Disclaimer:I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.
Warnings: This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story (Eventually). Thus, eventually the rating will more then likely change from Teen to Mature. It's angst, and seems like a death fic at the moment. Believe me people, it is not, so just bare with me here. Blame the rabid plot bunnies. Spoilers are considered fair game up to the end of the Season Three, and while this story doesn't really have a set place in the storyline, just consider it occurring at a time when Elizabeth was still on Atlantis, and Carson either didn't die, or this is his clone. (I usually just repress the thought that he died anyway! Heh!)
*Also I hold myself totally not at fault for any fan death by sqwee in regards to Orange Fleece! :D
Authors Note: Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.
Those Were Not His Hands
Chapter Three – The Moment might have been lost, but the Memory will last forever
Many hours earlier...
In theory it had had all the indicators of a routine mission, or as routine as a first contact mission could possibility be. For all intents and purposes, the mission had been simple: make nice with the natives, and let Rodney play around with the ancient technology until he either collapsed from geek-excitement, or until fate stepped in and turned the tables on them, and before they knew it they would be trying to beat Lorne's team back to the gate. Unfortunately, experience had come to teach them all that the second option was usually far more likely.
However, this time, it was supposed to be simple. The ancient database had provided relatively little on the planet that Rodney soon aptly christened "Planet Hell", describing it as volcanically active, and mentioning it as the site of a small research facility stationed in the mountainous highlands on the planets northern continent. In fact the information regarding PVX451 had been so sparse that it was only after an AIV had surveyed the area around that gate that they learned it was inhabited at all.
However, unlike far too many first contact missions, the inhabitants of "Planet Hell", or "Obasia" as the Obasians cheerfully called it, were for all intents and purposes absolutely harmless. Despite the Wraith visiting their planet every three or four generations they maintained a surprisingly warm and undefeated demeanour, subsisting on the nearby ocean and the crops they had planted on the small bits of arable land in the marshes. Their culture was remarkable diverse for a society that essentially lived in a seasonally rotating settlement pattern, living in vast canvas-like tents supported by complex oval-shaped wooden frames that could be dismantled and reconstructed in less then a day.
He, along with Mckay and Lorne's team had made a smooth first contact, and after spending a few hours in conference with the village council, discussing their purpose and negotiating a trading partnership they were officially welcomed as friends of the Obasian in a brief, but entertaining ceremony that included the use of a special sort of wood smoke that nearly sent him cross-eyed as he found himself continually been forced to keep his eyes in focus during a fascinating performance from a small group of women playing what looked like a strange mix between a flute, a harmonica, and a banjo. The instrument included not only rawhide strings but also two protruding stems on either side where the mouth could be placed, the various holes along the sides meant to change the tone of the instrument with the hand not strumming the instrument as the musician played.
After a simple, but undeniably delicious meal everyone got down to business, Parrish was soon happily hip deep in the bogs and marshes with a few of the settlements elders, the geologists evidently transported to their happy place as they explored the volcanic climate, taking enough samples to sink a Puddle jumper, while Mckay eagerly set about badgering Otesterian, the Obasian's leader as to the whereabouts of the Ancient research station.
Interestingly, despite Rodney's rather vocal, and numerous complaints about the arid environment, the natives immediately to a strong liking to the snarky Canadian. Chuckling and grinning to each other as he loudly denounced the pressing heat, and the thick, ash-laden air. And while they treated everyone in the party with equal friendship and courtesy, it was apparently that at that very least, he intrigued them. However the man was far too caught up in environmental semantics, and scanning for readings on the ancient station to fully notice or even care.
Otesterian and a number of the villagers personally escorted them there, unwilling to let Mckay, Lorne, and himself to traverse the dangerous mountain terrain alone, because, as fate would have it, the research station was located in the center of a dangerous geyser field. However the geysers were not the simple hot water affairs as in Yosemite Park, they actually emitted a blast of some sort of gaseous compound that burst into a plume of orange and blue hued flame when it met the open air. According to Ostesterian and his people these gas geysers were remarkably unpredictable, often forming new geyser plumes without warning, making the very ground underneath ones feet in this area to be highly dangerous.
Despite the seriousness of these warnings, McKay scampered across the field like a man half his age, his enthusiasm and scientific zest nearly unstoppable once the building came into view. The station was small; strangely free of the trademark Atlantian spirals that seemed to be the architectural style of choice with the Atlantians. Instead, it formed a solid dome shape, standing out magnificently in a stunning blue-tinged metallic color, rising out of the charred grey and black surroundings like a sapphire jewel.
To the Obasian people, the research station, a place that in their original language translated into 'The Resting Place of the Gods', was a spot that was not necessarily sacred, but one that deserved their respect and attention. While dormant, it remained an important teaching tool for their youth, teaching them not only of the evidence of their faith, but also that the mysteries of their own world were as diverse, and as boundless as the worlds that could be reached through the ancestral ring.
Thus the Obasian people kept the station well maintained, disturbing not a single piece of equipment, but ensuring the building remained spotless in its perfection lest one of the Ancients return. However it was clear that despite their vow to leave the property of the station undisturbed, their curiosity and eagerness to learn was clearly evident as long ago they had discovered a hidden access hatch on the dome's roof where they could enter and exit through the hatch without the need for the Ancient gene.
Osterterian himself spoke of often visiting the site in his early adulthood, soon after being appointed as the leader of his people, and despite being a renown warrior, he himself had been deeply startled when his touch had activated a table of glowing blue stones in the main chamber, causing what he deemed as daylight to appear within the dome, clearly having hit a console of some kind and bathing the station in light for the first time in over a thousand years.
Once inside and Rodney had been suitably reigned in enough to listen, Otesterian regaled them with the history of the ancient building. It appeared that the station had been abandoned by the ancients far before the war with the Wraith, with only a few brief visits by them throughout the decades leading up to the time of the interstellar war, but each time had been engrained in the histories of the Obasian, with legends that survived to this day of twin blue and white plumes of light that emerged from the very top of the dome, energy that had cracked and rolled in the air like thunder, rising in two separate towering plumes before intertwining together and piercing deep into the geyser field. Slicing into the ground as easily a spoon swirled through cream, causing the very earth to trembling with its might.
However, the domes most dominate, and intriguing feature was the large platform chair similar to the one in Antartica. It was mounted on a steep platform and surrounded by various instruments that even McKay was at a loss to explain. All the records relating to the station, and indeed even the chair itself has been entirely wiped from the stations records, with the only data that remained on the crystals recording the last date in which the Ancients had visited, activating the station.
However despite this McKay was adamant that chair was vastly different from the chairs on Antartica and Atlantis, and they spent hours at the station as McKay puttered around with the equipment, becoming more indignant and incensed as the hours wore past and the chair did nothing more then power on and lay down flat, almost like a lazy-boy back home.
However, despite the similarities, he had to agree with Rodney, this chair had been different from the others, he couldn't explain it, but it had even felt different. While it had lit up for him, and laid back in a supine position like with McKay, it did nothing else, and unlike with the others chairs, this one had closed itself off from his mind after a quick, and nearly unnoticeable scan. It was almost as if the chair was ignoring him. It even looked different, the back panels protruded, and the chair itself was positioned directly below a hubbed portion of the ceiling. However the device remained dark and lifeless, just like the devices presence in his mind. Lifeless. Lifeless like those still hands.
Eventually he had had to nearly physically unlatch McKay from the consoles as dusk approached, promising the man six ways till Sunday that the next morning they would return, with better equipment and Zelenka in tow. Knowing better then to argue when Rodney began to list off all the equipment and personnel he would need, wishing as he steadily lugged the scientist out of the dome and into the open air that Ronon and Telya had come along as well, rather then helping the Astothesians on the mainland with the harvest. Ronon could have simply slung the Canadian over his shoulder hours ago.
Their party was halfway across the geyser field when it happened. Rodney had his tablet before him, having just looked up and flashed him that trademark grin that nearly split his face in two, motioning him over to show him the program he had just created to detect the formation of the gas geysers. And soon he was quickly immersed in a soothing stream of Rodney's techno-babble, listening to him wonder out loud if such a program could be used to construct some sort of indicator for the Obasian to make traversing the fields less hazardous. Somehow skirting around a flaring geyser hole, he didn't miss a beat of the conversation despite his eyes being glued to the padd, fingers flying as the template gave an irritated bleating noise, capturing his attention once more.
It was that last image, the look of dawning horror that had flashed in those brilliantly blue eyes that truly broke him. It was the look of a man who had made the most horrifying realization a moment too late. And in that split second it took for him to notice, not even having the time to be fully alarmed at the expression blossoming on his face, he watched those brilliant blue eyes change, turning hardened and determined just before the computer slipped from his fingers and he lunged at him, tossing him out of the way in a tackle worthy of a linebacker as a fountain of flame erupted around them, Rodney's strangled scream abruptly cut off as his own world slowly turned blissfully dark. Shrouding him as reality burned and twisted all around him, the sun going out as Rodney's comforting weigh fell on the backs of his legs. He remembering calling out for him and wondering at the silence before the darkness took him again.
Remembering the moment was enough. He lost it. Bile rose high and choking in his throat and he only just made it to the bathroom in time before he emptied his guts into Rodney's toilet, retching until he couldn't retch anymore as the smell of burning and the phantom crackling of roaring flames echoed all around him. The moment played out in his minds eyes again and again, watching those wide, horror-struck eyes as they flickered from the computer screen to him. To him. And even though he had nothing else to give, his body shook and jerked on the cool tiles as he dry-heaved over the toilet bowl, sweat and tears dripping unchallenged down his cheeks. Rodney.
Rodney...God not you. Anyone..just not you. Rodney had known, he has seen it in his eyes, seen it just a second too late, just as Rodney had. But Rodney had known enough to make a decision. Without a thought, his best friend...his..everything, had traded his own life for his with not so much as a batted eye. He hadn't thought twice. He had simply thrown himself at him, knocking him out of the way and taking the brunt of the erupting geyser full on. Taking his bullet for him. He retched again, biting his lip so hard that a drop of crimson dropped into the toilet bowl, chasing a ropey string of salvia down the basin as his guts came up empty once again.
He had only just sunk back down on the bed, wiping his mouth on his filthy sleeve when a sound outside the door shook him from his thoughts. Angrily he wiped away the wetness on his cheeks, setting his jaw in such a firm line that he felt the ache reverberate through his teeth, grating them together till it hurt.
It was a pain and discomfort he welcomed; it gave him something else to focus on. It was almost enough to banish the image of those startled, but determined blue eyes from his mind. Almost enough to make him forget the snarky comments his joking had got him as they cautiously tip-toed across the gaseous geyser field, mere minutes before it happened. Almost.
Standing self-consciously he took a step towards the door before he stopped, still clenching the orange fleece in his hand, not noticing as the sleeves trailed along the floor. Even if there was someone at the door, what would he say? Breathing out in a long rush he ran a hand through his filthy hair, the motion causing dust and dirt to rain down on his shoulders. Dirty rain. He was a mess.
He needed a good shower, a shave, and to probably burn everything he was wearing, the sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh had seemed to have sunk into his every pour. He waited for a few long moments, listening to the sound of clothing rustling just outside the door, a few soft, unintelligible words were muttered, but no one chimed for entrance. He remained standing in the middle of the room long after the sounds outside faded away and the halls were silent again. Rodney's room shouldn't ever be silent.. But he couldn't bring himself to make a sound.
The nearest clock read that it had been over four hours since he and Lorne's team had come through the gate, four hours since they had emerged from the worm hole and he had watched Carson and Elizabeth's faces fall, an absolute dead hush falling over the gate room as people stopped in their tracks, conversations halting in mid-word as their eyes took in the white-shrouded form on the stretcher. Rodney would have been amused.
However, it might as well have been four years, because if anything, one thing remained the same, he needed to pull himself together. He was the military commander of Atlantis, and he needed to start acting like it. And he was pretty sure Rodney would be telling him the same thing right about now. His team needed him. Atlantis needed him.
Squaring his shoulders, he shook himself, forcing himself to concentrate as he readjusted his uniform, about to radio Elizabeth when he remembered he had tossed his radio soon after fleeing the infirmary.
'Shower, shave, Elizabeth.' His brain reminded him sternly as his feet moved towards the door, mind insisting he move, do something. But his expression went grim when he realized he was still holding the fleece in his hand. For a moment, he could only stare at it, the orange fabric caressing his palms as he finally loosened his hold. Giving up his last life preserver. And with more care then he had ever remembered using, he carefully folded the jacket in his hands, smoothing it out till it was free of wrinkles, putting it on the top of the pile of laundry on the dresser before making himself turn away as he keyed the door open.
He nearly lost it again when he opened the door. Three small pillar candles had been carefully set in front of the door in a graceful triangle, their flames flickering in the recycled air. It almost sent him right back into the room again. It was too much, seeing those small Asothesian made candles, and knowing that whoever left them, whether Telya, someone from earth, or even one of the Asothesians had left them there for Rodney. For Mckay.
He made himself walk away, ignoring the strange muted nature of the corridors, as if everyone was speaking softly, moving lightly, afraid to break the silence. He didn't meet anyone until he reached the closest transporter, and the sudden appearance of people nearly startled him after all the silence. All the stillness.
He came around the corner just as the transporter opened and two people emerged. He came to a stop when he realized who it was, shocked in spite of himself as he watched Kavanaugh help Simpson out of the transporter, his head ducked close to hers as he spoke to her softly, a comforting arm wrapped around her small waist.
Neither scientist noticed him, as Kavanaugh had eyes only for the blond woman at his side. His arm stayed around her as tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her grief. He hushed her gently as they slowed to a gradual stop at the entrance to the next corridor.
The tall man looked lost for moment, gazing down at the woman at his side with an expression he had never dreamed that the difficult scientist would, or even could wear. So he stayed silent, unable to look away as he watched them. Watching as Kavanaugh straightened, digging into his pockets he pulled out a crumpled blue handkerchief and tentatively offered it to her, leaning down to kiss her forehead and pull her in close when she ignored it and threw her arms around him, hiding her face in his chest.
Their eyes finally met over her head as the scientist looked up, his sharp blue eyes widening slightly, obviously taken off guard. However, to his credit he did not pull away, or show even the slightest bit of discomfort. Instead, for the first time since he had stepped foot on Atlantis, Peter Kavanaugh surprised him. Not a word left his lips, instead, he inclined his head respectfully, sympathetically, and out of all the people on Atlantis, his expression told him everything he needed to see.
That Rodney was dead and that he was not coming back. His face told him that he would be missed, even by those that didn't like him, nor barely respected him. That Rodney had been loved and valued. That Atlantis and her people had lost not only a great asset, but a great man. And that the days ahead would be hard, victory would no longer be so smooth, nor would the station run so flawlessly. But Kavanaugh's gaze also told him that the world still turned, and that people still lived, still loved, and still grieved. And that that was the way of things, the nature of life and death, of living.
And as he passed them by, the image of those lonely candles, flickering and spitting in the muted ocean breeze played out in his minds eye, set outside a door that he would soon return to, dressed in his dress uniform and spit polished boots, carrying packing crates and cartons. And he returned Kavanaugh's gesture, nodding to him as he passed, only hoping his eyes wouldn't show as much as the other man had chosen to show him. For if the eyes were the windows into the soul, well… he would be afraid to look into his own...
A/N: Once again, I would like to thank all my reviewers for their support. Unfortunately all those who remain anonymous I cannot thank you personally, so here is my thank you to you! Your comments and advice keep me writing!