SGA Fic - Of Strays and Aliens

[kriadydragon]

Title: Of Strays and Aliens
Rating: PG
Characters: Team
Warnings: Some non-explicit violence
Summary: “You look like the poster child for abused and neglected pets,” said Rodney. “If this were Earth you'd be at the ASPCA by now. Seriously, we are living a cliché here, people.” Written for tari_roo who wanted John and/or team kept as pets on a strange world and John abused and on a leash. Hope you enjoy :D Beta'd by the womderful wildcat88

Of Strays and Aliens

Escape was ridiculously simple when you were the pampered pet of an elderly... thing. Teyla had assumed, and continued to assume, her “owner” to be elderly. For one, she had wrinkles. For another, she walked as though she was bothered by old bones, shuffling along with a hunched back and some sort of gnarled stick akin to a cane. And for another, she “acted” old; rather fussy and neat, with no patience for the young. Teyla could not be certain, of course, and even on this world and in her current situation she did not feel right about calling her observations fact.

Teyla could not even say if she was a “she,” or that there were even genders. There were couples, so she assumed there were genders but...

But like it mattered. What mattered was leaving this world and going home, and it helped being the pampered pet of a maybe-old maybe-lady who thought that her little human darling could do no wrong. It also helped that Teyla's owner liked to leave the window open, just a crack, to let the cool breezes in.

Teyla loosened the last of the many leather cords that held her wooden pen together, the one the old maybe-woman liked to put her in at night. The many pillows and blankets made moving around near impossible. But after weeks - weeks - of working each and every stubborn knot of each and every cord, of fighting the hindering hills of plushness, the light wooden cage fell open with barely a tap on the brown-tiled floor. Pillows and blankets spilled out like a feathery flood, taking Teyla with them. She almost laughed, drunk with triumph and joy, but slapped her hand over her mouth before any sound managed to burst out.

Teyla scurried like a long-tailed tree wippet up the drawers of the desk positioned beneath the window. It was yet one more bonus that the creatures of this world were well over ten feet tall. “We've become Liliputians,” Rodney had said with much high-pitched distress (and eventually explained) when they had stumbled onto the city of giants. It was not so much a city as a quaint village of houses and shops all built into hills. Like reversed hobbits, John had said.

They had stepped foot in the town for no more than two minutes when they were captured: loops of rope cinched around their necks and some sort of flat muzzle strapped to their heads to keep them from biting. Then they were dragged off to a large hill, added to a cornucopia collection of animals in small, wooden cages. One by one, day by day, they were each taken away. That had been four weeks ago.

Teyla reached the top of the desk and removed the shimmering gold robe her master had been so fond of dressing her in for walks, and tied it to the window sill latch. The way down was not long, an easy enough jump if she landed right, but tonight was not the night to take chances. Teyla slid down the smooth material to the blue-green grass below. She landed silently, and moved just as silently to the flowering red bushes that circled the hill like a skirt. Teyla crouched and waited.

Sure enough, a patrolman lumbered by, lamp in hand as he scoured the area for potential intruders.

The locals also resembled birds - gray-bodied birds with stiff hairs bristling like cactus spikes from their skulls, longer and sharper on what Teyla supposed were the males. Unless females were the dominant gender. But, again, it did not matter. The creatures looked like birds with human bodies, lizard tails and very sharp-looking claws. They dressed in robes, wore no shoes, and coveted unusual creatures the way Rodney coveted coffee. Teyla's owner had enjoyed taking Teyla to what seemed to be some sort of pet competition. Teyla always ended up winning the prettiest ribbons; it had been rather difficult not to feel smug about it.

Teyla waited with held breath until the patrol-person was gone, then darted from shrub to shrub, hill-house to hill-house, following the neat gravel road through the village.

The list of advantages was a long one that continued to grow. There was only one “street” winding through the hill-houses and hill-shops. Teyla's owner, who never missed an opportunity to show Teyla off and bask in all the jealous cooing, had walked her down this path each and every day in both directions, unknowingly providing Teyla with the means to formulate an escape plan and locate her team. It had taken time to pinpoint their exact locations, but Teyla was a diplomat, and a diplomat sharpened her patience as keenly as she sharpened her knife.

It had not been easy. Not this time. Not after what she had seen when she had finally found John.

Ronon was first, only four hill-houses and one hill-shop down. Whoever owned the hill Teyla was now approaching was well-to-do, their hill huge and their vast property enclosed in an iron fence. Strange multi-limbed creatures like insects with snouts and large ears patrolled the perimeter.

“Hey, Teyla.”

And Ronon patrolled with them... sort of. He was chained by a thin metal collar around his neck to a large boulder beneath one of the property's many blue-green trees, the chain long enough for Ronon to reach the fence but not step through the wide gaps between the bars. The planet had three moons, all silver-white and bright enough to let Teyla see Ronon's wide, toothy grin. He gripped the bars and leaned forward.

“About time someone showed up. I would've but...” He rattled the chain, the collar it was attached to wide enough to be comfortable, but not so wide that Ronon could slip it off. “First lock I couldn't pick.” He sounded annoyed about it.

Teyla smiled at him. “Then it is good I have come so prepared.” She pulled one of her owner's sewing pins from inside her boot. The locals had thought the humans' clothes a part of their skin, thank the Ancestors, so had not removed them. Except for their jackets and tak vests (along with their radios), hanging from them like shedding fur or flesh that needed to be removed.

Ronon craned his neck to one side for easy reach and Teyla made short work of the collar's pin-small lock. It slid off, falling to the ground with a light thump. Ronon rubbed his liberated throat as he stepped through the bars. The multi-limbed creatures whined at him.

“Sorry, guys,” Ronon said, grinning like a child. “No sparring tonight.” He gave them a jaunty wave as he followed Teyla to the next line of shrubs.

Teyla gave him a cock-eyed look. “You sparred with them?”

Ronon shrugged. “No different than wrestling a Grik, except these guys are smaller, and don't pee on you afterward.”

Teyla shook her head, not wanting to hear any more.

“The others?” Ronon asked in a whisper when they passed beneath an open window.

“Rodney is not far. John is after him.” They slid silently through the shrubs, paused at the end then darted to the next copse.

“You saw them? They all right?”

“Rodney looked well the last time I saw him. Unhappy, but well.”

“Sheppard?”

Teyla bit her lip. “I am not sure.”

Rodney's owner lived only three hills away from where Ronon had been kept. It was a modest hill, much like the hill of Teyla's owner only smaller, with a tiny garden and the windows opened a crack. If these creatures were male and female, and the male's had the more prominent spikes, then Rodney's owner was an elderly man who adored books. Teyla had passed them many times during her walks, the old man lounging outside in a padded chair while reading, Rodney sitting in the creature's lap, enduring the old being's gentle ministrations of scritches to Rodney's head and back. Rodney, of course, was not happy about it, always with a sour look before spotting Teyla. Then sour would become hope, hope falling to dejection, and Teyla only able to give what she had hoped had been an encouraging expression as she continued on by.

“Lift me up,” Teyla said.

Ronon crouched. Teyla climbed onto his shoulders and Ronon rose, the two of them tall enough for Teyla to peer through the window. Rodney's owner was sprawled akimbo in his padded chair by a crackling fire, snoring. Rodney was curled in his lap, also snoring.

“Rodney,” Teyla hissed.

Rodney stirred, muttering, whimpering, then stilled.

Teyla pursed her lip in frustration. She hissed louder. “Rodney. Rodney, wake up.”

The creature fidgeted, disrupting Rodney's conflicted rest. Rodney snorted and snuffled awake with a bleary, “Wha...?”

“Rodney, the window.”

Rodney blinked rapidly, his head darting left and right like a startled bird until finally pinning his gaze on Teyla.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, about damn time.” He made his way carefully to the edge of his owner's lap, ready to shimmy down to the floor, when he stopped. “Oh no.” And sagged in defeat. Slumping, he lifted the leash attacked to the slim collar around his throat, latched in place with something that looked remarkably like a very small padlock. The leash was tangled in the old... thing's... knobby fingers.

“Little help?” Rodney squeaked.

Teyla exhaled sharp in frustration and gave him a single nod. “Ronon, help me onto the sill.”

Ronon hefted, practically throwing Teyla inside.

“Carefully!” she hissed.

“Sorry.”

Rolling her eyes, Teyla slid from the sill onto the pile of books providing easy access to the floor. She crept silently but swiftly to the chair, Rodney's pale, hopeful face watching her as though to merely see her was salvation enough.

“Please tell me you have a knife,” Rodney whispered, fingers tapping frantically on the arm of the chair. “Piece of glass, pair of scissors, anything?”

Teyla held up the pin. “Can you come to the floor, Rodney?”

Rodney's shoulders dropped and he sighed. “On my way.” It was with much nervous muttering that Rodney climbed from the chair, using his master's plain brown robes to keep from falling. Both he and Teyla would go perfectly still, breaths held, each time the old thing twitched, grunted or snorted. A rather violent flinch of the creature's legs dropped Rodney the rest of the way to the floor on his back.

“Ow... That's gonna hurt in the morning.” But Rodney pushed himself upright despite the obvious discomfort.

Teyla worked quickly on the collar, the old creature's constant shifting wreaking havoc on her nerves, her sweating palms making the pin slippery.

“Hurry,” Rodney gasped. “He's waking up.”

The tiny padlock clicked. Teyla pulled it off, tossed it aside then fumbled with the collar latch. The old thing turned giving the leash a tug that slammed Rodney against the side of the chair, pulling the collar tight against his Adam's apple.

“Teyla!” he rasped.

“Almost... have it...” Teyla said through gritted teeth. “There!” The buckle pulled free and the collar fell away. Teyla grabbed Rodney's arm and propelled him toward the window. Behind them, the old man whistled and sniffed - he was almost awake.

Teyla and Rodney climbed the books to the sill, Teyla jumping first, the way down not as far as it was at the other house.

“Ronon!” Rodney squawked in surprise from the sill. “Where the hell is Sheppard?”

“Escape first, explanations later,” Ronon grunted. They could hear the creak of the creature's chair.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” Rodney sneered. He stood on the edge, looked down and gulped. “I know it doesn't look like much from where you guys are standing but it's kind of a long way down from here.”

“McKay!” Ronon snapped.

McKay's owner grunted, making the strange fluting noises of its kind. It was awake.

“Rodney, unless you wish to stay that being's pet--” Teyla hissed.

“Oh hell no,” Rodney said, and jumped. Years of running, climbing and leaping for his life had instilled in Rodney without his knowing it the ability to accomplish these tasks with little injury to himself. He knew how to land in a crouch, to roll when he lost his balance and find himself, not upright, but at least in a position to scramble quickly to his feet. He grinned ear to ear, dusting bits of leaves and dirt from his clothes.

“That wasn't so bad.” He looked around. “Where's Sheppard?”

“He's next,” Ronon said, shoving Rodney into the shadows of the shrubs. Then they were off again, moving from bush to bush, from hill to hill, leaving the frantic fluting calls of the old being behind as Rodney whispered of his harrowing ordeal.

“The old guy wasn't so bad, but he has grandkids. Grandkids. Touchy, feely, rotten little grandkids who think it's a barrel of laughs to toss me in the mud and pull my ears. My back will never recover from what they consider petting.” Though he was running and ducking just fine. “Where the hell are they keeping Sheppard?”

“Not far,” Teyla said. And it was all she would say until they arrived. They picked their way through gardens of flowers, bushes and some sort of spiral gourd sprouting taller than Ronon from the ground. Rodney switched his diatribe to contemplation, speculating on the reasons on why Atlantis hadn't rescued them.

“Energy interference getting in the way of our transmitters. Only explanation. Probably why we didn't get any life signs even with Big Bird's mutated cousins right under the jumper.”

“I could have told you that,” Ronon growled.

“Uh, no, you couldn't. Not unless you sprouted a couple of IQ points overnight.”

“It's always energy crap getting in the way, McKay.”

“Not always. Sometimes it's... other stuff.”

Teyla rolled her eyes. “Will you two please be quiet.”

“Sorry,” Rodney whispered, contrite.

“Yeah,” Ronon said. “Sorry.”

John's owner was eight hills away from Rodney's, and on the other side of the gravel road. They huddled behind a pile of cloth bags that had been piled several yards from the door of a house-hill, whatever in the bags so filthy and ripe it made Teyla's eyes water. But another patrolman was ambling by, giving them no other choice. The patrolman had spotted something digging through the sacks of the yard across the road. For being such gangly creatures, they had their moments of great agility; the patrolman crept without a sound up to the sacks and hunched low. Leaning back on its haunches, it leaped high over the sacks landing easily on the other side, whipping out a pole with a loop of cord on one end. It emerged with a six-legged thing struggling in vain, the loop cinched tight around its neck.

They waited until the being's footsteps and creature's struggles faded, then hurried across the road.

The hill-house of John's owner was a dismal place, the grass brown and the windows no longer fitting perfectly in their frames. The piles of foul-smelling sacks were high, and the entire property (of which there was very little) was enclosed in a rickety wooden fence succumbing to decay.

Teyla and the others peered through the large gaps between the slats at the ill-kept yard on the other side.

“What the hell!” Rodney yelped. Ronon hissed at him to shut up, but Teyla couldn't blame Rodney.

It was usually on reaching this part of the town that Teyla's owner felt the need to carry her, to protect her or keep her from getting filthy, Teyla did not know. It had provided an excellent view of the area, and had allowed Teyla to see beyond the fence and spot John, chained to a stake in the middle of the yard, links and collar heavy enough to keep him partially bent, with only a crude wooden lean-to for shelter. His food and water dishes had often been empty.

And at one point, Teyla's owner had timed the walk just right for Teyla to see John's owner - a short, bulbous creature - whip John's back with a piece of cord.

“John,” Teyla whispered, squinting at the lean-to and the deep shadows underneath. “John!”

Still no answer.

“I'm going in,” Ronon said, and before anyone could protest he pried loose one of the slats and squeezed through. Teyla watched with held breath as he darted over the open lawn to the lean-to. He peered inside, then looked up and shook his head.

Teyla's heart dropped into her stomach.

“Oh, no,” Rodney breathed. “No. No way. There is no way he would have gone out like... like this. No way.”

Ronon trotted back, his face grim in the moonlight, his eyes darting around. He didn't go far when something off to his left grabbed his attention. He veered toward whatever it was, crouched and swept a finger across the ground. Looking up, he tilted his head toward that section of fence, then rose and moved toward it.

Teyla's heart soared back to her chest. “This way,” she said to Rodney, leading the way to the other side. They met Ronon just as he emerged, pushing aside a slat swinging precariously from a single rusting nail.

“Sheppard might have gotten out,” Ronon said, less grim and more determined. “Saw tracks heading this way, and the ground was all scored up like he was dragging something.”

Teyla nodded stiffly. “His chain. Recent?”

“Looks like it. Ground's pretty dry and dusty. Any later and they would have been covered by now.”

“Except he has no idea where we are,” Rodney said, looking from Teyla to Ronon. “Because I really doubt his 'owner' took him for any walks. He could be anywhere trying to find us.”

As Rodney talked, Ronon searched the ground. Finding what he was looking for, he signaled with a wave of his hand for them to follow. They darted to the neighboring house, then the house after that, each one as ill-kept as the last. They stayed behind the sacks of garbage, many of those sacks either untied or torn open, their contents spilled across the ground. Teyla wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Something else is out here,” she said. “And it is hungry. We must be extra careful.”

“Actually...” Rodney said, straightening from his crouch. He rolled his eyes and pointed to the next pile of sacks.

A tall, thin figure was hacking at one of the sacks with what looked like a piece of glass or metal, the cloth ripping open spilling wet detritus all over the figure's arms. Teyla's body sagged in overwhelming relief. She would know that figure anywhere, thin or otherwise.

“John,” she called, still at a whisper but barely. John froze, his head darting up like a spooked animal. He dropped his make-shift knife then stood there, staring at his team.

“Guys?”

They hurried over to him, joining him behind the pile. Close up, he looked terrible: his clothes - most especially the back of his shirt - shredded and stained with dirt and blood, his hair and beard a matted nest with bits of leaves and twigs, and his face bruised and gaunt. The collar was still around his neck, the heavy chain looped around his shoulder out of the way and weighing him down. He smelled horrible, worse than the garbage.

Teyla didn't care. She grabbed him by his bony shoulders and pulled his forehead against hers.

“John I am so glad you are alive.”

John chuffed, the chuff turning into a brief but wet cough. “Same to you. I was just coming to find you guys, but I needed to get a few things.”

Those few things were currently tied to his waist with a piece of cloth - more sharp bits, glass and metal, two sticks that would work well as bantos rods, and a cloth formed into a pouch filled with something that had stained the bottom with moisture.

As soon as Teyla pulled away, Ronon swooped in scooping John into a massive bear hug.

John gasped. “Easy... on the ribs... buddy...”

Ronon quickly released him and stepped back, looking him over more carefully. “You look like crap.”

“You look like the poster child for abused and neglected pets,” said Rodney. “If this were Earth you'd be at the ASPCA by now. Seriously, we are living a cliché here, people.”

John clapped Rodney on the shoulder. “Glad to see you too, McKay. So, we're back together.” He started pulling several sharp bits from his “belt” and handing them out. “What say we get the hell out of here.”

“Agreed,” Teyla said. She was smiling so much her face was beginning to hurt. It felt like forever since she last grinned so joyously. “The end of the village is not far. We continue on, we will leave it behind, and we will not have to worry about our journey being impeded.”

Flickering gold light suddenly spilled across the bags, chasing away the safety of the shadows. The team looked up. A patrolman stood over them, its round black eyes blinking rapidly in alarm. It began to warble and whistle as it fumbled at its belt with its other hand for the rope-stick.

“Alien animal cops, run!” Rodney shrilled. They took off across the yard to the neighboring hill, Ronon lagging behind throwing the bits and pieces Sheppard had given him at the patrolman. Sheppard did well at first, but they were barely across the property line when he began to stumble, tripping but righting himself, his breaths raspy and labored. Teyla veered toward him, grabbed his arm and steadied him against his next falter.

But it was Rodney the loop of cord grabbed, bringing him to a violent halt that landed him on his back.

“Rodney!” John shouted. Both he and Teyla skidded to a halt, turned on their heels and ran back. Ronon was already on it, distracting the patrolman by slashing at its exposed legs with a piece of glass. While the patrolmen skipped and jumped out of the way, John leaped onto the pole, pulling it down enough to provide plenty of slack for Teyla to slip Rodney free.

It was not a moment too soon. The patrolman's alarm caused him to yank the pole back, tossing John to the ground. It kicked Ronon aside, but as it charged toward Teyla and Rodney, its feet tangled in John's chain and tripped over his body, its arms pinwheeling as it fell to the ground, landing with a pained flute.

The kick to Ronon had not been so hard that he could not recover quickly. He yanked the chain free of the patrolman's feet, scooped both chain and an unconscious John up, and all together they ran; Teyla supporting Rodney, Ronon cradling John.

Once the hills of houses ended, it was only a few meters to the tree line. They slowed on reaching its cover, pausing to catch their breath. Teyla leaned Rodney against a tree for support as he breathed and rubbed his throat. She moved to John, still unconscious, and tapped his fever-warm face.

“That thing practically stepped on him,” Ronon growled.

With a wince Teyla checked John's pulse, fast and thready, his breathing just as fast and shallow. But she went back to tapping his cheeks until his eyes finally fluttered opened.

Teyla took a nervous breath. “John? Are you with us? Are you all right?”

“Peachy,” he croaked, then grimaced. “Or... not. Ow.” Yet the more he spoke, the more alert he seemed to become, and it was encouraging.

“We know the jumper is nearby, so we will be home soon,” Teyla assured.

John sighed, “Best news ever.”

They had landed the 'jumper within a clearing not far from the town, near a small stream to make it easier to find. Teyla could hear that stream, and followed its sound, then the stream itself, to the jumper still waiting patiently for them, untouched by any locals that might have happened upon it. Seeing their ship ready and undamaged made Teyla's heart soar until she thought it would float from her chest. Once again her face ached from her all-encompassing smile.

That John and Rodney were eventually able to walk on their own - John with support and Rodney without - made it even better.

“Ronon,” John panted. “My boot.”

Ronon did not ask, merely knelt and retrieved the jumper's remote control from John's boot. The GDO they had left on the jumper, thank goodness. Ronon pressed the control and the jumper whined opened.

“Let's get... the hell out of here,” John said, sagging in Ronon's grip.

“Damn straight, I'll drive,” Rodney replied, going on ahead. It worried Teyla when John did not complain, nor so much as crack a joke. She helped Ronon get John inside, then closed the hatch. Rodney eased the jumper from the ground and carried them away from the planet.

----------------

“Words cannot describe the joy of being home,” Teyla said, walking and stretching her arms in the open halls of Atlantis, unable to get enough of her liberation from so much restricted living. She had showered, napped, and was now on her way with Ronon and Rodney to gather lunch and eat with John.

“Tell me about it,” Rodney rasped. “You know how good it feels to be able to yell at someone and not get flicked in the head for being too loud?”

“Or not being chained?” Ronon added.

Or beaten, Teyla was sure John would have said.

She added, “Or eating dried food pellets and being locked in a cage at night.”

They continued to list the things that they would never miss again in a million years as they gathered trays of food and moved them to the infirmary. John and Rodney had been the only ones injured, Rodney's throat still a little tender from the pole, John far more worse for wear for being - as Rodney put it - “an excellent candidate for one of those pet cop shows.”

Teyla had found it intriguing that there were protectors assigned to animals, but after what they had been through, she most admired the profession. John had indeed been beaten and neglected: malnourished, infected lacerations all over his back, and ribs cracked enough to break when the patrolman had tripped over him. The pain and the exhaustion had been too much for John, but there could have been worse injuries. John, as always, had been lucky.

They entered the infirmary and John's area. He was upright, looking much better now that he was clean, shaved and pain- and collar-free. He had a bandage around his neck where the horrible thing had chafed him raw. He smiled at them, the bedside table already in place to receive his meal.

“You're looking less like a stray the pound dragged in,” Rodney said, grinning as he sat and settled his tray in his lap.

“And you're looking less like the plaything of spoiled grandkids,” John easily countered.

Rodney glared at him.

“I think we are all doing much better,” said Teyla, taking the chair by John's bed. Ronon kicked over one of the rolling stools for himself. “Now that we are free.”

“Which, by the way,” John said, eyes on his food as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world, despite the fact that he was picking at it. He cleared his throat. “I heard we've got you to thank, Teyla, for getting us out.”

Teyla shrugged, finding sudden interest in picking at her own food as well. “I only did what any of us would have done. I was merely in a position to make it happen.”

“Be that as it may,” John said, grinning. “Thanks, anyway.”

Ronon, also grinning, patted her on the back. Rodney lifted his mug of coffee in salute.

“Yes - here, here for getting us off the damn leash. Seriously, I'm never going to own a pet again. Or, am, because, well, better they get someone like me instead of someone like that thing that owned Sheppard. And how the hell did you even end up with someone like that? If that had been Earth and you were a cat you would've been adopted by the first pretty coed that walked by. Skinny, pathetic - they would have been all over you in a heartbeat.”

“Hey,” John growled.

“You know it's true,” Rodney said smugly.

“Yeah, and you would've still ended up with an old man with too many grandkids.”

Rodney glowered at him. Ronon laughed.

“Don't you start, Cujo. You would've ended up as a junkyard dog,” Rodney said. “Teyla would probably belong to some hotel heiress. The kind that would make her wear frilly pink dresses and bows.”

“Do not bring me into this,” Teyla said, pointing her fork at Rodney and trying not to grin.

“Too late,” Ronon said. Teyla elbowed him in the side, but it only made him laugh harder.

Fighting her smile was an impossible task. It made her face hurt, again, but a wonderful ache it was.

The End