Thanks again to all you lovely people who took the time to comment. Glad you are still enjoying it and I haven't lost my way. Keep thinking I'm near the end but it just keeps going. The end is in sight though.... I think.
THE CYNICAL SOLDIER
CHAPTER 13, ISS 2;
The lab assistant turned to his right, stretching for a datapad, and Rodney froze. He waited, feeling his heartbeat reverberate around inside his body, the outside as still as the air around him, waiting. The muscles in his legs poised to spring into action if he needed to close the distance quickly.
He gripped the scalpel a little firmer. The man closed his hand over the datapad and pulled it back into him, turning back to the work in front of him as he did so. He remained oblivious to Rodney padding quietly across the laboratory like a predator.
As Rodney neared him, he checked beyond the man for any reflective surfaces that might give him away. There was a screen to one side of the man, but the angle was wrong. He would not be seen on his approach. He knew the last moments would have to be fluid and quick, a person's natural survival instincts would alert him to anyone too close, either sensing the body heat or smell on a subconscious level.
He covered the remaining space between them, slipping a hand over the mans shoulder and across the base of his throat, pulling the stunned man to his chest as he placed the hand with the scalpel a fraction away from the side of the man's neck. He whispered in his ear, "Stay very still."
The man instinctively turned to see who was holding him and in doing so pushed his own neck against the scalpel, nicking it; he flinched away from the sharp pain as blood started to bleed into a thin line across his neck. Not dangerous, just a small surface cut, Rodney noted as he proceeded, "I told you to stay still." The man, who was just bringing up a hand to either check the cut on his neck or to grip his arm in an attempt to fight, froze at the words.
"Doctor… Doctor McKay? Is that you?"
Rodney could hear the tremor of fear in the man's voice. "So, I've been told," Rodney replied, dryly. "Carson told me about the cure, I know it's here. You will find it for me. If you try to escape, I will kill you. Is that clear?"
"But, but the cure isn't ready. We don't know if it will even work."
"I'm willing to take that risk. Now, where is it?"
"I won't tell you. It could kill you. I'm a doctor; I made an oath to protect people from harm. I can't give you an injection that might kill you. I know you, you won't kill me."
Anger flared, deep and red. "Everyone thinks they know me," he hissed in the man's ear, fist unconsciously gripping into the man's shirt. "Don't judge me by his actions, I'm not him anymore. I have killed to obtain my freedom. You have to believe me when I say I will do what is necessary for that cure."
He slipped his hand back to the man's shoulder, keeping the scalpel close to the man's neck as he turned the man round to look him in the eyes. "I want that cure and you're going to get it for me." He pushed the side of the scalpel against the man's neck so he could feel the cold metal, without cutting him. He'd had Elizabeth's words flying around his head since he spotted the man and he knew he wasn't going to kill him, he was hoping the man continued to believe he would though.
The man paled, brown eyes blown wide with fear as he gulped. Trying to keep his neck away from the scalpel, the man nodded so marginally that Rodney almost missed it. Relief flooded his system, but he didn't let it show. He needed to keep the man in a constant state of fear. If the man doubted him for just a moment he would lose control of him.
Rodney scowled at him, turning the scalpel slightly against his neck, pushing home the message he needed the man to believe before he spoke. "Where is it?"
The man stammered, "It's in the fridge, at the far end, by the entrance." He nodded towards it, or tried to stretch his neck away from the scalpel, Rodney wasn't sure.
He nodded in response as his hand slipped from the man's shoulder to his bicep, "Try anything and you will leave me with no option. Remember, I have changed, I move faster than you remember and I will not hesitate. I don't know who you are; you mean nothing to me, except for a means to obtain what I need. Do not test me or it will be the last thing you ever do. Understand?" Rodney said, low and hard.
"Yes," the man said. Just one word, but the fear was clear in it. In fact, the man seemed on the edge of tears. Rodney felt a stab in his chest, a feeling he was starting to recognise now; guilt. He pushed it away as he led the man back towards the entrance of the lab. As they neared it, he released his grip minutely, enough to allow the man to lead, rather than be led.
They stopped in front of a large fridge, with a clear door. The man looked at Rodney's hand on his bicep and then back up to his face as he slowly pulled his arm from Rodney's grip. Rodney instinctively pulled the arm back into place, before realising that the man would need both hands. "Don't try anything," he said as he loosened his grip, stepping back slightly.
The man nodded solemnly as he turned and opened up the door, reaching in for the serum. Rodney followed him as he walked over to the bench, picking up a syringe and needle, both packaged. He watched the man place the serum on the bench in order to break open the sterilised packages.
As the man fitted the needle to the syringe, Rodney reached out. He placed the scalpel down on the workbench and picked up the small bottle of serum, wanting to keep the hand closest to the man free, ready to hold him if he tried to run. He saw the man pause, for just a millisecond, eyes cutting to Rodney's hand on the bottle, before proceeding.
Rodney frowned, sure something was wrong. He pulled the bottle towards him and read the label, 'Midazolam'. He knew it, instinctively, like he knew this was called a lab and they stood next to a workbench, not a table. He knew the word and he knew what it meant; this wasn't the cure, this was a sedative.
He threw the bottle away and it sailed over the bench, hitting the edge of the one beyond. The vial's clear glass separated into a thousand pieces, each piece arching out, catching the light and turning into a thousand tiny rainbows as the liquid splashed over the surface, and dripped to the floor. Its destruction was totally unnoticed by Rodney, who had ripped the syringe from the man's hand, throwing it to the side where it slid along the bench, hitting the scalpel as it bounced, causing both to slide and spin over the edge.
Even angry as he was, Rodney noticed the loss of the scalpel, but it didn't matter, he didn't actually need a weapon to kill someone. The syringe and scalpel clattered to the floor and lay untouched as Rodney turned back and gripped the stunned man's shirt.
He spun him, pushing him against the bench so his feet were off the floor; his back was against the surface with Rodney leaning over him. Furious, almost blind with anger, "I told you, I warned you, not to try anything. I said, I told you what would happen."
"No, wait. Let me explain," the man held up his hands. "I was trying to save you."
Rodney sneered, "Save me? You were trying to put me to sleep so you could 'deal' with me."
The man sagged against the bench, no resistance at all to Rodney's fist gripped in the chest of the man's shirt. Rodney frowned and found himself listening as the man continued. "You've saved us all… so many times," the man sounded resigned, weary. "What you're asking me to do might kill you. Even, without the fact that I'm a doctor who has sworn not to do harm, we owe you our lives. I had to at least try to save yours, I owed you that much at least, more than I can ever repay at the most."
He looked Rodney in the eyes then, intense, "I'm not a killer, but you're asking me to kill you and I can't do that. I had to try, for all our sakes, for your sake," the man's head flopped back against the bench as he whispered; "I had to try."
Rodney could hear the bitter pain of failure in the man's last words. He stepped back from the man, looking at his face the whole time, taking in the sad expression of weary resignation. He could feel time ebbing away, the longer this took, the more chance he was discovered. He looked around the large laboratory, vial after vial, it would take too long by himself. He could always use force, but the man's actions so far had made the outcome suspect.
If he could convince this man how much he needed it. He realised that if a person's life was important to this man then he could convince him that by giving him this drug he was saving lives. If he could do that then maybe the man would help him.
"I need this and I think you need to know how much. I want you to understand that without this I'm lost. I don't know which way is up or which way is down, but I can still feel myself sinking." Rodney sagged against the fridges, feeling the cold seeping into the muscles in his back.
He hesitated when the man pulled himself back to his feet, thinking he was going to make a run for it, but when he just stood, watching, Rodney continued, "I don't know who to believe. I want to trust you, but you've already lied to me once," he said as he indicated the cracked syringe, the sedative seeping out onto the floor, "the risk is too great, and the darkness in here," he tapped his chest, "the man I am now, I know when you figure it out, no-one will want me here, not when they realise what I'm capable of."
He took a step back to the man, locking eyes with him, "You all want me to wait, but I don't know if I'm waiting for a cure or for you to reveal yourselves and take me back there. Every time someone comes close I want to lash out, to defend myself. You need time, but every day is another day I might hurt someone, and if this is real, they'll turn their backs on me. I need to know the truth; I need to know if I'm safe."
He cast a glance at the floor, before making eye contact again, "You think I haven't killed you because I'm the great Doctor McKay, and you're wrong. It's because I'm trying to be this Doctor McKay, but I am who I am. I'm all out of trust and sooner or later someone will do something I will just react to and people will die and I'll lose everything."
The man's face was slightly angled as he watched Rodney. He interrupted voice light, "you could never lose that, Rodney. No matter what you do, they know the man you are, I know the man you are. No matter what you think, you'd never step over that line, and you will never lose what you have here."
Rodney closed the gap between them, his hand hitting the surface of the bench hard, sounding like a thunderclap in the silence of the lab, "but, damn it, I have already stepped over that line, I am still alone!" he snarled, voice hard and angry. "No one gets it! They think just because I'm here, I'm back! I'm not, I'm still lost!" He took a deep breath; he wasn't going to convince the guy like this. He forced his voice lower, tried to put a pleading edge to it. "Help me, damn it, help me before I kill someone," his voice fell to a broken whisper, "Why won't you help me?"
The man took a step towards him and Rodney tensed, glaring at him, ready to defend his freedom, regardless of Elizabeth's words. The man stopped, seeing his reaction, he spoke softly, calmly. "I'm sorry, I can't. It could kill you."
Then another option occurred to Rodney. A small curved smile graced his face before he answered his voice still hard, "Find me the cure or I'll take the first bottle I see and inject it. At least with the cure, I will have a chance. Who knows what horrible death these other vials hold for me? I'll keep going till I find it, till I've tried them all. Giving me the cure might kill me; not giving it to me definitely will. Will you help me or not?"
The man had paled, swallowing audibly he looked around the fridges, obviously detailing all the dangerous chemicals in his mind, all the different ways that Rodney would die, but he still hadn't moved. "Fine, have it your way," Rodney said as he pulled open the door and pulled out the first five vials, carrying them over to the bench. He checked the labels, discarding two that he recognised and knew wouldn't help.
He reached for the syringe and needle. He saw the man turn to watch him, saw the slight tremor in his hands as he laid them on the bench, watching. "Wait," he said, just a whisper, but Rodney ignored him. Turning the vial upside down and injecting the syringe into the bottle, he started to load the syringe with the amber liquid.
"Wait!" the man said. "Okay, okay. I'll get you the vial." Rodney turned to him but didn't remove the syringe from the vial, just waited. The man sighed, resigned to his path as he turned and went to the next fridge. He pulled open the door and pulled out a vial. There was only one of its kind there and now Rodney thought about it, that sort of made sense. It's not as it they would make a large batch of the stuff when he was the only patient.
The man brought it back and placed it silently in front of Rodney. His actions slow, like they had to be forced and his expression sad. Rodney put down the vial and syringe and picked up the new bottle. He looked at the label, but it didn't mean anything to him. He looked at the man one more time, trying to see if he could discern another trick or if this was really it. He picked up the discarded syringe and vial and finished loading it with the serum.
"No, wait. Honestly," the man said as he picked up the bottle and waved it in Rodney's face, "this is the vial you want. You can't inject yourself with that, it's lethal to you. Please."
Rodney relaxed inside, more willing to believe the man now. "I am filling this vial as well. It will remain in hand's reach of me. If this second vial sends me to sleep, I will have time to inject myself with this second serum." He pulled the full syringe out of the bottle and placed it gently in front of him. He looked at the man then, "so this had better be the right bottle or you will have killed me as sure as putting a gun to my head."
The man looked him square in the eyes, "You won't need another vial. This is the serum that we hoped would cure you. I beg you, one last time. Please wait, please don't take it. It's not a cure, it's a first attempt that could kill you rather than cure you. Please trust me, you need to wait."
Rodney shook his head as he opened a new syringe and fitted the needle. He inserted the needle into the serum that could hold the answers he had longed for. As he loaded the syringe he spoke softly, "I'm all out of trust. I'm all out of compassion. I have nothing left to give. I need to know where I belong. I need to know who I am. There is nothing more important to me, and I'll even risk my life to find the answers. I can't wait any longer, I have to know."
He pulled the needle from the vial and saw the man flinch as if hit by a thought and then he was lurching forward. He grabbed the vial and smashed it to the floor. "I can't let you kill yourself. We can replace the serum, we can't replace you," and then he was lunging for the needle.
Shock had frozen Rodney where he stood, but when the man reached for the last of the serum, still in the syringe, he pulled it out of his reach, growling.
He stepped to the side as his free hand reached towards the man's back and pulled, anger giving him more force than required, turning it into a push as the man passed him. The man stumbled, arms wheeling as he tried to get his balance, he tilted to the side and went down. His head hit the cabinet on the way down and hit the floor, bouncing off the surface to land again with a loud crack.
Rodney stood, syringe still held high and safe, staring at the limp body. He was relieved to see the chest was still rising and falling. He wanted to check, but he couldn't risk the last of the serum. He turned and stepped over to the bench, not wasting any time as he prepped himself for the injection. He found the vein. He hesitated slightly, casting a quick glance over the man laying limp not two paces from him, but then he head footsteps. Someone was coming down the stairs, and fast. He quickly inserted the needle and pushed the plunger down, watching the liquid disappear into his veins.
He pulled the needle free and placed it on the bench, flexing his elbow to push the drug further into his system. It started off just as a low heat, almost unnoticeable. He placed a hand over the injection point, applying pressure in the hopes it would alleviate the burning. The burn started to increase until he could follow the drug running through his system, leaving a wake of fire. It went through his shoulder and hit his spine and the fire increased. It felt like he was burning alive and he gripped the workbench for support as he pushed his chest out, arching his back as he tried to get away from the pain.
He could feel it travelling towards his skull, towards his brain and he felt fear, so strong he nearly sobbed with it. He heard running feet skidding to a halt in front of him and opened his eyes - eyes that he hadn't even realised he had closed. He saw John, saw his face, fearful and desolate, saw John's hand reaching out to him.
"John," he whispered, voice taut and hoarse with pain, "help me." The fire hit his skull and all he felt was searing heat and pain, wave after wave and he was screaming, he couldn't stop, screaming against the pain that suffused every part of his body and then there was darkness that he greeted gratefully, allowing it to surround him in the cool darkness without a fight.
*************
John makes his way to the infirmary hallway. Still shaking off the grogginess of sleep and the half lit hallways isn't making the job any easier. He does like walking through Atlantis at this time though. It's quiet and peaceful and the halls light up for him and only him and he always feels closest to Atlantis at these times.
He walks into the hallway outside the infirmary and looks for Ronon, who's stood in the dim lights of the hallway and John can't help but get the impression Ronon's only just this minute made himself visible, out in the open, just so John can see him.
John nods. "Anything?" he asks. He's been nervous since he left the infirmary and he can't decide if it's a sudden attack of the second sight or just not being able to see Rodney.
Ronon shakes his head. "No. I've just checked with the other teams, they haven't seen anything."
John nods and then throws his chin in the direction of the infirmary door, "Is he sleeping?"
Ronon shrugs, "He asked for the curtain to be pulled round him, said he would sleep easier, according to Carson."
John frowns, "But you've actually been in and checked he's there?"
Ronon frowns back. "No need. No one has seen him leave. Why would he leave his bed when he has nowhere to go?"
"I don't know," John replies patiently, "but this is McKay we're talking about. I never underestimate him. I'm going to check on him. If he's sleeping, he won't even know I'm there."
"And if he's not sleeping," Ronon asks, annoyingly, thinks John.
"Then I'll tell him that I just came to check he's okay and then I'll leave," John says, not meeting Ronon's eyes. Then he sighs and looks Ronon in the face, "I can't stand here looking at a curtain till I know for sure he's behind it. He's surprisingly sly," John adds with a frown. "Wait here till I get back, just in case."
He walks into the infirmary and makes his way quietly to the curtain. He reaches out a hand, hesitating. It seemed so clear out in the hallway, but now he feels silly and worried he'll wake Rodney for no good reason. He thinks about just dropping it and going back out to the hallway, and then he catches Ronon moving into the doorway of the infirmary, watching him, and knows he has to go through with it now.
He takes the curtain in his hand as quietly as he can, but can't help the sounds of the material crinkling slightly under his fingers as he holds it. He brings it up and to the side, careful not to disturb the curtain rings on the rail above as the noise might wake Rodney. He peers in, he sees the empty bed, with the covers pulled back, but it still takes a little longer for his brain to process that he's actually right, that Rodney's gone.
He lets the curtain fall and raises a hand to his ear as he throws a glare at Ronon. "Infirmary teams, check in. Any sign of Doctor McKay?" As he speaks he sees the emotions on Ronon's face, the face that normally only ever shows anger or joy, shows guilt and fear as clear as if it's written in pen, and suddenly he wishes he hadn't glared at him. His face softens immediately and he shakes his head, trying to say he didn't mean it, that it's not his fault, as the reports come back.
Everyone is at their post with no sign of McKay. He radios the jumper bay crew as Ronon approaches, asking the same of them. All present and no sign of McKay. He tells all crews to stay alert and wait for further instructions. He looks to Ronon when he reaches him, "Find the duty nurse, see if she knows anything, and if not, search this level. I'm going to search downstairs. If we don't find him then I'll raise the alarm."
Ronon nods and leaves without a word, but John can see the muscles tight across Ronon's back and mentally kicks himself for throwing that glare at him, but John can't spare the time to do anything about it right now. He's already running towards the rear of the infirmary, racing down the stairs. He's through the open door and there is Rodney, leaning against a work bench and his body sighs in relief. Only then he notices that something is wrong and he speeds up, trying to reach Rodney as quickly as possible, while trying to figure out what's wrong.
John skids to a halt in front of him. He watches as Rodney opens blue eyes, glazed with tears of pain, his face distorted in agony, his body is arched and convulsing. He reaches out a hand slowly, about to assure Rodney that he's here to help him, to ask him not to fight him, when Rodney speaks, and the pain in his voice sends a chill down John's spine.
He's about to promise, about to say of course he'll help when the screaming starts, and the memory it brings makes John's hands clammy and his spine freeze as the hairs on his arms stand to attention.
Rodney's eyes are squeezed shut, his head is forced up towards the ceiling, his body convulsing and then he's collapsing, boneless. John's reaching for him at the time and Rodney falls into his arms, silent and still and John thinks he's lost him again.
Tears fill his eyes, pain tight across his chest and he feels like he can't breathe as he cradles Rodney, lowering him to the floor. He catches sight of the syringe lying still on the workbench as he lowers Rodney into his lap. He blinks away the tears, desperately trying to clear the blurred vision so he can actually see Rodney. He doesn't even hear his voice breaking as he chants his own mantra, "no, no, no, not again, please not again, please, not this, no, no."
He raises a shaky hand to Rodney's neck, hesitating slightly because Rodney is so still and he doesn't know what to do if there isn't a pulse. His fingers find their own way to Rodney's neck and there it is; John's salvation. A thready pulse that goes beat... beat... beat, and John can breathe again, though the pain across his chest remains.
John's whole body sags in relief. He taps his radio, still unable to look away from Rodney's slackened face. Voice full of urgency, he manages to keep his voice steady, "Medical emergency in the medical labs. I repeat, medical emergency, medical laboratory." He scrubs a hand at his cheeks, rubbing away the tears and taking deep breaths, trying to get himself under control for when the medics arrive.
His eyes drift away from Rodney to the liquid underneath him and then he see's the other body and he flinches in shock. He can't believe he didn't see a body lying on the floor, even so totally concentrated on Rodney as he'd been. "My god, Rodney, what have you done?"
He sees the scalpel, just beyond his reach; sees the dark colour of dried blood along its edge, still shiny wet in parts. His eyes rove over the limp body of Doctor Peters as he looks for injuries. He sees a line of red on his neck, but can't see how far round it goes. He quickly and efficiently lowers Rodney gently to the floor and crawls over to Doctor Peters.
He bends down, not wanting to turn the body without causing more damage, just in case he's alive. John tilts his head so he can see and realises that the line is a small cut, not even bleeding anymore. He huffs a huge sigh of relief and then sits back and knocks into Rodney's shoulder. He's just put a hand on his friend's chest, the feel of his chest rising and falling calming him, when the medical team come clattering in, with Ronon hot on their heels.
He explains that both are unconscious but breathing, reason unknown. He tells them that he suspects Dr. Peters has hit his head and that Rodney's injected an unknown drug. There were a few vials on the work surface, but there was also another underneath Rodney and one of the nurses spots another broken vial by the next workbench. The medical team arrange for both Doctor Peters and Rodney to be taken back up to the main infirmary and scanned to see if the Ancient tech can decipher what the source of their problems are.
Everybody disappears upstairs but John's just standing there, in the middle of the lab with broken glass and liquid and a scalpel with blood along its edge. He's dazed and his body is loose, and his brain dark. He can't think beyond Rodney's screaming, beyond Rodney falling down like there's no one in there anymore and then he feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks at Ronon, part of him sees the worry in his friend's eyes, and part of him doesn't see Ronon at all, still living the nightmare of seeing his friend die again.
Ronon steers him towards the doors and up the stairs, his voice filtering through, "Did you see what happened?"
John shakes his head. "No, I ran in and it must have been just after he injected himself, he was…" he has to take a deep breath, has to shake loose the memory in order to continue, "he was screaming, like… like before, then he just collapsed," and I couldn't do anything, he finishes inside his head, not a god damn thing.
They walk into the infirmary and Doctor Peters is already in an infirmary bed, hooked up to monitors. One of the nurses crosses John's path and he puts a hand out to her, "Do you know what's wrong with Doctor Peters yet?"
"From what we can tell it's just concussion. He seems stable. We're going to keep a close eye on him, just in case."
"And Doctor McKay?"
Her expression turns sympathetic and soft, "He's under the scanner now. We've taken samples of all the vials and we should know soon what he injected himself with, and then we'll go from there. We've called Doctor Beckett. I'm sure he'll tell you as soon as we know any more."
She smiles softly and John nods back, releasing her. He turns to Ronon, "We should contact Teyla, let her know what's happening. Guess we'd best wait out of the way."
Ronon nods and they go to the waiting room, Ronon calling Teyla on the way. Pretty soon all three of them are sat there in silence, waiting. John feels like he's just woken up from a Carson special mix. Everything feels numb, time seems to be moving differently and he can't seem to think straight. He doesn't think he's ever felt this lost, this empty, but part of him welcomes it because he doesn't want to think, he doesn't want to know, so he just sits and waits and tries not to think that his friend is dying.
TBC