But Never the Nights pt. 12/15 (McShep, R)
Title: But Never the Nights - Day One-Hundred And Forty-Two
Author: lavvyan
Summary: Rodney learns to love long hikes, John has trouble with a mission.
Notes: About a month ago, I hated this story with a passion (see quality of the chapter before this). So I took a break. Now, I thankfully reached a point where it's more passion and less hatred again, but still more work than I ever wanted to put into this. Well. Three more chapters to go, and it will be finally, finally finished. :)
~~~
Day One-Hundred And Forty-Two.
It was the persistent twitter that woke him. Cracking a single eye open, he blearily peered at the little flock of brown-blue birds hopping and fluttering around in the twigs and branches above him. Yawning, Rodney stretched his body, grunting at the pain in his back from sleeping on the hard ground before he rolled himself over and away, because this - a good dozen birds overhead - was just an accident waiting to happen.
Death by birdshit. What a way to go.
"And the damn things are everywhere," he muttered as he got up, twisting his back until he heard the telltale snap-crackle-pop that meant his vertebrae might now be ready to move smoothly again. He squinted at the sky, as far as he could see it through the blue leaves. "Well, sun is up, let's get going."
He had lost interest in his calendar about a week ago. Noting the time of sunrise had become a moot thing anyway, as it always matched his calculations. He still occasionally marked day, weather, and estimated temperature, but there were much better things to do with his time, like five-day trips through bird-infested forests. Oh yeah, Rodney McKay liked his life a little dangerous these days. Although it was getting a bit too much so; however, he had already figured out a solution for that particular problem. Of course, he wasn't all that sure if his cunning plan would work; biology had never been his forte. Still, if his GDO had managed to survive the last five months - and it should have, the damn things were supposed to be waterproof - and the batteries were intact, he was rather convinced that he could rig the damn thing up to emit a low EM-field. Hopefully it would be strong enough to keep the birds at a safe distance. Perhaps he could even find some catalyst at the pharmacy to enhance the effect.
Then again, probably not, but hey, it would keep him occupied. Which was pretty much all he was asking for these days. Last Thursday - well, Thursday according to his trusty watch - had been spent refilling the reservoir for his running water from one of the seven wells in his town. Hours and hours of what had turned out to be gloriously tiring work, even using what probably was this world's first pulley to get the buckets up to the roof. Two days before that, he had tried his hand at farm work. Okay, so he had no idea if the seeds he had pulled from the vegetables stored in his fridge would even grow, but something was sprouting on his little field, and that was satisfactory enough for now. There was still enough food left to last him at least a year, and flour for a few months of bread. There should have been much more, except that he seemed to have made a mistake during the exceedingly humid spring. All the flour he hadn't had stored up in his own nice warm - and dry - house had begun to… well, not quite develop a life of its own, but it looked like a close thing. Probably a new form of penicillin.
"Or probably you're just hoping for something tremendously implausible to happen. Again, I might add," Rodney told himself conversationally while he munched on a piece of dry bread for breakfast. He had stopped trying to suppress the urge to just talk, to lull himself with the sound of his own voice, even though he was mostly mocking himself. Strangely enough, it had helped him find some kind of balance, to impede his descent down the slippery slope to insanity. So what if self conversations were generally frowned upon? It wasn't as though there was anybody around to hear him. Fine, the birds, but they wouldn't tell anyone. Too bad, actually. If one of them had turned out to be of the talkative kind, he might have well been tempted to risk the feathers and get himself a pet nevertheless. But even the phoenix so far had just squawked every now and then. And he wasn't quite paranoid enough just yet to start thinking they only waited until he was out of earshot.
"Birds do it, bees do it," he started to sing in a low voice as he hefted his rucksack-duffel over his shoulder and started the long way home. Or comparatively short, if he hadn't completely drifted off course. "Even educated fleeeeas do it..."
Still humming, he trampled through the forest between rocks of various shapes and sizes, some of them piled up upon each other to form natural towers that had possibly been standing like that for ages, covered in moss and lichen. He was making as much noise as possible to scare the birds away before he got to wherever they were, breaking twigs under his feet and rustling through dry leaves. Surprising the little buggers lead to rains of feathers more often than not, and that wasn't generally a good idea. Except if the stuff his flour was morphing into should be an interesting new variant of epinephrine. Which he had to admit wasn't very likely, hence the white-man-stomping-through-woods routine. There were no predators that might attack him, so there wasn't any reason to be silent, anyway.
"And besides, it's all in the dialogue." Rodney nodded. "One of the pillars of humanity. There would be no civilization without dialogue, no astrophysics without civilization, no Stargates without astrophysics, and then where would I be?" Sitting at home in his nice, cosy cave, keeping Sheppard from drawing buffalo graffiti all over the walls while Elizabeth negotiated for pieces of Mammoth from the nice Neanderthals next door, probably. Next entrance. Whatever.
"Flintstones, meet the Flintstones, they're a modern Stone Age family," he sang, crossing a small clearing and finding that from that point on, his path would be leading downhill again. Very nice. It meant that he would get to spend the night sleeping in his own bed. After four nights in the hills, where finding a place to sleep without a multitude of things digging into your back was something of a challenge, Rodney was really looking forward to his mattress. As nice as his hike had been, there was no place like almost-home. Silent and abandoned as it was.
Much to his surprise, no one had ever tried to dial in to see where the townspeople had disappeared to. He wasn't quite sure if that was a good or a bad thing. On one hand, it meant no suspicious questions, no pre-emptive torture in case he was an accomplice of the Wraith. Even if the thought alone was ridiculous; the scars on his chest alone should be enough to tell anyone with half a brain that his position as the sole survivor on this planet was more due to dumb luck than anything else. That, and his superior skills, of course, finely honed by traipsing through the wilderness with an outdoor boy, a child of nature, and a barbarian, for longer than he cared to think about right now. Still, by all rights, he should have been dead, and he knew it. Sometimes he still woke up to the remembered feeling of claws digging into his skin, of something slowly pulling his life force out of his body, minute by precious minute. Those were the nights he usually gave up on sleeping and went to work on his star chart instead, naming the distant lights and looking for constellations. Or he would write in his diary, exorcising his demons by describing the dream as far as he could remember it, noting the differences to the one before that, and perhaps throw in a small list of the ways the Wraith reminded him of his grandmother.
"Off topic," Rodney chided himself. He stopped and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Now that the sun was high in the sky, it was clear that summer had come around full force. At least he was hoping it wouldn't get much warmer, he was baking already as it was. Of course, hot was better than cold, but there were limits. Long years first in Siberia, then in Antarctica, had gotten him kind of used to low temperatures, and as much as he had enjoyed the temperate climate of Atlantis, he still didn't have all that much of a tolerance for heat.
"Drifting, drifting," he sing-songed, "you're still missing the other hand."
Yes, fine, the other hand. No people coming through the Gate naturally meant no help. Loneliness. Increasingly long conversations with himself. Collecting dead wood to be prepared for the next winter with a constant running commentary spilling from his own lips until he didn't know if he was out of breath from working or because he was talking so much.
And, speaking of out of breath, it was high time for a lunch break. He looked around for a suitable rock to make it just that little more convenient, and spotted one some fifty steps ahead.
"Ah, this is the life," he sighed as he sat down and stretched out his legs. Reaching into his rucksack-duffel, he pulled out the former juice bottle that now contained water, and plopped off the cap, taking a deep swig. There were enough rivulets and little wells in these hills to refill his bottle several times a day, clear cold water that tasted better than any he'd ever had before, carrying faint traces of unknown minerals and deep stone. Or maybe that was just his imagination running wild once again.
Rodney dug into his pack again, rummaging around until he had found the flat loaf of bread and a jar of pickled vegetables. The long, white sticks tasted like a mixture of tomato and paprika, and along with his bread, the resulting meal made him feel a little like he were in Italy. A very blue Italy without a single inhabitant, granted, but it did have a certain Mediterranean flair. And it sure tasted good.
Licking his lips, he stuffed the empty jar and half of his bread back into the duffel. He wasn't entirely sure how far he still had to go, and maybe he'd take another break later. Looking around at the trees around him, red sunlight filtering through the blue leaves and painting bright lilac patterns on the blue-grey moss, occasionally grazing a rock, he decided that it was too pretty a picture to just let it go. He pulled out his diary and opened it, absent-mindedly noting how he had already filled half of the thick volume with his ramblings that lately had included everything that came to his mind. Be it nightmare or the fact that he still missed his friends, it all was written down like it were important in any way.
"Sure, because it is, " he insisted, and filled his pen. The scenery was quickly drawn, his fingers brushing the pen over the page with new-found certainty, composing a sketch of this particular spot of forest with less strokes than he would have needed a month ago. Rodney paused, staring down on the paper, contemplating. Then he started drawing again, this time from memory. Adding Ronon's tall figure was easy, the Satedan warrior seated on that rock over there, weapon in one hand, holding watch. Teyla was bending down to pick up sticks for their camp fire, long hair half obscuring her face. And Sheppard - he paused again, thinking, then he smiled - Sheppard was leaning against one of the trees, arms crossed over his chest, his slouched posture and lazy half-smirk hiding his alertness to his surroundings. By the time he was done, two hours had passed, and it was high time to get moving. Yet he took a minute to look at the picture, at his team, tracing a finger over the dry ink of Sheppard's still figure.
"I miss you," he admitted softly. "All of you, but if you were here, it wouldn't be boring at all."
That there weren't any listeners still didn't mean he'd say everything he thought.
Rodney sighed deeply, then he resumed his trek down the hills and back to the town. He was just glad that he didn't have to be careful about rabbit holes. That would have slowed him down considerably, and he had already wasted enough time as it was. Another two hours, and the light turned a dark red, almost eerie if you weren't used to it, tinting the world around him in a deep violet. Hopefully, he'd be almost-home soon. He ate the second half of his bread while he was walking. No time for another break, and after the time he'd spent drawing, he didn't really need one.
Around him, birds were settling in for the night, still completely unafraid of him. He grinned as some kind of grey-pink chicken crossed his way, four hatchlings in tow. There were sounds in the distance, a bit like shouts, and he wondered what kind of new and not-exciting bird might have turned up now to not-impress him. Since one of the palm-sized not-quite-sparrows had startled him by cackling like a hyena - loudly - Rodney didn't let himself be surprised by anything. Well, fine, if it was a griffon he might reconsider his excitability. Especially if it shot poison spikes from its tail. But how big were the odds for that?
"A harpy might be nice, though." He chuckled, sure that he could deal with a crazy, murderous woman - wouldn't be the first he ever met. Hell, he had nearly married one of them, saved only by the NID shipping him off to Area 51. She'd been hot, though. Not as hot as Sam Carter, and not nearly as smart, but sufficient to carry his children. And make his life living hell.
"No, thank you," Rodney murmured, shuddering. In hindsight, a wife had been neither what he had wanted, nor what he had needed.
It was dark when he finally reached the town. His calculations had been a little off, then, or maybe the circle he had drawn had been a bit wider than originally planned. Most likely the latter - if he couldn't trust his math anymore, he might as well just shoot himself.
Fine. Hit himself over the head with the molten cannon, whatever.
He didn't even bother with lighting one of the lamps, stumbling up the stairs to his bedroom in near darkness, the only light coming from the stars outside. He toed off his boots, then collapsed on top of the mattress, still fully clothed. After five days in the open, he was dirty and more than a little ripe, but couldn't bring himself to care. Yawning widely, he decided he could as well change the sheets tomorrow.
Two minutes later, he was out like a light.
~~~
"Alright, everybody good to go?"
His team rolled their eyes at the unnecessary question, and John grinned. He had woken up in a good mood today, spending most of the morning joking around with his men and getting on Radek's nerves with 'making sure he was all set for the mission', hours before their actual departure. In the end, Radek had pointed a finger at him and gone through his fast-talking-Czech-of-doom routine, letting out a string of words that probably would have made John's mother blush if she had understood them. He had raised his hands in mock surrender and left the labs, only to return ten minutes later with a cup of coffee, to make sure Radek had calmed down again and wouldn't shoot the natives.
Although natives wasn't quite the right word, if he had gotten Teyla right. The Varanians they'd visit on today's mission were running something like a trading outpost, one of several their people used to trade for goods and still keep the location of their homeworld a secret. A rather futile attempt to hide themselves from the Wraith if you asked John, but at least it didn't involve giant underground bunkers and crazy farmers with nuclear warheads.
The Stargate flared to life with its usual blaring sound, and Elizabeth called down to them from her place in the control room.
"Colonel Sheppard, you have a go. All of you, be safe." John nodded up at her and gave a little wave. He fastened a strap on Radek's vest before he gestured to the event horizon.
"After you," he said amiably. Radek snorted, but followed Ronon and Teyla into the shimmering puddle that would lead them to their destination. A short, chilling trip later, and they were all standing side by side next to the new planet's DHD, while behind them the Stargate closed down.
"Well. This looks… different." And it did. Most of the alien worlds they had travelled to so far had looked remarkably like Earth, with lots of trees that more often than not formed large forests that reminded him a little of Canada. There were trees here as well, granted, but instead of the familiar green and brown, everything around him was… blue. Blue leaves, blue stems, blue grass; hell, it made the little brown flowers that were swaying in the gentle breeze a sight for sore eyes. The sun shone in stark contrast, a pale red ball above them, casting a rather eerie reddish light that did weird things to the colour of the trees. There was a road nearby, leading into the surrounding hills, and John pointed.
"Guess that's our trail."
Something darted past his ear, and he swatted at it, only realizing that it wasn't an insect when the tiny little bird had already flickered over to Teyla, hovering next to her head before darting away. "Huh. That's a new one."
"I was on a world like this before," Ronon commented as they started for the road.
"Really?" Radek asked, staring at a flock of small, bright blue birds fluttering from tree to tree.
"Yeah. But it was red."
"Well, if we get nothing else out of this mission, we can always bring back some specimens. The biologists will go crazy over this stuff."
They made their way through the hills, following the narrow road, always accompanied by the birds. The air was the kind of cautious cool that promised dry heat later; it was probably summer around here, and if you ignored all the blue, it was kinda nice. Then suddenly, the whole flock above them went crazy, picking and clawing at each other, leaving John and his team in a rain of feathers.
"Why are we here again?" he asked, sneezing as a feather brushed his nose.
"You said yourself that the Daedalus might not come forever," Teyla answered in her usual unfazed way, stepping through the brightly coloured down like it wasn't even there. "Your people and mine need friends to trade with, should the need arise again."
Ronon grunted his agreement. Every mission that ensured their supply with food was a mission he'd gladly join. Radek just muttered something about damn nature and being an indoor person, but since he didn't say any of that loud enough to warrant a reaction, John didn't comment.
After not quite three hours, they reached the small town Teyla had mentioned during the initial briefing. The Varanians weren't exactly known for their openness towards strangers, but Elizabeth had figured that it was always worth a try. John didn't quite get why she was sending him, then, as he didn't exactly have the best track record as far as negotiations went, but maybe she was counting on Teyla for this one. He shrugged mentally. As long as nobody tried to kill them, everything was more or less fine with him.
The town was lying in a small valley, looking a bit like something right out of the Middle Ages - like so many places in this galaxy, thanks to the Wraith. Next to him, Ronon started to curse.
"What?" Radek asked, but John could already see what had the Runner descend into a more colourful language. The town was quiet, not a single person on the streets, and there were holes gaping between the cobblestones, in the brick buildings, edges smoothed out by rain. Whatever had happened here had done so quite some time ago, and nobody had repaired any of the damage. Probably because there was nobody left.
"What is wrong?" Radek asked again, and it was Teyla who answered.
"There appears to have been a culling several months ago. Those look like the impacts of a Wraith energy weapon."
"Wraith?" The Czech's nervous glances would have been funny under different circumstances.
"I think they've been gone for a long time," John said to calm him down, and patted his scientist on the shoulder before making his way down the last part of the road.
"Hello!" he called. "Anybody here? We come in peace!"
There was no answer, but then he hadn't really expected one. He turned to look at his team who had followed him to a little tower that still held the molten remains of something that might have been a cannon. Before.
"Well. I don't think there's anything here for us." He tried not to let his frustration show too much. They had already seen too many places like this.
The trip back to the Gate was mostly spent in silence, each of them brooding for their own reasons. The sun was burning down full force, surprisingly hot for such a pale thing, and they all were sweating when they finally arrived in the tiny valley that held the Stargate.
"Radek, dial us home," John said tiredly, and the Czech just nodded. He was a lot fitter than four months ago, but still not really used to this kind of mission, and stumbled a little as he walked over to the DHD. John automatically scanned the ground for hidden dangers, as did Ronon - the eternal curse of the soldier. Something black caught his eye, half-hidden in the earth at the DHD's base.
"Sheppard," Ronon said.
"Yeah, I see it." It didn't look like a landmine, but then again, what in this fucked up galaxy did? He crouched down to have a better look at it, and the shape looked vaguely familiar.
His blood started rushing in his ears as he realized why.
Dimly, he was aware of people calling his name, but he didn't care, didn't stop as he ran down the road, back to the town. The sun was merciless, and when little bright spots began dancing in front of his eyes he slowed down to a jog, trying to catch his breath, heart pounding hard. Footsteps next to him, and he didn't have to look to know it was Ronon. They reached the town in less than two hours, and John gulped down a few frantic breaths.
"Rodney!" he shouted, as loud as he could. "Rodney!"
Silence, not the tiniest sound, but he went on, jogged down a street in case the scientist simply hadn't heard him.
"McKay! Answer me, God damn it!"
But there was only Ronon, calling Rodney's name on a different street, and twenty minutes later Radek and Teyla turned up, the Czech looking like he'd keel over any minute, face grey and sweaty. He was clutching the GDO, knuckles white around the black casing.
"Colonel," he panted, and broke off, gasping for air. John kicked against a building in helpless frustration, running a hand through his sweaty hair.
"Look, he was here," he insisted, "I know it. Who else would have been here with a GDO?"
"Must've somehow escaped from the Wraith," Ronon agreed. "Maybe those people shot his dart down."
"We need to find him!" John interrupted, pacing restlessly.
"I agree that Dr. McKay seems to have been here," Teyla stated calmly. "However, his GDO was at the Stargate. Maybe it is broken."
"Your suggestion?" John ran his hand through his hair again. This was… this was hell, plain and simple. If there was any chance that Rodney was still alive somewhere…
"I believe we should return to Atlantis and return tomorrow with a search team. If Dr. McKay did not leave this world, we will find him."
Yes, that sounded… that sounded reasonable. Didn't it? Fuck! He couldn't even think straight.
"Colonel." Radek's hand on his arm. "Even if he left, we will find him. Let me try the redial function again."
"Because that worked so well the last time you tried it." John didn't even realize he had said that out loud until Radek shook his head.
"I think I know what I did wrong." His fingers closed around John's forearm, the other hand raising the dirty GDO. "I know you don't want to leave, but give us a chance to help you. We want him back as well."
John let out a deep breath. He was being an asshole - again. Looking into the worried faces of his team, he nodded shortly.
"Alright. Let's get back to the Gate." He squinted up at the sky. "Double time. Looks like the sun is about to go down."
Radek sighed, but managed to keep up, although he drained half of Ronon's water on their way back. They made good time, still it was almost dark when Teyla punched in Atlantis' address and sent her code. The sight of her GDO made John swallow, hard, thinking of all the times the Gate had engaged and nobody had come through, or worse, when something or someone had impacted with the shield, dying without anyone ever knowing their identity. Had one of those times been Rodney, trying to get home? The thought that his friend might have been among those dull thumps made him feel sick, dizzy. Ronon's hand under his elbow steadied him.
"You didn't eat," the Satedan admonished him with a surprising gentleness, and pressed a power bar into his hand. John looked down.
"I- I can't."
"They won't let you return tomorrow if you fall down." Probably not true, but the words were enough to make him force himself to eat the bar, although he couldn't have said what it had tasted like. It made him feel a little better, though, and carried him through the short debriefing. It was easy to convince Elizabeth of a rescue mission; the slight chance that Rodney might still be alive was enough for her to approve any and every person or resource John and Radek wanted to take. The Czech had confirmed that the GDO was indeed broken, most likely before it had been left at the DHD.
It was late when John finally returned to Rodney's quarters, but he couldn't sleep, too many thoughts chasing around in his head, too many what ifs, maybes, scenario after scenario. He powered up his laptop and opened Rodney's second video file, staring at the screen.
"We'll find you," he whispered hoarsely. "I promise."
~~~
tbc
Author: lavvyan
Summary: Rodney learns to love long hikes, John has trouble with a mission.
Notes: About a month ago, I hated this story with a passion (see quality of the chapter before this). So I took a break. Now, I thankfully reached a point where it's more passion and less hatred again, but still more work than I ever wanted to put into this. Well. Three more chapters to go, and it will be finally, finally finished. :)
~~~
Day One-Hundred And Forty-Two.
It was the persistent twitter that woke him. Cracking a single eye open, he blearily peered at the little flock of brown-blue birds hopping and fluttering around in the twigs and branches above him. Yawning, Rodney stretched his body, grunting at the pain in his back from sleeping on the hard ground before he rolled himself over and away, because this - a good dozen birds overhead - was just an accident waiting to happen.
Death by birdshit. What a way to go.
"And the damn things are everywhere," he muttered as he got up, twisting his back until he heard the telltale snap-crackle-pop that meant his vertebrae might now be ready to move smoothly again. He squinted at the sky, as far as he could see it through the blue leaves. "Well, sun is up, let's get going."
He had lost interest in his calendar about a week ago. Noting the time of sunrise had become a moot thing anyway, as it always matched his calculations. He still occasionally marked day, weather, and estimated temperature, but there were much better things to do with his time, like five-day trips through bird-infested forests. Oh yeah, Rodney McKay liked his life a little dangerous these days. Although it was getting a bit too much so; however, he had already figured out a solution for that particular problem. Of course, he wasn't all that sure if his cunning plan would work; biology had never been his forte. Still, if his GDO had managed to survive the last five months - and it should have, the damn things were supposed to be waterproof - and the batteries were intact, he was rather convinced that he could rig the damn thing up to emit a low EM-field. Hopefully it would be strong enough to keep the birds at a safe distance. Perhaps he could even find some catalyst at the pharmacy to enhance the effect.
Then again, probably not, but hey, it would keep him occupied. Which was pretty much all he was asking for these days. Last Thursday - well, Thursday according to his trusty watch - had been spent refilling the reservoir for his running water from one of the seven wells in his town. Hours and hours of what had turned out to be gloriously tiring work, even using what probably was this world's first pulley to get the buckets up to the roof. Two days before that, he had tried his hand at farm work. Okay, so he had no idea if the seeds he had pulled from the vegetables stored in his fridge would even grow, but something was sprouting on his little field, and that was satisfactory enough for now. There was still enough food left to last him at least a year, and flour for a few months of bread. There should have been much more, except that he seemed to have made a mistake during the exceedingly humid spring. All the flour he hadn't had stored up in his own nice warm - and dry - house had begun to… well, not quite develop a life of its own, but it looked like a close thing. Probably a new form of penicillin.
"Or probably you're just hoping for something tremendously implausible to happen. Again, I might add," Rodney told himself conversationally while he munched on a piece of dry bread for breakfast. He had stopped trying to suppress the urge to just talk, to lull himself with the sound of his own voice, even though he was mostly mocking himself. Strangely enough, it had helped him find some kind of balance, to impede his descent down the slippery slope to insanity. So what if self conversations were generally frowned upon? It wasn't as though there was anybody around to hear him. Fine, the birds, but they wouldn't tell anyone. Too bad, actually. If one of them had turned out to be of the talkative kind, he might have well been tempted to risk the feathers and get himself a pet nevertheless. But even the phoenix so far had just squawked every now and then. And he wasn't quite paranoid enough just yet to start thinking they only waited until he was out of earshot.
"Birds do it, bees do it," he started to sing in a low voice as he hefted his rucksack-duffel over his shoulder and started the long way home. Or comparatively short, if he hadn't completely drifted off course. "Even educated fleeeeas do it..."
Still humming, he trampled through the forest between rocks of various shapes and sizes, some of them piled up upon each other to form natural towers that had possibly been standing like that for ages, covered in moss and lichen. He was making as much noise as possible to scare the birds away before he got to wherever they were, breaking twigs under his feet and rustling through dry leaves. Surprising the little buggers lead to rains of feathers more often than not, and that wasn't generally a good idea. Except if the stuff his flour was morphing into should be an interesting new variant of epinephrine. Which he had to admit wasn't very likely, hence the white-man-stomping-through-woods routine. There were no predators that might attack him, so there wasn't any reason to be silent, anyway.
"And besides, it's all in the dialogue." Rodney nodded. "One of the pillars of humanity. There would be no civilization without dialogue, no astrophysics without civilization, no Stargates without astrophysics, and then where would I be?" Sitting at home in his nice, cosy cave, keeping Sheppard from drawing buffalo graffiti all over the walls while Elizabeth negotiated for pieces of Mammoth from the nice Neanderthals next door, probably. Next entrance. Whatever.
"Flintstones, meet the Flintstones, they're a modern Stone Age family," he sang, crossing a small clearing and finding that from that point on, his path would be leading downhill again. Very nice. It meant that he would get to spend the night sleeping in his own bed. After four nights in the hills, where finding a place to sleep without a multitude of things digging into your back was something of a challenge, Rodney was really looking forward to his mattress. As nice as his hike had been, there was no place like almost-home. Silent and abandoned as it was.
Much to his surprise, no one had ever tried to dial in to see where the townspeople had disappeared to. He wasn't quite sure if that was a good or a bad thing. On one hand, it meant no suspicious questions, no pre-emptive torture in case he was an accomplice of the Wraith. Even if the thought alone was ridiculous; the scars on his chest alone should be enough to tell anyone with half a brain that his position as the sole survivor on this planet was more due to dumb luck than anything else. That, and his superior skills, of course, finely honed by traipsing through the wilderness with an outdoor boy, a child of nature, and a barbarian, for longer than he cared to think about right now. Still, by all rights, he should have been dead, and he knew it. Sometimes he still woke up to the remembered feeling of claws digging into his skin, of something slowly pulling his life force out of his body, minute by precious minute. Those were the nights he usually gave up on sleeping and went to work on his star chart instead, naming the distant lights and looking for constellations. Or he would write in his diary, exorcising his demons by describing the dream as far as he could remember it, noting the differences to the one before that, and perhaps throw in a small list of the ways the Wraith reminded him of his grandmother.
"Off topic," Rodney chided himself. He stopped and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Now that the sun was high in the sky, it was clear that summer had come around full force. At least he was hoping it wouldn't get much warmer, he was baking already as it was. Of course, hot was better than cold, but there were limits. Long years first in Siberia, then in Antarctica, had gotten him kind of used to low temperatures, and as much as he had enjoyed the temperate climate of Atlantis, he still didn't have all that much of a tolerance for heat.
"Drifting, drifting," he sing-songed, "you're still missing the other hand."
Yes, fine, the other hand. No people coming through the Gate naturally meant no help. Loneliness. Increasingly long conversations with himself. Collecting dead wood to be prepared for the next winter with a constant running commentary spilling from his own lips until he didn't know if he was out of breath from working or because he was talking so much.
And, speaking of out of breath, it was high time for a lunch break. He looked around for a suitable rock to make it just that little more convenient, and spotted one some fifty steps ahead.
"Ah, this is the life," he sighed as he sat down and stretched out his legs. Reaching into his rucksack-duffel, he pulled out the former juice bottle that now contained water, and plopped off the cap, taking a deep swig. There were enough rivulets and little wells in these hills to refill his bottle several times a day, clear cold water that tasted better than any he'd ever had before, carrying faint traces of unknown minerals and deep stone. Or maybe that was just his imagination running wild once again.
Rodney dug into his pack again, rummaging around until he had found the flat loaf of bread and a jar of pickled vegetables. The long, white sticks tasted like a mixture of tomato and paprika, and along with his bread, the resulting meal made him feel a little like he were in Italy. A very blue Italy without a single inhabitant, granted, but it did have a certain Mediterranean flair. And it sure tasted good.
Licking his lips, he stuffed the empty jar and half of his bread back into the duffel. He wasn't entirely sure how far he still had to go, and maybe he'd take another break later. Looking around at the trees around him, red sunlight filtering through the blue leaves and painting bright lilac patterns on the blue-grey moss, occasionally grazing a rock, he decided that it was too pretty a picture to just let it go. He pulled out his diary and opened it, absent-mindedly noting how he had already filled half of the thick volume with his ramblings that lately had included everything that came to his mind. Be it nightmare or the fact that he still missed his friends, it all was written down like it were important in any way.
"Sure, because it is, " he insisted, and filled his pen. The scenery was quickly drawn, his fingers brushing the pen over the page with new-found certainty, composing a sketch of this particular spot of forest with less strokes than he would have needed a month ago. Rodney paused, staring down on the paper, contemplating. Then he started drawing again, this time from memory. Adding Ronon's tall figure was easy, the Satedan warrior seated on that rock over there, weapon in one hand, holding watch. Teyla was bending down to pick up sticks for their camp fire, long hair half obscuring her face. And Sheppard - he paused again, thinking, then he smiled - Sheppard was leaning against one of the trees, arms crossed over his chest, his slouched posture and lazy half-smirk hiding his alertness to his surroundings. By the time he was done, two hours had passed, and it was high time to get moving. Yet he took a minute to look at the picture, at his team, tracing a finger over the dry ink of Sheppard's still figure.
"I miss you," he admitted softly. "All of you, but if you were here, it wouldn't be boring at all."
That there weren't any listeners still didn't mean he'd say everything he thought.
Rodney sighed deeply, then he resumed his trek down the hills and back to the town. He was just glad that he didn't have to be careful about rabbit holes. That would have slowed him down considerably, and he had already wasted enough time as it was. Another two hours, and the light turned a dark red, almost eerie if you weren't used to it, tinting the world around him in a deep violet. Hopefully, he'd be almost-home soon. He ate the second half of his bread while he was walking. No time for another break, and after the time he'd spent drawing, he didn't really need one.
Around him, birds were settling in for the night, still completely unafraid of him. He grinned as some kind of grey-pink chicken crossed his way, four hatchlings in tow. There were sounds in the distance, a bit like shouts, and he wondered what kind of new and not-exciting bird might have turned up now to not-impress him. Since one of the palm-sized not-quite-sparrows had startled him by cackling like a hyena - loudly - Rodney didn't let himself be surprised by anything. Well, fine, if it was a griffon he might reconsider his excitability. Especially if it shot poison spikes from its tail. But how big were the odds for that?
"A harpy might be nice, though." He chuckled, sure that he could deal with a crazy, murderous woman - wouldn't be the first he ever met. Hell, he had nearly married one of them, saved only by the NID shipping him off to Area 51. She'd been hot, though. Not as hot as Sam Carter, and not nearly as smart, but sufficient to carry his children. And make his life living hell.
"No, thank you," Rodney murmured, shuddering. In hindsight, a wife had been neither what he had wanted, nor what he had needed.
It was dark when he finally reached the town. His calculations had been a little off, then, or maybe the circle he had drawn had been a bit wider than originally planned. Most likely the latter - if he couldn't trust his math anymore, he might as well just shoot himself.
Fine. Hit himself over the head with the molten cannon, whatever.
He didn't even bother with lighting one of the lamps, stumbling up the stairs to his bedroom in near darkness, the only light coming from the stars outside. He toed off his boots, then collapsed on top of the mattress, still fully clothed. After five days in the open, he was dirty and more than a little ripe, but couldn't bring himself to care. Yawning widely, he decided he could as well change the sheets tomorrow.
Two minutes later, he was out like a light.
~~~
"Alright, everybody good to go?"
His team rolled their eyes at the unnecessary question, and John grinned. He had woken up in a good mood today, spending most of the morning joking around with his men and getting on Radek's nerves with 'making sure he was all set for the mission', hours before their actual departure. In the end, Radek had pointed a finger at him and gone through his fast-talking-Czech-of-doom routine, letting out a string of words that probably would have made John's mother blush if she had understood them. He had raised his hands in mock surrender and left the labs, only to return ten minutes later with a cup of coffee, to make sure Radek had calmed down again and wouldn't shoot the natives.
Although natives wasn't quite the right word, if he had gotten Teyla right. The Varanians they'd visit on today's mission were running something like a trading outpost, one of several their people used to trade for goods and still keep the location of their homeworld a secret. A rather futile attempt to hide themselves from the Wraith if you asked John, but at least it didn't involve giant underground bunkers and crazy farmers with nuclear warheads.
The Stargate flared to life with its usual blaring sound, and Elizabeth called down to them from her place in the control room.
"Colonel Sheppard, you have a go. All of you, be safe." John nodded up at her and gave a little wave. He fastened a strap on Radek's vest before he gestured to the event horizon.
"After you," he said amiably. Radek snorted, but followed Ronon and Teyla into the shimmering puddle that would lead them to their destination. A short, chilling trip later, and they were all standing side by side next to the new planet's DHD, while behind them the Stargate closed down.
"Well. This looks… different." And it did. Most of the alien worlds they had travelled to so far had looked remarkably like Earth, with lots of trees that more often than not formed large forests that reminded him a little of Canada. There were trees here as well, granted, but instead of the familiar green and brown, everything around him was… blue. Blue leaves, blue stems, blue grass; hell, it made the little brown flowers that were swaying in the gentle breeze a sight for sore eyes. The sun shone in stark contrast, a pale red ball above them, casting a rather eerie reddish light that did weird things to the colour of the trees. There was a road nearby, leading into the surrounding hills, and John pointed.
"Guess that's our trail."
Something darted past his ear, and he swatted at it, only realizing that it wasn't an insect when the tiny little bird had already flickered over to Teyla, hovering next to her head before darting away. "Huh. That's a new one."
"I was on a world like this before," Ronon commented as they started for the road.
"Really?" Radek asked, staring at a flock of small, bright blue birds fluttering from tree to tree.
"Yeah. But it was red."
"Well, if we get nothing else out of this mission, we can always bring back some specimens. The biologists will go crazy over this stuff."
They made their way through the hills, following the narrow road, always accompanied by the birds. The air was the kind of cautious cool that promised dry heat later; it was probably summer around here, and if you ignored all the blue, it was kinda nice. Then suddenly, the whole flock above them went crazy, picking and clawing at each other, leaving John and his team in a rain of feathers.
"Why are we here again?" he asked, sneezing as a feather brushed his nose.
"You said yourself that the Daedalus might not come forever," Teyla answered in her usual unfazed way, stepping through the brightly coloured down like it wasn't even there. "Your people and mine need friends to trade with, should the need arise again."
Ronon grunted his agreement. Every mission that ensured their supply with food was a mission he'd gladly join. Radek just muttered something about damn nature and being an indoor person, but since he didn't say any of that loud enough to warrant a reaction, John didn't comment.
After not quite three hours, they reached the small town Teyla had mentioned during the initial briefing. The Varanians weren't exactly known for their openness towards strangers, but Elizabeth had figured that it was always worth a try. John didn't quite get why she was sending him, then, as he didn't exactly have the best track record as far as negotiations went, but maybe she was counting on Teyla for this one. He shrugged mentally. As long as nobody tried to kill them, everything was more or less fine with him.
The town was lying in a small valley, looking a bit like something right out of the Middle Ages - like so many places in this galaxy, thanks to the Wraith. Next to him, Ronon started to curse.
"What?" Radek asked, but John could already see what had the Runner descend into a more colourful language. The town was quiet, not a single person on the streets, and there were holes gaping between the cobblestones, in the brick buildings, edges smoothed out by rain. Whatever had happened here had done so quite some time ago, and nobody had repaired any of the damage. Probably because there was nobody left.
"What is wrong?" Radek asked again, and it was Teyla who answered.
"There appears to have been a culling several months ago. Those look like the impacts of a Wraith energy weapon."
"Wraith?" The Czech's nervous glances would have been funny under different circumstances.
"I think they've been gone for a long time," John said to calm him down, and patted his scientist on the shoulder before making his way down the last part of the road.
"Hello!" he called. "Anybody here? We come in peace!"
There was no answer, but then he hadn't really expected one. He turned to look at his team who had followed him to a little tower that still held the molten remains of something that might have been a cannon. Before.
"Well. I don't think there's anything here for us." He tried not to let his frustration show too much. They had already seen too many places like this.
The trip back to the Gate was mostly spent in silence, each of them brooding for their own reasons. The sun was burning down full force, surprisingly hot for such a pale thing, and they all were sweating when they finally arrived in the tiny valley that held the Stargate.
"Radek, dial us home," John said tiredly, and the Czech just nodded. He was a lot fitter than four months ago, but still not really used to this kind of mission, and stumbled a little as he walked over to the DHD. John automatically scanned the ground for hidden dangers, as did Ronon - the eternal curse of the soldier. Something black caught his eye, half-hidden in the earth at the DHD's base.
"Sheppard," Ronon said.
"Yeah, I see it." It didn't look like a landmine, but then again, what in this fucked up galaxy did? He crouched down to have a better look at it, and the shape looked vaguely familiar.
His blood started rushing in his ears as he realized why.
Dimly, he was aware of people calling his name, but he didn't care, didn't stop as he ran down the road, back to the town. The sun was merciless, and when little bright spots began dancing in front of his eyes he slowed down to a jog, trying to catch his breath, heart pounding hard. Footsteps next to him, and he didn't have to look to know it was Ronon. They reached the town in less than two hours, and John gulped down a few frantic breaths.
"Rodney!" he shouted, as loud as he could. "Rodney!"
Silence, not the tiniest sound, but he went on, jogged down a street in case the scientist simply hadn't heard him.
"McKay! Answer me, God damn it!"
But there was only Ronon, calling Rodney's name on a different street, and twenty minutes later Radek and Teyla turned up, the Czech looking like he'd keel over any minute, face grey and sweaty. He was clutching the GDO, knuckles white around the black casing.
"Colonel," he panted, and broke off, gasping for air. John kicked against a building in helpless frustration, running a hand through his sweaty hair.
"Look, he was here," he insisted, "I know it. Who else would have been here with a GDO?"
"Must've somehow escaped from the Wraith," Ronon agreed. "Maybe those people shot his dart down."
"We need to find him!" John interrupted, pacing restlessly.
"I agree that Dr. McKay seems to have been here," Teyla stated calmly. "However, his GDO was at the Stargate. Maybe it is broken."
"Your suggestion?" John ran his hand through his hair again. This was… this was hell, plain and simple. If there was any chance that Rodney was still alive somewhere…
"I believe we should return to Atlantis and return tomorrow with a search team. If Dr. McKay did not leave this world, we will find him."
Yes, that sounded… that sounded reasonable. Didn't it? Fuck! He couldn't even think straight.
"Colonel." Radek's hand on his arm. "Even if he left, we will find him. Let me try the redial function again."
"Because that worked so well the last time you tried it." John didn't even realize he had said that out loud until Radek shook his head.
"I think I know what I did wrong." His fingers closed around John's forearm, the other hand raising the dirty GDO. "I know you don't want to leave, but give us a chance to help you. We want him back as well."
John let out a deep breath. He was being an asshole - again. Looking into the worried faces of his team, he nodded shortly.
"Alright. Let's get back to the Gate." He squinted up at the sky. "Double time. Looks like the sun is about to go down."
Radek sighed, but managed to keep up, although he drained half of Ronon's water on their way back. They made good time, still it was almost dark when Teyla punched in Atlantis' address and sent her code. The sight of her GDO made John swallow, hard, thinking of all the times the Gate had engaged and nobody had come through, or worse, when something or someone had impacted with the shield, dying without anyone ever knowing their identity. Had one of those times been Rodney, trying to get home? The thought that his friend might have been among those dull thumps made him feel sick, dizzy. Ronon's hand under his elbow steadied him.
"You didn't eat," the Satedan admonished him with a surprising gentleness, and pressed a power bar into his hand. John looked down.
"I- I can't."
"They won't let you return tomorrow if you fall down." Probably not true, but the words were enough to make him force himself to eat the bar, although he couldn't have said what it had tasted like. It made him feel a little better, though, and carried him through the short debriefing. It was easy to convince Elizabeth of a rescue mission; the slight chance that Rodney might still be alive was enough for her to approve any and every person or resource John and Radek wanted to take. The Czech had confirmed that the GDO was indeed broken, most likely before it had been left at the DHD.
It was late when John finally returned to Rodney's quarters, but he couldn't sleep, too many thoughts chasing around in his head, too many what ifs, maybes, scenario after scenario. He powered up his laptop and opened Rodney's second video file, staring at the screen.
"We'll find you," he whispered hoarsely. "I promise."
~~~
tbc