"Could you possibly get just a little more irritating?" John grumbled.
"Trust me, I try. Anything to shut you up for a while." Rodney McKay slumped dejectedly against the pole.
"By irritating me? You think that shuts me up? That's a guaranteed way to keep me talking by telling you to SHUT UP!"
"Oh, yes, a gesture which has obviously proven so effective!"
John huffed inwardly and tested his bonds. His ass was numb. He wished Rodney's tongue was as numb as his ass. "Look, could you just slide over a little? I think you're sitting on my hands."
"How could I possibly be sitting on your hands? Hey!" Rodney shifted. "Oh."
"Thanks."
"How'd it get down there?"
"How the hell should I know?"
"It's your hand! How can you not know, okaywait, there really is something you're not telling me, I should have known. There's always something, not that I care really, I mean it's your business, I just don't see why people make it a point to. . ."
"Rodney?"
"Yeah?"
"SHUT UP!"
"Remind me not to bunk up with you, all right? And I'm moving my quarters further down the hall."
"For god's sake, Rodney, where do you think your hands are?"
"Behind this pole, you. . .oh. Sorry 'bout that."
"Forget it."
The two men sat in frustrated silence.
"Stupid anyway," Rodney muttered.
"Should've known you couldn't stay quiet."
"How did we get into this? I mean, I can't recall any possible thing that was said or done in order for us to be put in this situation."
"Maybe they're just kinky."
"That is NOT funny."
"Oh, hit a nerve there, huh? Is there something about the great Rodney McKay that I should know about?"
"How about a size eleven shoved up your ass?"
"If the shoe fits."
"In your case, no problem. God, my hands are going to sleep. Seems I've spent the majority of my time on this planet being tied up." Rodney tried to pull away from the narrow pole at his back, the only thing separating him from John. He tried not to move his hands much. John, however, had no qualms about moving his. "Now who's the pervert?"
"I'm trying to untie my hands! Do you mind?"
Rodney didn't answer. He just moved forward about two inches.
Silence hung in the air, longer and heavier this time. Both were worn out. Both were hungry. Both hurt. And both were equally unaware as to just how they got into their current predicament, tied back to back to a pole.
"You know," Rodney mused aloud, "it could be worse. I could be tied up with Zelenka."
"Peas in a pod, I'd say."
"You would! But no, not really. I can talk to you, he's just nothing but work work work work work."
"Yeah, by the way, really enjoying the conversation we've been having." John made an attempt to peer over his shoulder. "Very enlightening."
"Conversation? You've been telling me to shut up for the past half hour."
"And by very enlightening, I mean by counting the various way you manage to ignore a simple request!"
"Now look. . ." Rodney suddenly fell silent as a door opened and a creature walked in. "Oh, great" he muttered, "Now I know exactly where we are. We've been transported into the worst possible Doctor Who episode ever filmed."
John craned his head around, and his curious expression settled into disgust. The creature that stared at them was indescribable at best. At worst, it was no more than a thing on legs. It walked into the room, and John could see no discernable eyes, no real facial features. In fact, it looked as prosthetic as they came. He was certain that, if stabbed, it would bleed batting or spew foam. He dearly wanted to try. The creature continued to circle them, looking disturbingly like something that was stalking its prey. John could feel Rodney press against pole behind him, and could sense the large creature coming closer. He felt the other man against his shoulder blades as he tried to back away. Rodney muttered something under his breath, something like, "ohgod", which caused him to clench his jaw. He couldn't see really see behind him, but he could feel Rodney's breath quicken against his back and smell the stench as the creature leaned over him.
"Look," Rodney said nervously as he pressed against John, and John had the odd sensation of not only hearing, but feeling, his voice, "I'm sure you find us very interesting, more so than we find you, actually, but I think there are better ways of getting to know us. I mean I'm sure if you let us go we can sit and have a nice chat, cup of coffee maybe. You can show us your family tree and bore us with all sorts of grotesque family stories. Bet you have lots of those, huh? But see, like this, we have to take offense at this, you know? Can you understand that?" John felt the shoulder against his slump dejectedly. "No, I guess not."
"What are you doing?" John snapped underneath his breath.
"Trying to avoid dinner, as in being his!" John felt Rodney relax slightly as the creature walked around the men. He felt Rodney twist as he tried to follow the motions of the creature as it approached John. The major held his breath as the walking lump of stench leaned in, nothing more than a pile of sewage. Rodney was right, it did look like something out of a Doctor Who episode. Speaking of which, he needed to talk about that with him later. He hadn't known Rodney was a fan.
The creature stood and struck its chest. . .thing. . . twice, then made a noise like a grunt and walked to the door. Two humans entered, and the door slid shut. Slowly they walked towards John and Rodney. At first John was relieved to see someone who didn't look like their host, but decided upon further, and brief, reflection, that maybe they weren't a welcoming committee.
"This can't be good," he muttered.
"No, no, not really." Rodney's voice was light with apprehension. They watched warily as the men knelt down beside them and untied the odd ropes binding Rodney's wrists. He was pulled to his feet, turning instantly to look at the colonel, expecting him to be released. John frowned slightly as Rodney met his eyes, seeing the curiosity underlying his fear. One of the men took his arm and gestured at the door.
This set off John's alarm. "Hey, wait, where are you taking him?" There was no answer, of course.
Rodney glanced at John, who looked vaguely worried, and followed the men. The door locked behind them.
John cursed loudly and pulled harder at his bonds, gritting his teeth and finally smacking his head against the pole in frustration. "Ow." He sighed and closed his eyes.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Rodney McKay didn't think himself a brave man by any means. He was paranoid about the mere thought of his demise, never mind the very real possibility. This paranoia gave him excellent instincts in self preservation, and he had an annoying feeling that what was about to happen would tamper with that very vital need to protect himself. The fact that he was taken to a room that looked disturbingly like a lab didn't help, nor did the fact that he was strapped to a long table in the center of the room. His mind toyed with the notion of escape, because surely Sheppard had found a way out of those bonds and was coming to his rescue now, right? Right? Surely they were friends enough to warrant a nick-of-time rescue. Surely John wouldn't just leave him.
Would he?
Crap.
There was a thick strap across his upper chest, and another across his abdomen. His wrists were strapped down, his thighs, his lower legs. He could wriggle his feet. And he did, back and forth constantly, for no good reason at all. But he froze when he saw the needle.
"Oh, no. No. You are not going to use that." His speech quickened as it was ignored. "You don't have to do this, really, I mean there isn't anything at all interesting about me that you need to know. There isn't anything you need to know period, unless, ohgod, you're going to turn me into one of you, aren't you? That's what they do on that damn show, they turn people into monsters a lot of the time, except then they're usually. . .scratch that. Look, I'd make a lousy. . .whatever you are. Really. Sheppard's no better. Now I can tell you about this race we encountered that would definitely suit your purpose, they could use a face-lift. . ." his eyes widened as the needle poked his skin, a needle the size of a fountain pen. It pushed in, blood swelled out, and despite all efforts, he screamed. . .
. . .and John heard it like he was in the next room. "Rodney?" he yelled, as though the man could hear him, but why not? For all he knew his friend really was in the next room, it sure sounded like it. His wrists were raw, but he could tell his bonds were loosening. Son of bitch. Why McKay? What did these people want, an exposition on twenty-five ways to become a supreme asshole? Did they figure total arrogance was the way to advance their race? What else did Rodney have to offer them? "Rodney, dammit, you better be okay in there! You hear me? Cause I'd hate to have to kill you myself!" Of course there was no answer. He wasn't really expecting one.
The scream ended abruptly. John looked at the door, panicked. Rodney making noise assured John that he was alive. A sudden lack of noise was not a good sign. McKay always made noise, even in his sleep, and some of those noises weren't pleasant at all. "McKay! Can you hear me in there? Rodney?" He yanked at his bonds again, twisting his wrists and ignoring the pain.
He wasn't a sadist. He knew that. He didn't like seeing people injured, or upset, or scared, even those he'd just met or hadn't known for long. He had a sense of protecting their well-being, even if he didn't like them. Just as long as they left him alone otherwise, he was fine.
He had thought Rodney would be one of those types, ever since he first met him and was overwhelmed by his arrogance and total disregard for the feelings of others. He was surprised to find he held a grudging respect for the man, a feeling which turned into admiration. Not that he'd admit it. Hell no. But it surprised him.
Rodney was always prone to panic, was the worst kind of hypochondriac, and was incredibly full of himself. It was this last trait that pulled John to him. It was that trait that pulled many to him. He exuded a kind of self-confidence that others fed upon, and tried to take for themselves. Sure, he was a pain in the ass, but who wouldn't give their right leg for the self-assuredness that the great Rodney McKay demonstrated on a regular basis? It was the lack of bravado in that scream that alarmed John. It was the fact that it suddenly cut off that unnerved him. And it was the fact that it was happening to a friend that terrified him.
"McKay?" he tried again, "answer me!" John yanked on the ropes as hard as he possibly could, and was rather pleased to feel them give slightly. He winced against the pain, feeling the blood drip over his worn skin. He clenched his teeth and continued to twist and pull, working the ropes over and over his abused flesh, keeping his grunts and groans silent. He wondered just how large the facility was that housed them. If Rodney was indeed in the next room, it must be small. Unless they wanted to use Rodney's screams against him. But for what? There was nothing to exchange, no reason for this, nothing other than pure curiosity. He fought the sudden picture of Rodney impaled and turning slowly on a spit over an open fire, while the rubbish-creatures looked on. That thought actually did fit the scream he heard. He renewed his efforts once more, and was surprised to feel the rope give.
No way. No freakin' way.
He flung them aside and stood, fighting a head rush, then hurried to the door. Basic looking lock. He studied the door, feeling the center and the places where it joined, then nodded. He backed away, squared his shoulder perpendicular to the frame, and ran at it, landing in the hall on top of it.
The commotion brought no one. John remained frozen, his breathing rapid, but no one came. Okay, this was too strange. He stood and brushed off his pants, staggering toward the direction of the scream. There was another door, and it was locked, of course. But John managed to bust that one down as well (no freakin' way), and the sight before him chilled him. He ran to the table. "McKay?" John pulled at the restraints, trying not to notice a small jar which held a red fluid. "McKay. Come on, wake up." John patted his face roughly, then returned to examining the straps. The doors were easy. These weren't. A groan brought him upright. "Rodney! Say something, huh?"
Rondey opened his eyes. "What. . ."
"You fainted."
"Liar." He tried to sit up without thinking, and glanced down at the straps, the looked at John. "How did you get out?" His voice was slurred.
"How much blood did they take?" John was underneath the table, looking for a catch to release the straps.
"Dunno. Huge-ass needle though. Carson'll want one. Big as a straw." He noticed the bandage on his arm, and winced. "How did you get out?"
"That image does nothing to comfort me." John sighed and stopped his attempts to assess the situation.
"Not vampires. Might as well be though." Rodney's head turned, and his eyes slid closed.
"Uh-uh, no way! Stay with me." John patted his cheeks roughly until the eyes opened. He looked around the room and found a small piece of metal with a rough edge. Barely inserting it beneath the strap across Rodney's left wrist, he began to saw carefully.
"Damn alien experiment," Rodney slurred. "Thought that only happened on tv."
"What were they doing?"
"We're in a glass jar. They're curious. How did you get out?"
"Will you stop that?" He gave a tug, and resumed sawing. "They couldn't just ask us questions? Besides, what about those two goons that came in our room?"
"Different species."
"How do you know?"
"Fangs when they smile."
"Okay, that would be different." He continued to saw, watching as Rodney became more aware of his surroundings. He was very pale, and John had his doubts as to whether the man could walk, should he be able to release him. The metal slid to the side, and John cursed.
Rodney made fists and tried to raise his arms. "Look, could you just . . ." he realized he had no helpful ideas, and gave an aggravated sigh. "Seems I'm not meant to move about on this planet. Everyone has it in for me, including you!"
"I'd shoot it if I could."
"And risk hitting me?"
"Then I'd only have to worry about getting one of us out here."
"Funny." Both men froze as a strange wheezing noise could be heard. "Come on," Rodney muttered quickly, his lethargy switching to sluggish but frantic motion. "Come on, come on, come on . . ."
"Working on it!" John had time to give a strap a useless tug before the door opened.
The thing that entered looked nothing like the batting creature, nor was it human. It seemed to be of a different species entirely, but that didn't make it any less difficult to identify. John fought his urge to back away around the table, and instead planted himself firmly between the thing and Rodney.
Rodney was still working his hands, opening and closing his fists as if the action would free him. "Bad sci-fi movie," he muttered, "bad, bad sci-fi movie . . ."
"Shh."
The creature . . .waddled . . .sort of . . .towards them and held out an appendage. "There is no need to be afraid," it said in an unexpectedly bubbly voice, "We are not here to harm you." The voice was monotone, yet held a strange characteristic of laughter, like it was withholding a joke.
"No?" Rodney squeaked. "You're not the one strapped to a table, thank you!"
"And missing blood at that," John added. Anger prompted him to take a step forward. "Just what are you doing here?"
"I am talking with you."
"No, I mean why is he here," John pointed to Rodney, "and that there," he pointed to the blood. "I'm pretty sure that's supposed to stay in my friend and not on your table!"
"I see. We are conducting an experiment." The creature shifted towards John, prodding him with the appendage. "We have never seen your kind before! We have so much to learn!" The creature's voice was shrill with excitement. "You will be documented and then licensed . . ."
"Ho-ho-hold it, wait a minute. Licensed?"
The creature tilted its head . . .sort of. "Of course. You can't be sold for a good price unless you are licensed."
"Oh wonderful," Rodney groaned from the table.
John took another step forward, his eyes narrow in disbelief. "Wait, sold? We're not being sold to anyone!"
"But the university . . ."
"University be damned!"
"But. . ." the thing looked from John to Rodney, "you would deprive me of my research, of my proof . . ."
"You bet your ass . . thing." He winced, and jerked his head back towards Rodney. "Now let him go."
"No." The creature shuffled backwards. "I will not let you destroy everything I've worked for."
"And I won't let you keep us prisoner here!"
"You have no choice. My work must be completed." And with that the creature turned and walked out, or as close as possible, seeing as how there was no discernable front or back side. It could have walked out backwards for all John knew.
"Get me out of here. Now." Rodney's low voice booked no argument, and John wasn't about to try and give him one. He picked up the metal and continued sawing.
"No, no good," Rodney said, "trying pushing buttons or something."
"Are you crazy?"
"I'm not the one trying to saw through iron with a tin can!"
John looked at the flimsy metal and threw it aside. "How did we get from trading on a world to walking into a monster of the week flick?"
Rodney was tugging at his restraints with everything he had. "Makes sense. The locals trade in people, these Doctor Who knock-offs camp out and claim any species they haven't seen yet. No wonder Alistar didn't want to come here!"
"Okay, call me crazy, but we aren't the only humans here!"
"Ah, close, but no cigar. Think of it like a bug collection. Lots of various species of beetle, for example, but subspecies within."
"So we're a human subspecies?"
Rodney snorted. "Well, obviously!" He raised his head and shot John an annoyed look. "You care to press a button anytime soon?"
"What? Oh, yeah, yeah." John waved a finger over the controls at the base of the platform, and looked up uncertainly. "Ready?"
"No. Do it."
He pressed the large red button.
The table launched vertically, nearly giving Rodney whiplash when it stopped. He shrieked loudly as the restraints retracted and dumped him to the floor.
John was at his side in an instant, helping him sit up, supporting him as he fought the dizziness. Rodney winced and blinked, and looked at John. "Thanks."
"Sure."
"I'm still pissed at you."
"Wouldn't have it any other way." John hauled Rodney to his feet, wondering how much blood he had lost.
"I mean, seriously. This is all your fault."
"Uh-huh. Let's go." He hesitated. "Can you walk?"
"Of course I can walk!" The fact that he was about thirty degrees sideways mattered little.
"Then let's go!"
"Lorne's here."
John looked at the door. "What?"
Rodney held a hand to his aching head. "He's here, his team were sent here as samples."
"Of our race. That was the sale."
"We have to stage a-a rescue . . ."
"Well of course we have to stage a rescue! You know where he is?"
"No."
John sighed and held onto Rodney as he re-acclimated. "Oh, great. Make things simple, why don't ya?"
