My sincerest apologies about the long break. My computer crashed, which is always fun, and right when I was sitting down to post the chapter after I got my computer back, I realized I didn't like a single thing I'd written. So I started over.
Also, incidentally, I wrote a small ficlet (actually, six-thousand-plus word monster, but who's counting?) that is John/Rodney porny goodness. It's AU and Rodney is a vampire. Yeah, a vampire. It's not really about that though. So if you want plot-less porn, go read it.
Disclaimer: me own nothing.
---
Chapter Seven- Attack- The fall of a Keeper
On day, when she had been fourteen years old, Elizabeth Weir had looked at her eight-year-old brother and had Known he was dying. The Knowing understandably scared her, for it had been a calm certainty in her mind. It was surprising, how insecure and uncertain people were about even the most basic of knowledge; Knowing was frighteningly right and she shied away from the knowledge. She had ignored it- after all, her power ended at the Knowing, what she did from there was all on her- and had almost managed to forget it. Almost. Within three months her brother was diagnosed with leukemia and within three more months she was attending his funeral.
Ever since then, she had become bitterly aware of things she hadn't before. She Knew enough to drive a wedge between her and other people, her pushing them away because it was easier and they allowing it because she frightened them on a primal level. And then one day, seven years after her brother's death, she wandered into a used bookstore in search of a textbook and Knew the old man behind the counter would be able to help her. After the initial shock, he had been able to figure out her power within minutes, and she soon became aware. Not long after that she was succeeding him as the leader of his network and owner of his small chain of stores, both of which flourished under her Knowing guidance.
Twenty-two years later, and her efforts and hard work was rewarded with this kitchen full of people, all completely different from one another, all friends or at least comrade in arms. She felt proud and warm, as if she were singlehandedly responsible for this whole thing and the people in front of her had done none of the real work. To her left, Daniel sent her a swift, amused look. She was being lazy and not guarding herself like she should and he was picking up her every emotion as if she were shouting it across the table.
They were clustered around the table for breakfast, which was the result of a combination effort between Daniel and Elizabeth herself. It was nothing fancy- coffee and toast and a Mount Kilimanjaro-sized heap of pancakes that was vanishing at an amazing rate. Rodney was sitting directly opposite Elizabeth and was a large part of the answer to the vanishing-pancake mystery. The other part was sitting to his left, hunched over his plate to protect it since it was obviously too much effort for the Keeper to reach the extra six inches to the big platter of pancakes in the middle of the table. Ronon had taken up this seat without hesitation and Elizabeth quickly figured out why- Rodney spent the entire meal jabbering about the discoveries they had made in the basement and, in classic Rodney way, gesturing widely. He whacked Ronon across the shoulder once and the Specialist promptly reached over to punch him back, hard enough to derail Rodney's train of words so he could whine about it. Ever since the gestures had been somewhat tamer and a good deal less dangerous.
To Rodney's right was Radek Zelenka, who had been called in at the same time as Daniel and Elizabeth. He was the only one at the table to keep up with Rodney word-wise and the two spent the entire time comparing and compiling ideas and experiences. They also, as was their way, took a break in the scientific chatter to trade off insults that grew increasingly more immature and quickly abandoned English in exchange for Russian and Czech and others that went by too quickly for even Daniel to recognize. Next to Radek was John, who watched the two with clear amusement. Occasionally, if the two sleep-deprived scientists seemed to be slowing down, he would offer up a sly comment and set them off again. He wasn't too bothered by the acerbic words slung his way whenever he managed to say something particularly offensive in its idiocy. He was relaxed and smiling a real smile and Elizabeth was grateful that something seemed to be getting through to the real John Sheppard, because the last thing he deserved was to burn out and destroy himself with his own power.
Teyla was next to John. She spent the meal watching the sideshow distraction with a more quiet form of amusement than John's; sometimes, when the arguments got a little too vicious, she would sit forward and pin a look on them that would cause both men to quail and retreat like little boys caught sneaking cookies out of the jar. This gave them about ten seconds of silence before someone- normally John- made a leading comment and sent one of them- normally Rodney- off and running.
Daniel and Elizabeth both sat back, allowing the other four-plus-Radek to do their thing. It was interesting to watch how easily they had come together, as if they were always meant to be a team. Daniel had grudgingly taken a break from his translating efforts- they had found the Ancient version of a data storage device, which had contained several languages, including a rudimentary form of Latin. This Rosetta Stone, combined with Daniel's power as a Scribe, meant he was finally unlocking the exasperating puzzle that was the Ancient's language. He wouldn't be able to speak it, he told her ruefully, but he would be able to read it, and all things considered they couldn't really ask for more.
"So do you three need me for anything more?" John asked, intruding into her thoughts. Breakfast was winding down, with even Ronon no longer making any more grabs for food, and it was obvious that the drifting away was beginning. Daniel's glances towards the door was replaced by inching. Rodney was a good deal less subtle; he stood, grabbed his coffee mug, and snorted.
"You? Oh please, you're only here to turn things on. You're a glorified techno-whore."
Elizabeth choked on her tea. Rodney had never been any good at social situations, but that easily took the cake as the most insensitive thing she'd ever heard him say. It was even more shocking when John laughed.
"Alrighty then, just remember- I offered. You change your mind, you get to go find yourself another techno-whore."
Rodney didn't answer; he was too busy chugging down the last of his coffee. He nudged Zelenka's shoulder and ducked out without so much as a thank you. Zelenka did thank them, for both the company and the food, and put his dishes in the sink before following. John stood in one graceful motion and smirked at Elizabeth's still very-visible shock. It was a smug, patronizing look, one that said I learned how to handle Rodney McKay in four weeks and you've known him for twenty-odd years and still can't manage it. A lazy challenge. She almost took offense. Instead she turned her own smile on him, putting the full impart of her eerie power behind it. He merely winked and loped out, not the slightest bit affected. Give him ten years and actual command experience in a real war, she thought mildly, and he might be a decent successor for O'Neill. Not that she was in the habit of wishing war upon people.
Then she had to smile, because she was sitting here plotting handing over her network to a wild power with brain space hijacked by an Ancient device. That was almost as odd as her plan to eventually suggest Teyla be her own successor. The Athosian had been a leader of her own people and already had the wisdom and grace to deal with all aspects involved. That she wasn't originally from Earth was her only flaw, and it was a minor one. Xenophobia was on the rise but those born with power already had a broader world view and aliens weren't really all that weird an idea.
Ronon was next to leave. He did so in his normal way, quiet and subtle and she wouldn't have noticed him gone until she actively looked for him had she not been sitting between him and the door. For a man who could clear a room with just one glower, he could be remarkably inconspicuous when he wanted to. Daniel finally realized that manners weren't going to get him anywhere and left with a hurried 'excuse me'. That meant it was just the two women, sitting across the table from each other and silently surveying the wreckage breakfast had left behind.
"Are they always like that?" Elizabeth asked, because the thought of cleaning up after the boys- and they were all boys, each and every one, because men knew better than to expect women to do all the housework, a standard which unfortunately meant there was a serious shortage of real men in this world- did not appeal to her. She briefly considered going and fetching one of the boys, then decided against it. The three scientists had too much to do already, and even with twelve solid hours of sleep John still looked tired, and Ronon... well, Ronon didn't really have an excuse, except now that she'd let him out of her sight she would never find him again until there were no more chores to be done.
"John and Rodney?" Teyla answered, also casting a quick, despairing glance over the tale before meeting Elizabeth's gaze once more. "They are. At first I thought they honestly did not care for each other, but it appears to be the opposite. The harsher their words, the more they seem to be enjoying themselves."
"Well, good. I just wanted to make sure they're not going to end up killing each other." Elizabeth stood with a tired sigh. Might as well get started on clean up.
John stuck his head back in five minutes later, just as Elizabeth was debating if Rodney really needed all these dishes or if she could just throw them out. The man started to say something, then snapped his mouth shut and ducked into the room, slouching next to the sink and grabbing the sponge away from Elizabeth. Teyla, who was loading the dishwasher, smiled satisfactorily to herself.
"So the Geek Squad downstairs is going nuts over something," he said conversationally, as Elizabeth gave him a grateful nod and retreated back to the table.
"Why?" she asked, sipping at her tea. The other two had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, making her think this wasn't the first time they'd gotten stuck on clean up duty. Given their housemates, this was not a surprise.
"Jackson got the Ancient language figured out. He's translating everything now."
"And you're up here because...?" Elizabeth began. He shrugged.
"Apparently I'm distracting." He snorted. "Even though I was standing quietly out of the way."
Somehow Elizabeth doubted that standing quietly had been all he was doing, especially since he was looking paler and more drawn than he had at breakfast. He'd been using his power again, probably to turn on the devices downstairs. Or off. Or both. Which shouldn't really be a big bother to him, not by itself, but he hadn't fully recovered from the previous day yet. They really were going to have to teach him moderation, she thought wryly. He was going kill himself if he kept up this pace.
Elizabeth wasn't the only one to notice. Teyla had half-turned towards her friend, eyes dark with concern and lips pressed into a thin line. One hand strayed down to her pocket and slowly pulled her red laundry marker out. She wouldn't be able to do much with it, but that didn't really matter. It was more a comfort thing. John noticed the movement and leaned away from her.
"Don't you dare," he ordered. "I only just got it all off from last time."
"Do they want us down there?" Elizabeth asked.
"I got something of a 'don't call us, we'll call you' kind of feel," John answered wryly. He paused and reached up to touch a small lump growing on the back of his neck. "That Zelenka's got quite an arm."
Elizabeth sighed. She didn't really want to know.
---
It was close to noon when John found himself back in the kitchen. This time he settled onto a tall stool in front of the center island. Elizabeth sat next to him as Daniel Jackson and Radek Zelenka shuffled papers and fumbled with laptops and pens. John patiently waited for them, sitting back to watch all three. The intruders. They didn't fit into the easy rhythm of the house, probably never would. There was only room for four in this bizarre little family.
"Is there a reason you called us down here, or is this just your way of telling us you need a couple of secretaries down there to keep you guys organized?" John asked after almost three minutes. The two scientists both looked up at him, taken aback. John waved off the questioning looks with an apologetic grin. Obviously the snark war was limited to Rodney alone.
"Uh, well," Jackson began. He glanced at John one more time before trying again. "We found what we believe to be some sort of data storage device, sort of like a flash drive." He placed a small gadget on the table between them. It looked like nothing special; a small black box with what looked like a flat piece of glass tucked into an open slot. "After John was kind enough to activate the reading device, we figured out what's on it."
"Among other things," Zelenka picked up, sliding a notebook forward. Its lined pages were covered with Ancient scribbles. Off to one side was something like a chart. John pulled the notebook closer to study it- sixty-odd symbols, separated into two columns. He traced a finger carefully over the Ancient words, then blinked and looked again. Each and every word had six letters, no more or less. Not words.
"Stargate addresses?" he asked, glancing up. The two scientists beamed at him excitedly. He felt his own excitement rise accordingly and sat forward, trying not to look too eager. "Any with seven symbols?"
"No," Jackson said, brutal and to the point, although he looked apologetic. "Sorry. But a large chunk of the data is corrupt, most likely due to corrosion caused by... well, age. McKay's trying to fix it, but he's not having much luck. The address you're- seeing- could be on the corrupted parts."
"Any way of translating these into the actual coordinate points?" Elizabeth put in, gently pulling the notebook towards her. John let her take it and dropped back heavily into his chair. He should have known there would be no easy answer to this mess.
"Yes and no," came the unhelpful response. "It should be easy enough, especially since McKay's been kind enough to supply a life-sized schematic of the Stargate. However, I'm looking at these."
Jackson took the notebook back and flipped a few pages over- jeez, there were a lot of addresses there- pausing to circle a few series and scribble something in the margin. He plopped the well-used notebook between them once more.
John leaned over to study it. After a moment he once again dropped back. "Something there I'm not seeing?"
"There are two groupings," Zelenka said. "Two-" he glanced at Jackson in frustration. "Two different groupings of coordinates."
John tilted his head in consideration of that. Jackson, seeing their confusion, tried to explain it a little better.
"The Stargate has a certain number of coordinate points on it, and each 'gate address has six of these symbols- always six, it never repeats a symbol. Because there's thirty-nine symbols to choose from, in sequences of six in any order, there's literally thousands of potential 'gates we could dial. But these," he gestured towards the addresses he had circled, "use none of the same symbols as any previous addresses."
John blinked and leaned closer once more, studying the symbols closely, flipping the page back and forth to compare them to the other addresses. Why, he couldn't say, since it was doubtful he would see something in thirty seconds that those three hadn't already figured out during their hours in the basement.
"Is it a different letter still representing the same coordinate point, or is it a completely different set of coordinates?" Elizabeth asked pointedly. By the time she had finished the first half of the sentence, both scientists were shaking their head.
"The second set has only thirty-two symbols," Zelenka explained.
"Also, Teyla has told us several times that the symbols on our 'gate are different from the ones on Athos'," Jackson added.
"So... a different set of coordinates? Why?" John glanced between the other two men.
"Different coordinates for a different Stargate network, different network for a different galaxy."
John blinked at Jackson's words. He shared a quick look with Elizabeth, silently asking permission to start cracking Star Wars jokes. She arched an eyebrow marginally and gave a small shake of her head.
"No, no, look," the archaeologist had obviously figure out the meaning between that exchange. "Jack asks everyone who comes through the 'gate what address they dialed to reach Earth. Most of them gave us this." He sketched out a quick six-symbol address. "But Teyla and Ronon and a handful of others gave us this." Here he drew a seven-symbol address, using coordinate points John had never seen before.
"Why the extra coordinate?" Elizabeth was leaning forward now too.
"To secure the connection, maybe? Possibly because Earth is in a different galaxy and the eighth coordinate lock is necessary to bridge the distance."
"Then the address I've been seeing is... in another galaxy?" John ducked his chin against his chest and folded his arms. He was not going to laugh. No matter how absurd this seemed, he was not going to laugh.
"It might very well be the only access point we have to return to that galaxy," Jackson replied. He paused for a moment. "Provided, of course, we get the Stargate to work."
"What is it?" Elizabeth demanded suddenly. All three men stared blankly at her. "There's something at those coordinates, something important. The device downloaded this information into John's brain because it couldn't let that address be lost. So what's there?"
"We don't know exactly," Zelenka admitted slowly. "Educated guess? The weapon the Ancients used to defend Earth."
"How did you know it- you know what, never mind." John turned away from Elizabeth to regard the Czech. "Weapon, huh? Might be worth hunting down."
"You keep saying something's missing. We need the completed address first," Jackson pointed out.
"No, actually, we need the Stargate working first," John countered. Jackson nodded.
"Fair enough. Problem is, I can't do that from here. I need access to the 'gate itself." He stood up and glanced at Elizabeth. "To be honest I don't really need to be here anymore. McKay and Radek can handle everything from here. I need to get back to Colorado."
Elizabeth rose with him. She paused, her eyes going momentarily unfocused, then she smiled at him. "Why don't you take Radek with you? He could be helpful."
Jackson paused and glanced at her in confusion. She merely gazed at him, her expression calmly informing both of them that this really wasn't a suggestion. After a moment the archaeologist shrugged and looked at Zelenka. The two excused themselves and made tracks for the basement, leaving John with a suddenly deflated Elizabeth.
"Something we should know about?" John asked carefully.
"Maybe. I don't know." She pressed her lips into a thin line and shifted to study him closely. "We don't belong here, John. Not like you four."
John shifted uneasily, hearing his own thoughts from earlier echoed. "We're not trying to-"
"I know," she cut in smoothly. "But sometimes... You four balance each other out perfectly, and your power refuses to let anyone else in." She gave him one more long, searching look. "This is your burden now, John. Take care of them."
"Take care- hey! Don't I get any say in this?"
"Not really," Elizabeth answered cheerfully. "Not in this. No one does." And with a sympathetic smile, she walked out. John leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table. After a moment he leaned forward to grab the abandoned notebook and flipped to a new page. With a tired sigh, he drew out the mystery address, leaving a blank space between each symbol.
Thirty-nine symbols- thirty-three if Jackson was right about the no repeats- in any one of seven places, between the other symbols or on either end. Two hundred and thirty-one possibilities. He rubbed at his forehead with the pad of his thumb and stared at the page.
This was going to drive him completely mad.
---
One of the good things about being small and blond and female, Sora had long ago discovered, was that men tended to greatly underestimate her. Especially the big kind.
The pawn shop was almost completely empty, with only the employee and a man who was approximately the size of a small bus. She spared the latter a disdainful glance before heading over to the front counter. As she walked, she pulled out a disc, carefully twisting it so it reflected a beam of sunlight straight into the gorilla-man's eyes.
The employee behind the counter recognized her immediately. Of course he would- the Genii were some of his best customers. Plus he knew she could kill him before he could even blink.
"I'm going to need all this," she said simply, holding out the disc. "By tonight."
He glanced at the disc, over at his muscle man, then took the disc and carefully slipped it into his ten-year-plus-old computer. Sora shifted impatiently and waited for him to boot up the proper programs. Earth was ridiculously advanced, especially when compared to the world she had been born and raised on, but a quick glance at the past century showed that they were only just now starting to get into the swing of things. They didn't even need the Wraith to bring death and destruction upon them; before too much longer, they would most likely be destroying themselves. Sora didn't care. She planned on being back home long before then.
The man was staring at the screen, face gone pale. Her list was short and simple- she had ten men and a decent supply of weapons for them. All she really needed was a way in.
"That's..." he began. Swallowed once, carefully, eying her closely. "That's quite a lot of C-4."
"Yes, it is." She didn't offer an explanation. She didn't even bat an eye.
"And you want it by tonight?"
"Yes, I do."
He looked up at her once more. She merely stared down at him, one hand casually straying to her belt, where she might have god-only-knows what sort of weapons. He got the point.
"Consider it done."
---
Somewhere around nine in the evening, three hours after the three intruders finally left, John found Rodney sitting on the front porch drinking.
Actually, Ronon found him there, and went to fetch- read: drag- John out to talk to him. About what, exactly, was never made clear, for the Satedan deposited him beside Rodney and left without a word. John stayed where he was, no doubt in his mind that Ronon would forcibly retrieve him again if he tried to leave, and Rodney finished off another bottle of some Canadian brew and remained happily unaware of the outside world.
This awkward silence- awkward from John's perspective at least, probably not from Rodney's since he appeared oblivious to John's presence- kept up for a painful fifteen minutes. Rodney finally dealt with the awkwardness in his own classic blunt way. He grabbed himself another bottle of beer, then handed one over to John, who took it wordlessly. The following five minutes were a good deal less tense and weird, as John tried not to choke on the strong beer and still said nothing.
Finally he decided he needed to start somewhere, especially since the row of empty bottles on Rodney's other side was a pretty good indication that the man was far from sober.
"So."
Okay, so maybe there was a reason no one had ever accused John of being a conversationalist. Rodney leveled that blue gaze on him and John tried not to frown. Those sharp, keen eyes were muddled and hazy, foggy with the alcohol, and John didn't like it. It spurred him on.
"Is there any reason you're out here getting plastered?" he asked casually. Rodney made an attempt at his contemptuous snort.
"Think I'm past the 'getting' part," he mumbled, and wasn't it just classic Rodney that he didn't even slur once? Of all the things people lost while drunk, coherent speech would naturally be the last to abandon Rodney.
"I noticed," John said simply, glancing wryly at the bottles. Rodney started to huff but his breath caught and dragged out of him in a long sigh instead.
"You know, you're kinda pretty."
John inhaled sharply and nearly choked himself on a mouthful of booze. Rodney patiently waited out the following coughing fit, eyes locked on the ground in front of him as he rolled the glass bottle between his hands.
Naturally the first thing Rodney would lose while drunk was what little social tact he normally had.
"Um. Thanks?" John tried, once he felt it was safe to breathe again. Rodney mumbled something under his breath and sighed again. Then he leaned over, dropping his full weight on John's shoulder. John, not expecting it, nearly went over sideways into the bushes lining the porch.
"Yours ears are weird though," Rodney informed him, ignoring John as he flailed for a grip on something and threw his beer halfway across the yard in the process. Before he could fully regain his balance, he felt something- good god was that a tongue?!- tracing the shell of his ear. He shuddered and made the mistake of closing his eyes. Rodney, who just had to be an amorous drunk because it would be the last thing anyone expected of him, took advantage of his chance and plastered himself around John's waist. John fell backward, his back hitting the ground with an audible 'oof', and Rodney tightened his grip with a contented murmur.
"Okay," John gasped out, because damn if Rodney wasn't surprisingly strong. "I'm guessing you don't really wanna talk about it."
"You smell good," the Keeper muttered, nuzzling at John's throat.
"Now that's just- Rodney!" He yelped the name when the other man bit him, teeth catching the fragile skin below his ear. "All right, play time's over. Get off."
"Trying to," came the response that John felt more than heard. After a moment he realized what that meant and rolled his eyes.
"Bad, Rodney, that was just plain bad. Let go of me."
"Nope." And Rodney cradled his cheek in one palm and turned his face in and kissed him.
For about two thirds of a second, John considered forcibly removing his new cling-on. Then he mentally rolled his eyes and relaxed into the kiss. Rodney was surprisingly skilled, considering both his recent alcohol consumption and his acerbic personality which, or so John assumed, tended to scare off potential partners.
When John pulled away to breathe, Rodney went back to his ear, and god that was just far too distracting. He almost didn't notice the hand sliding under his shirt. "Okay, Rodney, seriously now. You're going to bed, alone."
"Don't wanna."
"Too bad," John grunted, then bucked his hips and flipped them both over. Rodney whined in protest as John quickly pulled away.
It took a good bit of work, but he finally got Rodney to his feet and staggering inside, heading towards the basement. Halfway down the stairs, the Keeper suddenly decided to spill.
"You know what today is?" he asked. John shook his head, surreptitiously tucking in his shirt for the sixth time. Rodney had quick, clever hands and shockingly cold fingers.
"No. Should I?"
"Today is the anniversary of the day I failed."
They hit the bottom of the stairs and John started maneuvering them towards Rodney's little back room. Possibly he should've taken him up to his actual room, but this was easier.
"When have you ever failed?" he asked breathlessly. Then, "Oh, the Stargate?"
"Yes." Rodney sighed and leaned even more heavily into John, who in turn immediately ran his other shoulder into the wall. "I failed. I wasn't smart enough."
"Yes, you are, you just didn't have all the pieces." John had no idea what he was saying other than that it felt like the right thing to say. He practically tossed Rodney onto the bed and ran a critical eye over him. No shoes, check. Long-sleeved shirt, okay. Jeans? He looked around for some sort of pajamas and had started to head for the dresser when a hand caught his shirt.
"Don't leave," Rodney said simply. John hesitated, then shrugged and reached out to grab a nearby chair and drag it over. He propped his feet up on the bed and Rodney snorted and shoved them off. He wriggled his way beneath the blankets, not even pretending to use them properly, and promptly fell asleep. He was going to regret tonight by the next morning, but at least he was no longer molesting innocent Sheppards.
John brushed a thumb over his lips and frowned. And what the hell was he supposed to make of that, precisely?
Rodney snuffled loudly into his pillow and John glanced over at him. He sighed, folded his arms over his chest, and settled down low into the chair. After a moment he put his feet back up, careful to put them nowhere near Rodney's face. He might as well stay here for a few hours.
He didn't know exactly when he decided the chair was too uncomfortable and moved over to the bed. He was half-asleep by that point anyway, and Rodney was warm and thoughtfully wrapped himself around John within seconds. There was no groping, just cuddling. Had John been fully awake he probably would have fought his way free.
Instead, he slept.
---
Sora plugged in the last wire and carefully placed the C-4 block as close to the gate support as she could get it. It wasn't close; the Keeper's power granted the gate a healthy three feet of breathing room. The buffer would deplete the explosion's sheer destructive power and probably only barely warp the metal fence beyond. Not that it mattered what happened here up front, the important thing was to draw attention away from other areas.
If you can't get through the front door, go through the back. If there is no back door, make one.
She rocked back onto her heels and pulled out a disposable cell phone. This had been a late addition to the plan but it was an important one. McKay was a clever bastard; they needed every advantage they could get.
The phone rang twice, three times. Then a rough voice answered.
"Is Doctor McKay available?" she asked, trying for cheerful. She glanced briefly at her watch- a little after two am. Hopefully he was asleep or close to it, which would slow his reflexes and cause him to react without thinking.
"No," came the short reply. Sora apologized and said something about calling again later and hung up before he could think to ask who she was and how she had that number. She rose to her feet and ran back to the tree line, nodding to her men- her men, she was leading this little op- and held up a hand, fingers spread. Then she tucked her thumb against her palm. Four. Three. Ladon was muttering over her radio about the cold. She ignored him. Two.
One.
---
The first explosion jolted Rodney out of bed as though he'd been jabbed with a cattle prod. He tripped over the blankets, fell to his knees, and scrambled back upright. In the process he hit something warm and yielding which protested loudly; he ignored it and took off at a run. Sleep and alcohol had fogged his brain and all he could think was that there was something out there, attacking him, and he needed to be out there to stop it
The cold winter air was a slap in the face and Rodney stopped dead on the front porch. He blinked blearily at the sight in front of him, the black night splintered by red fire. As he watched, the second explosion hit off to his left, causing him to flinch away. He stared around blankly, utterly uncomprehending.
Around him, his power surged, waking from its slumber like a hibernating bear. It poured forward, filling in the cracks, shoring up weakened areas. Had Rodney been fully awake he would have instantly recognized the danger and moved to counteract it. As it was, he was only aware of how bad things actually were only at the third explosion, which followed the back edge of the fence and breached the now-fragile wall of power.
Rodney felt the breach, felt his power flicker like a dying light. He felt the gaping hole were previously there had been a solid wall. He gasped breathlessly at the sensation and spun on his heel, charging blindly through the house and out the back door to see-
The yard was half-swallowed by orange flames. The fence had been blown inwards. Through it came a half-dozen men carrying guns. Rodney stared, eyes wide.
"No," he said, softly, helplessly, denial his only available option. "No." Please god, no.
His power was unraveling, slipping through his fingers too quickly for him to stop it. Hysterically, he pictured someone with a severed jugular trying to stop the bleeding- that was fairly close to what this felt like. He scrambled to keep something intact and failed.
The pain slammed into him then, the soul-deep exhaustion of stretching himself too thin, of putting too much of his strength into his power. He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around his chest and doubling over, breath coming in gasps.
One of the intruders walked up to him. It was the Genii woman who had attacked him the day he'd met Sheppard. She regarded him coldly for a moment; then she lifted her gun.
There was a rush of air and a sound similar to a cracking whip. The woman flew backwards, as if she had just been swatted by a giant cat, and landed some twenty feet away. Rodney watch her, feeling detached from the goings-on around him. He barely even blinked when Sheppard was suddenly kneeling in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and yelling at him. He felt- and probably looked- broken beyond repair.
It was gone. All gone. Everything he had worked so hard to get, destroyed within minutes. He closed his eyes and collapsed into himself, ignoring Sheppard's support, and watched the world go dark.
---
John swore to himself as Rodney suddenly dropped against him. He pushed the Keeper onto his side and spun around, watching the woman carefully. His power had snapped out at her, a darkly furious part of him wanting her dead, and it had taken all of his hard-won restraint to check his power so it wouldn't kill both her and Rodney. She'd taken a harder hit than Ronon had, and John didn't know if she was alive or not.
"How the hell did she even get in here?" he muttered to himself, reaching out to grab the gun she had dropped.
A blast of red light flew overhead and John threw himself to the ground, rolling over to bring the gun up and aim at- Ronon. The Specialist jogged over to him, blaster in one hand and nasty-looking sword in the other. The sword's blade was stained dark. John didn't let himself think about that.
"McKay?" Ronon asked, crouching next to him.
"He's not hurt," John answered. "Don't know what's wrong with him."
Ronon met his gaze briefly, then glanced around at the fires and the warped gate. "Think I got an idea," he said simply. He was waiting for an order, John realized abruptly. Somehow, in the past few weeks, he really had taken over as de facto leader of their little group. It was both oddly touching and incredibly alarming.
Well, if they were going to treat him like a leader, he was responsible enough to act like one. "Teyla?" John asked harshly. The big man merely shrugged and hefted his blaster.
"They're Genii," he said, offering an explanation and quietly seeking permission. John swore to himself and peered into the fiery night. Aside from the as-yet unmoving woman, he'd seen none of their attackers. Ronon, obviously, had had at least a few encounters.
"Any idea how many of them there are?"
"No," Ronon grunted. He was leaning forward now, all coiled muscle and preparation, looking ready to lunge. He put John in mind of a trained attack dog, straining at the leash and waiting impatiently for his chance. John metaphorically tightened his grip and dug his heels in.
"All right. Plan is, find Teyla and get the hell out of here."
Predictably enough, Ronon did not approve of this plan. John didn't really care. There was an unknown number of armed men out there, currently held at bay only by the ferocity of the fires and maybe their stumbling across comrades of theirs Ronon had already disposed of. Teyla was missing in action, although to be honest, she could fend for herself better than John. Rodney, who would never be considered a fighter, especially not compared to the company he kept, was unconscious for reasons undetermined. The Satedan started to protest and John spoke right over him.
"Look, we don't know how many are out there, and we have to take care of Rodney. We need to get out, now."
Ronon glared at him, then glanced at the Genii woman. Backing off from a fight went against his nature, but disobeying such a clear, direct order went against his training. John waited until he had a single nod of acquiescence and grabbed Rodney's arm. The Keeper- except he wasn't really a Keeper anymore, was he?- was limp and heavy and panting hard. John glanced around, taking in the ruins that had once been the safest place he'd ever known. Cold fury in every movement, he took the gun and aimed at the Genii bitch.
"John."
Teyla, coming out of the darkness to John's left. She didn't have to say anything else. He glanced over, met Teyla's quiet gaze. She gave no indication of what she was thinking, just watched him without censure. His finger twitched on the trigger but didn't pull. After a long moment, he let the gun drop and let the breath he'd been holding rush out.
Then Teyla was there, supporting Rodney's other side, and Ronon was covering them as they carried the scientist back into the house and down to the garage. John thought semi-hysterically of earlier that night, when he'd been carting Rodney around for a different reason.
"Where are we going?" Teyla finally asked, watching as the garage door opened. John didn't know the answer before she started the question but figured it out before she finished it.
"Colorado eventually. For now, some cheap motel. Someplace for Lorne or whoever to find us."
"And Rodney?" she added quietly. John risked a glance back, to the Athosian sitting behind the driver's seat, to the scientist with his head in her lap. He was shivering and still panting and occasionally mumbling.
"Any idea what's wrong with him?" No answer. "Well, he's not injured or anything, so I suggest we get him to someone who can figure out his problem and deal with it."
Teyla frowned, no doubt put off by his coldness. Ronon merely shrugged. Still following John's lead. The one who was most likely to object was in no shape to be doing so.
John rested his forehead against the window and watched the others in the reflection. Ronon had driving skills that would be greatly admired by kamikaze pilots. Teyla spent the trip whispering soothingly to Rodney and grabbing at the door handle. John closed his eyes and briefly skated a fingertip over the small bruise decorating the soft skin under his ear. He thought back to the day he'd walked into Elizabeth's book store for the first time. How he'd almost turned and run even before setting foot in the store. Since then, he had encountered magic, war, and the most infuriating man ever. For the first time, he wondered if it had really been worth it.
Then he steeled himself and opened his eyes, turning to stare out at the dark road ahead. Worth it or not, this was his life. As Elizabeth had said earlier, he couldn't walk out on these people. Not now, not when they needed him most.
Ronon met his gaze, briefly, approval lighting up his dark eyes. Then both went back to watching the road and listening to Teyla, listening for the slightest hint that something was wrong- more wrong- with Rodney. And John allowed himself a tiny, sad smile.
Yeah. It was worth it.