"Atlantis, come in. This is Major Lorne. Over."
...
"Atlantis, are you there? We've hit a debris field and taken some damage."
...
"Atlantis, do you copy? Okay, we're venting atmosphere. Go seal off the rear compartment… that lever by the… yes, that one!"
…
"We've just taken another massive hit! Atlantis, do you read me?"
…
"Damn it! Rear thrusters aren't responding…
...
"...inertial dampeners are failing…"
…
"...we're losing altitude… heading for the planet's surface… can't control… dropping fast… you need to strap yourself in. Now!"
…
"...'lantis! Do you copy?!"
…
"Atlantis!"
…
"..."
"I am so, so sorry."
The weary wraith barely heard the man's apology, lost as he was in a whirl of emotions. Anger threatened to overcome him, but it was the hint of pity that stayed his wrath. Pity? It was strange that he felt enough of a kinship with this human to feel sorry for him after his guilty confession. Anger was better. It was far less confusing.
"I am surprised to hear a Lantean confess to being at fault," he uttered through clenched teeth. Fighting the urge to pace, he stood perfectly still and concentrated on expelling the acrid smoke from his spiracles. "I highly doubt your Commander would admit to any such flight errors."
"I don't know. I guess not," came the honest reply. The wraith turned his head then and looked down at the man on the other side of the blazing fire.
The human was slumped up against the smashed Lantean Gateship with his legs stretched out in front of him while his right arm was firmly clamped to his side. A sizable lump discoloured his right temple and a deep laceration had left a dried crust of blood smeared down the side of his face. A concussion, surely. It also seemed that the simple act of breathing was an effort. Some broken ribs, possibly a lung injury, he surmised. The injured soldier was hunched over as though shielding himself from what he had done.
"Thanks for building a fire." The man addressed this comment to his knees.
"It was necessary." In truth, the wraith had no idea what the Lantean needed, but it gave him something to do. The planet had an abundance of dried shrubbery and little else. "You were unconscious and seemed... cold. For a human."
The man looked up at him then and the wraith was taken aback by the raw misery apparent on his face. This human, who had always appeared so calm in their past interactions, was clearly devastated by his mistake. The wraith had to avert his eyes from such a naked display of emotion.
It was that error which landed them here on this unforgiving planet; which was not much more than a rock and devoid of nearly all forms of life. There were very few tiny minds chirruping at him from the darkness. The flat, dull landscape stretched on for miles around them, scarred with pockmarks and divots. Distant twin moons offered them little light; everything looked washed out and grey.
"How is it that you made such a reprehensible error?" He glared across the fire but fixed his gaze on the crashed gateship, stuck sideways and partially buried in the featureless dirt. He closed his feeding hand into a fist.
The guilty human heaved a great sigh as he studied his hands. "It's… it's my eyes".
Over the years of his Commander's troubled alliance with the New Lanteans, this wraith had found himself ordered to spend time in Atlantis where he couldn't help but note the similarity between the soldier's eyes and the rippling surface within the Alteran stargates. Despite himself, he now could not travel through a Ring without the formation of the rippling liquid surface calling forth an image of this man's eyes.
Major Lorne's eyes. He was supposed to refer to this one as Major. The wraith inclined his head to prompt him to continue.
"It's a, well, a type of degenerative disease that runs in my family. It starts with natural deterioration but then the condition accelerates. Eventually, I'll probably go blind." This last part was delivered with such flatness, such a deliberate lack of emotion that the wraith knew how much it was hurting the human to even speak of it.
"I've been noticing small problems for a while now; my vision going blurry before clearing again, edges softening, details disappearing. I told myself I'd go see Beckett soon. I'd never want to put my people in jeopardy." The wraith almost looked away again from the desperately earnest expression. "But I knew it would cost me everything. My job, flying, Atlantis, Pegasus… everything. I just wasn't ready to face that."
As the Major's explanation continued, the wraith felt his anger slowly fading. He, too, would feel the same avoidance and resignation if he stood to lose his place and his hive.
"I thought I could cope for a bit longer and flying you back to your hive seemed easy enough. But when we exited the spacegate and came upon that old wreckage... it was even hard to use the Heads Up Display. I just… and now, we're here… and... it's my fault." He scrubbed at his face with a trembling hand. Speaking so much at once seemed to have drained him of the last of his energy, his face had gone alarmingly pale.
"I suppose that even with perfect sight, most human pilots would have failed to evade the detritus entirely," the wraith reasoned. It did not seem to have the effect he intended so he made another attempt. "Major. It was only your quick reflexes that resulted in a landing that allowed the two of us to survive at all."
Buoyed slightly by the unexpected words of support, the Major appeared to pull himself together and he smiled for the first time. The wraith had never gotten used to the act of baring teeth being utilised to communicate pleasure. All the same, he caught himself leaning in to catch a closer look at the curious indentations brought forth on either side of the man's smile.
When they disappeared, he frowned and sat back again. His past disinterest in humans, usually preferring to avoid Worshippers altogether, left him unfamiliar with the more subtle variations in their appearance.
The man sighed. "When we get back- if we get back- I'll go straight to Beckett for that exam and start the paperwork."
"Perhaps…," he offered slowly, "you could stay on in Atlantis to fulfil some other function?" The wraith wasn't sure why he felt so compelled to improve the man's mood.
"Yeah, maybe. I guess." Seeing the wraith's confusion at his lack of enthusiasm, he continued. "It's just that- um."
"It's just that what?"
"I, um… never mind." He shook his head then offered up a weak smile, one without indentations this time. "Listen, I wanted to say something to you."
The wraith just waited in silence.
"Well, you probably thought I was out cold thanks to the, uh, knock to the head," he gestured weakly toward the wound on his bristled browridge. "Anyway, right before we hit the ground… I felt you grab me- ."
The wraith growled, seething at such an insult. "I did not attempt to feed on you, human." He had given his word to the Lanteans and-
"Oh, god, Kenny! No, no, no," the Major blurted out, reaching out to placate his anger, only to stiffen and slump back again. The wraith jerked forward before getting himself under control. The Major took a few slow breaths and ground out, "I know you didn't do… that."
Gathering his composure the wraith made sure to adopt his usual mask of cool indifference. "You can refer to me as 'Second'," he hissed coldly.
"Right. Second. I didn't mean to insult you. I really didn't," he exclaimed, clearly embarrassed. The man grimaced and asked, sheepishly, "Can I blame it on a bad concussion?"
The Second snarled, his lip curling. "If you must."
Those alien blue eyes widened, glowing with remorse. "Please, uh, Second. I was just going to say that I know you tried to protect me... by, uh, covering me with your body. I just… look, did you get hurt?"
The wraith flexed his offhand. He found the human's concern baffling. "My physical state is... tolerable. Do you fear that I will require your life force?"
"What? No. I don't think so? I just want to know that you're okay." He attempted to straighten himself up a bit, only to cry out and keel over into the dirt.
Without thinking, the wraith found himself standing over the gasping man, his hands hovering over the soldier's prone form. Eyes squeezed shut against the pain, his breaths were coming in rapid pants. The wraith was unfamiliar with the specific healing procedures of the Lanteans. "What is it that I should do?"
"First Aid kit… in the… jumper," he croaked. The Second immediately moved to the open portal and stood there scanning the contents of the gateship. "Big box… white with… red cross."
Ah, yes. He took a moment to climb around and gather a few more items from the piles of upset objects.
He placed the medical chest by the Major's side and laid down a silver Lantean ground-foil before unzipping a thick bag for sleeping. Ever so carefully, for humans were entirely too fragile, he slipped one arm around the man's back, the other under his knees, and gently lifted him into his arms. Ignoring the indignant grunt, he sat him down quickly, another rolled bag acting as a support for his back.
"Look, uh, I can do the rest, okay?"
But the warm, dancing light of the fire reflected off the beads of sweat dotting the wounded man's forehead and illuminated his struggle with the jumble of bandage cloths and fumbling with his buttons. Once again the wraith found himself serving the human. He batted those clumsy hands away, deftly unbuttoned the uniform shirt, and peeled back the under garment.
"Judging by your... expression," the Major ground out as tiny bumps broke out across his bare chest, "it's not a... pretty picture."
"Judging by the injury, I concur that this is not an attractive sight." The Second did not know what to make of the man's sudden blushing. Instead, he recalled, with effort, some of the human anatomy teachings that had bored him in his youth. "This is nothing to be embarrassed about, Major. Based on the discoloured and swollen skin, your laboured breathing and obvious discomfort, you have fractured several lower ribs. It is possible that this has also caused damage to your spleen, your liver, or your right kidney. This is not a comfortable affliction, particularly coupled with your concussion. Highly agonising perhaps, but certainly not a cause for embarrassment."
The Major's chuckle cut off quickly with another groan. He gave clipped instruction and the Second busied himself with binding some padding to the injured ribs, then he strapped the man's arm to his side. The wraith muttered to himself as he tucked an instant ice pack between the soldier's elbow and ribs. "Hmmm. The inner pouch breaks to dissolve the ammonium nitrate in an endothermic reaction, immediately forming ice. Fascinating."
"Didn't take you for... the doctor type." The Major's strained observation interrupted the Second's musings, alerting him to the fact that he was still bent over his bare chest.
His feeding hand was mere inches from nourishment, from hot skin and sweet relief. He swallowed hard and held his burning hand behind his back.
Abruptly straightening up, he tidied away the discarded materials, pausing briefly to examine a pharmaceutical packet that crinkled between his fingers. Two cavities were empty; the Lantean had medicated himself. Good, he mused, while zipping the human into his bag. "It is my estimation that you require medical attention. Also, you are correct; I know little of a human's physical needs or common treatment methods."
"Oh... y' seemed like you... knew enough just before?"
"Only that which is shared within the hivemind by our healers, and this information is gleaned from the Worshippers. They mostly take care of their own ailments."
"Well, thanks anyway, Doc," the Major quipped while smiling up at him, both cheek depressions in attendance this time.
The wraith nodded curtly and perched on the closed lid of the first aid chest. If he did not receive medical attention soon, the Lantean's survival was unlikely. The Second was strangely bothered by this thought.
Their eyes met and the wraith found himself struck by the fascinating roundness of the man's pupil and the prismatic striations within his iris.
"So… thanks. Again." The Major coughed. "For shielding me. Thank you, Second."
The wraith startled, surprised by the unexpected gratitude. He inclined his head stiffly and made a decision. "It may also put you at ease to know this; while my body has healed from the injuries I sustained during the crash, my depleted energy levels failed to restore all things… correctly."
The soldier's eyes swept over him, searching for any obvious flaw. With a reluctant sigh, the wraith extended his right arm to hover between them. It took great effort but he managed to unfurl his seized fingers and reveal his crooked, swollen feeding orifice. He hissed as hunger prickled across the surface of his palm.
Ignoring the human's grimace of disapproval, he explained, "the problem is with the internal workings. The hand was wedged awkwardly on impact and maintained that position until I regained consciousness. The healing was far too slow and much too weak to force the feeding barb back into alignment."
"So… what do you mean exactly?"
"I mean that it is defective," he announced flatly. "And as such…"
"You… don't mean…" Those spectral eyes glimmered with otherworldly emotion. Was it... pity?
The Wraith sniffed at the air. Not pity, but something else... "I can no longer feed."
The Major looked suitably appalled. "Oh, shit, Second. Seriously? So even if we manage to get back… ."
"It will make no difference."
The Major's scent continued to confuse him. A miasma of conflicting emotions desperately clawed at his sensory pits until one finally presented itself as the victor; empathy, laced with a bitter note of commiseration. It would seem that the Earth human cared. Impossible.
The Wraith leaned forward to let his long hair curtain his face from the man's view. There in the safety of his silver cloak he massaged his ruined palm with his thumb, his breath hitching from the sharp bite of his hunger.
They sat there in silence for a time, their eyes watching the modest fire but both minds drifting elsewhere. The Second wondered whether the medication was taking effect and if the man was dozing.
Then, in a hushed tone, Major Lorne asked him, "Do you think we'll actually get back?"
The wraith paused, peering at glazed eyes that became silvered through his veil of hair. "No. I do not. Not soon enough anyway. For either of us."
"Wow. Straight shooter. Probably shoulda... guessed you would be." The man shook his head only to have to steady it against his free hand. "But, you know, Colonel Sheppard will send people to search for us. He won't just let us die out here."
"I am well-versed in the many virtues of your military leader," he responded drily, the intended meaning lost on his woozy patient. "So, too, the High Commander will send out a search party. It is not the way of the Wraith but it is his way. He is a good leader, like your Sheppard."
"Yeah? Sheppard'll be harassing Woolsey to send multiple teams, regardless of the cost." That sounded like a challenge.
"My Commander will come for me. Personally," he countered. "Unfortunately, it is not a question of action, but one of time."
The man dropped his head. "Well, I appreciate you telling me about your hand."
"You are welcome, Major Lorne." He tucked his wounded hand under his good arm and tried to ignore the smouldering hollow within.
Movement brought his attention to where the man absently traced his finger through the powdery grey earth. Dust puffed and hung suspended in the air, obscuring the random scrawls but even so, he tracked the hypnotic loops and whorls made by a restless hand.
The two figures sat by the small fire in silence; the human watching the earth and the wraith watching the human.