5

Metal hissed over rough obsidian stone, constant as a heartbeat, but methodical to draw out the sound until the hiss became a small ringing that was almost – though not quite yet – like music. Sheppard watched transfixed by the amber flash of firelight with each stroke of the knife over the whetstone. John shifted, rough stone at his back, neither cool or hot, wet or dry. He felt only its texture through his vest and jacket. There was no warm or cold, not from the fire, not in the water-scented air of the cave. Sensation was muted for him, and even the solid rock wall had a minor presence, like an object of dreams not worth giving full existence to.

The hand gripping the hilt looked older than the body it belonged to. The strokes of the knife over the stone held John's gaze, but it wasn't like he needed to see the face to know who the hands belonged to.

" Was there ever a time," John said, voice resounding hollow, " when you thought it would never end, and that it would be better just to end it yourself?"

The blade paused, then resumed it's motion. " You mean kill myself?" Ronon growled. It was an almost animal sound, emphasized by anger.

" No, not suicide. Just... giving in. Fight back until you die or... just give in."

The motion may have resumed, but John's attention was lost, allowing him to look up at the runner concentrating with an almost meditative quality on sharpening the knife.

" You want to quit Sheppard?"

John curled his fingers into his palms, and looked away. " I don't... I don't know... I don't know." He looked back at Ronon. " Why am I doing this again?"

Ronon shrugged. The runner outdid Sheppard in all aspects of nonchalance, as though the Satedan's skin was iron. " You tell me."

John squinted, thinking. It actually hurt, which he hoped had nothing to do with intelligence as Rodney sometimes claimed in hopes of getting John's hackles up. Where was Rodney? He would be able to answer John's question.

John recalled...

" Um... It's – it's important..."

The Satedan, never taking his eyes from the blade sliding over pitch-black stone, smiled. The runner always did have a creepy smile, like a wolf or lion after having taken down the prey. John shuddered and looked away at the fire. Flames writhed and licked the air with hisses and pops. It was a vicious element, fire. It ate everything. Forest fires, house fires, fires of rage.

" We all have a fire in us," Ronon said. John looked up. The smile was gone, as though the Satedan had become aware of the discomfort it caused. The blade hissed and rang, hissed and rang, over and over, repetitive as a heart beat. " It's what keeps us alive, keeps us going. It's different for each of us. For some, it's a spark, waiting to ignite. Others, a contained blaze, always stoked, always burning. A few, it's an inferno."

Ronon's eyes turned up to lock with John's gaze, but the knife never lost its rhythm. " Even fewer still, it's like a sun, always bright, always there, never to go out. You and me, Sheppard – we're suns. Stubborn, unrelenting suns."

John straightened in surprise. It sounded like a compliment – at least to Sheppard it did – and Ronon never gave compliments. " Because we can never go out?"

The blade hissed and rang. " Because we can't afford to. Not many of my people left – if any of my people are left at all. People rely on you. We can never stop burning."

John swallowed nervously. " But... All the time you were running... did you ever reach a point where you questioned the purpose of it? Of going on?"

Ronon shrugged again. " More than once."

" But you never listened..."

Reflected firelight danced in Ronon's eyes. " I listened, I just always came to the same answer."

" Which was?"

Hiss and ring. Ronon grinned. " The wraith took a lot from me. But they never took away who I am. Doesn't matter how much you lose, you'll always have that, and no one can ever take that away... Unless you let them. Maybe that's why it's important."

A smile tugged at John's mouth, but he couldn't quite reach that point yet. " But... it hurts. It hurts so much... Is it worth it?"

Hiss and ring. " The fight's always worth it. You know that."

Hiss and ring. Light flashed like lightening, bright as the sun.

" Shine on, Sheppard."

SGA

Vice on the arms, legs, body, pushing down, pulling up, ripping John from one world to the next. Images and names faded like smoke he tried to grasp. It blew away, and he didn't remember.

No, he recalled... One part... The fight. Fight. Fight! John struggled, writhed, bucked, and jerked. He would have screamed, but something warm and fleshy was clamped over his mouth. A hand. Bite it! Bite it! Fight! So he bit, and heard a grunt. The hand was removed, John reacted, striking out with his fist, recently becoming aware of something gripped in it, thin and easy to miss. A cry of rage, then a fist of iron striking John in the face with jack-hammer force, snapping his head around. His limp hand lost the thin object. Stars sparked and darkness circled his vision without ever quite closing in. Gravity toyed with him as he was hauled off the bed, hauled upright, then one final haul from the cell.

Stars. Sun. Sun? What about suns? Giant stars up close and personal, warm, friendly, and forever.

Shine on Sheppard.

Who had said that?

A clank, a thunk, and John was going up, up, up. Foul air became good, and he breathed in as he always did, only to stop short at the igniting pain in his chest, stabbing and burning.

Burning. Stars. Sun. Shine on.

The air was also warmer. Everything smelled so good. Food, there was food, growing stronger, closer. He was dragged for eternity until he was dropped onto unrelenting wood. A chair. John lifted his head on a wobbly neck, and started to tremble.

Baldy was back, turning a device over and over in his hands. Plate on the table, food, drink. Oh my gosh, please! Please let it be mine! John was all eyes for the food, and only the food. Baldy, and device, be screwed.

Oh, wait, pain. John forgot about that. He looked back at the bald man, and the bald man approached with a sigh.

The man kept turning and turning the instigator of torment. But the food was more enticing to watch. John jerked when a hand touched his face, and another hand grabbed his jaw to still him as something cool and rather wet was applied. He was forced to pull his eyes from the food, and mustered enough resolve for a scowl at the small, mousy man with the wispy brown hair, clutching John's jaw as he finished smearing on the wet stuff. When he was done, mouse-man maintained his grip, wiping his hands on a cloth resting on the arm of the chair. Following that, he reached into a box, and pulled out an odd blade – kind of rectangle...

Razor. The word razor popped into John's head. The little man brought the blade close, John started back, the man held tight, and slowly ran the blade down John's cheek, the blade scraping and stubble more like a beard being sliced and diced.

A shave. They were shaving him. He couldn't decide if he should feel relieved or violated. At least they weren't bathing him. Small, pointless comfort in retrospect.

" You are quite the mess, Sheppard," the man said, turning the device, no longer looking at it. The little man was gentle in his ministrations, even skirting the gash on John's jaw.

" Does that not feel better?"

John really couldn't say. Any thoughts concerning facial hair had taken a back seat to the agonizing turmoil crashing around his skull.

" A step, really, Sheppard, to a better life. Access to creature comforts – cleanliness, a warm bed... food."

The black clad bruiser who was always present during the pain scooted the plate of food a little closer to John. The mousy man finished with John's face, and held a mirror up to him. John blinked without recognition. His face? That was his face? Pale to be almost white, sunken eyes surrounded by shadows, sunken cheeks. No, that couldn't be his. But he reached up all the same, and touched the drying flesh of his jaw. The man in the mirror mimicked him.

" Let's put away childish attitudes, shall we Sheppard? I had a special meal prepared for you. Activate, and you can eat. I'm tired of these games."

The mousy man put away the mirror and razor. With a snap of locks, he gathered the kit to him and hurried from the chamber. The moment the door thundered shut was the moment the balding man grabbed Sheppard's wrist, turning his hand palm up, and slapping the device into it. John looked at the thing.

Activate it. Easy as cake. What was cake? Turn it on, let it rip, eat, eat, eat.

Fight!

Sheppard flinched. Fighting, he was fighting for something, something important. What? Is it really worth it?

The fight's always worth it?

What fight!

Does it matter? Probably not. The fight's important. Have to fight. Can't let them take away, take away...

Take away me? Hell no! Stubborn. No one told him what to do. He didn't even like this man.

Shine on Sheppard.

Shine, star, sun, sun inside the soul, burning bright as the day. Unrelenting, forever. Can't afford to go out. Shining on, like a little star. Twinkle, twinkle little bat... Now where'd the hell had that come from? How I wonder what you're at. Up above the world so high, like a tea tway in the sky. John wished he had wings. Flying away sounded good right now. Flying period, Free as a Bird now, Free falling, Freeeeeee emooootion!

John chuckled softly, but even then it still hurt, making his chest erupt, stabbing him with fragments of bone since no way could he have a knife in him and still be alive. He couldn't remember what he was fighting for, and suddenly he couldn't remember why he was laughing.

The man stood over him, waiting with a false patience even John could see through. John chuckled again. The man was an idiot. John wasn't stupid, he just couldn't get his brain to run a straight line.

Walk the line, yeehaw!

The laughter died when another man stepped into view, pulling out the little box that always hurt. Fear strangled Sheppard, locked his brain, and he fumbled with the device, trying to urge it to work.

The fight's always worth it.

Why?

There was a reason. Important. Survival. My self. What about myself?

They can never take that away... unless you let them.

How did not activating a device maintain the self? The answer never came. The device fell from John's hands, and he didn't recall if he had done it on purpose. Didn't matter. It was over. Tears burned his eyes and dripped fast down his face. He didn't remember, but that didn't make the fight any less important. If there was a reason, then that's all that mattered. He let himself be ripped from the chair and thrown to the floor. He lay there as the man ranted, and between each rant struck John with the metal switch that split his flesh, probably to the bone, making John bite his own lip to keep from crying out. Then came the scrambler twisting his brain until he no longer recalled ever having been brought to this room. He recalled nothing...

Except something concerning... shiny?

SGA

Kace opened his eyes to a cry, and wave, of pain – for once – not emanating from John. Kace had already been awake, waiting for that very sound. He lifted his head to see Gorek stumbling back, clutching his hand. Kace didn't fight the smirk. Perfect. He leaped from the bed, pulling a piece of cloth from the pocket of his coat, torn from the end of his shirt.

" Let me help you out there, sir," he said, already taking Gorek's hand and wiping the blood away. Took a while for the chief guard's rather anger-hazed mind to register the one providing the first aid. With a sneer and a snarl, he yanked his hand away from Kace, then shoved the telepath away until he stumbled back and fell sitting on his bed.

Gorek whirled and slugged Sheppard hard across the face. The thin body went limp, and the guards dragged him away without anymore incident, Gorek kicking the cell door closed behind him.

Kace was all smiles, looking over his prize. He had a good amount of blood on the cloth that should do the trick. Just to play it safe, he stood and retrieved the piece of wire, wiping the remaining blood onto the cloth, then tossing the wire away out the cell as lack of evidence against Sheppard.

That's what Kace loved best about these guards. They acted, then thought, usually hours after the fact.

Kace folded the cloth and slipped it into his coat pocket. He went back to his bed and dropped down onto it, leaning his back against the wall and shifting until he finally got the itch plaguing his shoulder blade.

He waited, and waited, and waited. He was a little startled when the wait was cut shorter than normal (going by feel alone. He hadn't started whistling to keep the boredom from killing him yet) when the prison door thunked open and two guards came striding rigidly in carrying the thin, limp body between them. They opened the cell, dumped the body, and left, though not before one gave Sheppard a good kick to the already broken ribs. The moment they were gone, Kace was up and gently gathering Sheppard's body to move to the bed. He set Sheppard on his side, and still couldn't avoid causing the man to whimper. Harl had worked him over good. There wasn't a pain free spot left on Sheppard's busted frame.

Kace tore a bit of cloth from his own over sized shirt and carefully dabbed the gashes through the splits in Sheppard's shirt. Sheppard shuddered, moaned, tried to cringe away, but his reactions were like that of a sleeping infant.

Kace winced with each pitiful sound. " You just hang in there, little friend," he said in an undertone. " Just a little longer. Get your strength so we can get gone of this place. You and me..."

Kace owed it to the man.

SGA

" I have resigned myself to this hell," Rodney slurred. He lifted his mug, waving it around, sloshing foam. Ronon, leaning against the bar with one elbow resting on the wooden surface, rolled his eyes. He had his own drink he could have drowned in, but witnessing the gradual but still quick decline into inebriation by McKay had given him second thoughts toward it. The inn keeper had warned them (with an amused twinkle to his eye) of the potency of their local brew. McKay had turned a deaf ear, wanting a drink, and more than ready to take down anyone who got in the way of getting into a drunken stupor. Ronon had acquiesced to go with him since McKay was determined, and Ronon was still plagued by this persistent obligation to have Rodney's back after all the effort put into keeping him alive.

Ronon regretted his decision. Drunk McKay made him miss regular McKay, and that was just messed up.

" I have... bought myself a ticket to hell." McKay took a long pull from the ceramic mug, then slammed it down, sloshing more foam. He lifted a finger, and shook it limpidly at Ronon. " Weir knew I'd cave. She knew this would happen." Another pull. " She knew I wouldn't be able to withstand these people's incompetence."

Ronon flicked his eyes warily to the bartender and patrons near enough by to catch the meandering conversation. No one took notice of McKay's words. Then again - didn't matter the world - it was universal knowledge not to listen to anything a drunk had to say.

" This is so stupid," Rodney went on. " And do you know why this is stupid? Because it's point-less. Like rummaging through a garbage dump. Well, when we get back, the next time Dr. Weir wants to send me grocery shopping, I'm going to tell her – outright – to just kiss my..." he interrupted himself by taking another drink, draining it to the last drop. He slammed the mug down again, and turned his attention to the full mug in Ronon's hand. " You gonna drink that?"

Ronon heaved out a rumbling sigh and relinquished his drink against his better judgement. Rodney grabbed it like it was food and that little eating problem he had that Ronon never understood was kicking in.

" I'd take it easy," Ronon admonished.

Rodney glowered, and swayed. " Screw you!" He lifted the mug and took a massive gulp, wiping foam from his lip after. " And who the hell are you to tell me what to do, huh? You're not the leader, Lorne is! Wait... no... Teyla is. One of 'em is. And they're not here. So just kiss off!"

Ronon cocked an eyebrow. He would have been offended if amusement hadn't taken over first. He had to hand it to the scientist – he was a mean little drunk.

The guy next to Rodney snickered, drawing Rodney – and his scowl – directly to the man. Maybe on Atlantis that look might have sent a few scientists scurrying, but the man in the farmer-like threads just grinned stupidly.

" What're you laughin' at!" McKay snarled. Ronon immediately put his hand on the physicist's shoulder.

" McKay... Play nice..."

McKay jerked his arm free of Ronon's hand. " Or what? You're gonna tattle on me to mommy Teyla and Daddy Lorne? I already told you to kiss off... so kiss off again! You're not the boss here. You can't push me around. You're not Sheppard! Gaw, that freakin' idiot!"

Ronon bristled at that. " You don't mean that," he growled, more as a warning than a question.

McKay snorted, took a drink, and laughed dryly. " Oh like hell I do... don't... do... I do mean it! The man was an idiot. You know why? Because only idiots fly head on into wraith hive ships with the intent... of never coming back!"

The drunken farmer perked up at that. " Someone took on a wraith hive ship?"

Rodney's scowl became a twisted expression of fury. " None of your business, farmer Brown! So just butt out!"

But 'farmer Brown' had stopped listening, and was pointing at McKay. " Hey, this fellow knows a fellow who took on a wraith hive ship!"

Others soon took up the perking action, even the bartender, who paused in his act of wiping down the counter. " Really? What's the fellows name?"

Rodney's jaw twitched with unseen teeth grating together. " That fellow," he fumed, and Ronon was certain that Rodney's head was going to explode at any moment, just like in that weird movie about the mind-readers. What was it called? Skinners or Scanners or something.

" Is dead!" McKay barked. " So don't even start going off on what a great hero he must be, because he's not, he's dead! Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. Dead as a doornail, kicked the bucket, bought the farm, would be six feet under if his body hadn't exploded to be floating around like frozen chunks of hamburger in space. He's dead, so I don't know what the hell you find so impressive about that."

" Hey!" another guy shouted. " If he died taking on the wraith, you shouldn't be putting him down. That man sounds like a hero."

Rodney's lip curled to finally reveal his clenched teeth. He whirled on the guy, stabbing a finger toward him though he was halfway across the room. " What the hell did I just say! He's not a hero! He's a freakin' moron who had a death wish... and got the wish granted! What the hell kind of hero is that! Huh? Oh wait, isn't that a definition of a hero – the guy who gets everyone killed, including himself! So go ahead, call him a hero, despite the fact that he died... accomplishing absolutely nothing!"

" At least he tried," Someone else joined in.

" Oh, yeah, and that makes it okay then. He died trying. Way to freakin' go Sheppard. You almost got the wraith. And that's what you'll be remembered for, how you almost got the wraith. No offense but I've yet to see a tombstone with the words 'he tried, so that's okay' on 'em. Sorry, but 'try' doesn't cut it if you're just going to end up dead in the end."

The man who'd spoken stood up from his seat. Tall as Ronon, muscled as Ronon, and with a look of irritation that had Ronon impressed.

" Anyone who takes on the wraith is worthy of recognition. You should have more respect for your fallen friend... if he even was your friend."

Ronon cocked both eyebrows at that, and turned his eyes back to McKay. White faced, wide-eyed, and starting to pant as flames sparked and ignited in Rodney's pupils, the scientist's head began moving slowly from side to side.

" Ooooh don't you even assume anything about me. You don't know me, and you didn't know Sheppard, and what an idiot he was." McKay, shoving away his mug, started advancing on the much bigger man, who stood straight with thick arms crossed over a broad chest. McKay clenched his fists tight at his side until they shook.

" That stupid, cocky SOB was a suicidal freak who never knew when to call it quits. We needed him, but did he get that? Noooooo! He was too busy going kamikaze on us all the time... until he finally succeeded. Honestly? I hope he's rotting in hell."

McKay was standing before the big guy now, head coming only a little passed the man's chest, which he proceeded to poke in emphasis of each word. " Because he – doesn't – deserve – to be called – a hero!"

The man's eyes blazed, his face darkened, and his meaty hand swatted McKay's smaller hand away. And that was it. McKay raised a balled fist and slugged the guy's jaw. The big man's head snapped around, which was pretty good for a man of McKay's stature and build, in Ronon's opinion. Rubbing his jaw, the man looked down at McKay, then plowed into him, knocking him to the floor where the two grappled, exchanging punches and profanities.

Ronon sighed heavily. He pushed away from the bar and shoved through the gathering crowd urging the combatants on. When he stepped up to the fray, he reached down and snagged Rodney by the collar to pluck him away from the big guy's assaults. McKay bucked, kicked, and swung blindly, shouting, urging the big man to take him on.

Ronon yanked Rodney to his feet and proceeded to drag him from the bar, kicking and screaming for real. Ronon tossed an apology, and a metal coin obtained in a trade using chocolate, to the bar keep. Once outside, he continued to drag Rodney away from the bar and up the street toward the inn. Yet rather than entering the two story place, he veered into a shadow-thick alley and shoved Rodney against the wall.

" You need to cool down," Ronon rumbled. Rodney pushed off from the wall enough to stand straight, seething, blood dripping down his nose and the side of his face from his eyebrow.

" Don't...!" he started.

Ronon raised his hand. " Yeah, yeah, tell you what to do. Get used to it. Until you start thinking with your head on straight, I'm going to keep telling you what to do. Teyla and Lorne too. You're part of a team, a team with a leader you have to take orders from."

Rodney, wiping away more blood, turned away to stare at the ground. " We have no leader. We have a negotiator and a grunt with a gun. Doesn't make them our leader." He swayed a little. Ronon reached out a hand to help, only to have Rodney shrug it away with a snarled, "don't!"

Ronon backed off. Beyond the alley, the streets were lit up by the flickering lamps. A wagon trundled by, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. And somewhere in the distance came the echo of shouts and laughter.

Ronon and Rodney fell into silence, Ronon still with arms folded, and Rodney scuffing the dirt-packed ally street with his boot-heel, still swaying, drawing close to topple-time. Each minute gave Rodney time to reflect, and possibly gather himself as best as his chemically-hazed mind would allow. Ronon wasn't going to waste any of those minutes trying to talk sense into McKay. Talking wasn't exactly a favorite pastime for Ronon, and half the time most people didn't listen anyways, so there wasn't much point to it. McKay was proof of that. It was almost natural, subconscious, to tune him out. But if the scientist wanted to talk – right here, right now – Ronon would listen. Of course, that didn't mean he would be sympathetic about it.

Not if he was going to keep bad mouthing Sheppard in order to avoid the truth.

Finally, Ronon got tired of the wait.

" You don't hate Sheppard," he stated.

Rodney kicked a rock out into the street. " Don't assume..."

" I'm not."

Rodney snorted. " What the hell do you know?"

" I know that you don't hate him."

Rodney began pacing, slowly, back and forth, still scuffing. " Yes, I do. The man's a bastard."

" Why?"

The question struck a nerve. Rodney whirled around, the fire rekindled and blazing even hotter. " Because he is! We need him, he's not here, got himself killed thanks to his exquisite and impeccable timing and bone-headed decision making, and on top of that... It's our fault! And we didn't even need his freakin' help! Bet you thought he'd abandoned us, didn't you? Don't deny it, you did. You had to. I certainly did! So you had to, only logical, only right. Everything was fine that way until we got home and – low and behold – we find out he's dead! Dead people don't save lives, Dex. Apparently, Sheppard didn't get that memo. And, son of a bitch, I miss him...! I – miss - him! And I hate feeling like this, always wishing him back, hoping he's actually out there somewhere, then getting smacked in the face each time we don't find him! I hate it! And I hate him for doing this to me! Making me feel this crappy and like crap! And making me feel even more like crap for being pissed at him! The man's dead and he still won't leave me alone! What the hell kind of friend would do that, huh?"

Rodney swayed – the big one this time – and would have crumpled to the ground if Ronon hadn't caught his arm. He aided Rodney in easing to the ground against the wall of the neighboring building. Even sitting, the scientist's head wobbled on a flaccid neck.

Ronon stared down at Rodney. " I miss him to," he said.

" See?" Rodney replied. " He's a bastard."

Ronon shook his head. " You're going to regret saying that when you're sober."

Rodney snorted. " Doubt it. I was thinking it two hours ago, I'm just saying it out loud now."

" Doesn't matter. You'll regret it. He was your friend."

" If you say so."

SGA

A/N: Sorry if I seem to be making Rodney out as a jerk. I'm really not. Just keep reading and you'll see. I'm quite fond of Sheppard/McKay friendships.