A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to post (again), but real life issues tend to be a real distraction for people writing fic, isn't it?
"Fire in the hole!" the white-haired sailor shouted as the fuse burned.
Rodney covered his ears, turning away from the cannon as it fired and looked over at Carson, who was struggling with a man who was flailing wildly and clawing at the deck. The cannonball splash was huge, nearly drenching them all. But bubbles soon began to rise through the water near the aft of the hull, and some of the crewmen cheered at the good fortune that Rodney had brought them. They had at least hit the enemy ship's hull, and it was beginning to leak like a sieve.
A sudden clap on Rodney's back nearly made his knees give out from underneath him. Peering back nervously and seeing the white-haired man brandishing a broad, toothy grin at him, Rodney managed to return the smile wryly. He gulped back some bile that had collected in his throat and stepped back again as the crewman around him began to reload the cannon, and watched as they began stuffing it and the cannon next to it with two cannonballs linked by a heavy chain.
"They're ours now, lad!" the white-haired man shouted proudly, pulling Rodney into a great bear-hug.
"Yeah, sure," he barely managed to grunt through the intensity of the man's celebration.
But the fight wasn't over quite yet. As the men urged Rodney to aim the cannon for the mast, he did his best and again won them a lucky blow to the enemy ship's main mast. It cracked and splintered about half-way up, eventually falling into the water on the other side. Then Captain Te'Lan was suddenly heard shouting above the din of fighting.
"Hoist the remaining sails, lads, and haul wind!"
A flurry of movement filled the ship, and Rodney watched as a dozen or so crewmen who were fighting dropped their weapons and began to haul lines to bring up the sails, and others began to cut the ropes that the enemy ship had used to warp their ship closer to their quarry. But as he turned to watch the sails rising and fluttering in the wind, his foot slipped in a puddle of blood, and Rodney landed in it face first.
Sputtering and coughing and trying to claw the putrid stuff off of his face, Rodney turned his face and caught sight of the source of the blood; it was Nerry's blood, and he was lying in Carson's arms as he grappled futilely with the task of staunching the endless flow. Silence broken only by the light sloshing of water against the damaged hull filled the air as wounded and bleeding men secured lines and began tearing strips of cloth from their own clothing to cover the wounds of their comrades and friends. Carson worked feverishly to tie the cloth like a tourniquet around wounds, moving back and forth from each wounded man behind him and checking on Nerry every few minutes as he could, re-bandaging wounds and applying pressure where he could.
Rodney would have offered to help, but the sight of all that blood coating his bare chest and face and hands made him nauseous all over again, and he flung himself toward the gunwalls to retch the meager contents that remained in his stomach. Sonnal appeared then, running the last of the enemy sailors through with his sword and hauling the wounded man overboard without a second thought, and then shouted an order to the coxswain on the wheel to make a bearing toward a nearby port. When he then turned to see the faces of the wounded, his bearing was changed and he rushed toward his friend.
"Nerry!" he whispered, quite close to absolute panic, and began to tear off the makeshift bandages. Bright red blood welled between the sliced folds of skin on his friend's abdomen, and Sonnal nearly lost his composure completely as his hands began to tremble.
"No, don't!" Carson shouted firmly as he looked up from binding another man's leg with another makeshift tourniquet, then rose to his feet to pull Sonnal away from his patient. So long as he was a doctor, he would help those who were in need, friend or foe. "Are ye daft? Ye cannae remove his bandages! He'll bleed ta death for sure!"
Rodney watched Carson struggle with Sonnal's trembling hands as he stumbled back to the section of the deck that was slick with blood, a section that had more than a dozen men sitting there staining the decks and mumbling their appreciation for Carson's ministrations. He watched as the dying man then breathed his last breath and lay utterly still. Carson carefully placed a hand over his face to close his eyes.
Sonnal snapped. His left hand lashed out to grab Carson by the shoulder, and his right arm scooped up Carson's legs as Sonnal hauled him up and over in the direction of the gunwalls. Cursing himself for allowing his attention to be distracted from Sonnal, Carson yelped with shock and squirmed in the man's grip. "Put me down! Rodney, do somethin'!"
"There's no way anyone's goin' ta stop me from seein' you go to the scurries this time!" Sonnal grunted angrily as he nearly lost his grip, but he drew his sword and used the pommel against Carson's skull, sending him into a dazed stupor.
Rodney began to panic and jumped on Sonnal's back, trying to unbalance him enough to let Carson fall safely onto the deck, but the man was too strong and simply flung him off. Carson's arms and legs were dangling over the side of the ship. But as he began to regain some awareness, he tried to fling out his hands to grab hold of Rodney, or Sonnal, or something that felt safely grounded.
The sound of a gun's hammer cocking suddenly echoed through his ears. Sonnal had obviously heard it too and had stiffened, but had thankfully had not yet dropped Carson. And as he gazed down at the waters below, Carson could see the sharp jaws of some kind of fish or sharks gnawing at the blood-covered wood splinters spattering the surface of the water, and he immediately redoubled his efforts to grab hold of something, anything to keep him from falling to his death.
No one dared move, nor even breathe, as Te'Lan held the pistol to Sonnal's head with unbelievable steadiness in both his hand and his voice. "I'd hate to have ta kill ya, mate, but if he dies, the next shot fired from this fine weapon here is goin' ta be lodged quite firmly in yer brain."
Each of Sonnal's breaths came in quick, ragged huffs as he struggled to choose between the two options presented before him, and fortunately for Carson, he found the choice much more difficult than he ever could have wanted. Without a word, Sonnal brought Carson just close enough to the ledge of the gunwalls for him to grab hold of it, and then promptly strode below decks, his face red with rage and his teeth firmly latched shut.
Rodney immediately rushed over to help Carson back up onto the deck, and after a moment had managed to get him up and over. Sprawled out on the deck and gasping for breath, a few other crewman looked on as Rodney knelt down next to him.
"Are you alright?" Rodney asked Carson softly, and then the white-haired man he'd assisted with the cannon suddenly appeared at his side.
Carson could barely do more than grit his teeth and nod, but even that simple movement seemed to cause him pain. He grunted a weak reply and rubbed absently at the lump forming on his head.
Rodney thought it odd that this one person seemed to have more of an interest in him than simply avoiding punishment from the captain, but tried to dismiss the thought as he was offered a small wooden cup. He sniffed tentatively at its contents, and the man scowled in annoyance, but seemed more amused than annoyed. "'Tis only water, lad. But if I didn't think Sonnal would piss in it first, I'd offer ye a stiff drink instead. We've been in a few scrapes in the past, and sure could'a used someone with your luck then!"
"It wasn't luck," Rodney said simply and was about to continue, but shut his mouth instead. He would normally have been intent on arguing that physics and ballistic trajectories are worth learning about, but decided against it, preferring instead to avoid making yet another enemy from someone else in the crew. They would need all the friends they could get if he and Carson were going to live through this.
The six frustrated searchers stopped in front of their destination and looked up at it. The ramshackle house-like structure was poorly constructed, but painted brightly and lavishly with gold, blue, and lavender colors. Ronon folded his arms across his chest and immediately peered over his shoulder, as if expecting an ambush, but none came. All he really wanted was simply to get out of the cold, chilly rain, and didn't particularly care what kind of place he had to stand inside in order to do so.
Breathing a frustrated sigh of relief and finally finding the place they'd been looking for most of the day, Colonel Sheppard tried to relax his aching shoulders, which were beginning to become quite sore from carrying even the small the weight of his weapon that was attached to his vest. It didn't weigh much, but weighed just enough to pull his shoulders forward in such a way that two straight days of walking around the docks and questioning fisherman and sutlers had begun to put quite a strain on his muscles. He yearned for simply a nice, cozy bed to crawl into, but would sooner continue to walk endlessly than sleep while his friends' lives could be in danger.
"This is the right place this time, isn't it?" Sheppard asked tiredly, moving a strap on his vest to keep it from biting further into his left side. "That crazy guy's information had better be worth all that we paid for it."
"I… well…" Henry began tentatively, shifting his weight on his feet uncomfortably. "I think this is the right place, but honestly, I'd not be caught dead even appearing to solicit services from such a… disreputable establishment as this one."
"Okay…" John said after a moment, taking another deep breath. "So who's going to go in and ask about Carson and Rodney? Do we have any volunteers?"
Henry, Ronon, Major Lorne, and Colonel Sheppard looked at each other first, and then slowly turned in unison, gazing expectantly at the two women standing toward the back of the group. Lt. Cadman and Teyla shared a quick glance, and then glared back at the men with confusion and anger etched on their faces. Teyla seemed to be momentarily stricken speechless by the absurdity of the suggestion, but Laura Cadman had no such difficulty speaking her mind.
"You've got to be kidding me," she stated incredulously. "Do you have any idea what they'd probably do to us if we went in there by ourselves? Teyla and I are not going in there alone!"
Henry's hopeful smile twisted into a scowl of embarrassment, but gave John an honest shrug as if to admit that the women could have a point.
"Alright, alright," John said as he rubbed at a sudden and foreboding ache in his forehead and nodded in agreement. "We'll all go together."
Taking each feeble step hesitantly under their boots, the team made their way through the brightly painted doors and the glamorously decorated hallway into a larger room graced by a wooden table and several bright colored, well-used, and disgustingly filthy couches. None of them dared to allow themselves to wonder about the source of the numerous stains and clumps of hair that blatantly covered the fabric.
A scantily dressed woman with overflowing cleavage greeted them cheerily. "Welcome to Hellan's House of Comfort! What'll be your pleasure this evening, gents? Blonde, brunette, redhead, or shall I let ya choose fer yerselves? Girls, out and about! We have clients!"
"Actually, uh, we just need…" John attempted to simply make their needs plain and clear, but was immediately distracted by more than a half dozen women dressed and covered in naught but a few strips of linen, several of which were pressing themselves against him, and one even reached out to touch the fabric of his vest and jacket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Henry shrink back and cover his eyes with embarrassment, and also saw Lt. Cadman's grip on her weapon tighten nervously. Ronon snickered with amusement, and Teyla glared at him threateningly.
The woman in charge had obviously mistaken them for rich patrons looking for a good time, and John quickly grew tired of fending off the women's hands as they reached into his pockets looking for any valuables or money they could steal. Pushing away the three women who were practically throwing themselves at him as carefully as he could, he took a step forward and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but we don't have any money, and we're not here for the… uh… entertainment. We need information."
With a suspicious and cockeyed expression, the woman at the desk peered over at them curiously, snapped her fingers, and folded her arms sternly. "No money, no women. I think ya'd best leave, friends. Come back when you have something of value to trade for what ye want."
The women wandered away restlessly, not even seeming to be all that disappointed in losing an opportunity to fleece customers of their valuables. John gratefully watched them go and looked to Henry for guidance, but there was not much to give. He was probably going to be on his own for this one, and would likely cost the expedition that much more of its allotted trade goods in exchange.
His persistence had piqued the woman's interest, at least.