Thank you to my betas, Tazmy and Kodiak, for putting up with me even in the throes of creative angst. And another chapter, ahoy! (Note: teeny little edit thanks to b7-kerravon, who reminded me that I'd forgotten the different uniform colors in this universe. Thanks!)
Chapter Twelve: Trust
"Think we could sit down yet? Are you planning on making us stand here until Doomsday? Oh, wait, that must be today, my mistake --"
"Rodney," Zelenka hissed under his breath.
"What?" McKay snapped. "I talk when I'm nervous! I can't help it! And somehow, having a crazy person pointing a gun at me is making me nervous! I mean, call it a personal weakness if you like --"
"Shut up, both of you." Larissa paced the room, passing her gun from hand to hand. The other two scientists stood guard over the hostages. McKay and Zelenka were still standing with their hands against the wall; the Marines, tied up and gagged, had been hauled behind a console.
"So how long were you planning this happy little betrayal of doom, huh?" McKay demanded, twisting his head around so that he could follow Larissa's pacing. "From the first time we met? I knew I couldn't trust you people, you know. I'm a very good judge of character. Their eyes were very shifty," he confided in Zelenka, loudly.
The other scientist glowered at him. "Rodney, please shut up before the terrorists kill us."
"We are not terrorists!" Larissa shouted, slamming her hand down on one of the consoles. Both McKay and Zelenka jumped. "Your people have lied and betrayed and collaborated with the Wraith! I would like to think you are not following them voluntarily, Dr. McKay, but nothing you have done has given me cause to believe --"
"You think we're what?" Rodney interrupted her. "What's all this about the Wraith? Have you been talking to the Genii? Because they hate us and they're liars."
"Be quiet. I should not have spoken." She turned her back on him and opened up one of the laptops that was hooked into the Atlantis computer.
"Hey! You can't just dangle a conversation starter like that and then take it back! What's this about the Wraith?"
The female scientist, Mokarra, sidled up to Larissa. "Should I -- should I shoot him, ma'am?" Her eyes shifted around the room; it was obvious that she hoped the answer was "no".
"Shut up!" Larissa ordered McKay, and in a slightly more modulated tone: "No, Mokarra. We may need him. Not yet, anyway," she amended, giving McKay a look.
"It's because of Sheppard, isn't it? Oh God, I was right! Your half-baked device picked up the Iratus DNA, didn't it? It's that idiotic Wraithsign fixation of yours! If all of this is because of some kind of stupid superstition, then your people are even more backwards than I thought they were --"
"Please do be quiet." Larissa's fingers moved quickly across the laptop keys.
"Larissa, if you did -- did you pick up Wraith DNA in Sheppard's blood? Because it's just a stupid mistake! You know that, right? He kind of turned into a bug a few weeks ago. Okay, I realize that sounds a bit odd, but we're in the Pegasus Galaxy and, believe it or not, stuff like that happens to us every day --"
"Stop defending them!" Larissa's voice was a whip crack. She looked at him over her shoulder. "I promise you, we will grant you full amnesty if you renounce them. We don't want to hurt you or anyone here. All of you without the Wraith taint will be released unharmed as long as you surrender and don't give us any trouble."
McKay thought of Teyla and Sheppard. "What about the rest of us, the ones that don't pass your stupid test?"
"They'll be killed, of course. As all of you should have done. I don't know why you've chosen to collaborate with them, but I do know that fear can be a great motivator." Her eyes dropped briefly. "For now we are choosing to give all of you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you are victims who have been forced to cooperate with the Wraith-tainted ones among you."
Where did he even begin unraveling this idiocy? Before he could try, there was a sharp rap at the door, a pause and then another series of taps. Larissa turned back to the computer and began to type rapidly, bringing up power to their sector. Trying to crane around and get a look at what she was doing, McKay could see that, as he'd suspected, she didn't have Atlantis in full lockdown. She'd just shut everyone but herself out of the computer. All he had to do was get his hands on a terminal for ten seconds, and he'd show her a real lockdown.
The door slid back, and a half-dozen heavily armed Dorandans entered the room. Their apparent leader, a heavyset woman with braids tied back at the nape of her neck, nodded a brusque greeting to Larissa. "We have this area secured. Is it possible to get some of the doors open? It's hard to move our troops around."
"The point is to keep them trapped." Larissa turned to the computer again. A display flashed up, showing a map of the city with life signs displayed. She frowned and tapped the screen. "There's a big cluster of them here, but I don't know what here is."
McKay did, stealing a peek. The armory. That had "Sheppard" written all over it.
Zelenka kicked him lightly in the ankle to get his attention. "What are you grinning about?" he whispered. "I hope this means you have a plan."
He hadn't realized he'd been grinning, and kicked back on general principles; Zelenka winced. "I'm pretty sure Sheppard's still free," he murmured back, "and it looks like a lot of his jarheads are too. I never thought I'd be glad to see the Brute Squad, but I'm guessing these idiots aren't going to know what hit them."
Zelenka laughed softly. "I haven't yet had a chance to see the Colonel in his -- what would you call it -- Rambo personality."
"You aren't missing a whole lot," McKay said shortly, the brief lift of his spirits evaporating at the reminder that Zelenka was on Sheppard's team and he, McKay, wasn't.
A gun jabbed him in the ribs, coming as an almost-welcome distraction. "Move," Larissa said. "Captain Seng wants to see you. Not him," she added when Zelenka moved to follow McKay. "Put him in with the other prisoners."
"Hey!" Zelenka protested, cursing in Czech when the Dorandans forced McKay out into the hallway. "Where are you taking him? What are you going to do to him?"
McKay's mouth had been open to say something similar about Radek; he bit back on it, hard. Larissa said they weren't planning on killing hostages. He'll probably be all right. Not that I care.
And the Dorandans were planning to kill Sheppard and Teyla. Sheppard, at least, could take care of himself and had some idea of what he was up against, but McKay was suddenly terrified on Teyla's behalf. Had they tested her already? Found the Wraith DNA? Shot her? And what about the Athosians on the mainland? Teyla couldn't be the only one of them with Wraith ancestry; in fact, depending on how far the experimental genes had diffused through the population over the millennia, it was possible that all of them might look "contaminated" on the Dorandan scanners. He had a sudden horrifying mental image of genetic-purity fanatics in brown jackets walking through the Athosian village, shooting women and children and old people, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.
He didn't even notice that he'd completely forgotten to be afraid for himself.
------
The stained glass of the gym window was not as fragile as it looked, but eventually it shattered under a few strategically-placed strikes from Teyla's bantos sticks. She wished that she had her uniform in the gym, but she did not, only the loose skirt and unencumbering top in which she preferred to exercise. Wrapping her hand in a towel, she knocked pieces of glass out of the window until she thought that she should be able to crawl out without cutting herself. She used her knife to hack the skirt down a manageable length, slung two bantos sticks across her back, and got a coil of rope, crampons and other climbing gear from one of the lockers. The gym was unfortunately devoid of any kind of gun -- she would have to remember to talk to Colonel Sheppard about that -- but it did have all manner of exercise and sporting equipment.
Heights had never bothered her, but she was very, very high. The ruffled white surf crept along the base of the towers, far below her, as she climbed very carefully out of the window onto an ornamental ledge that curved around the side of the tower.
If she fell, they would probably never find the body. Perhaps they would see the shattered window in the gym, and think that the enemies had come in that way. Perhaps they would not survive, and would never have an opportunity to think of her at all.
The wind off the ocean was unpleasantly chilly as she sat on the ledge and affixed a grappling hook to the end of the rope. She had not used such a thing before, but had a vague idea of how it was supposed to work, and she'd always had a good throwing arm. After a few experimental tosses of the rope, for range, she hooked a crenellation in the wall across from her. "We die but once," she murmured, quoting one of Charin's favorite sayings, and threw her weight on a slender thread across the abyss.
Her feet struck the opposite wall; for a moment she just dangled, breathing, and then she rappelled down to the next ledge. Some experimental jerks on the rope taught her the particular technique for getting the hook free.
It was hard at first to relate what she saw outside to what she saw inside, but Teyla had a good memory for spatial relationships. It was easy, too, finding her way to the central tower where the Stargate was located, because of the ugly hole in the side of that tower, which made it stand out.
She lowered herself carefully onto a balcony outside Dr. Weir's office. For now, she had the element of surprise, and she must not lose that. The doors, of course, were closed; standing on tiptoe, she cupped her hands around her face to peer through the colored glass panels.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the huge ship nearly filling the space in front of the Stargate. She couldn't even believe that they had managed to fit something so large through the gate. The ship must have been specifically designed for such a thing. Now that she saw its orientation, she could see where the hole in the side of the tower came from -- the Dorandans must have fired some kind of weapon. Teyla shivered; the ugly rift in the Ancestors' beautiful city hurt her like a physical pain.
On the balcony overlooking the Stargate, she could identify the splash of blue that was Weir's shirt. There were other people standing around holding guns. Squinting, she saw that Weir, held at gunpoint, was talking to an unfamiliar man who carried himself with the bearing of command. That was probably the leader of the Dorandans, she guessed.
From here it was impossible to tell what they were saying. She tried to pry the doors open enough to slip through, but they would not budge. Frustrated, she took a step back. She couldn't break the glass here without being noticed. How to get into the control room without giving herself away? Oh ... the hole in the wall! She could probably climb around to it, and surely, the Dorandans would not be expecting attack from that side. But what to do when she got there? Attacking dozens of enemies with no plan and no weapons except the bantos sticks ... she'd just be throwing away her life in a meaningless gesture.
Think, Teyla. You are intelligent. You have hunted on Athos, many times. You have also witnessed military strategy many times as part of Colonel Sheppard's team.
Think...
What would the Colonel do?
------
In the infirmary, backed up against a wall, Sheppard fired until the P90 clicked on an empty chamber. All of the enemy but one were down, some of them dead, others moaning and clutching debilitating injuries. He didn't feel sorry for them; there was a young Marine, a kid in his early 20s, sprawled dead by the doorway, and the image of the nurse's body crumpling to the floor was still seared into the back of his retinas.
The one remaining Dorandan was a lean blond man of medium height, about Sheppard's age. At his feet, the other universe's McKay writhed in the grip of seizures, while the Dorandan held one of their zat-like energy weapons trained on alt-McKay's body.
"I wouldn't do that, Colonel," the Dorandan said pleasantly, as Sheppard's hand paused in the act of drawing his 9mm. "You are Colonel Sheppard, correct? Allow me to introduce myself: I am Sub-Captain Tennet, second to Captain Seng of the Dorandan army. You've just killed some good men, and I'm not happy about it. Kindly remove your hand from the weapon."
"You people brought this on yourselves," Sheppard growled. He didn't take his hand off the butt of the 9mm.
"You understand how our guns work, right, Colonel? The first shot will incapacitate. Another shot in close succession to the first will kill him. I suggest you drop your gun." He lowered the muzzle of the gun towards alt-McKay, who had gone limp.
Frozen, Sheppard calculated odds in his head. If he was fast -- but he'd have to get a kill shot before Tennet pulled the trigger --
"Oh, so that's how it's going to be? I'll ask you once more to drop your gun, Colonel. And don't think I won't kill him. Once he's dead, I'll have no shortage of other hostages." He nodded towards the isolation room, the terrified nurses peeking out.
"Not if I take you out first."
He had to. He had to. If Tennet was second-in-command of the Dorandan military, he couldn't be allowed to leave the infirmary alive. There were too many lives at stake, not just one man's.
It was his job. His duty. Sometimes you had to make tough decisions ... and sacrifices. Rodney's life for Atlantis.
He prepared to draw his gun, as he saw Tennet's finger tighten on the trigger of the energy weapon.
And then the privacy curtain whipped back to reveal alt-Sheppard -- upright, white as a sheet and swaying, but managing to stay on his feet, and looking furious. Wrapping both hands around his IV pole, he whacked Tennet in the head with it before the other man had a chance to react. Tennet went down in one direction and alt-Sheppard in the other, as the recoil from the impact knocked him from his unsteady equilibrium.
Sheppard himself lunged forward, kicking Tennet hard in the head to make sure he stayed down. For an instant he considered shooting him, but now that the threat had been neutralized, it made more sense to keep him for questioning. Twisting Tennet's arms behind his back, he zip-tied him.
Alt-Sheppard, breathing hard and in obvious pain, pushed himself up to a sitting position and gave Sheppard a look of absolute hatred. "You son of a bitch," he snarled, nearly incoherent with fury. "You were going to let that bastard kill Rodney."
"It was the only option," Sheppard retorted.
"Bullshit! That's absolute bullshit. You sound like Sumner! Like Caldwell! Like everything you've -- I've always tried not to be!"
He couldn't believe he was taking this from himself. "You're me! We think alike. Deep down, you know I'm right."
Alt-Sheppard just stared at him for a moment, speechless. "You're not me," he said finally, in a flat cold tone, and slid himself across the floor to Rodney. Laying a hand on the trembling shoulder, he called softly, "Hey ... McKay?"
Rodney stirred, and sucked in a choking breath. If looks could kill, alt-Sheppard's glare would have set John's hair on fire. "What did that weapon do to him?"
"As far as we know, they're a little like zat guns, only more crude." He was back on more solid footing now, discussing weaponry. "They incapacitate with the first shot, but it doesn't seem to leave any lasting effects."
"So it won't hurt him permanently."
"No. He'll be fine in a few minutes."
Rodney drew another strangled-sounding breath, and managed to get out, "You try this, dipstick. Sheppard, shoot him."
Relief softened alt-Sheppard's pale face. "You wouldn't give me the gun, remember?" he said, patting Rodney's shoulder.
"Yeah. You're supposed to be in bed." After a pause to swallow and draw a couple more deep breaths, Rodney pushed himself up on shaking arms, rebuffing alt-Sheppard's offer of assistance. "Where's the jerk who shot me?"
"I clobbered him with my IV pole."
"Really?" Rodney looked around until he located the bound and unconscious Dorandan, then beyond that, the doorway full of bodies. His eyes went wide.
"Yeah, Carson's not going to be too happy when he sees what we've done to his infirmary."
Sheppard reloaded his P90 by rote, unable to tear his eyes away from the two of them. If alt-Sheppard hadn't done what he'd done, then this McKay would be as dead and still as the Dorandans in the doorway.
Sacrifice one person to save others. He'd never been willing to do that, and he'd nearly thrown away his military career on more than one occasion because of it. If one of his people was in danger, or a civilian, or even a stranger -- he'd give up anything to save them.
When had that changed?
If it had been his own universe's Rodney in front of that gun -- or Teyla, Elizabeth, Ronon ... what would he have done?
The terrible thing was ... he thought he knew. And his hands began shaking so hard that he nearly dropped the P90. Shivering, he clipped it to his vest and got himself under control again. He began to move through the Dorandan bodies, assessing them, confiscating weapons. Three of them, besides Tennet, were still alive: a woman Rodney had stunned, who was already beginning to recover, and two badly injured men.
To let them live, or not. The thought occurred to him that not so long ago, he would never have considered shooting a wounded prisoner. Now ... now he couldn't help thinking that leaving them alive just created a security risk. There were no Geneva Conventions here.
You sound like Sumner, the other universe's Sheppard had said. Like Caldwell.
Like just about every CO I've ever butted heads with, Sheppard thought grimly, tying up the stunned woman with zip ties. Swallow your humanity and follow orders. That's why I was in goddamn Antarctica, because I couldn't do that. So, in Pegasus, I learned to do that — to push aside my feelings for the greater good. To assess a situation rationally rather than letting myself be swayed by ... I don't know what you'd call it, by conscience, by sentimentality.
He added the shotgun-like weapon to the pile of stunners he'd taken off the bodies.
I'm a better soldier now. Isn't that a good thing?
------
The IV catheter had been torn out of the back of Sheppard's hand when he'd used his IV pole in approved Teyla fashion. He didn't even notice until he tried to help Rodney up, and instead left a long smear of blood down Rodney's still-trembling arm.
"You're bleeding," Rodney said. There was a hitch in his voice; he was still having trouble controlling his body. They were both sitting on the floor -- Rodney was still too shaky to stand up, and Sheppard was pretty sure that if he tried to get up without something to hold onto, he'd just fall over.
"I know." Sheppard pressed his palm against the back of his hand. It stung, but it didn't really hurt.
"No. I mean there." Rodney's forehead was creased with worry as he nodded towards Sheppard's chest, where a few spots of blood had seeped through his scrubs.
"Oh. Crap."
"I told you not to get out of bed, and now you've gone and torn your stitches. If you bleed to death internally, Sheppard --"
"I'm not bleeding internally." He hoped. True, it felt like a red-hot poker was sticking into his side, but it had been feeling like that even before he got up.
They watched the other universe's Sheppard move among the Dorandan bodies.
"If he starts killing the wounded," Rodney said under his breath, "I'm going to pick up one of those Dorandan guns and give him a little taste of what I just felt. Which hurt like hell, by the way."
"He's a little crazy, but he's not Walter Kurtz, Rodney."
"Walter who?"
Despite his pain, Sheppard couldn't help grinning. "Are you telling me you've never seen Apocalypse Now? What kind of deprived adolescence did you have?"
"Hello? Canadian? Why would I watch American war movies? And need I remind you that Colonel Crazypants over there was about to let the bad guys kill me?"
"I don't think he would have actually done that, Rodney." Sheppard wished he could convince himself that he was telling the truth.
"Yeah, that would explain why you're making like Jet Li with your IV pole," Rodney grumbled.
The nurses had come nervously out of hiding and approached the wounded, with anxious glances at alt-Sheppard. He gave them a short nod and then went to the door, peering out into the hall while talking on his radio.
"This is ridiculous," Sheppard said suddenly. "There's no reason for us to be cut out of the loop like this, not with everything that's going on. Rodney, get Petrovski's radio."
"Whose?"
Lips pressed together tightly, Sheppard nodded to the dead Marine. "That's his name in our universe. He left on the Daedalus about a year ago. I'd do this myself but --"
"Yes, yes, I understand the problem." Supporting himself on the wall, he got shakily to his feet and limped over to the dead Marine. Sheppard watched him hesitate for a moment, then bend down quickly and strip off the dead man's radio.
It did feel like robbing the dead. But they needed the radio. With the situation being what it was, they couldn't afford to be clueless.
Rodney leaned down to give Sheppard the radio. The colonel started to hook it over his ear, then changed his mind and dialed up the volume, cupping it in his hand next to his ear so they could both hear it. He had to check several of the commonly-used channels before coming upon a conversation between alt-Sheppard and Lorne.
"-- said that they've got three of their own ships in the jumper bay, sir, and another one in the gate room."
"They brought four warships into Atlantis?" alt-Sheppard demanded.
"Looks that way, sir, and the one in the gate room, at least, has weapons capable of shooting through the walls."
Alt-Sheppard was silent for a moment, thinking. "How well guarded is the jumper bay?"
"There's a lot of them, but I can't give you an exact count. What are you thinking, sir?"
"Not over the radio," alt-Sheppard said. "Meet me -- Major, what's happening?"
Through the radio, Sheppard could hear shouts and the sound of P90 fire. He and Rodney exchanged a glance.
Lorne's voice came back, sounding breathless. "They've found us, sir. Either they made a lucky guess or they're able to use the city's sensors. We're going to have to regroup somewhere else."
Alt-Sheppard swore. "All right. Bring C4, all that you can get, and as many men as you can keep together. I'll meet you in that little lounge west of the jumper bay -- the one where the botanists used to store spore canisters 'till they got their own wing."
"Yes, sir." More gunfire. "I have to go, sir."
Alt-Sheppard signed off with another soft curse. Sheppard lowered the radio and looked over at Rodney, only to find that the scientist was on his feet and headed across the infirmary towards alt-Sheppard.
Crap.
"You're blowing up the jumper bay?" Rodney demanded. "Am I hearing you right? Are you nuts?"
Sheppard grabbed hold of the nearest piece of furniture and hauled himself to his feet, his chest screaming protest as abused muscles flexed and pulled on even more abused ribs. His vision grayed briefly; when he looked up, alt-Sheppard had turned around to confront Rodney, looking more tired than angry.
"There are four warships in Atlantis, McKay. If you have a better idea than blowing them up, spit it out."
"The jumper bay is above the gate room! If you mess up on the amount of explosives -- and gee, what are the odds of that -- or if they have a self-destruct, or if their ships are powered by nuclear reactors, or any of half a dozen other equally likely screw-ups, you'll drop the entire central tower on top of the Stargate, probably taking out the infirmary and about half the living quarters in Atlantis along with it. Gee, what a fantastic idea!"
Sheppard's face was set and stony. "I said if you have a better idea, let's hear it. Otherwise shut up and let me do what I need to do to stop the Dorandans."
McKay flinched visibly at the word "Dorandans", but he charged on. "Of course I have a better idea. Genius here! If those ships have computers -- and let's face it, space flight is far too complex to be handled by a human pilot alone, so at least some of their systems have to be computer-controlled -- then I can hack into them. Control their ships."
"As I understand it, you can't even hack into our own computer right now."
"Oh, that's low," Rodney snapped.
"But true."
"Look, it's a different thing! This is Atlantis! And we've been deliberately locked out of it! The systems on the ship are bound to be much less complex, and I doubt if the Dorandans are going to land the ships in enemy territory and then shut down and lock up all their systems, hmm? Everything should be online and warmed up; all I need is access."
"I already have a plan, McKay." Alt-Sheppard scrubbed his hand across his face wearily. "One that doesn't involve you. You've already proven that you're a loose cannon."
"Oh, don't trust me, huh? Fine! Have your McKay do it instead! Say --" He paused, his mobile hands in mid-gesture. "Where is your Rodney, anyway? Last I saw him, he was with the -- oh, crap."
"Yes, he's probably in the hands of the enemy right now," alt-Sheppard said quietly.
Sheppard, limping towards them with one hand pressed against his side and the other supporting his weight on the wall, was close enough now to see the flicker of emotions across the face that was so nearly identical to his own.
Rodney appeared oblivious to it, though. "So you're planning to, what, save him by dropping a few stories of Atlantis on him? Great plan!"
"McKay." Alt-Sheppard's voice was low and dangerous. "Don't tell me how to do my fucking job."
"How about I tell you how to do your fucking job?" Sheppard said. They both turned to look at him. Alt-Sheppard was scowling. "If Rodney says he can hack into the ships, then he can. I shouldn't have to tell you that, and I also shouldn't have to tell you that if he says he's got a plan to save the city, you need to get off your ass and go do your job, which is to protect him so he can do his, rather than carrying out a plan that's likely to get a lot of people killed. Clear?"
"You do know you had a big hole in your chest a week ago, right?" Rodney demanded, obviously not at all appreciative of the backup. "And people who almost died in puddlejumper crashes are not supposed to be walking around!"
Both Sheppards ignored him. Alt-Sheppard took a step forward, bristling. "I think you're a little hazy on the chain of command in this city, John."
"Oh, really? I'd say you're a little hazy on the whole concept of not killing the people you're supposed to be protecting!"
"Um, guys..." Rodney's nervous gaze darted back and forth between them.
"I'm trying to save this city, and every minute that I stand here arguing with you is another minute that my people are getting killed out there."
Sheppard forced his body to uncurl, despite the stabbing agony in his side, in order to look himself in the eyes. "Rodney's got a plan. He thinks it's more likely to succeed than your plan, and a hell of a lot less likely to cause mass destruction. Right, McKay?" He didn't take his eyes off his doppelganger, but he heard Rodney shift uncomfortably.
"Um ... right."
"He doesn't sound sure," alt-Sheppard said grimly.
"Rodney," Sheppard said with his eyes fixed on his double, "if he gets you to the jumper bay, can you take control of those ships?"
Rodney hesitated, then offered in a small voice, "Probably?"
Sheppard saw his double's lips curve up in a cold smile of triumph. "Rodney! Yes or no!"
"Yes! Probably! This is not an exact science here, Sheppard; I can't give you hard figures! But I can tell you one thing -- if he does what he's planning, I'd say there's a better than eighty percent chance that he'll bring down the tower on top of the gate. Well ... maybe seventy percent. But way too high. I can pretty much guarantee you that I have a better chance of success than that."
The other Sheppard's eyes were hard as steel. "Maybe. But with my plan, no matter what the outcome, we'd take out the threat to the city. The damage could be rebuilt."
"Oh, really?" Sheppard demanded. "You can rebuild your McKay, huh? Elizabeth's probably down there too, and I wouldn't be surprised if Carson's in the thick of things by now. You're willing to kill them, and every other person in this tower, because you aren't willing to trust your team?"
And that was it, he knew, the crux of the difference between them. Seeing the flatness in the other Sheppard's eyes crystallize into anger, he realized that he'd struck a nerve.
"McKay's not on my team -- not this McKay or the other one. Not anymore." And there was pain, as well as anger, in his voice.
"So?" Sheppard asked. His tone went lower, and he studiously avoided looking at Rodney as he spoke, keeping his eyes fixed on his double. "I remember Antarctica; do you? That's where you are right now, John -- Antarctica. Only you've put yourself there. The best thing that ever happened to you is here in this city, and you know it. You'd throw it away -- for what? Pride?"
He really thought that his alternate self was going to hit him, but surprisingly, the other Sheppard's eyes dropped, and his voice was almost inaudible. "You'd trust McKay? You'd take him up to the jumper bay?"
"If he thinks he can do it, then yes, in a heartbeat. I'd take him myself if I wouldn't just slow both of you down." He loathed admitting that, but it was hard not to, when walking across the room had left him so exhausted that the walls were swirling around him. Taking stupid risks and getting your men killed wasn't the mark of an effective leader.
Alt-Sheppard stared at the floor. Then he spun around on Rodney, who was staring at Sheppard, looking amazed. "What do you need?" he demanded.
"Huh?"
"What do you need to do this?" alt-Sheppard repeated. "Take it and let's go."
Rodney blinked, then took a few steps to the nearest laptop and unplugged it. He looked around the infirmary, grabbed a couple handfuls of wire and a voltmeter sitting on a shelf. "There. I've got what I need. Do you have a life signs detector?"
Alt-Sheppard displayed it. "Some of the Dorandans don't show up, though. They have the ability to shield themselves --"
"I don't care; that's not what I want it for. I may need to use it to trace circuits in their ships -- well, actually you'll need to use it, since my gene doesn't work here ..." He trailed off, his bravado collapsing, looking pale and terrified.
"Rodney," Sheppard said. "Take a gun."
"What? Oh. Right." He bent down and picked up one of the Dorandan stunners. It was much smaller and easier to carry than a P90. "I, um ..." He looked over at Sheppard, and winced. "You know, you're bleeding a lot, now."
Sheppard touched his side, felt the sticky wetness. "It's superficial."
"Says your advanced medical degree?"
"Rodney, get your ass up to the jumper bay before the other me changes his mind."
"He's not you," Rodney said, and a hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. "See you later. And, if you won't get back in bed, then at least sit down; just looking at you is making me dizzy."
Sheppard compromised by leaning against a wall, or slumping into the wall was more like it. "Good luck. Be careful."
Rodney snorted. "Hey, it's me. Like I'd do anything else?" He folded his hand over the laptop, swallowed and looked up at alt-Sheppard. "Okay. Going now."
Alt-Sheppard just made a hmph sound, and tapped his radio. "Major Lorne? We have a change of plans..."
They vanished through the open doorway. Sheppard let his legs wilt, carrying him to the floor in a controlled crumple. One of the nurses bent over him. "You should be in bed," she said worriedly.
"Yeah. So I've heard." He let her help him up, and realized that he still had the radio clenched in his hand. He hooked it over his ear.
At least he could hear what was going on, even if he couldn't do anything about it.
----
TBC