Log; completed
When; Friday, January 16, morning
Rating; PG
Characters; Rodney McKay whatdidyoutouch and James Bond yesconsiderably
Summary; Rodney is finally rescued from Mohinder's trap.
Log;
McKay sags in his cocoon, drifting in and out of consciousness. He had been sensible enough the first few days to mention his hypoglycemia, but after he proved... less than cooperative, Suresh started keeping him sedated. Time passes in nightmarish flashes; the tight, claustrophobic feeling of being encased-- too much like the Wraith ship, and there's no Heightmeyer in the City to spill out his secrets to, no team to pull him back from the brink; McKay's not entirely sure this is going to be easy to shrug off-- in the web-like material, Suresh's face bright with madness and discovery, soliloquies and rage and an oddly gentle hand with a syringe. He's been here three days, five, ten, a million. There is no passage of time, here. For all he knows it could have been just a few hours since he made the mistake of thinking Suresh was in trouble but harmless.
It's taken longer than Bond would like to track down the necessary information, but McKay's location has been finally revealed. And getting him free is the first order of business, the rest will have to wait until later. Bond figures this could all have come at a better time than today of all bloody days, but curse or no curse, she isn't about to back down. So when the door crashes open, and a knife and then careful application of a lighter finally reveal the man wrapped inside the cocoon, Bond's mind is completely in the game. None of the trappings matter -- the new body, the webs surrounding McKay's body, the sickly appearance of the man himself are all irrelevant. Get him out, to safety, treat whatever he might be suffering from, and deal with everything else once the crisis has passed.
Rodney blinks, eyelashes gummy. He reaches up to wipe at them, but hey, his arms are still trapped. Who knew? He laughs weakly at that, then licks dry lips. "Hands..." His voice is raspy.
"Working on it," Bond replies absently, putting most of her attention into cutting and peeling away the webbing bit by little bit. It's laborious, but finally she has McKay freed, and moves quickly to support him when he tries to move. Because she's sure there's no way he'll be able to stand on his own. "I've a car outside, borrowed it," she murmurs. "It's not far."
Rodney nods absently. "Oh, good then." Cars are good. Especially when they are close by. Because my some odd happening, his bones have been replaced by that annoying crap Ford used to bring on missions. Silly Putty. He's trying to walk properly, he really is, strange gorgeous woman. But the Silly Putty in place of bones makes it difficult. More walking. "Do I know you?" Rodney asks the woman's left ear. "Because I think I might be confused." He doesn't even sound concerned, which should tell Bond how out of it Rodney really is.
She'll carry him if she has too -- she's pretty sure she can manage a fireman's carry once they get out of the building, but it would really help if McKay were able to help out at least part of the way. This body isn't quite what Bond is used to. Fucking inconvenient curses. "Yes, McKay, you know me," she sighs, hauling him through the door and down the hall. She kicks open another door at the end of it, and stops to prop Rodney against the wall for a moment so she can adjust her hold on him and do a quick sweep of the street.
Hey, he's trying here. You try walking with bones made of Silly Putty, whoever you are. "Oh, all right." And no follow up questions. Worried yet? Rodney slumps against the wall, pale skin even paler than normal. He lifts a hand, watches it move slower than he told it to and shake, blue veins tracing lines across his underarm. "I think," he announces to the those veins with the utmost gravity, "That Suresh drugged me."
Oh yes, she's worried. But it'll be a cold day in Hell before she admits it to anyone. Even herself. "Yes, I'd say that's likely. We'll get your system flushed, once you're home." The street looks clear enough, and Bond pulls McKay's arm around her shoulders again. "Still with me? It's only a few steps." It's a little more than that, but Bond figures some underestimation will keep the man from giving up immediately. And the car she's chosen -- an older model sedan -- is parked only a half-block away. When they reach it, Bond supports Rodney between her body and the side of the car, turning his head away before pulling off one of her shoes and using it to smash the driver's side window. She reaches in and hits the locks, and manhandles him into the backseat.
The cold air draws Rodney out of his stupor just enough to realize that 'a few steps' are not few, but not enough to complain about it. And finally, a minute and a half into their ride, Rodney looks up, blue eyes slightly focused for the first time in ten days. "I don't think this is your car," he says suspiciously. He raises one shaky finger to make the killing verbal blow and then passes the fuck out, body twitching restlessly in his sleep.
"It's mine now." Bond's tone is dryly amused, and she checks the rear view mirror more than once during the drive when Rodney fails to reply further. A little line appears between her brows, and several traffic laws are broken before the car screeches to a halt in front of the cross gate. Eventually they reach the house, and Bond will probably off every alarm in the place but doesn't care. "McKay, wake up," she orders, lightly slapping his cheeks. "Which room is yours? Unless you want me turning the first place I come to into a hospital."
Rodney flails out an arm with a blow that might scare a baby kitten, provided said baby kitten half half eaten by sharks and almost-- but not quite-- dead. "Stop hitting me," he has to enunciate with purpose to keep the words from slurring. "I'm awake." Then, with great effort, he places a hand on his mystery rescuer's upper arm. "Need. The codes, okay? Toshiko'll never forgive me if you hurt her new house."
Well, at least the weak flailing is proof that McKay still has some life in him. Bond holds back an amused smirk. "All right, let's have them." She doesn't really care about this Toshiko or her new house, but not having to deal with pissy housemates will make things easier. "Which floor?"
Rodney rattles off the codes by rote; he may be stoned half out of his mind and holding off a massive freakout, but he remembers the codes. He can dial the gate while jacked up on enough Wraith enzyme to send him into a coma, he can handle this. "Basement. Only bedroom down there." He slumps further against the woman even as he tries to carry more of his own weight; the drugs are perhaps wearing off a bit, but exhaustion and hunger and realization are beginning to slowly slip in.
Bond enters the codes to shut down the security system -- she'll deal with bringing it back up later -- and pulls Rodney inside. Thank god there are basement level entrances, because going down stairs would have been a lot more dangerous than going up them. It's not hard to find the bedroom, and she purses her lips in amusement at the laboratory just outside it. Once they reach the door, Bond steadies the man on his feet for just a moment, long enough to duck down and take his weight over her shoulder. He winds up being plunked unceremoniously onto his bed, but it's efficient. Without hesitation, Bond strips him down and then fetches some wet clothes from the bathroom, to clean up the exposed skin, still sticky from the webbing. And then Rodney finds himself tucked under the blankets with an ice chip pressed to his lips. "Let's get you hydrated, McKay."
If Rodney were more conscious, he would be tearing strips off the stranger for her presumptuousness. Gorgeous and oddly familiar or not, there are certain things that just can't be born. And being put in a fireman's hold then tossed down like a sack of potatoes is one of those things. ...Luckily for the stranger, Rodney is not at his best today. So the yelling is canceled for the foreseeable future. He opens his mouth obediently, the cold trickle of water easing the rough tightness in his throat. "What happened?"
As if Bond would even care about the yelling. Rodney's uncharacteristic silence is disconcerting, though, and she frowns as she pokes another ice chip between his lips. "You tell me. You disappeared earlier in the week, never showed at Lux, and your housemates have been looking for you. I finally tracked you down and found you wrapped in a cocoon of what I'm pretty certain were spider webs." Which is raising possibilities Bond would prefer not to think about right now. Buffy and her monster hunter colleagues can worry about the potential for a population of giant spiders lurking in the city.
"Lux?" McKay's brow wrinkles, trying to remember. "Don't- I wasn't at the Lux." He struggles to sit up-- dammit, he's got to think, got to function-- but flops back with a groan when even that proves too hard. That's familiar. Spider webs, cocoons. Sickly white skin and alien eyes. No, that's not right, not this time. Darker skin, not quite human anymore, and... "Wraith," he mutters. Then, with a laugh that's more like choking, he repeats, "Wraith."
"I know that. You were supposed to meet me for drinks and you didn't show," Bond repeats patiently. Her face is relatively impassive for the level of concern she feels, especially when Rodney struggles to sit up and then collapses. "Now, enough of that. Don't make me handcuff you to the bedpost." Bond gives him a little half-smirk, and shakes her head. "Never heard of them. But they won't get in here, so calm down and try to rest. I'm sure one of your friends upstairs will be more than happy to play nursemaid for a little while." Not that Bond plans to be leaving, but she's not about to put herself into the caretaker category. Besides, whatever a 'wraith' is, if there's a chance it'll be coming after McKay, then someone will need to watch his back.
"Not- I don't know you. I-" Slowly, the gears start turning again, drugs and trauma lifting slightly. "Bond?" The handcuff remark gets a short laugh, and Rodney nods, slowly. "Bond." He's sure, now. There's something he should be telling Bond. Suresh- Rodney's sure there were others. He's got to warn someone, get Suresh stopped. But he can't force words past heavy eyes and a tight throat, and Rodney slips into unconsciousness again before he can say anything more.
[ooc: Yes, I just wanted to make use of my girl!Bond icons. >.>]
Rating; PG
Characters; Rodney McKay whatdidyoutouch and James Bond yesconsiderably
Summary; Rodney is finally rescued from Mohinder's trap.
Log;
McKay sags in his cocoon, drifting in and out of consciousness. He had been sensible enough the first few days to mention his hypoglycemia, but after he proved... less than cooperative, Suresh started keeping him sedated. Time passes in nightmarish flashes; the tight, claustrophobic feeling of being encased-- too much like the Wraith ship, and there's no Heightmeyer in the City to spill out his secrets to, no team to pull him back from the brink; McKay's not entirely sure this is going to be easy to shrug off-- in the web-like material, Suresh's face bright with madness and discovery, soliloquies and rage and an oddly gentle hand with a syringe. He's been here three days, five, ten, a million. There is no passage of time, here. For all he knows it could have been just a few hours since he made the mistake of thinking Suresh was in trouble but harmless.
It's taken longer than Bond would like to track down the necessary information, but McKay's location has been finally revealed. And getting him free is the first order of business, the rest will have to wait until later. Bond figures this could all have come at a better time than today of all bloody days, but curse or no curse, she isn't about to back down. So when the door crashes open, and a knife and then careful application of a lighter finally reveal the man wrapped inside the cocoon, Bond's mind is completely in the game. None of the trappings matter -- the new body, the webs surrounding McKay's body, the sickly appearance of the man himself are all irrelevant. Get him out, to safety, treat whatever he might be suffering from, and deal with everything else once the crisis has passed.
Rodney blinks, eyelashes gummy. He reaches up to wipe at them, but hey, his arms are still trapped. Who knew? He laughs weakly at that, then licks dry lips. "Hands..." His voice is raspy.
"Working on it," Bond replies absently, putting most of her attention into cutting and peeling away the webbing bit by little bit. It's laborious, but finally she has McKay freed, and moves quickly to support him when he tries to move. Because she's sure there's no way he'll be able to stand on his own. "I've a car outside, borrowed it," she murmurs. "It's not far."
Rodney nods absently. "Oh, good then." Cars are good. Especially when they are close by. Because my some odd happening, his bones have been replaced by that annoying crap Ford used to bring on missions. Silly Putty. He's trying to walk properly, he really is, strange gorgeous woman. But the Silly Putty in place of bones makes it difficult. More walking. "Do I know you?" Rodney asks the woman's left ear. "Because I think I might be confused." He doesn't even sound concerned, which should tell Bond how out of it Rodney really is.
She'll carry him if she has too -- she's pretty sure she can manage a fireman's carry once they get out of the building, but it would really help if McKay were able to help out at least part of the way. This body isn't quite what Bond is used to. Fucking inconvenient curses. "Yes, McKay, you know me," she sighs, hauling him through the door and down the hall. She kicks open another door at the end of it, and stops to prop Rodney against the wall for a moment so she can adjust her hold on him and do a quick sweep of the street.
Hey, he's trying here. You try walking with bones made of Silly Putty, whoever you are. "Oh, all right." And no follow up questions. Worried yet? Rodney slumps against the wall, pale skin even paler than normal. He lifts a hand, watches it move slower than he told it to and shake, blue veins tracing lines across his underarm. "I think," he announces to the those veins with the utmost gravity, "That Suresh drugged me."
Oh yes, she's worried. But it'll be a cold day in Hell before she admits it to anyone. Even herself. "Yes, I'd say that's likely. We'll get your system flushed, once you're home." The street looks clear enough, and Bond pulls McKay's arm around her shoulders again. "Still with me? It's only a few steps." It's a little more than that, but Bond figures some underestimation will keep the man from giving up immediately. And the car she's chosen -- an older model sedan -- is parked only a half-block away. When they reach it, Bond supports Rodney between her body and the side of the car, turning his head away before pulling off one of her shoes and using it to smash the driver's side window. She reaches in and hits the locks, and manhandles him into the backseat.
The cold air draws Rodney out of his stupor just enough to realize that 'a few steps' are not few, but not enough to complain about it. And finally, a minute and a half into their ride, Rodney looks up, blue eyes slightly focused for the first time in ten days. "I don't think this is your car," he says suspiciously. He raises one shaky finger to make the killing verbal blow and then passes the fuck out, body twitching restlessly in his sleep.
"It's mine now." Bond's tone is dryly amused, and she checks the rear view mirror more than once during the drive when Rodney fails to reply further. A little line appears between her brows, and several traffic laws are broken before the car screeches to a halt in front of the cross gate. Eventually they reach the house, and Bond will probably off every alarm in the place but doesn't care. "McKay, wake up," she orders, lightly slapping his cheeks. "Which room is yours? Unless you want me turning the first place I come to into a hospital."
Rodney flails out an arm with a blow that might scare a baby kitten, provided said baby kitten half half eaten by sharks and almost-- but not quite-- dead. "Stop hitting me," he has to enunciate with purpose to keep the words from slurring. "I'm awake." Then, with great effort, he places a hand on his mystery rescuer's upper arm. "Need. The codes, okay? Toshiko'll never forgive me if you hurt her new house."
Well, at least the weak flailing is proof that McKay still has some life in him. Bond holds back an amused smirk. "All right, let's have them." She doesn't really care about this Toshiko or her new house, but not having to deal with pissy housemates will make things easier. "Which floor?"
Rodney rattles off the codes by rote; he may be stoned half out of his mind and holding off a massive freakout, but he remembers the codes. He can dial the gate while jacked up on enough Wraith enzyme to send him into a coma, he can handle this. "Basement. Only bedroom down there." He slumps further against the woman even as he tries to carry more of his own weight; the drugs are perhaps wearing off a bit, but exhaustion and hunger and realization are beginning to slowly slip in.
Bond enters the codes to shut down the security system -- she'll deal with bringing it back up later -- and pulls Rodney inside. Thank god there are basement level entrances, because going down stairs would have been a lot more dangerous than going up them. It's not hard to find the bedroom, and she purses her lips in amusement at the laboratory just outside it. Once they reach the door, Bond steadies the man on his feet for just a moment, long enough to duck down and take his weight over her shoulder. He winds up being plunked unceremoniously onto his bed, but it's efficient. Without hesitation, Bond strips him down and then fetches some wet clothes from the bathroom, to clean up the exposed skin, still sticky from the webbing. And then Rodney finds himself tucked under the blankets with an ice chip pressed to his lips. "Let's get you hydrated, McKay."
If Rodney were more conscious, he would be tearing strips off the stranger for her presumptuousness. Gorgeous and oddly familiar or not, there are certain things that just can't be born. And being put in a fireman's hold then tossed down like a sack of potatoes is one of those things. ...Luckily for the stranger, Rodney is not at his best today. So the yelling is canceled for the foreseeable future. He opens his mouth obediently, the cold trickle of water easing the rough tightness in his throat. "What happened?"
As if Bond would even care about the yelling. Rodney's uncharacteristic silence is disconcerting, though, and she frowns as she pokes another ice chip between his lips. "You tell me. You disappeared earlier in the week, never showed at Lux, and your housemates have been looking for you. I finally tracked you down and found you wrapped in a cocoon of what I'm pretty certain were spider webs." Which is raising possibilities Bond would prefer not to think about right now. Buffy and her monster hunter colleagues can worry about the potential for a population of giant spiders lurking in the city.
"Lux?" McKay's brow wrinkles, trying to remember. "Don't- I wasn't at the Lux." He struggles to sit up-- dammit, he's got to think, got to function-- but flops back with a groan when even that proves too hard. That's familiar. Spider webs, cocoons. Sickly white skin and alien eyes. No, that's not right, not this time. Darker skin, not quite human anymore, and... "Wraith," he mutters. Then, with a laugh that's more like choking, he repeats, "Wraith."
"I know that. You were supposed to meet me for drinks and you didn't show," Bond repeats patiently. Her face is relatively impassive for the level of concern she feels, especially when Rodney struggles to sit up and then collapses. "Now, enough of that. Don't make me handcuff you to the bedpost." Bond gives him a little half-smirk, and shakes her head. "Never heard of them. But they won't get in here, so calm down and try to rest. I'm sure one of your friends upstairs will be more than happy to play nursemaid for a little while." Not that Bond plans to be leaving, but she's not about to put herself into the caretaker category. Besides, whatever a 'wraith' is, if there's a chance it'll be coming after McKay, then someone will need to watch his back.
"Not- I don't know you. I-" Slowly, the gears start turning again, drugs and trauma lifting slightly. "Bond?" The handcuff remark gets a short laugh, and Rodney nods, slowly. "Bond." He's sure, now. There's something he should be telling Bond. Suresh- Rodney's sure there were others. He's got to warn someone, get Suresh stopped. But he can't force words past heavy eyes and a tight throat, and Rodney slips into unconsciousness again before he can say anything more.
[ooc: Yes, I just wanted to make use of my girl!Bond icons. >.>]