Fic: All the heroes who came before us (Gen, PG13)
Title: All the heroes who came before us
Author: linziday
Recipient: stella_pegasi
Pairing: None
Rating: PG13 (some cursing, mention of child murders that happen off screen)
Disclaimer: The SGA universe and its characters aren't mine. I don't even have the action figures.
Author's Notes: I'm... sorry? I started writing a five things fic in which Sheppard was an accidental hero. The first one morphed into this and kept going.
Thanks go to the ever wonderful beta kriadydragon!
Summary: It was there as soon as they stepped through the gate, like a furry welcoming committee.
---
It was there as soon as they stepped through the gate, like a furry welcoming committee.
Rodney stopped in his tracks. "Dog."
"Wow, that's good, McKay," John deadpanned. "Now can you say 'wormhole?' Wooorm. Hoooole."
Rodney glared at him. "I can certainly say 'asshole,' Colonel. Also, 'rabies,' 'fleas,' and 'drug resistant bacterial infection due to dog bite.'"
In front of them the dog wagged its tail and barked, loud, raspy yips that echoed in the valley.
Rodney took a step back.
Ronon snorted with amusement and slapped Rodney on the back as he shouldered past him to the dog. He patted the animal's head with the flat of one large hand and the dog wagged its tail harder. It gave another raspy yip.
"It is a fala. They are very intelligent and quite friendly," Teyla said, smiling fondly. She crouched and made a soft clicking noise with her tongue. The animal abandoned Ronon, scampered over and laid its head on Teyla's knee with a sigh. She trailed one finger between its ears, scratching its head lightly. "They are highly regarded on many worlds."
Standing stiffly, eyes on the dog, Rodney stayed exactly where he was. "Not this world, apparently," he said.
John had to agree. The dog - mottled brown, about the size of a border collie, with one ear straight up and the tip of the other flopped down - was scruffy to the point of neglect. Its short fur stuck up at all angles and was tangled with dried leaves. Mud flecked its paws and muzzle, and dried blood was caked along a back leg. It panted, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth even as it closed its eyes in contentment at Teyla's touch.
John hesitated for a long moment, then shrugged out of his pack and withdrew his canteen.
"Sheppard?" Rodney's tone clearly questioned John's sanity.
John crouched and copied Teyla's soft clicking noise. The animal opened its eyes, cast an apologetic look up at Teyla and scurried over. John poured water into his cupped hand and held it out. The animal eagerly lapped it up, along with the next handful, and the next, and the one after that. When the dog - fala - had its fill, it laid its head on John's knee with a low, happy moan.
Rodney crouched beside John. He reached out a tentative hand and scratched a little behind the animal's ears. "Huh," Rodney said.
"Yeah, he's a good boy," John said as he used some of the water to get the dried mud off the animal's muzzle. He was pretty sure some of their antibiotic ointment and a field dressing would help that back leg and -
"You can't keep it, you know," Rodney said.
"Nah, wouldn't want to." John began picking leaves from fur.
"Uh huh," Rodney said, unconvinced. Then, "Hey, you missed a spot."
- -
John called him "Buddy."
"Original," Rodney said, rolling his eyes.
"Got a better idea?" John asked. The dog - fala he reminded himself again - trotted beside him, the new white field dressing flashing in the sun. The animal spent time with Ronon, Teyla, and Rodney, and he sometimes trotted ahead as if to urge the team on, but he seemed to like sticking with John.
"Hm." Rodney peered down at the animal. "Major."
John raised an eyebrow. "Major?"
"Canis major," Rodney said brightly. "The dog star."
John looked at him.
"What?" Rodney demanded, offended.
"Simpha," Ronon suggested. "Means 'little fighter.'"
"Lif," Teyla proposed. "A common name for Athosian companion animals."
"Okay then." John reached down and scratched a furry ear. "Buddy it is."
- -
The village was a two day walk from the stargate. John didn't discourage Buddy from hanging around, but he didn't encourage him either. Okay, so he fed Buddy some of the turkey from his sandwich during lunch. And tossed him a meatball or two from his MRE at dinner. And scratched that spot he liked, just behind his left ear, as they all sat by the fire. But he didn't have an ulterior motive. It just... happened.
"Are you sure it isn't a girl dog?" Rodney grumbled when Buddy crawled into their tent and settled down beside John with a sigh.
As he drowsed, John decided he'd do something about Buddy tomorrow. Stop feeding him. Run him off. Something. He'd had a dog once, when he was a kid. A collie named Patch. It hadn't ended well. This whole thing was cute for a day, but he didn't need a dog. A fala. Certainly didn't want one.
John fell asleep, one hand resting next to a furry head.
--
"I didn't know dogs liked oatmeal," Rodney said.
"Shut up, McKay," John responded and turned his bowl so Buddy could reach the lump in the corner.
--
The Miiri were a reclusive people. Rumor had it they'd migrated from world to world during the last wraith awakening in desperate search of a safe haven. On this planet they'd discovered an Ancient outpost in the mountains. They stayed.
The Miiri rarely left their village and never allowed outsiders in. No one knew if the Ancient outpost was real or a tale. And if it was real, whether they had the kind of technology an Ancient facility implied. Like a ZPM.
The odds were slim, but not so slim that Atlantis could ignore the possibility.
The first day's walk had been easy: a straight path out of the valley, a gentle slope, woods, field, more woods.
The second day's walk was. . . a challenge.
"One word," Rodney said, bent nearly double as he struggled to catch his breath. "Puddlejumper."
"No place to land," John pointed out. He leaned against a tree, his own breath coming harsh and fast.
For the last two hours the climb had been nearly vertical, a course through dense woods and over uneven ground that bordered sheer cliffs. It was a precarious hike at best, life threateningly-dangerous at worst. They'd each lost their footing more than once. And for Ronon and Teyla that was saying something.
The climb was even a problem for Buddy, who kept veering off the path and into the denser part of the woods. John called him back the first few times - he didn't know what kind of predators this forest had and whether any considered a 40 pound fala to be a good meal - but he quickly realized that Buddy always kept the team in sight. After a few minutes off trail, he'd bark furiously at them and then run back to rejoin the team.
Buddy was at John's feet now, panting hard. John shrugged off his pack and rummaged around for water.
"Beaming technology," Rodney said, still out of breath. "I need to equip the jumpers with beaming technology."
"Yeah, sure, work on that, will you?" John answered. He let Buddy drink all he wanted from his cupped hand before John lifted the canteen to his own lips.
Rodney flopped down beside Teyla on a long fallen log as Ronon leaned against a boulder. John glanced up, gauged their placement on the side of the mountain. They had a least another mile to go before the summit, and even then they had no idea if they'd find who or what they were looking for.
John capped the canteen, left his pack there, and moved toward the fallen log, grasping low tree branches to steady himself as he carefully picked his way over the uneven ground.
John felt himself go down the moment his foot slipped on a flat, moss-covered stone. He had just enough time to think, "Shit."
Then nothing.
--
He came to with Buddy licking his face.
"Hey," John croaked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Hey."
Buddy wagged his tail and licked harder, faster. John weakly pushed him away, rolled onto his side, gingerly sat up.
Then wished he hadn't.
They were on a cliff, a wide outgrowth on the side of the mountain. The valley stretched out below him like a yawning pit. The good news was he hadn't tumbled over the edge to his death.
Woohoo.
The bad news was - he craned his neck to look up - he was a good 100 feet down from the surface and the cliff rockface looked too unstable to scale.
Dammit.
John tapped his radio, wincing when the movement provoked a sharp pain first in his elbow and then in his shoulder. His head started to pound.
"Hey, guys," he said. With a team comprised of two Pegasus natives and one Rodney McKay, they'd long since abandoned any pretense of official U.S. military radio protocol, opting instead for straightforward and to the point. "I'm not dead."
"Yes, well, the day is young!" Rodney answered immediately, his voice an octave high with panic. "My god, do you know how close- "
"It is good to hear your voice, John," Teyla interrupted. "Are you hurt?"
John took stock of himself. Aches, pains, a swollen right ankle but he thought that was just badly sprained and not broken. He swiped at a trickle of blood that ran down from a gash on his forehead and hissed when he encountered a lump there as well. Considering the alternative - "Nothing serious," he said. "Everyone up there okay?"
"You mean aside from my massive coronary? Just ducky," Rodney said. "It's fun watching you tumble down the side of a mountain."
"Rope's ready for you," Ronon said.
"No," John said. He picked off a piece of the cliff wall and closed a light fist around it. It crumbled into dust, just as he knew it would. "The side of this cliff isn't stable enough. We'll end up in the middle of a rockslide."
There was a long pause. Then Rodney said, "We?"
"Me and Bud-" John looked at the dog. He didn't look like he'd fallen over the side of a mountain. "How did Buddy get down here?"
"Oh, wonderful," Rodney said with feeling. "Congratulations, Sheppard, you're the proud owner of an hallucination. Buddy's right - " Another pause. "Where's the dog?"
Beside John, Buddy barked.
"Hey!" Rodney's voice echoed, coming both from the radio in John's ear and in a shout from above. John looked up and saw Rodney's head peeking over the cliff's edge. "Buddy is down there."
John scratched Buddy's head. "He's the genius," John told the dog while the radio channel was open.
Rodney ignored the comment. "How'd he get down there?"
"Can falas fly?" John asked.
Rodney scoffed. "They're the Pegasus version of dogs, of course they can't - um. " He conferred briefly with Ronon and Teyla. "No. No flying."
John pulled the last of his field dressings from his tac vest and dabbed at the cut on his head, cleaning it up as best he could while he took a closer look at their surroundings. Cliff, cliff face, small rocks, bigger rocks, boulders -
Boulders.
A pair of boulders sat on the far side of the cliff, leaning against each other, a shadow between them. Or a tunnel.
"Found it," John said, crossing to the boulders as Buddy trotted along beside him. He pulled a flashlight out of his tac vest and played the small beam between the rocks. "There's a path. Wide one. Looks like it goes in and up."
"Sheppard, I know what you're thinking, and it isn't a good idea," Rodney said.
There was probably more, but John's radio cut out as soon as he stepped into the tunnel.
--
The flashlight did little to light the broad passageway, and fat shadows jumped and twitched around him as he traced ceiling to floor with the beam. The ground was hard packed dirt, the walls thick stone. It looked solid. John knocked a fist against the wall. It felt solid.
Buddy let out a single yip and darted ahead. John opened his mouth to call him back but immediately thought better of it. Buddy had gotten down there on his own, he could get back to the surface on his own. It would be easier for John to move without the animal at his heels. Buddy'd proven he would come back if he wanted to. John closed his mouth.
And if he felt a twinge of something, it definitely wasn't disappointment.
John walked, sweeping his light along the tunnel walls. They were too smooth to be naturally made. Someone had created the tunnel. Maybe the Miiri. Maybe the Ancients.
John tapped his earpiece. Still dead air.
The tunnel sloped up, slanted to the left. John's ankle throbbed as he pushed onward and his headache grew. He had a small first aid kit with aspirin in his pack, but he'd left that on the surface when he'd fallen. He could wait. The pain wasn't that bad and the corridor between the cliff and the surface couldn't be that long. He'd be up in couple of more minutes, he figured as he rounded a corner.
Or.
Possibly longer.
The tunnel suddenly forked, one path jutting left, the other jutting right. Buddy stood in between them, wagging his tail.
--
Buddy did not want John to take the path to the left.
"C'mon, boy. Out. Of. The. Way," John ground out, trying to get Buddy to move. Sure, both paths might lead outside, but only one would deliver him back to his team. The other could dump him anywhere, from the top of the mountain to the middle of the woods to the valley near the stargate. Buddy stood between John and what John was certain was the correct exit, but no amount of coaxing, bribery or scolding would move him. When John tried to pick Buddy up, the dog nipped at his hand. When John moved to step over him, Buddy latched onto the leg of his pants and wouldn't let go.
John took a step back, feeling ridiculous. He'd fought Wraith for crissakes, space vampires. He should be able to deal with a simple not-dog.
But Buddy wouldn't move.
John scooped up the Powerbar he'd unwrapped and tried to use to bribe Buddy away from the exit. Maybe if he tossed it down the other path -
The shout was short, high pitched, and pain filled. It was a cry for help. And although it was distant, it clearly came from the path to the right.
"All right," John told Buddy as he slid his 9mm out of its holster and thumbed the safety off, "you win."
Buddy took off down the path to the right as John followed.
--
According to rumor, the Miiri were a small band of people. Some said they numbered in the dozens. No one put them at more than a hundred.
It looked to John as if every member of the Miiri had been packed into the small cave-like antechamber that lay between the underground corridor and the outside. Their clothes were torn and ragged. Many of the adults had cuts and scrapes, with worse injuries covered by ragged cloth bandages. The oldest children sat huddled on the ground, eyes wide and scared, while the youngest whimpered in their parents' arms, hushed by murmurs and soft songs. Past them, John could make out the exit and the woods beyond it.
And guards.
At least two flanked the exit. But the Mirri looked like they put up a fight, and 75 villagers could overpower two guards no matter what the difference in weapons. So there were more of the enemy that John couldn't see.
John ducked back into the tunnel, cursing under his breath. He had better odds with his team beside him, but backtracking meant time and he wasn't sure these people had time. He had the tactical advantage of surprise in a solo assault, but only if he knew numbers, weapons and placement. He couldn't know that without talking to the Miiri, and drawing the attention of 75 people would draw the attention of their guards, killing any surprise. He might be able to -
Buddy trotted forward and, before John could stop him, nuzzled the hand of a middle-aged woman with blood-flecked cloth tied around her leg. The woman looked down at Buddy, who wagged his tail, then up at John. Their eyes met.
"Thank the Ancestors," she whispered.
--
News of John's arrival spread quickly - and, John thanked god, quietly - among the Miiri. There were murmurs of hope, but little else to alert the guards. The woman, a village elder named Sira, moved with John deep into the tunnel.
"We thought they had men at the other exit," she told him. "They seem to have men everywhere."
"Who are they?" John asked.
"They call themselves the Giren. They arrived three days ago looking for the secrets of the Ancestors," Sira said. "We have never been found before, but they discovered a trio of our harvesters and followed them home. We offered them food and accomodations, but they demanded items of the Ancestors."
"Items you don't have," John surmised.
Sira shook her head. "We trade food and goods quietly on other worlds. We know what people say of us. We might have even... encouraged... some of the most outlandish ideas because it maintained our safety. Treasure seekers were daunted by the stories of ancient fortifications and weapons. Those who did come through the ring were quickly intimidated by the mountain. But what this world provides us is a network of caves and tunnels. Some rubble at the top of the mountain. No weapons. No items of any worth."
John indicated the bandage on her arm. "You fought them when they wouldn't leave."
Sira pulled her injured arm to her chest and covered it with her other hand. Her mouth was set a thin, grim line. "No, we fought them when they began killing our children."
--
The Giren killed one child every 12 hours and planned to continue until the Miiri acquiesced and led them to the items of the Ancestors. It started almost two days ago, shortly before John and his team stepped through the gate.
The village had lost four children. The youngest was 2. The oldest, 11.
The yell John had heard was 8-year-old Katta as she was pulled from her mother's arms to be the next sacrifice in 12 hours.
It didn't take John long to come up with a plan.
--
Twelve hours later, the Giren leader stood at the mouth of the cave. He was a tall man, broad, dressed in heavy cloth. One hand rested on the butt of a gun at his hip and the other wielded a wicked looking dagger, the edge of its blade stained brown with dried blood.
Sira met him in at the entrance.
"I have been talking with Katta. She pleads for you not throw away her life as you have her playmates," the Giren leader told her with a smile. "She is such a sweet child. Very pretty. It would be a shame for her life to end so soon."
"Yeah, that's why it's not going to happen," John said as Sira and the villagers parted to reveal him, Teyla and Rodney, weapons aimed at the leader's head.
The Giren leader quickly recovered from the surprise. "Three strangers? I have fifty soldiers."
Above the cave, the jumper Ronon had run for uncloaked.
"Good timing," John said.
"It doesn't have a transporter," Rodney admitted to the Giren leader. "But it does have enough firepower to blow you and your - what did you say, fifty soldiers? - off the side of this mountain. And then some."
The Giren leader narrowed his eyes. "I believe you are lying," he said. Then he lunged, grabbing for Sira and spinning her around, dagger to her throat, to become his own human shield before John or his team could take a shot. "But in case you aren't."
"Let her go," John said through gritted teeth. He adjusted his aim, readjusted. Dammit. He couldn't get a clear shot.
The Giren leader backed up a few steps and John moved forward, keeping pace as Rodney and Teyla flanked him a half step behind on each side. Giren solders peppered the woods around the cave entrance, but none moved, apparently unwilling to take up their leader's cause when they were outgunned from above.
Outgunned from above. When they cleared the cave, John tapped his radio earpiece. He knew the answer, but he had to ask. "Jumper one?"
"Negative, Colonel," Lorne said from the jumper hovering above. "She's too close."
"Shoot!" Sira yelled. "My life is not - "
The Giren leader pressed the dagger against her throat, cutting off her next words. A thin line of blood welled against the blade. Sira struggled, a small yelp escaping her lips, and the Giren leader pressed the blade harder.
"No!" John shouted.
But before he could do anything, a blur of fur leapt past him. Buddy attacked the Giren leader, teeth flashing at his arm, his face, his throat. The man screamed and automatically let go of Sira to defend himself. Sira ran, but John still couldn't get a clear shot.
"Sheppard?" Rodney asked, gun wavering as he tried to find a place on the Giren leader where Buddy wasn't. "Sheppard?"
John prayed the fala was exactly as smart as he seemed to be. "Buddy, get down!" he shouted. "Down!"
With a final growl, Buddy dropped to the ground, staggered. The Giren leader stumbled back, then, bloody dagger raised, lunged.
John fired a single shot. It was all he needed. The Giren leader went down, blood covered dagger and all. Behind John, the villagers shouted with happiness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Teyla and Rodney secure the Giren soldiers.
But John didn't move. His eyes fixed on the dagger. Blood covered. Too much blood for the slice to Sira's neck. He turned until he found what he was looking for.
Buddy. Lying a few feet away. His fur covered in blood.
"I need a med kit!" John shouted, already running toward him. "And get Beckett out here!"
He reached Buddy, and for a long while the only thing that mattered was the dog, warm and wet and barely breathing beneath his hands.
--
"I had a dog once," John announced hours later. He was in the infirmary waiting area, Rodney on one side, Ronon and Teyla on the other. They slumped in the hard plastic chairs, dirty, hungry, tired - and in John's case, bandaged - but none of them moved. The each sipped from water bottles, a concession to Carson, who threatened to tether them to IVs otherwise. "Her name was Patch," John said.
"Cats," Rodney responded, pointing to himself. "And a hamster. Once. Well, it was Jeannie's. But I fed it because she kept forgetting."
"A pair of lifurs. Sorta... birds," Ronon said. Rodney looked at him and Ronon half shugged. "They were big. Lots of teeth. Pretty song."
"We had many companion animals," Teyla said. "But none as smart as Buddy."
They lapsed into silence.
"What happened to your Patch?" Teyla asked after a moment.
"Nothing," John said immediately. "Lived to a ripe old age."
Teyla raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"If Buddy doesn't - well, even if he does - I mean, if worse doesn't come to worse and -" Rodney stopped, took a breath, started over. "He's Sira's. She said he ran off for help when the Giren invaded. She'll want him back."
John shifted in his seat. "Couldn't keep him anyway, McKay. We knew that."
"Sira said his name isn't Buddy. Obviously," Rodney said.
John wasn't going to ask the next logical question. He didn't want to know.
"So what's his name?" Ronon asked.
John sighed.
"They don't name their falas," Rodney said.
"So, 'Buddy' then," Ronon said.
Rodney blinked at him. "No, I just said, they don't name their dogs."
"Doesn't mean we can't," Ronon pointed out.
"How about we talk about something else?" John suggested.
Instead, Teyla lifted her water bottle in imitation of all the toasts they'd given to their fallen heroes over the years. "To Buddy," she said.
Ronon and Rodney lifted their bottles. "To Buddy," they said in unison.
John hesitated only a fraction of a second. "To Buddy," he repeated solemnly
"Well, now, you don't have much faith in my ability as a surgeon, do you lot?"
John jerked his head up just as Carson came around the curtain.
"He will recover?" Teyla asked.
"Well, I'm not a veterinarian," Carson started, then shot a glance at Rodney. "Shut it." Rodney looked wounded and raised his hands in surrender. "But," Carson continued, "surgery went well and I'd say he's out of the woods."
"He's okay?" John repeated.
Carson smiled. "Aye."
Around him, his team exhaled in relief. Ronon slapped Carson on the back. Teyla said thank you.
"Yeah, great, so I need to -" John said vaguely, and before anyone could say anything, he was gone.
--
Two hours later, John's door chime rang, once, twice. When Rodney found a door locked he went straight to tearing off the control panel and breaking in. Ronon pounded on the locked door until the person on the other side feared for their life. Which left -
"Teyla," John greeted, leaning casually against the doorway.
"I am sorry to interrupt your sleep," she said. John didn't correct her. He'd changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants and tried to sleep but had given it up as a lost cause more than an hour ago. "However, Buddy is awake and I thought you might like to visit him."
"Thanks. Yeah, I'll get down there to see him sometime," John said.
"I believe Sira is coming tomorrow and may retrieve him then if he is well enough," Teyla advised.
"Okay then. Well, you know. Hopefully before then. But if I don't, it's fine."
"John."
"Really." John stood straight and stepped back so the door could close. "Thanks for letting me know. I'm going to go back to sle-"
But Teyla placed a hand on the doorjamb to keep it open. "You will regret not seeing him before he leaves."
"Teyla," John said, trying for exasperated-and-tired-military-commander, "it's just a dog."
"He," Teyla said, "is a friend." She pinned him with a look. "And I believe you know that."
"I -" John thought about everything he could say. Should say. Shouldn't say. After a moment he went with the truth. "I can't."
He expected her to ask him why not. Instead she offered him a small smile and touched him on the arm. "You can."
--
The isolation room was dim and it took a moment for John's eyes to adjust, to see the small, still form in the corner, a thick foam pad underneath him. A wide bandage was wrapped around his middle. An IV line snaked to the pole above him.
John briefly considered backing out. He came, he saw, he could tell Teyla that. But then Buddy raised his head, spotted John, and, wagging his tail, began struggling to get up.
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," John said, rushing to move the IV line before it tangled with fur and paws and an excited tail. But Buddy moved when John moved and the line quickly started to tangle again.
"Okay, hey, let's just -" John sat down beside the foam pad and Buddy settled down, sitting first, then lying. John scratched behind Buddy's ear with one hand and fixed the IV line with the other, moving the pole against the wall and gently slinging the line behind Buddy's shoulder so it couldn't get tangled in his paws or tail if he got up again.
"Good boy," John said. "That was. . .good. What you did on the planet. Good boy."
Buddy set his head on John's knee with a sigh. John leaned back against the wall and continued scratching.
He was 5 the year he got Patch. Lassie was on TV and he begged his parents for months for a dog just like her. When they got his baby brother, John got Patch, like a fluffy consolation prize.
"I knew a dog a long time ago." John told Buddy. "She was a good dog, too."
He and Patch grew up together, riding out thunderstorms under the covers, fighting ogres in the fields behind the house, sharing potato chips while watching Batman. She was smart and loyal and, in John's opinion, way better than his baby brother, who was neither smart nor loyal and persistently ripped up John's comic books.
Then he turned 9.
"I got a bike for my birthday. It was red. Cool. Fast," John said, his scratching slowing to a stop behind Buddy's ear. "Before I could even take my first ride, a 12-year-old kid, some punk from down the street, shoved me off and rode off with it. It happened out front and Patch saw it."
Buddy stuck his nose under John's hand, encouraging. John absently started rubbing his other ear.
"She must've thought he hurt me or... something. She jumped the fence and went after him. Almost caught him, too," John said, surprised he could feel a bloom of pride even 30 years later. "But the kid took off across the street."
John looked down at Buddy. The dog was looking up at him, brown eyes sad.
"Yeah, you probably know how that ended. Car missed the punk kid. It didn't miss Patch," John said. "Swore I'd never have a dog again."
Buddy sighed and laid his head down once more.
John leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The floor was hard. His sprained ankle protested its position. But John felt something small and hard loosen in his chest as he stroked Buddy's head.
"How about I stay for a while?" John asked.
Buddy thumped his tail.
Author: linziday
Recipient: stella_pegasi
Pairing: None
Rating: PG13 (some cursing, mention of child murders that happen off screen)
Disclaimer: The SGA universe and its characters aren't mine. I don't even have the action figures.
Author's Notes: I'm... sorry? I started writing a five things fic in which Sheppard was an accidental hero. The first one morphed into this and kept going.
Thanks go to the ever wonderful beta kriadydragon!
Summary: It was there as soon as they stepped through the gate, like a furry welcoming committee.
---
It was there as soon as they stepped through the gate, like a furry welcoming committee.
Rodney stopped in his tracks. "Dog."
"Wow, that's good, McKay," John deadpanned. "Now can you say 'wormhole?' Wooorm. Hoooole."
Rodney glared at him. "I can certainly say 'asshole,' Colonel. Also, 'rabies,' 'fleas,' and 'drug resistant bacterial infection due to dog bite.'"
In front of them the dog wagged its tail and barked, loud, raspy yips that echoed in the valley.
Rodney took a step back.
Ronon snorted with amusement and slapped Rodney on the back as he shouldered past him to the dog. He patted the animal's head with the flat of one large hand and the dog wagged its tail harder. It gave another raspy yip.
"It is a fala. They are very intelligent and quite friendly," Teyla said, smiling fondly. She crouched and made a soft clicking noise with her tongue. The animal abandoned Ronon, scampered over and laid its head on Teyla's knee with a sigh. She trailed one finger between its ears, scratching its head lightly. "They are highly regarded on many worlds."
Standing stiffly, eyes on the dog, Rodney stayed exactly where he was. "Not this world, apparently," he said.
John had to agree. The dog - mottled brown, about the size of a border collie, with one ear straight up and the tip of the other flopped down - was scruffy to the point of neglect. Its short fur stuck up at all angles and was tangled with dried leaves. Mud flecked its paws and muzzle, and dried blood was caked along a back leg. It panted, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth even as it closed its eyes in contentment at Teyla's touch.
John hesitated for a long moment, then shrugged out of his pack and withdrew his canteen.
"Sheppard?" Rodney's tone clearly questioned John's sanity.
John crouched and copied Teyla's soft clicking noise. The animal opened its eyes, cast an apologetic look up at Teyla and scurried over. John poured water into his cupped hand and held it out. The animal eagerly lapped it up, along with the next handful, and the next, and the one after that. When the dog - fala - had its fill, it laid its head on John's knee with a low, happy moan.
Rodney crouched beside John. He reached out a tentative hand and scratched a little behind the animal's ears. "Huh," Rodney said.
"Yeah, he's a good boy," John said as he used some of the water to get the dried mud off the animal's muzzle. He was pretty sure some of their antibiotic ointment and a field dressing would help that back leg and -
"You can't keep it, you know," Rodney said.
"Nah, wouldn't want to." John began picking leaves from fur.
"Uh huh," Rodney said, unconvinced. Then, "Hey, you missed a spot."
- -
John called him "Buddy."
"Original," Rodney said, rolling his eyes.
"Got a better idea?" John asked. The dog - fala he reminded himself again - trotted beside him, the new white field dressing flashing in the sun. The animal spent time with Ronon, Teyla, and Rodney, and he sometimes trotted ahead as if to urge the team on, but he seemed to like sticking with John.
"Hm." Rodney peered down at the animal. "Major."
John raised an eyebrow. "Major?"
"Canis major," Rodney said brightly. "The dog star."
John looked at him.
"What?" Rodney demanded, offended.
"Simpha," Ronon suggested. "Means 'little fighter.'"
"Lif," Teyla proposed. "A common name for Athosian companion animals."
"Okay then." John reached down and scratched a furry ear. "Buddy it is."
- -
The village was a two day walk from the stargate. John didn't discourage Buddy from hanging around, but he didn't encourage him either. Okay, so he fed Buddy some of the turkey from his sandwich during lunch. And tossed him a meatball or two from his MRE at dinner. And scratched that spot he liked, just behind his left ear, as they all sat by the fire. But he didn't have an ulterior motive. It just... happened.
"Are you sure it isn't a girl dog?" Rodney grumbled when Buddy crawled into their tent and settled down beside John with a sigh.
As he drowsed, John decided he'd do something about Buddy tomorrow. Stop feeding him. Run him off. Something. He'd had a dog once, when he was a kid. A collie named Patch. It hadn't ended well. This whole thing was cute for a day, but he didn't need a dog. A fala. Certainly didn't want one.
John fell asleep, one hand resting next to a furry head.
--
"I didn't know dogs liked oatmeal," Rodney said.
"Shut up, McKay," John responded and turned his bowl so Buddy could reach the lump in the corner.
--
The Miiri were a reclusive people. Rumor had it they'd migrated from world to world during the last wraith awakening in desperate search of a safe haven. On this planet they'd discovered an Ancient outpost in the mountains. They stayed.
The Miiri rarely left their village and never allowed outsiders in. No one knew if the Ancient outpost was real or a tale. And if it was real, whether they had the kind of technology an Ancient facility implied. Like a ZPM.
The odds were slim, but not so slim that Atlantis could ignore the possibility.
The first day's walk had been easy: a straight path out of the valley, a gentle slope, woods, field, more woods.
The second day's walk was. . . a challenge.
"One word," Rodney said, bent nearly double as he struggled to catch his breath. "Puddlejumper."
"No place to land," John pointed out. He leaned against a tree, his own breath coming harsh and fast.
For the last two hours the climb had been nearly vertical, a course through dense woods and over uneven ground that bordered sheer cliffs. It was a precarious hike at best, life threateningly-dangerous at worst. They'd each lost their footing more than once. And for Ronon and Teyla that was saying something.
The climb was even a problem for Buddy, who kept veering off the path and into the denser part of the woods. John called him back the first few times - he didn't know what kind of predators this forest had and whether any considered a 40 pound fala to be a good meal - but he quickly realized that Buddy always kept the team in sight. After a few minutes off trail, he'd bark furiously at them and then run back to rejoin the team.
Buddy was at John's feet now, panting hard. John shrugged off his pack and rummaged around for water.
"Beaming technology," Rodney said, still out of breath. "I need to equip the jumpers with beaming technology."
"Yeah, sure, work on that, will you?" John answered. He let Buddy drink all he wanted from his cupped hand before John lifted the canteen to his own lips.
Rodney flopped down beside Teyla on a long fallen log as Ronon leaned against a boulder. John glanced up, gauged their placement on the side of the mountain. They had a least another mile to go before the summit, and even then they had no idea if they'd find who or what they were looking for.
John capped the canteen, left his pack there, and moved toward the fallen log, grasping low tree branches to steady himself as he carefully picked his way over the uneven ground.
John felt himself go down the moment his foot slipped on a flat, moss-covered stone. He had just enough time to think, "Shit."
Then nothing.
--
He came to with Buddy licking his face.
"Hey," John croaked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Hey."
Buddy wagged his tail and licked harder, faster. John weakly pushed him away, rolled onto his side, gingerly sat up.
Then wished he hadn't.
They were on a cliff, a wide outgrowth on the side of the mountain. The valley stretched out below him like a yawning pit. The good news was he hadn't tumbled over the edge to his death.
Woohoo.
The bad news was - he craned his neck to look up - he was a good 100 feet down from the surface and the cliff rockface looked too unstable to scale.
Dammit.
John tapped his radio, wincing when the movement provoked a sharp pain first in his elbow and then in his shoulder. His head started to pound.
"Hey, guys," he said. With a team comprised of two Pegasus natives and one Rodney McKay, they'd long since abandoned any pretense of official U.S. military radio protocol, opting instead for straightforward and to the point. "I'm not dead."
"Yes, well, the day is young!" Rodney answered immediately, his voice an octave high with panic. "My god, do you know how close- "
"It is good to hear your voice, John," Teyla interrupted. "Are you hurt?"
John took stock of himself. Aches, pains, a swollen right ankle but he thought that was just badly sprained and not broken. He swiped at a trickle of blood that ran down from a gash on his forehead and hissed when he encountered a lump there as well. Considering the alternative - "Nothing serious," he said. "Everyone up there okay?"
"You mean aside from my massive coronary? Just ducky," Rodney said. "It's fun watching you tumble down the side of a mountain."
"Rope's ready for you," Ronon said.
"No," John said. He picked off a piece of the cliff wall and closed a light fist around it. It crumbled into dust, just as he knew it would. "The side of this cliff isn't stable enough. We'll end up in the middle of a rockslide."
There was a long pause. Then Rodney said, "We?"
"Me and Bud-" John looked at the dog. He didn't look like he'd fallen over the side of a mountain. "How did Buddy get down here?"
"Oh, wonderful," Rodney said with feeling. "Congratulations, Sheppard, you're the proud owner of an hallucination. Buddy's right - " Another pause. "Where's the dog?"
Beside John, Buddy barked.
"Hey!" Rodney's voice echoed, coming both from the radio in John's ear and in a shout from above. John looked up and saw Rodney's head peeking over the cliff's edge. "Buddy is down there."
John scratched Buddy's head. "He's the genius," John told the dog while the radio channel was open.
Rodney ignored the comment. "How'd he get down there?"
"Can falas fly?" John asked.
Rodney scoffed. "They're the Pegasus version of dogs, of course they can't - um. " He conferred briefly with Ronon and Teyla. "No. No flying."
John pulled the last of his field dressings from his tac vest and dabbed at the cut on his head, cleaning it up as best he could while he took a closer look at their surroundings. Cliff, cliff face, small rocks, bigger rocks, boulders -
Boulders.
A pair of boulders sat on the far side of the cliff, leaning against each other, a shadow between them. Or a tunnel.
"Found it," John said, crossing to the boulders as Buddy trotted along beside him. He pulled a flashlight out of his tac vest and played the small beam between the rocks. "There's a path. Wide one. Looks like it goes in and up."
"Sheppard, I know what you're thinking, and it isn't a good idea," Rodney said.
There was probably more, but John's radio cut out as soon as he stepped into the tunnel.
--
The flashlight did little to light the broad passageway, and fat shadows jumped and twitched around him as he traced ceiling to floor with the beam. The ground was hard packed dirt, the walls thick stone. It looked solid. John knocked a fist against the wall. It felt solid.
Buddy let out a single yip and darted ahead. John opened his mouth to call him back but immediately thought better of it. Buddy had gotten down there on his own, he could get back to the surface on his own. It would be easier for John to move without the animal at his heels. Buddy'd proven he would come back if he wanted to. John closed his mouth.
And if he felt a twinge of something, it definitely wasn't disappointment.
John walked, sweeping his light along the tunnel walls. They were too smooth to be naturally made. Someone had created the tunnel. Maybe the Miiri. Maybe the Ancients.
John tapped his earpiece. Still dead air.
The tunnel sloped up, slanted to the left. John's ankle throbbed as he pushed onward and his headache grew. He had a small first aid kit with aspirin in his pack, but he'd left that on the surface when he'd fallen. He could wait. The pain wasn't that bad and the corridor between the cliff and the surface couldn't be that long. He'd be up in couple of more minutes, he figured as he rounded a corner.
Or.
Possibly longer.
The tunnel suddenly forked, one path jutting left, the other jutting right. Buddy stood in between them, wagging his tail.
--
Buddy did not want John to take the path to the left.
"C'mon, boy. Out. Of. The. Way," John ground out, trying to get Buddy to move. Sure, both paths might lead outside, but only one would deliver him back to his team. The other could dump him anywhere, from the top of the mountain to the middle of the woods to the valley near the stargate. Buddy stood between John and what John was certain was the correct exit, but no amount of coaxing, bribery or scolding would move him. When John tried to pick Buddy up, the dog nipped at his hand. When John moved to step over him, Buddy latched onto the leg of his pants and wouldn't let go.
John took a step back, feeling ridiculous. He'd fought Wraith for crissakes, space vampires. He should be able to deal with a simple not-dog.
But Buddy wouldn't move.
John scooped up the Powerbar he'd unwrapped and tried to use to bribe Buddy away from the exit. Maybe if he tossed it down the other path -
The shout was short, high pitched, and pain filled. It was a cry for help. And although it was distant, it clearly came from the path to the right.
"All right," John told Buddy as he slid his 9mm out of its holster and thumbed the safety off, "you win."
Buddy took off down the path to the right as John followed.
--
According to rumor, the Miiri were a small band of people. Some said they numbered in the dozens. No one put them at more than a hundred.
It looked to John as if every member of the Miiri had been packed into the small cave-like antechamber that lay between the underground corridor and the outside. Their clothes were torn and ragged. Many of the adults had cuts and scrapes, with worse injuries covered by ragged cloth bandages. The oldest children sat huddled on the ground, eyes wide and scared, while the youngest whimpered in their parents' arms, hushed by murmurs and soft songs. Past them, John could make out the exit and the woods beyond it.
And guards.
At least two flanked the exit. But the Mirri looked like they put up a fight, and 75 villagers could overpower two guards no matter what the difference in weapons. So there were more of the enemy that John couldn't see.
John ducked back into the tunnel, cursing under his breath. He had better odds with his team beside him, but backtracking meant time and he wasn't sure these people had time. He had the tactical advantage of surprise in a solo assault, but only if he knew numbers, weapons and placement. He couldn't know that without talking to the Miiri, and drawing the attention of 75 people would draw the attention of their guards, killing any surprise. He might be able to -
Buddy trotted forward and, before John could stop him, nuzzled the hand of a middle-aged woman with blood-flecked cloth tied around her leg. The woman looked down at Buddy, who wagged his tail, then up at John. Their eyes met.
"Thank the Ancestors," she whispered.
--
News of John's arrival spread quickly - and, John thanked god, quietly - among the Miiri. There were murmurs of hope, but little else to alert the guards. The woman, a village elder named Sira, moved with John deep into the tunnel.
"We thought they had men at the other exit," she told him. "They seem to have men everywhere."
"Who are they?" John asked.
"They call themselves the Giren. They arrived three days ago looking for the secrets of the Ancestors," Sira said. "We have never been found before, but they discovered a trio of our harvesters and followed them home. We offered them food and accomodations, but they demanded items of the Ancestors."
"Items you don't have," John surmised.
Sira shook her head. "We trade food and goods quietly on other worlds. We know what people say of us. We might have even... encouraged... some of the most outlandish ideas because it maintained our safety. Treasure seekers were daunted by the stories of ancient fortifications and weapons. Those who did come through the ring were quickly intimidated by the mountain. But what this world provides us is a network of caves and tunnels. Some rubble at the top of the mountain. No weapons. No items of any worth."
John indicated the bandage on her arm. "You fought them when they wouldn't leave."
Sira pulled her injured arm to her chest and covered it with her other hand. Her mouth was set a thin, grim line. "No, we fought them when they began killing our children."
--
The Giren killed one child every 12 hours and planned to continue until the Miiri acquiesced and led them to the items of the Ancestors. It started almost two days ago, shortly before John and his team stepped through the gate.
The village had lost four children. The youngest was 2. The oldest, 11.
The yell John had heard was 8-year-old Katta as she was pulled from her mother's arms to be the next sacrifice in 12 hours.
It didn't take John long to come up with a plan.
--
Twelve hours later, the Giren leader stood at the mouth of the cave. He was a tall man, broad, dressed in heavy cloth. One hand rested on the butt of a gun at his hip and the other wielded a wicked looking dagger, the edge of its blade stained brown with dried blood.
Sira met him in at the entrance.
"I have been talking with Katta. She pleads for you not throw away her life as you have her playmates," the Giren leader told her with a smile. "She is such a sweet child. Very pretty. It would be a shame for her life to end so soon."
"Yeah, that's why it's not going to happen," John said as Sira and the villagers parted to reveal him, Teyla and Rodney, weapons aimed at the leader's head.
The Giren leader quickly recovered from the surprise. "Three strangers? I have fifty soldiers."
Above the cave, the jumper Ronon had run for uncloaked.
"Good timing," John said.
"It doesn't have a transporter," Rodney admitted to the Giren leader. "But it does have enough firepower to blow you and your - what did you say, fifty soldiers? - off the side of this mountain. And then some."
The Giren leader narrowed his eyes. "I believe you are lying," he said. Then he lunged, grabbing for Sira and spinning her around, dagger to her throat, to become his own human shield before John or his team could take a shot. "But in case you aren't."
"Let her go," John said through gritted teeth. He adjusted his aim, readjusted. Dammit. He couldn't get a clear shot.
The Giren leader backed up a few steps and John moved forward, keeping pace as Rodney and Teyla flanked him a half step behind on each side. Giren solders peppered the woods around the cave entrance, but none moved, apparently unwilling to take up their leader's cause when they were outgunned from above.
Outgunned from above. When they cleared the cave, John tapped his radio earpiece. He knew the answer, but he had to ask. "Jumper one?"
"Negative, Colonel," Lorne said from the jumper hovering above. "She's too close."
"Shoot!" Sira yelled. "My life is not - "
The Giren leader pressed the dagger against her throat, cutting off her next words. A thin line of blood welled against the blade. Sira struggled, a small yelp escaping her lips, and the Giren leader pressed the blade harder.
"No!" John shouted.
But before he could do anything, a blur of fur leapt past him. Buddy attacked the Giren leader, teeth flashing at his arm, his face, his throat. The man screamed and automatically let go of Sira to defend himself. Sira ran, but John still couldn't get a clear shot.
"Sheppard?" Rodney asked, gun wavering as he tried to find a place on the Giren leader where Buddy wasn't. "Sheppard?"
John prayed the fala was exactly as smart as he seemed to be. "Buddy, get down!" he shouted. "Down!"
With a final growl, Buddy dropped to the ground, staggered. The Giren leader stumbled back, then, bloody dagger raised, lunged.
John fired a single shot. It was all he needed. The Giren leader went down, blood covered dagger and all. Behind John, the villagers shouted with happiness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Teyla and Rodney secure the Giren soldiers.
But John didn't move. His eyes fixed on the dagger. Blood covered. Too much blood for the slice to Sira's neck. He turned until he found what he was looking for.
Buddy. Lying a few feet away. His fur covered in blood.
"I need a med kit!" John shouted, already running toward him. "And get Beckett out here!"
He reached Buddy, and for a long while the only thing that mattered was the dog, warm and wet and barely breathing beneath his hands.
--
"I had a dog once," John announced hours later. He was in the infirmary waiting area, Rodney on one side, Ronon and Teyla on the other. They slumped in the hard plastic chairs, dirty, hungry, tired - and in John's case, bandaged - but none of them moved. The each sipped from water bottles, a concession to Carson, who threatened to tether them to IVs otherwise. "Her name was Patch," John said.
"Cats," Rodney responded, pointing to himself. "And a hamster. Once. Well, it was Jeannie's. But I fed it because she kept forgetting."
"A pair of lifurs. Sorta... birds," Ronon said. Rodney looked at him and Ronon half shugged. "They were big. Lots of teeth. Pretty song."
"We had many companion animals," Teyla said. "But none as smart as Buddy."
They lapsed into silence.
"What happened to your Patch?" Teyla asked after a moment.
"Nothing," John said immediately. "Lived to a ripe old age."
Teyla raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"If Buddy doesn't - well, even if he does - I mean, if worse doesn't come to worse and -" Rodney stopped, took a breath, started over. "He's Sira's. She said he ran off for help when the Giren invaded. She'll want him back."
John shifted in his seat. "Couldn't keep him anyway, McKay. We knew that."
"Sira said his name isn't Buddy. Obviously," Rodney said.
John wasn't going to ask the next logical question. He didn't want to know.
"So what's his name?" Ronon asked.
John sighed.
"They don't name their falas," Rodney said.
"So, 'Buddy' then," Ronon said.
Rodney blinked at him. "No, I just said, they don't name their dogs."
"Doesn't mean we can't," Ronon pointed out.
"How about we talk about something else?" John suggested.
Instead, Teyla lifted her water bottle in imitation of all the toasts they'd given to their fallen heroes over the years. "To Buddy," she said.
Ronon and Rodney lifted their bottles. "To Buddy," they said in unison.
John hesitated only a fraction of a second. "To Buddy," he repeated solemnly
"Well, now, you don't have much faith in my ability as a surgeon, do you lot?"
John jerked his head up just as Carson came around the curtain.
"He will recover?" Teyla asked.
"Well, I'm not a veterinarian," Carson started, then shot a glance at Rodney. "Shut it." Rodney looked wounded and raised his hands in surrender. "But," Carson continued, "surgery went well and I'd say he's out of the woods."
"He's okay?" John repeated.
Carson smiled. "Aye."
Around him, his team exhaled in relief. Ronon slapped Carson on the back. Teyla said thank you.
"Yeah, great, so I need to -" John said vaguely, and before anyone could say anything, he was gone.
--
Two hours later, John's door chime rang, once, twice. When Rodney found a door locked he went straight to tearing off the control panel and breaking in. Ronon pounded on the locked door until the person on the other side feared for their life. Which left -
"Teyla," John greeted, leaning casually against the doorway.
"I am sorry to interrupt your sleep," she said. John didn't correct her. He'd changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants and tried to sleep but had given it up as a lost cause more than an hour ago. "However, Buddy is awake and I thought you might like to visit him."
"Thanks. Yeah, I'll get down there to see him sometime," John said.
"I believe Sira is coming tomorrow and may retrieve him then if he is well enough," Teyla advised.
"Okay then. Well, you know. Hopefully before then. But if I don't, it's fine."
"John."
"Really." John stood straight and stepped back so the door could close. "Thanks for letting me know. I'm going to go back to sle-"
But Teyla placed a hand on the doorjamb to keep it open. "You will regret not seeing him before he leaves."
"Teyla," John said, trying for exasperated-and-tired-military-commander, "it's just a dog."
"He," Teyla said, "is a friend." She pinned him with a look. "And I believe you know that."
"I -" John thought about everything he could say. Should say. Shouldn't say. After a moment he went with the truth. "I can't."
He expected her to ask him why not. Instead she offered him a small smile and touched him on the arm. "You can."
--
The isolation room was dim and it took a moment for John's eyes to adjust, to see the small, still form in the corner, a thick foam pad underneath him. A wide bandage was wrapped around his middle. An IV line snaked to the pole above him.
John briefly considered backing out. He came, he saw, he could tell Teyla that. But then Buddy raised his head, spotted John, and, wagging his tail, began struggling to get up.
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," John said, rushing to move the IV line before it tangled with fur and paws and an excited tail. But Buddy moved when John moved and the line quickly started to tangle again.
"Okay, hey, let's just -" John sat down beside the foam pad and Buddy settled down, sitting first, then lying. John scratched behind Buddy's ear with one hand and fixed the IV line with the other, moving the pole against the wall and gently slinging the line behind Buddy's shoulder so it couldn't get tangled in his paws or tail if he got up again.
"Good boy," John said. "That was. . .good. What you did on the planet. Good boy."
Buddy set his head on John's knee with a sigh. John leaned back against the wall and continued scratching.
He was 5 the year he got Patch. Lassie was on TV and he begged his parents for months for a dog just like her. When they got his baby brother, John got Patch, like a fluffy consolation prize.
"I knew a dog a long time ago." John told Buddy. "She was a good dog, too."
He and Patch grew up together, riding out thunderstorms under the covers, fighting ogres in the fields behind the house, sharing potato chips while watching Batman. She was smart and loyal and, in John's opinion, way better than his baby brother, who was neither smart nor loyal and persistently ripped up John's comic books.
Then he turned 9.
"I got a bike for my birthday. It was red. Cool. Fast," John said, his scratching slowing to a stop behind Buddy's ear. "Before I could even take my first ride, a 12-year-old kid, some punk from down the street, shoved me off and rode off with it. It happened out front and Patch saw it."
Buddy stuck his nose under John's hand, encouraging. John absently started rubbing his other ear.
"She must've thought he hurt me or... something. She jumped the fence and went after him. Almost caught him, too," John said, surprised he could feel a bloom of pride even 30 years later. "But the kid took off across the street."
John looked down at Buddy. The dog was looking up at him, brown eyes sad.
"Yeah, you probably know how that ended. Car missed the punk kid. It didn't miss Patch," John said. "Swore I'd never have a dog again."
Buddy sighed and laid his head down once more.
John leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The floor was hard. His sprained ankle protested its position. But John felt something small and hard loosen in his chest as he stroked Buddy's head.
"How about I stay for a while?" John asked.
Buddy thumped his tail.