Chapter 10
Rodney was sitting in the co-pilot's seat of the jumper, trying to get a fix on the homing beacon's signal. Some young grunt, who was apparently named Bronson, was acting as pilot. Bronson didn't seem the least impressed with Rodney, or Rodney's mission. Mostly the marine sat at the controls, staring straight ahead and avoiding conversation.
Not that being in a room with people who ignored him had ever stopped Rodney McKay from having a conversation.
"Anyway, as I was saying, the entire point of this flight is to get some destination coordinates for the signal, if possible. Could be tricky considering the spread rate on radio frequencies, but I'm working on the assumption that they somehow boost it or keep it focused. And how, Dr. Rodney McKay, would you do this? Well, I'm glad you asked my silent friend-"
"-Why has your laptop stopped beeping?" Bronson had spoken at last.
Rodney realized he'd been so preoccupied talking to the marine, he'd actually missed the fact that the signal had gone. "What, the..?"
He used his stylus to tap a few icons on the PC tablet and filter on a wider set of frequencies. For a moment he thought he'd lost the signal amongst the general background noise level that happened to exist in outer space. But no, it seemed to have completely gone.
"That's not right. Bronson, start tracking back towards Atlantis, same flight path. Let's see if I can pick it back up."
Bronson didn't acknowledge him, but he did change course. Rodney considered this as fairly rude. After all, wasn't Rodney in charge of this expedition and Bronson just a glorified cab driver? He was about to begin a lengthy tirade about the importance of people skills in the military when the signal flicked back onto his screen.
Weird. For some reason it was there, and then it wasn't, and signals just didn't disappear. Then again, he still hadn't managed to find any pattern that activated the transmission, so the fact that it was randomly vanishing shouldn't have amazed him.
"Let's go around the block again," he said and thought he sounded more and more like Sheppard every day. Hang around the tactical teams long enough and it was inevitable that he'd wind up talking like he'd had a bit part in NYPD Blue.
Bronson did an admirable job of not glaring at yet another order, and did as he was told, guiding the jumper into a long sweeping arc around the same area of space. The signal bounced back into life at a certain distance, and then promptly stopped at a certain distance. Rodney frowned. It was very, very strange.
"What the hell is going on?" Rodney asked himself and concentrated on the screen of the laptop, waiting for the detection application to give him some kind of hint about the exact nature of the problem.
"Is it anything to do with that bright object at our eight?"
"What?" Rodney shifted his attention away from his laptop and towards the front of the jumper. From the cockpit window he could see an intense point of light, seemingly hovering just outside the jumper. Actually, it was just outside the jumper. Bronson had essentially parked within spitting distance.
Rodney concentrated, called the HUD up onto the cockpit window and got a scan. Couldn't quite believe what the HUD was telling him.
A controlled micro fracture in subspace. Just sitting there, no visible technology to generate it, or even to stabilize the fracture; unthreatening and innocent, too small to suck in anything bigger than a pebble and large enough to pull in, and focus, the signal. Presumably to route it to God knows where.
The aliens had figured out a way to sit in subspace and peek into normal space without having to take themselves out of subspace to do it. Scarily impressive, emphasis on the word scary.
Rodney had a mental image of someone on the other side of the subspace fracture mimicking the same actions. Somebody staring out at him, while he stared back. As if in response to his thoughts, the fracture seemed to expand slightly.
"Oh no, that's not good, that's not good at all," said Rodney. Because it wasn't and the fracture was getting bigger, and taking on the appearance of a hole that might just either suck them in, or throw something at them. "Back us out of here, Bronson. Now."
Bronson didn't need to be told twice. Actually he didn't even need to be told once. As soon as he'd seen the rift expanding, he'd started pulling the jumper around.
The fracture seemed to have made up its mind that it wanted breakfast. Breakfast being one Atlantis jumper. Rodney glanced at the monitor, showing a sizeable chunk of what was rapidly evolving into a subspace portal, and hoped they were out of range before gravity and momentum came up and grabbed their collective butts.
Bronson didn't reply to Rodney's urgent demand but just gripped the flight controls for all they were worth and seemingly concentrated hard on just one word: fast.
The jumper obligingly did as it was directed, and the fracture began to recede. Rodney only began to relax when the phenomena has turned into an insignificant dot.
Bronson finally decided to ask a question. "What was that?"
"Trouble," replied Rodney.
((--))
First nights in a strange environment usually precluded sleep for anyone but the most confident, or tired, of souls. There was the room to adjust to, a different bed, you stubbed your toes when you tried to find the bathroom, maybe you had to eat at a later time, or earlier, or the food unsettled your stomach, or you had too much alcohol, or coffee.
For Sheppard, the night had been that sense of adjustment magnified by anxiety and sickness.
His personal posse of concerned medical staff had walked him over to the shelter the Athosians had set up for him and it pretty much looked like the room in the infirmary, right down to the stupid bed. In fact, it was the stupid bed. His gear was there and he presumed Ronon and the other marines had helped with the shift. They'd moved everything he had. His clothes, his laptop, his guitar, War and Peace. The occasional off world knick knack. Insultingly there was also a locked medical cabinet made of sturdy metal. As if he had any inclination to start a sideline in swiping pharmaceuticals.
Atlantis it seemed had officially divorced him. The moving truck had turned up, loaded his gear, driven away and dumped him out of restraining order distance. He wondered if they expected him to cough up alimony payments.
They were so proud of themselves for taking so much time to get his new living arrangements arranged, they were crestfallen when he could only stand in the room, trying hard not to lose it completely and start screaming in frustration.
Kate's attempt at some on the spot counseling hadn't worked either. She'd started in with some platitude, something about knowing how hard it must be to adjust to so much change, and his response hadn't been polite.
"Get the fuck OUT!" He said the statement with enough of a decibel level to raise the dead. Not his finest moment. Beckett and Kate had startled and he could see from their expressions that instead of doing what they were told, they were wondering just how crazy he was.
Teyla stepped in on his behalf.
"The Colonel has had a long day. I think it's best if we leave him to unpack." Teyla smiled kindly, nodded in his direction. Ronon and Halling took her lead and they collectively began to herd Kate and Carson out of the room. Carson looked displeased and he managed to stop the herding long enough to give Sheppard one last instruction.
"Richard's coming over tomorrow in the jumper to change your dressings. Don't go anywhere."
Teyla was the one to give him a gentle push out the tent flap. She stopped, and turned, gave him an encouraging smile. "I will back soon, Colonel. You should unpack."
She didn't stop to hear his reply, not that he had one and then they were gone and he was alone. He was grateful that Teyla was running interference for him and he should probably do as she asked.
Unpacking wasn't going to take long. The only thing he had on him was his backpack and there wasn't much in there, just the standard extended trip essentials like his toothbrush and toothpaste. He threw the backpack on the bed, stood there, felt adrift. He was floating off somewhere, rudderless and the shore was beginning to recede. How he was going to get back, he didn't know.
"Colonel?"
Teyla was suddenly back in the shelter, and she'd only just left. Or maybe she'd been gone awhile. Hard to tell. He blinked a couple of times, tried to refocus his eyes away from the spot on the floor he's been staring at for God knows how long.
'Yeah?"
"I thought I would show you around the village; introduce you to a few people. Then we could go to dinner. Does that sound to your liking?"
Well, better than nothing, although the thought of eating made his stomach simultaneously rumble and hit him with nausea. Carson had tried giving him a small dose of chlorpromazine as an anti-emetic but it hadn't made any difference and then Carson had made him choke back a protein shake anyway. It seemed to have stayed where it was but that had been about four hours ago, and a protein shake did not maketh a man. "Yeah."
She glanced down at his much loathed flip flops. "The ground is a muddy around some areas. Your footwear is not suitable. Let me get you something sturdier."
She promptly exited again, and he thought he'd better get himself organized, so he actually did remove the contents of his backpack, shoving the items away in an empty cabinet that was another piece of furniture gifted from Atlantis. He'd barely shut the drawers when she came back. That was Teyla. As fast and as supple as a cat.
Teyla was clutching what appeared to be clogs. Leather top, no back, solid wooden platforms. She held them out to Sheppard, and from the way she was holding them, she fully expected him to take them and be grateful.
Okay, he'd vowed not to piss of his new hosts, so he kicked off the plastic nightmares, and put on the clogs. His feet were marginally warmer but that was about it.
"I've gone from beach bum to hippy. Fantastic. By the way, I don't do clog dances, or stick my fingers into leaking dams."
Clearly, she didn't get the joke in the sentence, but from her non reaction it confirmed his theory that Athosians were genetically incapable of being anything but diplomatic.
"Time for a walk," said Teyla. Of course, he could have refused, and there wasn't much she could have done about it, but she was using her command voice – the one that made dogs and small children do as they were told. So he shuffled forward, got his rhythm with yet more unmanly footwear and clomped off behind her.
There were a lot of tents and shelters in the village and people going about their business. The Athosians had settled wholeheartedly on their new planet. There were areas for farming on the outskirts, domesticated animals, a water supply setup from a nearby stream, even a blacksmith. Everyone seemed happy, but then it was obvious just from being around Teyla that adversity was as familiar to the Athosians as breathing. If life handed the Athosians lemons, they wouldn't just stop at making lemonade – they'd figure out how to trade with lemons, and probably figure out a way to use them as a weapon.
Maybe he shouldn't be so damn self pitying. He'd been wallowing of late. Something he normally tried hard to avoid.
Having received a protracted tour that circled the village at least twice, and being introduced to anyone within sight, being forced to admire the Athosian versions of a cow, a goat and a horse, and having impromptu lessons in everything from smithying to pottery creation, he was prepared to just go and lie down. It wasn't that he hadn't seen these sights before but now Teyla was using them as a method of distraction. A distraction that wore him out.
But first there was dinner to contend with. Athosians liked communal meals. Sort of a cross between the Atlantis cafeteria and a hotel buffet. The table to one side was piled with food and everyone was helping themselves. The smell wasn't any good, hit him in both nostrils, made him want to turn around and leave again.
Teyla seemed to be have been briefed on that problem. She sat him down at the table, fetched a plate and a bowl, and brought it back. She'd placed a little of everything on the plate. Ronon had also joined them and he seemed to have no problems with the quality or smell of the food. He was gorging like a lion at a fresh kill.
Teyla checked with Sheppard to see if he wanted to remain. "Do you want to eat this at your place?"
He'd vowed that he was going to play as nice as he could since they were putting up the accommodation and all, and he'd been in a crap mood since leaving Atlantis, so the least he could do was sit and not offend whoever did the cooking. Or offend the people who kept smiling at him, making sure he was feeling included.
Thirty minutes of effort resulted in a couple of bites of bread, two spoonfuls of soup and endless cups of water. It was like some sort of tactical strategy. Take a small bite after ignoring the odor, chew carefully, wash down with water, swallow reluctantly and wait for any signs of the need to dash outside. His body was getting a little desperate and sending out all the wrong signals. He wanted food, didn't want food, wanted people to talk to, didn't want people near him, wished he had a home, couldn't find a place to settle, wanted to be back on Atlantis, wanted to have never heard of Atlantis.
His stomach decided that it was leaning more towards not wanting food. He quit eating, not that he'd eaten much. Halling was sitting opposite him, with Teyla, the nearest person on his side giving him plenty of elbow room.
Ronon had moved onto seconds and abruptly decided to start a conversation. "Halling needs someone to check out his trap lines. I was thinking of going tomorrow, maybe do some hunting. We can leave early. "
He cheered up. He wasn't an active hunter but the Athosians supplemented their food sources with wild game and if anything the activity would get him away from all of the people. Just him and Ronon. He could cope with that.
"Sounds interesting," replied Sheppard, managing to gain some enthusiasm.
"Halling's giving us pack animals, so you can ride."
Teyla gave them both a look, raised an eyebrow. "I do not remember Dr. Beckett saying you could go hunting, or go riding. In fact, I distinctly remember him saying that Richard was going to arrive in the morning." Teyla was doing an admirable impression of a combination of Carson and his grandmother. On his father's side. A nurse in World War Two. She wasn't one to be messed with but she was definitely the person to have around in an emergency.
"I'll check with him, make sure it's okay. I brought along my radio." They'd made him take along his radio so that they could call Atlantis in an emergency. "Let me check."
Teyla relented and he left the table, wandered back to his tent. Got out his radio and didn't call because he knew exactly what Carson would say. Mostly it would feature the word, 'no' many, many times.
After a suitable delay, he strolled back to the tent and rolled out his carefully considered lie and Teyla trusted him, because she always had and always would, and she replied that if it was fine with Beckett it was fine with her.
Good one John Sheppard. Lying to Teyla and skipping out on a scheduled appointment because doing some guy bonding with Ronon was somehow more important. This was perilously close to the time he'd managed to pull off a case of bald faced lying to his father about staying over night at his friend's house and then completely and utterly trashing the one remaining sliver of trust they had. He did go to his friend's house. Just failed to mention the whole party, beer keg, lack of parental supervision angle. Couldn't continue the lie when he was dragged home by the local police after the party got shut down and he was caught underage, plastered by alcohol and sporting a black eye from a fight. His father, as usual, resorted to military style justice and made him dig a hole in the backyard while he had a hang over. Shortly after that he'd been packed off to military school, and that saw him meandering towards his predestined and poorly considered career path.
He stayed around in the tent after the snack, the Athosians giving him his space and he was grateful for that. Teyla hovered, but kept herself talking to Halling and a couple of others about some village business and he was left to hunker down in a chair and do nothing.
Must have dozed off at some point because Ronon was prodding him awake with a stick. If it wasn't so pathetically sad, it would be funny.
"You need to go to sleep," he said. Ronon was big on stating the obvious. Then he handed Sheppard a lamp.
He regarded the Satedan, and he was in a querulous mood. "Why are you here anyway big guy? You hate all this touchy, feely, concerned shit."
Ronon looked him directly in the eye. "Something happens, you might need backup. Or they might need backup. I thought I'd stick around."
Yeah, Ronon was always good at the backup. He took the lamp, mumbled his thanks and headed back towards his tent, Teyla tagging along. He reached the shelter, turned at the entrance. The village was unexpectedly illuminated considering they only used candle power, fires and some strategically placed solar powered lighting.
"Uh, good night then," he said.
"Good night," said Teyla. She pointed to a tent directly opposite his. "If you need anything don't hesitate to come and find me."
Suureeeee. Like that was ever going to happen. He'd had quite enough of people hovering while he slept. Although, it was weird having the leash loosened – Carson and Kate probably had a plan but who knew what it was. Maybe the plan was simply to get him out of everyone's hair. Now that he was, all the supervision was no longer necessary. He was like a broken toy, safely put in the garbage and no longer a danger to the kids.
Crap, he was back to wallowing again.
Teyla hadn't bothered to hang around; she just said her piece and went back to her own place. He watched her go, made sure she actually went inside, and then regarded his own home, cast in shadows. The shadows rapidly freaked him out. He fumbled towards the other lamps, and the battery and solar powered lights that they'd given him from Atlantis and made sure every one was turned on. As he concentrated on the task he tried ignoring the way he was starting to sweat, and the pounding of his heart. Too much adrenaline and no way to get rid of it. An insistent voice in his head was telling him that he only way he would feel safe was to check the room for problems and by problems he knew that he actually meant the gray guys. Or to shorten the whole moniker, just Grays.
The easiest way solve the conundrum was to do what his voice was telling him. He'd been in enough combat situations to trust his instincts and if his instincts said he needed to check out the immediate environment to feel the situation was safe, then that's just what he was going to do.
Problem was he'd feel a whole lot safer if he was doing the checking with a P90. The best he could come up with in the way of a weapon was his clogs. Yeah, he could beat any stray Gray to death with his left shoe – his staff sergeant would have been so proud of him.
He slid his shoes off, kicked the right one out of the way, held the lamp and the shoe for all they were worth and went exploring. Checked the corners, checked behind the cabinets. Got down on his knees, checked under the bed, even though it was blatantly obvious there was nothing under there to begin with. There were very few places for creepy Grays to hide and a rational man would have concluded at first sight of the room that it was safe. But he wasn't rational.
If anyone came in at this point in time, he figured he'd be shipped off to a padded cell so fast, they'd make his head spin. He didn't care. The room was secure and that was all he was concerned about at that particular minute.
He was too tired to change out of his clothes, all he did was take off his jacket. Made sure that the lamp was strategically positioned within reach, and still working. Climbed into the bed. Settled down.
He was instantly wide awake. He'd heard an unfamiliar sound. The sounds of nature. Then more sounds. Something yelped in the night, he thought he heard some nocturnal bird calling. He hadn't realized how quiet Atlantis was.
He closed his eyes, tried sleeping but the sounds brought him back to reality within a few seconds, his senses pitched towards detecting the first signs of trouble. His stomach decided that although there was no need to throw up, over producing stomach acid would be a good idea and he could feel an unhappy gnawing pain clawing its way up his esophagus. He tossed, he turned, but it made no difference and he was alone, and being alone didn't seem like such a good idea any more. He wished the nurse was back. Or maybe he should go and find Teyla but he didn't know how to explain his unexpected desperation for company without sounding pathetically needy.
Sheppard concluded that he'd definitely lost the power of coherent thought, or at least the power to stick to one thing at a time or the power to make up his mind.
Seemed that the Grays' agenda was to make him go insane slowly, rather than fast. If that was the intended outcome he'd really like to get it over and done with because presumably when he was completely nuts, he wouldn't care about any of this shit any longer.
((--))
Elizabeth was in conference with Carson, Kate and Rodney. Caldwell had insisted on intending, especially since he had his new temporary duties as 2IC of Atlantis to contend with. Hermiod was also grudgingly in attendance again, permanently embarrassed that the Asgard's dirty little evolutionary secret had been discovered.
The meeting was a long one and that was on top of a long day. Rodney shared his findings about the subspace micro fracture. He seemed torn between being excited about the phenomena's existence and the implications that the fracture entailed.
The only conclusion that they could come to was that they had been right in moving Sheppard out of Atlantis. Not that it made anyone happier. Except, maybe, for Caldwell.
Her primary concern remained. Sheppard had been left alone on the mainland with the Athosians. With the bad news delivered by Hermiod, it hardly seemed an acceptable course of action.
Kate fiddled with her laptop, called up some data. "My initial assessment is that Colonel Sheppard is coping with the situation. He's got some free floating anxiety due to chronic stress, possibly severe, but that's completely expected. Considering the alternatives, I didn't see any harm in letting him have some time to himself over night. Besides, Teyla, Halling and Ronon have been briefed and they're keeping their eye on him."
Caron nodded his concurrence. "Aye. He's been having a tough time of it. On top of everything else the man finds himself out of a job, which would be one way for him to keep his mind occupied on other matters." His statement was concluded with a pointed look at Caldwell.
"What about the health issues? You told me that he's all ready having problems eating," said Elizabeth.
"He seems to be able to keep down small amounts at the moment, although its not entirely consistent. I'm hoping stepping up the frequency might help and I can try other methods if its too severe. Entereal feeding or TPN might be a way to go, but I don't want to go down that route unless we're sure. Let's give it another couple of days and then reassess."
That just left a report from Caldwell and Hermiod. All eyes focused on Hermiod, ignoring Caldwell for the moment.
"I must inform you that progress has not been as swift as I would like and that I require assistance from Dr. McKay."
Rodney's eyes widened at the news. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. Hermiod needs my assistance. Are you totally sure about that Hermiod? I mean, you don't want to be checked out by Carson instead for an explanation about your drop in brain cells-"
He didn't get a chance to finish. Elizabeth had opened her mouth to tell him to stop but Kate beat her to it by elbowing him in the ribs.
"Ow!" McKay rubbed his side, glared at Kate. "What the hell was that for?"
"Rodney, remember how we have all those talks about how upset people get when other people gloat about their superiority?"
"Hermiod's not people, he's Asgard."
"Rodney, it's a universal principal."
"Oh." He seemed to consider what he'd just said and did his best to offer an apology. From Rodney, that meant he ignored what he'd just said and pretended nothing had happened. "So, uh, Hermiod, what would you like me to help you with?"
Hermiod hadn't stopped scowling but he at least seemed willing to continue. "The plan developed by the Asgard High Command is to directly beam the homing beacon out of Colonel Sheppard. We are presuming the beam out will be faster than the device's ability to control Colonel Sheppard's autonomic responses."
It was time for Rodney to scowl. "Beam it out? That's an extremely narrow focus on the beam. Are you even sure you can keep it contained?"
"It is not normally a technology we use but it employs the same principle that keeps the sub space micro fracture contained. I will need your help to ensure that the beam is modified and correctly focused to the right diameter and the right depth. I will also need the data from the last scan that Dr. Beckett performed on Colonel Sheppard and when I am ready, Colonel Sheppard must be brought back to Atlantis."
From the way Rodney had gone pale, she didn't know if she should be happy or frightened by Hermiod's proposed cure. "Rodney, what are the implications?"
"The same implications there always are for a beam out. Wrong spatial coordinates, one minor misstep on plotting X & Y amongst others and the beamee winds up in a bulk head. In this case, we get this wrong by even a millimeter and we've beamed off half of Sheppard's face along with the homing beacon."
Now she understood why Hermiod seemed ever so slightly depressed.
"You see my problem, Dr. Weir," said Hermiod.
She certainly did. Even worse, their choices kept being limited. Ban Sheppard to the mainland and keep him there until the aliens decided to come looking, or try an experimental technique that, if it didn't outright kill him, would leave him disfigured.
She found herself staring at Hermiod and pondering just how fragile Asgards actually were. They looked like they could be damaged easily and if one of Hermiod's ancient cousins ever came back, she'd make sure that she personally snapped an arm herself.
((--))
Richard arrived on a jumper the next morning, as instructed. He carried his medical supplies, and a long list of instructions from Dr. Beckett.
Several helpful Athosians pointed him in the direction of Sheppard's tent. He politely called out, and waited, called again, no response. There was no door to knock on, so he pushed aside the tent flap and entered.
The place was completely empty. He hit his comms button, put a hand to his earpiece.
"Colonel Sheppard?"
His voice echoed around the tent in stereo. He called again, heard his voice coming from a cabinet by the bed. He opened it, found Sheppard's radio tucked down the back.
Not good, not good at all. He left the tent, started to head back to the jumper and was intercepted by Teyla. Richard filled her on the situation. Her eyes narrowed.
"He told me that he had checked with Dr. Beckett." She wasn't pleased.
"No, not that I'm aware of. Do you know where he's gone?"
"Out hunting with Ronon. They will not return until nightfall."
"Do you know where they went?"
"No. Halling has a trap line that he runs but after they have checked the traps, they will follow whatever game is available."
"Hey, thanks. I'd better go and tell Dr. Beckett."
"Do you require assistance? I can gather some of my people, and we can try to find him."
"Thanks, Teyla. I'll let you know after I've talked to Dr. Beckett."
He headed back towards the jumper, Teyla falling in beside him. Dr. Beckett wouldn't be happy. Not happy at all.
((--))
Carson wasn't happy, not happy at all. He became incredibly irritated by non compliance in patients because he always thought he made it perfectly clear that if they followed his instructions, they'd get better faster. Non compliance just made for a longer recovery time.
Richard had informed him of Sheppard's intentional vanishing act. He was so infuriated he had to tell Richard that he needed some time to consider their next course of action, so they might as well come back to Atlantis. Actually he had needed time to talk to Kate. In his current frame of mind, the Hippocratic Oath was in serious danger of being dishonored.
"He's done a bloody runner on me."
Kate sat down in one of her office chairs using her professionally studied casualness. "It's not totally unexpected."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"That he's trying to get some regain some sense of autonomy. Everyone else has been making the calls for him since he got back and I presume he's sick of it."
"I told him Richard would be turning up and he ignored me. Worse, he lied about it."
"He's stressed. Sometimes people don't behave as they would normally would, depending on the stress level."
"You're being bloody calm about the entire thing."
"What's the bottom line, Carson? Think about what he's facing, about the decision he's going to have to make. You can't begrudge him one day, just one day to feel like he's an adult, that he's doing something normal. Give him that chance."
Carson spluttered at the concept but then he considered and realized that yes, what Kate had said was true. One day wouldn't make a difference, not when weighed up against the days that had passed and the days to come. Life may never be entirely normal for Colonel Sheppard again, so who was he to demand that the man bow down to yet more orders?
((--))
The Athosian version of a pack animal looked like a short, squat moose with a short trunk type nose. They'd almost be cute except for their habit of spitting and they weren't exactly comfortable to ride.
He'd almost been gobbed on twice by the time he'd managed to get into the saddle. Turned out the moose had a good range of movement on their necks and they liked to go for a spit over their shoulders. Luckily he'd ducked and after a battle with the reins, the moose had given up and proceeded to plod behind the other two animals in the train, led by Ronon.
Their barrel like torso meant that his inner thigh muscles were being forced into an uncomfortable stretch. He doubted he'd be able to get off without some help in a couple of hours, and tomorrow he wouldn't be able to move.
Still, he'd rather have that than being stuck in a tent while Richard changed the dressings. Richard was a nice enough guy, but the thought of someone having to touch him made him queasy.
The moose stopped abruptly to take a leak. No one went into those minor inconveniences when they talked about the joys of riding. In TV and movies it was all about sleek, good looking horses doing what they were told and galloping majestically into the sunset. In reality they stopped to answer the calls of nature at all the wrong times, abruptly refused to jump at the wrong moment, wandered in the wrong direction if they spied a juicy looking plant, or went at the wrong speed. Sure, there might be well trained animals out there but they were a small minority. There was a large amount of fallout from little girls wanting to learn to ride, usually in the shape of horses with stubborn attitudes and an aversion to anything with jodhpurs and a riding cap.
Ronon stopped the animals, made a signal to Sheppard to dismount if he could. Sheppard did as he was told, slid out of the saddle, tried not to look as if he was waddling like a duck. Ronon was standing beside a trap laid down for smaller animals. Sheppard came to stand beside him to view the dead animal that looked like a bunny crossed with a rat.
Ronon poked a stick into the snare, undid the rope from around the creature's neck. The trap was designed to wrap around the animal, pulling tight as the animal struggled to run away and choke it to death. Not the most humane way to trap an animal but Sheppard knew that the Athosians really didn't have much of a choice in their methods. At least this way the animal didn't have to thrash about in a gin trap until a hunter dispatched it, or chew off its own foot to escape.
Ronon passed the carcass over to Sheppard while he reset the trap. "Put it into the sack on the side of the first animal. That's where Halling wants us to keep the smaller game. Large game goes over the second animal."
Sheppard did as he was told and went to stuff the creature into the sack. The tiny animal was limp, and cold and the fur felt wrong in his hands. Something wasn't right.
The pain that hit him in his sinus was far worse than any cold. Then his head. He dropped the animal, doubled over almost instantly, as if that would somehow make the pain go away. He put his hand to the side of his head, clenched his teeth out of instinct. His breathing and heart rate went through the roof.
He must have cried out when the first wave of pain hit him, because Ronon was there trying to help, but Ronon was helping him by holding his shoulders and Sheppard tried to push himself away, but couldn't get any of his limbs to work and it was familiar, it was all too familiar.
"Son of a bitch!" He managed to scream that out, got it into the open because he didn't know how his entire body could be in pain like this. It was like being electrocuted and he was on the ground curling into a tight ball, miserable, unable to think, or concentrate except for the pain that kept moving around his body.
Ronon had dropped to his knees beside him, tried to check him, but all Sheppard could do was squirm on the ground, gravel and grass scraping into the right side of his face. Ronon tried touching him once more, Sheppard screamed. Someone was trying to poke his eye out with a hot needle again.
"Sheppard, do you want me to get help?"
Sheppard tried shaking his head, didn't know if Ronon could make it out with all the shaking his body seemed to be doing.
"No. No. Don't. I'll be-" He didn't get a chance to finish. He screamed again, and then when the pain subsided just a fraction, he was reduced to sobbing.
"I'm going to get help."
"No. Please. God. No. Don't, don't leave. Me." He was scared, scared to death and it was a hard to thing to admit. Especially to someone like Ronon. Ronon wasn't scared of anything and how did it look to him, a warrior, to see Sheppard begging for company? Besides, he didn't think anyone could help him anyway, except to knock him unconscious.
Ronon seemed to make a decision. He grabbed a canteen out of a pack, two blankets. He folded one blanket, placed it under Sheppard's head, put a blanket over him. Put the canteen beside him.
"I'm going to get help." His voice was more determined this time.
Sheppard started to cry because he was in pain, because no one ever took any notice of him, because it was another person leaving him and what the fuck was up with all this abandonment of late anyway? He didn't make any sounds when he cried, but he could feel the tears rolling down his face and it was just another crummy event in what had started out to be such a great day.
Ronon bent down beside him, wiped at Sheppard's face with the end of his coat sleeve. Matter-of-fact, it's over with.
"You need help. If I stay with you, you might die."
The pain receded enough for him to get out a full sentence. "I'm probably going to die if you leave." Then the pain smacked him around again, and he was clawing at the ground with his hands, dragging his fingernails through the dirt, praying just praying to any deity out there to do something and he promised he would never, ever ask for unimportant stuff again. No more idle wishes to win the lottery or get that Ferrari. No, he wouldn't ask, never again. Just for this one trade. Just make it go the fuck away.
Something had caught Ronon's attention. He was looking up and over Sheppard. Ronon's face wore that familiar look that said they were in trouble. Fight or flight. Usually he went down the fight route.
Sheppard managed to twist his head around, saw what had pulled Ronon's attention. A bright tear in the sky, down near the horizon, down near them. Getting bigger, ripping open the reality before them.
Something was at the other end. Something that wanted him, wanted him badly.
He tried to get to himself up, he could at least try to crawl away but nothing was happening. They were going to take him back. He'd been bad. He wasn't sure how. But he'd never been sure when his father had told him he was bad either. He started screaming again but it wasn't because of the pain this time around. He wasn't going back, he wasn't.
Last time there had been no one around conscious enough to help him. This time around there was Ronon.
"We're going." Ronon bent down, grabbed one of his arms and somehow got him into a fireman's lift. Then dumped him over the back of the moose with the spitting problem. The delicate question of whether it was okay to move Sheppard in his current condition, or the fact that Sheppard hated anyone touching him was out weighed by the sub space portal opening up on a beautiful spring day in the middle of the woods.
Sheppard couldn't see much from his position as the new luggage, just that Ronon was giving the moose a hard smack on the rump. The moose protested but began moving.
The position made the pain worse. He tried not to scream, bit his lip, felt the sweat dripping off his forehead and down the tip of his nose, watched the ground passing before his eyes.
The moose stopped at one stage, and he heard Ronon say something in Satedan. Ronon came around to stand in front of Sheppard. Braced his feet and legs. Must have meant he had out his blaster. Sheppard twisted he head slightly, all he was capable of. Saw that the subspace portal had grown enough to suck in the two pack animals that wandered behind them. The portal was growing bigger and tracking them. The animals' heads jerked up, they started to run but they'd left it too late and the portal pounced and sucked them in like a giant mouth. The moose let out their own equivalent of a scream.
Why they hadn't taken him all ready, he didn't understand. But the delay was scaring the crap out of him and it was getting to the stage where it was going to be literal, not figurative.
Ronon's hands moved up, a movement that seemed as if he'd positioned his blaster, and then Sheppard heard the crackle of energy being let loose. Another shot. And Another.
He couldn't move his head, didn't want to risk looking back, but he did and the portal was on top of them, and in the light were figures. He knew what they were. Knew exactly.
Okay, he wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here.
Blood began trickling out of his nose again, he could feel it dripping out of his nostril, along with the sweat coming off the end, and he was going to puke. He screwed up his eyes, waited. He had to find some way to make this go away.
Antarctica. Snow. Flying. He was flying over the snow.
Cold. Perpetual daylight. Glaciers. Mountains.
Whiteness.
Oblivion.
((--))
Rodney was in a lab on the Daedalus and officially creeped out. The only way they could practice focusing the beam was to build a test dummy. One that happened to have all the same body measurements as Sheppard, right down to an exact replica of his skull, sinus cavities, and teeth. They spent all night making the test dummy and making a replica of the homing beacon based on the few readings Beckett had managed to capture and they placed it in the sinus of their test dummy and then practiced correctly focusing the beam.
So far they had destroyed the dummy's eye, half of the gel that was mimicking the brain, the lower jaw and a quarter of the tongue.
Some biologist had been asked to help cast up extra parts so that every time they failed they could just snap in a new eye, or whatever.
It was gross and McKay had to fight to keep from throwing up every time another piece of the substitute Sheppard wound up on the beaming platform they'd built. Unbelievably Hermiod actually tried to give all the miscalculations a positive spin.
"At least we have retrieved the homing beacon every single time."
"Yeah, that's good. Pity we've screwed up Sheppard every time we've done this."
"We only destroyed brain matter once. Every other time the injuries would have been survivable."
Rodney couldn't believe his ears. "Don't even go there."
"Dr McKay, if it is a choice between Colonel Sheppard's continued existence with some permanent injury and being dead, I think the preferable choice would be the injury."
"Cute. Maybe we should try it out on you first and see what your opinion is after I beam off a leg."
Hermiod's reply was cut off by a call from Atlantis. It was Elizabeth and she sounded frantic.
"Rodney, there's been an emergency. They're beaming Sheppard to the Daedalus' sickbay. Get down there. Carson's on his way."
He dropped everything, leaving behind the pretend Sheppard and running off to find out what was wrong with the real one.
He just prayed it wasn't anything bad. He wasn't any good at fixing people.
((--))