AN: This chapter is for the Shep-whumpers of the world…
SPOILERS for "Trinity"
SUMMARY: After the events in "Trinity", Sheppard and McKay's relationship is strained at best. But is stranding them in a remote lighthouse with only Zelenka as referee going to help them work things out? And what about the dead scientist who used to own the place?
DISCLAIMER: The following story is a work of fanfiction, and as such is for fan enjoyment only. All recognizable characters/settings are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is made.
Deus Ex Machina
By KerrAvon
13. Great Balls of Fire
As the sizzling fragments rained down on Sheppard's back, he huddled face-down on the floor, arms clasped tightly over his head to protect it. It was the first time he could remember being grateful for a nightmare. If he'd still been asleep on the bed, he'd never have known what hit him. He would have been almost instantly burned to death.
When he was sure that the debris had finished falling, he began to notice a searing pain in the middle of his upper back, radiating towards his right shoulder. Realizing that his clothing was aflame, he dropped flat and began rolling back and forth to extinguish it, unfortunately grinding small shards of glass and the still-smoldering remnants of his uniform into the burn. Jumping up, he brushed the remaining flaming bits off his person. He then yanked the burning quilt from the bed and began stomping on it, his actions illuminated only by the flames flickering around the chamber. Just then the hallway light snapped on. McKay and Zelenka, awakened by the noise, appeared panting in the doorway.
"Rodney, get me some wet towels! Radek, grab the fire extinguisher on the wall out there!" John flicked off his own lightswitch to cut the flow of electricity to the overhead lamp as he finished putting out the mattress.
"Colonel, are you aware that your back and, um… hair are smoking?" Rodney asked, wide-eyed.
"The towels, Rodney!"
Within seconds Zelenka began shooting a stream of fire-suppressant foam near-randomly around the room, hitting burning and non-burning items with equal ferocity. Glancing at the doorway, John was just in time to catch a wet towel to the face, hurriedly thrown by a panicked McKay.
Peeling the soaking cloth out of his eyes, he drawled, "Thanks, Rodney," sarcastically before wrapping it around his head to put out any embers in his hair. "Throw one on my back now," he continued, turning to expose his ruined uniform. McKay obliged, but, loathe to enter the smoky room, tossed it from the doorway. It struck dead on target much to his surprise, causing Sheppard to hiss as it drove the shards in deeper and the cold water struck his burned flesh. When the stars cleared from his eyes, he wordlessly snatched a third towel from the scientist before turning to the nearest flame and beating it out wth sadistic glee.
"Hey, so pitching's not my forte!" the scientist responded defensively, swatting at a nearby spark with a towel of his own. The crackling flames gradually surrendered to their concerted attack, ultimately dying to a soaking-wet smoldering ruin. Outside the wind could be heard howling around the stone structure, whipping the once-gentle raindrops horizontally into the windowpanes. The three men stumbled insensate into the reassuring light of the hallway where they paused to catch their breath. Sheppard leaned forward straight-armed against a wall in a paroxysm of coughing, unable to hold himself upright unsupported, while McKay bent over double, hands on knees, wheezing. Zelenka just slid to the ground and focussed on taking deep breaths in and out. As their breathing gradually normalized, Radek and Rodney found themselves staring at Sheppard, whose uniform still had tendrils of smoke curling up from several blackened sites.
"That's it," stated John with finality once he had stopped coughing from the smoke inhalation. Straightening up, he continued, "We are all sleeping in one room for the duration, and we will take turns on watch." Gesturing to the rooms, he concluded, "Grab your blankets and pillows; we're going to the great room downstairs." He then noticed the spots on his jacket that were still enkindled, and rapidly brushed off the charred bits of cloth. "At least that room has a no-smoking section," he quipped, trying to lighten the mood. The two badly shaken scientists were unable to argue the logic of the order, and hurried to follow it.
Meanwhile, Sheppard was determined to get to the bottom of the leak. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried to the floor above. Tracing the ethanol line from its attachment on the central stairwell, he rapidly found the small hole in the metal piping directly above the light fixture in his room. Examining the defect, it was obvious that it had been intentionally made; it was symmetric, perfectly round, with fresh unoxidized, sharp metal edges. Grimly he pulled out his Leatherman and crimped the line closed.
Writing off his own chamber as a loss at least for the night, Sheppard returned downstairs and collapsed into the fourth, unused bedroom on that floor and confiscated its blankets and pillows for himself.
When the group had reassembled in the corridor, Sheppard looked them over. "Everybody ready? I don't want anyone coming back up here alone tonight. If you find that you've forgotten something that you simply must have, wake someone to come back with you." The other men nodded numbly, then the three descended the stairs to the first floor.
"Hey, I get the couch!" declared Rodney upon entering the room. "I have a bad back, and sleeping on the floor makes it excruciating the next day. Not to mention what it'll do to my carbon-monoxide headache."
"Fine, McKay." John didn't really care, as he doubted that he would sleep much with his burned back, anyway. "Is that all right with you, Doctor Z?"
Radek smiled tiredly. "I have slept in the back of covered trucks. At least this floor doesn't move. And I know where we will be in the morning." He began arranging his blankets on the ground as Rodney, flashing a triumphant grin, began laying his on the couch.
"One last thing; I need help to clean the wound on my back." Dropping his own blankets unceremoniously to the floor, he sat cross-legged on them and began gingerly peeling off his jacket.
Rodney's face blanched to an unhealthy shade of white and Radek set his lips in a grim line as they surveyed the damage. "Stay there, Colonel; I will retrieve some towels and wet washcloths." He disappeared down the hall only to rematerialize seconds later with the promised materials. Kneeling beside the injured man, Radek glanced up at the petrified McKay. Gently he said, "Rodney, I could use your help here…"
"Wha…? Oh, yeah….sure." McKay sat next to Zelenka and tried to follow his lead.
"Colonel, this might be easier if you lay flat on your stomach and let us do the work."
Sheppard nodded wordlessly and followed his directions, steeling himself in preparation. Producing a pocketknife, Radek warned, "This may sting a bit," as he began parting the uniform top away from the burnt tissue. Sheppard winced, but managed not to cry aloud. However, he couldn't suppress the occasional grunt as the scientist removed shards of glass imbedded in the burn and charred bits of fabric fused to flesh.
"Rodney, this would go a lot faster if you could help," suggested Radek, giving McKay a pointed glare.
"I…uhhh…" McKay's eyes rolled back in his head as he pitched sideways, unconscious.
Sheppard popped up in alarm. "Rodney?" he demanded.
Zelenka released a heartfelt sigh. "Relax, Colonel. McKay is fine. He just…fainted."
Sheppard, trying to lie flat again, had to grin. "Don't you mean 'passed out'?"
"No. I mean fainted. I think the stress has been too much for him."
Radek continued the unpleasant task alone, the stench of burnt flesh filling his nostrils nauseatingly. He knew he'd finally reached viable tissue when fresh red blood began oozing from the base. Colonel Sheppard gritted his teeth but would not allow himself to scream as he felt his ruined skin being scraped away by the wet towel. Dr. Zelenka's face had an implacable, intent stare as he finished cleansing the wound.
"Colonel, I am nearly done," reassured Radek as he began applying Neosporin ointment.
"That's…good," rasped Sheppard through clenched teeth.
By the time Zelenka had finished debriding, disinfecting, and dressing Sheppard's wounds, Rodney was beginning to stir. Crawling over to him and tapping him lightly on the cheeks, Sheppard caroled, "Wakey, wakey Rodney. We still need to pull guard duty." Addressing both men, he continued, "I'll take the first four hours, then you can each take two. Who wants the shift after mine?"
To forestall Rodney's objection to having his beauty sleep interrupted, Radek piped up, "I will be happy to do that, Colonel. I will take over in three hours."
Grudgingly, McKay muttered, "And I'll finish the night," before rolling over and pulling the blanket over his head.
The night passed slowly. Sheppard, admitting to himself that he was exhausted and in pain from his ordeal, and likely to fall asleep on watch if he sat down, busied himself with prowling the perimeter of the first floor, listening to the gradually increasing violence of the storm outside. First he threw open all the individual room doors so that, if he couldn't always see into the chamber from wherever he was on patrol, he'd at least be able to hear anything out of the ordinary. 'Of course', he had to admit, 'The gale howling like a banshee outside doesn't really help much.' Out of curiosity he pressed his face to a window and tried to stare through the darkness to the path, but found that he couldn't see more than a foot out due to the sheets of rain being driven into the window.
He let Radek sleep a little longer than he'd agreed; the man was still recovering from his fall at the cliff, and, whether he admitted it or not, the first aid he'd rendered had been almost as hard on him as it had the pilot. When Sheppard could no longer maintain his vigilance, he went over to the Czech and nudged his shoulder.
"Radek," he whispered. "Your turn."
"Huh? Wha?" Zelenka fumbled for his glasses on the floor next to his pillow. Slipping them into place, he stared nearsightedly at John. "Colonel? Oh, right. Guard duty." He clambered out of bed, blinking in the glow of the flashlight.
Sheppard looked at his own watch. "It's 0330 right now; McKay's due up at 0500. You gonna be OK until then?"
"I will be fine, thank you. You have allowed me to oversleep. It is time for you to rest."
Sheppard needed no further urging. Without another word he crawled onto his blankets and shifted prone until he could find a reasonably comfortable position, then blissfully lost consciousness.
Thankfully, the remainder of his night was dreamless, and he actually felt somewhat rested when Radek woke him for breakfast the next morning. The first thing he noticed was the smell of smoke.
Wrinkling his nose he groaned, "I'm going to have to see if I can salvage any clean clothes out of my room; my uniform smells like Smokey Bear's shorts after three days in a forest fire!"
Zelenka ducked his head sheepishly. "I am afraid that it is actually 'Version 1.0' of this morning's breakfast you smell. Rodney started to get hungry near the end of his watch, and so decided that he could prepare a meal unsupervised." His eyes focussed on an invisible point above Sheppard's right shoulder. "Did you know that when you let all the water boil away from 'boiled eggs' they develop a brown spot on the bottom just before they explode with some not-insignificant force?" Looking back at Sheppard and shrugging, he continued, "And that if you scrape the charcoal off burnt toast that it tastes almost edible, especially with fresh strawberry jam? It seems McKay can destroy objects much smaller than solar systems." Staring once more thoughtfully into the distance, he noted, "A shame Rodney's cooking cannot be made into a weapon against the Wraith…"
John shook his head smiling as he climbed up from his make-shift pallet with a groan. It was nice to have things back to some facsimile of normal. He noticed that the storm was still raging unabated, and cocked an ear towards the ceiling. "Has it been going like that all night?"
Radek nodded, "Yes, I believe so. I now know why this building is so sturdy, if storms like this are anything to judge by."
Sheppard let out a low whistle. "Well, at least we probably won't have to worry about saboteurs in this weather." He chuckled as a thought occurred to him, "Heck, the red-headed kid didn't even show up to save my skin last night!"
"I'm certain that the weather was too bad for his parents to allow him out of the house," Radek replied seriously.
"Yes, but I was beginning to picture him as some something between a 'harbinger of doom' and a 'guardian angel'. Maybe a Harbangel…" mused Sheppard. Clapping a hand on the Czech's shoulder, he added, "Why don't we go save what we can of breakfast; if necessary, we'll work on 'Version 2.0'," as the two men limped into the kitchen.
John took one look at Rodney obliviously munching on the carbon-coated cardboard squares that had once been bread (but reminded Sheppard of the Carbonite they'd frozen Han Solo in), and went straight for the stove. Within minutes he had produced three bowls of oatmeal from the stores they had brought with them and set them on the table. Sitting down, he commented, "There we go. Real breakfast. Not that your breakfast wasn't…acceptable, Rodney, but I rather like a hot bowl of cereal on a rainy day like today, don't you?" He gestured to the window where the wind still rampaged outside.
Rodney looked up momentarily from the sheaf of Seinlein's notes he was perusing, and questioned, "Hmmmm?". The remark suddenly sinking in, he set down his char-broiled bread and examined the steaming bowl in front of him. "Hmm…" he grunted appreciatively, heaping some sugar on top, then shoveled a huge spoonful into his gaping maw. Going back to the notes, he gave no more indication that he knew the others were alive, much less in the same room. After a few moments he grimaced and tossed the scribbled jottings in Zelenka's direction.
"Have you looked at this? It's garbage!" Rodney indignantly scooped up another heaping spoonful of oatmeal as he waited for Radek to scan through the first page or two.
"What, you mean his hand-written theories aren't any good?" asked Sheppard.
Zelenka's brows had drawn together in confusion as he flipped through the notes. As McKay's answer was muffled by a mouthful of porridge, Radek replied, "No. He means that it is actual garbage. These notes are completely nonsensical; most have nothing to do with the current project, while those that do are already delineated in clearer form on the mainframe downstairs. Some of the pages aren't even in the same handwriting." He plucked a half-sheet from the pile and waved it in the air, "And this, this is a grocery list!"
"Excuse me?" Sheppard frowned. "Why would Widget fly all the way out here just to deliver a pile of useless paper?"
McKay had finally managed to swallow. Pointing his spoon at Sheppard, he replied, "That's a very good question."
The colonel leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes. "I never did trust that man…"
"Yes, but he has not had the time to perform any sabotage; as is his custom, Rodney ran him off in under five minutes." Radek commented, tossing the papers aside.
McKay quirked the corner of his mouth up proudly as he wolfed down some more 'toast' boards.
They settled into a comfortable silence as they finished breakfast, until they were startled by a large 'bang' on the wall by the window. Jumping up to peer out, Sheppard whammed his head on the same pot as the night before with a 'splaangggg', but managed to restrain his cursing until he could see what happened outdoors. 'I really ought to move that pot,' he thought as he rushed to the glass. Staring into the storm as he rubbed his head, John let out a low whistle. "Would you look at that? We just got hit by a tree!"
Rodney and Radek were at his side in an instant, craning their necks to see. "But…that's not possible. The nearest vegetation is over 300 meters away!"
Moving back, he gestured to the window. "Take a look for yourself."
Some elbow-shoving commenced, followed by a muttered, "Oh my…."
Turning to the pilot, Rodney wagged a finger, momentarily speechless. "That…those…are hurricane-force winds out there!"
Sheppard nodded, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "Yes, I know."
"How can you be so calm?" asked Zelenka wonderingly.
"Come on; this place has stood here hundreds of years; the walls are two-foot thick stone. The windows are so recessed they don't even need shutters. We're probably safer from storms here than anywhere else on the coast."
"What about the security team from Atlantis?" McKay asked more pragmatically.
Sheppard shook his head. "Even I wouldn't fly a Puddlejumper through this typhoon. Still," he pointed outside at the tempest, "We're relatively safe from attack right now; even that kid wouldn't be out in this stuff. No one else will be able to reach us, either."
Radek nodded slowly. "I see your point."
Going towards the door to the main room, Sheppard continued, "I'm going to make a sweep of the entire building one more time, then I'm going to see what I can salvage from the disaster in my room. Just…be careful of booby-traps, and stay within shouting distance of each other."
As he left the room, Rodney snagged one last piece of burnt toast. "Why don't we get to work as well? The sooner we're done making that prototype, the sooner we're out of this death-trap."
Zelenka nodded in silent agreement as the pair descended to the basement.
TBC….
AN: For those who like my titles; my beta-reader is responsible for a good many of them, as well as much of the physical humor, not to mention keeping Rodney 'real'! Thanks sweetie!
PS: No Shadow, sigh….