SO NEAR, SO FAR.
Author's note : Once again my thanks to all who have been kind enough to leave a review - I will get around to answering you all, but please know each and every comment is so very much appreciated, also inspiring and smile inducing. Thank you! Here's chapter 7, only two more after this.
Chapter 7
The next time Sheppard woke, it was not a gentle climb to awareness, but a sudden and savage assault to his senses. Pain was pulsing through his leg with such brutal intensity that it took a while to realise it was actually him making that sound … something that could only be described as a low, stuttering moan. His eyes wouldn't focus properly, everything was just glare and blur, and he could feel hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the ground. John resisted, tried to get away, and his breathing sped up to the point of hyperventilation, but … holy shit … whatever was happening to his leg could not be allowed to go on.
Words tumbled from his mouth, all rolling into one another, until he landed on the exact one he needed.
"Stop!"
He struggled even harder, and the weight on his shoulders increased. He kicked his left leg out, and the agony in his right leg blasted a few notches higher. His head involuntarily jerked up, slammed back down again.
A large, warm hand wrapped around John's forehead, stilling his movement. Sheppard panted and blinked, but it was virtually impossible to concentrate on anything other than the all encompassing hurt.
A familiar voice sounded in his ear, the tone reassuring. "We're fixing you up, buddy. Don't move. It'll all be good real soon."
The hovering blur slowly resolved into Ronon's face. As he leaned away, he left his hand resting on Sheppard's forehead, and that simple connection helped John regain some measure of control. He clenched his teeth together when the pain rose again, and tried to figure out exactly what was going on. Ronon said they were fixing him, and the memory of what had happened to make him feel like he'd been hit by a mack truck was close, so very close, he just couldn't seem to latch onto it.
One thing John did know with a fair amount of certainty was that Teyla was here too, he could remember her kneeling next to him sometime before. Everything was jumbled and confused, and he realised he had no clue where here was. So he started with that.
"Where are we?"
The head buzzing had dulled a little, but his voice still echoed and banged around the inside of his skull. He waited for a reply, didn't get one, and decided knowing the answer was not really that important when stacked up against the effort needed to ask again.
But images kept flashing in his mind, and he had to make sure he hadn't been dreaming. "Did I just shoot a panther?"
He still didn't get an answer. He knew he was slurring his words, couldn't seem to get his mouth working right … maybe that was why he was currently being ignored. Then Teyla's worried face appeared above him. Her voice cut in and out, "M3 … wildcats … are safe … broken."
"Can't hear you," John rasped. He tried to swallow but there wasn't a speck of moisture in his throat. Ronon's hand immediately moved to the back of his neck, helping him lift his head. A canteen nudged his bottom lip, but he only had the opportunity to take two small sips before it was quickly removed.
Lowering his head to John's ear again, Ronon said, "We just straightened your leg out, it's broken. You have to hold still while we splint it. You got that?"
A familiar kind of all-over exhaustion was setting in, and John had just enough thought processes left intact to recognise the effects of blood loss, maybe even shock. Again he searched for a reason, and suddenly, the memories came. The booby trap, his leg impaled. Sauna Hell, McKay and an explosion. But Rodney wasn't here and it wasn't all that hot anymore. Sheppard grimaced, gave one small nod to indicate he understood Ronon's instruction and would comply. From then on, time seemed to stretch and warp, jump from one point to another. Teyla and Ronon went about their work and there was pain, but nothing like before. John watched the single cloud in the sky float and slowly spin above him. When it drifted across the face of the sun, he shivered.
"John, we are moving to shelter. Ronon will carry you. Please do not try to assist in any way."
Sheppard's hearing was improving while the rest of him was falling apart. Either that, or Teyla was yelling, because this time he'd heard every word she'd said. He sucked in a sharp breath as she and Ronon sat him up, and although they'd made the shift in slow and cautious increments, his vision swum and his stomach lurched. Cold sweat broke out on his face and the shivering got a whole lot worse. When Ronon hooked his hands under John's arms to hoist him up over his shoulder, a different type of pain erupted down low in Sheppard's rib cage.
It was the last thing he was completely aware of for some time.
. . . . . . . . . .
Elizabeth Weir stood on the control room balcony, hands tightly gripping the railing as she willed time to move faster. A pair of jumpers had just gone through the gate to M3X-245, the planet closest to where all this had begun, only an hour or so ago. McKay and Beckett were in the first jumper, Lorne's team of four marines and two engineers manned the second. While Beckett hadn't seemed very optimistic on Sheppard's chances of surviving the blast, he'd remarked that John always liked to surprise everyone by turning up alive when he should be dead. But then he'd gone on to say that if he did somehow last the night, and an eleven hour return trip, the delay in proper treatment and surgery would drastically reduce the chances of saving John's leg.
The colonel might live, only to endure a long, painful rehabilitation that would culminate in a medical discharge, and an end to his days on Atlantis. Having grown to know John Sheppard over the past few years, Elizabeth feared the possibility of that future with a very heavy heart. Above all else, John was an air force pilot. He lived for the sky, and the adrenalin … in fact he seemed internally wired to be constantly in the thick of things. There was no denying that she and the rest of the Atlantis expedition had come to rely on him to always be there, especially in times of crisis, and expect that John would always find a way to come through for them too.
But would he make it through this time?
Elizabeth's thoughts turned to Rodney, and how he had turned progressively pastier and testier as the emergency had unfolded. When Beckett gave his prognosis for John's leg, Rodney had immediately suggested that both she and Beckett might like to consider a better option … as in fixing the gate once they landed on M3X-141. Elizabeth had been foolish enough to ask if he thought he could do that in less time than it would take to fly back. Rodney hadn't replied, just tapped his ear piece and spoke to engineers Ryan and Aquina directly, advising them they had exactly five minutes to gear up and get to the jumper bay.
Rodney seemed to be on the point of collapse himself, so Elizabeth had made sure a sandwich and water had been put down in front him not long after that. The food remained untouched on the table behind her, proving there was a first time for everything. He'd finished all the water though, speaking between gulps in that McKay patented way of talking to himself in shorthand and expecting everyone else to keep up.
It didn't take long for Elizabeth to decipher Rodney's ramblings as a list of supplies required to stabilize the gate … digging equipment, struts, pulleys, all interspersed amongst a few different theories on how to get the job done in the shortest time possible. She watched as he radioed Ryan again, repeating the list and telling her to make sure all of it was loaded into the jumper within the next five minutes as well. Rodney stopped to listen to Ryan for a few seconds, and said, "Oh, you have? Well, good." Elizabeth hid a smile behind her hand, guessing Rodney had been well and truly told that everything was already underway. Combat engineers were a well prepared and provisioned group of specialists, and Ryan and Aquina were among the best of them.
Rodney had then set his sights on Elizabeth. "The gate on '141 is still refusing to engage. That doesn't mean we should stop trying. I'm not suggesting you let anyone attempt to travel through, not unless they have a death wish, but supplies on the other hand ..."
Elizabeth smiled, nodded. If the wormhole collapsed on boxes of medical supplies, food or bottled water - it didn't matter. But if they managed to get the items through quickly enough, and they actually arrived at the other end, John's chances of surviving would be boosted enormously.
A good plan and one that almost paid off. Rodney left the control area for the jumper bay after the first few unsuccessful attempts, and it was as though the gate was waiting for him to walk away. The very next dial up worked. Supplies were hastily thrown through as Elizabeth tried to establish radio contact. Her hopes quickly shattered as the event horizon shorted at the five second mark. The gate had remained unresponsive since that time. The rescue now hinged on several uncertain elements which called for a good dose of luck, and her people's ability to get the job done.
Elizabeth had complete faith in her people, so all she could do now was wait and hope for the right outcome.
. . . . . . . . . .