Crossing the Line
Chapter Five
It hadn't been like any of that slow motion stuff they showed you on the movies, not really. There was a moment there when he had thought things were moving a little slower than they should be, but the logical side of him knew it was just because things like this should feel rushed, hasty, certainly not in real-time; things always did seem slower when you needed them to go by quickly, too.
It had been then, when he was fumbling nervously like a newbie in front of a drill sergeant to load his weapon; it had been then that time dilated in one way or another, and he just couldn't be able to get his brain and his eyes to work at the same speed.
One minute she was standing there and he was working desperately to unjam his P90, and the next he knew he hadn't been fast enough as she stumbled backwards and touched her fingers to her stomach.
There was one part of his mind that told him to raise his gun and shoot once he got it ready; there must have been, because he saw his arm go up, his finger push the trigger, and the soldier fall and die. That part of his brain was the one that made him check to see if there were any more soldiers that he needed to take care of, which there weren't.
But the rest of his mind was suddenly jammed, blank.
He didn't realize he was running until he stopped and kneeled next to her.
"Anna?" He leaned over her and took a look at her wound. Oh, not good. Marcus placed his hand on it, putting pressure on the wound. He raised his head and looked around for Sheppard. "Colonel!"
Marcus winced as one of his fingers scraped against some piece of metal lodged in her vest. Really not good. He pressed down harder; blood seeped through his fingers. No no no, come on, she couldn't die, she couldn't die, she couldn't die-
"Major?" Colonel Sheppard walked through the grass towards him. Ah, right, the grass covered them both.
"Sir!" Marcus waved his hand briefly before reaching back into his pack. Come on, he knew he had some bandages in there. . .
"Major, I think we're about ready to leave, if you don't mind my-" Sheppard broke off and ran over, kneeling on Anna's other side. "What happened?"
Marcus brought out the roll of bandages and started tying them around her wound as best he could.
"She was hit twice, sir." He paused as Anna's eyelids started drooping. "Lieutenant? Come on, Schweinsteigger, stay awake for me. We're going to get you back to Beckett, just stay awake, you got it?" Marcus looked across at his CO, who was holding Anna's hand in his. "I can carry her to the gate, sir, but we have to leave. She's bleeding too much."
Sheppard nodded and looked down at her, poking her in the shoulder as her eyes fluttered close. "Lieutenant?"
Anna's hand went limp in Sheppard's; Marcus finished tying off the bandage and, as gently as he could, grabbed her by her shoulders.
"A little help, sir?"
Sheppard nodded and smoothly helped Marcus lift her off the ground and place her on his arms lightly. A fireman carry would have been easier, but it also would have aggravated her wound excessively.
Marcus rose and tried to find his balance. The rain was pouring now; the mud was thick and difficult to step through, and it didn't help that there was practically no visibility. He hoped they could find the gate. But of course they could - the MALP had a tracking device. What was he thinking? God, he hoped they could find the gate.
Sheppard was in the lead and running, now. Marcus broke into a jog. He could feel her blood running down his hands; the bandages weren't enough. She needed to get to Beckett.
He ran faster.
What if that wasn't enough? What if she died?
No, Anna wouldn't die. She couldn't die. She was too-
What was that? Oh, only two miles left. Good.
He didn't remember much about the rest of the trip back; mostly there were bits and pieces: the cold, the difficulty of navigating the thick mud without falling, the litany he'd kept repeating in his mind -- must keep running or Anna dies, must keep running or Anna dies. . .
Then there was this overwhelming sense of relief when he finally saw the gate in the distance. Of course by that time they were being chased and shot at again, and he wanted nothing more than to get back to Atlantis. To Beckett. Beckett would take care of her; Beckett wouldn't let her die.
He remembered the woosh of the gate as it connected, and diving through it; Radek was standing next to the gate looking surprised.
Marcus vaguely remembered looking up and yelling for Beckett and a med team as he sprinted to the infirmary, every second one second closer she was to dying; Anna had started coughing blood.
By the time Beckett had whisked her out of sight into the surgery room she was barely breathing.
Marcus sat now, calmly, in a chair by an empty infirmary bed and waited, rubbing his hands together nervously. Cadman and Riley were both pacing in circles on opposite sides of the room, and Danny was sprawled on a bed with Rodney; he was tapping his fingers on a pillow. Sheppard and Ronon were both sitting next to Teyla's bed calmly.
Marcus leaned back in his chair. Why was Beckett taking so long? They had been sitting here for three hours all ready, and there hadn't been one bit of news since the surgery started. Standing, he walked over to Beckett's desk and looked at the clock. Three hours and fourteen minutes, to be exact. He sighed and walked back to his chair, swerving to avoid Cadman.
It wasn't that he didn't have faith in Beckett; he did, by all means he did. But good as the doctor was, there were just some things that even Ancient technology in Dr. Beckett's hands could fix.
Come on, wasn't there a nurse they could send outside with an update? Anything?
He stood up again and walked over to Beckett's desk. Three hours and seventeen minutes.
Lovely.
No, he had faith in Beckett. He had faith in Beckett. Beckett could do amazing things.
Really. He had faith.
But right now, he could really, really do with an update to substantiate said faith. Even someone sticking their head out of the door and saying "things are progressing" would be better than nothing at all.
Hmm, he was still standing by Beckett's desk. Whoops. Oh, was that a coffee machine?
Three hours and twenty-four minutes. The coffee was brewing and he was tapping his fingers on Beckett's computer.
Three hours and thirty-one minutes. Marcus sat back down and sipped his coffee.
He had faith in Beckett. Beckett wouldn't let her die. He hoped.
He set the coffee aside and leaned his head on his hand. It was now, now that he didn't know if he would see her tomorrow, that he could admit it to himself. He had known her for eight months, and in that time he had used words like 'attracted' and 'intrigued', but he had to admit that there was more than that. Knowing her had deepened it, and he cared for her far more than he was supposed to, more than he had ever expected to.
Love her? Not really, not yet, no. But he supposed it was inevitable if things continued this way.
He didn't wish he had told her, not really. Even on Atlantis, where military policing of matters was lax, where many unwritten regulations were ignored or, ultimately, flouted, there were just some rules you didn't break, some lines you didn't cross. Marcus understood and respected that, and by no means would he ever ask his subordinate officer on a date, for example.
But there was something to be said for knowing there was someone for you, of knowing that-
Of knowing what? He had no idea if she had ever even looked at him twice; there was that question she had asked, but that didn't mean there was anything on it from her side. For crying out loud, he was her CO and just about old enough to be her father. Even if she-
Even if she lived.
Where was Beckett?
Five hours and eighteen minutes. Rodney, despite the copious amounts of coffee he had imbibed, was dozing lightly, as were Sheppard and Danny.
"Major Lorne?"
Marcus lifted his head and stared at the nurse in front of him. She held a pair of scrubs.
"Here- why don't you change? You can-"
"No thanks, I'm fine." There was no way he was leaving the room while she was in surgery. What if Beckett came out while he was gone? What if-
The nurse, however, wasn't taking no for an answer. Frowning, she dumped the scrubs in his lap and put her hands on her hips.
"You can change behind the screen if you want to, but you will go change now. I won't have you dying of pneumonia because you're too stubborn, so go."
Lorne ached; he had run twenty-one miles, six of those with a 100-pound woman in his arms that night, and the last thing he felt like at that moment was standing.
"Look, I appreciate the-"
"That's an order, major." Marcus looked over; one of Sheppard's eyes was open and staring at him. So, not dozing after all.
He grumbled, stood up slowly, and walked into one of the curtained areas around a bed. And people said the colonel didn't abuse his power.
The scrubs were dry and loose, a welcome change from his BDUs. Marcus just left his uniform where it was and trudged back to his chair. He had barely sat down when Dr. Weir walked in.
"Any news yet?"
He shook his head. "Beckett's still operating, but we haven't heard anything."
Dr. Weir nodded and settled herself on the floor next to Sheppard's chair.
Six hours flat.
Marcus stood by the coffeepot again, rubbing his fingers together in frustration. He had given his chair up for Katie Brown, who had walked in a half hour ago. So had Zelenka, and Dr. Parrish, and one of the astronomers whose name he couldn't remember. Anna was generally well-liked by the scientists, after all. In fact, he often had to remind himself she was military; after the civvies had found out she had a master's in linguistics they had been pestering her with translations, and she was practically one of them now.
He cut off his thoughts angrily. All that was well and nice, but where was Beckett? Six hours and two minutes now, and they still had no word whatsoever on how she was doing, or whether she was even still alive. For all he knew she could be dead several minutes over, now.
He put another scoopful of coffee into the filter as Lindsay Novak wandered into the room.
Where was Beckett?
Six hours and twenty-four minutes.
Rodney and Danny were awake again, and talking in hushed tones with Brown and the astronomer. In their corner, Sheppard, Ronon and Dr. Weir were discussing something - the mission, no doubt - and Teyla, who had finally woken up, was sipping some water and listening intently.
It felt too quiet, though, the way they were speaking; it was like they were at a wake or a funeral.
Marcus rubbed his hair and glared at Cadman, who, though no longer pacing, had been tapping her foot for the last two hours. Come on, the surgery couldn't take much longer, could it? Surely they would-
All conversation ceased abruptly as the door to the surgery opened and Carson Beckett walked into the room. He paused and blinked at the crowd in the infirmary.
He didn't look sad - that must be good, right?
"Well," he enunciated ever so slowly in his thick brogue, making Marcus want to strangle him.
"Well, one of the bullets punctured her lung and collapsed it before we started, and the other tore through her radio and caused considerable damage with the shrapnel. I was able to remove all of it, I think, though we'll have to do another minor surgery to make sure, and we managed to restabilize her lung before any considerable damage was done." Beckett turned to Marcus and, letting a small smile cross his face, continued. "It's impossible to be one hundred percent certain, but the wee lassie has a strong fighting streak, and, though she'll be out of commission for a good month or two, I think she's going to make it."
Marcus let out the breath he'd been holding as muffled cheers spread across the room. He laughed easily as Cadman walked over to Beckett and planted him a kiss that would have made a frat boy blush.
There were going to be some serious discussions when she woke up, and there would probably be plenty of problems to work out, but right now his lieutenant was alive, and that was all that mattered.