instructions on Tasers back in that stupid weapons theory course you made us take," he sneered back at Sheppard. "I always wind up memorizing useless facts. The range of the Taser is thirty-five feet you moronic excuse for a fly boy."
With that, he fired, aiming at Sheppard's chest. The two probes hit his t-shirt, piercing and snagging what McKay thought was flesh and watched, horribly captivated by the sight, as the charge surged into Sheppard.
The man startled, let out a brief yell of pain, doubled over, the muscles in his arms and legs obviously contracting.
McKay took his finger off the trigger and Sheppard almost instantly recovered.
"Stay down!"
Sheppard took no noticed, started reaching for the probes to pull them out. Automatically McKay hit the trigger again and kept his finger there while he counted off three seconds.
This time the Colonel came to a dead stop, every muscle in spasm before dropping to the sand, completely disorientated. McKay took his finger off the trigger, waited briefly to see if Sheppard was getting up again, then gingerly approached him, pulling out some wiring from his back pocket.
He had to holster the Taser to grab Sheppard's wrists and tie them together but he had no intent of taking out the probes connecting Sheppard to the business end of the Taser just yet.
Grabbing one hand, he managed to get some wiring tied before the guy started showing more signs of life.
McKay was past the point of being delicate. He didn't want to die, and he didn't want Sheppard to die, but he did want Sheppard to lie down and be quiet.
He didn't even bother unholstering the Taser. Just went for the trigger and shocked Sheppard again, causing the man to writhe in the sand and go limp.
Taking that as a sign that he'd subdued the lunatic, he rolled Sheppard over face first, put a foot on his back to make sure he could keep him down and started to bind the wrists like he'd turned into a champion calf roper.
He was just contemplating what he was going to do with a bound up Sheppard when a very tall figure with dreadlocks and an attitude performed a football tackle on him and sent him plowing into the ground.
This was not a good day. No good at all.
((--))