G3C-187, Day 3
The room was dim in the forest hut when John startled awake with a panicky jerk. He sat up quickly, then had to stay still for a few moments to wait for the sudden dizziness to pass, but he took in the darkening windows and the empty room with alarm. He'd slept far too long. He needed to get home.
Nalia's absence surprised him, but he quickly decided that perhaps that was for the better. Maybe if he just left, it would be easier on her. Maybe that was why she'd gone away in the first place. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and admitted, with a twinge of guilt, that it would certainly be easier on him.
He took a moment to gulp down the last cup of tepid water, then, firmly ordering his body to cooperate, he pushed off and made it securely to the hearth to snatch up his pants and shirt. He winced as the movement set every nerve on fire, but he even managed to hop into the pants without sitting down first. With a sigh of relief, he patted the thigh pocket and felt the small hard lump of his GDO (garage door opener) device that would allow him to send his personal code to Atlantis and get him through the protective shield. John had learned the hard way that his vest and jacket were usually the first to be confiscated when the bad guys got hold of you. So he had taken to hiding the transmitter, and some other small useful items like the 90 mph tape, in one of the bulky pockets of his uniform pants. He quickly fastened his belt and stepped into his boots without bothering to tie them.
The shirt, however, was a lost cause, still damp and sticky from his several days of fevered sweating. Grimacing with distaste, his eyes fell on a beautifully carved wardrobe he hadn't noticed before and eagerly swung open the doors to find several sets of simple everyday clothing. He pulled a plain, tan work shirt off its hook and threw it over his head, ignoring the complaints of his shoulder joints. The fabric was homespun, rough and a little scratchy, and the shirt was much too broad for his compact frame. But it was warm, and he tucked the loose ends into his belt.
Feeling far too pleased by the simple fact of just being dressed, he tried to focus his thoughts and plan his next steps. He needed the vaccine, and he needed to get to the Stargate. Stepping quickly into the kitchen he searched the wooden countertops with his eyes, and then began to rummage through every cupboard and drawer he could find. The panic was beginning to return when he continued to find nothing but cookware and dishes, utensils and long expired groceries. "Ok, John," he muttered to himself, again noting the impulse to talk to himself out loud, "Think it through. The vaccine isn't here. Where would Nalia take it?"
With a weary sigh, he began to realize he was going to have to make a couple of stops on his way to the Stargate, and he sent a silent request to his abused and aching body to hang in there for just a while longer. He promised himself he'd sleep for a solid three days if he ever got home to make up for the nearly three days he'd spent in this god-awful place. He knew it would take much longer for him to sort out the uncomfortable feelings forced upon him during that time…but he would start with the nap.
Checking one last time around the hut, he pushed open the door and stepped outside for the first time in almost a day. It bothered him that so much of that day was spent delirious and/or unconscious. Shaking off the melancholy, he looked around to get his bearings: the single path that must lead back to the main path and Nalia's house marched off between the trees directly out from the door. He would go to Nalia's house first, and hope that neither she nor Naden were at home. He would hope that the vaccine was there because he had no idea how he'd find it amidst Naden's other medicines in the Doctor's office without Nalia's help.
His stride jerky and stiff at first, he set out across the muddy front yard and not a moment too soon; he had only just reached the first bend in the path when voices drifted towards him and he dove into a thicket as quietly as he could muster. Naden and Nalia soon walked into view. Astonished, John listened as they approached on their way towards the hut.
"You promised not to hurt him, father!"
"That's up to him, girl. You said he is still weak?"
"Y…yes. He's been sleeping for hours. He couldn't even stand before."
Naden seemed to be repeating himself as he muttered, "I still don't know what you are about, Nalia. The townspeople will kill us if they find out there's a medicinal cure for something they all believe is a divine trial!"
"I couldn't let him die, father. I love him."
John winced at the admission, even as he grew tense with alert fear. They were passing just in front of his hiding spot.
"You're a foolish girl. Did you think he loved you too? Did he tell you so?" Naden's voice was a sneer meant to torment the girl, but he suddenly stopped and John held his breath. "Did he tell you he loved you? Did that son-of-a-bitch touch you?" John felt a flush of anger warm his face. He wanted to strangle the man for his cruelty to Nalia, to leap out and defend his own honor. But, he'd caught a glimpse through the leaves of an ugly, heavy looking weapon in Naden's hand and, gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stay put. He was in no condition for hand-to-hand combat in any case.
"No, he never… I just want him to stay." Nalia's voice was soft and broken, and John forgave her in that instant. Even though she'd just made his next hour a lot harder, he could feel nothing but pity.
Naden turned on his heel and stomped towards the hut and John dashed back out onto the path the moment they were safely out of sight. Pushing his limbs into a halting jog, he willed himself faster, trying, and mostly failing, to ignore the screaming agony of the motion and the lingering weakness of a draining fever. He blindly flew down the path and faltered at a crossroads. Spinning and tripping, he spotted the roofline of Nalia's house and headed towards it, his breath coming in labored gasps.
He skidded to a halt at the back door and tried the handle, almost sobbing with gratitude when it turned easily and opened: he'd been terrified he'd have to try to break open the door. Pushing it closed behind him, he made straight for the icebox. Naden had hidden the vaccine there once; perhaps Nalia had done so now. Throwing open the insulated wooden box, he dropped to his knees to peer into the unlighted appliance that was nothing more than a glorified beer cooler.
Wilted vegetables, a hunk of meat or two and a couple slabs of cheese and butter were jumbled into the box as if they'd recently been rearranged. His heart hammering in his ears, he began to toss the food out. In the very back, tucked under a cloth-wrapped rind of cheese, was a small glass vial, stoppered at one end with rough-hewn cork. Reaching in an eager, shaking hand, John clutched the medicine and brought it to his chest with a sigh of relief.
Leaning against the icebox, he allowed himself just a moment to celebrate his luck, then, mastering himself once again, he staggered to the front door to peer out the window. Luck was still with him and he saw Naden dash onto the road with Nalia close behind. The girl looked like she was weeping as she ran, and seemed close to collapse. But Naden scanned the road carefully, then turned to hurry into town, leaving her to follow miserably behind.
Carefully, John opened the front door and skulked to the forest at the road's edge. It was nearly night, and all was dim shadows. He hoped that this time, with the cover of dark on his side, he could make it behind the shops and houses without being seen. And, just in case, he also kept inside the forest line, only darting out to cross the bridge. The tangled undergrowth slowed him down, and moving quietly was a struggle among the clinging branches and dry leaves, but finally, sweat beading on his brow and stumbling with fatigue, he reached the far side of town unseen. The path to the Stargate yawned before him, much wider than the small one to the woodcutter's hut.
Kneeling to rest, he wearily watched the wide avenue into town from this side. There was no sign of Naden or Nalia and John could only assume that they were somewhere organizing another search party. In a sudden, overwhelming rush, his fatigue caught up with him, and spots swam before his eyes. Breathing heavily, coughing some, he sat heavily onto the ground and leaned his head into his hands. He'd never felt so tired, nor so beaten up in his life. He knew it was the lingering effects of the disease and fever that made even his skin feel like it was smoldering, but the knowledge couldn't compete with the overwhelming aches.
He rocked on the ground, trying to master the pain, slowly slipping further into blackness. He felt something hard against his forehead. Stupidly trying to remember what he was holding, he forced his head up to look into his palm.
He still clutched the glass vial tightly, in his haste and relief, he had found himself unwilling to entrust the precious medicine to his pocket.
The responsibility he felt to his colleagues and friends encouraged him when his own strength of will could not. Pushing himself up to lean against his knees, he at last moved onto the path and turned his face towards home. He wandered down the center of the broad road, taking the risk of being seen in return for a clearer path. He was running on pure obligation, knowing that without rest and food and water, he would have only enough resources make it to the Stargate's rim. He finally slipped the vial into a pocket, fearful that he would stumble in the ever-deepening gloom.
The road grew pitch dark, but his mind was so filled with darkness of its own that he scarcely noticed. His whole being was focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He could have walked for an hour, or an eternity; it was all the same to John.
At last, a dim flickering light penetrated John's awareness. He blinked to be sure he wasn't dreaming and slowed the mechanical movement of his steps. Light from a fire or torches was glowing through the trees just ahead, and as he crept closer, he could hear muted voices talking quietly amongst themselves. Managing one last effort, he moved even more stealthily to get himself close enough to peer into the small forest clearing where the Stargate sat gleaming behind a simple campfire. Naden and Davka were the ones talking, their heads bent close together. One other man stood near the fire, looking like he was supposed to be on lookout and Nalia sat slumped against the DHD, her head buried in the skirts around her knees, her small shoulders shuddering with repressed emotion.
"Naden, I still don't understand!" Davka was whispering, glancing back at the sentry as if afraid he'd be overheard, "You said the man would be dead by now. That we should guard the gate in case someone of his kind came through. Not to keep a dead man from leaving!"
"I was wrong," Naden whispered back gruffly. "My girl, Nalia, has been hiding him for the past day. She nursed him and…extended the illness. He's desperate and trying to get home before he does die, but you know we can't allow him to leave."
Davka looked skeptical, and in that flicker of doubt, John saw his chance. "But it's been too long, Naden. Surely, even if he fled from the woodcutter's house, he'd never make it this far in the third day of the sickness."
"But I did make it." John stepped off the forest path and into the pool of light around the fire. Bringing every last ounce of resolve to bear, he took two steps nearer to stand with firm confidence before the startled men. Davka and the other man looked amazed, but John could see rage boiling under Naden's expression.
"John!!" screamed Nalia and she scrambled to stand, her tear streaked face glistening in the firelight. She lunged for him only to be grabbed and held by her father where she hung, struggling and sobbing limply.
John had little attention for her at the moment; his full efforts were focused on Davka. "I made it because the plague is only a disease, and one that can be cured with the right medicine. Naden has that medicine, I took that medicine, but he chooses to hide it from you!"
"He's lying," snarled Naden. John took another easy step towards Davka.
"Do I look like a plaguer in the third day?" he asked, spreading his arms casually. Privately, John was hoping the fire wasn't bright enough to reveal how terrible he actually felt. But he was betting on these people having seen enough of the kind of death the plague caused that his merely standing and talking would make a strong impact. From Davka's dropped jaw and expression of growing confusion, it was working.
"Your people don't have to suffer any more. No more isolation. No more waiting for death. Naden found the cure. I'm the proof."
"How did you come by this cure of Naden's? If he would withhold it from his own people, how did he come to find you worthy?" Davka seemed to be trying to maintain his list of grievances against him, but John could see the doubt seeping into his eyes and posture.
"Nalia possesses compassion where Naden does not. She gave me the cure last night, and I am recovering. She risked everything for me, and I owe her my life." He paused, hoping the girl would hear again his thanks and be able to move past her grief. Fixing Davka with a steely glare, he pressed his final point, "You yourself were cured by Naden's vaccine, Davka. He tested the drug on you. You, like me, are alive because of it. Think back, you know I'm telling the truth. You can end this, now."
John held Davka's eyes over the furious shouting of Naden yelling "Liar! No! It's not true!" Finally, Davka turned to his frantic friend with betrayal and sadness. The silent sentry also turned on Naden, and the two moved to flank him.
"Naden, my friend. How could you do this?" Davka's voice was overflowing with quiet, uncomprehending anger.
Naden slumped, defeated, and buried his face in Nalia's hair. The two looked oddly fragile as they clung together, and John slumped too, putting out a hand to brace himself against the DHD.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Naden whispered, to Nalia as much as to the rest of them. "I stumbled on the vaccine near the end of the plague. Nearly everyone who was going to die already had. You were among the last to become ill, Davka. I couldn't let you die too, my friend! And it worked! You lived."
"Why?" Davka pressed. "A few more have died since my salvation. Why not share the cure?"
"Because I was afraid. You believed the disease was a test. If there were suddenly a vaccine…then you would know that I had lied about the Ancestors. I just…wanted a home for us. For my daughter." He crushed Nalia into his chest.
Davka looked at his friend with a combination of pity and fury. "The council will decide your fate, Naden. As a citizen of our town, I place you in the custody of the council." Davka turned to John, his face cold and sad. "You may leave. Return to your people. We will deal with Naden in our own way."
John glanced warily at the sobbing couple. "What about the girl? She knew nothing until I forced her to look for the vaccine. Naden lied to her, too."
Davka's face softened, "She will be cared for." John nodded solemnly in gratitude and with a weariness unparalleled, he stumbled around the DHD and began to punch in the familiar symbols, his heart lifting as each one lit up and the lights on the Stargate began to whirl and sing.
As the chevrons began to lock, one by one, Nalia became suddenly frantic. Still held in her father's embrace, she began to struggle violently, screaming at John to stay, wailing that she loved him, begging him to take her with him. The gate completed its connection, the vortex splashed, and the event horizon shimmered a placid blue, beckoning him home. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life to look ahead and walk away from the frantic girl who'd done so much for him. And yet, he could think of nothing to say or do that would make his leaving any easier. He was just so very tired.
He paused to bend over and fumble the GDO out of its pocket. Once it was free, he punched in his code, preparing to step through. A flurry of activity behind stopped him and he turned briefly back. Naden was gasping, "Nalia! No!" and Davka, who had followed in honor escort just behind John as he approached the gate, was turning quickly too.
In a last desperate frenzy, Nalia had jerked out of her father's grasp and picked up Naden's weapon, long forgotten on the ground. She waved the gun at Davka and screeched, "Stop him! You're letting him go!" John saw the muzzle level and simply reacted. Grabbing the man's shoulder, he shoved Davka back and down, using his own weight to put them both into motion. An unnatural blue light flashed and John screamed as he fell on top of Davka. His shoulder was on fire, his skin was burning and the pain was exquisite agony.
Davka squirmed out from under John who continued to yell, overwhelmed by pain, until there was nothing left of his voice but a hoarse rasp. He lay limply on his stomach pressing his face into the cool grass. Somewhere beside him, he could hear Nalia softly chanting, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. John, I could never hurt you…"
John pushed himself up to shaky hands and knees, and turning his head slightly he saw Davka kneeling worriedly beside him, asking, "What can I do?" Just beyond him, Nalia was crumpled on the ground, leaning into her father who was cradling and rocking her.
"Just let me go home. Help me to the gate."
Davka heaved and John braced himself on the edge of the Stargate itself. Leaning heavily, he pulled the vial out of his pants pocket, reassuring himself that he still had what he had endured all this for, and clutched it tightly to his chest. He took a single, deliberate step into the event horizon and Nalia's final cry of mourning was cut off as the wormhole took him.
He completed the step in the bright, cool and quiet gateroom on Atlantis. Reaching out, he braced himself on the ornate ring at this side of the transition. Someone was nearby and he finally recognized that Elizabeth was calling to him worriedly, his name on her lips so different from the heart-wrenching cries of the girl he'd left on the other side.
"Hi," he said and, managing to lift his head enough to find Elizabeth watching him warily, he stretched out his shaking hand to give her the vial, being careful not to let go completely until he was sure she had a firm grip on it. He heard her puzzled exclamation and only had the energy to whisper, "Give it to Beckett." The doctor would figure it out. Everything would be OK.
John looked for a moment at the place he called home. Then, unable to fight any longer, he nodded with satisfaction and gave himself up to the pain. He was unconscious even before his knees hit the ground and never felt Elizabeth's hands on his fevered head.