What the Darkness Reveals by itsuki9 (Mission Report Challenge)
Title: What the Darkness Reveals
Author: itsuki9
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay. There's an additional pairing if you read between the lines.
Rating: R
Warning: Violence, Language.
Spoilers: To be safe, everything up to Common Ground.
Length: 5260 words.
Summary: "The hectic week took a turn for the paranormal when Rodney's report arrived in her inbox, 48 hours after their return from P3M-938. This made it the first time that Rodney has filed a mission report punctually."
What the Darkness Reveals
By itsuki9
The team returned from P3M-938 in the morning of the second day, just as Major Lorne was preparing his Marines to go through the Stargate after Sheppard missed the last three scheduled check-ins. Elizabeth caught a glimpse of their tired forms from the upper level as she was called away to deal with an emergency, but was assured that all four of them were okay. The meeting with the Athosians at noon was postponed so that she could stop by the infirmary, where Rodney grumbled as Carson finished wrapping his hand and placed a cooling strip over the swelling near his temple, while John, hobbling off his bed to pull on a clean shirt over his bandages, managed to get a sentence in at the two-minute mark just as Rodney took a deep breath.
"Stop talking, Rodney, or you're going to open the cut again and Carson will be very upset with you."
Carson rolled his eyes, gesturing for John to sit back down.
Ronon and Teyla looked on in silent amusement. They were a little scratched up as well but, with the dirt washed away and their cuts cleaned by the nurses, looked much better than the other two.
"What are you, Lt. Colonel Nurse Sheppard all of a sudden?" And the corner of Rodney's mouth, turned down in a frown, did start bleeding then. It earned him zero sympathy from either Carson or John, who gave him a look that said, Told you so.
Elizabeth gave them time to recuperate, but the hectic week took a turn for the paranormal when Rodney's report arrived in her inbox, 48 hours after their return from P3M-938. This made it the first time that Rodney has filed a mission report punctually and without Elizabeth resorting to increasingly threatening emails.
She opened it immediately.
The abnormally high attenuation coefficient of particles present in the air on P3M-938 effectively nulled out all signals in the RF range, resulting in the loss of radio contact outside a radius of approximately 50 meters from the Stargate.
She skimmed a few paragraphs and skipped to the part where, two hours after the team set foot on the planet, the sky darkened completely within the span of one minute. Rodney wrote: A preliminary estimate of the length of a day on P3M-938, at the planet's current location relative to its sun, is 4 hours. The period is approximately 21 hours.
The natives of P3M-938 are not in possession of any ZPMs or Ancient technology , but sensors picked up a faint and pervasive energy signature from the areas with dense vegetation.
From there, with no apparent segue, Rodney went on to talk about the possibility of making minor modifications to the ZPM interface in Atlantis to decrease the small but not-to-be-overlooked leakage when power is routed to all sectors. Elizabeth was completely lost by the next paragraph.
She received John's mission report six hours later. He was succinct and basically said that the natives of the planet were hostile, the environment was harsh, and since they possessed neither ZPM nor palatable food, Atlanteans won't be visiting the planet again. She gave him credit for padding the report with enough words to make up a full page this time.
Elizabeth knew John's style by now. When John really didn't want to talk about something, he preferred omission over artifice. His reports occasionally read as if someone had leaned on his keyboard the wrong way and accidentally deleted whole paragraphs. Oops. Didn't I put that part in? If pressed, that's what he would have said.
In this case, his mission report was missing everything but the conclusion.
John wasn't in his quarters or training with Teyla, but Elizabeth managed to find Rodney in the secondary labs. He was frowning at a device and calibrating its controls with his good hand. The swelling had gone down around his temple, but the bruise over that cheekbone had turned a painful shade of purple.
"I think we'll need to meet for a debriefing after all," she said, causing him to jump a little. The scopes on the lab bench beeped and whirred.
"Elizabeth," he acknowledged, then stretched his neck above the barricade of bound journals in front of him and shouted, "RADEK!!"
Zelenka's head popped up above the stack of manuals on the other side of the lab. He pushed his glasses up and gave her a quick little wave. Rodney yelled some more, and she smiled at Zelenka as he made his way over, an obvious ploy of diversion.
"Rodney," she said, in the tone of voice that let him know she knew he was hiding something.
"But I sent you the report on time!"
It was true, but she didn't let him bait her with the obvious reproach about the 99 other reports that were late. She waited. Rodney sighed.
"Well. If you must insist on pulling me away from preemptively saving all of our lives the next time something goes wrong, for a mere debriefing--and might I mention, again, that you already have my well-written and carefully detailed report?--it'll still have to wait. Colonel Sheppard took a Puddlejumper to the mainland with Teyla and Ronon."
She frowned. She hadn't authorized or been informed of this particular trip.
"Um," he said when he realized he was probably supposed to keep his mouth shut. "Maintaining the peace and advancing amiable alliances, that sort of thing."
"Okay, then. As soon as they come back."
She made her way to the door before it struck her as odd that Rodney hadn't gone with them. Even with Rodney's propensity for being magnetically stuck to the labs, it was a rule that whenever John flew the Puddlejumper, Rodney rode shotgun--or whatever term they've come up with to be the Pegasus galaxy equivalent. For Rodney and John, even a side trip to drop off medical supplies on the mainland could take hours. They would come back to Atlantis bickering over some trivia, and always seemed genuinely surprised when they realized that half the day was gone and time dilation was not to blame.
She turned around to ask, but saw Rodney crouched over his lab bench, sucking an ice cube between his lips, while Zelenka stood over Rodney's shoulder, sipping from a steaming mug and pointing at noisy data points on the screen.
Even from this angle, she had never seen him look lonelier.
* * *
It was Teyla who ended up providing the most accurate account of the mission Elizabeth was likely to get.
She sat in Elizabeth's office, hands relaxed in front of her, as she carefully considered the words with which to tell her story. She started with the children who greeted the team shortly after they crossed the rickety bridge, P3M-938's first indication of civilization. They stepped forth shyly from their hiding places behind the thorny bushes and fallen trees. With leaves and dirt in their hair, shy musical notes of greeting whistled from the reed between their lips, they approached with curiosity on their little faces, staring up in awe at the team's P90s and McKay's scanner.
She remembered that Colonel Sheppard had whispered with amusement, "Watch this," as the children flocked around Rodney, standing on their toes and grabbing his arm to see themselves as dots on a screen. The three of them shared a smile as what began with a "Hello" deteriorated very quickly into "All right, run along now" and "Would you please stop that?"
"McKay," Sheppard said.
"Fine." McKay frowned down at the little girl tugging on his backpack. "Seriously, where are your parents?"
"McKay!" Sheppard yelled then, warning clear in his voice.
But Rodney was already toppling boneless to the ground, his belated "oh" of realization muffled by the dirt and grass. John aimed his weapon at the girl who had stuck the thin reed into McKay's thigh and who had turned around to regard them coldly. It felt surreal, for she was only a head taller than the length of his P90.
Behind John, Teyla and Ronon trained their weapons on the boys crouching over McKay.
"You know, I'm thinking that McKay was on to something when he claimed that kids can't help but be a pain in the ass just as dogs can't help licking themselves." John's aim never wavered as he spoke.
More children of P3M-938 stepped out of hiding in pairs, faces painted much darker and grins showing their small teeth. The spears they carried were wrapped in a leathery grain, with tips dipped in something the color of blood, and needed to be hoisted by two pairs of hands.
"Surrender and follow me," the girl said, voice rough and oddly inflectionless, as she stepped over Rodney's feet to address Sheppard. "Or he will never wake again."
Teyla saw Ronon and John exchange a look. She knew what it meant: John could deal with the two standing over McKay, shoot them in the leg if he had to, and Ronon was fast and strong enough to grab McKay and run. Teyla would reach the Puddlejumper first to disengage the cloaking device and dial the gate, and they could be back in Atlantis in no time, assuming they managed to dodge any spears thrown their way.
If they did their part, she had faith that Dr. Beckett would be able to formulate an antidote.
It had to be now, if they were going to take the chance. Now, Teyla urged John with a look, for Carson to have enough time.
John still wasn't moving.
"Surrender and obey," the girl said again, and John's shoulders stiffened. She turned around and started walking into the darkening woods, the two unpainted boys following, confident in the invulnerability of their tactic. They left McKay on the ground for John to deal with--it was of no concern to the natives whether McKay died here on the grass or on his home planet, without an antidote. The circle of spears closed around the team. Teyla lowered her weapon and let them take it from her hands.
In the end, Ronon tossed a barely-breathing Rodney over his shoulder and the team started walking, under the gazes of forty pairs of unblinking eyes and the threat of dipped spears.
It was hours later before McKay was dragged down the hallway into their cell and dumped in the corner. Teyla heard drums beating in the distance, growing louder as the night winds picked up outside. "Dr. McKay," she called. There was no answer.
She shifted awkwardly, putting pressure on the wrists tied behind her back and chafing her ankles against the ropes in the process, to nudge Rodney's shoulders with her toes.
When he finally drew in a sharp, audible breath, her heart unclenched in relief.
They hadn't tied him as meticulously as they had done with Teyla and Ronon, just a loop around his wrists. It was a bad sign. Rodney might not be able to run.
He blinked slowly at them in the near-darkness held back by a single flame, lids fluttering to reveal flashes of the whites of his eyes. His first word was a croak. "Where's..."
"Hey, buddy," John said at last from where he was stretched back and tied down over a low stone arch, the shadows on his upside-down face moving with each flicker of the flame. His voice was soft, the way it became only when the situation was bad. He wondered aloud, "Did I ever tell you, Rodney, you've got a real gift with kids?"
That might have been Ronon laughing, beneath the vibrations of the approaching drums, frenzied on a moonless night.
"Rykians. Not kids," Rodney muttered, but offered no further explanation.
The grated door of their cell opened with a clang, and a boy no taller than Jinto came inside, wearing a mask carved out of wood and decorated with gray feathers. He started to say the words that preceded a blood sacrifice, words to offer up the wanderers rumored to have woken the Wraith. Those who lead Death to their village shall be returned to Him. John muttered to himself, "Okay, this is really bad."
"Wait, wait--if you're going to kill him, shouldn't you wait to do it outside where, you know, there's an actual ceremony and people like you would want to watch?"
The masked face turned to Rodney for a second before dismissing him.
"Not helping, Rodney!"
"Sorry."
Ronon stared at Rodney, who snapped at him with, "What? Let's see you try stalling for time!" Ronon glared harder.
The mask-bearer finished uttering the words that marked the beginning of the first sacrifice; Sheppard was the one with the heaviest sin such that his blood was not allowed to desecrate the village soil. The drums had grown deafening, the earth was shaking with the stomping of bare feet. He crouched over Sheppard's body and pulled back the sleeve of his robe, revealing the metal claws attached to each finger of his hand, Wraith-like in form, but forged to be longer. Enough to pierce the heart.
The expression of agony carved on the Rykian's mask seemed to warp in the weak lighting.
Ronon started shouting threats, bucking wildly despite the ropes. Teyla felt the skin on her wrists tear, a bone pop, so she relaxed her shoulders and shifted her weight to one side before she tried again. The knots did not budge.
And Rodney was ... Rodney had managed to sit up, but he was tipping right over onto Ronon as if his body hadn't yet caught up with his determination. His face landed in the juncture between Ronon's shoulder and neck. Ronon stopped moving.
In the moment before the claws ripped through his shirt and sank into his chest, John turned his head to the side and stared at McKay, wide-eyed.
The sharp metal immediately drew blood, staining the skin and hair on John's chest dark red. John was stoically silent, the way he had been when a real Wraith had sucked the life out of him.
Then Teyla noticed McKay hunched over his hands, furiously sawing through his ropes with a short knife--one of Ronon's--clenched between his teeth. He slipped a few times, slicing his lip on the blade and nicking the skin of his wrists, but didn't hesitate for a second. After all, Ronon's neck had a shallow cut curving down its length and a dreadlock might be missing, and he still wasn't going to kill McKay for that.
Rodney didn't wait to sever the rope completely, just yanked one hand out of the frayed cords as soon as he could manage it with a muffled grunt. The Rykian looked up then. He pulled his claws away from John's chest and managed a step toward Rodney before stumbling back against the door with a yelp of pain.
"Good work, Rodney," John huffed.
For a moment, Teyla thought she could hear every harsh breath each of them took, echoing so loudly in the cell that even the dry thunder of the ceremony outside failed to drown them out.
"Colonel Sheppard?" she asked.
"I'm fine." Fine. Just peachy, he said. His shirt was in shreds and there were five incision marks on his chest, circling and twisting perilously close to his heart. What John didn't say was that it hurt like a motherfucker, that it brought back unpleasant memories, but the Rykians have nothing on real Wraiths in the soul-rending pain department.
Rodney, however, was staring in horror at the knife he had thrown, its handle protruding from the Rykian's side. "Oh, no." The boy started screaming loudly, shrieking, and rattled the grate with heaves of his body. Venomous words bubbling out of him were carried above the wind. The drumbeats outside simmered down, then stopped completely. "Oh no," McKay said again.
"McKay," Ronon growled.
It took him another moment before he snapped out of it and dragged himself, using his elbows, over to Ronon, starting to work on the ropes around Ronon's wrists with shaky fingers.
"Hey guys--" John said.
The Rykian struggled up from where he had collapsed, a blurred shape, darkness and wild feathers, as he barreled across the cell and into Rodney's hunched form with a last burst of energy, knocking Rodney head-first into the stones with a resounding crack.
Rodney fought back clumsily. A glint of silver, dulled by black, as the Rykian pulled out the knife and grasped it in both hands, driving it toward Rodney's stomach as they fell against the wall.
There was a sound of pain.
At the same time, Ronon arched back before forcefully snapping his head forward with a low growl, and knocked the Rykian to the ground.
"Rodney!"
John strained off the stone, pulse racing and neck stretched as far as he could manage but not enough to see, shoulders quaking with the exertion. Even if his heart hadn't been ripped out of his chest, it seemed about to beat out of his mouth.
Rodney looked up, eyes wide and face white with shock, hand clenched around the knife just to the side of his ribcage, the sharp point of it stuck in the groove between the stone tiles against his back. His uniform was pinned there and blood was dripping from his hand, but the blade hadn't managed to gut him.
"He's okay," Ronon said.
John said nothing--no "Damn it, Rodney" or "Does no one listen to me?"--just swallowed and let his head drop back down in exhaustion.
* * *
The escape from their prison in the wilderness was as grueling as Teyla had expected.
With the ceremony interrupted, the first villagers appeared as soon as the team set foot outside of their cell. There was much yelling and lighting of torches as more Rykians scrambled up the stone steps. A few stopped to check on the mask-bearer, fallen inside the cell, but the angry horde after them continued to grow in number as the entire village of not-adults converged here, drawn by the shouting and the scent of spilled blood.
Ronon, running backwards, drew a small knife out of his hair and sent it squarely into the chest of the closest pursuer.
"How many more of those have you got?" John asked, adjusting Rodney's arm over his shoulder, wincing when Rodney's fingers brushed his chest. John forced him to keep up with the pace, pushing him harder than he had in the past year, even though he knew Rodney's legs were still partially numb. John knew, but the blood from Rodney's hand was dripping down John's skin, too fast and much too warm.
"Just help yourself," Ronon said, reaching into his hair again.
John let go of Rodney's arm, keeping his other hand around Rodney's waist. He twisted back and sent one knife flying, and then another. They hit two villagers below the chest, way off the mark for Sheppard.
Rodney, whom they thought would be too preoccupied with his pain to pay any attention to the more brutal side of their escape, sniped at John. "Please don't tell me my bad aim is rubbing off on you."
It was the first thing McKay had said in half an hour, and John's teeth gleamed with the passing torchlight, his voice sounding relieved. "No, Rodney. I'm pretty sure you're one of a kind."
Teyla saw the next wave of armed Rykians hesitate as they crossed under the archway, some called back to tend to the injured--those John had wounded enough to foil their pursuit, but not enough to keep them from being effective obstructions and diversions with their frantic yelling. The villagers weren't fools; the Wraith had culled too many of them, and they knew they couldn't afford to lose more.
The next knife that Ronon threw, he aimed it away from the heart.
Outside, the darkness grew more complete the further away they managed to get from the compound. Without flashlights or weapons or radios, Teyla led the way by touch and desperation, stumbling out their return path over wet roots and gnarling vines, letting her senses guide her away from the damp, stifling scent of the deeper parts of the woods and from the smoke of the villagers' fire. She gripped the belt of McKay's uniform from time to time, to make sure they stayed together as a team and to support some of his weight as they kept moving.
* * *
Although they were headed in the right direction to the Stargate, it was too risky to abandon the cover of the woods so that they could cross the bridge in the darkness. The rotting planks and weathered ropes had played tricks on McKay's blood pressure in the daytime, but were no laughing matter now. Their Puddlejumper may be waiting on the other end, but sharp drops and certain death waited on either side. Teyla stopped to wait for daylight when she detected a hint of openness in the air, and where the trees were still sufficiently close to each other to provide cover. It was just as well, for after the third time she heard Sheppard whisper, "Come on, Rodney," Sheppard had reached out to touch her on the elbow and she knew they had to stop soon.
She feared what this meant for McKay.
The background buzz of insects in the branches above her reminded her of life on Athos, the experiences and the days teetering between fear and joy. She sought, but could not find that sense of inner calm.
She kept waiting for the torches of the villagers to appear in the distance, to hunt them down over terrain that was as familiar to the Rykians as it was punishing to them. Her hands kept returning to the same place on her thigh to sweep for the missing holster. The weightlessness of her shoulders made her body feel unfamiliar to her.
A moment later, Rodney's voice in the darkness startled her out of her thoughts. He gave them an estimate of the length of a day on this planet, and how many hours they would have to wait before daybreak. He went on to speculate that, due to the limited hours of sunlight and the consequently affected diurnal rhythms, combined with the aberrant strength of the incoherent EM fields detected on this planet that have long been suspected of damaging DNA and inhibiting growth, the Rykians they had encountered could be nearly as old as them. He made a comparison to the predominance of the short and stumpy trees in this forest, as if for her and Ronon's benefit, and Teyla understood.
"So. Alien planet," John said.
It was not his area of expertise, Rodney started to say after a pause, but John soon cut him off with a hushed, "Stop talking." She could barely follow the science behind Dr. McKay's words, but hearing him speak set loose the tightness in her arms.
She didn't know how long they spent waiting in the woods, their backs against the rough bark, listening to each other breathe. It could have been a few hours, but felt like a lifetime.
On Athos, she had hunted and played by starlight since childhood. So when the ink-black sky curled up at the edges into a deep blue, she could see enough to start moving again. Instead, she sat still and watched: Rodney was stretched out on the ground with his head cradled on Sheppard's thigh, face lax in sleep or unconsciousness. John kept an eye on him, one hand placed firmly over what appeared to be a gash or a dark bruise on Rodney's head, the other hand extended awkwardly to link with Rodney's, resting over his stomach. As she watched, John bent his head and pressed his lips, just the barest touch, over Rodney's eyelids. Slow and careful.
Rodney stirred. Not unconscious, then. He blinked into wakefulness, frowning and disoriented.
John was already sitting back up, slouching into the tree roots, looking unnaturally calm. The sky grew lighter, almost enough for them to start making their way to the Puddlejumper.
The blood had dried on Rodney's hands, in between John's fingers, and all over John's tattered shirt. He was still applying pressure to Rodney's palm as if the wound was new, and if Rodney hadn't complained that his hand was numb, John probably wouldn't have let go.
There was a certain way to guess one's vocation in life from the lines, the imperfections and strengths of one's hands. Dr. McKay had what Teyla now recognized to be a scholar's hands--she found them beautiful. Those hands were meant for learning Ancient devices and for communing with Atlantis by touch, not for deciding the next breath of things that bled. The impact of a blade finding its target, a dull thud that's likely to stay in McKay's memories, was different from firing a P90 at a Wraith; he would soon learn the grave weight of the difference.
"From now on, I have valid and unchallengeable justification to hate kids," McKay said all of a sudden, voice strong but somehow sounding less certain than when they had used their voices to locate each other in the dark, faces and fears cloaked by night. She watched his lashes move, catching a glimmer of pale blue light, but he still hadn't looked up at her, afraid of ... what? Her censure, her disapproval?
"They're not kids--" she and Ronon started at the same time, both alert and ready to be moving again. The day was short and the Puddlejumper was waiting. They had listened to McKay ramble earlier about environments and morphology, and it didn't change a thing: He owed them no explanations, and Teyla's respect for him was not contingent on the laws of science.
"There you go," John said, lowering his head and shielding Rodney's from view.
* * *
Teyla didn't actually tell Elizabeth that part. What she did say, however, was that there was some tension left over from their close brush with death on P3M-938, and that Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay should be able to work it out.
Elizabeth stared at her. "I see. And how does leaving Rodney behind while the rest of the team go on a mission to the mainland--one which I wasn't informed of--help diffuse the tension?"
She looked disappointed and tired as she waited for Teyla's answer.
How did Teyla explain all that had happened in the Jumper bay, when McKay had been angry and so obviously hurt when he finally caught up with them as they were leaving? "What's this?" he had asked, looking at John. "Am I no longer part of the team because I've somehow, once again, offended your fine sense of morality?"
She would have said something to assure him that was not the case, except that John said, "Rodney," in his Be Reasonable tone that sometimes made matters worse. "You're still injured, and we're going Genii-hunting. You're not exactly missing out on a picnic."
"Excuse me? We are all injured!"
"I'm not," Ronon offered.
McKay glared and made a sarcastic comment about there being a different definition of 'hurt' for the guy who had run around for seven years transmitting Wraith satellite radio from his back.
"Look, McKay. We'll handle this one, okay?" John said, and disappeared into the Puddlejumper.
It really shouldn't have to be this difficult, Teyla thought.
When the wide blue waves were rolling below them and the mainland slowly loomed into view, Teyla remarked, "Rodney is more capable than ever of defending himself, Colonel Sheppard. Why are you starting to worry now?"
John frowned at her as if he had forgotten she was sitting there, in McKay's usual seat.
"I'm not worried."
Teyla checked and re-checked her P90 and the extra gun she carried, tightening the holster against her thigh. Three clicks, and still silence. She waited patiently. From somewhere behind them, Ronon was tapping out a rhythm with his boots.
"Fine!"
Sheppard kept her waiting a while longer, just to spite her, but she had all day.
"Because--if you haven't figured it out already," John gritted through his teeth, fingers restless over the Ancient controls. The display in front of him dissolved in speckles of noise and came back on-line just as quickly. "Now he takes stupid risks."
And that was the end of their conversation.
She didn't tell Elizabeth that leaving Rodney behind on Atlantis was Colonel Sheppard's ill-conceived response to the impulse to keep him safe. She also didn't say to Elizabeth, Forgive us, we did what we thought was best to protect you. The team had agreed that there was no point in alarming Elizabeth before John and Halling dealt with the problem; she was already doing a fine job of worrying over all the members of her expedition.
The Genii who had been hiding among the Athosians for months, creating unrest by spreading rumors of a bounty on Elizabeth's head, was now locked up in Steve's old cell. The rest of it-- reports and explanations--would soon follow.
All Teyla did was offer to walk with Elizabeth down to the conference room, where Halling was waiting. "Things should get better. You will see."
* * *
The next time Elizabeth saw Rodney, he was in the mess, setting down his tray beside Sheppard's with his good hand. She considered the bandage around his other hand for a minute, and studied the bruise on the side of his face that was progressing into the green region of the color spectrum. Those could be attributed to hostile natives, but Rodney's mouth, the cut at the corner of his still-swollen lip that just wouldn't heal completely ... that was a mystery.
Rodney stabbed at his food and turned to Sheppard, probably to make some comment about the new batch of scientists arriving fresh off the Daedalus. Sheppard rolled his eyes, Ronon concentrated on decimating his chicken, whereas Teyla noticed her and waved at her to join them.
She waved back, indicating the personnel folders in her hand. Another time.
In her mind, Elizabeth turned over the bits of information that Teyla had revealed, and the important parts she'd left out. She's had plenty of practice at reading between the lines. So when Sheppard opened the cup of Jell-O that Rodney was having trouble opening with one hand, Elizabeth put two and two together and got five. The concept of bloodthirsty midgets was fascinating, but she thought they should've just come out and told her what really happened on P3M-938.
She took in Rodney's content expression as she passed by their table, and winked at him as he looked up.
Rodney dropped his spoon. John hissed his name and wiped the splatter of Jell-O off his wristband and onto Rodney's jacket, just to be vindictive.
"Oh God, what--" Rodney had a bad feeling about things. He snapped his fingers in front of John's face. John shoved them away irritably. "What exactly did you write in your report?"
"Why, what did you write?"
Teyla turned away from them with a smile as she got up to clear her tray.
"See, this is why we need to work on our communication," John drawled.
"Huh." And: "That's priceless, coming from you."
She followed Elizabeth into the Gate-room, tossing the rosy apple she had brought back from the mainland harvest between her hands.
End
Author: itsuki9
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay. There's an additional pairing if you read between the lines.
Rating: R
Warning: Violence, Language.
Spoilers: To be safe, everything up to Common Ground.
Length: 5260 words.
Summary: "The hectic week took a turn for the paranormal when Rodney's report arrived in her inbox, 48 hours after their return from P3M-938. This made it the first time that Rodney has filed a mission report punctually."
What the Darkness Reveals
By itsuki9
The team returned from P3M-938 in the morning of the second day, just as Major Lorne was preparing his Marines to go through the Stargate after Sheppard missed the last three scheduled check-ins. Elizabeth caught a glimpse of their tired forms from the upper level as she was called away to deal with an emergency, but was assured that all four of them were okay. The meeting with the Athosians at noon was postponed so that she could stop by the infirmary, where Rodney grumbled as Carson finished wrapping his hand and placed a cooling strip over the swelling near his temple, while John, hobbling off his bed to pull on a clean shirt over his bandages, managed to get a sentence in at the two-minute mark just as Rodney took a deep breath.
"Stop talking, Rodney, or you're going to open the cut again and Carson will be very upset with you."
Carson rolled his eyes, gesturing for John to sit back down.
Ronon and Teyla looked on in silent amusement. They were a little scratched up as well but, with the dirt washed away and their cuts cleaned by the nurses, looked much better than the other two.
"What are you, Lt. Colonel Nurse Sheppard all of a sudden?" And the corner of Rodney's mouth, turned down in a frown, did start bleeding then. It earned him zero sympathy from either Carson or John, who gave him a look that said, Told you so.
Elizabeth gave them time to recuperate, but the hectic week took a turn for the paranormal when Rodney's report arrived in her inbox, 48 hours after their return from P3M-938. This made it the first time that Rodney has filed a mission report punctually and without Elizabeth resorting to increasingly threatening emails.
She opened it immediately.
The abnormally high attenuation coefficient of particles present in the air on P3M-938 effectively nulled out all signals in the RF range, resulting in the loss of radio contact outside a radius of approximately 50 meters from the Stargate.
She skimmed a few paragraphs and skipped to the part where, two hours after the team set foot on the planet, the sky darkened completely within the span of one minute. Rodney wrote: A preliminary estimate of the length of a day on P3M-938, at the planet's current location relative to its sun, is 4 hours. The period is approximately 21 hours.
The natives of P3M-938 are not in possession of any ZPMs or Ancient technology , but sensors picked up a faint and pervasive energy signature from the areas with dense vegetation.
From there, with no apparent segue, Rodney went on to talk about the possibility of making minor modifications to the ZPM interface in Atlantis to decrease the small but not-to-be-overlooked leakage when power is routed to all sectors. Elizabeth was completely lost by the next paragraph.
She received John's mission report six hours later. He was succinct and basically said that the natives of the planet were hostile, the environment was harsh, and since they possessed neither ZPM nor palatable food, Atlanteans won't be visiting the planet again. She gave him credit for padding the report with enough words to make up a full page this time.
Elizabeth knew John's style by now. When John really didn't want to talk about something, he preferred omission over artifice. His reports occasionally read as if someone had leaned on his keyboard the wrong way and accidentally deleted whole paragraphs. Oops. Didn't I put that part in? If pressed, that's what he would have said.
In this case, his mission report was missing everything but the conclusion.
John wasn't in his quarters or training with Teyla, but Elizabeth managed to find Rodney in the secondary labs. He was frowning at a device and calibrating its controls with his good hand. The swelling had gone down around his temple, but the bruise over that cheekbone had turned a painful shade of purple.
"I think we'll need to meet for a debriefing after all," she said, causing him to jump a little. The scopes on the lab bench beeped and whirred.
"Elizabeth," he acknowledged, then stretched his neck above the barricade of bound journals in front of him and shouted, "RADEK!!"
Zelenka's head popped up above the stack of manuals on the other side of the lab. He pushed his glasses up and gave her a quick little wave. Rodney yelled some more, and she smiled at Zelenka as he made his way over, an obvious ploy of diversion.
"Rodney," she said, in the tone of voice that let him know she knew he was hiding something.
"But I sent you the report on time!"
It was true, but she didn't let him bait her with the obvious reproach about the 99 other reports that were late. She waited. Rodney sighed.
"Well. If you must insist on pulling me away from preemptively saving all of our lives the next time something goes wrong, for a mere debriefing--and might I mention, again, that you already have my well-written and carefully detailed report?--it'll still have to wait. Colonel Sheppard took a Puddlejumper to the mainland with Teyla and Ronon."
She frowned. She hadn't authorized or been informed of this particular trip.
"Um," he said when he realized he was probably supposed to keep his mouth shut. "Maintaining the peace and advancing amiable alliances, that sort of thing."
"Okay, then. As soon as they come back."
She made her way to the door before it struck her as odd that Rodney hadn't gone with them. Even with Rodney's propensity for being magnetically stuck to the labs, it was a rule that whenever John flew the Puddlejumper, Rodney rode shotgun--or whatever term they've come up with to be the Pegasus galaxy equivalent. For Rodney and John, even a side trip to drop off medical supplies on the mainland could take hours. They would come back to Atlantis bickering over some trivia, and always seemed genuinely surprised when they realized that half the day was gone and time dilation was not to blame.
She turned around to ask, but saw Rodney crouched over his lab bench, sucking an ice cube between his lips, while Zelenka stood over Rodney's shoulder, sipping from a steaming mug and pointing at noisy data points on the screen.
Even from this angle, she had never seen him look lonelier.
* * *
It was Teyla who ended up providing the most accurate account of the mission Elizabeth was likely to get.
She sat in Elizabeth's office, hands relaxed in front of her, as she carefully considered the words with which to tell her story. She started with the children who greeted the team shortly after they crossed the rickety bridge, P3M-938's first indication of civilization. They stepped forth shyly from their hiding places behind the thorny bushes and fallen trees. With leaves and dirt in their hair, shy musical notes of greeting whistled from the reed between their lips, they approached with curiosity on their little faces, staring up in awe at the team's P90s and McKay's scanner.
She remembered that Colonel Sheppard had whispered with amusement, "Watch this," as the children flocked around Rodney, standing on their toes and grabbing his arm to see themselves as dots on a screen. The three of them shared a smile as what began with a "Hello" deteriorated very quickly into "All right, run along now" and "Would you please stop that?"
"McKay," Sheppard said.
"Fine." McKay frowned down at the little girl tugging on his backpack. "Seriously, where are your parents?"
"McKay!" Sheppard yelled then, warning clear in his voice.
But Rodney was already toppling boneless to the ground, his belated "oh" of realization muffled by the dirt and grass. John aimed his weapon at the girl who had stuck the thin reed into McKay's thigh and who had turned around to regard them coldly. It felt surreal, for she was only a head taller than the length of his P90.
Behind John, Teyla and Ronon trained their weapons on the boys crouching over McKay.
"You know, I'm thinking that McKay was on to something when he claimed that kids can't help but be a pain in the ass just as dogs can't help licking themselves." John's aim never wavered as he spoke.
More children of P3M-938 stepped out of hiding in pairs, faces painted much darker and grins showing their small teeth. The spears they carried were wrapped in a leathery grain, with tips dipped in something the color of blood, and needed to be hoisted by two pairs of hands.
"Surrender and follow me," the girl said, voice rough and oddly inflectionless, as she stepped over Rodney's feet to address Sheppard. "Or he will never wake again."
Teyla saw Ronon and John exchange a look. She knew what it meant: John could deal with the two standing over McKay, shoot them in the leg if he had to, and Ronon was fast and strong enough to grab McKay and run. Teyla would reach the Puddlejumper first to disengage the cloaking device and dial the gate, and they could be back in Atlantis in no time, assuming they managed to dodge any spears thrown their way.
If they did their part, she had faith that Dr. Beckett would be able to formulate an antidote.
It had to be now, if they were going to take the chance. Now, Teyla urged John with a look, for Carson to have enough time.
John still wasn't moving.
"Surrender and obey," the girl said again, and John's shoulders stiffened. She turned around and started walking into the darkening woods, the two unpainted boys following, confident in the invulnerability of their tactic. They left McKay on the ground for John to deal with--it was of no concern to the natives whether McKay died here on the grass or on his home planet, without an antidote. The circle of spears closed around the team. Teyla lowered her weapon and let them take it from her hands.
In the end, Ronon tossed a barely-breathing Rodney over his shoulder and the team started walking, under the gazes of forty pairs of unblinking eyes and the threat of dipped spears.
It was hours later before McKay was dragged down the hallway into their cell and dumped in the corner. Teyla heard drums beating in the distance, growing louder as the night winds picked up outside. "Dr. McKay," she called. There was no answer.
She shifted awkwardly, putting pressure on the wrists tied behind her back and chafing her ankles against the ropes in the process, to nudge Rodney's shoulders with her toes.
When he finally drew in a sharp, audible breath, her heart unclenched in relief.
They hadn't tied him as meticulously as they had done with Teyla and Ronon, just a loop around his wrists. It was a bad sign. Rodney might not be able to run.
He blinked slowly at them in the near-darkness held back by a single flame, lids fluttering to reveal flashes of the whites of his eyes. His first word was a croak. "Where's..."
"Hey, buddy," John said at last from where he was stretched back and tied down over a low stone arch, the shadows on his upside-down face moving with each flicker of the flame. His voice was soft, the way it became only when the situation was bad. He wondered aloud, "Did I ever tell you, Rodney, you've got a real gift with kids?"
That might have been Ronon laughing, beneath the vibrations of the approaching drums, frenzied on a moonless night.
"Rykians. Not kids," Rodney muttered, but offered no further explanation.
The grated door of their cell opened with a clang, and a boy no taller than Jinto came inside, wearing a mask carved out of wood and decorated with gray feathers. He started to say the words that preceded a blood sacrifice, words to offer up the wanderers rumored to have woken the Wraith. Those who lead Death to their village shall be returned to Him. John muttered to himself, "Okay, this is really bad."
"Wait, wait--if you're going to kill him, shouldn't you wait to do it outside where, you know, there's an actual ceremony and people like you would want to watch?"
The masked face turned to Rodney for a second before dismissing him.
"Not helping, Rodney!"
"Sorry."
Ronon stared at Rodney, who snapped at him with, "What? Let's see you try stalling for time!" Ronon glared harder.
The mask-bearer finished uttering the words that marked the beginning of the first sacrifice; Sheppard was the one with the heaviest sin such that his blood was not allowed to desecrate the village soil. The drums had grown deafening, the earth was shaking with the stomping of bare feet. He crouched over Sheppard's body and pulled back the sleeve of his robe, revealing the metal claws attached to each finger of his hand, Wraith-like in form, but forged to be longer. Enough to pierce the heart.
The expression of agony carved on the Rykian's mask seemed to warp in the weak lighting.
Ronon started shouting threats, bucking wildly despite the ropes. Teyla felt the skin on her wrists tear, a bone pop, so she relaxed her shoulders and shifted her weight to one side before she tried again. The knots did not budge.
And Rodney was ... Rodney had managed to sit up, but he was tipping right over onto Ronon as if his body hadn't yet caught up with his determination. His face landed in the juncture between Ronon's shoulder and neck. Ronon stopped moving.
In the moment before the claws ripped through his shirt and sank into his chest, John turned his head to the side and stared at McKay, wide-eyed.
The sharp metal immediately drew blood, staining the skin and hair on John's chest dark red. John was stoically silent, the way he had been when a real Wraith had sucked the life out of him.
Then Teyla noticed McKay hunched over his hands, furiously sawing through his ropes with a short knife--one of Ronon's--clenched between his teeth. He slipped a few times, slicing his lip on the blade and nicking the skin of his wrists, but didn't hesitate for a second. After all, Ronon's neck had a shallow cut curving down its length and a dreadlock might be missing, and he still wasn't going to kill McKay for that.
Rodney didn't wait to sever the rope completely, just yanked one hand out of the frayed cords as soon as he could manage it with a muffled grunt. The Rykian looked up then. He pulled his claws away from John's chest and managed a step toward Rodney before stumbling back against the door with a yelp of pain.
"Good work, Rodney," John huffed.
For a moment, Teyla thought she could hear every harsh breath each of them took, echoing so loudly in the cell that even the dry thunder of the ceremony outside failed to drown them out.
"Colonel Sheppard?" she asked.
"I'm fine." Fine. Just peachy, he said. His shirt was in shreds and there were five incision marks on his chest, circling and twisting perilously close to his heart. What John didn't say was that it hurt like a motherfucker, that it brought back unpleasant memories, but the Rykians have nothing on real Wraiths in the soul-rending pain department.
Rodney, however, was staring in horror at the knife he had thrown, its handle protruding from the Rykian's side. "Oh, no." The boy started screaming loudly, shrieking, and rattled the grate with heaves of his body. Venomous words bubbling out of him were carried above the wind. The drumbeats outside simmered down, then stopped completely. "Oh no," McKay said again.
"McKay," Ronon growled.
It took him another moment before he snapped out of it and dragged himself, using his elbows, over to Ronon, starting to work on the ropes around Ronon's wrists with shaky fingers.
"Hey guys--" John said.
The Rykian struggled up from where he had collapsed, a blurred shape, darkness and wild feathers, as he barreled across the cell and into Rodney's hunched form with a last burst of energy, knocking Rodney head-first into the stones with a resounding crack.
Rodney fought back clumsily. A glint of silver, dulled by black, as the Rykian pulled out the knife and grasped it in both hands, driving it toward Rodney's stomach as they fell against the wall.
There was a sound of pain.
At the same time, Ronon arched back before forcefully snapping his head forward with a low growl, and knocked the Rykian to the ground.
"Rodney!"
John strained off the stone, pulse racing and neck stretched as far as he could manage but not enough to see, shoulders quaking with the exertion. Even if his heart hadn't been ripped out of his chest, it seemed about to beat out of his mouth.
Rodney looked up, eyes wide and face white with shock, hand clenched around the knife just to the side of his ribcage, the sharp point of it stuck in the groove between the stone tiles against his back. His uniform was pinned there and blood was dripping from his hand, but the blade hadn't managed to gut him.
"He's okay," Ronon said.
John said nothing--no "Damn it, Rodney" or "Does no one listen to me?"--just swallowed and let his head drop back down in exhaustion.
* * *
The escape from their prison in the wilderness was as grueling as Teyla had expected.
With the ceremony interrupted, the first villagers appeared as soon as the team set foot outside of their cell. There was much yelling and lighting of torches as more Rykians scrambled up the stone steps. A few stopped to check on the mask-bearer, fallen inside the cell, but the angry horde after them continued to grow in number as the entire village of not-adults converged here, drawn by the shouting and the scent of spilled blood.
Ronon, running backwards, drew a small knife out of his hair and sent it squarely into the chest of the closest pursuer.
"How many more of those have you got?" John asked, adjusting Rodney's arm over his shoulder, wincing when Rodney's fingers brushed his chest. John forced him to keep up with the pace, pushing him harder than he had in the past year, even though he knew Rodney's legs were still partially numb. John knew, but the blood from Rodney's hand was dripping down John's skin, too fast and much too warm.
"Just help yourself," Ronon said, reaching into his hair again.
John let go of Rodney's arm, keeping his other hand around Rodney's waist. He twisted back and sent one knife flying, and then another. They hit two villagers below the chest, way off the mark for Sheppard.
Rodney, whom they thought would be too preoccupied with his pain to pay any attention to the more brutal side of their escape, sniped at John. "Please don't tell me my bad aim is rubbing off on you."
It was the first thing McKay had said in half an hour, and John's teeth gleamed with the passing torchlight, his voice sounding relieved. "No, Rodney. I'm pretty sure you're one of a kind."
Teyla saw the next wave of armed Rykians hesitate as they crossed under the archway, some called back to tend to the injured--those John had wounded enough to foil their pursuit, but not enough to keep them from being effective obstructions and diversions with their frantic yelling. The villagers weren't fools; the Wraith had culled too many of them, and they knew they couldn't afford to lose more.
The next knife that Ronon threw, he aimed it away from the heart.
Outside, the darkness grew more complete the further away they managed to get from the compound. Without flashlights or weapons or radios, Teyla led the way by touch and desperation, stumbling out their return path over wet roots and gnarling vines, letting her senses guide her away from the damp, stifling scent of the deeper parts of the woods and from the smoke of the villagers' fire. She gripped the belt of McKay's uniform from time to time, to make sure they stayed together as a team and to support some of his weight as they kept moving.
* * *
Although they were headed in the right direction to the Stargate, it was too risky to abandon the cover of the woods so that they could cross the bridge in the darkness. The rotting planks and weathered ropes had played tricks on McKay's blood pressure in the daytime, but were no laughing matter now. Their Puddlejumper may be waiting on the other end, but sharp drops and certain death waited on either side. Teyla stopped to wait for daylight when she detected a hint of openness in the air, and where the trees were still sufficiently close to each other to provide cover. It was just as well, for after the third time she heard Sheppard whisper, "Come on, Rodney," Sheppard had reached out to touch her on the elbow and she knew they had to stop soon.
She feared what this meant for McKay.
The background buzz of insects in the branches above her reminded her of life on Athos, the experiences and the days teetering between fear and joy. She sought, but could not find that sense of inner calm.
She kept waiting for the torches of the villagers to appear in the distance, to hunt them down over terrain that was as familiar to the Rykians as it was punishing to them. Her hands kept returning to the same place on her thigh to sweep for the missing holster. The weightlessness of her shoulders made her body feel unfamiliar to her.
A moment later, Rodney's voice in the darkness startled her out of her thoughts. He gave them an estimate of the length of a day on this planet, and how many hours they would have to wait before daybreak. He went on to speculate that, due to the limited hours of sunlight and the consequently affected diurnal rhythms, combined with the aberrant strength of the incoherent EM fields detected on this planet that have long been suspected of damaging DNA and inhibiting growth, the Rykians they had encountered could be nearly as old as them. He made a comparison to the predominance of the short and stumpy trees in this forest, as if for her and Ronon's benefit, and Teyla understood.
"So. Alien planet," John said.
It was not his area of expertise, Rodney started to say after a pause, but John soon cut him off with a hushed, "Stop talking." She could barely follow the science behind Dr. McKay's words, but hearing him speak set loose the tightness in her arms.
She didn't know how long they spent waiting in the woods, their backs against the rough bark, listening to each other breathe. It could have been a few hours, but felt like a lifetime.
On Athos, she had hunted and played by starlight since childhood. So when the ink-black sky curled up at the edges into a deep blue, she could see enough to start moving again. Instead, she sat still and watched: Rodney was stretched out on the ground with his head cradled on Sheppard's thigh, face lax in sleep or unconsciousness. John kept an eye on him, one hand placed firmly over what appeared to be a gash or a dark bruise on Rodney's head, the other hand extended awkwardly to link with Rodney's, resting over his stomach. As she watched, John bent his head and pressed his lips, just the barest touch, over Rodney's eyelids. Slow and careful.
Rodney stirred. Not unconscious, then. He blinked into wakefulness, frowning and disoriented.
John was already sitting back up, slouching into the tree roots, looking unnaturally calm. The sky grew lighter, almost enough for them to start making their way to the Puddlejumper.
The blood had dried on Rodney's hands, in between John's fingers, and all over John's tattered shirt. He was still applying pressure to Rodney's palm as if the wound was new, and if Rodney hadn't complained that his hand was numb, John probably wouldn't have let go.
There was a certain way to guess one's vocation in life from the lines, the imperfections and strengths of one's hands. Dr. McKay had what Teyla now recognized to be a scholar's hands--she found them beautiful. Those hands were meant for learning Ancient devices and for communing with Atlantis by touch, not for deciding the next breath of things that bled. The impact of a blade finding its target, a dull thud that's likely to stay in McKay's memories, was different from firing a P90 at a Wraith; he would soon learn the grave weight of the difference.
"From now on, I have valid and unchallengeable justification to hate kids," McKay said all of a sudden, voice strong but somehow sounding less certain than when they had used their voices to locate each other in the dark, faces and fears cloaked by night. She watched his lashes move, catching a glimmer of pale blue light, but he still hadn't looked up at her, afraid of ... what? Her censure, her disapproval?
"They're not kids--" she and Ronon started at the same time, both alert and ready to be moving again. The day was short and the Puddlejumper was waiting. They had listened to McKay ramble earlier about environments and morphology, and it didn't change a thing: He owed them no explanations, and Teyla's respect for him was not contingent on the laws of science.
"There you go," John said, lowering his head and shielding Rodney's from view.
* * *
Teyla didn't actually tell Elizabeth that part. What she did say, however, was that there was some tension left over from their close brush with death on P3M-938, and that Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay should be able to work it out.
Elizabeth stared at her. "I see. And how does leaving Rodney behind while the rest of the team go on a mission to the mainland--one which I wasn't informed of--help diffuse the tension?"
She looked disappointed and tired as she waited for Teyla's answer.
How did Teyla explain all that had happened in the Jumper bay, when McKay had been angry and so obviously hurt when he finally caught up with them as they were leaving? "What's this?" he had asked, looking at John. "Am I no longer part of the team because I've somehow, once again, offended your fine sense of morality?"
She would have said something to assure him that was not the case, except that John said, "Rodney," in his Be Reasonable tone that sometimes made matters worse. "You're still injured, and we're going Genii-hunting. You're not exactly missing out on a picnic."
"Excuse me? We are all injured!"
"I'm not," Ronon offered.
McKay glared and made a sarcastic comment about there being a different definition of 'hurt' for the guy who had run around for seven years transmitting Wraith satellite radio from his back.
"Look, McKay. We'll handle this one, okay?" John said, and disappeared into the Puddlejumper.
It really shouldn't have to be this difficult, Teyla thought.
When the wide blue waves were rolling below them and the mainland slowly loomed into view, Teyla remarked, "Rodney is more capable than ever of defending himself, Colonel Sheppard. Why are you starting to worry now?"
John frowned at her as if he had forgotten she was sitting there, in McKay's usual seat.
"I'm not worried."
Teyla checked and re-checked her P90 and the extra gun she carried, tightening the holster against her thigh. Three clicks, and still silence. She waited patiently. From somewhere behind them, Ronon was tapping out a rhythm with his boots.
"Fine!"
Sheppard kept her waiting a while longer, just to spite her, but she had all day.
"Because--if you haven't figured it out already," John gritted through his teeth, fingers restless over the Ancient controls. The display in front of him dissolved in speckles of noise and came back on-line just as quickly. "Now he takes stupid risks."
And that was the end of their conversation.
She didn't tell Elizabeth that leaving Rodney behind on Atlantis was Colonel Sheppard's ill-conceived response to the impulse to keep him safe. She also didn't say to Elizabeth, Forgive us, we did what we thought was best to protect you. The team had agreed that there was no point in alarming Elizabeth before John and Halling dealt with the problem; she was already doing a fine job of worrying over all the members of her expedition.
The Genii who had been hiding among the Athosians for months, creating unrest by spreading rumors of a bounty on Elizabeth's head, was now locked up in Steve's old cell. The rest of it-- reports and explanations--would soon follow.
All Teyla did was offer to walk with Elizabeth down to the conference room, where Halling was waiting. "Things should get better. You will see."
* * *
The next time Elizabeth saw Rodney, he was in the mess, setting down his tray beside Sheppard's with his good hand. She considered the bandage around his other hand for a minute, and studied the bruise on the side of his face that was progressing into the green region of the color spectrum. Those could be attributed to hostile natives, but Rodney's mouth, the cut at the corner of his still-swollen lip that just wouldn't heal completely ... that was a mystery.
Rodney stabbed at his food and turned to Sheppard, probably to make some comment about the new batch of scientists arriving fresh off the Daedalus. Sheppard rolled his eyes, Ronon concentrated on decimating his chicken, whereas Teyla noticed her and waved at her to join them.
She waved back, indicating the personnel folders in her hand. Another time.
In her mind, Elizabeth turned over the bits of information that Teyla had revealed, and the important parts she'd left out. She's had plenty of practice at reading between the lines. So when Sheppard opened the cup of Jell-O that Rodney was having trouble opening with one hand, Elizabeth put two and two together and got five. The concept of bloodthirsty midgets was fascinating, but she thought they should've just come out and told her what really happened on P3M-938.
She took in Rodney's content expression as she passed by their table, and winked at him as he looked up.
Rodney dropped his spoon. John hissed his name and wiped the splatter of Jell-O off his wristband and onto Rodney's jacket, just to be vindictive.
"Oh God, what--" Rodney had a bad feeling about things. He snapped his fingers in front of John's face. John shoved them away irritably. "What exactly did you write in your report?"
"Why, what did you write?"
Teyla turned away from them with a smile as she got up to clear her tray.
"See, this is why we need to work on our communication," John drawled.
"Huh." And: "That's priceless, coming from you."
She followed Elizabeth into the Gate-room, tossing the rosy apple she had brought back from the mainland harvest between her hands.
End