Understudy

Author: CherylW.

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Chapter 17: Against the Grain

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When they opened the ship's door, Tyre stumbled back at the force of the wind and cursed at the sting of the thousands of sand grains plummeting him from hair to toe. Behind him, the ship was filled with a mini maelstrom of sand, twisting and zinging against the metal as well as the people inside. Radai, who hadn't donned any protective gear, pulled his shirt up over his head, shouted, "Get out and shut the door already!" not enjoying that his exposed skin was being scoured by the sand.

So Tyre made his lumbering steps forward against the wind until his feet hit the sandy ground, Ara followed, tethered as she was to Trye by a rope around her waist. Next Ronon then John stepped out of the ship into the hell of the sandstorm, goggles the only reason they could keep their eyes open, even then they blinked furiously as sand pelted the goggle lens. Not that there was much to see except a suffocating cloud of sand swirling all around them, ready to sweep them away if they didn't keep their center of gravity low.

"South east for about three miles," John had to shout above the freight train howl of the sand hitting the outside of the ship, not to mention his voice being muffled behind the thick scarf he had tied around his mouth to cut down but not entirely eliminate the sand finding its way into his mouth the second he opened it. Tyre took his directional heading and began trekking forward, his three nearly blind mice tethered behind him.

To say it was slow going would have been laughingly inaccurate. Each step was a fight against the wind, head bowed, feet slipping in the sand underfoot, sand getting, as John predicted, everywhere, seeming to bore through the very fabric of their clothing, leaving them that just rolled in sand on the beach feeling on their skin…and gritting in their teeth and started to sneak around in their goggles. Overhead there was the haze of a sun, maybe even two, John couldn't be sure just knew he was drenched in sweet as well. So an all-around good time.

Then the sand dunes were in their path, to add a little more fun to the adventure. And between the sand forcibly buffeting their bodies and the shifting sand under their feet, it was like trying to walk on water…during a typhoon. When Ara fell to her knees, the rope binding her to Tyre jerked him backward, to topple on top of her. Ronon managed to stumble forward but not fall, turned to catch John by the elbow and saved him the indignity of going down. Ronon took the moment to shout to John above the wind's howl, "How far?"

John pulled the Ancient device from his pocket, was glad he'd encased it in a modern convenience of a zip lock bag to keep sand out. He consulted the numbers and yelled aback, "We've barely covered three fourths of a mile." Ronon cursed but John smirked under his makeshift mask, "Can't say I didn't warn you how much fun this was going to be." Ara growled out what John instinctively knew was a curse as she and Tyre regained their feet. "Let's switch up, I'll take point," John commanded, knew as bad as he'd had it in the end of their line, Tyre had it worse. His strength would be sapped and his muscles aching from the fight against the pressure of the wind.

It took some bumbling to reverse their positions, some twisting of the rope secured around the foursome's waists but then John was in the lead, Ronon, Ara and Tyre trailing behind them. And it was only then John understood the reprieve he had been seeping up in the rear, that being point truly sucked, majorly. 'Another wonderful day playing in the sand. And here I thought I'd choked on my very last swallow of sand in that desert in Vegas. Last of everything, really.' But fate had intervened..or well, Rodney and his Atlantis team had. Thought he was worthy of a second chance, or was this his third chance, having escaped the court martial. That surged unwanted memories to the surface, of another desert, of bloody, torn apart bodies. Of her body…ravaged before her head was…

Ronon's hand falling on John's shoulder broke John from the horrible memories, brought him back to the here and now, made their present situation seem like a frigging fun day at the beach. "You ok?" Ronon shouted above the din and John simply nodded, was better, now that he'd put the memories away, remembered he wasn't alone, that Ronon, fool that he was, was always ready and willing to be his wing man, no matter the shit storm…scratch that…sand storm they got into.

Then John was on the crest of the sand dune, waited for the others to make the ascent, gave him a chance to try and scan the minimal distance he could now see ahead…which was more sand dunes, higher than the mount they were on. There was nothing for it but to move on, to not stop. So John slid and tripped, ate some sand and crawled to his feet, helped Ronon to his feet and blundered their way down the dune and faltered their way up the next. At that crest, John bent over, breath heaving, sweat drenching his hair and his shirt amid the wind that was only like getting baked with a flame thrower, spitting out sand to make it interesting.

Tyre initiated a change up again, resumed lead and John didn't protest, barely had the breath to anyways. So he trudged behind the rest, was consequently the one his three companions rolled over when they all lost their footing on an ascent and tumbled, rolled backward, right into and over John. It was like an undignified puppy pile covered in sand. Ara and Trye toppled on top of each other, Ronon sprawled out across John's legs and John's face pushed into the sand. Ronon unceremoniously yanked John's head from the sand by his hair. 'Ouch, you jerk!' John railed but was too busy hacking up sand to put it into actual words.

So it was try and try again to mount that dune, resorted to freaking crawling on all fours to make it to the crest but the reward was almost worth it. Through the swirling landscape, something caught their collective gazes, the peek of white, surely the sides of a building situated tauntingly down in the valley ahead. But as they descend the last dune, they realized the dunes had buffeted the wind, that it was nearly a gale force now.

There was no walking in it, no headway against the forces but only stumbling backwards. So again it was down on their knees, dignity be hanged. As they crawled forward, still buffeted so badly that sometimes they toppled over, had to right themselves like fragile toddlers still learning balance. It was a shitty journey and the sand got so thick they didn't know they had reached the building until John's head butted it while he was again at point.

Hitting something solid jarred him as well as shocked him, had started to think he'd never have something solid to hold onto ever again. He thought to call out a halt to his followers but not before Ronon crashed into his butt. Hand reaching out, John felt the solidness of the adobe building, realized he was near a corner. Moving perpendicular to the building, he got to his feet, started to use the support of the wall to move forward, follow the solid wall to some door, somewhere. Of course it turned out they came to the building at it's rear, had to circle the entire thing before John's hand came across a break in the wall's surface to indicate a door.

It was only then they had to figure out a way to break the door security but Tyre had that covered, found the control panel and simply pushed a button and then there was a welcoming light amid the sand as the door slid open and the interior lights beckoned them. The foursome readily entered and Tyre closed the door in their wake. The silence after the sand's howl was almost deafening, but in a Thank God kind of way.

Each of them hastily removed their coverings and spent some quality time hacking up lungs as they breathed in the sweetest of stale air of a facility that had been abandoned maybe thousands of years prior. Maybe it could be similar to being glad to be stepping into a pharaoh's tomb after a hot day out in the Egyptian sun. Then they were slipping the ropes tying them together off and patting down their sand encrusted clothing.

"This trip better not be for nothing," Ara growled, hated the grit of sand in her mouth.

Tyre was patting down his hair, trying to loosen some of the sand. "I believe Yarvell. It will be worth every grain of sand on us.."

"And in us," John undertoned, shaking out his own hair and trying to dislodge sand from even his eyebrows, wished he could do a full down strip and take a month long shower. It brought to mind going a month without a true shower in his tour in Afghanistan, sand a constant irritant, a reminder even when he was asleep that he was still in the hellish desert. He looked to Ronon and the jerk was smiling, covered in sand head to toe.

"What? Reminds me of this time my family went to these sand dunes and we kids rolled down them," Ronon shared, partly because he wanted to lighten the look in John's eyes and partly because there was no point in whining about something that didn't kill them.

"I rather be in Ocean City myself," John retorted, pulling out the Ancient device and setting it to scan the facility. Had come to not marvel at the lights coming on for them, had experienced the creepiness in Atlantis when he went adventuring into unexplored sections of the city and the lights flicked on, like it was a freaking Walmart freezer section, just waiting for him to be there, to sense his presence and accommodate his need for light. His, not any of the other crew members who trailed too far behind him. So yeah, creepy.

Felt a fission of illness thinking it was his Ancient gene that activated these lights even when he was still outside. Didn't like to put any ties between his weird DNA to the Wraith. Thought Ronon had once given him …a look when Beckett talked about possible connections between the Wraith and the Ancients, a look he didn't like. Shaking his head, sending more sand flying, he pointed to the left of the open area they were in. "That way for the Best Buy store," but his companions didn't get the Earth reference so he sighed, grumbled, "Sometimes I'd really like it if someone realized how hilarious I really am." Then he was leading the way and they were following, Ronon bringing up the rear.

The facility had that organic, gooey Wraith deco that John hated, felt like he'd been miniaturized and injected into someone's body to bob around in their juices and bump into their internal organs. So basically, pretty gross. He made sure not to ping off the slimy vein embedded looking walls. But he came up short on his trek when a wall of sand blocked the passageway. Looked overhead and saw the ceiling had caved in, but it was so tightly stuffed with sand now no winds could get through. "Detour required," he called out, turning around, bypassing Ara and Tyre to join Ronon in the new leader position.

"Take it there's a way around?" Ronon asked, quietly like the facility was a shrine instead of a relic Wraith station.

"According to Google Maps there is," again John's quip fell flat with his audience so he explained, "Yeah, couple other routes to get to where we need to be." Then he drew closer to Ronon, gave a small jerk of his head and they simultaneously picked up their pace to gain distance between them and Tyre and Ara. John spoke lowly when he felt the others were out of ear shot, "There are two hot zones, one being the computer hub and possibly the generator. System can't decipher which is which and they are at opposite ends of a corridor. And I know you wanted to make sure one of us was there when the computers were found…"

Ronon understood John's logic, didn't mean he liked it one damn bit. "No, we aren't splitting up!" he growled.

"Look we have a fifty-fifty chance of picking the right hot spot and getting to the computers while all Trye and Ara get is a great photo op with the generator. If we split up, one of us will be there overseeing the computer download, making sure we actually get the intel we came here for instead of having our "partners" take everything and maybe destroy the rest before we can stop them."

"And I said we're not splitting up!" Ronon insisted, latching onto John's arm, causing him to pick up his pace.

"So you trust Tyre to share?" John hissed. "Because that is not the vibe you've been giving off and our mission is to get linked into the Wraith network so Atlantis can survive, Ronon. It's not a game we can afford to lose, not when we know the Wraith aren't going to take our interference in their all day buffets on five different planets without getting all vengeful. Our best hope of defending ourselves is to be able to intercept some of their communiques, maybe get info on their troop movements, do the whole spy intel shtick. So unless you've gotten a heck of a lot better at being psychic than you have during our poker games, we can't chance we stay together and pick the wrong hot zone. We need to split up.." At Ronon's continued pinched look of denial, John gentled his voice, "Hey, I'm not happy about it either big guy. Believe it or not, I've gotten used to you shadowing my every move and it's a whole lot less creepy and more reassuring than it used to be."

Ronon snorted. "Admit it, you love my creepy shadow being around to save your butt."

"I admit nothing…but …well, I still owe you for Vegas," because paying life debts wasn't a one time repayment plan.

"You owe me nothing, John," Ronon shot back, couldn't believe John was still carrying that around like he didn't know Ronon had saved him more for himself than John at that moment.

But then their "teammates" had gained on them, stalling out their conversation. John led them down three twisty corridors, through an expanded area which was probably once was a storage area, down yet another corridor and then came to a stop at a crossroads. "Hot zones in both directions," he announced, eyes on Ronon, hoping the man was seeing logic. "Since time isn't on our side, splitting up seems our best option."

Grimly Ronon gave a small but pissed nod, didn't like it one bit but John had a point. They needed to get to the computer hub, couldn't let Tyre and Ara get there and maybe sabotage it once they got their own intel. But no way was he letting Tyre alone with John. In seemed Tyre had plans to do just that as he sidled up to John's side and Ara headed toward Ronon.

John was anticipating the fit Ronon was about to throw about Tyre partnering up with him, was wondering how to head it off at the pass when Tyre surprisingly grabbed his wrist a moment before something cold and metallic clamped around it. Raising it, he found a metal alienish handcuff around it with a chain…which was linked to a matching handcuff on Tyre's wrist. 'Oh crap! Didn't see this coming.'

Instantly Ronon slammed Tyre against the wall, inadvertently causing John to be jerked by his wrist toward his linked partner. He barely had time to throw up his hand to prevent his head from connecting with the slimy wall. His hand sunk into the wall's gooey texture and he fought down a girlish shriek. Hastily he ripped it loose and flung his hand around to dislodge the remaining goo stuck to it. 'Frigging creepy Wraith buildings!'

Meanwhile Ronon had his longest knife's blade pressed against Tyre's neck, looked like he was itching to apply enough pressure to sever the Satadean's head clean off his shoulders. To stop Ara from interfering, John had pulled his gun, had it pointed at her head and she sensed his threat was real, halted in her protective charge. Ronon was oblivious to this exchange, trusted John to take care of it as he snarled into Tyre's face, "Take the damn bindings off him or I swear I'll chop off your hand…after I hack off your head."

Tyre appeared unruffled, gave a smug smile. "The cuffs are synched with my pulse. My cuff has to register my pulse or it detonates…my cuff and the one around John's wrist. Now maybe it wouldn't kill him. I've never tested it properly but for sure he'd lose his hand and most likely his arm, his dominate arm. Remember how long Fraka lasted once he lost his hand, next battle he was struck down because this world…it doesn't have room for the weak or the infirmed or the limb challenged. And in case you think about removing it from John's wrist, it will detonate if it's tampered with. Only I have the code and unless you've become the master computer hacker in the past years, it's a risk you shouldn't take. Not if you value his life," jerking his head to John," the way I think that you do. Caring is a weakness, thought that was one lesson Kell had drilled into even your thick head."

"I will kill you for this!" Ronon furiously vowed, knife still pressed to Tyre's throat.

John decided to intervene, especially since it was his life at stake. "It's all so flattering that you're fighting over me but we do have a time limit here, right? Sand storm morphing into freezing temperatures, trek back to the ship if the storm doesn't allow Rakai to pick us up. And overnighting it here…not my first sleepover choice what with the stench of Wraith wafting off the walls, the gooey disgusting walls and who knows what creatures have made this place their home since it's been vacated and sand caved in pocketed through it."

Ronon's eyes still bore into Tyre's but he realized John was right, time was being wasted and there was a solution. "Ok, guess we all travel together."

"Yeah, I'm not thinking that's best," Tyre vetoed. "Like John said, time is wasting. We need to find the computers and work fast to get what we want. Took us way too long getting here and according to Yarvell, it doesn't just get cold on this planet when the suns go down but below freezing and we're not equipped to survive outside in that."

"I don't care! I'm not letting you alone with him," Ronon's emotions were too raw to monitor his words, to try and prove Trye's words weren't true, that John wasn't his weakness.

"Such lack of faith in me?" Tyre sardonically drawled, before a flick of hurt flashed in his eyes. "I don't know what I've done to lose that but .."

"You speak of lack of faith when you put a bomb on my friend! You know nothing of trust!" Ronon bit out, knife pressing harder into Tyre's neck.

"To be fair, I put a bomb on myself as well. Equal risk. That used to get your approval," Tyre taunted but instead of gaining Ronon's approval, Ronon's knife actually drew blood from his neck.

Deciding it was time to intervene with more than words, John pushed his way between Ronon and Tyre, faced off with his best friend. "Hey, I'm not happy about the team up either but it is what it is. We need to move forward, get this done. I made you a promise and I'm going to keep it." The promise to not die and he saw the glimmer in Ronon's eyes. "Plus, if I remember correctly, you gave me the green light to be my stubborn self in all my glory and trust my instincts." Ronon stilled at that, his eyes boring into John, waiting for a clue of what John was implying. "My instincts say we can trust him, Ronon."

"John, he put a bomb on you!" Ronon shouted, couldn't believe John expected him to overlook that frigging detail.

"And you had a knife to his throat, so we're not playing nice but…how can you expect him to trust us when we don't trust him." Ronon glared at him for revealing that. "It's not a trade secret you've been broadcasting that since the tavern, Ronon."

"True, you have," Tyre interjected, earning matching glares from John and Ronon.

"Ssoooo we each decided we needed a little leverage," John drawled good-naturedly. "Tyre has his well thought out bomb cuffs..and you have Ara as hostage. It's about as fair as it's going to get."

"Nothing is fair about this," Ronon snarled, glaring past John to Tyre. If things were fair…his John…this John…none of this would be happening again!

Realizing the emotional edge Ronon was teetering on, John put a hand on Ronon's chest. "His bomb notwithstanding, Tyre isn't going to hurt me. He's not….like …" 'your Tyre' he wanted to say but couldn't. "I'm different from your last..partner…can't you see it's the same situation here. He won't hurt me. Trust my instincts…like you would have your last partner's."

"Trust isn't Ronon's strongest muscle," Ara snarkily interjected, earning a snicker from Tyre who warned John, "She's right. You might want to ask for something easier than Ronon's trust."

"Like the Wraith deciding to go on a vegetarian diet," Ara quipped.

But their jibs had the opposite effect on Ronon, made him want to be the opposite of the Ronon they knew, to be the Ronon his John knew and trusted wholeheartedly. Wanted this John…to know he had his trust, even here among duplicates of his best friend's murderers. That his need for vengeance, it wasn't greater than the trust, faith he had in John.

Focusing fully on John, Ronon growled, "I don't trust him…" pointing to Tyre before his voice turned thick with the loyalty he held for John, "but I've come to trust your instincts over my own." 'Especially when mine are corroded by grief and rage and memories of holding my best friend's corpse in my arms.' But then he reached out, grabbed John's jacket roughly, "But you better keep your promise to me, Sheppard!"

To not die. It seemed an easy enough pledge, considering John didn't want to die. John gave a solemn nod, agreed to Ronon's terms. Then Ronon was stalking down the corridor, Ara giving a look to Tyre before she did a few loping steps to try and catch up to Ronon's long legged gait.

"So guess it's just us," Trye merrily drawled, as if the last tense moments hadn't happened and there wasn't a trickle of blood running down his throat. And oh yeah, bomb cuffs secured to both of them.

"You always this much of a jerk or does Ronon bring it out in you?" John snapped.

But Trye was amused not offended, parried back with his own question. "Funny, I was going to ask if Ronon's always such a watch dog over you or do I bring it out in him?"

Both men glared at each other a moment but remained silent. Then in synch they turned around and started to head down their designated corridor, the chain between their linked hands swinging between them.

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TBC

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thanks so much for all of those out there still interested in this story!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.