But Never The Nights by lavvyan [Reviews - 294]
Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Category: Slash Pairings > McKay/Sheppard
Characters: John Sheppard, Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, First Time, Friendship, Hurt Comfort, Pre-slash, Romance, Series
Warnings: Adult themes
Series: None
Word count: 67906; Completed: Yes
Summary: When Rodney is being culled, John suddenly has to deal with the loss of his best friend. As for Rodney, things get downhill from there. Set somewhere after The Hive, spoilers up to that episode.
Day One.
The first sensation was cold. Bone-chilling, merciless cold that seeped through his clothing and made his skin prickle. The next was pain, a dull ache from where his left temple was resting against something hard that might be a metal floor, and sharper stabs from his chest. Something sticky like spider web was gluing his fingers together as they twitched. His whole body was numb, but the bristly cold was awakening his limbs along with his mind, the promise of freezing hovering in the chilled air.
Rodney opened his gritty eyes and slowly blinked against the whiteness that greeted him. The spider web analogy hadn't been so far off, after all. Through the thin, veil-like stuff that seemed to cover his whole body, he could make out blurry shapes lying on the floor a few feet away from him. He raised a trembling hand to pull the webs away from his face, gulping down the nauseating panic that began to rise in his throat as the memories came rushing back. The Wraith darts, running, the noise of engines and firing weapons, then a flash of bright light and a feeling of suspension, followed by darkness.
He had been culled.
Oh God, oh God, he had been culled, and they had fed upon him, he could remember it now, the helpless agony as he felt his life being ripped from him not by the spilling of blood, but by the theft of hours, of days, probably more. Maybe that was why he was lying here; they had drained him like poor Gall, robbed him of his years, then cast him aside like a rag doll when he was empty. He was shaking in earnest now, desperately pulling the fine nets from his eyes, clawing at the fabric around his hands to get a look at his skin, sobbing a laugh of pure relief when he saw it was still smooth, still soft, still young.
Oh god, yes, thank you.
The short sound turned into a hiss of pain when his chest started hurting with his body's movement, the briefly forgotten stabs returning with a vengeance. Foolish, of course he was hurting, he had felt the Wraith's hand tear into his skin before it had fed, leaving him raw and bleeding in more ways than one. And he could have gotten a serious concussion, falling to the floor like that.
Falling to the floor... Rodney blinked again, why was he lying on the floor? And he wasn't the only one; what had been blurry shapes before was now clearly recognizable as bodies.
Wraith bodies. He swallowed, noticing for the first time the sizzle of electrified wires meeting in the barest of touches, the sharp stench of more than one short circuit, and over all, most important, the absence of any further sound. The Wraith dart was quiet, eerily so, no movement, and certainly no engines running. Groaning, Rodney tried to sit up, failing miserably against the pins and needles of limbs that hadn't been used for far too long. How he would have loved to just lie back and wait for the feeling in his arms and legs to return, but there was no time for that. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, and this time managed to get his body into a sitting position. He plucked at the webs, struggling to get rid of as much of the stuff as he could reach while his gaze darted across the glider. The only light came from a destroyed console, flickering irregularly and illuminating the bodies of the two Wraith who had manned the dart. They were lying close to their seats, and from the impossible angle of their heads in relation to the rest of them, he guessed it was a pretty safe bet to say they were dead. Along the wall, hanging limply in the heavy cocoons that kept them upright, were three more bodies. From what he could glimpse of them, they were also dead. He had probably been the last snack for the way home.
Swallowing again, Rodney slowly staggered onto his feet. During his frantic run through the thick green underbrush of the forest world they had been visiting there hadn't been much time to take in any details, but he distinctly remembered three more Wraith darts. Where were they? And where was his team? Had they shot this one down after he had been culled? But no, they wouldn't risk his life like that. Although, maybe they hadn't seen him being taken, and fired at the dart without knowing he was inside? Whatever had happened, the Wraith dart was down, and he was alive, that was all that mattered to him right now. He'd just have to get out of it, be found by his team-mates, and let himself be taken home to Atlantis into the gentle if a little unsympathetic care of Carson Beckett.
Making his way along the wall with one hand supporting him against the cold metal, the other pressed to his aching head, Rodney stumbled towards the rear end of the glider. He fumbled a little with the control panel, not sure if it would work, and sighed in relief as the heavy door slid open. A second later, he wished it hadn't. A gust of chilled air blew into his face, but he didn't notice as he stared, unbelieving, at the sight before him. Snow. In every direction, stretching out to the horizon, a desert of white, here and there dotted by black jagged lumps of rock and criss-crossed by low hills. The dart had torn a path of destruction through the otherwise smooth landscape, revealing the solid stone that rested underneath its cold blanket. No wonder the ship was broken. It was a miracle it hadn't gone up in flames or shattered apart as it was.
Another gust of wind, and Rodney shivered, clasping the edges of his torn, blood-encrusted shirt in an attempt to keep himself warm. Ridiculous, he knew it, but couldn't help himself. At least he still had his vest. Throwing a hesitant look back inside the dart, the scientist felt like crying. He had been culled and fed upon, he was freezing, and now he would have to make his way across who knew how many miles of snow desert. He just hoped to God that the glider had gone in a straight line from the Gate after being hit. The trail it had left in the snow was the only clue he had just where he should actually go. Because this was obviously not the world they had started on and help would not be coming. Except maybe in the form of other Wraith searching for their lost brethren. But nobody would look for Dr. Rodney McKay, because nobody knew he was here, and if he didn't make it back to the Stargate on his own, he might as well just lie down and die.
And much as he liked to bitch and complain about impending doom, giving up was simply not his style.
Feeling a little steadier on his feet, he went back into the dart. He had no way of knowing how far the ship had made it before it had been taken down, and thus had no idea how far he would have to walk. A quick inventory of his vest's pockets revealed two MREs, a security blanket, a packet of hankies, three power bars, his epi-pen, ammunition for a sidearm he no longer had, his GDO, and some bandages he kept in case he lost his back pack. He used those and half of the handkerchiefs to dress his chest wounds as best he could, and resisted the urge to open one of the power bars and calm himself with the comfortingly familiar taste. Considering the average speed of a Wraith dart, his meagre rations might well have to last him two, maybe even three days in his condition. He couldn't afford to use them up too quickly, and probably would have to walk the fine line between low sugar and hypoglycaemic shock. On the upside, water would hardly be a problem. Rodney tucked his belongings back in, and sighed. Now came the part he really, really didn't want to do.
Kneeling next to the nearest Wraith, he began to divest it of its long black leather coat. There was simply no way he would make it very far clothed like he was, and while leather wasn't exactly the warmest of materials, it would at least offer protection against the wind. Swallowing against the bile in his throat at the unnatural limpness of the Wraith under his hands, he managed to get the coat off its previous owner. Thoroughly disgusted, Rodney rose, shakily clothing himself in the thick leather, fumbling with the clasps. The coat smelled of dust and something entirely, unpleasantly alien, and it felt cold against his skin. But he didn't have a choice, if he wanted to live. And he wanted, he really, really wanted, because Atlantis needed him, because he had been culled and survived, and because he had spent so many of his years surrounded by ice and snow that he figured he deserved to die somewhere warm.
Taking a deep breath, Rodney turned away from the sizzling sparks and flickering light, and took his first steps out of the dead safety of the Wraith dart, and into a world of hostile cold whiteness. The snow crunched under his boots, but at least he didn't sink in. Now he just had to worry about hidden crevices to fall into instead of wading through chest-high snow drifts. He used his battered but unbroken watch as a compass, secretly thanking his father for forcing an unwilling boy on long hiking trips through the Canadian wilderness. If he ever made it back to Earth, he would send the man a card. Maybe even call. He hadn't contacted his parents for twenty years, it was probably time to forget old grudges and move on.
Then again, maybe he'd just call Jeannie instead. Some grudges were worth keeping, and he guessed that included telling a twelve year old boy that he was just way much more work than he could possibly be worth, ever. If not, it certainly included selling him out to the U.S. military because he was too smart for his own good, having the government of a country that wasn't even his own pay for his education so they could shape him into a tool that, intelligent but ultimately a mindless drone, would fit their requirements. Not the first time he had turned out to be something of a disappointment. Pig-headedly brilliant, he had made more than a little trouble. And he could imagine some people who, learning that he was stranded on an ice-world millions of light years from home without even the most essential equipment, would wear a cat-got-the-canary-smile and just nod.
Well, he'd show them. Like always.
Rodney followed the trail the dart had left in the snow, and after it was out of sight he made sure he kept the right direction. The reddish sun wasn't too bright, but its reflection on the snow along with the icy wind drove tears to his eyes. He stopped for a moment to tear a strip of fabric off his ruined shirt and wrap it around his head, covering his eyes. Thankfully the fabric was thin enough to allow him to see through it, although the landscape was now a shade of pale blue instead of white. Every now and then he scooped up a handful of snow and let it melt in his mouth, swallowing the water regardless of alien bacteria. He was a dead man walking anyway, with no real chance to make it back home, but too stubborn to accept his fate. His chest was throbbing now, torn skin burning under the bandages, and he guessed he was beginning to develop an infection. The headache had tuned down to a dull ache he barely noticed, so at least he hadn't gotten a concussion out of his latest adventure. Yet. He'd just have to stumble over a hidden rock to get his next chance. And even if he didn't manage to hurt himself any further on his hike to the Gate, there was always the very real possibility of freezing to death. His ears had already gone numb under the cold, his nose was a lump of pain in his face, his cheeks stinging. He had pulled his arms back into the coat to cross them over his chest despite the pain, attempting to keep his fingers from getting frostbite. Even his eyebrows felt frozen. And the frost was getting at his knees, locking the joints until he felt like he could barely move his legs anymore. To cheer himself up, he thought of all the warm things he could do back in Atlantis. A hot shower would be heaven about now. And coffee. And oh, hot food. Soup, for instance, steaming on his spoon and scalding his tongue. God, he was hungry, but he didn't dare eat, didn't dare start now for fear he wouldn't be able to stop. And he knew his body well enough to know that sustenance was craved, but not necessary. Again, yet.
After four hours of walking in what he very desperately hoped was a straight line, it had gotten visibly darker, the sun finally setting behind the hills. Rodney stumbled towards one of the larger snow drifts, hoping like hell it wasn't actually a rock as he began to dig, his fingers swiftly turning numb. The scientist wrapped himself into the security blanket and crawled into the hole he had made, closing it up behind him and leaving just a little gap for fresh air. It was no igloo, but with a bit of luck it would get him through the night.
If not, well, he would never know, would he? He ripped one of the MREs open and quickly wolfed it down, followed by a power bar to keep his hypoglycaemia at bay. It had to be enough for now. He could have another power bar in the morning. And despite the pain that had gotten worse by the hour, his exhaustion quickly pulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
~~~
John's feet were moving on auto-pilot, stumbling through the Gate and into the familiar halls of Atlantis without his conscious command. One word kept repeating itself in his mind, reverberating through his head while he furiously blinked his eyes against the tears he couldn't allow himself to shed. One little word.
No.
"Colonel Sheppard," Dr. Weir's voice rang down from the control room, "report."
Darting a look to the rest of his team, he swallowed. Teyla and even Ronan looked as weary as he felt. There was no reassurance to be found, no easy answer, and he hated the feeling of helplessness that radiated from them. Hated it, because it reflected his own.
"Colonel." Elizabeth had come down the steps to greet them. Behind them, the Gate closed. "Where's Rodney?"
He cleared his throat, afraid his voice might break despite the air of detached professionalism he so desperately struggled to maintain.
"We lost him," he said simply, knowing it was nowhere near enough.
"What do you mean, you lost him? What happened?"
"We were negotiating for food when four Wraith darts turned up. There was a panic, and in the chaos we got separated. Ronan and I fired at the ships, while Teyla tried to get some children to safety. When we tried to radio McKay after the darts had gone, there was no answer. One of the Meldarans said he had seen him taken." John swallowed again. "McKay was culled."
A collective gasp went through the ranks of surrounding personnel. He could relate to that. Being culled by the Wraith was about the worst thing that could happen to you in this galaxy, and to have it happen to McKay... poor McKay who had probably been the single most frightened member of this whole expedition... the thought alone was horrible.
Not that his fear had ever stopped the man from accomplishing anything. Quite the opposite; the more desperate a situation got, the more you could count on Rodney giving his best to come through for them, and succeeding. Well, except that one time on Duranda, but he had more than paid for that. Had worked for regaining their trust, never wavering in his determination to make it right again, and you had to admire that, just had to forgive a man who was trying so hard, and John had, eventually. They had been on their way back to the friendship that had first developed between the two men without them even noticing, but now they had lost him, Rodney was gone, once and for all, irrevocably taken, and it felt to John like he was missing a limb.
"John," a warm, firm hand on his arm, "report to the infirmary. Debriefing in one hour."
He nodded, still not quite trusting his voice not to fail him, and practically darted out of the gateroom. He was aware of his team following him, but it was wrong, two sets of footsteps echoing his own when there should have been three, silence when there should have been endless blabber about their recent mission, nothing when there should have been another one right behind him. A solid, reassuring presence that had become as natural to him as breathing, and it was missing, not just for now, but forever, and if that thought made his eyes burn and his breath hitch in his throat, who could blame him?
Carson was greeting them with a surprised expression upon their entering the infirmary.
"Aren't you a bit early? Where's Rodney?" he asked, peering behind them for the one who wouldn't come.
"Culled," John managed against the sudden wave of nausea. "Excuse me."
He sprinted past the shocked doctor and barely made it to the closest sink before violently throwing up what little he had eaten that day. Tears were running down his cheeks, and his throat was raw from vomiting, but it went on and on until all that was left were dry heaves, and he still couldn't seem to stop. He felt a prick in his upper arm, and the nausea subsided, leaving him trembling and gasping for air. He hung his head, hands still resting on both sides of the sink.
"Sorry," he muttered, "sorry."
Carson's hand was an assuring weight on his shoulder, its warmth permeating his skin, and John hated himself for needing it so badly.
"It's alright, lad." There was a pause. "Want to tell me what happened?"
The soldier shook his head wearily, briefly glancing towards his silent team-mates.
"Elizabeth ordered a debriefing in an hour. I guess she'd expect you to attend anyway."
He let himself be led to an examination table.
"What did you give me?"
"Just a mild sedative," the doctor answered, his face pale even for his standards. Of course, he and Rodney had been friends, too. Best friends even, because John suspected he himself hadn't exactly lived up to that description. He had just been so angry, and the physicist had deserved a little dressing down, and somewhere between his anger and the need to make Rodney see the error of his ways, he had forgotten that if in this galaxy you were lacking anything, it was the time to make up for your mistakes. Yes, they had started to hang out again, but it hadn't been enough, hadn't been like before, not yet, and now it would never be, because Rodney was gone. And he couldn't allow himself to think about this, not now, when Elizabeth was still expecting a mission report. Couldn't allow himself to dwell on something he didn't fully grasp yet, and didn't want to.
Carson only asked what was absolutely necessary, the rest of the examination was made in silence. John was grateful for that. He didn't feel like small talk. He just wanted to give Elizabeth her report, and then go back to his quarters to spend his time not thinking about his missing scientist.
The debriefing was every bit as hard as he had imagined. Carson was there, as was Zelenka, eyes red-rimmed behind his glasses. News travelled fast in Atlantis. John's voice was flat as he told Elizabeth once again how they had been in the middle of negotiating a treaty when the darts had come through the gate. The Meldarans, simple, easygoing people, had been completely unprepared for the culling, and reacted like a bunch of upset children, running and screaming. He had ordered McKay and Teyla to get as many of the natives to safety as they could, firing at the Wraith darts together with Ronan. The Athosian had gotten some kids to hide in the thick brush of the forests that surrounded the village – and according to the Meldarans covered pretty much all of their world. McKay had taken off with some of the young hunters in tow, previously self-assured faces distorted with fear. It was the last time any of them had seen him. When the darts had gone and the forests turned quiet except for sobbing children and confused shouts of the remaining adults, John had tried to radio his scientist. Silence had been his only answer. They had grown concerned, then worried, until one young hunter had returned, shoulders slumped in desperation as he had told them that their comrade had been swept away by a bright light.
Zelenka muttered softly under his breath, uttering a few words in Czech that his mother probably wouldn't have approved of. Carson looked stricken, and Elizabeth was visibly fighting to maintain her composure.
"It's been a long day," she said finally, looking at each of them in turn. "Why don't you all get some... rest?" Obviously, the good Dr. Weir knew as well as John did that any thought of sleep would be delusional right now. "Dr. Zelenka, you will be in charge of the science department until... until I thought of something." If they didn't want to witness their leader break down and cry, they'd better leave now. Of all the scientists under her command, she had known McKay the longest, going back with him all the way to Antarctica, even before Beckett had arrived there.
It was funny, John thought as they all made their way to their respective hiding places, how one cranky, incorrigible physicist could worm his way into the hearts of so many people. Elizabeth had, from the very beginning, treated him like one would a slightly crazy yet ultimately lovable older brother. As had Ford, now that he thought about it. Carson had been a good friend, the best, teasing McKay wherever he could, but always there when the man had needed him. And Zelenka? God, the two scientists had been practically inseparable, so much in sync that one was finishing the sentences of the other. Together, they had been able to work miracles, and the Czech had admired his department head for his brilliance, even though he had been more than aware of the man's shortcomings. Then there was Teyla. The gentle Athosian woman had never claimed to understand her team-mate but nevertheless respected him, as had Ronan, in his own silent way.
All over Atlantis, there were people who owed Rodney McKay their lives, and they knew it. And even if there were a few who seriously disliked him, most of them had come to see behind his ill-tempered façade and like him for the brave and compassionate man he was.
John swallowed. Not was. Had been.
It wasn't really anyone's fault, except that of the Wraith who had taken him, but the fact remained that McKay would not come back, ever, and it would leave a hole in the city's midst they'd never be able to completely fill again. They had lost more than a simple scientist today. They had lost Atlantis' brightest mind and most notable personality. And he, he had lost... he had lost... he wasn't entirely sure what he had lost. A team-mate, yes. A friend, certainly. Best friend, actually, because Rodney had been his best friend, even if he hadn't been Rodney's. But it went deeper than that. Maybe it was because of who they were. Maybe it was because he was supposed to protect his scientist, because it was his damn job to make sure things like this didn't happen, but he wasn't superman, and he couldn't be everywhere at once.
He snorted. Not superman. Right. Where had he heard that before? And damned if McKay hadn't lied right into his face, for he had been, saving them all again and again and again, before finding his very own kryptonite on a world called Duranda, and even then he had tried to make things work, to pull a rabbit out of his hat just one more time. It had been a wake-up call for them all, and they hadn't taken it very graciously that Rodney had turned out to be only human after all.
John's feet had obviously been on auto-pilot again, taking him to a door that wasn't his own. As he stared, the door slid open with a soft hiss. Atlantis was acknowledging his needs even if he himself wasn't aware of them.
He stared into a room cast in twilight. It was neater than he had thought, and the Colonel didn't know why he was surprised. McKay's lab was tidy most of the time, so why should his quarters be any different? Hesitantly, he took a step forward, suddenly wondering why he had never been here before. Had Rodney not wanted him here, in his private sanctuary? Or were there simply too many other things they did on the rare occasions when they actually had downtime? A quick glance around the room told John that it was pretty much like his own, small, cramped with stuff acquired over the last one and a half years, but containing only the most essential furniture. As his gaze fell on the narrow bed, he realized how tired he was, how utterly weary after a really miserable shit of a day, and that he would probably crash down right in the hallway rather than make his way to his own room.
Decision made without really thinking about it, he staggered over to the bed and let himself fall face down onto the mattress, barely managing to kick his shoes off as exhaustion overtook him. He wiggled his way under the covers, and they smelled like Rodney, slamming the loss home with a force that broke through each and every one of his defences and left him helpless against the flood of emotion that threatened to drown him.
Rodney was gone, Rodney had been culled, and they couldn't just expect him to take it in his stride, could they? They couldn't just expect him to carry on like nothing had happened, when everything had, when something that was supposed to stay with him forever had simply disappeared, leaving him behind without knowing what to do. Without knowing how to cope. And damn the guy for doing that to him, for leaving John behind when he had been the one who should have died first, it was his fucking job, goddammit. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye, and his last words to his best friend had been "Just shut up and go, McKay!", and he would never be able to forgive himself for that, just like Rodney would never be able to forgive him for letting the physicist down when he had needed him. And he couldn't take it, just couldn't take it anymore.
John buried his face in the scientist's pillow, and cried, surrounded by silence and the scent of a man he would never see again.
Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Category: Slash Pairings > McKay/Sheppard
Characters: John Sheppard, Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, First Time, Friendship, Hurt Comfort, Pre-slash, Romance, Series
Warnings: Adult themes
Series: None
Word count: 67906; Completed: Yes
Summary: When Rodney is being culled, John suddenly has to deal with the loss of his best friend. As for Rodney, things get downhill from there. Set somewhere after The Hive, spoilers up to that episode.
Day One.
The first sensation was cold. Bone-chilling, merciless cold that seeped through his clothing and made his skin prickle. The next was pain, a dull ache from where his left temple was resting against something hard that might be a metal floor, and sharper stabs from his chest. Something sticky like spider web was gluing his fingers together as they twitched. His whole body was numb, but the bristly cold was awakening his limbs along with his mind, the promise of freezing hovering in the chilled air.
Rodney opened his gritty eyes and slowly blinked against the whiteness that greeted him. The spider web analogy hadn't been so far off, after all. Through the thin, veil-like stuff that seemed to cover his whole body, he could make out blurry shapes lying on the floor a few feet away from him. He raised a trembling hand to pull the webs away from his face, gulping down the nauseating panic that began to rise in his throat as the memories came rushing back. The Wraith darts, running, the noise of engines and firing weapons, then a flash of bright light and a feeling of suspension, followed by darkness.
He had been culled.
Oh God, oh God, he had been culled, and they had fed upon him, he could remember it now, the helpless agony as he felt his life being ripped from him not by the spilling of blood, but by the theft of hours, of days, probably more. Maybe that was why he was lying here; they had drained him like poor Gall, robbed him of his years, then cast him aside like a rag doll when he was empty. He was shaking in earnest now, desperately pulling the fine nets from his eyes, clawing at the fabric around his hands to get a look at his skin, sobbing a laugh of pure relief when he saw it was still smooth, still soft, still young.
Oh god, yes, thank you.
The short sound turned into a hiss of pain when his chest started hurting with his body's movement, the briefly forgotten stabs returning with a vengeance. Foolish, of course he was hurting, he had felt the Wraith's hand tear into his skin before it had fed, leaving him raw and bleeding in more ways than one. And he could have gotten a serious concussion, falling to the floor like that.
Falling to the floor... Rodney blinked again, why was he lying on the floor? And he wasn't the only one; what had been blurry shapes before was now clearly recognizable as bodies.
Wraith bodies. He swallowed, noticing for the first time the sizzle of electrified wires meeting in the barest of touches, the sharp stench of more than one short circuit, and over all, most important, the absence of any further sound. The Wraith dart was quiet, eerily so, no movement, and certainly no engines running. Groaning, Rodney tried to sit up, failing miserably against the pins and needles of limbs that hadn't been used for far too long. How he would have loved to just lie back and wait for the feeling in his arms and legs to return, but there was no time for that. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, and this time managed to get his body into a sitting position. He plucked at the webs, struggling to get rid of as much of the stuff as he could reach while his gaze darted across the glider. The only light came from a destroyed console, flickering irregularly and illuminating the bodies of the two Wraith who had manned the dart. They were lying close to their seats, and from the impossible angle of their heads in relation to the rest of them, he guessed it was a pretty safe bet to say they were dead. Along the wall, hanging limply in the heavy cocoons that kept them upright, were three more bodies. From what he could glimpse of them, they were also dead. He had probably been the last snack for the way home.
Swallowing again, Rodney slowly staggered onto his feet. During his frantic run through the thick green underbrush of the forest world they had been visiting there hadn't been much time to take in any details, but he distinctly remembered three more Wraith darts. Where were they? And where was his team? Had they shot this one down after he had been culled? But no, they wouldn't risk his life like that. Although, maybe they hadn't seen him being taken, and fired at the dart without knowing he was inside? Whatever had happened, the Wraith dart was down, and he was alive, that was all that mattered to him right now. He'd just have to get out of it, be found by his team-mates, and let himself be taken home to Atlantis into the gentle if a little unsympathetic care of Carson Beckett.
Making his way along the wall with one hand supporting him against the cold metal, the other pressed to his aching head, Rodney stumbled towards the rear end of the glider. He fumbled a little with the control panel, not sure if it would work, and sighed in relief as the heavy door slid open. A second later, he wished it hadn't. A gust of chilled air blew into his face, but he didn't notice as he stared, unbelieving, at the sight before him. Snow. In every direction, stretching out to the horizon, a desert of white, here and there dotted by black jagged lumps of rock and criss-crossed by low hills. The dart had torn a path of destruction through the otherwise smooth landscape, revealing the solid stone that rested underneath its cold blanket. No wonder the ship was broken. It was a miracle it hadn't gone up in flames or shattered apart as it was.
Another gust of wind, and Rodney shivered, clasping the edges of his torn, blood-encrusted shirt in an attempt to keep himself warm. Ridiculous, he knew it, but couldn't help himself. At least he still had his vest. Throwing a hesitant look back inside the dart, the scientist felt like crying. He had been culled and fed upon, he was freezing, and now he would have to make his way across who knew how many miles of snow desert. He just hoped to God that the glider had gone in a straight line from the Gate after being hit. The trail it had left in the snow was the only clue he had just where he should actually go. Because this was obviously not the world they had started on and help would not be coming. Except maybe in the form of other Wraith searching for their lost brethren. But nobody would look for Dr. Rodney McKay, because nobody knew he was here, and if he didn't make it back to the Stargate on his own, he might as well just lie down and die.
And much as he liked to bitch and complain about impending doom, giving up was simply not his style.
Feeling a little steadier on his feet, he went back into the dart. He had no way of knowing how far the ship had made it before it had been taken down, and thus had no idea how far he would have to walk. A quick inventory of his vest's pockets revealed two MREs, a security blanket, a packet of hankies, three power bars, his epi-pen, ammunition for a sidearm he no longer had, his GDO, and some bandages he kept in case he lost his back pack. He used those and half of the handkerchiefs to dress his chest wounds as best he could, and resisted the urge to open one of the power bars and calm himself with the comfortingly familiar taste. Considering the average speed of a Wraith dart, his meagre rations might well have to last him two, maybe even three days in his condition. He couldn't afford to use them up too quickly, and probably would have to walk the fine line between low sugar and hypoglycaemic shock. On the upside, water would hardly be a problem. Rodney tucked his belongings back in, and sighed. Now came the part he really, really didn't want to do.
Kneeling next to the nearest Wraith, he began to divest it of its long black leather coat. There was simply no way he would make it very far clothed like he was, and while leather wasn't exactly the warmest of materials, it would at least offer protection against the wind. Swallowing against the bile in his throat at the unnatural limpness of the Wraith under his hands, he managed to get the coat off its previous owner. Thoroughly disgusted, Rodney rose, shakily clothing himself in the thick leather, fumbling with the clasps. The coat smelled of dust and something entirely, unpleasantly alien, and it felt cold against his skin. But he didn't have a choice, if he wanted to live. And he wanted, he really, really wanted, because Atlantis needed him, because he had been culled and survived, and because he had spent so many of his years surrounded by ice and snow that he figured he deserved to die somewhere warm.
Taking a deep breath, Rodney turned away from the sizzling sparks and flickering light, and took his first steps out of the dead safety of the Wraith dart, and into a world of hostile cold whiteness. The snow crunched under his boots, but at least he didn't sink in. Now he just had to worry about hidden crevices to fall into instead of wading through chest-high snow drifts. He used his battered but unbroken watch as a compass, secretly thanking his father for forcing an unwilling boy on long hiking trips through the Canadian wilderness. If he ever made it back to Earth, he would send the man a card. Maybe even call. He hadn't contacted his parents for twenty years, it was probably time to forget old grudges and move on.
Then again, maybe he'd just call Jeannie instead. Some grudges were worth keeping, and he guessed that included telling a twelve year old boy that he was just way much more work than he could possibly be worth, ever. If not, it certainly included selling him out to the U.S. military because he was too smart for his own good, having the government of a country that wasn't even his own pay for his education so they could shape him into a tool that, intelligent but ultimately a mindless drone, would fit their requirements. Not the first time he had turned out to be something of a disappointment. Pig-headedly brilliant, he had made more than a little trouble. And he could imagine some people who, learning that he was stranded on an ice-world millions of light years from home without even the most essential equipment, would wear a cat-got-the-canary-smile and just nod.
Well, he'd show them. Like always.
Rodney followed the trail the dart had left in the snow, and after it was out of sight he made sure he kept the right direction. The reddish sun wasn't too bright, but its reflection on the snow along with the icy wind drove tears to his eyes. He stopped for a moment to tear a strip of fabric off his ruined shirt and wrap it around his head, covering his eyes. Thankfully the fabric was thin enough to allow him to see through it, although the landscape was now a shade of pale blue instead of white. Every now and then he scooped up a handful of snow and let it melt in his mouth, swallowing the water regardless of alien bacteria. He was a dead man walking anyway, with no real chance to make it back home, but too stubborn to accept his fate. His chest was throbbing now, torn skin burning under the bandages, and he guessed he was beginning to develop an infection. The headache had tuned down to a dull ache he barely noticed, so at least he hadn't gotten a concussion out of his latest adventure. Yet. He'd just have to stumble over a hidden rock to get his next chance. And even if he didn't manage to hurt himself any further on his hike to the Gate, there was always the very real possibility of freezing to death. His ears had already gone numb under the cold, his nose was a lump of pain in his face, his cheeks stinging. He had pulled his arms back into the coat to cross them over his chest despite the pain, attempting to keep his fingers from getting frostbite. Even his eyebrows felt frozen. And the frost was getting at his knees, locking the joints until he felt like he could barely move his legs anymore. To cheer himself up, he thought of all the warm things he could do back in Atlantis. A hot shower would be heaven about now. And coffee. And oh, hot food. Soup, for instance, steaming on his spoon and scalding his tongue. God, he was hungry, but he didn't dare eat, didn't dare start now for fear he wouldn't be able to stop. And he knew his body well enough to know that sustenance was craved, but not necessary. Again, yet.
After four hours of walking in what he very desperately hoped was a straight line, it had gotten visibly darker, the sun finally setting behind the hills. Rodney stumbled towards one of the larger snow drifts, hoping like hell it wasn't actually a rock as he began to dig, his fingers swiftly turning numb. The scientist wrapped himself into the security blanket and crawled into the hole he had made, closing it up behind him and leaving just a little gap for fresh air. It was no igloo, but with a bit of luck it would get him through the night.
If not, well, he would never know, would he? He ripped one of the MREs open and quickly wolfed it down, followed by a power bar to keep his hypoglycaemia at bay. It had to be enough for now. He could have another power bar in the morning. And despite the pain that had gotten worse by the hour, his exhaustion quickly pulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
~~~
John's feet were moving on auto-pilot, stumbling through the Gate and into the familiar halls of Atlantis without his conscious command. One word kept repeating itself in his mind, reverberating through his head while he furiously blinked his eyes against the tears he couldn't allow himself to shed. One little word.
No.
"Colonel Sheppard," Dr. Weir's voice rang down from the control room, "report."
Darting a look to the rest of his team, he swallowed. Teyla and even Ronan looked as weary as he felt. There was no reassurance to be found, no easy answer, and he hated the feeling of helplessness that radiated from them. Hated it, because it reflected his own.
"Colonel." Elizabeth had come down the steps to greet them. Behind them, the Gate closed. "Where's Rodney?"
He cleared his throat, afraid his voice might break despite the air of detached professionalism he so desperately struggled to maintain.
"We lost him," he said simply, knowing it was nowhere near enough.
"What do you mean, you lost him? What happened?"
"We were negotiating for food when four Wraith darts turned up. There was a panic, and in the chaos we got separated. Ronan and I fired at the ships, while Teyla tried to get some children to safety. When we tried to radio McKay after the darts had gone, there was no answer. One of the Meldarans said he had seen him taken." John swallowed again. "McKay was culled."
A collective gasp went through the ranks of surrounding personnel. He could relate to that. Being culled by the Wraith was about the worst thing that could happen to you in this galaxy, and to have it happen to McKay... poor McKay who had probably been the single most frightened member of this whole expedition... the thought alone was horrible.
Not that his fear had ever stopped the man from accomplishing anything. Quite the opposite; the more desperate a situation got, the more you could count on Rodney giving his best to come through for them, and succeeding. Well, except that one time on Duranda, but he had more than paid for that. Had worked for regaining their trust, never wavering in his determination to make it right again, and you had to admire that, just had to forgive a man who was trying so hard, and John had, eventually. They had been on their way back to the friendship that had first developed between the two men without them even noticing, but now they had lost him, Rodney was gone, once and for all, irrevocably taken, and it felt to John like he was missing a limb.
"John," a warm, firm hand on his arm, "report to the infirmary. Debriefing in one hour."
He nodded, still not quite trusting his voice not to fail him, and practically darted out of the gateroom. He was aware of his team following him, but it was wrong, two sets of footsteps echoing his own when there should have been three, silence when there should have been endless blabber about their recent mission, nothing when there should have been another one right behind him. A solid, reassuring presence that had become as natural to him as breathing, and it was missing, not just for now, but forever, and if that thought made his eyes burn and his breath hitch in his throat, who could blame him?
Carson was greeting them with a surprised expression upon their entering the infirmary.
"Aren't you a bit early? Where's Rodney?" he asked, peering behind them for the one who wouldn't come.
"Culled," John managed against the sudden wave of nausea. "Excuse me."
He sprinted past the shocked doctor and barely made it to the closest sink before violently throwing up what little he had eaten that day. Tears were running down his cheeks, and his throat was raw from vomiting, but it went on and on until all that was left were dry heaves, and he still couldn't seem to stop. He felt a prick in his upper arm, and the nausea subsided, leaving him trembling and gasping for air. He hung his head, hands still resting on both sides of the sink.
"Sorry," he muttered, "sorry."
Carson's hand was an assuring weight on his shoulder, its warmth permeating his skin, and John hated himself for needing it so badly.
"It's alright, lad." There was a pause. "Want to tell me what happened?"
The soldier shook his head wearily, briefly glancing towards his silent team-mates.
"Elizabeth ordered a debriefing in an hour. I guess she'd expect you to attend anyway."
He let himself be led to an examination table.
"What did you give me?"
"Just a mild sedative," the doctor answered, his face pale even for his standards. Of course, he and Rodney had been friends, too. Best friends even, because John suspected he himself hadn't exactly lived up to that description. He had just been so angry, and the physicist had deserved a little dressing down, and somewhere between his anger and the need to make Rodney see the error of his ways, he had forgotten that if in this galaxy you were lacking anything, it was the time to make up for your mistakes. Yes, they had started to hang out again, but it hadn't been enough, hadn't been like before, not yet, and now it would never be, because Rodney was gone. And he couldn't allow himself to think about this, not now, when Elizabeth was still expecting a mission report. Couldn't allow himself to dwell on something he didn't fully grasp yet, and didn't want to.
Carson only asked what was absolutely necessary, the rest of the examination was made in silence. John was grateful for that. He didn't feel like small talk. He just wanted to give Elizabeth her report, and then go back to his quarters to spend his time not thinking about his missing scientist.
The debriefing was every bit as hard as he had imagined. Carson was there, as was Zelenka, eyes red-rimmed behind his glasses. News travelled fast in Atlantis. John's voice was flat as he told Elizabeth once again how they had been in the middle of negotiating a treaty when the darts had come through the gate. The Meldarans, simple, easygoing people, had been completely unprepared for the culling, and reacted like a bunch of upset children, running and screaming. He had ordered McKay and Teyla to get as many of the natives to safety as they could, firing at the Wraith darts together with Ronan. The Athosian had gotten some kids to hide in the thick brush of the forests that surrounded the village – and according to the Meldarans covered pretty much all of their world. McKay had taken off with some of the young hunters in tow, previously self-assured faces distorted with fear. It was the last time any of them had seen him. When the darts had gone and the forests turned quiet except for sobbing children and confused shouts of the remaining adults, John had tried to radio his scientist. Silence had been his only answer. They had grown concerned, then worried, until one young hunter had returned, shoulders slumped in desperation as he had told them that their comrade had been swept away by a bright light.
Zelenka muttered softly under his breath, uttering a few words in Czech that his mother probably wouldn't have approved of. Carson looked stricken, and Elizabeth was visibly fighting to maintain her composure.
"It's been a long day," she said finally, looking at each of them in turn. "Why don't you all get some... rest?" Obviously, the good Dr. Weir knew as well as John did that any thought of sleep would be delusional right now. "Dr. Zelenka, you will be in charge of the science department until... until I thought of something." If they didn't want to witness their leader break down and cry, they'd better leave now. Of all the scientists under her command, she had known McKay the longest, going back with him all the way to Antarctica, even before Beckett had arrived there.
It was funny, John thought as they all made their way to their respective hiding places, how one cranky, incorrigible physicist could worm his way into the hearts of so many people. Elizabeth had, from the very beginning, treated him like one would a slightly crazy yet ultimately lovable older brother. As had Ford, now that he thought about it. Carson had been a good friend, the best, teasing McKay wherever he could, but always there when the man had needed him. And Zelenka? God, the two scientists had been practically inseparable, so much in sync that one was finishing the sentences of the other. Together, they had been able to work miracles, and the Czech had admired his department head for his brilliance, even though he had been more than aware of the man's shortcomings. Then there was Teyla. The gentle Athosian woman had never claimed to understand her team-mate but nevertheless respected him, as had Ronan, in his own silent way.
All over Atlantis, there were people who owed Rodney McKay their lives, and they knew it. And even if there were a few who seriously disliked him, most of them had come to see behind his ill-tempered façade and like him for the brave and compassionate man he was.
John swallowed. Not was. Had been.
It wasn't really anyone's fault, except that of the Wraith who had taken him, but the fact remained that McKay would not come back, ever, and it would leave a hole in the city's midst they'd never be able to completely fill again. They had lost more than a simple scientist today. They had lost Atlantis' brightest mind and most notable personality. And he, he had lost... he had lost... he wasn't entirely sure what he had lost. A team-mate, yes. A friend, certainly. Best friend, actually, because Rodney had been his best friend, even if he hadn't been Rodney's. But it went deeper than that. Maybe it was because of who they were. Maybe it was because he was supposed to protect his scientist, because it was his damn job to make sure things like this didn't happen, but he wasn't superman, and he couldn't be everywhere at once.
He snorted. Not superman. Right. Where had he heard that before? And damned if McKay hadn't lied right into his face, for he had been, saving them all again and again and again, before finding his very own kryptonite on a world called Duranda, and even then he had tried to make things work, to pull a rabbit out of his hat just one more time. It had been a wake-up call for them all, and they hadn't taken it very graciously that Rodney had turned out to be only human after all.
John's feet had obviously been on auto-pilot again, taking him to a door that wasn't his own. As he stared, the door slid open with a soft hiss. Atlantis was acknowledging his needs even if he himself wasn't aware of them.
He stared into a room cast in twilight. It was neater than he had thought, and the Colonel didn't know why he was surprised. McKay's lab was tidy most of the time, so why should his quarters be any different? Hesitantly, he took a step forward, suddenly wondering why he had never been here before. Had Rodney not wanted him here, in his private sanctuary? Or were there simply too many other things they did on the rare occasions when they actually had downtime? A quick glance around the room told John that it was pretty much like his own, small, cramped with stuff acquired over the last one and a half years, but containing only the most essential furniture. As his gaze fell on the narrow bed, he realized how tired he was, how utterly weary after a really miserable shit of a day, and that he would probably crash down right in the hallway rather than make his way to his own room.
Decision made without really thinking about it, he staggered over to the bed and let himself fall face down onto the mattress, barely managing to kick his shoes off as exhaustion overtook him. He wiggled his way under the covers, and they smelled like Rodney, slamming the loss home with a force that broke through each and every one of his defences and left him helpless against the flood of emotion that threatened to drown him.
Rodney was gone, Rodney had been culled, and they couldn't just expect him to take it in his stride, could they? They couldn't just expect him to carry on like nothing had happened, when everything had, when something that was supposed to stay with him forever had simply disappeared, leaving him behind without knowing what to do. Without knowing how to cope. And damn the guy for doing that to him, for leaving John behind when he had been the one who should have died first, it was his fucking job, goddammit. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye, and his last words to his best friend had been "Just shut up and go, McKay!", and he would never be able to forgive himself for that, just like Rodney would never be able to forgive him for letting the physicist down when he had needed him. And he couldn't take it, just couldn't take it anymore.
John buried his face in the scientist's pillow, and cried, surrounded by silence and the scent of a man he would never see again.